{Blue Devils}

I live in a place of morbidity, where death
hangs round, a constant companion. When you have lost
a parent you are constantly aware. Each moment, even pointless ones, are fraught with weighty meaning because

there may be no more.

And yet there has been so much pain,
roads traveled, days endured
the blue devils of hell traversed together.

Why do you call her MOTHER?
my daughter asks me, it’s cold and distant.
Because that is her name and that is what she has always been
[to me.]

Back again to knowledge.

The realization that this could be our last
conversation. Life is always heavy, for I am daughter, caregiver, confidant, even adviser and she is
always,
will be
Mother.

Even when she is gone.

MHH

blue devils

pl n

1. a fit of depression or melancholy

2. an attack of delirium tremens

Collins English Dictionary – Complete and Unabridged © HarperCollins Publishers 1991, 1994, 1998, 2000, 2003

{My Weak-Kneed Lack}

God is reckless
and strong, even when I am
all too fearful and weak.

I feel my humanity
daily, almost hourly, even minute by minute. My body creaks
as I rise early in the morning. I feel my aging like the tick-tick-tick of an old clock. Telling me
I’m late, up too late
even though I’m up early.

The constant, frequent flurry of life makes it impossible to breathe sometimes.
I want deep, cavernous honest breaths and to appreciate being alive.

I snap at my child moments after I read about controlling
your tongue. I cannot believe
myself sometimes. My weak-kneed lack
of self-control.

God is strong, even
when I am weak. I want to be more, like
God. I keep wanting,
knowingly eager that this
inhalation and desire

life.

{Do you Have a Plan for Your Life? I thought I did.}

Yesterday, I was pulling away and in pain.

Of my own creating I always wonder? It’s certainly difficult to ascertain culpability when depression is hereditary and when cycles of pain, withdrawing, insecurity, and self-loathing go back so far in a family’s story. Still, why do I look for whom to blame when ultimately I blame myself?

Keen to enter into community life at least in theory, and even when depressed, I went to church yesterday. Anyway. I listened, hard. I sang along and wept. The song, it was …

“I lift my eyes up. My help comes from the Lord. He will always …

I find it impossible. Those words: God always what? … Are there promises from God that are universal to all, for always? If so, what are they?

Yesterday, I kept thinking you are not promised anything.

… To be happy.

… To find joy.

… To experience contentment.

… To have work, (even more so) meaningful world-changing work.

How arrogant all these years I was thinking there was a plan for my life – yes, a really significant “thing” I was to do. Truthfully, isn’t life more random than that? And isn’t meaning drawn from the day-to-day questions?

How do you love? Who do you love? Do you honestly value the people in front of you today?

Yesterday’s lesson for me was to learn how important it is to tell them so. Be intentional and careful with the precious relationships that I do have.

I easily focus on my mistakes and foibles, my lack, which all too quickly moves to my future, even my lasting significance. I am living into middle age physically downtrodden and constipated, believing the lie, even yesterday, that I’m unlikable. And that this is what matters?

Forgetting the truth, which is that it is better to give than to receive.

That is a plan.

That is a life.

In that one will find happiness, joy, contentment and even, quite possibly meaningful world-changing work. But if not, truthfully being a “big shot” no matter how much something in me craves for it, isn’t “It” at all.

For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. Hebrews 4:12

This is it, this is truth.

To know God and to be known by him and in turn to love others out of that knowledge. To know God’s WORD, to keep seeking, searching, longing, wanting the Holy One more than anything.

May it be so.

{a midstream update on “ch-ch-ch-changing”} part 2 of “I Hate Being Fat”

Sometime in May I admitted to myself and “the world” in a post that I hated being fat.

It’s now late June and I want you to know that I’ve been busy. More importantly, I faced something about myself that I don’t like, I can even admit that I hate about myself, my weight. I wrote about it, which was cathartic just in itself, and it was a kick in the pants for Tom and for me to do something!

There’s something about our culture that has your average person (I am including myself here) convinced that we can’t do anything about our appearance. And if you’re not already thin, or already beautiful, or already in shape, stay out of the fitness clubs.

I had myself so talked into a pathetic corner of apathy, that I thought I shouldn’t even be seen on the streets exercising because I was such a joke.

I had my head so full of excuses that I felt hopeless, and worthless, and hated the sight of myself.

