I have the great honor of showing off a dear friend’s AMAZING piece of writing, it is her vulnerable description of her spiritual journey. She is brave, kind, loving, and brilliant… she is FREE INDEED! Watch her beauty flourish as you read her words, breathe deep and hold her words sacred:
“There once was a girl who was named honey bee bee by her
deeply loved daddy, because as soon as she got bees in her
bonnet she was unstoppable. She had curls, a knowing look
and a constellation of freckles. She loved life.
Her other name was Liz, Me.
I loved God and went to the dark church every Sunday where
the sun played with the colorful windows and I listened. I did
what was right and prayed.
But there was one night.
Even though the dark does not scare me, but the middle of
the night does when men get clumsy and dumb, making
decisions that will forever change the course of history, it is
that, I don’t like. You did that to me Mister. What did that
accomplish? Was the violence satisfying?
How did the knowing look feel from your wife as you attempted to slip in
and out of her bed…to approach the girl in the yellow
nightgown in the heat of the summer night when the moon
glowed and everything was still, silent, but your drunk smell. I
fought you and ran home. I was alone.
Time shifted and played through the years. I changed. I grew.
I learned. My daddy hopped the Jesus train to flee the one
with the forked tongue that would harm us all. And God got
smaller and I forgot about Him. I no longer opened the doors
to the dark church where I watched the priest mumble and
wave incense, and I dropped change into the basket and
made the sign of the cross. I did not need that anymore.
I had a big job. I wanted to live in a big city where I looked up
and saw the clouds dance and buildings slice the sky and in
the morning, I would get the daily and a cup of coffee.
But I was getting married to the man. Move to his farm, where
I was going to be happy.
But the man was dark and had secrets so deep he drank
them into a corner and punished me for being smart, beautiful
and vital. I got small, and God did too. I could do anything,
and I was going to do marriage right even if it killed me.
Time swooned and I was surrounded by small children with
extended hands and wanting eyes. I was devoured,
Starving that is what I am but she was full, satisfied, there was
light in her eyes. My life was dark, dull, twisted and hard. Who
is this person you speak of. Where can I meet Him. He is in
the pages of this book, she says, read it. HE will find you.
I devoured the book. Even while the man sneered at me. I am
at YOUR feet, my head on YOUR knee, tears falling and
thanking YOU for finishing it for me. Never asking, not once,
that I owed YOU, and YOU kiss the forgiveness on my
forehead and say “Go”.
I know what I am to do.
Hot tears soothe the constellation of freckles. And, In my
mind, I lift the shattered broken Mister with no soul, from that
hot summer night and take his hand. We sit in soft silence on
the stone bench. Loss that had consumed my space for years
becomes colorful. I don’t see the girl racing in yellow
I can now sigh.
The new church is all light and no muffled mumbling.
Everyone is happy and serves, raising godly children at home
and talks about Jesus Lord. We scan the pages every day for
the path. I have all the answers and if I don’t someone else
does when they open their big book. The steeple people
guide me in the way I should go and I follow because I have
been so lost and now I have been found. I did what was right
God is no secret keeper…so don’t tell him something you
don’t want the whole world to know. The man had a secret. I
was told to follow the formula, and forgive. The end of the
equation was to go back, back to the marital bed. I
But the man had another secret. I was given “X” days to go
back. Back to the marital bed.
I took a deep breath and kicked the man’s bony ass to the
I have lost my path, according to the steeple people. Come
back we will love you and tell you what to do. I was broken.
Alone. Who I am was tied to the path. I was a bible toting
evangelical Christian. Then I saw them lose their way over
politics, patriarchy, fundamental theology and pats on the
head to hurting wives of many years. Instead of love they sat
in judgement looking sideways at me, with hands folded. I
don’t like being looked at that way. Stare deeply at me. Go
ahead I dare you. Your silence tells the story. I don’t want it
I left the church that was raised out of the cornfield and ran to
the city where I could look up and see the sky dance. I sat on
worn velvet cushions in silence listening to them talk. Women
talked to everyone and women prayed and I learned about
these ancient people that talked about God and all that. I was
breathing different air. I sat and held communion and cried,
these people wisely left me alone. They knew.
I am D-I-V-O-R-C-E-D. I now live in this big city. I am loved by
this church. And every day I look out my window and watch
the city twinkle, even though the buildings stay the same I see
something new every day. I am content.
But the Man, had another secret. One so crushing it left me
clutching my chest in horror and disbelief. It spread like
spilled paint, oozing into every corner of my life and that of my
Still in lockdown. I felt utterly alone.
I decided God is retarded. Only a retarded God would reveal
something so dark and leave me with no way out.
There I sat.
The new word is deconstructing. For me it evokes an image of
a woman sporting a beehive hairdo and wearing a sheath
dress with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in another
telling anyone who would listen about her life in gory detail.
I was not interested. I still want God and I know He still wants
me. But I was murmuring quietly so no-one would hear me. I
was afraid I would be really alone again.
Women gather, so I allowed myself to be gathered. They
taught, drew pictures, shared stories, laughed, cried and
cajoled me. They listened and nodded and loved. I wondered
if God wasn’t really retarded just patient. I placed my head on
His knee again trusting Him to help me find the way, not a
When I feel wobbly, I look at the tattoo of a heart on the inside
of my wrist and I tell my self this is how it starts and how it
ends. So instead, I am going to love the all of me, and all of
them. I am learning the Holy Spirit will tell me what to do. It is
not my job to be God and all that.
The girl with the curls, a knowing look and the constellation of
freckles is waiting, and she is ok with the journey. Because
she is not alone.”
Anonymous © Copyright 2021
Please respect artists rights and do not reprint or repost
without express permission from the original blog post.