My father used to always tell me that loving God and having a good heart was our religion
We would read scripture together daily
He was a preacher and I was in training
While we both knew I’d never be allowed to be a preacher, that was a man’s job
My father treated me as if I were apprenticing for that duty
I didn’t go to school like the others
Instead, I spent my time with family, learning the intricacies of devotion
Whether through song, prayer, or worship in the woods around our town
Sometimes, I’d sit out under my favorite nectarine trees just gazing out into the tall grasses
My mother, who taught me to sing, would always tell me that God was in our breath
And all we had to do to be with God was breathe
I did that a lot. It came naturally to me
To sit, especially in the woods or under those trees, and be with God
Sometimes I’d wake up out of my seated prayers and see that the school kids were looking at me
I never knew how long they’d be there but I didn’t mind
Sometimes at night when my mother would brush my hair she’d ask me why I didn't want to play with the other kids
I'd tell her different things, but it always came back to the fact that there was too much noise
I could never get motivated to go out beyond my recall and into the world of others
I was happiest while studying with my father, singing with my mother, or praying with my grandparents
I liked the way it felt after a couple of hours of deep devotion
Silent
The air viscous
It buzzed as if it was alive
I liked that, the interference
I’d look out my window and see the lightning bugs and think they too could feel this holy place.
My mother got pregnant when I was 17
My sister was born, a beautiful little girl
But my mother died during that process
My father was old, so I raised her.
I was to be a mother only
It hurt to know that I would never be the preacher at our church.
I knew all the hymns, the stories of the bible
I knew where our community had come from, was made up of, and who was in it.
I’d spent my whole life preparing to take over for my father
We both thought the community would be happy with this
My father told me a few years later that he’d been talking with the townsmen and had told them he wanted me to preach and that they’d laughed
We’d find out a few months later that these men had taken it upon themselves to get in touch with the Baptist Church to see about replacing my father.
My father died during this time.
My sweet little girl and I would go out into the woods and cry and sing and pray for him.
We’d pray to the Earth, let her hold us as we cried and watered the ground with our tears.
Sometimes we’d stay out into the night and be overcome with grief.
Like little foxes, we’d circle our fire and howl and yip out our pain.
It was like cry singing, howling.
Sometimes we’d see some of the townspeople at the edge of the woods where we were
I always thought they were there to commune too
We’d stopped going to church at this point.
A new man had come to town
He threw away our holy books for new ones
He was stern and cold.
He talked a lot but his words were so empty.
It was like he was trying to talk his belief into being
But all he really did was severe his connection
My connection
To that which was right there waiting in the silence
One time, while he was talking I was overcome
His noise was unbearable. Empty.
As if to stop him from continuing, I extended my arm out to touch his chest, to place my hand on his heart
Nothing.
I felt nothing.
I was stunned
I’ve always felt everything so strongly, even the faintest of things
Without hesitation, I asked him to put my hand on his heart
Which he did, surprisingly
I told him to stop talking.
That he was using words to try and evoke the feelings he knew he needed to feel
I told him that he needed to feel the feelings first and then learn to describe them second.
That his words were hollow.
That they distracted me from being with God.
(My father was a man full of feelings. His sermons captivated our hearts. He really was just an Instrument for the Divine.)
This new preacher slapped my hand away from his chest and rebuked me.
Warning me to never speak to him again.
I speak a lot with my presence so I just thought what he meant was to go away.
So I did.
I took my worship out into the woods where I could trust being left alone
Where someone else's words couldn't sever my connection to the Divine
And I was left alone until one day the new preacher came and got me
I was kneeling down onto the Earth watching butterflies dance between the dandelions when he came
He put his hands on my wrists and pulled me up from my altar.
“Townspeople want to see you.” he said.
It always takes me some time to come back to myself after praying.
It took a little longer this time because I was pulled away while in prayer.
When I came to my senses I had a rope around my neck. All the townspeople were in front of me.
I looked at the preacher and for the first time could feel his heart.
The feeling I felt shocked me.
I caught eyes with the neighbor boy and felt sadness.
I saw him struggle to breath, like something was caught in his throat.
Funny thing is that I had a tinge in my through too…
In that moment I heard my mother
She told me to welcome this feeling called Terror
So I did
Then the floor fell out from under me.