Pizza Parables

 For those of you who don't know, I'm a pizza delivery driver for the time being while I finish up graduate school. 

To me, being a delivery lady means a lot of things. It means... I never know who is going to open the door when I get to a house. I never know what they are going to look like or what type of mood they're going to be in. I also never know if they are going to tip me or not. Will they throw a pen and receipt at me because they're angry? Will their dog attack me, or is it going to be nice? Will they come to the door, or will I have to call them and text them a million times? Will they be a lonely older person who just wants someone to talk to for a few minutes? It's truly a mystery. Regardless of all those moving pieces, it is my job to bring them their food. 

Last night was a Saturday night. Apparently, Saturday night is also date night for a lot of couples. I encountered several teenage girls who were babysitting kiddos. At each house, all the kids came to the door with the sitter. 

One little boy looked like he had been crying. I said, "Hey buddy, are you OK?" He told me he was sad because his parents weren't there. I replied, "I'm sorry you feel sad. Do you think you can have some fun while they're gone? They're coming back in a little while." He wiped his eyes and said, "Yeah..." I asked him if eating pizza would make him feel better. He smiled. 

At another house, two kids came to the door with their sitter. These kids weren't sad at all. They were STOKED to be getting pizza for dinner, and they sprinted to the door with glee. While the sitter was signing the receipt, the little boy could not hold back his excitement in talking to me. He waved a Ring Pop in my face, and said, "WE GOT BOOED! Do you know what that is?" Honestly, I had no clue, but I figured it had something to do with Halloween. I said, "Nope! Tell me about it! I've never been booed." He started talking 100 miles per hour telling me about how his neighbors dropped off a surprise Halloween basket filled with candy, cake mix, icing, and some other goodies. I was like, "Wow, someone needs to come boo my house, because that sounds amazing." The sitter handed me my pen and the receipt and was trying to get the kids to come inside the house and leave me alone when the little boy yelled, "I can show you the basket!" The sitter rolled her eyes and told him that she was sure I had other things to do. I said, "It's OK. I have a minute to spare." He ran into the kitchen, grabbed the basket, and ran back to the door. "See! The basket is a black cat! And look at the candy! There's all kinds of stuff in here!" I said, "That's really cool, man. Looks like a lot of fun." The sitter slowly shut the door, but the little boy was still trying to talk to me as the gap got smaller and smaller. When the door finally shut, his older sister smiled and waved bye at me through the glass. 

When I left their house, I had to make the drive back to the store to pick up my next delivery. I turned the radio off. As I sat there, I immediately thought, "These are the things we should make time for in life... taking the time to listen to a child's joy and excitement, paying attention when someone looks sad and listening to their feelings, and definitely choosing to wait and see what this whole getting booed thing is about." Why would we not want to take the time to do those things? People are important, and kids especially need to know that they are valued. 

I kept hearing the teenage girl's voice over and over again in my head- "I'm sure she has other things to do." Wow. It sounds like she has definitely heard someone tell her that statement before. I wonder how important she felt when she heard that? I mean, I did have other things to do. That was true. But I care. I did not want to dismiss someone's joy regardless of their age. It only took a few minutes of my life to hopefully let a few kids know that a complete stranger cares about them. 

And now? I even feel inspired to boo some people. 

So please, tell me about the slip and slide you had at your Spiderman birthday party. Tell me that you're 5 years old, and you're excited to be in Kindergarten this year. I am so down for that. I feel like as humans, we should all be down for more of that in our lives. 

Let people know that they matter. Care. Be kind. Life is a pizza parable. 

The Shadow You Place Over Me

The Back Story

I decided to start the new year by writing my last coming out letter. This letter was to my dad's parents. I am their only granddaughter. They have known me for 28 years. For the first 9 years of my life, I was the only grandchild they had. Then, my brothers were born. They have financially supported me over the years. They helped chip in for my first car as a surprise on my 16th birthday- a little green Honda Civic I named Miguel. They also chipped in when it was time for me to go to college.

I've never lived close to my grandparents, but we always saw each other at least 2 times per year on Thanksgiving and Christmas. But things get complicated when you get older. You don't live with your nuclear family any more. You have to meet your family at your grandparents' house for the holidays because you are driving yourself from your undergraduate university and not riding with your nuclear family like you used to. You start dating people, and then you have to balance going to see their family with going to see yours. You get engaged and realize that you are forming your own home. You get married, and you have a spouse that you share dogs, a home, and responsibilities with. Things get complicated.

Shit hit the fan for me during Thanksgiving 2017. I had written my dad a letter because things had been getting ridiculous. He was not happy with the fact that that year, I was not going to visit his parents at their home in Charlotte. I had my two dogs and my fiancé with me, I was in the middle of my semester at Divinity School, I had just gotten a concussion, I had just moved into my future in-laws' basement, and I had to preach on Sunday at the church where I was interning. It was not a good time to go visit his parents. I disliked my dad's unhappiness with my decisions, so I decided to write to him.

