it's like an anthem i keep repeating in my heart this morning.
i think of the pain of a girl who faces criminal charges, and she is 9 months pregnant.
God.
and all of the injustice and pain and life circumstance that has brought her to this place.
i am also thinking about the hatred and injustice and violent oppression against people like me.
is.
about how it feels to think God hates you.
about how indifferent people are to our suffering.
about how the response "well it's a sin. i can't support that"
just
doesn't
cut it.
Great.
.
.
God.
dear friends, i need your prayers. i've been writing less and less on here for multiple reasons. one of them being that i am finally focusing my writing energy into the book this blog was meant for. the vision i've had since i first began writing on here, sorting out my thoughts and growing in my journey. the other reason is because i have felt less like a black sheep in many ways. this blog reflected light peeking out of my place of darkness and heaviness.
but i find myself here today as that darkness and heaviness is closer to me. my heart is heavy.
as i write the words of a story that needs to be heard, of a prayer that needs to be prayed, of a litany that needs to be spoken and responded to...
i more and more deeply feel the pain.
i am more and more aware of even more hatred and ignorance.
i see the scapegoating and the lies.
i feel the heartache of many of my friends. and revisit the heartache of my own.
is.
after watching tv and seeing some extreme hatred and violence toward people like us a few nights ago, i felt myself sinking a little.
feeling a little defeated.
saying love wins more as a prayer and a hope than of a firm belief.
d noticed.
she called me on it.
as i cried and told her i was afraid of the hate and the violence and that i don't want anything to happen to her or the children we will oneday have,
she held me.
she told me we just have to surround ourselves with people who love and support us. our truest friends. we need you.
Great.
friends, please pray for me. for the strength to continue to write. and that i can find some peace and assurance while i am writing.
my heart is so full of love. and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
i do believe that God is Great. that love wins. and that it's our togetherness that makes us strong.
that Christ is with us, in us, through us.
and that his great grace will lead us on.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Monday, December 19, 2011
kettle
it was about a week or two ago.
my partner and i had to run to the store to get a few things. it was pretty cold out, and i was ready to hurry inside from the car.
she said, "wait just a minute."
then i watched as she started rummaging through the car, looking for all the change that she could find. from cup holders and trays. digging in her pockets. after she had a handful, she said, "ok." then we walked toward the store entrance.
i had recently read articles on the red kettle, about how the salvation army discriminates against lgbt people, people like me, and like her. but i stayed silent. on the way to the door, she says to me, "did you know that the salvation army hires people who stay in their shelters to ring the bells and collect money in the kettles?"
i said, "no. i didn't know that."
then i reached in my wallet and emptied my change as well.
i looked at the man ringing the bell. in the eyes. there was pain in them. but still some hope. some kindness. some desperation. he wished us a merry christmas. we wished him one, too.
my mom works retail. there's a bell ringer that is posted outside her store. my mom told me a story about her. i cried.
my mom made a comment, "that's who we should be buying christmas gifts for. people like her."
amen.
i recently have seen a lot of articles about boycotting chik-fil-a. because of how funds have been distributed to organizations which campaign against gay people, or even organizations that try to change someone's orientation. many many people are giving up their chicken sandwiches or finding other places to get them.
the other night, i sat on the couch with d and we talked about the boycotts. to both the restaurant and the nonprofit. we came to the same conclusion: it isn't the same.
and this is where i break with a large number of friends and organizations and leaders i normally agree with.
when i don't buy food from a business because i think they support hate and discrimination, i am affecting shareholders, ceo's, i.e. people making profit.
however, when i don't donate to a nonprofit because they won't serve or hire people like me, i stand up for my rights and the rights of lgbt families who need assistance, but at the cost of looking that man or that woman who i mentioned earlier in the eye and theoretically saying, no. i refuse to help you because i don't think that the nonprofit that helps you is fair.
i've read articles that say to give your money to other groups. that do more good because they don't discriminate.
i think giving is wonderful.
i think giving to the salvation army is wonderful, too.
i think there has to be another way.
we as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer people hate it when we are treated like "an issue."
dear friends, giving to a nonprofit that does some good by helping real people is not an issue. one article called for not supporting homeless centers that discriminate against gay people... it makes me angry and sad and disgusted.
i'm angry, sad, and disgusted that someone would refuse someone like me shelter.
i'm angry, sad, and disgusted at the notion that people who believe differently than me are not worthy of my love and my money and my time and my resources.
it's a lie.
it's another lie meant to divide us.
it's another way to keep us from true reconciliation.
we have to be different.
we have to evoke change in peaceful, loving, life giving ways.
if love will win,
and i believe it will,
we must respond with incredible incredible love.
might we not change hearts and minds through authentic relationship, continual presence and with extravagant giving and generosity?
what if we get more involved with our respective communities' homeless programs and work to encourage welcoming and helping policies? what if the gay christian community stopped telling people to boycott giving and started asking the welcoming church to plea for assisting everyone, and also to start creating alternatives when their pleas fall on deaf ears?
