Alexis Monro - The Thorn In My Side: A Memoir Of Healing

The Thorn in My Side: AMemoir of Healing

Alexis Monro

Published by Alexis Monro atSmashwords

Copyright 2017 Alexis Monro

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THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONALVERSION, NIV Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

All Scripture references are from theNew International Version unless otherwise indicated.

Introduction

Looking back on it, it seems ironicthat I cant stand televangelists. All of them seem like huckstersto me: selling Christ by threat, making people believe thatsalvation comes at the expense of whatever is in their wallets.Its ironic because it was a televangelist that spurred me toacknowledge my salvation.

My mother raised me to be Christian. Iwas surrounded by Scripture. She was also a very intelligent,well-read woman. She let me read anything I could get my hands on.The Bible, obviously, but also medical journals, Asian mysticism,eroticaanything. I drank it all in. And if I had any questions, Iasked and she answered.

My mom was a force of nature. She neverfit anyones mold and didnt care to. My grandmother was a teacherbecause like many of her generation, she felt that education wasthe only way to give African-American people other options-onesthat didnt include servitude or hopelessness. She wanted a legacyfor her daughter as well, so she sent mom to a private finishingschool for negroes. My mothers early education was strict, and shelearned quickly. Faith has always been the cornerstone for thewomen in my family, and it was especially true for mom. She wasconsidered a bible scholar at the young age of twelve, and beganteaching the Sunday School adult class. As she got older, momtutored other young people in the community in reading andliterature-attempting to ignite the desire to learn in their heartsand to bring them out of the hopelessness that many of them saw inthemselves and their parents.

Mom loved to read anything she couldget her hands on. She felt that any knowledge was preferable toignorance. She truly felt that if Christians knew their spiritualenemy, that they would be better equipped to handle the challengesthat they faced every day. Because of this, she read books aboutcults, witchcraft, and demonology along with the Scriptures.Spiritual education and secular education held the same gravity forher.

But mom also was plagued with her owndemons. She was sexually abused at a very young age, so her view ofher own sexuality and that of men became skewed. She developed adeep need to please the men around her and to shun and mistrustwomen. She tried to tell my grandmother of the abuse when ithappened and was blamed for it herself. This resulted in my mothergrowing up feeling alone and vulnerable. She never married well,instead she suffered through several bad relationships-each withits own form of abuse. Through it all, her faith never faltered. Onthe contrary, it kept her alive. But she could not love freelydespite the teachings of the Christian faith which includesunconditional love. That gift was ripped from her. As intelligentand faithful as she was, she was also bitter, mean, manipulative,and fiercely independent. Her intelligence allowed her the abilityto cut deeply with her words, and she had the need to belittle anddid so with relish. I loved her, hated her, and feared her. But Iwill never deny that the strength and perseverance that I possess,my love of knowledge, and my strong faith in God come directly fromthe seeds that she planted in me at a young age.

Through it all, though, I always drew aline in the sand. If I got curious about something, and wanted totry it, I always asked myself if the activity was something ofwhich Jesus would approve. If it wasnt, I left it alone. I wasasking what would Jesus do? long before it became a popularChristian catch-phrase. Though I was young and hadnt yet gone tothe altar to receive Christ, I hadunbeknownst to mealreadyreceived Him in my heart. Had I not, it would have been impossiblefor me to face the temptations of my childhood curiosity. But as ayoung girl growing up in the South, tradition is a way of makingsense out of a chaotic world. As non-traditional as my motherwas-she taught me that too.

One day when I was twelve, I watchedBilly Graham on TV. He was deliciously frightening and compelling;he scared me right into the arms of Jesus. It was wonderful. Iremember Reverend Grahams slightly upturned face, his strict butgentle presentation, his booming voice, and his promise that hellwould be the home of the unsaved. Right then and there, I decidedthat hell was not the place for me. I gave my already-surrenderedheart to Jesus. I even wrote Billy Grahams ministry, and they sentme some Scripture flash cards. I remember feeling like I had justwon the lottery when I received them. I used those cards until theywere dog-eared and dirty.

Reverend Graham was the lasttelevangelist I ever listened to. I believe that he was the lasthonest and true one. I dont believe he was a perfect man; none ofus are perfect. But I didnt sense any underlying deception in himlike I do in the current crop of preachers.

As I matured, I kept reading theScriptures and everything else that interested me. And I watchedpeople. I learned that people were good at saying one thing anddoing another. That they could hide a feeling behind anotherfeeling until they started believing the lies that they weretelling others. I didnt know why I saw these things or why Iunderstood them. But as I grew older, I began to see this abilityas a gift. This ability has kept me sane, and more importantly, hashelped me stay grounded as a Christian womanand a black Christianwoman at that. Some readers may not understand this, but when youare a black Christian woman, you are more likely to be spirituallyraped by a predator calling himself Reverend then to end uppastoring a church of your own. And if you have the kind of thornin your side that I do, it takes the power of the Holy Spirit tokeep you beneath the Masters wings.

I was sexually aware at a very youngage. I was not abused at all; at least, not in the traditionalmanner. However, when I went for my first gynecological exam ateighteenand still a virginthe doctor purposely ruptured my hymenby using a speculum that was too large after the attending nursetold him not to. My virginity was not taken by an abusive uncle ora friend of a friend. It was taken by a medical instrument used bya doctor who probably got off on the thought of breaking my hymen.I can see no other reason why he would do such a cruel thing. Inever asked questions or pursued legal action. In my naivet, Ididnt realize what was happening to me. I was in so much pain; allI could see was white when I closed my eyes, and silent tears randown my cheeks. I had never had an exam like this before. No oneelse had ever touched my vagina, and at eighteen, I had never evenseen a penis. When the doctor left, the nurse (who had been holdingmy hand and letting me squeeze hers the whole time) apologized tome. She had a profound look of sadness and regret on her face. Inever went to that office again. I was mortified.

Sometime later, when I had intercoursefor the first time, I discovered what had been stolen from me. Iexpected it to hurt, and when it didnt, a flood of emotion rushedthrough me. I realized that the moment that was supposed to take mefrom girlhood to womanhood had already been ripped from me. Anexperience that was supposed to happen in intimacy and safety wasexperienced in the cruel act of a sexual predator wearing a whitecoat while my feet were in stirrups.