7. Designing Women #3
Rebekkah bit her lip, unsure how to even begin articulating the swirling insecurities that had plagued her for years, “You know how when we go to mass and we’re watching the priest and the altar boys, and they’re the ones up on the altar, doing all the important stuff like ringing the bells, and swinging the incense, and genuflecting and crossing themselves just a millisecond before the rest of us?
Like they’re the ones we’re all supposed to be watching and listening to?
And the rest of us are just these bah-bah sheep following along? ”
Her mother nodded slowly, “Yes…”
Rebekkah swallowed hard, feeling the knot of frustration tighten in her chest. It took courage to lay it all out like this, and it felt precarious to do it, like she was becoming untethered and there was a risk that her mom might not understand and might scold–or worse, reject her.
But the unravelling had begun and she felt she had to continue; she had to get these thoughts out of her head, “The priest is a man, and the altar boys are boys and like, all the good stories in the Bible are about men, and the only people that people listen to are men, and I’m just an ingénue.
Who’s going to want to listen to what I have to say? If I speak up, will it even matter?”
Her mother’s eyes widened, and she let out a chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief, “Rebekkah, I love you, but you are not an ingénue.” She paused for effect, “Your resume shows that you are…”
“Nineteen!” Rebekkah blurted out, cutting her off.
“But you are twenty-nine,” her mother’s tone was firm; a reality check delivered with a kind smile. “You are a grown woman. And no priest or altar boy or anybody is more worthy than you. A penis is not a magic wand. It is not a crown, and it is not a microphone.”
“Mom!” Rebekkah gasped, eyes wide, shocked and mortified.
Her mother waved her off, clearly unfazed, “All I’m saying is, I was watching Dixie Carter’s mindfulness meditation video the other day.
I wasn’t meditating, but I was watching Dixie do it, and it got me thinking about history and how much of our lives and stories, what we think and what we wear, how we do our hair; it’s all a reaction to men and what we think they’re thinking.
Now, I don’t know Dixie or if she planted this idea in my head somehow from that DVD, but what if we stopped worrying so much about history and started sharing a little more HER story?
” She leaned forward, eyes twinkling, “You could be a part of that. You’ve got your very own radio show now. ”
Rebekkah exhaled slowly, “Well, not my very own. I share it with Ronald and Japheth.”
Her mom shrugged, brushing off the minor detail, “But those two gentlemen will be happy for you to take the spotlight, right?”
Rebekkah hesitated, “Maybe, but I don’t know any HER story! What would I even sing about or say?”
Her mother’s face lit up, her eyes dancing with excitement, “Just because men didn’t write it all down doesn’t mean we women weren’t living big lives.
It’s called erasure, and that’s what’s happened to women for centuries; we didn’t make the pages of the history books because the men didn’t want to share any of the ink! ”
Rebekkah blinked, feeling her mother’s words sink in, but still unsure of herself, “Mom, you might have to help me with this one. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
Her mother’s face softened, and then, with the enthusiasm of someone about to belt out an old favourite song, she began to speak in prophetic riddles, her voice clear and strong, “Right at the beginning, there was Eve! Some will tell you Adam came first, but don’t get it twisted.
How can you have an Adam if you don’t first have an Eve? ”
Rebekkah’s eyes widened, but despite herself, she hitched her wagon to her mom’s, knowing it was about to be a bumpy ride. She asked hesitantly, “like the chicken or the egg?”
“That’s right!” her mother nodded vigorously.
“But… which one is it?” Rebekkah pressed.
Before Rebekkah got an answer, her mother launched into a verse,
“Joan of Arc saw visions when she knelt down to pray!
Some men said she was crazy, but it wasn’t that way.
Joan had a calling from Heaven, and I’ll tell you why.
She knew deep down that God wasn’t a guy!”
Rebekkah nearly choked, “What?! Mom!”
Her mother grinned mischievously,
“God’s not a dude! She’s a dudette.
Look around the world, and you’ll see that it’s true!
Our Mother in Heaven is what we should say,
’cause God’s not a dude!”
Rebekkah blinked, incredulous, “Was this on that Dixie Carter meditation DVD, too?”
Her mother ignored the question, too wrapped up in her own musical revelations,
“Mary M showed up when the world turned away,
First to see the miracle, first to shout ‘He’s okay!’
The boys club called her slut,
when she washed his feet with her hair!
They wrote the rest of the story,
like she wasn’t even there.”
Feeling the inspiration rise within her, Rebekkah stood and tried her voice on a second verse,
“Eve bit the apple and they blamed her for the world's pain,
Like curiosity’s a crime and men don’t do the same.
Eve valued knowledge, she chose to be free.
If God made us thinkers… then God sounds like SHE!”
Rebekkah’s mom nodded with approval and then her voice grew introspective as she dove into the bridge,
“Being a woman is
wondrous and dangerous
thrilling and ecstatic
vulnerable and daring
powerful, pragmatic.
It’s magical and mystical,
monstrous and menopausal.
Heart-squeezing, heart-breaking,
mind bending, body shaking!
It’s time to tell our story
and let everybody know…
She paused dramatically before belting out, “God’s not a dude!”
Rebekkah, almost laughing now, rolled her eyes and joined in to finish the song,
“God’s not a dude! She’s a dudette.
Look around the world, and you’ll see that it’s true!
Our Mother in Heaven is what we should say,
’cause God’s not a dude!”
The song faded on their lips, and her mother’s expression turned from soft to serious, “That’s right, Rebekkah. When you were young, I had to protect you and make tough choices for you, like not letting you do that E.T. alien movie. If I wasn’t there, where would you be now?”
Rebekkah sighed, trying to suppress the what-could-have-been. “I’d have Drew Barrymore’s career and be starring in her new movie, Never Been Kissed. And I’d finally be kissed, by Michael Vartan!”
Her mother’s eyes widened in surprise, “Drew Barrymore played your role in E.T.?”
“Uh huh.”
“Wow. Well, I made some good decisions raising you, and I got a few wrong. But it was still a secular movie!” her mother added, her tone firm with finality.
Rebekkah gave her mother a small, tired smile, “I know, Mom. It’s okay. It was fun to play the donkey in the church Christmas concert instead.”
Her mother’s face lit up with pride, “You had an excellent bray! And that’s what you’re going to do again, just as soon as that radio station calls and says, ‘It’s time, Rebekkah.
It’s time.’ You’re going to go down to WWJD, you’re going to stand, or sit, whichever you’re most comfortable with, in front of that mic, and you’re going to make HER story. ”
She paused, letting the weight of her words settle in. “That’s what people want to hear! They want to know you. Why do you think that reporter from The Napanee Beaver was here today?”
Rebekkah shrugged, a smile tugging at her lips, "because you faxed him a press release?”
Her mother beamed, “yes! And because he was curious. He wanted, no, he needed to know just who Rebekkah Mordecai is.” She reached out, taking Rebekkah’s hands in hers.
“This is why you’re here, Rebekkah, and why the rapture hasn’t happened yet.
God looked down, and She saw you, and She said to Herself, ‘that is my child. That lady is going to grab the mic and set it right. That little Rebekkah Mordecai is inspired. She can sing. She can act. She can tap! And she’s going to let all Greater Napanee know… ”
Rebekkah grinned, finally giving in, “... and the Land O’Lakes region!”
Her mother’s eyes sparkled with delight, “yes, and the Land O’Lakes region, she’s going to make sure they know, that God isn’t a dude.”
Rebekkah raised her voice with a triumphant vocal run, “She’s a dudette!”
Her mother smiled, full of pride, “That’s my girl.”
LISTEN to HERstory