I’m here to tell you that I started exercising! I read a book and stopped eating wheat. I no longer have acid reflux. I have lost (since March) thirteen pounds. More importantly I decided that I want to be around when my grandchildren get here. (No, this is not an announcement.)

I get out there and walk or walk/jog with my Couch Potato to 5K phone app cheering me along. I do it five or six times a week, and have now going into my third week. More than anything I decided that it was possible to change.

Do you believe you can change things about yourself? There comes a point in “middle age” when we must either give in and give up OR do something. I don’t think very many people believe they can change. The stories of successful exercise or weigh loss or even giving up something like alchohol are too dramatic, too flashy, too much turn-your-life-upside-down unbelievable.

But this is a story mid stream — to tell you that if you want to you can change anything!

In March of this year I was the heaviest I have ever been — I was 179 pounds fat. I felt horrible. In May I decided perhaps I could do something about it. I’m 166 pounds now and I won’t tell you my goal because I don’t want to jinx myself. I am changing habits. Changing lifestyle. Changing the way I look at myself. I am changing my future — likely extending my life, certainly I have more energy and optimism and hope for the future. There is a power that comes from doing.

But I just want you to know that if you decide to, you can do anything. What I have learned (at least about myself) is that it is a lot like being an alcoholic, in this way…

All I need to think about is today.

All I know that I can change is today.

Will I choose to go and walk/jog in 90 degree heat today, because this is what I decided to do? Yes, I will. Yes I did.

What will you choose? What will you decide to change today?

{Growing up in a house chock-o-block full of Resentments and Grudges}

Yesterday I was a jerk.

And the odd thing, and what was quite alarming to be honest, is in the moment I felt justified.

So I shot out a petty email, said couple of things that I can’t get back. While possibly true, I was dragging up old issues – my old issues. And it’s entirely my fault that I have held on to this old difference of opinion. I don’t know what to do with Resentments. I vacillate when there is a potential for conflict and sometimes this turns into resentment.

I grew up in a house chock-o-block full of Resentments and Grudges. My parents were always feeling insulted or resenting or holding a grudge from something someone did or said. I suppose it sounds like I’m blaming them for today, but not really.

I just don’t have the tools to sort out what resentments are worth getting into and hashing out. And which ones you surrender and ask God to help you forget and of course eventually forgive.

I carried a resentment from Christmastime that reared its ugly head yesterday when asked a favor (and it was not a small favor mind you, but normally something that I would consider gladly). Whew! Rather than slowing down and asking myself what to do about that Ugly Old Thing, I kind of made the person asking for the favor pay for it now.

Blindsided by this old concern, this person justifiably lashed back.

And then it was an opportunity to get into it and really hurt each other. Or I could admit that I was wrong. And, after much discussion and processing with Tom (I am so grateful for him), feeling attacked, and justified, and unfairly accused, and self-righteous, I did finally manage to get around to being genuinely conciliatory.

Today I sit here, sorely disappointed with myself and trying not to think about whether the other person was also wrong….because ultimately I am not their conscience.

But I thought I was passed this sort of immature crap.

And gratefully, this morning I was led to scripture.

Alive in Christ is supposed to mean dead to your transgressions and sins, in order to do good works. (Ephesians 2:1-10). We are purified by him to slander no one, be peaceable and considerate, to show to humility to all. (Titus 2:14) At one time you lived in malice and envy, but when the kindness and love of God appeared … He saved us (not because of good things we have done) but because of his mercy. Through washing, rebirth, renewal by the Holy Spirit (Romans 2:2) put off your old self to be made new in the attitude of your minds, put on new self. (Ephesians 4:30-31) Do not grieve the Holy Spirit, get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, malice, be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving one another, be children of light whose fruit are goodness and truth and righteousness.

It’s hard to admit when I am wrong. Being rigid and inflexible is not what we are meant for nor are we ever justified to carry around resentments because they can, and likely will, rear up at the worst moment. As we rub against people in life, we’re going to make mistakes. For me, in those moments, it is sometimes most difficult to forgive myself.

{On Parenting and Being}

Parenting is undoubtedly the most difficult job I’ve ever done. It’s not instinctive for me or intuitive, though Tom frequently argues with me on this, the fact remains that I do not feel like a good mother.

I’m a perfectionist. I’m hard on myself. Most days I fear I’m such a f-up that I can’t raise healthy kids. I fear that things that made me the way I am will be repeated in my children. I vacillate between fear that I am too hard on my kids and fear that I’m not hard enough. And I know that no matter what I do, kids ultimately make their own choices. How does one become a good parent before it’s too late?

