"I'd like to think that this is chivalry in action, but something tells me...." I said, trailing off as the two men standing before me stopped their horseplay and turned around, chuckling. They agreed that it wasn't exactly chivalry. It was more like a fun power play of asserting their man-power, which really had nothing to do with me at all. I just happened to start the ruckus between the men when I needed a church closet unlocked and they both arrived at the same time with the master key. Anyway, you get the picture.
While I thoroughly enjoyed the playful banter between the Lead Pastor over adult ministries and the Associate Director over junior high ministries, it actually brought to mind a bigger issue that I have grappled with over the last two years of my volunteer services at our church. My service to the church is hospitality in nature. Once or twice monthly I arrive at the church nearly two hours before the contemporary service and with a small group of volunteers, including my faithful son, I slice dozens of donuts, bagels and muffins; prepare five 2 gallon carafes of coffee and an assortment of other beverages. Part of my service is to make a Sam's run for the muffins and bagels, along with the occasional purchase of lemonade, hot chocolate packets or assorted hot teas. Thus, every week that I work, Adam and I carry in the large, and usually awkward, box of assorted goodies. Normally I arrive just as the first service is starting so I park a distance away. Let's just say that by the time I reach the double doors, I'm pretty weighted down. High heels and skirts look cute and all, but not always the most efficient on my work Sundays. To my advantage there are usually 100 or more teen boys milling around the parking lot and near the entrance to the church, if they aren't already milling around inside. A damsel in distress? No problem, right? Think again. Never has anyone offered to help me carry in the food that they will later ingest. Never. I am lucky though, that sometimes there is a greeter or two at the door and they at least open the door for me as I arrive. There is one older white haired gentleman greeter who always whisks the box from my hands if I look weighted down. He carries them to the kitchen for me. But let me be clear. He is the only one.
My next task is finding the two tubs of assorted supplies and taking them to the aforementioned kitchen from the aforementioned closet. The closet is an interesting entity. While it is a decent sized space, it is packed. On more than one occasion I've tripped while in the closet searching for my goods and make a thud as I'm sprawled out across the box of bulletins or coffee urns. And yes, there has always been a man walking by at just that time. Surely, chivalry is alive and well, right? Well, you'd think so but once I stand up and brush myself off and prove that I don't need an ambulance, the man who ever so briefly stopped in front of the open door to see what the ruckus was about, will saunter off without asking if I am OK. Nary a word. Nice.
And the two or three times I've dropped the contents of the box on the way between the closet and the kitchen? I've picked up my spilled contents without help from the dozen or more persons standing around doing nothing more than chatting. (I'm sounding rather like a klutz. I didn't say I was coordinated, just have a servant's heart)
Which brings me to the point of this blog because I do have one. Where is chivalry on a woman's behalf? Forgetting chivalry, where is just the common courtesy from one human toward another? Week after week I find myself aghast that people so blatantly tend to their own needs rather than caring about the needs of others. Philippians 2:4 says "Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others." Over and over I've watched men in particular watch me handle boxes that are awkward, if not heavy--or see me make multiple trips back and forth. Silently watching but never assisting.
Honestly, if this was limited to the teenagers of the world, I'd make more allowances. I shouldn't have to, but sadly, I find myself making excuses for the teenager's lack of manners. But the examples I've listed are not limited to the teenagers. This is a pervasive theme with all the men in these real life case scenarios. Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised that our youth struggles with this issues when their fathers, uncles, grandpas and older brothers aren't being a role model in this area. What is doubly sad is that this bad behavior is in church. Best foot forward. Act bad the the rest of the week but bring your best behavior with you on Sunday morning, right? This is your best? Wow. Eye opening for me--it really is.
In January I quietly went into the junior high worship service and asked if two of the four adult men sitting in the back pews could help me in the kitchen. All four jumped up to my aid. It encouraged my heart. So, when I jested with Paul and Steve about their playful fight over unlocking the door for me being a chivalrous moment, I was only half joking. And now you know why.
