<p>It felt as if I was in a dream, walking past the front lobby reception desk. Tracy was standing next to it, crying, a mutual friend of ours consoling her. Surely this wasn’t happening. This was all my fault. I had failed in every way. Missed every warning sign. Ignored every voice of caution. I knew whatever happened in this office, I couldn’t admit to anything other than friendship. Nothing had happened, really. Nothing “reportable,” anyways. In reality, all allegations were false, so I just had to tell the truth, right? But the truth contained more than whether or not anything had “happened” between us. I knew what I felt. I knew it was different. I knew from the start…</p><p>We had met each other in passing at various points before training week, but I really only noticed Tracy when we were all starting to learn new songs as a group. It was a big deal, starting up the summer travel groups again. Six teams of piano players and singing groups would spend the week after the end of spring semester learning new songs before hitting the road to travel in various regions of the country. We would tour churches, Christian schools, and Christian camps, promoting the college, testifying, and singing. I would have the added novelty of playing trumpet specials. I was a music major but it was considered an honor for anyone to be selected to represent the school in this way. I was already a Resident Assistant and well respected by staff and faculty, had a core group of friends, including my younger sister, but was never the life of the party. I was more of the “responsible” one in the group. Like most other women at my college, I really wanted to be a “preacher’s wife” but I knew I didn’t quite fit the mold. But something new happened that week of singing group training, when Tracy and I spent more time around each other. Something…sparked. She was short and cute with an infectious laugh and a pretty smile. It was a magnetic pull to catch her gaze from across the room, to share an unspoken joke just by smiling at each other, to be around her any chance I could. I was keenly aware of her presence in the room and anxiously anticipated it when she wasn’t there. I started making excuses to interrupt her group practice or play little jokes on her during breaks. “This is a different level of friendship,” I thought.</p><p>We were placed on separate teams that went to different parts of the country, but we started talking on the phone nearly every night of our summer travels. It felt nice since all the other girls in my group had boyfriends they were always talking to in their downtime.I was the oldest in my group but had never had a boyfriend. I felt like less of a reject having Tracy to talk to. Our attention towards each other started getting noticed. I was getting silly, leaving voicemails on her phone of me singing romantic songs, and behaving in some irresponsible ways I never had. I kept telling myself she was “just a friend” but once we got back to school for fall semester and I was around her in person more often, it became obvious we were more than “just friends.” I was having feelings in my body that I had never had before around another person. I was looking at her in ways that I knew were inappropriate. I would angle for some way our bodies could touch when we sat next to each other in church: shoulders, thighs, something. I could tell she was doing it, too. She would reach over and doodle something cute on my sermon notebook during the sermon. Her smile made me warm. Again, people started to notice. I stopped by the table of one of my travel-group mates, Kylee and her boyfriend, Brad, one afternoon. Tracy came up in conversation and suddenly Brad joked about Tracy being my girlfriend. Kylee giggled nervously, and I felt my ears get red and my face fall. I got out of the conversation awkwardly and walked away a bit stunned. “I have to be more careful,” I thought. “People are getting the wrong idea and this could turn out very badly for Tracy if I don’t do something to put the breaks on things.” </p><p>I had a conversation with Tracy about dialing back how often we were alone together and how much we hung out in public spaces where people would see us, because maybe we were just too close. I didn’t explain what I meant by that, and she didn’t take it well, either too naive or too much in denial to reveal she knew what I meant without spelling it out. She responded with hurt and offence, as if I was saying she wasn’t a good person or just didn’t want to be around her anymore. There was a girl in my dorm who was getting very jealous of the time I spent with Tracy and I knew she had the capacity to make trouble if she wanted to. I worried her fixation on me would eventually hurt Tracy, too. </p><p>But “dialing back” didn’t really work for very long. I missed being around her. Missed her smell, missed the feelings I felt when she was close. The electric surge when she would touch me, casually. We never “did” anything sexual but I found myself wishing we could, somewhere deep inside me where I couldn’t even think that thought out loud. The bus ride back from the Gatlinburg trip just before Christmas break where she laid her head on my shoulder felt like agony and ecstasy, simultaneously. When even my sister expressed