If we look at how we were raised we can compare but there’s so much left …

to sheer randomness,

to the personalities of parents and each child,

to the context or environment,

to the spirituality of every person involved.

So we observe others. We learn from our friends. We work on our personal shit. I find myself hoping that the days will s t r e t c h out. And that time will slow down.

Who doesn’t need more time to improve upon themselves? With life moving so quickly and my children dashing into their teen years, I suddenly want to press the slow motion button. I see how quickly we got here, If only there were more time.

If the Bible were a parenting manual (which it is not) I think perhaps it would say work on yourself (character) first and the fruits of your life (spirit) and then perhaps God will add to these things, but there are no guarantees.

One thing I know. The more you try to control the outcome, the less likely you’ll get it exactly the way you want it.

So what’s a person to do? Getting my kids report cards, I felt as if I was back in middle school. I want so much more for my kids than what I had, everyone does. I don’t want their choices in life to be limited by their current lack of imagination, or willingness to work hard, or the incentives as they perceive them. And as I rail internally against my own feelings of failure, I relive my wretched school years and I cry a bucket of tears, full of my own regrets and feelings of failure.

I am left with more questions.

How do we teach our children that we love them unconditionally – that no matter what they EVER DO, seriously I mean EVER — That our love is irreversible? This is a super power, this unconditional love. If they get this one thing I believe all the rest will fall into place for them.

I never believed I was unconditionally loved growing up. I thought love I received or didn’t was connected to my behaviours, choices, failures and successes, “the B should have/could have been an A” because nothing was ever good enough to make my father happy.

How do we make it absolutely clear to our children that no matter what job they do some day, or what grades they get or what degrees they accomplish, or what hobbies, interests, sports or other talents they choose or naturally have, no matter, they are loved!

And I think perhaps parenting is a daily laying down of my life — giving up my rights — my power — my control, and sitting with the Holy One, admitting my weakness, my brokenness and that I cannot do it alone.

For a perfectionist it is hard to admit there is no perfect parent, that mistakes will be made, are made daily. And ultimately I am not in control.

For a perfectionist it is hard to let go and accept that who my children become is entirely up to them!

Celebrate them. Enjoy them. Affirm them. Give them every opportunity.

And also give them space to find themselves.

Just as I am.

{Listening for God}

I listen for you.

But I am no good at hearing.

For you, my God speak quietly; a whisper.

Hints of your love

blow in the grasses,

the bird’s song,

the wind wafting in the trees,

in children’s laughter.

I listen for you.

Help me to hear.

{When You’re Not Qualified to be Alive}

So I’m trying something new. Picking a subject at random that I seem to obsess about or fixate on, something that grips my imagination in compulsive and ugly ways, (I started with one of my secret obsessions.) I’ll write honestly without a lot self-editing or controlling “the message” to see what comes out. No answers. No over spiritualizing. Just the real, gritty, sometimes awkward me. I’m trying to push myself in my style to loosen up a little. Have you noticed that I take myself a bit too seriously? This is my second excursion into a different kind of real.

Parenting surely is the most difficult job I’ve ever had. Many times in a day I think “I am not qualified.” But it’s too late, for those regrets.

No one is qualified to be a parent, not really.

Yesterday, I was reflecting on our exceptionally verbal, strong as steel, at times tyrannical daughter who is so like my father! I just wanted to fall down on my knees, humbled by my own lack. Again, as if a prayer, whispering this time as a lament: I am not qualified to be a mother.

I went through most of my life in some strange, surreal auto pilot.

I went through forty years utterly afraid of life. I sometimes think back, strange as it sounds and wonder aloud how I even survived the catastrophes of living in our home. My father’s spirit and soul crushing rage destroyed me, my personality and I spent many years just grieving who I might be, might have been. That sort of grief is debilitating.

Oh there were moments, especially outside of home, where I found parts of myself. I loved my youth pastor; he listened to me and allowed for my incessant questions about the Bible. He listened to my ideas and fears. He never once yelled at me, or told me my sarcasm or sense of humor or quick thinking and verbal sparring was bad. He somehow validated me and I loved him.

But for the most part I went through my tens and twenties and thirties heart-sick, depressed, and afraid.

