Jesonian: Mothering Women … May 11, 2014

Jonathots Daily Blog

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The conservatives insist that they honor women by extoling the difficulty of being a housewife and a mother.

The liberals scoff at these limitations, claiming to offer choice and equality while promoting young artists who refer to their sisters as “chicks, hoes and bitches.”

We are in a perpetual cycle–which ends up being vicious, may I add–because it offers women sympathy and mothers them without ever pursuing parity.

Oprah Winfrey, who would certainly claim to be a twenty-first-century feminist, still giggles along with comedian Steve Harvey, as he segregates the sexes by their cultural predilections, maintaining that it is some sort of God-ordained division.

Meanwhile, we’re in search of humanity, since masculine and feminine restrictions are driving us off the road and into the ditch. We really don’t have to look far.

Jesus came along to set people free so they wouldn’t have to be victims. He did the same thing for the ladies.

1. Even though he lived in a male-dominated society which had created a system of divorce in which a man could abandon his partner over any whim that might cross his mind, Jesus insisted that women were not emotional ditzes, and that the only reason for breaking a marriage apart was adultery, committed by either party.

2. Jesus made it clear that there was no need to have two different gospels–one pink and one blue–but trudged through all the areas near his home with men, women and children listening to the same teachings and commandments.

3. Jesus also made it clear that women’s money was good. Matter of fact, Mary Magdalene, Susannah and Joanna, three of his more affluent followers, were listed as underwriters of his traveling outreach; no men were ever given credit for donating funds.

4. Jesus wouldn’t let women play the victim. Whether it was the woman of Samaria, who wanted to produce a little deceit about her marital status, or the woman caught in adultery, who was forgiven by Jesus but also told to “go and sin no more,” Jesus made it clear that the true path to equality is to shoulder responsibility.

5. Jesus believed that women could “carry the baggage.” It was Mary Magdalene who announced his resurrection. The Book of Acts is filled with women who befriended nomadic disciples and opened their hearths and homes to the message of the Nazarene. If you remove the women from the early church, you have a lot of sermons, but no follow-up for the converts.

Jesus never mothered women, making them feel less.

He would not permit a condescending tone in their direction.

He challenged them to achieve humanity.

As long as women are talking about glass ceilings, unfair pay, mistreatment in the workplace, and even sexual harassment, they will continue to place themselves in the back seat of the vehicle of commerce.

Jesus only made one mistake when it came to women: he ended up betrayed because he picked Judas instead of Judith.

It isn’t that women aren’t treacherous–it’s just that the Jewish Council didn’t allow females into their meetings … even if they were plotting murder.

 

 

 

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Egging Me On… March 30, 2013

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I was eleven years of age, living in a household where my four-and-a-half-year-old younger brother was sucking all the life, appreciation, attention and love from the room, as I wandered about like some sort of unexplained pudgy blob, bumping into furniture and constantly being reminded by my meticulous mother that my hands were filthy. Meanwhile, my younger brother smelled like a diaper pail and had dried oatmeal on his face leftover from two days previously, and he was adorable. Go figure.

It was Easter time and I knew that my mother and father were probably going to purchase me an Easter basket, along with the one they would select for the divine child of promise. So I stepped in early on and told them that I was too old for plastic grass and funny stuffed animals, and that I would prefer to have two dozen chocolate–marshmallow eggs. I loved them. Of course, what’s not to love? But I seriously had an abiding, deep, everlasting affection for these treats.

To my great surprise, on Easter morning, my little brother received his Easter basket, which more resembled the Horn of Plenty, and I got a box with two dozen chocolate-marshmallow eggs, carefully placed in the slots, looking not only well-organized, but ready for consumption. I immediately was informed, though, that I was allowed to have three of these wonder units right now, and that the box would be kept in the bottom of my dad’s closet, so that I wouldn’t overeat on the sweets. I would have to ask permission to have one.

I’m sorry–this was unacceptable.

I knew better than to argue with them, so instead, fell back on my preferred profile–plotting. I came up with an ingenious plan. For you see, in our little town was an establishment called Hills Drug Store (that was back in the time before places like that went to college and became pharmacies). Mr. Hill was what my parents referred to as a “goof.” He was so nice that people thought he might be crazy. I think parents in this day and age might actually be suspicious of him, fearing he might be a pedophile because of his gentleness toward children.

Mr. Hill had a practice of buying a ton of Easter candy, which no one in town ever purchased, because they were partial to driving over to the big city of Westerville to procure their holiday treats. So every year, the day after Easter, he would take this abundance of confections and put them on sale–huge mark-downs. So I knew that I would be able to acquire many of these chocolate-marshmallow eggs, which I could use as a means of re-stocking the box in my dad’s closet as I diminished the number of little ovals by overeating them. That way my parents would never know how many I was absorbing, and I could stuff my face with chocolate-marshmallow and still once a day, ask them for my portion, without fear.

It was brilliant.

And fortunately for me, that year Mr. Hill outdid himself, offering a box of twelve chocolate-marshmallow eggs for a dime.

Now you must realize, I had only two sources of income. The first one was a chair in our home, where my dad would sit at night, and if he was wearing his loose-fitting corduroys, the change in his pocket would fall out and go into the cushions, and I could come back later and procure treasure. My second source of money was to go down to the local telephone booth near the library and to cross my toes and stick my finger in the change return slot, hoping that someone had forgotten to retrieve their returning money. Also, occasionally near the phone booth, an absent-minded grown-up might just drop the dime they had retrieved on the ground while attempting to put it into a pocket. It was a chancy thing, but about one time out of every five, I was able to acquire the magical coin. Between those two sources, I was funded for this particular project.

It worked beautifully for the first week. I ate so many chocolate-marshmallow eggs that I nearly became sick of them. (I said NEARLY.) I then replenished them with the eggs I bought at Hill’s Drug Store, and my parents were never the wiser.

One day I came home, a bit perturbed because Mr. Hill had just informed me that the last of the chocolate-marshmallow eggs had been purchased by Mrs. Smithers, who for some reason or another thought the kids at the orphanage might “enjoy them.” I was already a little depressed from this slight when I slipped to the closet and discovered that the box was gone. Yes–the entire box.

I panicked. I broke out in a sweat. I was addicted and the only thing I viewed in my future was withdrawal.

I pulled myself together and went out to ask my mother what happened to the box of chocolate-marshmallow eggs. She explained that she had discovered it that morning, saw that it was full, and figured that I had just stopped liking chocolate-marshmallow eggs, so she gave them away to little Jimmy, the boy next door, who had just broken his leg tripping over his cat while taking out the trash.

I was horrified. I wanted to rebuke her for such nonsense, but then I would have to reveal the details of my devious plan. I slipped away in silence, sitting in a corner, moping and dreaming of my old friends, who now lived with Jimmy.

What I learned that day was…

Well, I really didn’t learn anything. I just really missed my eggs.

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