A Doctor in the House: Seeing, Speaking, and Stitching Connections
About thirty years ago, I moved from Vancouver, BC, with my new husband, a southerner, to Atlanta, to pursue a PhD in women’s studies. The doctoral program at Emory University was new, one of the first of its kind, and I was to become one of the first graduates in the country in this interdisciplinary field. I was more than a little proud, very exhilarated, completely terrified, and somewhat culture-shocked. That first year, we joined a big Presbyterian church in downtown Atlanta. How we ended up there, neither of us being Presbyterian, and having an over-abundance of churches to choose from, is a story for another day. Kind of formal and fancy, but without much by way of artistry or liturgy, somewhat wealthy and very white, it really wasn’t the best fit for either of us, but we stuck it out for about a year. Determined to really give it a go, I joined the women’s bible class, even though it met before the service (I am not a morning person) and, at 26, I was the youngest member by