confusion about our friendship because “she’s just kind of immature and not someone you normally would want to hang around” I felt my stomach drop. On some level, she was probably right, because I normally wouldn’t hang out with someone who was having such an effect on me. But I didn’t want to let it go. I didn’t want to let her go. It felt better to be around her than not and I had never felt this way before. It didn’t feel fair to have to give her up. It felt dangerous to keep it going, but I didn’t know how to quit. </p><p><span style="font-size: var(--bs-body-font-size); font-weight: var(--bs-body-font-weight); text-align: var(--bs-body-text-align);">When I passed that front desk and started down the administration office hallway, it seemed all the warning signs I should have heeded were flashing through my mind. Every innuendo, joke or side-eye from someone I dismissed as “no big deal” and “it doesn’t matter, because we are just friends” was suddenly mocking me. I had to face it now and decide what to do in this office. Vice President Sadler had the first office on the left and I saw him at his desk through the glass door. I knocked to get his attention and he waved me in to enter. I moved as confidently as I could, trying to maintain my composure and the reputation I had built at this school for the past three years. I sat in the chair across from him and focused on his always-perfect hair to keep from panicking. I had never had much cause to interact with VP Sadler, but he generally had my respect up to this point. </span></p><p>I already knew what this was about but I was confused about why I was here and what had happened to land me in this chair. I sat nervously in front of his somewhat ostentatious wooden desk, his impressive bookshelf looming over him from behind his chair. He casually clasped his hands in front of him and began in a voice with both authority and a hint of discomfort in the choosing of his words, “I have been told there might be some concerning things going on between you and Tracy.” He gave no indication from whom he might have heard this, and I was frozen by the accusation. Too frozen to even consider questioning where this rumor originated. “OK…” I said, pausing for him to add more information before I continued. “I am trying to get at the truth here, so I just need to ask you if there has been any inappropriate conduct between the two of you.” </p><p>It was clear this was my out. I could very easily deny any “inappropriate conduct” because nothing physical had ever happened between us that anyone could deem as “inappropriate.” I knew the handbook well. I had plenty of plausible deniability around the word “conduct.” “Absolutely not, sir,” I said confidently. I was putting some connections together in real time about how he had come upon this information and added, “This is all made up by people in my dorm and it’s completely false. We are just friends.” VP Sadler again asked more pointedly, “So there has been no inappropriate behavior between the two of you?” I felt my voice shake. My neck felt hot and was surely red and flushed as it gets anytime I’m nervous, but I confidently stated an emphatic “No, sir. Never.” As he pushed himself out of his seat he said, “Well, that will be all, then. Just try to be more aware of how things look to others and conduct yourself accordingly.” I stammered another “Yes, sir” while he moved around his desk to open the office door and usher me out. </p><p>I felt detached from my body walking back into the lobby, as if somehow floating, and I saw Tracy still crying near the front desk, our friend still trying to console her. I realized Tracy had been called to VP Sadler’s office before me and gotten the same questions I had. I was mortified thinking about what she might have told our friend. I walked up to her and tried to say…something…anything…but it all felt too little, too late. I had failed to protect us both. It was my fault this had happened. My fault that others had somehow seen my feelings and made assumptions about what we might be doing in my room alone together. Tracy looked at me with hurt, and maybe a flash of anger crossed her face. “I can’t talk right now,” she said, as she grabbed her book bag and left the lobby, tissue in hand. My feet suddenly felt like they were in cement, but I wanted out of there so badly. Anywhere to avoid the curious eyes around me in the lobby about what might have transpired to cause such a reaction from her. Or worse, suspicious looks, because they did know what transpired. I again felt outside of my body as I pulled my things together to leave the lobby. It was over, after all. The questions answered, the rumors settled. I should be ok now. My secret was still safe, even from me. But I still wondered - what if I’d admitted to feeling a certain way about her in that office? Would I have been kicked out immediately? Told to go pack my things and be out of the dorm by the next day, like the stories I’d been told about other girls who had disappeared because of “inappropriate conduct”? I didn’t want to face what was behind my feelings; I couldn’t think too far down that road. Instead I stayed focused on the relief that I was able to ardently deny that anything was going on, and channelled all my other feelings into anger at those I suspected put us in that position. Going forward, I tried to pretend like it had been no big deal and that I was totally fine. </p><p>I wasn’t totally fine. I wouldn’t be fine for another 14 years.</p>