we have to be more creative. find a way to live creatively together. to love.
i'm not pretending this is an easy one.
but i'm not going to pretend that this is black and white, cut and dry.
it isn't.
the truth is that we can't afford to not give. our money, our time, our resources.
we do need to give to accepting organizations which will help everyone. but in doing so, we do not need to slander an organization that is actually doing good.
friends, love. love everyone. pray for the salvation army. pray for the bell ringer. pray for the homeless, both gay and straight. help in any way you can. whether it's the red kettle or another avenue.
but, please...
i beg you...
do it all in love.
my partner and i had to run to the store to get a few things. it was pretty cold out, and i was ready to hurry inside from the car.
she said, "wait just a minute."
then i watched as she started rummaging through the car, looking for all the change that she could find. from cup holders and trays. digging in her pockets. after she had a handful, she said, "ok." then we walked toward the store entrance.
i had recently read articles on the red kettle, about how the salvation army discriminates against lgbt people, people like me, and like her. but i stayed silent. on the way to the door, she says to me, "did you know that the salvation army hires people who stay in their shelters to ring the bells and collect money in the kettles?"
i said, "no. i didn't know that."
then i reached in my wallet and emptied my change as well.
i looked at the man ringing the bell. in the eyes. there was pain in them. but still some hope. some kindness. some desperation. he wished us a merry christmas. we wished him one, too.
my mom works retail. there's a bell ringer that is posted outside her store. my mom told me a story about her. i cried.
my mom made a comment, "that's who we should be buying christmas gifts for. people like her."
amen.
i recently have seen a lot of articles about boycotting chik-fil-a. because of how funds have been distributed to organizations which campaign against gay people, or even organizations that try to change someone's orientation. many many people are giving up their chicken sandwiches or finding other places to get them.
the other night, i sat on the couch with d and we talked about the boycotts. to both the restaurant and the nonprofit. we came to the same conclusion: it isn't the same.
and this is where i break with a large number of friends and organizations and leaders i normally agree with.
when i don't buy food from a business because i think they support hate and discrimination, i am affecting shareholders, ceo's, i.e. people making profit.
however, when i don't donate to a nonprofit because they won't serve or hire people like me, i stand up for my rights and the rights of lgbt families who need assistance, but at the cost of looking that man or that woman who i mentioned earlier in the eye and theoretically saying, no. i refuse to help you because i don't think that the nonprofit that helps you is fair.
i've read articles that say to give your money to other groups. that do more good because they don't discriminate.
i think giving is wonderful.
i think giving to the salvation army is wonderful, too.
i think there has to be another way.
we as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer people hate it when we are treated like "an issue."
dear friends, giving to a nonprofit that does some good by helping real people is not an issue. one article called for not supporting homeless centers that discriminate against gay people... it makes me angry and sad and disgusted.
i'm angry, sad, and disgusted that someone would refuse someone like me shelter.
i'm angry, sad, and disgusted at the notion that people who believe differently than me are not worthy of my love and my money and my time and my resources.
it's a lie.
it's another lie meant to divide us.
it's another way to keep us from true reconciliation.
we have to be different.
we have to evoke change in peaceful, loving, life giving ways.
if love will win,
and i believe it will,
we must respond with incredible incredible love.
might we not change hearts and minds through authentic relationship, continual presence and with extravagant giving and generosity?
what if we get more involved with our respective communities' homeless programs and work to encourage welcoming and helping policies? what if the gay christian community stopped telling people to boycott giving and started asking the welcoming church to plea for assisting everyone, and also to start creating alternatives when their pleas fall on deaf ears?
we have to be more creative. find a way to live creatively together. to love.
i'm not pretending this is an easy one.
but i'm not going to pretend that this is black and white, cut and dry.
it isn't.
the truth is that we can't afford to not give. our money, our time, our resources.
we do need to give to accepting organizations which will help everyone. but in doing so, we do not need to slander an organization that is actually doing good.
friends, love. love everyone. pray for the salvation army. pray for the bell ringer. pray for the homeless, both gay and straight. help in any way you can. whether it's the red kettle or another avenue.
but, please...
i beg you...
do it all in love.
Monday, December 12, 2011
weave
riding along the curvy mountain roads yesterday with the love of my life, in a biodiesel using vintage volkswagen truck, she started coughing. i reached in my pocket and pulled out a cherry ricola. in just a few minutes, i could smell the lozenge. and the sound of her gently moving the cough drop between her teeth, a small crunch here and there from time to time, rose just above the folk music playing softly on the cd player.
we looked up at the sky to see gentle swirls and streaks in the clouds and the different colors evoked by the setting sun: blues, purples, pinks, peaches, and some orange. we talked about the beauty we were witnessing.
once we reached our home atop one of the mountains, she pulled in the driveway and stopped. we looked down our road aways and saw one of the most glorious displays in the sky we have witnessed together.
without a word, she backed into the road and drove toward the setting sun so that we could better see it. we sighed and made exclamations. we pointed and spoke of hues and patterns.
