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“Women don’t belong up front in this war……”

Just part of a comment I received on the internet, no doubt designed to silence me, but oddly poignant, haunting, like vague swirling memories lost in the mists of Avalon somewhere, memories that leave you aching for what never was. He was speaking of the political war, the cultural war, the churchian war.

I think I’m supposed to be offended, shamed into silence, but I was left somewhat amused, thinking, oh how bloody charming. He’s going to fix the entire broken world for me! “Say it again buddy, and I’ll just close my eyes and feel the music…….”

Seriously, women don’t belong on the front lines of the culture wars? Who knew?

“Women don’t belong up front in this war…” Well no chit, Sherlock, but I didn’t choose this war, it chose me. It washed into my world, this big tsunami of meth and heroin and suicides and home foreclosures. Dying churches, dead children, addiction, despair. People have no idea how bad it is, how much pain and grief and suffering just tore through this community. I do, that’s what I do, I serve the collateral damage.

You think the front lines are tough, you should try walking in my shoes. It’s absolutely insane.

Women seldom chose war of any sort, wars have a way of chosing us. Contrary to what some believe, women don’t actually run the world. If we’re lucky we live in a  country where we have some influence and we’re blessed to have men around us who don’t collapse into hysterical despair or else transform into a raging psychopath uncertain who the enemy is anymore. If we’re lucky. Many women are not. Many men run off, and sometimes, that too is just a blessing in disguise.

Most women I know are trying to raise children in the midst of this “war,” a nearly impossible task, a war that is being lost daily.  We’re losing our children, our grand children, to this “war,”and so many of us are fighting back as best we can, in the only way we know how. The front lines are where our children are going to have to live someday.

“Women don’t belong up front in this war……”  A charming notion indeed, but one best left swirling in the midst of Avalon somewhere. Women are prayer warriors and activists, and those who must serve the collateral damage coming from a war we don’t even understand, a war we didn’t even chose.

Of course we don’t belong on the front lines, but the “war” cares little about such rules.

pronouns

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