I Dare

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Look. I write to clear my head. To make sense of what I'm feeling. To understand things. To understand myself. To try to understand others. 

For a good long while the topic du jour around here has been faith. I don't know if it's because I'm getting older and wondering what it's all for or if the many mistakes I make and keep making have me questioning whether I'm nothing but a mistake making machine. (I am. We all are.) It could just be that I'm no longer swallowing things whole cloth and am asking questions because things are not making sense. Not just in the world. But in the very institutions that are supposed to be the voices of reason, of hope.

Maybe I'm just angry. Angry at hypocrisy. Angry at the status quo and the powers that be. Angry that emotion and caring and frustration, if not perfectly executed to the listener/observer's liking, is met more often than not with, "shut up!" "You're talking too loud!" "Get over it!" 

I think more people need to cop to being angry. I agree that yelling is an ineffective mode of communicating; but, so is not listening. If anger is indicative of something else under the surface, then yeah, I absolutely think more people need to cop to being angry. And more people, myself included, need to vow to being better listeners. 

Telling someone to shut up and dictating how communication occurs isn't really helpful. Neither is my all time favorite - "going invisible" or stonewalling - a mechanism people use to withdraw from interactions, shut down and close off. Speaking from experience as a world-renowned stonewaller, issues accumulate when they're avoided.

So, that's one reason I write. To avoid avoidance! To avoid stonewalling and withdrawing. To avoid disengaging from my life and the people close to me. It's also why I went to the meeting I told you about in my last post. 

I heard about the meeting via Facebook:

I was worried about attending, because as I said, I'm angry and anger, for me, often translates into loud. But I made myself a promise: attend and listen with an open mind and an open heart and a very closed mouth. 

It was dark outside when I left for the meeting, but the super moon was bright. I took it as a good sign. I, along with about 25 other people were present. The vast majority of attendees were anglo and over the age of 55. A vast majority were female. A handful were younger than me, and at 48, I'm on the cusp of AARP-dom so can I really call myself "young"? It doesn't matter.

As church meetings are wont to do, we started with a prayer and song. And then the initial speaker passed out the paper you see in the picture at the top of this post and laid the ground rules: we are here to listen, to share; to discuss strategies for communicating as we head into the holidays and contemplate interacting with loved ones who often don't share our same viewpoints, our same lifestyles, our same values. 

She made a point to clarify "this is not about the election, the candidates, or the issues." But then, immediately after she said those words, she asked us to turn the paper over so that we could all read the Archbishop's statement "regarding the election of Donald Trump as President."

Um....?

I have to tell you, I was not the only person imperceptibly shaking my head at the...what's a good word here...double standard. 

Leading with a double standard is not a great way to begin an open, honest, healthy dialogue, in my opinion. Especially when, to a person, almost every one in attendance was there because of the election (I say that because we were given a sticky note to write out why we came. These anonymous notes were read out as we began the meeting and 98% mentioned the election). 

We broke up into small groups of four to do a few exercises. We each had the opportunity to look at the "I Dare To..." list and talk about the ones that jumped out to us. Within seconds, we were talking about the election and I didn't start it!

Somehow I was in a group with three other women (haha, God has a sense of compassion! Or is it humor?). Two were around my age and we immediately seemed kindred spirits. The other woman was in her sixties and was surprised, but open, about our viewpoints. The four of us had a terrific chat. I felt like I wasn't alone in my pain and anger and confusion. I felt like maybe I made two new friends and we exchanged phone numbers before leaving.   

The meeting was nowhere near long enough to unpack the emotions so many of us were feeling, but, even if it began on an incongruent note, it was a nice start.

It's not enough, though. It's really not. 

I don't know if I have a place in this church anymore. I have faith. I believe that I am here, we are all here, not as a result of some cosmic accident, but for a reason. And, for me, that reason is simply to serve each other and to love each other as we love ourselves. That's the teaching that gets lost in the noise of our egos and our politics and in family members telling each other to shut up and in just the day to day shit of the world. But it's the only thing that matters. 

