As I've already stated, the qualities associated
with the feminine spirit are available to one and all regardless
of gender. But they most naturally and abundantly reside within
the heart of woman. Something has called me to cherish many of the
same traits women are known for, but as a man, I can never truly
understand the mystery, beauty, and magic of womanhood. I can stand
aside and marvel, or I can choose to follow the unfortunate suit
of many who have gone before me and attempt to discount or devalue
things that challenge me. Far too often, in practice, I have followed
the norm and shared attitudes and actions that fail to show women
the respect so richly deserved. Though many things have contributed
to my reasons for creating this tribute, I must admit to myself
that, at least a small part of my motivation comes from a bit of
guilt over past attitudes. But as I become more and more comfortable
allowing myself to be myself, I find it easier to lay down my insecurities
and to cherish my own love for and understanding of the softer and
gentler side of things. Even so, I can never hope to truly understand
the total beauty of womanhood. So I stand on the outside looking
in, in awe and reverence.
One day while I was walking outside my home I was
taken by the beauty of a rose bush. The simple picture spurred an
epiphany, and in a brief moment, I came perhaps as close as I ever
will to understanding the life of a woman. The plant was hearty,
and alive, and contained every imaginable stage of transformation
a flower can go through. There were newly formed buds sharing branches
with withered brown petals. But reaching out, as if to call me was
one of the most beautiful and perfect flowers I have ever seen.
I moved closer. The variety I had noticed on the plant seemed insignificant
compared to the variety of shapes and colors within this one solitary
blossom. The closer I looked, the more I discovered. Often in such
moments of reverie, my mind is visited by an apropos melody ringing
from the recesses of my memory. The lyrics to the song on this occasion
seemed to answer a question I had yet to ask... singing " 'cause
the soul of nobody knows, how a flower grows." As the thought
echoed through my brain my heart was becoming aware that, beneath
the tangible beauty of these perfectly arranged petals lies something
far, far greater. I was left in awe when I considered the quiet
force that caused the flower to grow. It was then, against a veil
of mystery that I could plainly see a parallel between the life
of the flower and the story of womanhood. Burning at the essence
of the flower was a quiet fire, the flame of life itself. No matter
how long I stood in awe of the beauty of the planet, I'd never be
able to see the source of its life. As I moved my gaze from the
beautiful bloom I could see that it was connected to the branch
with the tiniest of stems. Again, an invisible power held the bloom
steadily, for the stem itself was frail. Once again, I saw the heart
of woman. Following the stem back to the branches downward until
I reached the base of the plant that disappeared into the dark ground
I saw the promise of life that had been held in a solitary bulb.
Resting in darkness, it longed for the light. Not to be denied,
life reached the surface and broke the bondage of dirt and rock,
seeking the sunlight and the journey ahead. Soon, upon its emergence,
the tiny plant begins to balance union with and opposition to the
forces of the world we see before us. The tiny twig sprouts leaves,
then tiny buds; the beginnings of the flowering that lies ahead.
In this adolescent bud, another promise, the promise of her potential
growth. The bud matures and finds in perfect time that life can
no longer be contained. The bud opens and the flower emerges. She
is beauty and life revealed before our eyes. How wonderful it is
when this natural process is allowed to flourish unimpeded, unhampered,
naturally, according to God's divine order. But it seems that woman
more often falls victim to a plight short of the complete and beautiful
flowering we see in the undaunted rose. Our world delights in using
beauty for its own greedy desires and is quick to label delicate
things as inferior. Too often, a young lady is cut from the vine
before she has the chance to grow and mature. This is done in a
variety of ways. Perhaps her fate parallels that of the women of
past civilizations and she is sold into bondage by cultures that
view women as maidservants or men's property. Perhaps she is under
the influence of the traditions of other antiquated social orders
and is pushed, often unwittingly, into predetermined roles. And
far too often, she is manipulated by men who prey off her inborn
desire for companionship, thereby transforming her positive traits
of submission, devotion, sensitivity, and service from gifts into
prisons. Regardless of how the unfulfilled promise is ripped from
the vine, the result is tragic. And oh, how easy it is for the short-of-sight
to discount what they cannot see. For these unfortunate beings,
a promise unfulfilled is no loss at all. Often we are scolded for
not stopping to smell the roses - but how much more pitiful it is
to not even know of their existence.
Almost as tragic as the bud, clipped before its time, is the flower
that is left on the vine to grow in solitude, reaching its peak
only to be ignored or forgotten. Over the ages, so many doors have
been closed to women. It's impossible to calculate the loss this
has created. Is it just a dream to think of a time when the rose
garden of womankind will see each and every plant and each and every
bud grow freely, flowering fully in its own right time? Then, when
the blossom reaches maturity, may it be gently taken from the vine
and pressed in the pages of history, preserved forever in the beauty
of justice.
