His voice commanded obedience. I would scurry in and find a place near or up front. I had my heavily read holy book, earmarked corners, highlighted, and underlined.
I was dressed conservatively, very conscience and careful as not to cause any boy or man to sin with their eyes. That would be my fault entirely.
His voice boomed again, he leaned over the pulpit, his bald head perspiring, the vein in the side of his head pulsing.
He is "preaching". He is telling me what to do. He is telling me how to please god, by obeying him and his authority.
Afterwards, I run to him and tell him, I will obey, I concur, you are my authority. He hugs me. He tells me that I am a good girl.
Have I made everything alright now? Have I been saved? Is the universe corrected? Is the darkness at bay? Is the leprosy healed?
I was doing all of these things with great effort to please this invisible and what I now understand to be imaginary force.
I grew up feeling I could never please my natural father. That translated into this spiritual invisible father. I made every effort and every move toward pleasing.
I failed both. Both were authoritative. Both were threatening. Both were forceful personalities, intimidating.
I remember learning that how you see your natural father is how you will see or relate to god, well I guess I am totally fucked.
No, I do not believe in the supernatural. I do not rely on imagination to get me through my troubles or to be an explanation.
I will not be intimidated into believing and into being controlled. That will not happen spiritually or otherwise.
Now, that voice, it does not command me. If I heard it again, I would cringe, maybe scream or laugh.
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