It's why I can't blindly follow a double standard without speaking what I think is truth to it. It's why I can't just sit back, passively nodding yes, when everything around me is begging question after question.

I made a point as people were leaving to pull aside one of the leaders of the church and of the meeting to ask him about the double standard of telling us - "we're not here to talk politics but please see the archbishop's message about politics." 

He dared to listen and I dared not to be angry. Maybe the conversation will continue. I want to get involved, but I'm very afraid. My faith in the church (and there is a distinction) is hanging by a thread. 

As I left the room, a slideshow was shuffling between quotes from Dorothy Day and Maya Angelou's Still I Rise. And I thought, yes, yes, up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise. These are the words I want to hear from the heart of people of faith speaking up, speaking out, not content to be mollified with a pretty slideshow that helps us feel good for a fleeting moment and then is forgotten in a flash as we shoot the finger to the lady in the parking lot who's just cut us off as we exit and spin our wheels back home. Back to busy. Back to the noise. 

I don't know what to think when my church makes a call for peace and listening but does so with a double standard of "we don't want you to talk about the very thing you want to talk about, but check this out - we want you to hear the church's position on politics so here is the archbishop's statement...please read it and pray about it but don't talk about it here and by the way it's kind of not cool to call us on it because it makes me feel a little uncomfortable I'm just doing what I was told to do." 

Especially when I juxtapose it with a voice like this: http://bit.ly/2fTsyHQ.

You can't be a light in the darkness by leading with a double standard. 

I don't know...all of us try. All of us fail. And platitudes'll get me nowhere. 

So I'll Dare To...

• risk understanding your beliefs
• listen even when it hurts
• think before I respond
• try and find common ground
• shut my mouth and open my ears

I won't always succeed. But, please don't give up. I say this to myself. I say it to you.

Can We Still Be Friends?

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The day after the election, my church (Catholic, in South Texas where we are predominantly Hispanic) sent out a Facebook notice to schedule the following: 

a time for conversation and strategies for respectful conversations in difficult and stressful times - to provide a safe space to explore attitudes and strategies that might be helpful in maintaining relationships with people we love, with our friends, family and community. 

In another Facebook post, an article was linked in which the young author, a recent Boston College graduate and O'Hare Fellow at America (a provider of editorial content "for thinking Catholics and those who want to know what Catholics are thinking"), despaired of his inability to talk to his parents about the election.   

Now, to my knowledge, my church has never held such an event. It holds Bible studies, rosary making meetings, prayer meetings, and hosts numerous community volunteer projects. But a strategy meeting to explore ways to maintain relationships after a national election? It feels unprecedented. 

A comment in response to the Genovese article jumped out at me and might explain some things:

Elections are not usually this contentious. There is usually a sense that no matter who wins, the country will basically be okay. The sense that all will be okay is missing because of the incredibly low standards of civility set by the president-elect during the campaign, his utter lack of experience, and his history of corruption. That his campaign was characterized by a complete disregard for facts is also not reassuring. I have seen quite a few elections now and this is the first one that has left me afraid for this country. This election is not typical. If it's the first one you have voted in, rest assured that the outcome does not usually leave people feeling so outraged and in despair. - L Weber

The meeting is Monday at 7:00 p.m. and I'm going. 

I'm going because, like L Weber and Nick Genovese, I'm outraged and confused and sad and I have so many questions. The main reason I'm going, though, is to witness. To witness what and how people of faith discuss the world we now live in post-election. 

I mean, really. It's not like people haven't voted before and had elections come out in ways they weren't happy about. The church never felt moved to host such a meeting before, though. Why is it doing so now? 

Sure, there've been loads of viewpoints passed on via social media. Heck, even beloved Spurs Coach Pop had something to say about it. But, no one in San Antonio is rioting. So...what makes this moment in time so different? Why is there a need to host a "safe space" to talk about things since Tuesday?

I think a big reason is that people are genuinely confused about how a man like the donald could have been elected Commander in Chief of the United States of America. 

