A Man-Made Box Labeled, ‘Woman'

Meditations on Motherhood as My Boy Leaves the Nest

“What is a woman?” “What is submission?” “Is it unbiblical for women to work?”

Many days most of my Twitter timeline is clogged with debates about gender and patriarchy and the proper role of women in society.

I sometimes engage, but as with most topics, my positions deviate from either side of the tribal binary du jour, and I end up triggering everyone.

My position on women in society is pretty simple:

All women — like all men — should follow the leading of the Father.

I was raised on the Bible. I studied the Bible at one of the most liberal universities in the nation. I read the Bible almost every day.

So when people claim that their position is “biblical,” I’m asking them to cite their sources. And when it comes to traditional western gender roles, they can’t.

Where is the scripture that says the wife shouldn’t work? Better yet, where are the verses saying the husband should spend all his time building a career and providing for the family?

If we’re relying upon the Word, shouldn’t he be an elder at the gate?

“The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he lacks nothing of value. She brings him good and not harm all the days of her life. She selects wool and flax and works with eager hands. She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar. She rises while it is still night to provide food for her household and portions for her maidservants. She appraises a field and buys it; from her earnings she plants a vineyard. She girds herself with strength and shows that her arms are strong. She sees that her gain is good, and her lamp is not extinguished at night. She stretches out her hands to the distaff and grasps the spindle with her fingers. She opens her arms to the poor and reaches out her hands to the needy. When it snows, she has no fear for her household, for they are all clothed in scarlet. She makes coverings for her bed; her clothing is fine linen and purple. Her husband is known at the city gate, where he sits among the elders of the land. She makes linen garments and sells them; she delivers sashes to the merchants. Strength and honor are her clothing, and she can laugh at the days to come. She opens her mouth with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue. She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband praises her as well: “Many daughters have done noble things, but you surpass them all!” Charm is deceptive and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Give her the fruit of her hands, and let her works praise her at the gates.”

Proverbs 31:11-31 BSB

The reality is that many in today’s church have conflated 1950’s nuclear family ideology with God’s Word and design … while arrogantly calling the former “biblical.”

I’m not saying the 1950s nuclear family is wrong. I’m not saying it’s unideal.

I’m saying that just because the guy on stage at the Sunday Concert tells you something, that doesn’t mean it’s in the Bible.

For Simon Peter’s sake, the other day I stumbled into a debate on whether or not women should speak in church.

“Now Deborah, a prophetess, the wife of Lappidoth, was judging Israel at that time. She used to sit under the palm tree of Deborah between Ramah and Bethel in the hill country of Ephraim; and the sons of Israel came up to her for judgment.”

Judges 4:4-5 BSB

Many in today’s church would advocate for stoning Deborah, Israel’s fourth Judge.

Unconventional Doesn’t Mean Wrong

When I was a young mother, not understanding the inestimable value of time, other well-meaning women would tell me, “The days are long, but the years are short.” 

I can’t recall exactly how I reacted to those statements, but I probably rolled my eyes before stepping on a Lego and cursing my condition. I’ve never been very good at taking others' advice. 

My family has always been unconventional. Before we ever had children, my husband and I planned that he would stay home, and I would pursue my career in global business. We made this plan in our early twenties, we both wanted children, and it was important to us that those future children would be raised by a parent in the home. 

My earning potential was higher, I was significantly more passionate about my career, I had never planned on being a homemaker and, for my first 17 years of motherhood, that’s what we did.

I’ve publicly shared how I would make a different choice if I had it to do over again. That doesn’t mean I regret our family plan. Regret is a useless emotion that holds no value, and I am both honored and grateful for the experiences and opportunities this journey afforded me. 

But if I could choose again, I would choose differently.

The Days are Long

While I was building my career, traveling the world and helping my clients solve complex global business challenges, my sons were growing up. In fact, my second son went with me to 13 cities while he was inside my womb. When he was 10 months old, I weaned him early to fly to Vietnam. 

I missed their first steps. I missed their wellness checkups. I heard their “first” words via recording and later learned that it wasn’t their first, but repeated for the camera “for mommy.”

My husband experienced the long days at home with the littles while my days flew by with an over-inflated sense that what I was doing was “important.” 

It wasn’t, but I only know that in hindsight.

In 2014, on a flight home to Denver from Philly, I was in a middle seat in the back of the plane and surrounded by the Wharton Business School’s MBA Class of 2014. They were en route to their annual ski trip in Breckenridge, CO, and celebrating the end of their schooling with an open tab on the bar cart. 

They were loud, and I was trying to ignore them and work. But when five young women started talking about their post graduation plans, my ears perked up. 

One was getting married to a fellow student; another was returning to Australia to fulfill her commitment to the consulting firm that sponsored her MBA; two others had job interviews lined up. 

Then the fifth, objectively the most beautiful and ostensibly the ringleader, shocked me as she confidently announced to her classmates that her immediate post-graduation plans were to have her eggs frozen. 

Her rationale was that her career was just starting, and she didn't know when she'd be able to take time out to have children, so she wanted to harvest her eggs so that she didn't miss her window. 

That's not all. 

She explained that the idea had come from a guest speaker in one of her classes. Wharton had brought in a speaker to inform these young women – so full of potential and promise – of the benefits of egg harvesting in family planning. 

