Pure.

I grew up during the purity movement.
Did you flinch at the memory of it? If you didn’t experience it, I’m sure you’ve heard about it. The beautiful white rose passed around the room. Crumpled and dirtied by every hand it touched. By the time it reached the front, it was bruised, crippled, and unequivocally “ruined”. Never again to be a beautiful, virgin rose. It, but of course, representing a girl’s “purity”.
Her sexuality.
Her responsibility to remain the perfect white rose, not a petal out of place.
Never a boy, oh no. Not once was there a conversation about the male’s responsibility to handle the flower gently with care.
With respect.
To maybe never pluck it from the ground in the first place or strip it of its thorns.
It’s always been on us.

I was told to sign a contract in my eighth grade English class that would be a covenant of my purity.
My eighth grade
public school
English class.
One girl was brave enough not to.
(The rest of us were disgusted.)
It wasn’t the first time I experienced spiritual manipulation, and it absolutely wasn’t the last.

I sometimes wonder what path I could have taken if instead of being shamed for being a woman, I was celebrated. Instead of having a copy of a “Proverbs 31 Woman” shoved down my throat on every Pinterest board, I’d been read Songs of Solomon instead.
I wonder how it would have changed men.

You can easily spot the difference between a man who hates women and man who loves them. (Trust me.) And let me be clear, the vast majority of men are wonderful, good men. Men who lead, men who walk hand in hand, men who uplift and communicate and celebrate.

But I would be remiss to not speak to the women who live day in and day out with cherry-picked scripture poured over them like scalding wax, imprinted on their skin forever.
On our skin.

There are forums, instagram pages with over 80k followers, “trad wife” trends that only cater to a narrative of a disparaged woman. The hate, the abuse, the absolute brokenness of women seeking some kind of answer, only to end up in the hands of those who isolate them even further, preying on their desperation to be “good”.
To be pure.
To just be something they can’t quite measure up to.

Hear me when I say: it isn’t normal, it isn’t right, it isn’t you, and it isn’t of God.

Nothing angers me more than injustice. I can’t mentally wrap my head around harming another human in any respect. I don’t understand it, I never will. The abuse of power, of privilege, bellows louder than ever, and to have to sit by, watch it, and take it is absolutely maddening.

When I decided to finally leave, of course I really struggled with the shame of walking away from a covenant. I felt like I was a living, breathing disappointment. Words from fellow “believers” stuck to the roof of my mouth, making it impossible to speak the truth. I was that 13 year old girl all over again, staring at a contract that was already broken. Would He hate me?
Would He still be for me?
Am I really all these awful things being laid out in front of me?

But then I was reminded by my pastors, my leaders, my friends about the actual nature of God. And He is good.
Kind.
Compassionate and forgiving.
He does not change and He hates injustice.
And he loves me. (He loves my ex-husband too, to be clear, but the workings of his heart are none of my business.)

I’m tired of the narrative around women. That we have no place in leadership. That our sexuality is forbidden. That to be a good wife means to be mute and below her husband. That our bodies are purely, owned property.

It’s just not true. And to hold out-of-context words, from the most-loving God, over the heads of anyone in a way that makes them feel afraid or unseen is just not of His nature.

The truth is, we were never meant to be porcelain, white roses.
We were made to be blood red.
Grounded in the earth, protected on all sides.
Clusters of henna blossoms.
Scarlet cords.
Cherished. Respected.
And heard.

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July 17, 2024 -
Picking
Petals
Plucking
Weeds
Trusted voices
Mustard seeds
Bibles bashing
Til I bleed
The name of marriage
Supersedes
A broken woman
Wounded knees
A proverbs wife
Purity
Their prayers, for silence,
Not for me
But my God hates
Wicked deceit
He shields the righteous
Pursues the sheep
The only refuge
Delivery
Picking
Petals
Plucking
Weeds
A life much lighter
The Truth.
Relief.