If the church doors could talk…

Creative writing about real issues of life.

She is pacing back and forth outside of the historical church doors. It is a cold brisk night with few people moving around. The weather has kept most people inside. The church is empty as the time for churchgoers has long passed.

Now standing facing the church doors the lady is screaming, “Open up! Let me in! Let me in!”. Then her speaking turns into words I do not recognize. Oh wait, she is speaking in tongues. I remember this so well from a church I attended many years back.  She starts banging on the door then steps back a few feet and drops to her knees. She bends her head. It’s almost touching the ground. She does not stop screaming. “I know you are in there! Open up!” then more speaking in tongues. Her mystery language is echoing throughout the street. 

I pause to examine her. Afraid to get too close. Her wardrobe appears clean and neat so I do not suspect her of being of the street. What is going on with her? My mind wonders if drugs have consumed her. What has driven her to this church? Is she mental? Or had she encountered the same monster that I had as a young girl?

Maybe there was a force inside her. Inside her mind. Agitating her spirit. I feeling of misery came over me. Then I thought. Could this be me?  I wasn’t screaming at the church doors but I was screaming deep in the most inner workings of my soul. My spirit was screaming at the beast. The oppressor that kept masking my purpose with his seductive manner and perfectly skilled way of speaking.

Freedom of expression lost except for the screams that bellowed into the cold air from this young lady that I did not know but somehow felt connected. She had fallen into the trap. 

I watch her with empathy. I see a figure standing beside her. She and I are now standing outside the church doors cold, emotionless, and contemplating the foolishness of this world and bewildered at how we got here. Why were we screaming with nowhere to go?

Our Daughters (click here to read story on our daughters, sisters, friends fighting to be themselves in this world)


© 2018 All words & images by Tanya Graham unless otherwise noted.

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