Continue reading<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:11pt;font-family:Arial,sans-serif;color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">It’s been just over a year now: a year since I “came out to myself.” But not in the way some people assume when I say that. I already knew I was gay. For a long time. Since college, 15yrs ago, when I felt sweaty, tingly, and warm around a person of my same sex and knew it was “sexual attraction” even without thinking those words, I have known. It wasn’t new information I stumbled upon last year, it was allowing that part of me to be fully integrated into my whole self, and not put away in a corner safely behind a brick wall I had constructed. It was 15 years in the making, that brick wall, after fear and shame pulled out the mortar and trowel and put me to work building it. I knew it was there behind the wall that whole time, and occasionally I would even talk about it to close friends, trusted mentors, or even my first three therapists. They all took the information in stride but either agreed with or respected my belief that I was not going to be “acting on” that attraction: pursuing a romantic or sexual relationship with a woman. It just stayed that “thing” behind the wall. A part of me that I just kept hidden from myself and the world during most of my conscious living. </span></p><p><b style="font-weight:normal;" id="docs-internal-guid-647787d0-7fff-f5f8-1c92-a777dcf1a4b5"><br></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:11pt;font-family:Arial,sans-serif;color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">But that wall needed constant maintenance. I needed to patch the cracks that appeared in the wall when I found myself looking too long at a woman in the coffee line. I had to pull out the trowel and mortar of fear and shame when I realized I was trying too hard to be liked by a new female friend. I had to put a few bricks over the gaping hole that would rupture open whenever I would feel very keenly the touch of an attractive woman, the impression still there long after her hand left my shoulder or arm. I was spending so much energy just keeping the wall maintained. The wall had to stay strong to keep my secret hidden, to spare my friends hurt, and most importantly, to save myself more pain and embarrassment if I “messed up” again by liking the wrong person the wrong way. I couldn’t let “that part” of myself infect the rest of me or become uncontrolled somehow. It was just too dangerous.</span></p><p><b style="font-weight:normal;"><br></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:11pt;font-family:Arial,sans-serif;color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">By late 2022, the wall kept on getting chipped at in my new job as a therapist. I felt exposed and uncomfortable in a room of queer people, hoping they wouldn’t know, wouldn’t see the thing behind the wall. It began to flake and crumble too quickly for me to keep up the maintenance, especially </span><span style="font-size:10.5pt;font-family:Roboto,sans-serif;color:#444746;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">when my therapeutic work and study had already helped me feel and learn from uncomfortable feelings rather than keep locking them away.</span><span style="font-size:11pt;font-family:Arial,sans-serif;color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;"> I soon realized if I was going to be any good at this work, I had to take a good look at what was behind the wall and at least acknowledge its presence in the room, even if I didn’t like it or change anything about my life as a result. </span></p><p><b style="font-weight:normal;"><br></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:11pt;font-family:Arial,sans-serif;color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">But what was “it” really? Just that I “struggled with same-sex attraction” but I could still eventually find a man I was attracted to enough to marry? Was it that I was full-blown gay and would maybe never get married? At this point, my sexual ethics still basically aligned with the traditional evangelical view that sex is only ok between one man and one woman in the context of marriage. I had already come such a long way in my faith journey, already found some peace with the unknowns, the tensions, the unanswerable questions that remained. But this thing behind the wall was still scary to me. What would change if I tore the wall down? During my entire deconstruction process, it was the dreaded “slippery slope” I feared most, which kept me from investigating this wall too closely. But now I knew I had to figure out what was behind it so I could better serve my clients at my job. What if I ended up gay after all of this? Would it just be proving to my family and people from my former fundy life that this whole thing of questioning your faith just leads you to eventually becoming one of those morally depraved (insert your church-approved slur of choice for queer people here)? </span></p><p><b