I believe that in our fight to achieve freedom from the so-called stereotypes placed upon women, we have taken some very basic freedoms from the men we love. The simple truth is when the glass from the ceilings we have broken through settles, someone is going to get cut. Sadly, it doesn't happen to be the male chauvinist boss or the abusive boyfriend. It's often our husbands that have to pick up the pieces.
Here are a few things our husbands have to give up when we stride past them in our high heels and designer clothes and remind them to pick up the dry cleaning:
- The Freedom to Provide. No, I'm not talking about whether you work or whether you make more money than your husband. I just know that a man is wired by his Creator to work by the sweat of his brow to provide for his family. You can call that dominance if you want to. I call it servanthood. You can call the wife of such a man a parasite. I call her blessed. When we show our husbands that we can get along without them thank you very much, their innate purpose for living is what we have shattered. Helping bring income into the family is not the problem and can be quite commendable when the two of you work as a team. However, that is not the same as blatant disregard for a husband's need to provide for his family.
- The Freedom to Protect. The sad part of feminism is that it doesn't allow for much femininity. We have fought to become men and changed the whole dynamic of romance and pursuit. Who hasn't thrilled at one time or another to a story of a handsome prince rushing in at just the right time to snatch his love from the clutches of death or an evil suitor? Fanciful? Yes. Realistic? Well, yes. That is exactly what your husband wants to do for you. Perhaps his black steed looks more like an old clunker; but give him a chance, and he will be there to protect you. Sometimes even from yourself.
- The Freedom to Pamper. I'm a pretty independent type of person. Just ask my parents about the decade of clashes of wills, and they will attest to that fact. I like to know that I can do things for myself. I desire control and pride myself on having my own way. Apart from grace, I would make a staunch feminist. But where is the joy in gathering my own roses? Or the romance in opening my own car door and paying the bill as well? Just how is it oppressive to me to have my husband take my arm and make sure I don't fall on the ice?
When you give him back these basic freedoms, you won't worry about any ceilings. Heaven is a much loftier height to reach.