From the beginning of Chapter 13 of The Panhandle Blues:
“We’re nearing the end of our summer gospel tour. And what a success! I counted one hundred salvations and rededications as of Wednesday night’s service at Mt. Olive Assembly of God. Praise the Lord!” Louis bows his head. “Thank you, Jesus. You’ve honored our songs, magnified our talents in Jesus’ name. Now give us rest, refresh our voices, keep us well for tomorrow’s service.” Louis looks to the other members of Lord’s Heralds.
“Brother Louis, how many stops between here and home?”
“Brother Charles, from here in El Paso, we perform in Odessa and Big Spring on our way back to Fort Worth. Sister Merlina’s parents will meet us in Abilene; as our youngest vocalist, she starts school again right away. It’s already August, and we’ll need to prepare for Fall revival season.” Merlina smiles with the others who are older than she, anxious as they are to be home again, uneasy that she has protected her personal story from their interfering convictions.
“It’s been ten weeks since we left family behind. I’m ready to put away my suitcase.”
“True enough. Let’s get to the motel court and pick up room keys. Our stomachs are full. Should be easy to fall asleep right away.” The Lord’s Heralds pile into the Oldsmobile, Merlina’s place always between Sister Lillian and her older brother in the back seat. Already sluggish from long car hours between recent performances in New Mexico, their full-meal stupor constrains conversation and the typical cheerfulness felt on the night before a Sunday morning performance when the audience size is larger, the audience also rested and receptive.
However, Merlina is wide awake. Like the nagging call of alpha coyote to her pups that interrupts Merlina’s sleep, two questions play repeatedly in her mind though no answers arise. Should I rejoin this group for the Fall revival tour? Should I tell this group that I am mixed-race? A young woman of fourteen years whose beliefs are based in submissiveness will naturally frame vexing questions as “should I”. She does not ask: Is there a way that I can use my talent while pursuing bigger goals? Who benefits from the revelation of my parentage? What do I want to do and how do I do it? Merlina Rea Butterfield does not ask because she presumes that her life will be one of servitude, from accepting minimal wages for her labor to pleasing others who are entitled to Know and Do while she must Watch and Wait. Of all the teachers in her young life, from schoolteacher to mother, from pastor’s wife to Mrs. Miller, from Cora Belle to Grandma Clara, Merlina must search in the swamp of their Christian and women’s advice for valuable tidbits of female heroism, woman strength…of reason that transcends should be, should say, should give…of curiosity that transcends what will they want, what will they think, what will they say…of honesty that rises majestically higher than everything happens for a reason.
A wise woman once told me to "remove the word Should from your vocabulary". I had been in therapy for a prolonged period of depression. It was not so long ago that I cannot remember her voice, how I felt being entirely dependent on her honesty and advice, how the room looked. Even after she phoned me, saying that she and her husband would leave right away to do work for Doctors Without Borders, I remained submissive to the dark voices that called to me during day and night. But I started to do the one thing she advised, "Remove Should from your vocabulary".
Within a year, I knew I was mending and appreciating life again. And I attribute the success of that year to my therapists' advice. Before I allowed the word Should to leave my mouth, I paused to find other words. The magic, if I can express the process in this way, happened because I practiced new words and new ideas. I practiced them aloud, to myself and to others. I practiced them repeatedly and devotedly. I learned that I must be thoughtful about my voice -- what I say to myself, what I confess or advise others. I learned that words do matter.