TRADING DUST FOR GLORY
The WNBA is not just a sports league. It is a metaphor—a living parable of a society sprinting toward death with a gender confused cape fluttering behind it. It is the embodiment of our confusion, the billboard of our rebellion, the cracked mirror in which we behold the mangled image of what we once called “woman.”
The women in this league are not to be mocked for their athleticism—they are to be mourned for their delusion. They are not villains; they are victims of a cultural lie so powerful, so poisonous, so pernicious, that it has convinced an entire generation of women to trade in their wombs for basketballs, their legacies for league contracts, and their God-given glory for the fleeting validation of Twitter liberals and corporate sponsors.
But recently, they have gone from deluded to laughable.
At the 2025 WNBA All-Star game, the league's elite wore shirts that read “Pay Us What You Owe Us” and “I Deserve NBA Pay.” The irony? The WNBA is owed less than nothing. It doesn't even pay for itself. It has never turned a profit. It survives by sucking nourishment from the teat of the male only NBA—an umbilical cord of subsidies, charity, and progressive guilt. If the NBA ever cut the cord, the WNBA would shrivel in a season and be buried by the second. So, if we pay those women what they are owed, then we would hand them the bill for a defunct league no one cares enough to fund.
But it goes deeper than that. They are demanding the rewards of manhood while rejecting the reality of womanhood. They want the spoils of masculinity, without being able to obtain it, which is the most bitter irony of them all. None of them, including Caitlin Clark, could make a D-1 men's college team, much less ever see a minute of playtime in the NBA. Apparently, the biology is much more modest than their t-shirts.
Notice: They can’t dunk like men. They can’t sell out arenas like men. They can’t electrify audiences with incredible feats of strength like men. Thus, in their quest to be treated like men, they fail to become compelling to anyone. They’ve abandoned what they are—women—so that they can be subpar men, which means they lose in both directions.
This is not just sad, it is pitiful. And it would painful to watch if they had any fans. It is as pathetic as a group of men competing in a breast feeding contest. Except, that event might at least sell out a stadium.
This is not female empowerment., it is embarrassment to womanhood. This is a generation of women who were designed to create life, raise kings, and build civilizations—now demanding the same pay as men who sell out Madison Square Garden.
Let’s be brutally honest (as if I haven't been already). The only people on earth capable of bearing children—and thereby ensuring the future survival of a civilization—are women. This is not a burden. It is their superpower. It is not a second-tier destiny beneath the bright lights of a sports arena. It is glory. It is immortality through legacy. It is the creation of worlds.
But our culture—drunk on feminism and choking on egalitarian fumes—has persuaded women to despise this holy calling. Instead, they are taught to compete like men, dress like men, speak like men, and demand the same paycheck as men, all while being biologically incapable of matching the speed, strength, and spectacle that make men’s sports so watchable.
They’ve given up their most fertile years—the years God intended for building families, raising children, and forming the next generation—for the chance to chase a worthless plastic trophy and a virtue signaled paycheck. They’ve traded what is eternal for what moth and rust will destroy. They’ve exchanged the crown of motherhood for a pair of sneakers and the affirmation of effeminate men queerly clapping from the sidelines.
This is not the liberty of womanhood. This is its bondage to a sterile, barren worldview that celebrates career over life, applause over offspring, and fame over fruitfulness.
And the tragedy doesn’t stop at the individual level. It is emblematic of our commitment to death.
A people without children are a people without a future. A culture that mocks motherhood and incentivizes barrenness is a culture already under judgment. We are not waiting for collapse—it is already here, unfolding beneath our feet while we cheer on our own extinction.
So yes, I smell the noxious fumes of death hovering over our land like the death rattle of tuberculous in its final stages. An aroma of a society that has forgotten what a woman is for—and what a woman is worth.
But I also know this: God has not forgotten.
He still calls woman the “mother of all the living” (Gen. 3:20). He still honors the woman who fears the Lord (Prov. 31:30). He still opens barren wombs, raises up godly seed, and clothes mothers with strength and dignity. The applause of heaven still rings louder than the cheers of Babylon.
And for every daughter who will reject the lies of this age, who will embrace her God-given glory, who will build homes, raise saints, and fill the earth with image-bearers to the glory of Christ—she will outlast this current secular moment.
The WNBA will fade.
The womb will not.
The applause of man will die in an empty arena.
But the praise of children will rise from the gates and echo into eternity.
Christians, do not buy into the lie that female sports is morally neutral. Smell the underlying assumptions and worldviews that lead to death encircling. And, embrace a holy and glorious vision of what womanhood is. It is not a burden, it is not a curse, and it is not oppressive. It is how civilizations are born, how legacies are built, and how the kingdom of Christ marches on.
And no All-Star shirt, no court-side slogan, no demand for “equal pay” can change the fact that women will never find glory by chasing men. They will only find it by obeying Christ.