So when my daughter rages at me (I told you she is like my dad) or the world, or she stands up to me, or questions … every little thing, a small part of me is cheering inside!!

She is alive.

She is breathing, kicking and screaming, going into the world believing that her thoughts, her questions, her jokes, her ideas matter and for that I am so pleased.

She is alive and I am slowly coming alive too. I believe my father had to die for me to begin living. A new friend, after hearing about the childhood that I had said to me yesterday “It’s a wonder that I have any faith at all.”

I am simply grateful I am alive. Yes, this life of believing is really hard; harder for me than it seems to be for many people I know. I’ve come to accept and understand this to be a part of what makes me, me. And yes, this is something I embrace.

I may not be qualified, but I am grateful to be alive.

Step On A Crack {A poem about Living}

She drank coffee

at 4:29 in the afternoon but knew it won’t do the job on a soul that’s stopped dead.

And no amount of caffeine

is going to wake it.

It happened a long time ago, so far back in time

she can’t see

it, certainly can’t remember when a little girl of puddles and jumping, cartwheels

and skinned knees stopped dreaming. Mistrust

became more real to her than hope. Forever

uncertain, she lost

Wonder.

Step on a crack, break your Mamma’s back. Did she do that?

When mamma’s don’t dream children are left

to the Monsters — imagined enemies

everywhere. This little girl got scared, petrified and turned to

Stone, too afraid to live. Now she’s the Mamma she’s got to get up,

Dance in the rain, again! See

this is real, the bad dreams are gone.

Find courage.

Live.

{A Miscarriage of a Life – a post Mother’s Day Lament}

Yesterday I told myself over and over — I have had a miscarriage of a life.

The day before, I spent all day celebrating my older sister as she received a doctorate of ministry in preaching from the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago. Yes, I was happy for her but I could not enjoy the day fully because I was so disappointed with my own life.

After the very long ceremony (those Lutherans know how to “party”) I asked her what was next on her list for world domination? It was a backhanded compliment, which had a risk of offending her, but luckily she was gracious. (I get snarky and sarcastic when I’m feeling bad about myself.)

These sisters of mine are capable of doing anything.

Harrison’s seem to have the brains and talent, ability to work extremely hard, a yearning for justice to prevail and the certainty that injustice is, in part, our life’s call, challenge and responsibility. We are strong, capable, and powerful women. Some days I actually believe that about myself.

I have come to believe that much of the spiritual journey is one of being stripped of all that we would put our trust in, other than God.

Life is found in losing it for Christ’s sake. The life that God has for each of us, if received–changes us. There is not one sacred path for all.

My journey over the last twenty years has been a stripping, for I never knew Jesus, before.

I never knew I was beloved. I didn’t believe there was a purpose for my life outside of what I could accomplish, a life purpose that is all about Jesus.

Until my father died nine years ago, I was in many ways “asleep.” Because of the severe damage to my psyche from his anger, I did not know myself. I did not know the Trinity of God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit in any real way.

I did not know it, but I was bankrupt in spirit.

But even in that absence of belief, God planted questions, passions and strong desires inside me, a prompting that has never left me to know the Word of God and interpret it. I know that I am to receive that– and submit to the unique journey God has laid out, even when I cannot see clearly the road ahead.

Trusting is painful — the stripping away of sin, of selfishness and in many ways of aspects of my humanity, my character, that I thought were who I was. But there is grace, protection, comfort, provision and shalom in submitting to the Holy One’s purposes.

It is the only safe place. And yet it hurts so much when I feel I do not understand clearly.

In my 20s and 30s I lived for my job, it was my identity and all that I knew. Strangely, I believed it was all I was good at and I thought that I was choosing to walk away from that work, because the environment was unhealthy, but I see now that God led me away, took everything that made me feel good and strong and powerful. I thought I knew.

I could have lost my marriage and family because of my addiction to alcohol. I thought I knew, thought I was strong enough to beat it with will power, but the addiction beat me and I found that I was nothing without the Holy One. Even if I gave up the drink, without the Holy One filling me, healing, and strengthening me I was nothing. I thought I knew.

I sat Sunday scrutinizing people who had given many years of their lives to learning, thinking, writing, believing, enough to sacrifice time with their own children and partners, to achieve this incredible goal of a masters or doctorate. Some were restrained, some were giddy, and many were just slightly stunned to survive it, it seemed to me as a bystander.

