Skip to main content

I am not Eve

image from http://www.firstchristianwpb.org

I am Eve.  The woman.  Responsible for entry of sin into the world.  That is if you take the literal meaning of the Bible and it's accompanying preserved tradition.

Some pastors also continually remind me of this as they deliver their Sunday homily from the ambo.  All examples of short falling expounded on, in great detail are about me – the woman – Eve.  I wonder as I listen to them, if they realise  that there are men in the church too and that they also are not perfect. 

As I listen to such pastors, I wonder if they are speaking from learning – they have had many years of theology and pastoral studies.  Or maybe from observation – because they are not blind, and clearly see both women and men and their behaviour.  Or from experience – all the women they know are sinful, and all the men perfect.  Or personal encounters – they have had really bad encounters with women and don’t like them.  Or if he is perpetrating the age old patriarchal relegation of women through out history – men are superior.

I think on what they were thinking as they prepared their sermon.  I wonder if they listen to themselves as they deliver the sermon.  I wonder what they think as they watch the playback on FaceBook Live.  I wonder if any person they speak to and has heard their sermons, candidly gives them feedback.

In the eyes of these pastors, the shepherds of my spiritual life, I am all Eve – sinful, imperfect and perdition to the rest of the world, the cause of all problems for all.

I am also long suffering, and something else I cannot quite name as demonstrated at an intercessors conference I recently attended.  

There seems to be an allergy related thing – eyes, head, cough, sneeze going around.  Everyone around, including myself is complaining.  A male person I am with determines to go to the onsite clinic – a great courtesy by the organisers.  He is back in twenty minutes, and he advises me to go get myself checked. 

I go down to the clinic over the lunch break.  As I go in, no one talks to me, and I ask a lady sitting there what the process is.  She points to a chair next to her and tells me to wait, she is last in the line.  There is one man being served by the nurse and five ladies before me.  Service is slow, and we have been waiting for a while, as the nurse served a man and then the next lady.  As we wait, a man comes in, and the nurse tells him, I will be with you in a short while, please have a sit, and points him to a seat near her.  I speak up.  I came in before him.  She ignores me.

She finishes with the lady and goes towards the man.  I speak up.  These ladies were here before him and have been waiting.  And I also came in before him.  She comes to me. Whispers.  You know, let me attend to him.  You are all ladies and he is the only man here.  He is uncomfortable.  The men are coming and going.  And then they will say I did not did not attend to them.  Do you understand.  I reply.  I hear what you are saying, but I do not appreciate it. 

Fellow female in the line says you should not say that.  I turn to her.  I ask her – should I lie that I understand it and that I am okay with what is happening.  She has no response.  As another man walks in. 

I am waiting to see if the new “stronger sex” will be able to bear the embarrassment of sitting in line with other sick, or sicker humans to wait his turn with the nurse.  I am sitting here wondering when the sensibilities of sick men, became more important than the sickness of women?  Because no one has even asked about our illnesses – no one.  But the man has come, and he must be attended to at once. 

And I am wondering – what is wrong with all this?  What is it that bugs me here?  One woman is telling me, because I am a woman, I do not deserve to be attended to before a man, I should sit and wait.  And another tells me – I should not speak up about it. 

We have a ways to go.  We truly do.  Especially in the church.  Especially in the church.  To start looking at people as humans, all equal, all created in love, in the image and likeness of God.  All. 

We have a ways to go.  Because I do not think that the Father loves a man more than He loves me, gives a man preferential treatment at my expense, answers a man’s prayer before mine, forgives a man before He forgives me.  I really don’t.  

Look at me and see me as the Father sees me.  I am not Eve.