Over and above that, though, I think people are genuinely confused as to how people of faith could have been the ones that pushed a man like the donald - a man who absolutely doesn't know the difference between 2nd Corinthians and "Two Corinthians" and who publicly asserted he was pro-choice and then changed his stance and who admits to assaulting women - over the top and into the highest office in the land. 

Because that's what happened. Indeed, White evangelicals, Catholics, and Mormons carried Trump into the White House. They overlooked all he said and did and said, yes, but....

After learning this, I asked in all sincerity, if the donald is the answer for believers,* what is the message sent to non-believers about what it means to follow Christ? 

My confusion clearly echoed Pop's. After Tuesday, he questioned:

We live in a country that ignored all of those values that we would hold our kids accountable for. They'd be grounded for years if they acted and said the things that have been said in that campaign by Donald Trump. I look at the Evangelicals and I wonder, those values don't mean anything to them?

Since Tuesday, that's all I've been wondering. Look around you. Since Tuesday it's clear, Pop and I** are not the only ones wondering. 

Faith, like politics, is personal. I know I don't have the answers, because my personal faith and my personal politics are having a hard time reconciling this turn of events in our country. 

But these are questions that have to be answered. By people of faith. By religious institutions. If the saying is true - they will know you are Christians by your love, by your love - people right now are really wondering - where is the love? 

* Which I know begs another question: just how bad were the other candidates that the donald was the best worst choice? Clearly, it means Hillary is satan. /s Maybe that's a post for another day but don't hold your breath.

** In my fantasy, Pop and I are bffs. Don't judge me, it's my fantasy.

Twitter Debate

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Photo by Michael K. Lavers

I responded to a tweet this morning from Patrick Madrid, an American Catholic author and radio host.* We had a fine exchange, which you can also see if you want to wade through my timeline. Out of nowhere, however, I got pinged by two other people who wanted to discuss the issue further. 

Twitter is a difficult medium on which to have an in-depth conversation. So, @ShannonGlasford, I just wanted to express myself a little better and thought it more appropriate to do that here. Please feel free to respond in the comments section below if you think there is more to discuss. 

I appreciate that you reached out to discuss this with me although I have to admit I'm not sure why you did, as you don't follow me there and I don't follow you. We disagree on the issue of marriage and equality. That disagreement doesn't make either of us bad people, and I hope those like us will be able to learn to get along. Because gay people are going to be able to marry someday soon and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it. 

You said "children are better off living with their BIOLOGICAL parents." I don't disagree. Surely you know, though, that many parents, gay and straight, have adopted kids whom they love and care for as though they *are* their BIOLOGICAL kids. You seem to make a distinction. Thankfully adoptive parents, gay and straight, do not. And I say "thankfully" because otherwise the state (foster care) and tax dollars would be raising these children. 

In addition, many gay parents have BIOLOGICAL kids via the advances in fertility drugs you mentioned. These are families in which the children have only known their parents (for some it's two moms, for others it's two dads) as their parents from the day they were born. You may disagree with it, but it's happening in your town, your parish, and in towns and parishes all across our country. 

Plus, you cited studies showing kids do better with their biological parents. I don't disagree with such studies and would love it if all couples with children who are currently married, including so many Catholics and other people of faith, could work it out and stopped getting divorced. However, divorce keeps happening and many children are not living with their biological parents through no fault of their own. Their parents are free to remarry, though. 

In addition, you should be aware that there are other scientifically sound studies that show equally similar things about children of gay couples. If you really believe marriage is the best way to preserve society and raise children, it is irrational to deny such parents the rights, benefits, and obligations of marriage. 

Finally, if your argument is based on your faith, you have to recognize the law protects all faiths (and even no faith) equally. The law cannot require anyone to follow the dictates of your faith. Otherwise our country is no different than Iraq and Iran, two countries that strictly follow Sharia law. Our country is not that. 

If you want people to follow your faith, be the genuine, authentic example that compels people to want more of whatever it is you have. If you can't live that example, at least try not to fault someone else their own struggles.

Again, thank you for reaching out. We can always continue this discussion here if you want, but maybe we should agree to disagree and hope we, and others like us, can all get along. 

* The initial tweet you can find on my timeline. Mr. Madrid's tweet linked to the page I hyperlink above. 