then we came home.
it's the simple things.
the everyday things.
the precious moments we have with those we love. the sounds, the colors, the smells.
i still vividly recall the sound of my great grandmother's blinker in her pontiac. never listening to the radio while driving. just a distinctive clicking of a blinker from time to time. her low voice softly breaking the silence every now and then.
i still remember the sound of grandparents chewing "chewing gum" or rolling around hard candy as we rode places. the smell of doublemint, freedent, peppermints.
it's the little things.
when i was very young, my great-grandmother or grandmother giving me a dollar to put in the offering plate. falling asleep on a church pew with my head in my grandmother's lap. playing with pipe cleaners and pom poms during my grandfather's sermons at the church he pastored. singing while my grandmother played the piano.
my great grandmothers: it's the memory of working puzzles with maw-maw and the popcorn balls she made at halloween. of little granny spending the night on christmas eve and her jello and prune cake. of working in the flower bed with nanny alloway (or nanny grubbs as i sometimes called her) and her 7-up salad, and lord, her chicken and dumplin's.
my grandparents: it's the memory of spending long days by the river, fishing with a bamboo pole while my paw paw on the river worked in his woodshop. of him buying me candy cigarettes and yoohoo in glass bottles. of my paw paw adams driving a painted school bus for church and him singing silly songs. of singing with my nanny on the river and her buttermilk pie. of making cookies, cornbread, and slaw with my nanny adams and her fried okra.
my parents: remembering my dad making amazing breakfasts, including pancakes with food coloring, of him and i talking and him showing us how to play in the snow. my mom making soups and "king ranch chicken" and her painting and crafting constantly. and her tickling me when i revealed that i knew, due to my investigation, that santa clause was really her and my dad.
my brother: riding down the big hill where we lived, on our "big wheels," and catching bugs and frogs. going fishing.
it's the simple things.
it's the kind of thing that ties us together. the web of life, as richard louv writes.
the kind of web i am weaving with my fiance. and our friends. (oh how i could go on and may) and oneday: with our children.
it has me thinking of what matters. and of how precious is the garden of relationships, and how it must be tended by more than one. how beautiful the simple moments are. how magical and sweet and soul-stirring it can be to truly cherish the moments together.
last night, i found a mouse in our basement. it was stuck to a glueboard the exterminator had set out for spiders and scorpions which were a problem when we first moved in. i felt so bad, that it had died. then, it got worse, the poor thing moved. it was suffering, and barely alive. i burst into tears and called for deanna. she came down and "took care" of the mouse. i know it was hard on her; she hung her head down low. i cried for a while. she held me close and told me how precious i am.
now, as i am writing this and hot tears stream down my face, i realize that i cried last night for the creature. it shouldn't have been in our house. i have to figure out how it got in and seal it up. i felt guilty and sorry for the poor thing. i felt sorry for deanna.
today, i am crying because i am so incredibly loved. and for all those memories of love. and her love for me... well, there are no words.
and so it is with my love for her.
and as we are making memories of good and bad, easy and hard, comfort and pain, i feel our hearts woven together and woven together still.
and my eyes are more and more open to love and friendship and to what is true.
and to what matters.
it's the simple things. the little things.
and you know what else matters?
love.
we looked up at the sky to see gentle swirls and streaks in the clouds and the different colors evoked by the setting sun: blues, purples, pinks, peaches, and some orange. we talked about the beauty we were witnessing.
once we reached our home atop one of the mountains, she pulled in the driveway and stopped. we looked down our road aways and saw one of the most glorious displays in the sky we have witnessed together.
without a word, she backed into the road and drove toward the setting sun so that we could better see it. we sighed and made exclamations. we pointed and spoke of hues and patterns.
then we came home.
it's the simple things.
the everyday things.
the precious moments we have with those we love. the sounds, the colors, the smells.
i still vividly recall the sound of my great grandmother's blinker in her pontiac. never listening to the radio while driving. just a distinctive clicking of a blinker from time to time. her low voice softly breaking the silence every now and then.
i still remember the sound of grandparents chewing "chewing gum" or rolling around hard candy as we rode places. the smell of doublemint, freedent, peppermints.
it's the little things.
when i was very young, my great-grandmother or grandmother giving me a dollar to put in the offering plate. falling asleep on a church pew with my head in my grandmother's lap. playing with pipe cleaners and pom poms during my grandfather's sermons at the church he pastored. singing while my grandmother played the piano.
my great grandmothers: it's the memory of working puzzles with maw-maw and the popcorn balls she made at halloween. of little granny spending the night on christmas eve and her jello and prune cake. of working in the flower bed with nanny alloway (or nanny grubbs as i sometimes called her) and her 7-up salad, and lord, her chicken and dumplin's.
my grandparents: it's the memory of spending long days by the river, fishing with a bamboo pole while my paw paw on the river worked in his woodshop. of him buying me candy cigarettes and yoohoo in glass bottles. of my paw paw adams driving a painted school bus for church and him singing silly songs. of singing with my nanny on the river and her buttermilk pie. of making cookies, cornbread, and slaw with my nanny adams and her fried okra.
