A Girl Called Samson

by Amy Harmon

Had I been pretty and small, I might have had different dreams. I’ve pondered on that many times. Our aspirations are so often influenced by our appearance.

In a way, he radicalized me too, if faith can be called radical. I’ve come to think it might be the most rebellious thing of all.

running is not the same thing as fleeing.

Loss is not spread equally. I have learned that lesson well. It is a lumpy porridge and a thin gruel, and fate does not consider the suffering of a mother and say, Perhaps I’ll spare her this time

Fate was cruel, but I did not believe God was. But fate was not done, and God did not stop her.

freedom is not left or right, up or down. It exists in degrees.

An education was about more than reading and arithmetic. It was about wonder too, and becoming able and useful people.

did not want to hate my mother, but I did not love her, and I could not listen to her rationalizations. She had not raised me. She had not worked for my welfare. I had done that with my own sweat and my own labor.

When He plucks you from this earthly coil, then you may rejoice. But as long as you draw breath, as long as your heart beats and the sun rises, you must stay in the fight.”

had never considered it a privilege to be a woman. Not even once. I had struggled at the bit of my sex, at the reins of society, at the saddle of tradition. It had not occurred to me that men had their own burdens, that they were bridled too. It was not women who died on the battlefield. I had been denied and barred entry to a world I wanted to experience, but had I been barred because I was disdained or because I was valued? I suspected it was both. Even so, I was less inclined to complain about my lot.

When mouths commune, there is little that can be hidden, and I had no desire to hide anything any longer.