Some resources for Gay Catholics can be found at a variety of places around the web:

New Ways Ministry
A ministry of advocacy and justice for LGBT Catholics, and reconciliation within the larger Christian and civil communities.

Equally Blessed
Faithful Catholics committed to full equality for LGBT people in the church and civil society.

Dignity USA
A ministry that works for respect and justice for people of all sexual orientations, genders, and gender identities - especially LGBT persons - in the Catholic church and the world through education, advocacy, and support.

Fortunate Familes
Catholic parents with LGBT children supporting others like us to affirm, celebrate, and seek equality for our families. Our faith journey calls us to strive for justice for all our children.

A Matter of Faith

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What is it about gay people homosexuals (because that seems to be the word of choice when we’re referenced by Christians and I think it’s because there is a desire to focus on the ‘sexual’ part of the word – and I don’t mean that snarkily) that causes Christians to spend so much of their time worrying about us? I ask this with great sincerity because I don’t understand the interest and I can’t help but see it every time I open any of my social media apps (mainly Facebook. Twitter has more of us heathens).

I mean, what is it, really, that causes entire organizations (I’m looking at you Catholic Church and Focus on the Family and politicos like the Liz Cheney Campaign) and even entire countries (Uganda) to spend so much energy and time and money on us? Why, out of all the issues in the world to be concerned about, is the focus so strongly on the issue of – duhn duhn duuuuuuuhn - the homosexual?*

When did it happen that we are the reason for everything bad in the world? To go by my Facebook timeline: We are why people don’t have free speech rights. We are completely ruining the entire institution of marriage (but not me because I live in Texas). We are rubbing people’s faces in our homosexuality ALL THE TIME because we dare to respond when people compare us to pedophiles and terrorists and zoophiles. We (not alcohol, not drugs, not your basic selfishness and greed) are more destructive than a nuclear bomb to the welfare of the family. And, maybe most despicably, we are responsible for the downfall of the entire beef industry because we cause people everywhere to EAT-MOR-CHIKIN.

I’m writing this because I saw some things on my timeline today that made me hang my head and weep. Literally.

The first was this: How I Wish the Homosexuality Debate Would Go.

And then there was this: To My Friends Who Identify Themselves as Homosexuals.

I grew up in a small town in West Texas and am Facebook friends (and family) with many people who are proud fans of Rush Limbaugh, so I am generally unfazed by the occasional such post. But this week it’s been out of control and it’s all because of this guy:

Duck Dynasty's Phil Robertson

…who has some very strong opinions about the homosexuals and the people of color.** 

I’ve read he’s also a preacher (I don’t watch the show so I really don’t know), but there is video of him in which he is speaking to an audience, holding a Bible (and a horse bridle?), and saying more remarkable things. Interesting tidbit, he went to school with one of my uncles, who’s a fan, as are many of my friends and other family members, at least according to my Facebook timeline.

As a homosexual, the linked items above were difficult for me to read and watch. And it was annoying to continue seeing Phil Robertson’s face and the “I SUPPORT HIM” posts in my timeline. But what made me emotional, what made me actually hang my head and weep were two other items.

This: Dear Christians Defending Phil Robertson.

And, this one in particular: Why I Can’t Say Love the Sinner/Hate the Sin Anymore. As I was reading it to Melissa I unexpectedly choked up and couldn’t continue. And then she started crying, too.

I’ve written before that I am a person of faith and about my lifelong struggle with same. Raised Catholic, I stopped going to Mass for years. Experiences in my life lead me back, however. And while I continually struggle and rage and laugh and cry and argue and question, I seek and pray and, ultimately, I believe and it just is a part of who I am.

In some ways, I feel as though I can relate to what I think many Christians seem to be feeling of late because I am gay. Based on my social media timelines, Christians feel they are being persecuted for being “followers of Christ” and for being vocal about that belief. Maybe we can all relate to their apparent fear/anger because don’t we all (I mean, for the most part… we don’t all have Donald Trump’s ego) worry what others think of us at some point in our lives? It’s embarrassing to be laughed at, to be thought of as illogical, crazy, stupid, or sick.

