The Many Thoughts of Wanda Kidd

I am at a Baptist meeting, not the one that met last week in Florida. That one that wanted to once again publicly disenfranchise women from their amazingness. At this meeting, I could have a conversation with a young pastor about some of the things I have learned from romance novels. He patiently let me explain my appreciation of the genre. I have gotten sermon illustrations and quotes for articles from my cache of books. Easily quoting directly and giving the source without anyone having any idea they were not from devotional books. Like when Susan Elizabeth Phillips from The Great Escape said, “Be the best at what you are good at,” which says “you are enough” in spades.

That said, I recognize that some, mostly men, dismiss this genre as romance novels with an eye roll and general disdain. However, it is worth noting that many women authors live in really nice houses, because I am not alone in my devotion to them.

I have learned so much from LaVyrle Spencer, the Brown girls Sandra and Carolyn, Jude Deveraux, Kathleen Eagle, Pamela Morsi, Catherine Marshall, Sue Monk Kidd, and many others. Many no longer write for publication, but I still return to their books when I need a break from the chaos around me.

In Years, LaVyrle Spencer taught me to survive a North Dakota blizzard: always tie a rope from the back door to the barn door in case you get lost. Kathleen Eagle met her Lakota husband as a Vista worker. She wrote fifty books illuminating Indian school injustices, Native humor nuances, and the heavy toll of alcoholism and suicide on reservations.

Years ago, at a Sunday school party, I shared an engaging conversation with an Indian Health Service doctor. He marveled at my insight into the plight of the Lakota. On the way home, I asked my husband if he thought the doctor would have been as impressed knowing I learned it all from romance novels.

Pamela Morsi reminded me, in Courting Miss Hattie, that not just the pretty girls find love, but humor and intellect are valued as well. Carolyn Brown always has an older woman serve as the voice that encourages the younger person to be courageous and incorrigible. I love that.

Last fall, on a trip west, I wanted to see a bighorn sheep so badly that it became a mantra for the whole trip. I had been in pursuit of a sighting for thirty years, since a group of students I was chaperoning had seen multiple herds, but I had joined the trip late and missed them. On this trip, we had been through Colorado, seen the hopeful road sign, and still had no sightings.

One night, as I was about to fall asleep, I recalled a book about a woman who moved to Boulder City, Nevada, and found bighorn sheep grazing in the town’s park every day. I must have tucked that away for such a time as this. I rolled over and told my husband, “We are going to Boulder City to find the sheep.” He asked, “Where is that?” I replied, “I think it’s on the way to Yosemite.” He said “okay” and went back to sleep.

We put Boulder City in the GPS—it was on the way. Overlooking Lake Mead, just outside Las Vegas, the park is Hemenway City Park. We arrived at noon, and three sheep were grazing among benches and picnic tables. I jumped out before my husband could park and took their picture. Because I couldn’t remember the title of the book, AI revealed the book is Love Takes Home by CM Smith. But more importantly, I appreciate my husband’s grand gesture of listening to my hopes and then taking a trip with no guarantees to fulfill that dream.

Of course, no genre is perfect. Admittedly, I wish romance novels would not always use the phrase, “it is not what it seems!” when caught in a compromising situation, or back into relationships because they had great, amazing, and unforgettable sex. I do value the amount of research and relationship development that authors put into their stories, and that people are rarely killed to move the story along. And I do love a grand gesture.

I stand with my appreciation. Don’t roll your eyes until you have tried a couple.