style="font-weight:normal;"><br></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:11pt;font-family:Arial,sans-serif;color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Despite the risk, I knew I couldn’t keep living with all this discomfort and distraction in the middle of sessions that were supposed to be about and for my clients. I started seeing a new therapist and clearly communicated my intentions to figure out what was behind that wall. I have written previously about that experience where I named the feelings I had in college out loud and the radical shift that took place inside me (see <a href="https://admitted-battle-columnist.glitch.me/post/659225e4377b94c0c869e7a2" target="_blank">New Year’s Eve Reflection</a>). The wall was completely obliterated. In just a short time, the thing behind the wall—my sexuality—infused every part of me, allowing me to inhabit my body safely in a way I had never experienced before. </span></p><p><b style="font-weight:normal;"><br></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:11pt;font-family:Arial,sans-serif;color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Some critics of affirming gay Christians will argue that our identity should only be found in Christ or that it gives people the wrong impression about what we are doing with our genitals if we use a certain label to describe ourselves. Is it true that sexuality is a central or foundational element of our personhood? Is this “identity” just about sex? I would say, yes and no. I would have definitely said “no” to both questions before that wall finally fell, but then after it crumbled at my feet after years of tedious maintenance, the difference I felt within myself was too stark to ignore. Before, I lived fractured from myself and hypervigilant in all my relationships, now I am integrated, at peace, energized and relaxed in my body. I am able to show up in all of my interpersonal interactions with more assurance of who I am as just me, and who I am in relation to them without the fear or anxiety I used to unconsciously carry. My fear that they would see the “real me” or I would be “discovered” one day in yet another embarrassing and shame-provoking debacle, is gone. Now, the fact that I feel much more at ease discussing sexual issues with clients (my original goal), just feels like a lovely bonus compared to the benefits to my personal life.</span></p><p><br></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:11pt;font-family:Arial,sans-serif;color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">A year later, I have no regrets. While I feel sad that some of my relationships have changed because of differing convictions and disagreement about how to maintain mutual respect for one another, I wouldn’t go back. I don’t regret all that I have learned about myself and how I can trust my instincts and the wisdom of my body. I don’t regret the caring, respectful interactions I’ve had with others in a context I had never thought possible for me before. I have learned to believe in the care and compassion of others and allow other people to own responsibility for their decisions as I own responsibility for mine. There have been risks taken and sometimes those risks led to pain or grief, but there has been so much joy, freedom, and love experienced because I took new risks. I realized how much life I missed out on all these years, hiding from myself and others behind my brick wall. When the wall was no longer able to hold me in anymore, I knew I wanted to </span><span style="font-size:11pt;font-family:Arial,sans-serif;color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:italic;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">live, </span><span style="font-size:11pt;font-family:Arial,sans-serif;color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">and live a life not dictated by fear. My first year of </span><span style="font-size:11pt;font-family:Arial,sans-serif;color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:italic;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">living</span><span style="font-size:11pt;font-family:Arial,sans-serif;color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;"> has been amazing, and while I know the high of all the sudden change will eventually die down, I am sure going to enjoy the whole ride from here on: the hard, the beautiful, the angsty, the euphoric, and everything in between. </span></p>
Continue reading<p class="MsoNormal">For many years now, I have had a similar rhythm to my end-of-year processing and evaluating and it’s gone something like this: “This year has been about the same as the one before and nothing really changed for me as usual. I didn’t meet anyone special. Nobody really knows me on an intimate level. I’ve still never been kissed. I wonder if maybe this next year…” with an ever-increasing pang of sadness to that last thought every year. Sadness that kept on getting deeper and more grief laden. Because it never happened. Every year, nothing changed. Nobody appeared in my life to sweep me off my feet. I was still alone. Every. Single. Year. I started to hate New Year’s Eve. For several years in a row, I was at my parent’s house. The rest of the family who had been in for Christmas had already dispersed so it was often