my parents: remembering my dad making amazing breakfasts, including pancakes with food coloring, of him and i talking and him showing us how to play in the snow. my mom making soups and "king ranch chicken" and her painting and crafting constantly. and her tickling me when i revealed that i knew, due to my investigation, that santa clause was really her and my dad.
my brother: riding down the big hill where we lived, on our "big wheels," and catching bugs and frogs. going fishing.
it's the simple things.
it's the kind of thing that ties us together. the web of life, as richard louv writes.
the kind of web i am weaving with my fiance. and our friends. (oh how i could go on and may) and oneday: with our children.
it has me thinking of what matters. and of how precious is the garden of relationships, and how it must be tended by more than one. how beautiful the simple moments are. how magical and sweet and soul-stirring it can be to truly cherish the moments together.
last night, i found a mouse in our basement. it was stuck to a glueboard the exterminator had set out for spiders and scorpions which were a problem when we first moved in. i felt so bad, that it had died. then, it got worse, the poor thing moved. it was suffering, and barely alive. i burst into tears and called for deanna. she came down and "took care" of the mouse. i know it was hard on her; she hung her head down low. i cried for a while. she held me close and told me how precious i am.
now, as i am writing this and hot tears stream down my face, i realize that i cried last night for the creature. it shouldn't have been in our house. i have to figure out how it got in and seal it up. i felt guilty and sorry for the poor thing. i felt sorry for deanna.
today, i am crying because i am so incredibly loved. and for all those memories of love. and her love for me... well, there are no words.
and so it is with my love for her.
and as we are making memories of good and bad, easy and hard, comfort and pain, i feel our hearts woven together and woven together still.
and my eyes are more and more open to love and friendship and to what is true.
and to what matters.
it's the simple things. the little things.
and you know what else matters?
love.
Friday, November 18, 2011
art
forgiveness is an art, and i am afraid that i am still using crayons.
at the end of all my effort and creativity, i look back and see a crude representation of what i had imagined.
instead of the desired masterpiece created by oil paints, mixing, shades, and brush techniques,
i see a child’s drawing where the creatures are disproportionate, the colors aren’t quite right, wax is thick on the page, and lines of white are still visible between strokes of color.
as i look back, i find myself frustrated that it didn’t happen the way i wanted.
maybe i left out something.
perhaps i added too much.
it just doesn’t look like i thought it would.
yet, maybe, just maybe, i have been mistaken in what to expect.
is it not possible that child-like wonder and approach are more beautiful and heartfelt than concern with making it look right?
in what other areas of life might i need to pick up the crayons in favor over the charcoals, the pastels, and the oil paints?
in laughter?
in writing? in dance and song?
in worship and thought?
in love?
at the end of all my effort and creativity, i look back and see a crude representation of what i had imagined.
instead of the desired masterpiece created by oil paints, mixing, shades, and brush techniques,
i see a child’s drawing where the creatures are disproportionate, the colors aren’t quite right, wax is thick on the page, and lines of white are still visible between strokes of color.
as i look back, i find myself frustrated that it didn’t happen the way i wanted.
maybe i left out something.
perhaps i added too much.
it just doesn’t look like i thought it would.
yet, maybe, just maybe, i have been mistaken in what to expect.
is it not possible that child-like wonder and approach are more beautiful and heartfelt than concern with making it look right?
in what other areas of life might i need to pick up the crayons in favor over the charcoals, the pastels, and the oil paints?
in laughter?
in writing? in dance and song?
in worship and thought?
in love?
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
letting go
when i was in middle school, i was made fun of. a lot.
middle school and part of high school were hell on earth that included insults about my appearance, my gait, my name... people "outing" me with their taunts... girls stealing my purse in gym class and flushing the contents they didn't want... a girl threatening me while other girls surrounded me so i couldn't leave for safety... a sucker punch to my jaw from a bully i had stood up to earlier in the day...
my momma had quippy little sayings to try to make me feel better. things like:
"they get in their clothes just the same as you."
and
"charity, honey, they are just jealous."
and
(my personal favorite)
"their poop stinks too."
my momma is a sage.
i realize that lately, my posts have been more ringing of the visionary within me. the peace seeker and the one who dreams of true reconciliation and of the victory of love being seen day by day.
today, however, i think i have more questions. more pangs. more heartache and just, well downright fatigue to be honest. i'm really struggling here.
in the description of this blog, i speak about reconciliation and hope. in the subtitle of the book i am working on, (for which the blog is an outlet to formulate ideas and wording), i talk about moving together toward reconciliation.
the question heavy on my mind tonight as i fold and hang laundry, pick up shoes, and try to get in my daily intake of water:
is it ok to just let people go? is it ok to stop trying? when?
this has always been hard for me. i've always been the type to let people walk all over me. to which my momma always said, "charity, honey, God doesn't make doormats."
