There’s a mold that has been created. Long before I got here there was a definition. There were boundaries and fences. There’s a cast that should pattern me. There’s a path that has been in sculpted for me as a woman, a pastor, a single mother, a divorcee. Many before have walked on it. It is expected that I comply.
They try to mask their surprise, their indignation even, when I mention one of the parts of me that they may not approve of. Some are brave enough to ask why I am the way I am. They want an acceptable explanation as to why I am divorced and how I still preach. They also may ask if I feel condemned, preaching about things I’ve failed in. I laugh. Now, I laugh; a loud belly laugh. I think I’ve come to terms with the fact that what I’ve been through is not what defines me. In fact, I bring my own definition of circumstances and identity. My internal conversations have been calibrated by the renewal of my mind.