I was so incredibly jealous and sad for myself, even mad at myself. Though the day wasn’t about me, inside my head everything was about me and my feelings of not exactly failure, but a strange bedfellow to it, a miscarriage of a life. In that moment, how dearly I regretted leaving my career in my early thirties and staying at home with my kids. Deep down a part of me still believed that I would not have succumbed to alcoholism or depression in the end if I had continue to work fulltime. I’d still have a great career, I’d be able to leverage it toward other work, and I would be respected by others. Pretty much bullshit and lies, but I almost believed it again as I sat there fuming internally.

I said all that and more to my mother as we drove back home. I don’t know if I really believed it. I do know that who I am, the real me, the person I never knew until I had no job, suffered from major depression and became a drunk – that woman needs Jesus! She believes in the Creator in a way that she never did before she lost it all.

I remembered that my boss, while I was trying to decide about leaving InterVarsity told me to go have babies and come back in five years to continue my part of world domination. Only, I never went back I was too busy having a breakdown and drinking myself stupid. That’s what I mean by a miscarriage of a life.

I was debriefing the day with Tom, who is extremely smart and has an almost PhD from the University of Chicago. As his head hit the pillow he exhaled, he said something like:

Higher degrees have their purpose, and there is a sense of personal achievement if it is important to you, but being a parent is three times harder than getting that PhD.

“Yeah,” I said, “but the world doesn’t esteem parents. Parenting won’t get you a job. Parenting won’t bring you any real regard or admiration from others. Parenting is something everyone does. (Not to mention you don’t get paid and the hours are terrible.) It’s not enough.”

My eyes filled with tears so many times on Sunday, I felt like I was choking most of the day. I was happy for my sister, genuinely — for I know only in part the many sacrifices she and her loved ones have made for her to accomplish this incredible goal. I know my father was doing a happy dance, wherever he is. My mother was beaming.

I spent my mother’s day celebrating my sister in part because I believe in doing things even when they are hard. I want my children to grow up knowing that doing the right thing isn’t always what’s easy, nor is it usually about you. That there will be many opportunities in life to choose yourself over others, but when given the chance to celebrate someone you love, you should take it.

All day I had moments of deep self-pity and self-loathing for my choices and beating myself up about the last fifteen years. Hindsight is 20/20 and all, still this is what I have come to know.

I know I would be different and horrible person if I had continued on the path of a workaholic and constant striving for external approval. My character has been changed through these experiences.

Through the mistakes I have made I have found a true understanding of God’s mercy and grace in my life. I know that I am loved by Jesus – I didn’t know or believe it two decades ago.

Through the mistakes I have made I have found a daily dependence on God for my health – my mood, my purpose and meaning.

For even as humbling and hard as each day is and how much it feels like a sacrifice to not have a viable lauded career at this time, I’m on my knees ever more.

Most of what I am learning is yet to be understood or written I suppose. Clearly, I am still broken, still too easily overcome by the wrong motives. I continue to be frustrated and discontented and I am frustrated with myself because of this.

In studying the book of Proverbs (because that is where we are in Eat This Book reading the entire Bible in a year at church) I am being drawn to Proverbs 31. I look forward to learning what a 21st century feminist wife and mother, a homemaker, budding writer has to learn about being a Proverbs 31 woman.

I am open, and fearful. I am angry and aching inside, deep where no one understands me except God.

I know I should be grateful but everything about me is wired to work hard, to please other people, to get the acclaim of others, to be esteemed and admired; it is the entire human condition without God.

I pray for spiritual understanding and an ability to lay all that down — to trust and obey.

Deep down I know that as long as I keep longing for all the wrong things, I can’t grasp what is good, whether that is understanding of what I already have or whether it is receiving what God has for me next. I cannot grasp it because I am still so filled with discontent.

I thought I knew. There is very little that I do know. But my story isn’t fully written.

I Never Wanted to be Like My Mother

I never wanted to be like my mother.

My mother stayed for more than 40 years in a marriage that broke her heart. She admits now that she was afraid.

She married in the late fifties, when women couldn’t even have a bank account in their name. She was a teacher and worked to put my father through college. In the first year of their marriage, in a rage my father put her head through the wall. He promised to never do it again. And to my knowledge he kept that promise. But that was the beginning of being manipulated. He threatened and he yelled.

The man could rage.

The smallest thing would set him off.

I never wanted to be like my mother, because all those years, I thought she was weak. Weak for staying.