just the three of us. We would play scrabble and watch episodes of “Live with Kelly and *insert whichever male co-host of that year*” that my mom had dvr’d in the past week and talk about stuff. Discussion would usually land on my life trajectory and by proxy, the state of my mental health, which for many years I didn’t adequately address or name. I would express grief and loss for yet another year feeling so empty and pointless and generally feeling left behind in life because I wasn’t already married and have kids like other people in their early to mid-thirties. As every year passed, I started to avoid thinking that way at all and didn’t do much reflection on my year or having any introspective time. I think last year I watched a Jim Gaffigan standup special with my cats to avoid thinking about anything serious. Especially to avoid that thought, “Maybe this year will be the year…” It just became too painful to think it over and over every year. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Then, this year happened: 2023. Things finally changed. In late January I finally admitted some hard truths to myself about an experience I had in college that cracked the door to full acceptance of my sexuality. I was gay. I am very gay. I started to feel lighter, more energetic, freer to relax and be totally myself. The difference was huge. Between how I had felt for almost 10yrs (and partly even way before that) to the way I suddenly felt in a matter of months, the change was visible and dynamic. I couldn’t believe how much I was being dragged down in so many ways by this secret I was keeping from myself and trying to keep from everyone around me. I started “coming out” to people who I had even told previously that I “struggled with same-sex attraction” and they were probably confused about what was happening since they kind of already knew I was gay. But this time I was telling them I owned it. I was ok with it. I’m not going to keep “struggling” with it, but just accept it as a part of myself. I knew almost instantly I would be landing in an “affirming” position (as they describe it in Christian circles when you decide to “act” on your attractions). It took a hot minute to rule out the possibility I was bisexual, but then I was exclusively seeking out dates with women. It was wild, wonderful, and weird, yet at the same time felt completely normal and natural. I still can’t believe how things happened so fast. I kissed a girl for the first time (first time kissing anyone, actually) in May, and by August I was having an amazing weekend with a woman I had met and gotten to know long-distance. I was meeting new people and having fun, respectful interactions with people and enjoying flirting openly for the first time ever. I was actually pretty good at this flirting thing…I was just always trying to force it with men before and it never worked out so well. But when I actually let myself like a girl? It was kind of easy, really. Everything felt different. Some things were stereotypically like what I was told these “warm fuzzies” were supposed to feel like, other parts of it didn’t quite match up to what I was told it would be like. I am still figuring some of that out, like what I want from a relationship, what my capacity for love is and what I want my future with someone to look like. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">This year, I found myself. I found peace in the most real way I’ve felt in years. I found amazing, caring new queer friends who could relate to my struggles and experiences. I found a beautiful, intelligent, loving girlfriend who has been teaching me that maybe I am worthy of someone’s love and that it’s possible I’m not broken after all. I found courage to take chances and live my life to the fullest for the first time ever, accepting all emotions and experiences as valuable and desirable, even the painful or scary ones. I found my heart opening, softening to God’s love again, little by little, pulling away layers of hurt and distrust that had been crusting over for years. I found myself relaxed and genuinely enjoying myself in an affirming church service. I found hope, love, grace, and peace to all be tangible constructs again and not just nebulous impossibilities. This was the best year of my life. <o:p></o:p></p><p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">If you’re reading this and you’ve had a crappy year or maybe like me, you’ve felt stuck for many years, I want to encourage you to keep a tiny fragment of hope somewhere inside you. I want to remind you that even if you’re afraid to hope for it, this could be “your year.” If it’s not, though, keep holding on and keep being kind to yourself throughout your struggles. I believe God will not leave you totally abandoned but I totally see you if it feels like he has. That feeling is legit and I still struggle with bouts of anger towards him for that long stretch of feeling that way. But I don’t believe he is done with your story because he wasn’t done with mine. I hope for hope for you and that one day you will also have your “best year ever.”<o:p></o:p></p>
