It Worked on the Titanic

A couple days ago I found myself "part of" (to the extent that I had spaced out, only coming back to earth when voice tones turned indignant) a conversation concerning the rather classic topic of how guys and girls should interact. Specifically, a girl was saying that guys should quit it with the whole carry-her-groceries, open-her-door nonsense because girls are completely capable of doing it themselves, and it's silly to let guys get all dominant over another area of girls' lives.

I beg to differ.

I didn't say anything at the time because I didn't feel like arguing, but I was mulling over the conversation in the shower this morning (in lieu of singing) and decided to throw my two cents out into cyber world, even if no one really cares.

But first, by way of showing I understand where the aforementioned opinion was coming from, I want to say that I would be one of the first to direct domineering men and complacent women to articles like the one by Russel Moore, "Women, Stop Submitting to Men." Also, it's not happenstance that one of my favorite attributes of the woman described in Proverbs 31 is that "She dresses herself with strength and makes her arms strong" (v. 17). Or again, one of the (relatively few) underlined verses in my Bible is Psalm 144:12, where the ideal daughter is compared to a "corner pillar cut for the structure of a palace."

Women are supposed to be strong. We are corner pillars—the ones that bear the brunt of the weight—not wispy willows or dandelion fluff. We are also supposed to be capable. Yes we change diapers, but we also change tires. Yes we shoot pictures for the family scrapbook, but we also shoot guns. We pick flowers, but we can also pick fights. We are strong and we are equal to men.

However, we are not men: we are different—yeah, I know, duh. But some of those differences are subtle, easily lost. When we discount a guy carrying our groceries, and do it ourselves because we are capable, we lose one of those subtle, barely tangible differences that have been mysteriously (Eph. 5:23) set between men and women. Granted, sometimes men do act "chivalrously" out of dominance or legalism or because "dad said I should under penalty of death." When they do, that is not fun, and it will make me, admittedly, feel spiteful. For example, once Isaac noticed that the 5-gallon pail that holds the compost was completely full and very heavy on my day to make the trek down to the woods to empty it. He said, "Mattea, I don't know if you should carry that so you had better let me." Whether he meant to or not, I picked up a little tone of superiority, of a challenge, in his voice. What did I do? Grabbed that pail and, using only one arm, proudly, defiantly lugged that baby down to the woods and dumped it myself.

The latter is a good example of both masculinity and femininity going awry. That morning, we both made of mess of it. But when the reason for chivalry stems from the heart—when you carry my groceries because some unexplainable truth that rules the universe says you should—then it is beautiful. I wouldn't trade that beauty, that mystery, for any ego-high I could get by carrying two gallons of milk, or 5 gallons of compost myself. Yes I can carry it myself, but I don't have to. And let's see, to carry or not carry? That's the question. Uh...duh...how 'bout not to carry? Then I have my arms free to guard myself against the cold or turn a cartwheel or wave to someone...or to just enjoy having free arms.

Besides, it's not about dominance or capability; it's about humility. In a culture where men still pay women 30% less than men and treat women like toys, it takes humility for a man to treat a woman with respect, since America says not to (and if a guy is carrying your groceries out of dominance, and not humility, girl, ditch that guy). I don't know about any other girls, but I like being respected. It could be just my personality, but when it comes right down to it I enjoy it when Andrew closes my car door, dad drops me off at the entrance, Isaac carries the heavy suitcase or gives me a foot rub (a very difficult task since if the pressure isn't perfect I start kicking and screaming from the tickle sensation). I like it when any of my guy friends pour me a glass of water when my hands are full or walk me to my car when it's dark. I also like that they all find the right balance. They don't go crazy doing stuff for me. They let me be capable, strong, give me my independence. But it's the little, random things they do here and there that I love, and don't want them to stop doing, as long as they aren't doing it out of legalistic habit or dominance. I don't think they are. Instead, whether they realize it or not, it's this subconscious grace being worked out in their lives, a grace that let's men be men and women be women. Carrying my groceries out of respect for me is a shred of beauty and decency in a dark world, and the day you stop will be a sad day indeed.