Awake: A Memoir

by Jen Hatmaker

Life may steal some happiness but it can’t confiscate joy, or at least not all of it. We still contain outrageousness, and we ought to use it because it is fun, and fun is underrated when you’re sad.

The rage I feel watching leaders who assured us we were the problem now repeal our autonomy while giving men in power a free pass. Male pastors embroiled in sexual abuse? We’ll handle this in-house; no need to alert the authorities for family business, she is probably lying anyway. Women who cross state lines for a medical abortion? Put her in jail. Men who grab women by the pussy without their consent? Put him in the White House. It was all a sham.

I will tell you this: I am finished listening to what a single person in these subcultures tells me about my body. I don’t want to hear what they think of sex, agency, reproductive rights, body image, sexual identity, any of it. It has turned out to be a self-serving, power-protecting, women-subjugating enterprise with an opt-out for men, and the whole rotten ship can sink.

Let the ship sink. It was never going to keep you afloat, darlings.

I genuinely honor any effort to know God, however mysterious an endeavor that is. Which is one reason I couldn’t go back on Sunday mornings. Sitting there in my triggered cynicism felt like poisoning the room.

I currently find myself unable to attend church and unable to reject it, and I worry about this unresolved leadership, and then I remember, dear reader, that I am not your leader; I am your sister, and this is not a handbook. You are a grown-up and make your own choices. You get to look for the Spirit however you want, and you will find her. I bless the search for divine love, a journey with a million routes.