Continue reading<p class="MsoNormal">I was nervous. Hands dug into my pockets, I made my way across the street to the church building, wondering if I’d made a mistake in agreeing to this. Afraid of what I would feel around all these people. Feelings that have become too familiar in this setting: hypervigilance, sweat, stiffness, discomfort, insecurity, and defensiveness all surfacing. I was with someone I trusted though, and she had assured me there would be a lot of people there like me- queer in some way- so I was holding a little bit of hope deep down that maybe this time it would be different.</p><p class="MsoNormal">I have had a lot of experiences in churches. Growing up, my family was the type that was at the church “every time the doors were open” growing up, which included at least Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night services, not counting special conferences, meetings, or other events. I went to a Bible college that was even more conservative and legalistic than my parents ever thought of being. I <i>chose</i> that. I was “serious” about serving God. I wanted to go into ministry in some way and show God that my life was totally in His hands and that he could use me in any way He wanted. There were good things about my experience at Bible college, but I have also spent years untangling many of the unhealthy messages I received there about how I relate to God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Bible college is where I first realized I was attracted to women. I fell in love with someone and tried valiantly to hide it, but eventually landed in the office of the vice president and the way those rumors were handled was pretty traumatic for me. My sexuality got buried for many years and I didn’t deal with it besides acknowledging in my head that “I am sometimes attracted to girls.” Layer on top of that several other difficult and hurtful church experiences, sometimes with families in leadership, factor in that I am openly gay (well, in certain spaces), and it becomes an even scarier prospect to go back to church. To say I have a complicated relationship with church would be understating it a bit. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Even with these hurtful experiences and church and difficulties in my relationship with God, I tried so hard for so long to continue to go to church. I attended two different churches every weekend for over a year. I was faithful to multiple small groups. I invited people out for coffee, desperate to make friends and feel accepted again in a church, as I had been for much of my life. The truth is that I was struggling. I was still defensive and angry at God. My questions were not being responded to very well and I felt like a problem, a “downer” to everyone’s good time. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">After another visit to a new church over two years ago, I gave up. I stopped attending church and I stopped looking to find a new one. I would occasionally go to church (sometimes with accompanying low-key panic attacks) with friends of mine if I visited them over a weekend but other than that, I stopped trying. That was hard to do, because I was holding onto that one proof that I was still “trying” as a Christian, despite my questions and anger and struggles with God. I was trying to prove to myself and others that I was still “ok” because I hadn’t given up on church yet. That choice to allow myself to rest and stop making myself go to church was difficult but ultimately needed for my healing. Once I came out to myself as gay about 9 months ago, trying to find a church felt even more anxiety-provoking. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">So, as I walked into this supposedly “affirming and inclusive” church a couple of weeks ago, I was unsure it would feel any different than any other church had felt to me the past several years. The lobby was pretty typical and their fellowship room where we sat for coffee and bagels before the service began seemed like a place I would have frequented as a teenager or young adult. An older lady pointed at me from across the table to get my attention and asked me to get her “one more sausage patty” from the breakfast spread. It all felt very….normal and familiar. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">But I was already noticing some differences. My friend introduced me to a couple of gay friends of hers right away. I saw others around me that were clearly queer in some way. Frankly, they looked it. They weren’t hiding anything about themselves or trying to pretend to fit into some kind of code or cultural norm. But for once, I wasn’t trying to hide anything either. I walked in with my friend, who is also a lesbian, who is out to the people in this church. I look like a dyke (That’s still hard to say sometimes because of leftover internalized homophobia, but I am aware of the facts on the ground). People surely had my number in this situation. They probably peppered her later with all kinds of questions about me and our relationship status. Although even that felt…good. The people at this church would be happy about anything romantic happening between us, just wanting her to be happy and healthy instead of judging her or I in any way. