A Road Less Travelled

I was reading an article about a coming of age tradition that a family has started for their sons. They have a big feast with fireworks and then the father presents his son with a sword. The sword is usually symbolic of what the father wants his son to become. The son the article was written about had just been reading through Lord of the Rings and so his father gave him a ranger’s sword. He wanted his son to protect the weaklings and keep guard on the boundry, letting no evil in. I read this article and thought, “Wow! That is wicked cool!” and then, being self-centered, proceeded to wonder what the corollary was for daughters. A cookbook? Boy, that just sounds boring. I asked Crystal and she said a hope chest. Again, I thought that sounded boring. But then I stopped dwelling on the coolness of a sword and started asking myself what I would want for my daughter. I would want her to be mother to the whole world. When I have my own home I would love for it to be a place people can come and be cared for and mothered. The world is lacking mothers. It is also lacking fathers, but I can’t very well want my daughter to be a father. The world is begging for mothers. For someone to sit and listen to you and wipe your tears. The world needs women whose doors are open, whose cookies are yummy and whose stews are hot and hearty. It is no shame to be a mother. It is no shame to want this for your daughter and to prepare her for it when she’s young. There is a generation growing up who has little idea of what a family looks like. This generation needs a mother. It needs to be able to walk into a home. Not a place where people happen to live. A warm, loving, home complete with a homemaker. My mother was this kind of mother. We had a stream of people coming through our house at times and she was mother to them all. They would sit around our table and my mother would feed them. Many were shocked that we ate dinner together. Many were surprised at the warmth they felt from us. We were a family and we weren’t yelling at each other. We were together and we actually enjoyed it. I want my daughter to have a home like that. Why do I think that desire is somehow less worthy or noteworthy than wanting a son to protect and defend? Why would I rather be given a sword than a hope chest? You can’t really shop vegetables with a sword. I have to imagine a sword is less than useful in making cookies. If God made me female then He made me to craft a home, not to defend it. He made me to have a hopechest and not a sword.