Captives we, by virtue of age, are double bound, women past our prime.
The culture’s stern rebuke for who we were and are would tamp us down into a smaller box than we could fill.
“Be still”, it cries, “Your voice, now obsolete, archaic, out-of-date is not the thing we want to hear.” And plucking our faded wardrobe, we often see we have been robbed of that fair dignity they give themselves, forget the reason we are here-to give and love- supplying life, and holding lines that saved our captors from themselves. But they, ungrateful, strain for more, not knowing we have paved the way, the roads they travel everyday.
Oh silent grace–to give with patience evermore.
They say a leader is a servant first and foremost. And men and women should be equal. But I say some colossal Divine joke made woman second, and asked her to serve, knowing she’d serve and in so doing, lead the world.
The servant is not greater than her master.