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Then there was the service and the overall vibe of the place. Everything that I witnessed fit the setting, from the use of pronouns and inclusive language to their explicit affirmation of openness to the LGBTQ+ community and their full invitation to be involved in every part of the church. It was “youth day” so there were some extra opportunities for youth to be involved in the liturgy, music and in serving communion. There was a wide age demographic in the church, a diversity of races, and as mentioned before, clearly queer people serving and leading in worship. I found myself relaxing into my seat, feeling more comfortable next to someone who has found an accepting place in this community and knowing she hasn’t been rejected because of her identity or past. Feeling genuine excitement and authenticity around me. A nice, fresh energy that did not seem to be hiding any covert agenda or seeming to put up a front to impress anyone. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Of course, no group of people is perfect, and I don’t know these people at all, but I do know that I did not feel on guard in a church service for the first time in a couple of years. The (female) pastor discussed what it might mean at the “end of all things” but kept an openness in her interpretation that brought peace and comfort to me. My reaction is particularly ironic since this subject is one of the most controversial theological issues in fundamentalism. I didn’t feel frustrated by the ambiguity or uncertainty in what was being discussed about the Bible. I found myself grateful for the work I have done and the healing that has taken place to allow even this approach to a difficult topic to be a good experience for me. <o:p></o:p></p><p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">This would not have been possible for me a year ago: to be in a church surrounded by queer people, to be ok with the inclusive language and the humility in the presentation of the sermon, and most significantly, to be ok with myself in this kind of environment. Before, I would be so insecure and uncomfortable, being in this space with all this “ambiguity” and all these queer people, because I knew what was true about myself deep down but hadn’t been able to fully accept it. But here I was, fully ok with my gayness, very ok with uncertainty in my faith, and (more comfortable) with other people around me enjoying worship, even if I can’t quite get to the point of enjoying it myself yet. I know I’m on a journey and I am amazed at how far I’ve come already, especially in the last year. Going to church and being “ok” in church was a nice step in my journey that I am thankful to have made.<o:p></o:p></p>
Continue reading<span>I had some memories come up about the pastor of my “home” church the other day. I didn’t grow up under this pastor; he was hired after “my pastor” retired when I was in college. I did get to know him through the visits I would make home in the summer and the month or two I lived at home before I moved across the country. I watched his kids a good bit those few months, spent time with his wife, and enjoyed discussing spiritual topics with both he and his wife. This week I was reminded of a sermon I heard him preach a few years ago and the message I sent him after I listened. <br /><br />The thing is, I’m gay and I just really, fully came out to myself at the beginning of this year. I am only a few months into my journey of accepting and enjoying this part of myself after keeping it well under lock and key for 15 years (which had a severe impact on my mental health). But just the other day I went back and listened to that sermon from 2019, and the second part he preached just a few weeks later. You’ve probably guessed by now what these messages were about. The opening passage that was read was from Genesis 19: Sodom and Gomorrah. I am not sure what compelled me to revisit these sermons but as I watched and listened, there were a lot of feelings coming up. Hearing him vacillate between calling people “heretics” for believing differently and just denying the existence of…well…people like me hit in a totally different way than when I first heard it in 2019. <br /><br />You see, in 2019 I essentially believed the same way he does. That having “same-sex attraction” is not a sin, just a temptation to sin. Like any temptation, it must be resisted and kept in check so that it does not lead to sinful sexual behaviors. This is commonly called “side B” to differentiate it from an affirming position, or “side A.” I had realized 15 years ago in Bible college that I was attracted to women in a rather traumatic way. After that experience, I was extremely vigilant about my feelings and shut down anything that might border on sexual attraction to other women. I was convinced that it was not God’s will for me to act on any sexual feelings I had for another woman. I worked hard to be as straight as I could muster (I was kind of a failure at that) and still desired a relationship but began to lose hope that I would ever have someone to love. Nothing was working. <br /><br />However, by 2019 I was deep into a deconstruction journey in my faith and simultaneously coming to a more compassionate approach to myself and (other) gay people. My message to him after I first heard his sermon contained a suggestion for a few “good” books (that are side B at best), a brief