i know i'm not a doormat. but do i really know it? do i know my true worth? do i treat myself as the beloved God knows me as? or do I allow people to walk all over me?
turning the cheek. and turning the cheek. and turning the cheek.
there's a line in a civil rights movie, the ernest green story. a young black man has grown weary and was caught fighting. when he is confronted and told to turn the other cheek, he asks "what do you do when you run out of cheeks?"
my heart cries the same question.
i've been waking a lot lately and thinking about this. it keeps me up at night. and i have been thinking about just how vocal and upfront and honest i should be. how things i have said were ok really and truly are not ok.
people who have played big roles in my life have stopped contacting me, responding to my attempts to contact. ever since i have been with my fiance. their absence is evident and felt when i think of the roster of people who have expressed their excitement and joy for me and my engagement.
people who do not know me well have sent me messages (some hateful, some civil) that have let me know they do not "approve" or "agree" with "my lifestyle."
friends... have sent me emails saying the same thing. with the words "i love you" added in.
it isn't ok. not any of it. even if i said it was. it is not ok. it hurt me. and it angered me. and it still does.
i try to look at it differently... because i know for one it was out of concern and her doing what she really thought was right. but what makes me more apt to tolerate her message is that she has never shied away from telling me anything that she sees might be a block in my relationship with God. and i have done the same for her. i love her, and i know she loves me, and our relationship has included a strong element of accountability and prayer and encouragement. i let her know i love her for always, even though i disagree with her when it comes to my relationship with my fiance. so, kindred, you know this is not directed at you.
so now i am thinking... it's time to let some people go. to stop tiring myself by pouring into people who do not embrace me and D. it's time for me to stop crying over those whose love has been limited and to start rejoicing over the great love and friendship i have in many others. it's time for me to stop turning and laying down for people to walk on me.
i get in my clothes just like everyone else. God didn't make me to be a doormat, and i am so loved.
i don't live an "alternative lifestyle" or whatever this elusive "gay lifestyle" is.
we make soup. walk the dog. worry about paying our bills. laugh at comedies. cry when people hurt us. read christian books while drinking coffee in the mornings. scoop the cat litter. get excited when we open a new bottle of coffee creamer. mow the lawn. and poop just like everyone else.
we are boring. we are normal.
and completely in love with one another.
and we are beloved. daughters of the living God we love and serve.
middle school and part of high school were hell on earth that included insults about my appearance, my gait, my name... people "outing" me with their taunts... girls stealing my purse in gym class and flushing the contents they didn't want... a girl threatening me while other girls surrounded me so i couldn't leave for safety... a sucker punch to my jaw from a bully i had stood up to earlier in the day...
my momma had quippy little sayings to try to make me feel better. things like:
"they get in their clothes just the same as you."
and
"charity, honey, they are just jealous."
and
(my personal favorite)
"their poop stinks too."
my momma is a sage.
i realize that lately, my posts have been more ringing of the visionary within me. the peace seeker and the one who dreams of true reconciliation and of the victory of love being seen day by day.
today, however, i think i have more questions. more pangs. more heartache and just, well downright fatigue to be honest. i'm really struggling here.
in the description of this blog, i speak about reconciliation and hope. in the subtitle of the book i am working on, (for which the blog is an outlet to formulate ideas and wording), i talk about moving together toward reconciliation.
the question heavy on my mind tonight as i fold and hang laundry, pick up shoes, and try to get in my daily intake of water:
is it ok to just let people go? is it ok to stop trying? when?
this has always been hard for me. i've always been the type to let people walk all over me. to which my momma always said, "charity, honey, God doesn't make doormats."
i know i'm not a doormat. but do i really know it? do i know my true worth? do i treat myself as the beloved God knows me as? or do I allow people to walk all over me?
turning the cheek. and turning the cheek. and turning the cheek.
there's a line in a civil rights movie, the ernest green story. a young black man has grown weary and was caught fighting. when he is confronted and told to turn the other cheek, he asks "what do you do when you run out of cheeks?"
my heart cries the same question.
i've been waking a lot lately and thinking about this. it keeps me up at night. and i have been thinking about just how vocal and upfront and honest i should be. how things i have said were ok really and truly are not ok.
people who have played big roles in my life have stopped contacting me, responding to my attempts to contact. ever since i have been with my fiance. their absence is evident and felt when i think of the roster of people who have expressed their excitement and joy for me and my engagement.
people who do not know me well have sent me messages (some hateful, some civil) that have let me know they do not "approve" or "agree" with "my lifestyle."
friends... have sent me emails saying the same thing. with the words "i love you" added in.
it isn't ok. not any of it. even if i said it was. it is not ok. it hurt me. and it angered me. and it still does.
i try to look at it differently... because i know for one it was out of concern and her doing what she really thought was right. but what makes me more apt to tolerate her message is that she has never shied away from telling me anything that she sees might be a block in my relationship with God. and i have done the same for her. i love her, and i know she loves me, and our relationship has included a strong element of accountability and prayer and encouragement. i let her know i love her for always, even though i disagree with her when it comes to my relationship with my fiance. so, kindred, you know this is not directed at you.
