Yeah, I’ll say it: deconstruction. I don’t mean with sentences either.
Over the past few years, I have been slowly deconstructing my conservative, Evangelical upbringing and life in the church, highlighted by periods of weird amounts of what I call Jesus zeal and lowlights of authoritarian ideas about God, church, and my very self. So some days, I feel a little raw about shit. Other days I breathe in the beautiful air, leap out of bed, ready for my day. Shame and guilt don’t heap themselves upon me every waking moment any more.
There will be a few posts over the next while, sharing a bit of my story of deconstruction. Mostly poorly-crafted poetry and some other random musings about the ridiculousness of ’90s church subculture. (Purity pledges, anyone?)
Here’s the first one.
She heard a story once
It was really late
He mumbled something, bravely and timidly at the same time, about maybe not believing any of it
She sat straight up in bed
He still believes THAT, though. Right?
Sure, he mumbled exasperated, and mostly sleepy.
There was no sleep
There were lists of books to make so she could fix everything
The couch was her friend that night
She prayed and pleaded with God to make him believe correctly
Even though she didn’t know that’s what she was asking
She thought she was loving him
But instead it was smothering
Pushing things down, down, down
Until you feel better
For a while.
Get the prayer journals out
The special couples devotional
Send bible verse text messages
Gotta keep that anxiety under control
Oh, the Powerlessness of a Praying Wife