Well, it’s been over a month since I started posting about submission. Like most things in my life, it gets harder right when I think I have it all figured out. You know, like potty training. Just when I start to think, “We’ve got this! We’re okay! Perseverance for Mommy, and self-control for Pretty One is totally attainable in 3 days!” someone goes and pees on the floor. But the process is just as important as the result. Sure, she will be potty trained. And one day, I will be lovingly submissive in absolutely everything, including my facial expressions. One day. But I can’t (and she can’t) fast forward through the million baby steps on the way. These little steps are needed to keep us from becoming prideful. To help us to be compassionate with others. And to realize, that we just can’t be perfect. And to feel the forgiveness and love from our Father. The process is as much a blessing as the result. Self control, patience and goodness do not just come overnight. So I’m getting there.
But the original question: Are submissive women as strong as domineering women?
My answer: No, they are stronger.
It makes me nervous to say that. Lori, a commenter on one of the earlier posts, had absolutely nooo qualms about saying so. I am much more afraid of offending someone. But hey, people who disagree have no issue with offending me, so here we go.
I am stronger, because it isn’t just me.
I’m not strong enough to control my hormones, my feelings, my emotions. I cry at commercials, when the kids say something sweet, songs on the radio (and lately, Adventures in Odyssey). I can’t help it. It’s who I am.
Sometimes, when I’m upset, I take it out on other things, or people. I can’t compartmentalize. If I am upset at home, I take it with me to the store. When someone would make me mad at work, I’d take it home with me.
I am soft. I’m a 2013 Pollyanna. I believe the best, and am always surprised by the worst. I always think people have good intentions, even when they don’t. I know that there’s evil in the world, and in other people, but I am always shocked at it. I get hurt easily.
And that’s just my character, my sensibilities. There’s also me as a physical person.
I can’t even get the lid off a jar of pickles.
And yet, I am so strong.
You see, to get to me, or for me to fail, something first has to be allowed by God. Nothing touches me that is not allowed by Him first, and for my ultimate good. Then, when trials and tribulations do come, I give them to my husband. He holds me up. Any issue with the children, finances, family, health, you name it. He shelters me from what he can, and supports me through what I have to do. He makes decisions for me, knowing I have a hard time saying no to people, or that I think too much, or worry about what people might say. As a matter of fact, he reads all my writing first, to make sure that I don’t make myself too vulnerable with people who might hurt me. He also protects the public from the stuff I say that might be too harsh, or come off the wrong way. Mostly, he protects me from myself.
This is how I know I’m strong: I know I’m weak. Yes, I’m strong enough to endure over 50 hours of hard labour with no interventions. But I can’t get over a friend that stopped talking to me without a reason why.
I know that I don’t always get it right. I know that I screw up.
And that’s okay.
I am completely free to be me.
A complete mess, yet prized. Sheltered, protected, and because of that I can love without holding back. I can cry, because my emotions and feelings are so important to the warmth in our home.
I am woman, see me SOAR.
Floating on the wings of eagles, protected by the Father. Covered by my husband.
There is so much strength in ultimate freedom.