Maybe there are similarities between the coming out experience and a person's profession of faith. Having 'come out', I know what it feels like to be fearful of being shunned and persecuted for conveying something about myself. And, I did experience some aspect of those things. I wasn’t lynched or martyred or marked with a scarlet letter, but I was compared to some pretty vile things, told I was crazy, made to feel as though I was not a good person, and otherwise estranged for a time from people I love and care for. (And every time someone speaks about gays as Robertson did in his GQ interview I am made to feel many of those things again).

I think Christians are starting to feel these things that, traditionally, they have imposed on others without a lot of thought. Understandably, they don’t like it. And they are speaking up about it. Hopefully we can have some patience with them. It’s like when I came out to my parents. Given time, their hearts and minds were changed.

I think that will happen here. I think it must be very hard for a group that’s been the majority for so long to experience what so many minorities live with every day. That doesn’t mean we excuse it; but, maybe we can use our own experiences to be patient and recognize that with time, most people do come around.

But it’s not going to happen without some personal struggle. And, sadly, we’re probably going to see a lot more Phil Robertson and Sarah Palin in camo and Governor Perry in Carhartt type moments before it’s all said and done. The first two links above are indicative of that.

And, for many Christians, it’s the questions and statements raised in those first two links that are going to dictate just how this whole ‘homosexual debate’ is going to play out in history books.

But I can’t help but wonder…is ‘the homosexual debate’ and how we line up on either side really going to be the defining factor of what it means to be a Christian in 2014 (and beyond)? Really?

To me, Ruthie Dean’s post is very much like the argument I have with my parents and with myself on a pretty regular basis…if Christians are the light of the world, why are things so dark? If people are "supposed to want what we have because of our love" and Christians believe “people outside the church will know Jesus because of our love for one another,” then where is this love and why - especially in the face of so-called preachers like Robertson - is anyone surprised that more people are not clamoring to "want what we have" or to know this Jesus?

These are the things I think of as a person trying to make it in this world. A person who happens to be gay, but who is also many other things, including: a mother, a daughter, a partner, and a person of faith. And it's why, in moments of reflection (yes, usually after I've unloaded on social media or an argument with Melissa or an unsuccessful teachable moment with my daughter), I have to ask myself - what does my life say about who I am and what I believe? And does it really match up with what I’m saying? And if it doesn’t, why doesn't it?

And maybe that's it...instead of such an exaggerated concern about the supposed sin of my neighbor, I'm better served - as are those immediately around me - focusing on the very real problems I bring to the table and what I can do about them.*** 

If nothing else, it's a good place to start. Maybe it's the only place to start.

***

* Um. Where are all the gym teaching lesbians? 

** Can anybody tell me why we aren’t more up in arms over this guy’s comments about "the blacks" in Pre-Civil-Rights-Era Louisiana? Are you kidding me? COME ON!!! I. Can’t. Even.

*** I think there's even a verse about that somewhere...

Faith

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Photo by Texas State photographer, Wyman Meinzer

Out of the ivory palaces,

Into a world of woe,
Only His great eternal love
Made my Savior go.

-      Ivory Palaces

When I was in high school, I sang this song with my grandmother at the Methodist church in our West Texas town, pop. ~8000. Nannie was in the choir and played piano. She played beautifully, and learned new music well into her sixties, until Alzheimers robbed her of the ability.

We sang a lot of duets together, and I have really fond memories of those times. I love Ivory Palaces, and Ave Maria. Amazing Grace is my favorite because the harmony is so beautiful. Nannie grew up a Baptist, but became a Methodist after marrying my granddad. Church and faith was a big part of her life and so it was a big part of mine.

Her parents, my Mamaw and Pa, were Baptist. For 25 years, Pa taught a Sunday school class for fifteen year old boys; and later, he held a weekly breakfast meeting at the First National Bank for men who didn’t like going to church, but who loved my great-grandfather. I guess it was a sort of fellowship, breakfast, Bible study.

