So.
Why did I give up my freedom and individuality? How does a sassy aspiring jazz singer with a helluva personality and a foul mouth get caught up in such a hot mess?
Let’s backtrack a bit.
I was the youngest of 8 in a good Catholic family, evidenced by the 8 kids bit, of course. Anyone with older siblings knows that being the youngest can make you rather compliant, and a bit on the flinchy side. My brothers and sisters offered a wide variety of excitement such as sudden death or six months in the hospital, or tickle torture, or spit yoyos hanging over my face with my arms pinned down, you get the idea. For my siblings who may read this, yes, I am aware that I could be a total pain in the ass, too. We had a good family nevertheless, and it was instilled that we do the right thing, even when it’s a difficult choice. This works out great when the right thing is actually the right thing, not so well when the right thing is just what you THINK is the right thing, but really isn’t. That sentence is confusing as hell, but correct. I think. Maybe.
So, there I was, sassy snarky Monica just reeling in my life. I was in college for vocal jazz performance, singing had been my passion since I was six, and I was VERY determined to be the best I could. I had spent a year ahead of college going to cosmetology school so I could work my way through college doing something other than flipping burgers, and I enjoyed my support job. I love learning, so my plan was to get my vocal jazz degree and then move on into the sciences, with the vision of being some sort of scientist and a performing musician as well. I wanted to continue taking classes indefinitely, learning over my entire life. I wanted to know everything about everything. and this was my way to do it.
Until Thanksgiving of 1989. Sometimes destiny is changed by a single event, this was one of those evenings.
We are at my future in-law’s, in a dark, musty-dusty basement sitting in velveteen patterned chairs that looked to be circa 1962 with a smell to match. Fiancee has a friend over, we’ll call him Bible Thumper, who is talking about a personal, powerful and real God, and how the Bible is real and relevant, and has SO much more in it about how to live your life than anyone knows. (Remember, I was raised Catholic. I knew the rosary prayers and such, but jeez like any good Catholic, we didn’t really read the Bible.) So, he has this copy of the Bible with him (King James Version, of course), and he’s showing us different things in the Bible. And I’m sitting there like, well shit, it’s the Bible, right?? I really should follow this, it’s the right thing to do!
I had no problem with many of the things he was talking about.
Then he took the left turn at Albuquerque.
Did YOU know the Bible has verses in it about women’s hair? Something something the angels will know a women’s glory because of their headcovering, etc etc and if she is shaven she might as well be shorn yadda yadda… Anyway the long and short of it (sorry!) is that women should not cut their hair. It’s bad. Just for women, though. So, I, of course wanting to do what’s right am not only thinking ohmahgawd I can’t cut my hair but also ohmahgawd what do I do with my job??! And SHIT I just took the Lord’s name in vain and DAMMIT I just swore and we can’t do that either and…oh, hell not again! (I was rebuked once by Pastor Strict for using the word heck! Can’t even darn it to heck anymore. Sheesh. Wait, can I say that??)
I was young, and an idealist, and thought that jeez, what if he’s right? At this point, I was still fearful enough of hellfire and brimstone that I thought I had better at least investigate.
Other discoveries that night… no drinking or smoking (fairly common in churches) no fornication (oops!) no television (the One-Eyed Devil!) and lets see… You weren’t supposed to be “worldly”, a catch-all phrase that could mean anything from jewelry to makeup to a slit in your skirt. Pastor Strict would say “Better a blemish on your face than a blemish on your soul.” Oh yeah, that’s right! No pants for the ladies either, because THAT, my dear, is cross dressing! There is sooo much more, but I’m not throwing all my cards on the table just yet.
I can’t.
We’re not allowed to play cards either. For reals.
I’m not sure what it was that made me swallow all of this hook, line, and sinker, but I did. Rest assured, there are Bible verses for all of it, that’s how they getchya. All at once, me, Fiancee, and a few friends all made a leap into this insanity that would take us on a roller coaster ride I had never planned. I think we just all wanted to do the right thing, and who were we to question the Bible? I mean, a million hotel room drawers can’t be wrong, can they??
There are more things I learned that night, Bible Thumper talked late into the evening about how all you need was the power of God and things would magically fall into place, and I haven’t even touched on signs and wonders and such yet, but suffice it to say that we decided that following this way was the right thing to do. I literally pitched my makeup, my pants, my bad language, my wine and smokes (Camel Lights, baby!) and my personality and quite honestly my will and control over my own life. Overnight my appearance went from badass to Brigham Young, from funky to frumpy. My family was convinced I had joined a cult.
My family… was right.
Worship Leader Gone Wild 