Comments

Most viewed

What Madam requires

https://www.vectorstock.com I work as a domestic for my Madam.  I look after Madam’s big family and her big house.  I tend to Madams big garden and her big cars.  For Madam – everything must be big.  She herself is big.  She is also big on ambition – both professionally and domestically.  Which is where I come in. Today I had a review with my Madam.  And she reminded me of her expectations and requirements regarding my performance.  Some requirements were new, some she was just recapping.  In my own words and in no particular order let me tell you what my Madam expects.    My Madam requires;  I am all-knowing.  I must know everything that happened during my watch - where the bumps on the children came from and where her yellow, blue and green scarf is.  She wore it yesterday and left it in the laundry basket. I am omnipotent - all powerful, invincible and able to do what is inhumanly impossible.  I should make her 2 year old eat all 6 meals every day, an

Of panty lines and such other

Truth be told, as one woman to another, your panty line cutting across your baytock is not a pleasant sight.   True story.   And no, I am not jealous.   Truly, I really do not care that you have a big bum.   And yes, my backside is minuscule, a peanut of a derriere.   I am not well endowed in my nether regions.   And still I am not jealous. Lets talk about us, the small haunched women.   As the world goes gaga over the well endowed grogan ciandas, we too have drooled [in an appreciation of God’s creation kind of way and not on a sexual orientation manner], coveted those mahagas.   We have each come to the realisations that, “my fundamentals is small ya?”   We have told ourselves that “not all good things come in big packages” and “small is good too”.   And with that admission has come acceptance and soon an appreciation for our pint sized rear    My bottom is small.   And to add injury to insult, it has a bad shape.   It has dents on the side.   And these dents lend gre

Gal, before you get hitched....

Yeee!!   You are getting married.    Marriage is beautiful. You are in for a great ride!!  Exhilarating and thrilling.   Here is what I think you should know...... Marriage is an official arrangement.  That demands some bureaucratic process and hunting for certificates and signatures from various authorities.  Parking your backside on a man’s 4x6 bed and squeezing your underwear next to his in the bag hanging off the mobile wardrobe door is not a marriage. Even if you have four children.  And it does not matter what the constitution says.  Marriage happens when a man publicly stands up and says it has happened.  Until that day, you are just a woman he sexes, a woman who bears his children, but is not good enough to marry.   Before you marry, you know nothing about marriage.  You have watched marriages.  You have read about it.  You have gone for pre-marriage counseling.  You still know nothing about marriage.  You will find out about marriage when you are

I will write on my table

I am a creature of habits and routines.  Some good, some nasty, some neither here nor there – Rouge Deck thing with a crimson pool, that I nearly took a tumble into.  Future wise words to self – wear flats on deck. lukewarm, which I hear is reviled in some quarters.  One thing is, I do not often go into some spaces.  Like the food, fashion and furniture affair at the DusitD2 space – nice, with its with its Rouge Deck thing with a crimson pool, that I nearly took a tumble into.  Future wise words to self – wear flats on deck. Food was good.  The mushroom fritter like bites dipped in a ricotta and something and dip were divine.  I shamelessly munched on them in bunches of three.  I told the bites distributer to via me every 5 minutes.  Very obedient.  I stopped counting at their fourth stop.  Meanwhile, I was informed that the word divine is bougie bougie and to stop using it tout de suite.  I did.  Will never speak it again.  Only write it when I meet the mushrooms again.  Th

One woman too late

I am sitting at the bar, waiting for a friend who told me she was “at the roundabout” an hour ago.  Nothing much is happening.  Two men sitting to my left.  They are eating crisps dipped in avocadoes smashed with tomatoes and chilies.  Talking about internet marketing.  They each have Coronas in front of them.  I do not understand that beer.  On my right, a fifty-something old man, showing the pictures on his phone to his, female “working class” twenty-something year old date.  I wonder about them for a bit. Wonder what kind of pictures.  Nothing else concrete.  Just wondering without actually thinking.  Thoughts that never quite form in the head kind of wondering. Across the room – two white men sitting face to face across a small low table.  One pudgy.  The other sleek.  They take turns to go to the bar to buy themselves one beer at a time.  Strange.  It’s not a self service bar.  Maybe they like chatting to the bartender.  She is a nice looking gal.  With a mohawk and