My parents were really young when they got married, and so I was lucky to have known my grandparents and great-grandparents into my adulthood. My great-grand parents lived through my graduation from college, and I had Nannie and Grandad (Granddaddy Rabbit) through law school. I think I’d still have Grandad today if he hadn’t died in an airplane accident in 2000. He was an amazing man.

I can distinctly remember being in my Aunt Carol’s kitchen when I was pretty young, although I can’t remember my exact age, but still in elementary school. Nannie was there. Carol, too. I was asking about heaven and hell, about Jesus and what it meant to ‘be saved’.

These things were on my mind and I was scared. That week, there was a big revival going on down to the Baptist church. It seemed to me everyone in town was there, certainly a lot of my classmates. I don’t remember my parents or any cousins, or even my brothers being there. But I was there. And I can’t even remember why. 

The church was so white, the carpet a worn, deep green, and there were these long, soft, purple pads in the pews. Unlike my church, there was just a bunch of sitting and singing  – no kneeling and repetitive praying, incense or crucifixes. Communion was grape juice (Welches – my favorite!) and a real piece of bread, not a wafer. And a man in a suit and tie was preaching, with passion and conviction, about sin and hell and the saving power of Jesus Christ.

Somewhere along the tail end of his preaching, the organ started playing. All around me, kids were crying and he was asking people to come up and be saved. One by one, people were walking up, head bowed, hands clasped, some in tears, some with smiles. I remember it being a beautiful moment and it felt very real to me.

I was scared, too. I was moved by the words, by the actions of those around me, by the things I’d heard the man say, and by what I was feeling in my heart. I didn’t fully understand what I was doing, but I walked to the front of the church. While two people came up to me to pray, I remember a sense of observation. As though it wasn’t me standing there…or it was me, but I was watching it happen, observing it all over my own shoulder. I prayed the prayer and I ‘was saved’.

And it felt good! But it was kind of scary, too…this notion of heaven and hell. What did it all mean? I knew I didn’t want to spend eternity in a 'lake of fire'. As a kid, eternity is unfathomable. Today, eternity is unfathomable. But still, I asked…what kind of people are going to hell? Why would God want that, much less allow it? How did it all work? As Carol made dinner and Nannie helped, I asked these things while getting milk out of the fridge.

Every summer, I went to Bible School at the Methodist church. It was a blast - lots of arts and crafts and snacks and singing and coloring, and of course, a lot of my friends were there. Plus, this was a place I associated with my grandparents. Safe, familiar, familial.

The hallways of the classrooms have a distinct smell, of books (hymnals and Bibles), and crayons, and candles. And on one end, a kitchen where the church ladies make amazing homemade lunches and desserts. Oh, it’s a good smell. On the day we buried my grandfather, I was overcome by that smell. Summer’s home on college breaks I would attend Rotary lunches there with him and my dad. That smell…it’s embedded in my DNA, just as is the smell of a West Texas sky in the face of rain.

One summer, I think it was the summer before high school, I went to a Methodist church camp. I was nervous, because all the kids riding up to the camp were older than me and they were so cool. All the girls were beautiful and worldly and funny, and I was just this lump. Although I was nervous, I was also excited, because lump though I was, I was in the mix! That excitement turned cold in a heartbeat when I overheard someone say the cabins only had group showers.

GULP.

There was no way I was undressing in front of any of these goddesses, and so I didn’t shower the whole weekend. If anyone noticed, they were kind enough not to mention it.

Mom was incredulous, unpacking my clothes. “What do you mean you didn’t shower the whole trip?” she questioned. At that point, though, what could she do? I ended the weekend with a long soak in the tub, glad to be home, and we never discussed it further that I can recall.

Other than that mortification and failure in personal hygiene, nothing about the weekend stands out.  

I was a late bloomer in a lot of ways. I was in junior high before I realized why all my friends were so concerned with their hair and make-up and clothes, and boys. I still didn’t comprehend why I was not.

But, the why was starting to sink in. And it scared me. I didn’t want to be that way. Everything I knew about being that way meant I was going to be one of those people who ended up in the lake of fire.