While I thoroughly enjoyed the playful banter between the Lead Pastor over adult ministries and the Associate Director over junior high ministries, it actually brought to mind a bigger issue that I have grappled with over the last two years of my volunteer services at our church. My service to the church is hospitality in nature. Once or twice monthly I arrive at the church nearly two hours before the contemporary service and with a small group of volunteers, including my faithful son, I slice dozens of donuts, bagels and muffins; prepare five 2 gallon carafes of coffee and an assortment of other beverages. Part of my service is to make a Sam's run for the muffins and bagels, along with the occasional purchase of lemonade, hot chocolate packets or assorted hot teas. Thus, every week that I work, Adam and I carry in the large, and usually awkward, box of assorted goodies. Normally I arrive just as the first service is starting so I park a distance away. Let's just say that by the time I reach the double doors, I'm pretty weighted down. High heels and skirts look cute and all, but not always the most efficient on my work Sundays. To my advantage there are usually 100 or more teen boys milling around the parking lot and near the entrance to the church, if they aren't already milling around inside. A damsel in distress? No problem, right? Think again. Never has anyone offered to help me carry in the food that they will later ingest. Never. I am lucky though, that sometimes there is a greeter or two at the door and they at least open the door for me as I arrive. There is one older white haired gentleman greeter who always whisks the box from my hands if I look weighted down. He carries them to the kitchen for me. But let me be clear. He is the only one.
My next task is finding the two tubs of assorted supplies and taking them to the aforementioned kitchen from the aforementioned closet. The closet is an interesting entity. While it is a decent sized space, it is packed. On more than one occasion I've tripped while in the closet searching for my goods and make a thud as I'm sprawled out across the box of bulletins or coffee urns. And yes, there has always been a man walking by at just that time. Surely, chivalry is alive and well, right? Well, you'd think so but once I stand up and brush myself off and prove that I don't need an ambulance, the man who ever so briefly stopped in front of the open door to see what the ruckus was about, will saunter off without asking if I am OK. Nary a word. Nice.
And the two or three times I've dropped the contents of the box on the way between the closet and the kitchen? I've picked up my spilled contents without help from the dozen or more persons standing around doing nothing more than chatting. (I'm sounding rather like a klutz. I didn't say I was coordinated, just have a servant's heart)
Which brings me to the point of this blog because I do have one. Where is chivalry on a woman's behalf? Forgetting chivalry, where is just the common courtesy from one human toward another? Week after week I find myself aghast that people so blatantly tend to their own needs rather than caring about the needs of others. Philippians 2:4 says "Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others." Over and over I've watched men in particular watch me handle boxes that are awkward, if not heavy--or see me make multiple trips back and forth. Silently watching but never assisting.
Honestly, if this was limited to the teenagers of the world, I'd make more allowances. I shouldn't have to, but sadly, I find myself making excuses for the teenager's lack of manners. But the examples I've listed are not limited to the teenagers. This is a pervasive theme with all the men in these real life case scenarios. Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised that our youth struggles with this issues when their fathers, uncles, grandpas and older brothers aren't being a role model in this area. What is doubly sad is that this bad behavior is in church. Best foot forward. Act bad the the rest of the week but bring your best behavior with you on Sunday morning, right? This is your best? Wow. Eye opening for me--it really is.
In January I quietly went into the junior high worship service and asked if two of the four adult men sitting in the back pews could help me in the kitchen. All four jumped up to my aid. It encouraged my heart. So, when I jested with Paul and Steve about their playful fight over unlocking the door for me being a chivalrous moment, I was only half joking. And now you know why.
Great job Bonnie. We have to start with our boys at home and make sure when they see a need they resolve it. Last night at the Library a woman dropped 3 or 4 DVD's while juggling her books. Hunter dove to catch them and she was faster than him. He asked why she wouldn't let him help. I said because us moms are octopus and we're use to "juggling" everything own our own. We need to ask for help. Don't be affraid. Amy J
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