He laid it down on crucifixion day, so that you’d look good on judgment day.
I read this Thursday evening, and it completely met me where I was at and so graciously led me to the cross. I was not expecting to identify much with this chapter currently, seeing as it's titled "Child Rearing - Part 2," but it blew me away how precisely it addressed my heart and softened it to the precious treasure of my Savior's sacrifice in how "He laid [his life] down on crucifixion day, so that [I'd] look good on judgment day."
Below is the excerpt from Womanly Dominion:
Every morning, she faced dirty diapers, runny noses, food messes, temper tantrums, discipline problems, clothing piles, and kitchen clutter. Another son was born. Claustrophobic with cabin fever and boredom doldrums, she sighed, “Any twelve-year-old could wash these dishes, wipe these fannies, mop that floor, and pour these Cheerios onto this high chair tray.”
Her mind often drifted back to her high school and college years. “Back then, I was the center of my world. I decided what I wanted to do formyself. My decisions were based on what would please and broaden me. People applauded me on the stage, commended me for my well-delivered speeches, and discussed with me my future goals and aspirations in life. I enjoyed expressing my creativity in the classroom, discussing profound literary themes with my students, and checking offmy responsibilities on each day’s challenging to-do list.
“But it’s not about me anymore. Now, I watch my husband every morning escape out into the wild blue yonder where he meets exciting people, he goes out for lunch, and he checks off challenging tasks, and he enhances his career and his potential. Then he returns home to this less-than-immaculate house and is puzzled about what I did all day, why dinner’s not ready yet, and why I don’t make a fuss about his return.
“Though I’ve given up everything for my husband and my children, I get no applause or atta-boys. I’ve lost center-stage preeminence and become a back-stage nobody.”
Her years in the feminism-infested current had given her glamorous dreams of personal glory. And now those dreams were dashed. Diana was downcast and heavy. She felt trapped. This was her lot for the rest of her life. She was grieving the death of her youthful dreams.
“I basically spiraled down into deep depression. I resented my husband’s success and my children’s thanklessness. I questioned if all of this self-denial was really necessary. It just seemed as if it was asking too much of me.
“Theoretically and theologically, I held to the biblical role of selfless wifehood and motherhood. But internally and emotionally there was deep-seated resistance in my heart. Feminism was like fluoride in the water of my youth, and now I was feeling its poison in my soul. Why must I give up my life to make my husband and his children look good? What about my aspirations, my abilities, my yearnings for influence and significance? What am I, chopped liver? Have I become my husband’s medieval slave? I want to be somebody. I want to be recognized. I want to be applauded too.”
Years later, Diana, who now has five children, admits, “I was in mild rebellion against God. And I stayed there for a while, until I saw those wants for what they really are – the display of my idolatrous, selfish, sinful pride. It was only when I took those deep personal longings and put them on the altar of consecration to God that I began to make spiritual headway.”
Meditations on her Savior burned away her rebellion and brought peace to her soul. In the garden of Gethsemane, the Lord Jesus looked into the appalling cup of self-sacrifice that His Father had poured for Him. He staggered at the thought of drinking it down to its last painful dregs. Instead of resentfully protesting, “What am I , chopped liver?” He submitted saying, “Father, if Thou art willing, remove this cup from Me; yet not My will, but Thine be done” (Luke 22:42).
It’s my understanding that every biblically committed wife and mother must pass through a personal Gethsemane of sorts, needing to come to grips with the cup her Father has poured for her.
Think, dear sister, how the Lord Jesus selflessly served you. He laid it down on crucifixion day, so that you’d look good on judgment day. He was spat upon, beaten, scourged, mocked, stripped, spiked, hung, and forsaken. Then He breathed His last so that you wouldn’t forever weep, wail, and gnash your teeth in hell. He was born, lived, and died with the sole object that you would look good forever. Could it be that this wifehood and motherhood thing is calling you to higher ground, conforming you more to His glorious image?
Below is the excerpt from Womanly Dominion:
Every morning, she faced dirty diapers, runny noses, food messes, temper tantrums, discipline problems, clothing piles, and kitchen clutter. Another son was born. Claustrophobic with cabin fever and boredom doldrums, she sighed, “Any twelve-year-old could wash these dishes, wipe these fannies, mop that floor, and pour these Cheerios onto this high chair tray.”
Her mind often drifted back to her high school and college years. “Back then, I was the center of my world. I decided what I wanted to do formyself. My decisions were based on what would please and broaden me. People applauded me on the stage, commended me for my well-delivered speeches, and discussed with me my future goals and aspirations in life. I enjoyed expressing my creativity in the classroom, discussing profound literary themes with my students, and checking offmy responsibilities on each day’s challenging to-do list.
“But it’s not about me anymore. Now, I watch my husband every morning escape out into the wild blue yonder where he meets exciting people, he goes out for lunch, and he checks off challenging tasks, and he enhances his career and his potential. Then he returns home to this less-than-immaculate house and is puzzled about what I did all day, why dinner’s not ready yet, and why I don’t make a fuss about his return.
“Though I’ve given up everything for my husband and my children, I get no applause or atta-boys. I’ve lost center-stage preeminence and become a back-stage nobody.”
Her years in the feminism-infested current had given her glamorous dreams of personal glory. And now those dreams were dashed. Diana was downcast and heavy. She felt trapped. This was her lot for the rest of her life. She was grieving the death of her youthful dreams.
“I basically spiraled down into deep depression. I resented my husband’s success and my children’s thanklessness. I questioned if all of this self-denial was really necessary. It just seemed as if it was asking too much of me.
“Theoretically and theologically, I held to the biblical role of selfless wifehood and motherhood. But internally and emotionally there was deep-seated resistance in my heart. Feminism was like fluoride in the water of my youth, and now I was feeling its poison in my soul. Why must I give up my life to make my husband and his children look good? What about my aspirations, my abilities, my yearnings for influence and significance? What am I, chopped liver? Have I become my husband’s medieval slave? I want to be somebody. I want to be recognized. I want to be applauded too.”
Years later, Diana, who now has five children, admits, “I was in mild rebellion against God. And I stayed there for a while, until I saw those wants for what they really are – the display of my idolatrous, selfish, sinful pride. It was only when I took those deep personal longings and put them on the altar of consecration to God that I began to make spiritual headway.”
Meditations on her Savior burned away her rebellion and brought peace to her soul. In the garden of Gethsemane, the Lord Jesus looked into the appalling cup of self-sacrifice that His Father had poured for Him. He staggered at the thought of drinking it down to its last painful dregs. Instead of resentfully protesting, “What am I , chopped liver?” He submitted saying, “Father, if Thou art willing, remove this cup from Me; yet not My will, but Thine be done” (Luke 22:42).
It’s my understanding that every biblically committed wife and mother must pass through a personal Gethsemane of sorts, needing to come to grips with the cup her Father has poured for her.
Think, dear sister, how the Lord Jesus selflessly served you. He laid it down on crucifixion day, so that you’d look good on judgment day. He was spat upon, beaten, scourged, mocked, stripped, spiked, hung, and forsaken. Then He breathed His last so that you wouldn’t forever weep, wail, and gnash your teeth in hell. He was born, lived, and died with the sole object that you would look good forever. Could it be that this wifehood and motherhood thing is calling you to higher ground, conforming you more to His glorious image?
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