I love holding onto words. Seriously. I just brought home two very full boxes of notes and journals and cards from my parents’ house. At any given time I have 3-10 windows open in safari of blogs or articles or other such things to read. And I struggle with exiting my word documents until I’ve given them a home, so instead, I have between 10-12 open documents on my computer (thank God for auto save!) I’m learning to file and bookmark and organize so that I don’t feel the desperate need to hold every word in my hands.
All that to say, words and stories are so important to share. I hope you enjoy this collection and maybe find a new blog friend to follow.
“Something has come between women and the source of our femininity. Something has happened to us, that our womanhood can be held hostage by the world.
The lines of judgment vary widely. But there is always something. Can you bear children? Do you have boobs? Is your hair long enough? Do you wear a diamond? Do you carry lipstick? Can you bake a cherry pie?
I thought of all the gates, and the walls, and the insecurities. I thought of the million idols of femininity that stand between us and the truth…”
“They invited me to join them, so I sat down between John and Wendell and listened as they reminisced. John had been a medic in the war, and grew emotional as he described some of the things he’d witnessed. “I will never forget those children’s faces…” His voice trailed off as he looked away and just stared at The Wall.”
“I was born into this faith. I prayed the Sinner’s Prayer at five years old and I believed those words of prayer would encircle like a charm. As if this promise held the power to protect me from anything bad in the world, from anyone that would want to hurt me. I believed in the Church, I felt safe in the Church, and I felt all the more held to be officially part of her people.
Then I found out I was gay.”
“My only protection was the darkness—the dissociation. I hadn’t felt him ripping out hair, but when he hit me in the spine, the pain was too intense. That part of my body was too vulnerable. I couldn’t curl up. I couldn’t wrap my arms around it.
I was present for what was happening. I stopped breathing for a moment. He paused.
It was as though he, too, felt that I was present, and he stopped.
I couldn’t have been human to him in those moments.”