by Leah Lax
And yet I understand the need and hope people bring to religion, the refuge they seek there. One can find wisdom, community, and warmth. In our confusing world, religion offers timeless beauty, structure, identity, continuity with our ancient past. I wish that I didn’t also see a huge set of expectations and judgment. I wish I didn’t know firsthand the manipulative forces that can rise up in religious communities, where people are too often judged because of immutable qualities, where twisted messages and impossible promises can be part of the package. But I know that package.
TO MY COVERED SISTERS: To get the best from religion, you have to sift. Allow yourself to do that, no matter what people say. Stand up to the guilt or shame some use as a tool of religion (it’s a dishonest tool), and reserve the right to think and judge for yourself, even when you stand before judges. Take the wisdom, inspiration, and beauty and leave the rest.
Many covered women don’t think they have the strength to do that. But you do. Keep your voice. Free choice, choice you must not sacrifice, is yours.
SO—HERE I AM IN our little house, as fundamentalism continues to drive so much conflict and intolerance and suppression across the globe. The world is no longer out there, muted by a community wall. But I am one small individual, and so for me it still comes back to this square old wooden table where I’m writing, the tap of my fingers on these keys, drone of the ceiling fan, faint smell of our dog Gracie asleep at my feet at last. There’s the sound drifting in the open door of Susan working in the yard, and the peace and affection and truths we share. A common enough scene. Simple, really. I’m aware every day of how brief this all is. Perhaps someday my children will all understand what I have now, or perhaps not—their lives are their own. I have to remember that understanding sometimes comes in degrees, like growth. Like age.
Once, I worked to assure that the home I shared with Levi was the spiritual center of our lives, and for us, society fell away. So now that the world finally comes right over the doorstep into my home, here’s the irony: today, the strength I need to proceed—and the calm, humor, and creativity—the gifts I offer my children, friends, and anyone beyond our most permeable boundaries—all flow from this warm, centered, place we call home that I share with Susan, the place around this table. Now I’m going to go work in the yard.
OUT OF FURIOUS LOVE, my sisters, I offer you mouths.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks go to Rosellen Brown, who could not have known where her kindness and keen eye would lead. More than thanks goes to dearest Sharon, who handed me the flashlight and then stayed at my side. Deepest gratitude sadly, posthumously, to my teacher and mentor, Daniel Stern, and to my outstanding teachers Robert Boswell and Mark Doty. Special thanks to Honor Moore, who challenged me at a crucial turning point to carry on, and to generous, kind Gloria Steinem, who, on long walks at Hedgebrook, made me aware of the era I missed while under the veil and then patiently pointed the way to much that was essential for understanding my story. Thanks to Chana Bloch, with her poet’s vision and kosher knife, and then to Pam Barton, Julie Kempner, Judithe Little, Anne Sloan, Lois Stark, and Ann Weisgarber. Special thanks to the Corporation of Yaddo for two magical residencies, to the Vermont Studio Center and to glorious Hedgebrook for the same, to the Houston Arts Alliance for an artist grant that got this project started, and to InPrint, Inc., in Houston, for allowing me to be the crazy lady in the attic (read: “artist in residence,” lowercase) for two years. Thanks to Cami Ostman and Jen Marlowe for your keen eyes, and to all the people too numerous to name who read drafts, offered writing space, and put up with me through the long process with humor and friendship. And to you, Mom, wherever you may be. Somehow (how was it possible?), we redeemed ourselves. Finally, endless gratitude to my Susan, my wife, whose input, love, and inexplicable patience enriched this book as they do my life, every day.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Leah Lax’s fiction and nonfiction has won awards and has been published in numerous anthologies and publications, print and online, including Dame, Lilith, and Salon. Her work for stage has been reviewed in The New York Times and Rolling Stone magazine, and has been broadcast on NPR. She has an MFA in creative writing from the University of Houston.