When I believed that there was an all-powerful benevolent god who could change things if I prayed ‘in his will’, I felt a measure of power. I guess it would have been the same type of hope an abused woman feels that if she does everything right, her abuser will be happy and do something nice.
When I heard about female genital mutilation being performed on young girls all over the world, including the city I live in, I had a way to fight. I could pray.
As a prayer warrior I could fight against abuse. 2/3 of the world’s work is done by women, and they own less than 1% of the world’s assets, they are 80% of the world’s refugees, women and children receive most of the world’s violence.
We don’t even know the statistics on slavery, except that the majority are likely young girls in the sex trade. I’ve heard it estimated that human trafficking will soon be the world’s most profitable illegal trade- if it isn’t already. It is always the vulnerable who take the brunt of brutality.
Before I could cry out to god. I could scream, yell, and run. In venting my frustration, I felt I was heard. Maybe somewhere in the world, god was setting someone free from a life of terror and abuse. I could accomplish something.
That illusion is gone. I am confronted with my own helplessness.
Like the woman in an abusive relationship, I am realizing that no matter what I do to try and please that god, it won’t make a difference. I do not have the influence I thought I did.
But, I now have a responsiblity.
To do what? I don’t know! Something! Anything!
I want to become Mama Bear. I’ve been so conditioned to turn the other cheek and to be passive that it is actually hard for me to even stand up for my own children. As if their needs weren’t as important as someone else’s wants or comfort.
I can’t protect them by hiding in my bedroom talking to a being who doesn’t stop other little children from being destroyed.
I need a new way to fight.