* I also felt called to share this excerpt from my memoir, Corpses Rarely Wander, in support of #YesAllWomen. My experience as a young female in a fundamentalist church.
One Sunday, during my senior year of High School when our Youth leader asked for volunteers to take up the offering, none of the boys raised their hands. Becky and I volunteered. During the service, we walked the aisles passing the collection plate, and people dropped in their hard-earned, blue-collar money. It was a simple thing, but I remember the warm feeling of having a place in the whole. When our job was done, we sat back down on the blood-red velvet cushions. The preacher preached. We stood to sing. As Becky and I were leaving, the preacher stopped us. His face was red as the blood-red velvet cushions. His ears seemed even bigger than usual, like misplaced horns. He said, “Taking up the collection plate is a man’s job.” He yelled. “I won’t have this is in my church again. Do ya hear?” We shrank. I left shaking, but I didn’t give up. I went back.
The next week, it was Sunday again, and my preacher delivered a sermon in that hacking cadence favored by Southern men of God. It happened when his sparse, grey head of hair and spindly limbs all leaned toward the congregation as he proclaimed: “A woman today doesn’t understand her place. They wear short skirts and makeup and then go crying when they get raped.” (I thought of the red haired man of God sliding his hand down my baggy sweatshirt, not a lick of make up on my face). His eyes rested on me as he yelled. At that moment, his love was a hammer, and I was a witch in God’s house. I dropped my hymnal and left with hatred in my heart, went home and yanked my grandmother’s green phone right out of the wall. But I didn’t completely give up. I just switched churches.
Then I went to college.
* An excerpt from my memoir, Corpses Rarely Wander: How I Became a Loveless, Trailer Park Nomad. #Feminist Memoir #YesAllWomen
In support of all women and girls: straight, gay, and trans.