Or so I thought, for many years, until I became a mother. And when that happened I began over time to see that she did it all for us.

My mother is strong. She stayed for us. She was the buffer all those years between us and my father’s angry raging. She took it more than we did. (And we took it a lot.)

And in later years as the weight of it became more than she could bear, she began to find comfort in the bottle. I never wanted to be like my mother, but I became an alcoholic too. I buried my fears for years in the numbing relief of alcohol. As is often the case in a family with addiction, I carried it on. And in the end I realized, I am very like my mother. I hide my pain even now, though I have been sober for almost five years.

I am strong and would do anything for my kids, just like my mother.

I never wanted to be like my mother, but I am.

I am strong, loyal and sober.

Happy Mother’s Day, 2012

Melody

I’ve written about my alcoholism here.

I’ve written about my Dad here.

{Above all Love One Another: A confession on being an LGBTQ Ally & a Christian}

unless we’re all free, none of us are free.

Kathy Escobar a pastor and writer, challenged me with these words on her blog this week:

“i’m a nut case for equality. you hear me talking a lot about gender equality but that’s just because it’s a critical starting place. when half of the population of the world is thought of as “less than”, we’re in serious trouble. in a church that is supposed to be the free-est, most liberating place in town, we’re in even deeper trouble. christians should be leading the way on equality in absolutely every area, yet we all know that on the whole, we are lagging behind, stuck in white privilege & imbalanced power & segregation and all kinds of things that are not reflective of the kingdom of God Jesus called us to create.

equality isn’t just about gender. it crosses into race, sexual orientation, socioeconomics, and any other ways we are divided that strip people’s dignity.

… what will change things is when we begin to vote with our feet (and in ballot boxes) and refuse to be part of churches & systems & groups that oppress. Period. they aren’t going to get our money or our time or absolutely-anything-anymore and i don’t care how good their music, teaching, or kids program is.”

I read these words and wanted to cry…

I felt very confused. Kathy says to simply rant and rage on Facebook is not accomplishing anything. That hit me like a bulls-eye. What she is challenging Christians to do is hard.

I’m with her in my heart and in theory, in my friendships, my daily practices, my Facebook statuses and as an ally. But not with my feet, with my church membership. Do I really need to leave my church? I love my church.

I was driving along listening to our brave President …

That beautiful speech about the fact that people ought to be able to get married, any two people in America, my heart was gushing and pulsing with pleasure and pride and hope.

Then I remembered and wondered …

Do I speak freely about supporting the LGBTQ community because I don’t work for anyone except myself?
Two of my children have chosen against Christianity, because the church seems in their estimation to “hate LGBTQ people.”
My church, which is a beautiful, amazing, loving Jesus community, came out a few years ago that they believe the LGBTQ lifestyle was a sin.

I don’t know what to do about any of those things. I volunteer and advocate. I love on my kids and try to dialogue with them. I still attend my church. I sat and wriggled in discomfort listening to that sermon (I have the link to it below) in person two years ago, and this morning as I listened to it again.

My heart is so heavy. And at the same time light with the knowledge of what Jesus’ death on the cross means to me. I have life, abundant life, because Jesus took my sins upon himself.

I know this, I’m as sinful as anyone.

My kids say “Christians hate gays.” My lesbian and gay friends say that most Christians act like they hate them. My lesbian friend asks me if she would be welcome at my church?

Christians hate gays.

Do Christians hate gays?

I don’t, but are my choices, my actions, my feet, making that clear? I don’t write that three times to be callous or uncaring, but to let it sink in what’s really going on in my daughter’s mind and heart. And my friends. And your friends and family who may or may not have come out to you.

We attend a fairly middle of the road evangelical church.

Though they’re not open to women being elders, they are open to women doing everything else, I think. (Don’t ask me to defend that point, because I don’t want to. They read Titus, I suppose overlooking “An elder must be blameless” because of course no one is in fact blameless. And they see “husband of one wife” as a prescription for the job of Elder.) I say this only to point out the fact that although “middle of the road evangelical” they are not totally conservative theologically.

Tangent! Rabbit trail.

Back to Christians hating “homosexuals.”

The fact is that sexual temptation happens to everyone, but the evangelical Church rejects anyone who admits to same sex temptations. With the Gay Marriage Amendment and the President talking about the right of anyone to be married the traditional evangelicals are a bit up in arms.

