The following article was written nearly a year ago, during one of those seasons where I felt like I was accomplishing little of value… I recently dug it from the archives, dusted it off, and decided to share it here.
In recent months, I have consumed various stories of people who did great things for God. I have sprawled on cushions and read while I waited for my toddlers to go to sleep: Hudson Taylor’s Spiritual Secret; Eternity in their Hearts; Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus… In the gray light of a dusky nursery, with restless little ones in their cribs, I envisioned people operating in landscapes of colorful heathen cultures and bustling universities, and considered those who claimed miracles and felt the full power of the Holy Spirit. I wished that it could be me.
I wanted to grasp the Holy Spirit’s full power, however and whatever that looks like. I wanted to perform miracles, or prophesy in front of many people, or speak in tongues as I prayed. I wanted to feel something besides the need to get out of bed and make my children breakfast and change diapers. Motherhood and the darkened nursery began to feel like bonds, holding me back from truly experiencing the power of the gospel.
I shared these wrestlings in a blog post:
I know, deep in my heart, (even when I dislike it) that my first calling right now is to love my husband and my children and to keep home.
But how does one follow Christ in that? He never kept home and children. He commanded us to leave our families to follow him. And my children and marriage–they are the best things I have been given. But I cannot just sacrifice them on the altar of service to Jesus–in some strange way, they must be my service to Jesus. And yet do not even the publicans take care of their own children? How is that discipleship?
How do I let tomorrow take thought for its own things when I am responsible to make sure the laundry is done, and the groceries are bought so my children and husband have clothes to wear and food to eat? How do I crucify my flesh when I need to rest, and eat regularly, and take my pills so I can have a healthy pregnancy and be well enough to care for my family? How do I go out and make disciples of all nations when most of the time I stay with my children within the boundaries of our home, and some days never even see anyone besides them and my husband?
I lose my way in these thoughts some days–perhaps like many other moms. My mind spins, and I think I am stuck–unable to offer anything to Jesus, because it’s all been taken by my family. I focus on production instead of crucifixion; I think in terms of results instead of realizing that death produces life and that only through God…
I began reading through Acts yet again–perhaps my most read book of the Bible–searching for an answer to the conundrum I feel: where was the resurrecting power of the Holy Spirit in my life? Was there something missing? I never preached sermons in various languages as Peter did or healed someone with a touch… I have never, like Paul, taken the council on the Areopagus, or its modern equivalent, by storm.
That is when I began looking for the women in Acts–where were they? We know that neither male nor female were excluded in any way from the body of Christ–so where were examples of the ones like me? Women, homemakers, mothers, and others? As my gaze shifted off the powerful men in the foreground, I began to see shadowy feminine figures, coming into focus: Lydia, Mary the mother of Jesus, Rhoda the servant girl, a woman named Damaris. Women who, like me, believed in Jesus and His power. Women, who, like me, supported the men who worked in the forefront spreading the gospel message. Turning back to the gospels, I realized that it was most likely not a group of women that Jesus sent out two-by-two to proclaim the kingdom of God, but men. But did those men have wives at home, doing the chores, and caring for families, gladly sacrificing their husbands to the cause of the good news?
I cringed at this–I do not always like it when my husband leaves me at home with the children while he monkeys around on the church roof, or shovels the church walks, or some other church responsibility… But if there is neither male nor female, bond nor free excluded from the gospel’s message, have I been viewing this wrong? Is it possible that the power of the resurrection is no less present with someone serving behind the scenes than with the visible laborer?
How does the presence and the power of the Holy Spirit work in the life of a woman just like me? Here on my couch with my children napping upstairs, and an elderly woman across the street who was raised Catholic but hasn’t practiced much religion since her husband died, I wonder… Is that power closer home than I thought? Will it go with me as my children and I visit our neighbor and chat about this and that this afternoon? Can it give me the strength to get off the couch and care for my children when that is what seems overwhelming? Is it, in fact, within me, prompting me in the things that I say and do, in the words that I write?
I have been looking at the world through human eyes. It is not human power and influence that is great in the kingdom of God–rather, Jesus said, “Let the one among you who would be great become your servant.” The Apostle Paul said that those who were called as slaves should not fret because of their bonds, but remember that those who are bound are still free to serve God, and those who are free are still His servants. Our external boundaries do not determine our worth or influence in the kingdom of God. God has chosen the small and weak things of this world to confound the great.
How could Paul write that there is neither male nor female, but only children of God? He was not denying that we have different roles and different authorities, but that those roles and authorities are not seen the same by God as they are by men. The Holy Spirit is not given in greater measure to the minister of the gospel standing in front of a thousand people, but poured out abundantly on all those who believe in Jesus and walk faithfully where they are called–on the servant girl, the stay-at-home mom, the businessman, and the pastor.
That is why the Apostle Paul could request that the women of the church keep silence in services and learn from their husbands at home, and deny them the right to lead and teach men. In the secular world where I once lived and worked, this was an unpopular view, seemingly demeaning to the capability and humanity of a woman. “Submission… that’s kind of an ugly word,” a friend of mine said, after I explained that I cover my head as a sign of submission to the headship order God has placed over me. And yet, with my explanation given, had I truly grasped myself that being a Christian woman did not mean being less a child of God than the men I was called to submit to? Did I realize that different roles of influence did not mean different amounts of God’s blessing and power in our lives? Unknowingly, I had swallowed much of the culture around me; perhaps that is why I have sometimes felt limited and frustrated in my role as a mother and wife?
God does not see as we see. She who is great in the kingdom of God may be a mom faithfully caring for and teaching her children. She may be an English teacher in Asia, patiently loving her students and teaching them stories of Jesus, and letting them play in her house when she just wants some peace and quiet. She may be, like Rhoda in Acts, a young girl who works in the home of someone older and wealthier, doing what she’s told to do for a small income. She may be praying for and quietly supporting the work of her husband who preaches the gospel to many. The women who followed Jesus to Jerusalem were not numbered among the twelve disciples who were chosen to work on the front-lines in His ministry. Still, with intense desire to be with Him, they followed Him, even to the cross where He hung dying. They saw where He was laid in the tomb, and with grieving feminine hearts, they brought spices to lay on His body.
Jesus did not bypass them when He had risen, to go show Himself to the men. One of them, called Mary Magdalene, a woman looked down on by proper Jewish society, stood weeping outside His tomb, longing in her heart to be near Him. Jesus, with all the power of God fresh about Him, the One Who had conquered bonds, chains, and death itself, came and stood near her as she cried. She did not recognize His nearness immediately, so He spoke her name–the name of a woman. “Mary.”
She was the first person to see His resurrection power. And she answered, “Master.”
Lift up your head, dear woman of God, wherever you languish. He is speaking your name too. Answer Him.