And so, I spent more time studying the Bible and looking for loopholes. Something…anything…that would either change me or provide a way out.

As a family, we went to church every Sunday – without fail. But if you’ve ever been to a Catholic church, you know that it is always the same, week in and week out. Unlike all that singing and sitting and clapping and praying those other churches do, a Catholic Mass has a distinct and timeless order to it. 

Having had a taste of how it was done elsewhere, as well as struggling with these feelings growing inside me, I rebelled against my parents and Mass every Sunday. I distinctly remember fighting with my mom one evening, in church, during a Veneration of the Cross ceremony.

All heated whispers:

“I’m not going up there, Mom.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not. That is a statue. It’s not Jesus. And I’m not kissing the feet of that statue. That’s idolatry, Mom.”

She could not sway me. As she and my dad and brothers walked up to the front of the church with the rest of the congregation, I walked to the back and watched from the door. Smug. Holier than thou. A know-it-all brat.

During this time, I had begun going to church with my friend, Marlene. I played guitar and she played piano and we both loved Amy Grant and God and music and singing and going to church and by our senior year, we were writing our own stuff, which we thought, no, we KNEW, was amazing.

To this day, I think my mom believes something was going on between me and Marlene. But there wasn’t. We were just kindred souls, looking for meaning and answers in our own way. Marlene really did love Jesus, and has gone on to be a teacher, still performing and playing and preaching.

My ‘preaching’ carried on to my freshman year in college. On one hand, I was the silly, always laughing and up for an adventure, goofball. Surprising, I know. On the other, I was questioning everything, because I was deeply questioning myself.

And I was struggling with the answers my self was telling me at every turn.

Away from home, I didn’t have to go to church every Sunday if I didn’t want to. Instead of partying or drinking, I gravitated to what I knew and ended up very involved in Campus Crusade for Christ. Still playing guitar and singing all the familiar hymns and LOVING EVERY SECOND OF IT because Dyonna and Michele were there and godilovedbeingaroundthem.

So that’s why, when my family, including my parents and granddad and brothers came up one weekend to visit, my dorm room door was covered in scripture and pictures of starving kids from Ethiopia.

And it’s why, in the course of holding Bible Study one night, it was perfectly understandable that Michele and I would continue our discussion after everyone had left, under the covers and in the dark and ohmygodwhatishappening.

And reconciling that has been a lifelong endeavor.

I still question everything. Before, I questioned and clung and judged because I was afraid of who and what I was. Nannie (or maybe it was Carol or my mom) had a beautiful needlepoint piece on faith. I can’t remember it in its entirety, but a portion of the inscription read “Faith is the belief in things unseen…”

That’s hard (and, let’s be honest, CRAY CRAY).

That whole “loving your neighbor as you love yourself” thing is, too.

Like the hallways of that Methodist rectory and the scent of rain in a West Texas sky, these things are embedded in me. And they matter.

I have come to terms with who and what I am; and, for the most part, I am content. Still...I question and rail and judge and argue every day.

And these things are kicking up because my dad has cancer. Again.

He was in remission for a good while, but it’s come back. And every day for the past few weeks, and every day for the next month or two, he is undergoing radiation. Every day, five days a week, my parents carve out two hours. Dad, in the room getting poked and prodded and zapped, while mom prays The Chaplet of Divine Mercy.   

And during this time, I’ve been going to choir practice with him and Mass on Sundays, where we sing.

And sometimes while we sing, tears roll down my face. And I am moved.

What I believed when I was younger is different from what I believe today. When asked to reconcile being gay to a belief in God (and, after all, being raised inTexas, I get this question a lot), I would always say that I am not presumptuous enough to know the mind of God, and I’d be reminded of a verse I clung to one night, in tears, really just not wanting to have to answer the question. It’s from Micah (6:8):

And what does the Lord require of you? 
To act justly and to love mercy 
   and to walk humbly with your God.

Although I know my dad would say otherwise, I don’t have the answers.

I have only this moment, and the hope that my dad will get better and I will have more years with him and Mom in my life.

And faith. The belief in things unseen, and the never-ending struggle towards reconciliation.

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