Megan Phelps-Roper is a writer and an activist. Formerly a member of the Westboro Baptist Church, she left the church in November 2012 and is now an educator on topics related to extremism and communication across ideological divides. She lives in South Dakota with her husband, Chad, and daughter, Slvi Lynne. You can sign up for email updates here.
This book began as an essay, written as a gift for my dearest C.G. Chad, I wouldnt have undertaken this project without your unwavering belief in me, your honest and tactful criticism, and your willingness to walk with me through the difficulties. I love your mind, and cant believe I get to have you as my first reader.
My friend and mentor Eric McHenry played an instrumental role in bringing this book to life. Eric, when I first asked you to edit that essay back in 2014, my only goal was to write something beautiful for the man I lovedbut with your endless encouragement, it became something more. I have no idea where Id be if you hadnt been so willing to share your writerly wisdom, to read so many of my ugly first drafts, to connect me with a wonderful editor who became my wonderful editor, and to write on my behalf to literary agents. Given how reluctant I was to write about my life, I have every reason to believe that this book wouldnt exist without you. I am forever in your debt!
And now, to contain my loquacity and in homage to my favorite social media platform, tweet-length expressions of gratitude:
To my brilliant editor, Alex StarYou gave me the books structure the day we met, and expertly molded the text each time you touched it.
Mel Flashman, literary agent extraordinaireI couldnt have asked for an advocate more enthusiastic and equipped (in all ways!) than you.
Adrian ChenIve never known a more thorough reporter. The depths of our conversations made my thinking and writing infinitely clearer.
Willing DavidsonThe title you gave Adrians profile in The New Yorker was truly inspired. Thank you for sharing it with this book.
Keith NewberyWe wouldnt have lasted nearly as long without you. Existential heroines forever. (P.S. Everyone follow @TchrQuotes!)
David AbitbolYour guidance and friendship have shaped so much of the life Ive made. You helped me find my voice, and I owe you much.
Laura FloydDarling! The attention with which you read is astounding, and this book benefited enormously from your keen eye. I adore you!
Dustin FloydFrom Yellowstone to NY to Israel, discussing ideas with you and Laura has clarified much for me. Thanks for going the distance.
Louis TherouxYour thoughts and questions on early drafts were insightful and important to the life of this book. I appreciate every word.
Andy MillsYoure an extraordinary friend and teller of stories, and Im grateful for the time we spend discussing ours. You are invaluable.
Dana MeinchThank you for teaching me how to be a good human, to set boundaries, to question assumptions, and to remember whos on my team.
Rabbi Yonah, Rachel, Moshe, Tzofiya, Shlomo, and Nafi BooksteinYour kindness and generosity of spirit are unsurpassed! An example to all.
Mike Savatovsky, Sarah Atkins, M., N., H.Our month in MTL taught me intentionality and the magic of taking actionand chances. All my love.
Dortha, Mark, and Nate PhelpsThank you for answering my questions about long-ago events. Dortha, you were so generous, and I am grateful.
Steve Fry and the Topeka Capital JournalFor opening the archives and shedding light on the early days, thank you very kindly.
To my early readersTom Kenat, Mike Savatovsky, Brittan Heller, Karrie Fjelland, too many to name, but you know who you are: Thank you!
And finally, to the family who have been my everything:
Josh Phelps-RoperGoing through this process with you has helped me heal in ways I didnt know I needed. You are a rock, dear brother.
Zach Phelps-RoperYour comments on this text were full of wisdom and comedic relief. You and your sweet disposition are a light to me.
Grace Phelps-RoperI still aspire to the wondrous things you wrote of so long ago. Thank you for sharing your adventurous spirit with me.
Nana Toews and Grandpa FundisI now know whence my dad got much of his goodness. Thank you for the love and thought youve given this book.
Stephanie, Gabe, Asher, and Emmie RoperYour presence in my life has been unparalleled joy & lightened the dark times. I love you dearly!
Slvi Lynne FjellandYou are the most precious gift, sweet dolly. The embodiment of joy. What a delight it is to be your mom.
Kurt, Karrie, Halle, Kate, and Jasper FjellandHalsny, the Hills, rocket ships, and princess cake. Oh, how Ive loved joining this family!
Marlin and Joyce FjellandI couldnt be more grateful for your wild enthusiasm and love. Thank you for raising my beloved so wonderfully.
Sam, Bekah, Isaiah, Gabe, Jonah, Noah, and LukeOur years together were a treasure, and I ever wish for more. I am lucky to be your sister.
To my beloved GranHaving your name is a constant reminder of the gentle wisdom & patience you inhabit, & to which I aspire. I love you so.
To my padreThere isnt a day I dont think of the wonderful father youve been to me. Your absence is felt always.
And to my madreWho could ever ask for the sacrifices you made for me? I will never have a greater teacher than you.
If a mother thinks something is important enough to take a public position about, shouldnt she teach her children that value? Where else should children be at the time of public debate? At the local video arcade? I dont think we should pretend that these vital issues dont affect children.
Shirley Phelps-Roper, letter to the editor, Topeka Capital Journal, August 26, 1991
I didnt understand what was going on, not at first. The signs simply appeared one day and never left, like some undeniable force of nature. Id guess Topekans experienced their arrival that way, as well. My mothers family had been a well-known and polarizing presence in the city for decadesbut in my memory, the picketing is the beginning, and it started at Gage Park.
It sure didnt look like a park to me. There were no swings or slides or jungle gymsjust an open field that separated the place where we parked from the busy intersection of 10th Street and Gage Boulevard. As pastor of the tiny Westboro Baptist Church, my grandfather would drive the big red pickup filled with signs hed made, and the rest of the churchconsisting almost entirely of my aunts, uncles, cousins, parents, grandparents, and siblingswould follow in a caravan of vehicles. I couldnt read the messages Gramps had carefully written since I was still a few months shy of kindergarten, but when I saw photos as a teenager, I was surprised by how small and restrained some were compared to what came later: WATCH YOUR KIDS! GAYS IN RESTRMS.
The adults would pick up as many signs as they could carry, walk them across the field, and lean them against the trunks of the two biggest trees. The rest of us just had to walk by and grab one. During those first few monthsJune, July, August of 1991our habit was to hold our signs and walk in a big circle just next to the roadway, cars whizzing by in all four lanes of traffic. The baseball hats my dad made us wear always gave me headaches, but I was glad to have them once I was out there walking in the heavy afternoon heat.