Girl on a Wire

by Libby Phelps

  I miss my parents dearly. Every night before bed I’m reminded of my mom. Zea raises her baby finger to her mouth so I’ll put chapstick on her lips, and she rubs her precious hands together so I’ll put lotion on her hands—just like my mom and I did when I was young. I’m reminded of my dad when Paxton grabs a ball and wants to play catch, or when he wants to go for a run around the block with me. I cherish these memories I had with my family and love the sense of comfort I get with sharing similar memories with my children.

  TODAY, I FEEL MOSTLY TURNED OFF BY RELIGION AS A whole. I think I’ll always believe in God, but I don’t want anyone telling me how and where I can worship. Everyone should be able to have their own beliefs without being told what to think. For so many years, I pushed my religion on others. I realize this now, even though at the time, we were assured by our parents and the rest of the grownups that we weren’t doing this at all, that we were simply telling people the inarguable truth.

  I wonder how much longer Westboro Baptist can survive, with the rate of defections consistently going up. I believe by the time I’m old and gray, it may not be around anymore. But there are still some in my generation who are strong believers in WBC theology, so who knows—it could hang on for decades longer. Either way, I don’t think it will ever have the traction it once did. The world has gotten wise to the sensationalism inherent in our picketing, and nobody seems to be very interested in paying it any attention anymore. Besides, there are so many other, more extreme outlets for hate speech these days—many of them affiliated with President Trump—that WBC seems like an old-timey relic in comparison. But I know we did our part to create an atmosphere of hate speech in this country for many years; if I could go back and change that somehow, I would.

  THESE DAYS, LOGAN AND I ARE IN THE PROCESS OF LOOKING for a new home—one that will have enough extra room so that anyone who leaves the church and doesn’t have a place to go can come to us. We’ve housed relatives who’ve left the church before—Megan and Danielle both spent time sleeping on our couch and moved their stuff into our storage space for a while—but I want to have a place where someone could feel comfortable staying for a bit. I never really felt like that when I left, and I now realize how valuable it is in the process of making the transition out of the church. When I left, I felt like I was a burden on the people I stayed with—and I want to help others avoid feeling that way.

  I still hope I can reunite with my parents one day, so they can meet my husband and their sweet grandchildren. There are already so many years they’ve missed out on.

  I plan to tell my kids about my past, once they’re old enough to understand; this is part of why I’m writing this book. They deserve to know, and I’m sure, like all children, they’ll be curious. I’ll tell them that my family believed it was their duty to preach God’s hatred, but that I want them to be loving and accepting of others. I’ll tell them that there are lots of religions, and that if they want to be exposed to them, that’s great. It’s nice to get an understanding of different viewpoints—but ultimately, what I want most is for them to treat all people equally, and with kindness and dignity.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I GRACIOUSLY AND SINCERELY WANT TO THANK EVERYONE who has helped me on my journey since the day I left. Megan, Faith, Brandon, Carolyn—couldn’t have gotten through my initial days away from the church without you.

  My family, both out of and still in the church. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without going through all that life has thrown at me.

  My friends Elizabeth, Brandy, Tiffany, Michelle, Adam, and Vicki, thank you for encouraging me to keep writing and for proofing and for believing in me. You guys are the best! Cheryl, Blake, Bridget, Lori, Julie, and Kristi who showed me how “normal people” act in social situations—being a little less awkward each outing is progress.

  Christie May and Errin Bond for letting me share your amazing photos!

  My friends at the Equality House and the NoH8 campaign, you are great examples of upstanding citizens. Your fight for basic human rights is admirable and something I am proud to support.

  Thank you Sara for helping me put my thoughts together and making this something that I’m proud of—a project that can impact the lives of others! Through our many conversations, you allowed me to open up and heal and gave me the confidence in knowing I can make a difference and that my story does matter.

  Finally, and most importantly, I want to thank my new family. I especially want to show gratitude to my husband, Logan, who allowed me to take time away from family to work on this project. He lovingly cared for our precious Paxton and sweet Zea and always had a hot meal on the table for us. Thank you Paxton for always laughing and dancing and brightening up my day through stressful times. Thank you Zea for always smiling and pleasantly trotting towards me on your little dainty feet, gently saying “hi” when I enter a room … and for being such a good sleeper so I can get things accomplished. I love you guys!

  —Libby Phelps

  THANKS TO IAN SPIEGELMAN, FOR YOUR COWRITING COUNSEL and for connecting Libby and me with our lovely agent, Markus Hoffmann; Markus, for being so supportive and patient with our lengthy writing process; Margi Conklin, my New York Post editor at the time, who trusted me to chase a story in Kansas about a girl who made a unique left turn in life; Alexandra and Brianna at Skyhorse for shepherding our manuscript through the editing and publication process; and my husband Todd, for being a reliable source of good advice, bad jokes, and general awesomeness. Most of all thanks to Libby, for inviting me into your home and your life, for sharing your story with me, and for pairing up with me to flesh it out into a book. You’re a remarkable person, and I know you’ll do more great things in the future.

  —Sara Stewart