{This post is part of the Five Minute Friday with Kate Motaung. A community of writers who write for five minutes on the word of choice. Today's word: control.}
Days after the inauguration of the 45th President and
there's still brewing in the air a sense of strife and opposition.
You can't click on the news or scroll a feed without reading messages
that make the skin crawl or hear words spoken aloud that give life to
your otherwise silent voice box in retaliation.
What the worlds like
now and what it will be like in another twenty years who knows only
God.
All I know is that prayer can make more changes than a march of
thousands of women who herald themselves as brave fighters when the
bravest of women are those on their knees crying out for the
sanctity of life and for the souls of those truly oppressed across
borders who have no voice.
And they see our voice.
The voice of
thousands of women wearing vulgar hats, holding up
signs of ill will, nodding their heads and shouting their taunts of
how they need what they need, of how it's not good enough what they have, of
how they want that choice but won't give it to their own creation.
These oppressed women see our free women and wonder where are there
chains? Where are their covered heads? Where are their scarred backs and tied
hands? Where are their controlling religions? Where are their silenced mouths? What suffers plague their flesh?
This march.
Maybe it's all about control.
How we as women may feel like we're losing it when what's really needed is a little bit of self-control.
Freedom is not the absence of control but the embodiment that self control should govern our freedoms.
Great women of long ago were known for
doing great things gracefully.
That's what set women apart.
We could accomplish something great by actually doing nothing at all or very little.
The very beginnings of Women's Suffrage and rights began with a weekly publication that later turned into Susan B. Anthony becoming arrested as she simply casted her vote.
Rosa Parks could sit still on a seat and not budge yet she moved
mountains by her stilled presence alone.
The fear of losing control can draw thousands of women to march, but when women realize that control is really not theirs, that it belongs only to the One who measures the earth in the palm of his hand and who holds the seas and oceans in his grip, who knows every hair on our head and every thought and deed, control is then something we don't crave, but instead we cling to the One on the cross.
We give it up to him and instead gather up all the grace and give thanks.