so now i am thinking... it's time to let some people go. to stop tiring myself by pouring into people who do not embrace me and D. it's time for me to stop crying over those whose love has been limited and to start rejoicing over the great love and friendship i have in many others. it's time for me to stop turning and laying down for people to walk on me.
i get in my clothes just like everyone else. God didn't make me to be a doormat, and i am so loved.
i don't live an "alternative lifestyle" or whatever this elusive "gay lifestyle" is.
we make soup. walk the dog. worry about paying our bills. laugh at comedies. cry when people hurt us. read christian books while drinking coffee in the mornings. scoop the cat litter. get excited when we open a new bottle of coffee creamer. mow the lawn. and poop just like everyone else.
we are boring. we are normal.
and completely in love with one another.
and we are beloved. daughters of the living God we love and serve.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
headdress
i have so much to say this morning. so much has been happening.
in ways great and small.
in private sacred moments with one other.
in public sacred moments with many.
i have been thinking about shame, and pride.
the pride that, as the avett brothers sing, is the good kind,
not the kind in the bible that makes you bad.
and i've been thinking about that good kind of pride and it's opposition to shame.
and that third factor which enables pride to overcome shame,
enables us to see ourselves as we are seen by God:
love.
i am reading brennan manning's abba's child, and there is much he says and quotes about false selves and about being our true selves before God.
our ordinary,
beloved selves.
there is, of course, another dimension to this realization of love:
extending it.
i was met with such great love and affectionate holding arms when i told my beloved fiance the things that i am most afraid and ashamed of. she didn't push me away. she pulled me closer in a beautiful and incredibly healing embrace. something fell off of me and broke in that moment. something dark and heavy. and now i feel lighter, freer and more connected.
inspired.
love overcame shame. and i am proud of the love and healing. proud of our relationship. proud of her Christ-likeness as she spills out his love through her heart. proud of Christ and of his great challenge to us to love, really love.
this past weekend, i also attended my first ever gay pride festival. it was very small. about 1100 people total came through on sunday. there were so many families with kids. it was incredibly encouraging.
small town gay pride reflects a silent majority. we aren't the stereotypes. no one was walking around naked or barely clothed. no one was doing anything obscene. it was mostly quiet and peaceful.
just a bunch of people, gathering, even though we were mostly disjointed, sharing a common solidarity. seeking acceptance and love for our homes, our families.
to be honest, it was kind of boring sometimes.
boring, and so normal.
of course, it wasn't perfect. or all sacred. there was the profane co-existing with the sacred as it is in all of life...
there were things said and sung that i didn't like. just like when i turn on the radio to any mainstream station and even christian stations and hear songs about objectifying others, objectifying the Church, seeking temporal things: like power, money, a good time, a temporary "encounter" of the sexual or spiritual kind. empty songs. sung by the seeking that have not yet found grace and love. real love.
what surpised me the most was the feelings i had during the last event which took place at night. a big show in the outdoor plaza downtown where everything else had taken place... a drag show.
i had never seen a drag show, and honestly i had a lot of unsure feelings about it and some prejudgments about the whole concept of drag.
i do not like objectification of people. i do not like seeing people's bodies on display. i hate the pornography industry and anything dealing with the sex trade. that said, this is not what the show i saw on saturday night was.
i saw something beautiful, and it caught me off guard so badly that i cried.
there was one moment in particular that moved me, and i still tear up talking about it. one of the earlier performers was a popular drag queen in the local community. i had heard stories about her and how much people like her, so i was curious.
when she entered the stage, she had on a brightly colored outfit that included what i have labeled as the most beautiful piece of pride attire i have ever seen. it was an elaborate and expansive rainbow headdress.
yellow, blue, green, orange, red, and purple shook and shimmered.
it was like someone was screaming, "i am beautiful, and i am loved, and so are you!" everytime a feather waved in the air.
it spoke to me. it spoke for me.
it sang my song of finding love and freedom and grace and of reconciling my faith, my relationships, my journey, and my true self all into one me. the me i was made to be.
it was a crown of pride.
the good kind of pride.
the kind that inspires hope.
and loving.
and reconciling.
and writing this, today.
sharing.
with you.
may you find your pride.
and wear that love on your sleeves, your feet, your head, your hands.
and share it. wherever you may go.
may it sing a song of finding grace and love,
with every move you make.
may it comfort the broken and challenge the false,
and may it inspire hope, loving, reconciling, writing, sharing,
and more singing.
in ways great and small.
in private sacred moments with one other.
in public sacred moments with many.
i have been thinking about shame, and pride.
the pride that, as the avett brothers sing, is the good kind,
not the kind in the bible that makes you bad.
and i've been thinking about that good kind of pride and it's opposition to shame.
and that third factor which enables pride to overcome shame,
enables us to see ourselves as we are seen by God:
love.
i am reading brennan manning's abba's child, and there is much he says and quotes about false selves and about being our true selves before God.
