They used to think I was smart. They used to applaud my courage in calling out things. They loved it when I wrote a book challenging prosperity gospel preachers. They invited me to speak from their pulpits. They asked me to speak to their women’s groups. They would take me by the hand and introduce me to their friends. They invited me to their dinners, to their barbecues and gatherings.

This is the gal who wrote that book, they’d say, while repeating the title of the book. Then they’d all laugh because the title was funny even if the subject matter was serious – a look at the false prophets within the church, people who went around saying things like, “God wants to bless you” by which they meant “God wants you to be rich.”

They might have winced when reading my take on Jeremiah 29,11: For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. A verse that was bastardized by the corporate church. They recognized the truth of what I was saying. They knew that God was not a capitalist. They knew God’s promise to prosper was different than Wall Street’s, even if they wished it wasn’t.

Oh, and golly, how they cheered when I turned my keyboard toward Preacher Smiley and others like him who were exploiting the name of Jesus for their own greed and financial gain. They’d pat me on the back, send me handwritten cards, leave me long rambling voice messages, talk me up at their Sunday School classes and Bible Studies. Shoot, they even taught those classes using the concepts I put forth in that bestselling book. Then they invited me to write for their religious magazines, and blog sites. And I did that, for years I did just that.

They considered me an insightful and wise woman. A smart woman. They were proud to know me and told me so.

Until I came for their orange idol.

Then they turned on me faster than a Sand Mountain rattler at a tent revival. Lifelong friends and a handful of family members abandoned me, whispering among themselves about how I’d lost my ever-loving mind. Some who considered me a hot ticket in the faith-based publishing field suggested that perhaps I needed therapy. Most just avoided me and too many still do to this day.

They all, every single one, choose a man they have no personal relationship with over their relationship with me. Friends who’ve known me my entire life; family members who once respected my integrity now mock it. People who chided me for my urgent warnings about what a danger Trump posed to our country now call for the assassination of Kamala Harris. They deride a black woman who is more than qualified to lead this country in favor of a man who has spouted hatred and bigotry his entire life.

Friends and family who know better. In their hearts I know they know better. Yet, they turn their backs on me and the truth and defend the indefensible. They refuse to consider that racism and misogyny and patriarchy is what’s at the heart of their disdain toward Kamala Harris. Ask them what policies she has touted that they disagree with and they cannot articulate it. They say things like: She’s not qualified. She’s not smart. She can’t put a sentence together.

This while they defend a man who inflammatory rhetoric is always directed towards people of color and women.

This while they pay homage to a man whose character is so flawed they can’t possibly defend it.

This while they refuse to acknowledge what they know to be true – they would never ever want their sons or daughters to follow Trump’s example. They would punish any child or grandchild who spoke the way he does. They’d disown any son who cheated on his wives the way Trump has. They’d pray fervently for any child who bullied others the way Trump does.

Yet, they choose him over and over again.

I have lived in a perpetual state of grief for the past decade and I am weary from it. The people I love have embraced a cult figure and in doing so have revealed themselves to be a people I do not recognize.

And that creates a brokenness inside of me that will never ever heal. I recognize that I will die with these relationships fractured. They will continue to whisper about me and I will continue to grieve the memories that we could have made, and the ones we could have recalled were it not for this one man and his inexplicable hold over people who in their deepest heart of hearts know better.

Or at least they did at one time. A time I remember all too well.