I imagine the people I grew up around down here in the Buckle of the Bible belt worry about their child calling to say they are gay or that they got a tattoo of Satan on the right side of their neck where there is no way to cover it, even for the best of job interview opportunities. I worry about those things too, but not because I think my children will end up burning in hell, but because I think they will experience a judgment hell here on earth by those who think they know what is good and wholesome and what is bad and worthy of an eternity in the pits of fire.
Don’t cry, Susan
My mother said as many of yesterdays’ horrific events
fade back into the recesses of my being …
my tears dried.
Don’t feel, Susan
the world told me as a diverse and risking life continued to teach me
well into the depths of my adult life. . .
Numb became normal.
Stop! my body tries to tell me
as I cry and risk and go on
well into the best part of my life and my work.
I go on working. . .
Don’t be a woman of possibility,
a woman who says the f___ word,
obey the message
“ be nice”
the world says of my ability to say no
because I am a female.
Smile, don’t cry, be nice, talk nice
holds me in a self-made prison of my messaging ...
I want to roar, shout, cry, be hated and
most of all not be nice!
I hurl myself through the wall of messaging
Plunging into the
Wild wonderful world
Of freedom and excitement and possibility
Of creative identity named
Executive Director & Founder
The Estuary, Inc.
I received a postcard the other day. I was excited. I thought a friend had visited a cool and exotic place and had thought of me while there.
Then I read it.
My name is Brent* and we don’t know each other. I have been praying for you morning and evening for the last 30 days.
May the peace and goodness of the Lord be with you and all you love.
Brent (Awaken Nashville)
At first, it confused me. Then a strange “invaded” sort of feeling came over me, not unlike I’ve experienced when something of mine has been stolen. That invaded feeling turned into anger.
I have been in therapy for over 20 years, most have been here at the Estuary. I’m still coming and I now get to write for this place. It is a blessing and a curse. The blessing is that I get to write, something my soul has been longing to do since I was a young child. The curse is that I have to write and now I’m being held accountable.