praise for his approach, and a gentle push for more compassion and openness towards gay people. I was realizing the extent to which they (couldn’t really fathom myself as “one of them” yet) had been harmed in the church and I wanted to be as much of a voice on their behalf as I could without being too suspect about my own orientation or “sin struggle” as I would have framed it then. I can only try to be compassionate to my former self for where I was at the time, but I do cringe at my measured response and my obvious fear of outing myself. <br /><br />Because y’all, it was kind of awful. I won’t go into all the details of his straw-manning of affirming arguments, the straight-up (pun sort-of intended) ignoring of significant passages to make his point, the intellectual dishonesty and thought-stopping cliches (“we all know…”) that he littered through both sermons. I expected those things, although they were far worse than I remembered, but it wasn’t just the content that was striking me in a hurtful way. It was the context and setting. I know this man and his family. I know the platform carpet he is standing on. I literally helped build that building. I remember making cuts for the framing, painting walls (including an adorable Noah’s ark mural for the nursery) and nailing baseboards. I cleaned that church so many times, sang in that choir loft that he was standing in front of, often joining to sing with them on Sunday mornings when I was home from college, welcomed without even having been a part of their practice. I sang specials with my family and played trumpet for offertories. <br /><br />Here he is, standing on that rug on the platform, behind that pulpit I have sung and testified behind many times, speaking to people I have known my whole life. Like this. About me. Without even knowing he is speaking about me. He was also careful to ignore my existence as a queer Christian. He had no real answer or room for that segment of the population. His sermon was framed as a culture war issue with all of society’s problems coming from the (presumably straight) Christians who are being too permissive of the cultural narrative and the unbelievers who are turning “God’s created order upside down.” There was no serious dealing with the fact that sincere and faithful Christians could be living a gay lifestyle and not be facing “the recompense of their reward.” He wouldn’t know what to do with that. He wouldn’t know what to do with me. Except to just assume I have been led astray into “leftist ideology” and drawn away by my “own lusts and enticed.” <br /><br />My current relationship with the Bible is complicated, but more liberated. I came to a sense of peace and acceptance of my gayness back in January so quickly and in more of a “spiritual revelation” kind of way than being intellectually convinced by biblical arguments. What do I do with all these feelings? I don’t feel “qualified” to have these discussions on a cerebral level and don’t want to, frankly. My experience has been just that: an experience. One that I can’t fully explain or duplicate for others. I know my God is at peace with me and loves me and I am more at peace with him than I have been in years. I still have some relationship hangups with him and am trying to work through feelings of hurt and abandonment, but I have never lost faith that he is there. Now I feel so completely at ease with myself and with my place in this world, in a way I never have. I can’t explain that to a pastor like this, though, in any way that he will accept. He needs chapter and verse, logical steps for how I got here, to this affirming position. When all I really have is, “when I admitted to myself I did nothing wrong for having feelings for her, I knew I was ok” and that kind of explanation doesn’t fly with an independent fundamental Baptist. Not even close. <br /><br />But it’s more than enough for me. I know how vastly my mental health has improved since that moment, after struggling with chronic depression for around eight years. I know how much freedom and lightness I feel that I have never had before. I know how at rest I feel and confident in who I am in the world and see how that has improved relationships and my work as a therapist. I know how I much more relaxed I feel in my platonic friendships with women because I’m not constantly subconsciously hypervigilant about every move I make around them. I am able to be more open and genuine when I’m not thinking “don’t look too long, don’t touch too much, don’t get too close.” Everything is objectively better, even while certain relationships got harder. What I know more than anything else is that I wouldn’t go back to that girl sitting in that church, taking all those messages I was unwittingly ingesting about myself. I can’t go back. This path brings me life. Last I heard, that was still one of the ways Christ is defined: “life” (John 14:6), so I think I will stay on this path. My coming out didn’t require a convincing argument from the biblical evidence for an affirming position, but was my experience of admitting reality to myself and God about me, and knowing God’s love and closeness in a more substantial way than I had in years. That is enough for me.</span>
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