Ladies, cross their legs

By Raven Nicolé

The wrong exposure to Church, taught me how to be subservient, even to the Man I married, but did not teach me how to make sure that Man or those people, genuinely respected and feared God, or respected me. When I first started taking church seriously, I was around 15 1/2. I was young, naive, impressionable and invited mentorship into my life. I wanted to learn, but most importantly, to be obedient to Christ; which I would later find out, that jealous adults, scramble for the opportunity to play “puppet master”, pulling the strings of the youth they wanted to be, never were and never would be. I was exposed to a lot of “church going” folk who I thought cared for me. One in particular, was a woman whom called herself a minister/evangelist of God’s word. At first, I embraced her advice. My heart was willing to accept sound directive. I was a teenaged girl, wearing make-up and fitted clothing that showed my developing curves; she explained to me how, if I am going to serve and represent God on a public platform, that I could not have my make up on and my clothing needed to be loose. She was not wrong in regard to modesty. I was representing Christ. Not only did I need to live the part, but I needed to be more modest. I accepted that correction. I changed my outward appearance without argument. Later down the road, and after spending too much time with that woman, I learned that who I was developing into in Christ, she wanted that credit. Moreover, she began to monitor me. Whatever I did wrong, whatever sin she knew about, whatever I confided in her about……it was gossiped about. She also could not keep her hormones in check, as she hoped for me to be the extension to knowing if my Uncle at the time, was single. I was no match maker. I was also grossed out.

A bad feeling came over me. I stopped trusting the gossiping adults in my church, where some ( not all) waited for me to fall. That same woman made me feel uncomfortable and before I actually knew she was talking about me behind my back, I had a bad feeling about it. Rather than accusing her, I prayed and asked God to show me the truth. He did. He gave me a dream. In that dream, I saw and heard her talking about me. That was a bitter pill to swallow, because I trusted her for a long time. Things began to change once I was getting recognized by well known people and leaders from different churches. I did not ask for the attention, but I could feel the burning jealousy from a lot of adults (not even the youth) but I did not want it to be true. In fact, being with my youth group always made me feel safe. The following Sunday after God gave me that dream, I confronted her after church. Of course she lied. That was the beginning of a rapid end. I learned then, just how petty, nasty, immature, jealous and hateful some women could be…..all while smiling in your face.

“Respect your elders!”

Then came the husky old lady that cornered me in the church bathroom. She reminded me of a mossy swamp ogre. Not because she was husky…..but the way she walked up on me with force….like she owned my space, and she was going to make sure I listened to her. I come from a church where women cover our hair with a ‘chapel cap’. In Spanish it is called the ‘veilo’; when in church, in service to God and in prayer. This was my culture as well as the beliefs that I grew up with. The church that I was attending, however, did not have the same exact standards. I was fine with that, because the differences were left up to personal conviction. One evening, while minding my own business, this elder approaches me aggressively, questioning me about why I covered my hair. She did not ask in order to learn anything. I explained to her why I did it, she then decided to tell me I was wrong, and if I was going to cover my hair, then I should uniform my whole body in a covering like some Muslim women do. Having acquired more patience at that point, rather than politely asking her to get out of my face (literally), I let her talk until she was done.

By that time, I had had it with intrusive adults that wanted to bring me down a peg or two. At the time, I was doing a lot of Missionary work. I did not know everything, but I knew and saw a lot. I was tired of the bitter betties. I was especially disgusted with the busted clown old Men, that in spite of knowing I was a teenager, had the perverted audacity to try to shoot their old liver spot shots. I was over, everything…….even church.

Being a normal teenager felt strange. I felt like I was in sin, liking boys, and talking to them. I felt judged on how I looked, how I lived, how I thought…..even how I believed. At one point, even the Pastor at that time, would angrily mention my beliefs in one of his sermons (without mentioning my name), from a conversation that I previously had with him. I felt like I was under a microscope. Don’t get me wrong; there were also adults in my life that were in my corner…..even to this day, those elders that are still alive, pray for me. When I did fall, not one of those adults that were with me when I was known, were there to help me up. I did not feel like a Christian. I did not feel like a young lady. I felt like a vagabond. Marked. Unwanted. Thrown out………and those “church folk” shook their heads and scoffed. They just knew that my ending would be tragic. They just hoped.

God had me the whole time.

As I grew in my own faith, and my teenaged years were far behind me……my relationship with God had to be completely restored and renewed. I have skipped over many parts that I will share in pieces over time. I had to separate Him from the tainted parts of church. This time around, I was a walking billboard for what Christian Women should not look like; a divorcee, that put the skirts aside and owns many tubes of red lipsticks and tops that outline my bust. What a harlot. However my love for Jesus and hunger for His wisdom, is my desire in life. A lot of fakeness and bad experiences hurt my view of church in different ways. I am a constant work in progress. Some may call my ways an act of rebellion. Sure. If it means I am rebelling against those that sat in wait for my destruction. Then yes. I am not following their schedule of “holiness”. Those nuggets of Christian wisdom that I learned from my Grandmother, is what kept me grounded, and able to find my way back to the ark of safety, when I was drowning in a sea of heretics. Her pleasantness, her patience, her meekness, her ability to stay silent and actively observe, her ability and discipline to keep others stories, sins, heartaches, and worries, confidentially between her and God……..those were the Blessings that helped me find my way back home after so much hurtful betrayal. God has been so patient and loving towards me.

Ladies, cross their legs……and sometimes we don’t. We share our stories of what it has taken for us to reach womanhood. We don’t always share the same etiquette and decorum. Our stories will not always sound similar, but we all have one thing in common……..we have stories to tell. As a Christian Woman, I’ve learned that my walk with God is personal. No one can separate me from His love. No one can stop Him from blessing my life. No one can stop Him from using me. No one can tell me that I am not His. No amount of secret hate, will determine God’s love. Whether I am slumped, or whether my back is straight…..my worth is already written.