our ordinary,
beloved selves.
there is, of course, another dimension to this realization of love:
extending it.
i was met with such great love and affectionate holding arms when i told my beloved fiance the things that i am most afraid and ashamed of. she didn't push me away. she pulled me closer in a beautiful and incredibly healing embrace. something fell off of me and broke in that moment. something dark and heavy. and now i feel lighter, freer and more connected.
inspired.
love overcame shame. and i am proud of the love and healing. proud of our relationship. proud of her Christ-likeness as she spills out his love through her heart. proud of Christ and of his great challenge to us to love, really love.
this past weekend, i also attended my first ever gay pride festival. it was very small. about 1100 people total came through on sunday. there were so many families with kids. it was incredibly encouraging.
small town gay pride reflects a silent majority. we aren't the stereotypes. no one was walking around naked or barely clothed. no one was doing anything obscene. it was mostly quiet and peaceful.
just a bunch of people, gathering, even though we were mostly disjointed, sharing a common solidarity. seeking acceptance and love for our homes, our families.
to be honest, it was kind of boring sometimes.
boring, and so normal.
of course, it wasn't perfect. or all sacred. there was the profane co-existing with the sacred as it is in all of life...
there were things said and sung that i didn't like. just like when i turn on the radio to any mainstream station and even christian stations and hear songs about objectifying others, objectifying the Church, seeking temporal things: like power, money, a good time, a temporary "encounter" of the sexual or spiritual kind. empty songs. sung by the seeking that have not yet found grace and love. real love.
what surpised me the most was the feelings i had during the last event which took place at night. a big show in the outdoor plaza downtown where everything else had taken place... a drag show.
i had never seen a drag show, and honestly i had a lot of unsure feelings about it and some prejudgments about the whole concept of drag.
i do not like objectification of people. i do not like seeing people's bodies on display. i hate the pornography industry and anything dealing with the sex trade. that said, this is not what the show i saw on saturday night was.
i saw something beautiful, and it caught me off guard so badly that i cried.
there was one moment in particular that moved me, and i still tear up talking about it. one of the earlier performers was a popular drag queen in the local community. i had heard stories about her and how much people like her, so i was curious.
when she entered the stage, she had on a brightly colored outfit that included what i have labeled as the most beautiful piece of pride attire i have ever seen. it was an elaborate and expansive rainbow headdress.
yellow, blue, green, orange, red, and purple shook and shimmered.
it was like someone was screaming, "i am beautiful, and i am loved, and so are you!" everytime a feather waved in the air.
it spoke to me. it spoke for me.
it sang my song of finding love and freedom and grace and of reconciling my faith, my relationships, my journey, and my true self all into one me. the me i was made to be.
it was a crown of pride.
the good kind of pride.
the kind that inspires hope.
and loving.
and reconciling.
and writing this, today.
sharing.
with you.
may you find your pride.
and wear that love on your sleeves, your feet, your head, your hands.
and share it. wherever you may go.
may it sing a song of finding grace and love,
with every move you make.
may it comfort the broken and challenge the false,
and may it inspire hope, loving, reconciling, writing, sharing,
and more singing.
Friday, September 23, 2011
spirit
so much has been going on in my life lately. most of my internet time has been spent job searching and applying for jobs. sometimes it is difficult to hold on to the hope that something will work out. that i will find employment. that i will be able to restore my credit and pay my debts and monthly bills. that i will be able to pay for my wedding and expenses around having children.
i am engaged. to a beautiful, intelligent, peace-loving, hippie woman. a woman who challenges me to be better and who encourages me and shows me kindness. a woman i love immensely.
in the midst of all this love and newness, there is a troubling in my spirit that is deeper than my unemployment and my battle with the faulty belief that i am not good enough (for a good job or for this amazing relationship.) it is a troubling that i am just now able to put to words after they escaped my lips during a heartfelt tearful prayer i prayed just yesterday.
i am troubled when i hear people cheer over the fact that a primary presidential candidate has overseen over 200 executions. i am troubled when i see racial divisions and no one says anything about them. i wonder if they hope they will just go away if ignored. like a suspicious mole on the epidermis of humanity. i am troubled when i hear people booing a gay man during a presidential primary debate, because the man is gay and in the military.
i realize the problem is deeper than politics. more widespread than administrations and parties and ideologies. more toxic even than a systemic issue (although, systemic it is, indeed).
it's spiritual.
i was moved to tears while watching coverage of troy davis. moved because of some letters which were highlighted. letters in other capital punishment cases, where victims' families cried for mercy to be shown to the very people who were accused and convicted for killing their loved ones. mercy. enough people have died, they said. please, do not do this, they said.
i could barely speak.
i prayed intensely yesterday, and during my prayer i felt a cry well up within me. one i knew was more than just me. my throat tightened, my breathing heavy, my eyes hot with tears:
Lord, Jesus... We need your spirit.
a good friend of mine talked to me about prayer once. she shared with me one idea on prayer, that it's meant to change our attitudes. so we may pray for a forgiving spirit, a merciful spirit, a loving outlook, a stronger commitment, a more integral life. and those prayers work on our wills.
