I am in my 30’s…and I still
have an overwhelming fear of calling an older person by their first name. No
number of degrees, education or experience can make me forget the how with
extreme prejudice my parents whooped my butt for this #ItWasEPIC. It was just once. It is never happening again. Trust. I believe
in my heart, even to this very day, that if I were to call an older person by
their first name, the heavenly army would come down from on high and strike me
with the all consuming power of Jesus…The Christ.
My Mommie once tried to
tell me how a particular medication worked post Physiological Sciences degree
that she looks at everyday because I had to send it to her – or never come home
again. And you know how I feel about sweet potato pie. She was completely wrong
– about the medication. But she was right. And I told her she was right. And
then I said, Yes Ma’am…I’ll take this ‘tussin for my migraine.
I’ve had supervisors who I
believed to be crazy as dingbats. And they were. Crazy. As Dingbats. I showed up
for work every single day. I even stayed late to get the job done. With no hope
of overtime. I did everything I was told to do – often without protest.
Let ole Dudley Do-Right (as Daddie calls him) pull me over because I
forgot to pay attention to the speedometer. You better believe after I pray,
beg, and cry some REAL tears, the cruise control will be set. Ain’t nobody got
time for any more speeding tickets or points on their license.
My grandmother would not
let us wear pants to Church. Not even to Vacation Bible School! Do you know how
many outfits we went through that week?! I am still afraid to wear pants to
service. There was this one time, in Atlanta, I forgot my church clothes in my
haste to pack. Every single picture I took in the House of the Lord was from
the waist up. #TakeAFullLengthPictureOrItDidntHappen #YouAintGotMeOnTapeWearingPantsToChurch
What does all this mean?
Glad you asked.
A Facebook friend posted
the following:
So I've come to the conclusion that I want a woman who is ok
with and understands what it means to be "Submissive" as it relates
to our relationship/marriage. Am I passed that time? And will I most likely
never have a successful relationship due to wanting this in a woman? Thinking
out loud today...
Then I went to Church and
we studied the following:
17 Obey them that have the rule over you, and submit yourselves:
for they watch for your souls, as they that must give account, that they may do
it with joy, and not with grief: for that is unprofitable for you. #Hebrews13
And it made complete sense.
And then I started writing out loud in Church. And kind of missed parts of the
message writing this one. #MyBadJesus #ADHD
The response to his thinking out loud provokes the question, How does one develop that understanding of what means to be submissive? How did I come to understand it? To know it? To believe it? To be it without thinking? I am no anomaly by any means, but it’s not like I am the standard either. Right?
Well, the answer is,
submission is not a one way street. We tend to think that it requires one
person (most generally the woman) to just do. And that be it.
And to some extent that’s true. I just have to listen without knowing the why,
or doing just because it’s said – sometimes without an explanation. I have to obey them that have rule over me, so my Uncle can take the keys to my car, and without protest I
will “sat down” somewhere. Without anger or frustration. Just not
always knowing that he’s doing it for my good.
My uncle, just like my parents watch my soul because they must give account and the more I resist, the more unprofitable this life becomes for me.
What is missing then, in the contemporary definition of submission?
Responsibility. For me to be in submission to everything you are, you must be
responsible to God for your leadership. The question then becomes, as another
friend so eloquently responded, what type of leadership are you offering?
I cannot answer that for
you. But I can tell you the central part of it – humility. Having the humility
to admit when you are wrong. And here is what that looks like:
My friend AWB, the inspiration for the Disney Post #myapologies, and I were eating at her home. The man who gave her the “B” in
her name took her Izze. When she attempted to
reclaim her drink, he emphatically stated that it was his, and she COULD drink
the other flavor IF she wanted. She looked to me for support, as I witnessed
her bringing the drink into the house. However, because AW was having a
conversation with Mr. B, I CC’d my way out of it. She only engaged in the
discussion for a short while. She did not argue her being right, which she was,
to the end. She conceded and continued eating.
Later that evening, Mr. B emerged from the bedroom to admit that
he was “mistaken” and that the drink did not belong to him. At the very moment
she could have “Sherman’d” him, she accepted his #KindaSorta apology and went about her business.
That’s submission. And at
least for me, that is what has been missing in my various failed attempts at a couple of
forevers. Not to say that I always get the submission part right #I’llHaveToGiveMyAccounting4ThatToo, but on
the whole, if you’re the boss, you got it. I am many things, coachable and
obedient are on the list. But what happens when you are wrong? Do you admit it
with a humble heart? In my experience that has not been the case. And though
all those attempts ended because they decided to leave me, the reality is, at
least then, they were not meant for me.
Submission is a lonely
place. It’s a night of no sleep because the ‘tussin hasn’t done anything but
made you feel like an idiot for actually taking it without protest, whilst
attempting to sleep on a couch - on a couch with a clear visual path to your
Physiological Sciences degree #wasteofSalliesMoney. It is a silent place. A padded room with no doors or windows.
Just walls illuminating the truth that haunts you on your journey down the
wrong path. Because all you wanted to do after a long day was drink the Izze
that belonged to you, but somehow didn't belong to you, until someone realized
it belonged to you. And you are amazed that you stayed sane just long enough to
“taste & see” the apple flavored truth. And...you can say nothing. You
cannot do anything. You have to be right and be silent. When you submit, the
truth does not set you free. It is just another hashtag in your lifeline.
 |
| Baby, don't let the Girl Scouts come between us... #samosas |
Sir, you are going to make
some mistakes leading. And, My Good Man, in order for you to give an accounting
of your leadership to the Lord on that day, you will also have to give an
account for all the wrong turns (and Izzes) you took, and those under your charge wrong turning with
you. Because you liked it. And put a ring on it and/or a baby in it.
Want me to submit to you?
No Problem. Just admit to me that you are going to get it wrong sometimes.
I know that is hard.
Believe me, I know. And it is totally okay that you are going to get it wrong
sometimes. No harm. No foul.
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