As I was picking up my jaw off the floor, her classmates were agreeing with her and vowing to look into the option as part of their own family planning efforts. 

While I don’t love scientists pretending to be gods and creating humans in test tubes, I am not opposed to in-vitro fertilization. The fact that women have such options available to them is nothing short of miraculous, and a grown woman wanting to freeze her eggs is her choice. From a creation standpoint, I don’t believe a lab created embryo will implant unless ordained by God, so their god complex is just hubris anyway.

I say this to make clear that my shock was not about freezing eggs or family planning. 

My shock was that this beautiful, witty, highly intelligent 23 year old woman believed this was her best option for balancing her aspiration for a meaningful career with her biological desire for children. 

As I write this now, nine years later, I’m reliving the indignation I felt on that plane. 

Women today face different challenges than our mothers and grandmothers. My grandmother joined the factories in World War II. My mother fought for equal pay and protested the status quo by wearing pants to work. My mother-in-law founded a successful interior design business in her twenties, and she ran that business for over ten years while giving birth to and raising five children. 

Our foremothers knew they had a responsibility to us, their future generations, to fight like hell for equal rights for women. Our foremothers were fighting for equality in opportunity. 

Women today are fighting for equality in outcomes – also known as equity or, more accurately, communism. Young women are believing today’s lie that they must choose in the absolute – that they can be a professional or a mother – but not both. At least not until they make partner. 

Like many things in our society, this choice is a false binary and nothing about it serves the woman. It serves the system. Recalling that plane ride makes me sad. And mad. 

When I was 23, I wasn't thinking about freezing my eggs to ensure I didn't miss my birthing window. I was embarking on a rewarding career that served me well for 20 years – and I was pregnant with the first of my three children.

The Years are Short

When I was in my ninth month of pregnancy with my oldest, I would regularly sit in his nursery and pray. The nursery theme was John Lenon’s “Imagine,” with blue sky and green grass separated by a cartoon wallpaper border, and I had been gifted a massive handmade rocker in which I spent many hours during midday snuggles and late night feedings. 

Hand on my swollen belly, I would gently rock back and forth, handing my son to the Lord and asking for two distinct outcomes in his life. The first was that he would be a man after God’s heart. 

“...God testified concerning him: ‘I have found David son of Jesse, a man after my own heart; he will do everything I want him to do.’”

Acts 13:22(b) BSB

Since their conception, I have prayed that my sons would know the Father and pursue Him. 

My second prayer over my boy is that he would be a critical thinker able to navigate the world. 

“See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deception, which are based on human tradition and the spiritual forces of the world rather than on Christ.”

Colossians 2:8 BSB

This, in my opinion, is the primary goal of parenting. I never set out to shelter my sons from the world, but to teach them about it and instill in them the skills it requires.

Like it was yesterday, I remember rocking and praying, feeling the tiny but fully formed child inside me – who rapidly became my now 19 year old, 6’2” young man. 

I blinked, and he was grown. I missed so much.

That boy graduates from high school today. As I prepare to watch his commencement ceremony, I’m a bit emotional. Reflecting on my past 19 years of motherhood, evaluating the boy that taught me to be a mother and the man he has become, I couldn’t be prouder. 

Fiercely competitive and hilarious, he is celebrated among his peers. Over the past month, I’ve tweeted about “senior assassin,” a months-long water gun battle in which the Class of 2023 fought for bragging rights and a seven thousand dollar purse. 

As the contest wound down to ten players, my son and his girlfriend among them, everything became about winning this game. 

At one point, as my husband and I were sitting outside, a hoard of high schoolers descended on our home chasing my oldest into the house and firing off rounds of water in the direction of the front door. They missed and hit his brother. The next day one of them jumped out from behind his car and accidentally shot my husband. That kid then had a significant emotional event, and I doubt he will ever come on our property again. 

When senior assassin ended, my son and his girlfriend emerged among the small handful of victors. He then made the rounds congratulating and encouraging the other players. There was a strong consensus that “going after” my son was “way too fun, ngl.”

More important than being liked or popular, he is respected. A natural born leader, my son was chosen by his peers as the Assistant Captain of his Junior year hockey team – despite never playing with any of the kids on the team prior to tryouts. He led that team to second place in their state division and, in the spring league that immediately followed, they took first. He also lettered in academics. 

Most importantly, he knows the Father. He fights for those who can’t fight for themselves. He is a critical thinker.

He is a man after God’s heart. 

Choosing Differently

Many will say that my story is proof that I should have been in the kitchen making sandwiches rather than traveling the world making deals.

Maybe.

I missed so many of the important moments. I forfeited those moments to chase the temporal and build my own kingdom. And I do love a good sandwich.

At the same time, however, my son had his father present, guiding him, and teaching him to be a man, every day of his life. There is no equal substitute for an engaged father in the home, and that choice has produced fruit beyond what we imagined. 

I said, “If I could do it over again, I would choose differently.”

But that different choice wouldn’t be to jump inside the manmade box labeled, “woman.” It would be to more closely listen to the Spirit and allow Him to guide my steps.

How that would’ve changed the course of my life, I won’t know until I meet Him.

Still, He is good all the time, and regardless of my worldly wanderings, my son is ready to leave the nest, navigate the world, and follow the Father’s path.

In the end, no matter my pangs in hindsight, my prayers for my son, since his conception, are manifested in the man he has become. 

And, in that, I wouldn’t change a thing.