Trapter Five: The Wedding

I am SOBBING.

Walking down the aisle in my absurdly modest long-sleeved high-necked totally unsexy wedding gown, I want to run, but I can’t. I don’t understand what went wrong, aren’t you supposed to marry your best friend?! Fiancee is an awesome person whom I deeply respect and care for…

Why. Isn’t. This. WORKING??!

I am barely 20. I make it through the ceremony and Fiancee becomes Husband, whom I will refer to as DH (Dear Husband) until DH becomes DX (Dear Ex), but take a seat, it’s gonna be a while before this can happen.

Problem.

I know almost immediately that this was a mistake. DH is a wonderful person, and we have a lot of fun together and a lot in common, but this is like being married to a good roommate, just not the right person to marry. AT ALL.

well… at the same time this is all happening, I am being taught all about women being submissive and obedient. So, although I know immediately this wasn’t a good idea for either of us, I cannot change it. You are WAYYY not allowed to get divorced in this church. The ONLY Biblical reason you can get divorced is if one or the other cheats, and neither of us are that person. I’m trapped, and must make the best of it, because I want to do the Right Thing, and at this point I believe that divorce is always Wrong. Many think this is uncommon, yet almost every church I was in had this belief. This is the rule that eventually cost me my career as a ministry leader.

So.

About that women being submissive deal… Pastor Kind was really pretty good about allowing you, within reason, to have your own convictions. His daughter wore face powder and tinted lip balm, and shocked me one day by wearing baggy basketball-type shorts to work out. I, ever the overachiever, didn’t even tweeze my eyebrows anymore and looked like Eugene Levy in my wedding pics (Notice. NONE of you have seen them, have you?). Remember, no makeup, ladies! You don’t wanna be like Jezebel who painted her eyes and was subsequently thrown out the window to be devoured by wild animals until only the palms of her hands were found, do you?? (yes, that’s a Bible story. I don’t recommend it for bedtime.)

There was quite a bit of variance in what different churches would allow, in some you could wear a wedding band or a brooch because it was considered part of your clothing, while other churches disallowed any jewelry at all. Some, like Pastor Kind’s, allowed split skirts or culottes (homely, but at least an option), but the next church we found ourselves at was Pastor Strict’s, and as you may recall, that would be a big NOPE from him.

A lot of the churches wanted your hair up if you were married, it was considered too… flirty, I guess? Sensual? Fleshly? Victoria’s Secret model? …to wear all this uncut hair down and flowing freely, so the unintentional yet hysterical consequence of this was some damn hilarious attempts at piling this mass of hair on top of one’s head. These were formidable super-structures of pins and spray intended to keep ten pounds of hair in place, because in the stricter churches, if you’re a married woman, you have no choice. (Google Pentecostal bun. DO IT NOW. You’re welcome.) Rumor had it that in the 50’s era, UPC ladies would use those round oatmeal boxes inside their buns to make the hair even higher. Thing is, there was this deal called dancing in the Spirit, and sometimes women would dance in church so hard that they would “dance their hair down” and the whole structure would come tumbling down and hang askew, pins a’flyin and such. Yes, I saw this happen, more than once.

NO choice. That was really kind of how it worked. The church/Pastor would kinda make your choices for you, as would your husband. God is the head of the church, the church/Pastor is in authority over the man, the man is the authority over the woman. I guess maybe the woman gets to rule over the dog? It sounds so deranged when I look at the actual words, but yep, as women in the church we REALLY got ripped off. Men get to pursue whatever they want, a woman’s highest calling is as wife and mother, and once married, you are relegated to helper. To this day, the Bible phrase “keepers at home” makes me want to fetal-position in a corner.

I determined that my way to make the best of things, since I couldn’t get divorced and now needed to fulfill the supporting role of wife, was to be the best damn wife and worship leader I possibly could, to support DH who had finished his bachelor’s degree and was on to the next level. I sewed clothes, went to ladies groups, cooked and cleaned, and did my best at being the Stereotypical Conservative Church Lady.

Aaaaand there’s some verse in there about women learning in submission and silence, so I’m expected to be submissive and quiet.

Yep, I did this.

Wipe that smirk off your face.

My gut was shouting SOMETHING IS SPECTACULARLY WRONG every step of the way, but we were taught that the heart could be deceitful, and that the Devil was trying to get us to fall, and rebellion was as the sin of witchcraft, and it was really just that anything the Bible said that could be taken as a rule of some sort was, right down to not coloring your grey hair because a grey head is the head of wisdom (mmhmmm, that’s a verse, too).

So, I shelved my own personality and aspirations, and we packed up to pursue DH’s Masters degree at a top university in the Southern Midwest. Somewhere between point A and point B, though, we crossed the Mason-Dixon line and wound up in the Bible belt, where the UPC was a LOT tougher about the rules.

Enter Pastor Strict, and the end of what little of me was left.