Lord, Jesus... We need your spirit.
i am deeply moved by liturgical services. by calls and responses. by creeds. by the beauty and power of confessing together and praying together. by the communal nature that transcends time and space and difference.
Lord, Jesus... We need your spirit.
i find myself uncomfortable with much of what i see in the world. i see an uphill battle. i still, for some reason, believe in the hope we have. in the power of Christ's love. Christ present. Christ come.
Lord, Jesus... We need your spirit.
sometimes it seems as though the ones who profess Jesus Christ are those who most blatantly defy his love and his nature and his drawing in. sometimes it seems as if there is a hardness of hearts in those who both claim to know him and those who openly reject him. both break my heart anew with each encounter.
Lord, Jesus... We need your spirit.
creation groans. guns ring out. people scream for justice. children cry for food, for relief, for freedom from slavery. animals are killed for sport, and the land is spoiled for minerals. women whisper secrets of abuse and rape. highways are littered. people hoard or misuse money and yell hate-filled words. oppressors capture, maim, mistreat, kill, and dehumanize.
Lord, Jesus... We need your spirit.
The world is angry and violent.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
Forgiveness is rare and hatred is rampant.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
The earth and people are being destroyed.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
The outcast is in need of welcoming.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
We need hearts full of grace, peace, and love.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
We need reconciliation and unconditional love.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
We need patience and strength to care for earth and others.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
We need to open our hearts and our doors.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
Fill us with your merciful love.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
Fill us with your unfailing love.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
Fill us with your spirit, Lord.
Jesus, we need your spirit.
i am engaged. to a beautiful, intelligent, peace-loving, hippie woman. a woman who challenges me to be better and who encourages me and shows me kindness. a woman i love immensely.
in the midst of all this love and newness, there is a troubling in my spirit that is deeper than my unemployment and my battle with the faulty belief that i am not good enough (for a good job or for this amazing relationship.) it is a troubling that i am just now able to put to words after they escaped my lips during a heartfelt tearful prayer i prayed just yesterday.
i am troubled when i hear people cheer over the fact that a primary presidential candidate has overseen over 200 executions. i am troubled when i see racial divisions and no one says anything about them. i wonder if they hope they will just go away if ignored. like a suspicious mole on the epidermis of humanity. i am troubled when i hear people booing a gay man during a presidential primary debate, because the man is gay and in the military.
i realize the problem is deeper than politics. more widespread than administrations and parties and ideologies. more toxic even than a systemic issue (although, systemic it is, indeed).
it's spiritual.
i was moved to tears while watching coverage of troy davis. moved because of some letters which were highlighted. letters in other capital punishment cases, where victims' families cried for mercy to be shown to the very people who were accused and convicted for killing their loved ones. mercy. enough people have died, they said. please, do not do this, they said.
i could barely speak.
i prayed intensely yesterday, and during my prayer i felt a cry well up within me. one i knew was more than just me. my throat tightened, my breathing heavy, my eyes hot with tears:
Lord, Jesus... We need your spirit.
a good friend of mine talked to me about prayer once. she shared with me one idea on prayer, that it's meant to change our attitudes. so we may pray for a forgiving spirit, a merciful spirit, a loving outlook, a stronger commitment, a more integral life. and those prayers work on our wills.
Lord, Jesus... We need your spirit.
i am deeply moved by liturgical services. by calls and responses. by creeds. by the beauty and power of confessing together and praying together. by the communal nature that transcends time and space and difference.
Lord, Jesus... We need your spirit.
i find myself uncomfortable with much of what i see in the world. i see an uphill battle. i still, for some reason, believe in the hope we have. in the power of Christ's love. Christ present. Christ come.
Lord, Jesus... We need your spirit.
sometimes it seems as though the ones who profess Jesus Christ are those who most blatantly defy his love and his nature and his drawing in. sometimes it seems as if there is a hardness of hearts in those who both claim to know him and those who openly reject him. both break my heart anew with each encounter.
Lord, Jesus... We need your spirit.
creation groans. guns ring out. people scream for justice. children cry for food, for relief, for freedom from slavery. animals are killed for sport, and the land is spoiled for minerals. women whisper secrets of abuse and rape. highways are littered. people hoard or misuse money and yell hate-filled words. oppressors capture, maim, mistreat, kill, and dehumanize.
Lord, Jesus... We need your spirit.
The world is angry and violent.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
Forgiveness is rare and hatred is rampant.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
The earth and people are being destroyed.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
The outcast is in need of welcoming.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
We need hearts full of grace, peace, and love.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
We need reconciliation and unconditional love.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
We need patience and strength to care for earth and others.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
We need to open our hearts and our doors.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
Fill us with your merciful love.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
Fill us with your unfailing love.
Lord, Jesus, we need your spirit.
Fill us with your spirit, Lord.
Jesus, we need your spirit.
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