My church did a sermon a few years ago on Romans 1:21-2:4. titled: What about the Gay and Lesbian Community? Chris Dolson, Senior Pastor, Part 4 of the Rotten Tomatoes series. (Watch or listen here.)

We all have opinions on the subject.

In fact, I have more questions than opinions.

Earlier this year, in youth group my daughter listened to a discussion on the topic of relationships and sex, and they never acknowledged that young people may be dealing with the questions of sexual orientation. This upset her and made her feel angry and she hurt over the friends she knew in the group who are out, who are gay.

From the sermon, here’s what my pastor said, me paraphrasing:

The only sexual expression affirmed in the bible is between and man and a woman in marriage. All the others are wrong. The choice is marriage or chastity because that is the “way God intended things to happen. All others are prohibited. This is a traditional view of sexuality.”

And this is the position of my church.

In fact there are only a handful of verses in the Bible – on sexual sin. Leviticus 18:22; Romans 6:26 and 27; 1 Corinthians 6:9-10 which mentions homosexuality along with all kinds of other sins (including drunkenness, which I have been regularly guilty of. More about my alcoholism.)

To my pastor it’s clear but to my kids and many others, this position is a club we beat up on LGBTQ people and condemn them as if Christians think gay and lesbians are sinful and we, “Christians” have no sin.

I am reading the Jesus Creed for Students by Scot McKnight . I know I’m not the intended demographic. I’m reading it because my child is rejecting my church and rejecting my faith traditions, and perhaps will even reject the Christian faith completely. I want to offer her more. I heard this book is excellent so I am reading it with that in mind.

And it challenges us all to the main thing of the Story of the Bible.

It’s true, won’t you agree, that sexual expression is not the focus of the Story of Jesus Christ and in fact Jesus never talked about sexual orientation or choices. When asked what the most important commands (there were more than 600 commands in the Old Testament) Jesus said this:

Here O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is One.
Love the Lord your God with all your heart,

With all your soul,

With all your mind,

And with all your strength.

The Second is this: Love your neighbor as yourself.

There is no commandment greater than these. (From Mark 12:29-31)

And in the Gospel of Luke there is a slightly different version, Jesus lists four types of people who were blessed: “The poor. The hungry. The weeping. The persecuted.”

I cannot think of a more persecuted community in America than the LGBTQ community.

“If sin was blue we’d all be colored with blue. Our minds, our actions, we’re all messed up.“ — Chris Dolson, my pastor.

We’re all “covered in blue.”

And I come back to this from 1 Corinthians 13: The Way of Love (from The Message)

If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate. If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing. If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.

Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.

Love never dies. Inspired speech will be over some day; praying in tongues will end; understanding will reach its limit. We know only a portion of the truth, and what we say about God is always incomplete. But when the Complete arrives, our incompletes will be canceled.

When I was an infant at my mother’s breast, I gurgled and cooed like any infant. When I grew up, I left those infant ways for good.

We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!

But for right now, until that completeness, we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly. And the best of the three is love.

There is much I do not know. There is much that I do not understand.

But it could not be clearer that we are to love, love, and love. Above all love.

We should be known for our love.

Today, as I sit here, I am acknowledging that if sin were blue I’d be covered in blue. And Jesus forgives me, and says to me, to us all — How do you love one another? In real life.

“unless we’re all free, none of us are free.”

Galatians 5:13-15 says: “for you have been called to live in freedom, my brothers and sisters. But don’t use your freedom to satisfy your sinful nature. Instead, use your freedom to serve one another in love.

For the whole law can be summed up in this one command: “love your neighbor as yourself.” but if you are always biting and devouring one another, watch out! Beware of destroying one another.”

I don’t have all the answers — I am torn between certain things and the uncertain and unknowable. But I do know this, we were told the greatest commandment of all was:

Love one another.

And if we don’t, shame on us. Beware of destroying one another indeed.

Truthfully I am not much of an ally to the LGBTQ community. For all my intentions, mostly I’m just a woman with a big lens and a heart. Taking photographs with love is about all I do. But it is what I do. And I love it.

MELODY

These are just a sampling of some of the kind and generous, big-hearted beautiful folk I’ve been able to meet and phototograph over the years for Our Lives Magazine.

It is one thing to photograph people. It is another to make others care about them by revealing the core of their humanness. — Paul Strand, American Photographer

“Photography is truth.”- Jean-Luc Godard