“Submission is not about authority and it is not obedience; it is all about relationships of love and respect.”
― William Paul Young
First of all, what a good time to be alive. Am I right?
Secondly, I’m getting more and more disturbed by the essence of being a woman losing its softness in this confusing age of feminism. And I said that on purpose because I’m thinking of the cushiest pillows but I also mean gentleness which IN NO WAY means weakness. I mean, have you seen how pillows bounce back after a punch? Not the best analogy. I get that. But I hope you get where I’m going with this.
Look, I’m all about women not being overlooked, undermined or being taken advantage of. I’m all for boys being raised to become men who don’t cat-call or force women to have sex with them or even degrade a woman verbally because she refuses to have sex with you, talk to you, go out on a date with you… You get the drift.
We’re living in the golden age of woman taking her place as God designed her to and that’s beside Him and beside a man. Not simply as wife or husband because not all may go that path, but united, like swords in God’s hand.
Because the way God made male and female is to fit into each other to become one whole (think of a puzzle piece or a phone and charger etc)
We’re incomplete without the other and that’s not (just) because of perpetuating the human race. It’s Divine design. Male can’t be fully male without female and female can’t be fully female without male.
Before you throw stones at me (I can take a punch) pause and think about that.
Collaboration is what God had in mind making man and woman, not competition. But we get this twisted in the feminist narrative of our times. And history and some pretty bad decisions are partly to blame.
In the past (but let’s focus on the 20’s-50’s) it was said and advertised that a woman’s place is in the kitchen and in the bedroom to make babies and if you’re one of the lucky ones, to have as a companion. It was the beginning of objectification and putting woman confined in a place that always felt chosen for her.
So I get it. Submission and defining the roles of a woman have been hot topics to the touch. A lot of us have first to third degree burns on this depending on how we experienced it in our relationships or from what we observed in our families.
And this makes marriage dicey.
Do I cook and clean? Do I serve him food? Doesn’t he have two hands and two legs to get up and fix himself a plate? Oh my God ! Does he also expect me to wash AND iron his clothes for him? What if he’s one of the guys who expects me to shine his shoes? Oh Lord !
Like I said, it’s dicey.
Speaking of which, I just had a flashback of someone I went to Uni with whose girlfriend used to shine his shoes for him before class. I was stupefied guys! Come to think of it, she may have also fixed him the breakfast that was on the table that day too.
I always wondered if she was happy though – in their relationship. Not because of the shoe shinning or fixing brekkie, but because she always seemed sad and I never had the courage to ask so I hoped she could read my eyes that were screaming, “Honey, if you’re unhappy, drop the Kiwi and leave the kettle boiling and go getchu an education not a PhD in pretend wifeying.”
You see I can say that because they never got around to getting hitched after Uni. They probably even broke up before graduation.
I’m going off-course here but the point of this post was about fixing your man a plate. This isn’t just during the scenario where you’ve cooked. It’s also when you’re at a cook-out or a potluck elsewhere.
Now I don’t know where you’re coming from regarding this. Perhaps it’s a non-issue to you in that you find joy in doing it. Perhaps you also see it as necessary but your intentions are different from mine which is to say you feel like you have to. Ah! No eye-roll worthy words have ever been spoken.
So I guess this is for the ones who were raised by independent mamas, some single, some married to their father’s who didn’t see the point of it.
I can remember countable times when my mum fixed my dad’s plate. It was so as to serve him his favourite bits when we had company or at a party if he was caught up in conversation. Most of all, I was the one taking said plate to him a few times. Then again… Perhaps she’s always fixed him a plate but I was kidding around to notice so the jury’s not out on this.
Whatever the case, I grew up with this being a suggestion that warranted a yes or no depending on how my day was with my brother as my practice subject.
In marriage, I took the same “some days I will, some days I may not” mindset with me and my husband hasn’t thrown a fit. He also fixes me a plate sometimes when he cooks and boy do I love it! So it’s not a tradition or anything.
Then last month, I got an epiphany that informed a bigger why for the heart behind the act.
“When a black man went out into the world, they treated him like he wasn’t a man. So the least I could do when (husband’s name) came home was fix him a plate. Make him feel like he was somebody. Let him know that somebody loved him even if the world didn’t.”
How many times do our men come home after rough days at work being overlooked even after doing their best work?
How many times have they been served tart words by strangers and acquaintances as they go through life?
How many times have they struggled to wear a smile on their faces after a long day at work or meetings that have led to disappointment?
How many times have they had to get up and dream again and watch things die and come back home needing some semblance of life, hope and encouragement that they’re doing great and it’s only a matter of time before the world notices?
It’s not just a plate but a king’s meal. It’s showing him that he’s got this. He’s king of the castle and love of your life and that he matters.
And I’m doing this with more resolve. Especially since that piece of insight was lost to me till that episode of Blackish.
That’s all I had on that so I guess all that’s left to ask is do you fix your man a plate? Will you start?
I sure hope you do now.