I was getting married in January 2018, and there were a lot of things that needed to be discussed. I no longer felt comfortable going on trips where I showed up by myself and pretended I was single. I was not going to hide the fact that I was married. I was not going to remove my wedding ring in the company of disapproving family for the sake of their comfort. I was not going to treat my wife differently and hurt her for the sake of anyone else's comfort. Imagine me snubbing my wife, rejecting her hugs, pushing her hand away when she reached for mine, or calling her by her first name instead of using names like baby, love, and beautiful. No longer afraid, and unashamedly, I reached out to my dad, and it did not go over very well.

My dad wrote me a letter back, and it was ugly. I copied and pasted his letter on an older blog if anyone wants to go back and read it. But during Thanksgiving 2017, after I told my dad that I could no longer manage a life of hiding, pretending, and secrecy around him and his parents... after I told my dad I was going to write to his parents and officially get everything out in the open... he decided to beat me to the point. In his words, he and his mother mourned the fact that I was "going through with this step of my lifestyle." He refuses to call my relationship a marriage. He refused to come to my wedding even though I told him he could come, sit in the back, and not participate. He got to my grandmother before I had the chance to explain myself, talk about my true self, and tell her the part of my story I had not yet told her.

Grandma Martha

My grandmother used to write me longhand letters in the sloppiest cursive handwriting. I have deciphered the letters slowly since I first learned to read. After my dad beat me to my grandmother, the letters stopped. The phone calls stopped. On my 28th birthday, I did not get a phone call filled with singing and excitement. I used to get cards on Valentines Day, Easter, Saint Patrick's Day, Halloween, and Christmas. They were filled with words and stories. My grandmother would tell me about what books she was reading, what she was learning in church, and what silly things her piano students were doing.

I have gotten 2 cards since my dad's conversation with her- one for Christmas 2017 and one for Christmas 2018. They were bleak. Simply a "Merry Christmas. Love ..."

You used to write me! You used to share with me. You used to say how proud you were of me and all the hard work I was doing. What happened? What is this shadow that has been cast over the things that I do and the person that I am?Who placed this shadow? Looming. Darkening me. A shadow that will cause some to blame every bad thing that happens to me on my gayness, and a shadow that will give some reason to not celebrate anything that is good in my life. The good that comes to me will never be as bright.

A New Year

Every year on December 31st, we ring in a new year. People make new years resolutions, promises, and swear to big life changes. I wanted 2019 to be a new year for me. I wanted to reach out to my grandmother. I wanted her to respond to me. I told her that I was finally ready to tell her about who I am and who I have always been. I told her I was finally ready for her to see part of who I am from my own heart and perspective. I told her that I was aware that she had changed the amount amount of phone calls and length of letters. I also told her I knew that I had not reached out either. I was staying away. But instead of continuing the pattern, I wanted to get everything out in the open. This is my wife... this is my new address... we just bought a house... this is my new last name... we got another dog together... Grandma, please tell me how much contact, if any, you wish to have with me. Please tell me if you care about me still. Please tell me if you wish to see me.

The Wait

It has been a month now, and I have gotten no response. I do not know if I will ever get a response.

This past weekend, my nuclear family went to visit my Charlotte grandparents. It was my grandfather's 84th birthday. I did not go. I did not call. But I did get a text message from my dad saying, "If you haven't already done so, it would be nice if you could call and wish dad a happy 84th birthday." Again, he is unhappy with the change in communication that has happened between my grandparents and I. Little does he know, I did reach out and make an attempt at civil communication with his parents. I wrote that 2019 letter. I have gotten no response or call in return. So many birthdays have already passed with no phone calls; they've neither been given or received.

The Shadow

I am afraid that this shadow is long-reaching... this shadow that has been placed over me by some. Some cannot see me without it. Strangely, I see no shadow at all. I just notice that for some, it is easier to blame me for the way I am being treated by them. I deserve it. It is my fault. If I changed, divorced my wife, and married a man, I could prevent such treatment. I am responsible for the way others treat me. I am asking for it.

Who controls your lips? Who controls your mind? Who controls the words that come out of your mouth? Who controls what words your hands and fingers write? Who controls how you choose to treat people? I personally do not think that anyone can control the thoughts, words, or actions of others. All of us will be held accountable for how we treat people.

And so there is a shadow that has been placed over me. Others have put it there, and others think that I should do whatever it takes to make it go away. However, I do not own this shadow. It is not mine to blow away. It is not mine to run from. It is not mine to cast light on. I cannot control it because I did not create it. These shadows represent the ways that some have chosen to react to me and treat me. These shadows represent many who think I am responsible for their actions.

I can do nothing about the shadow you see, for the shadow you see is of you and not me.

Underestimated

"How are you doing without the help of your friends?" 

I will never forget the day I was asked this question. I was on Christmas break during my Freshman year of undergrad. I went to a Christmas party with my family. Lo and behold, I ran into my elementary school's gifted and talented teacher. 

I didn't really know how to respond. I cocked my head, squinted, and said, "The help of my friends?" She just smirk-scowled at me. 

I enjoyed running into her for the next 4 years of undergrad because I knew that she had seen my face posted in my small hometown's paper in the Dean's list section. This gifted and talented teacher thought that I was anything but gifted and talented, but I did my best and succeeded nonetheless. 

This teacher had her star pupil's picked out from the first day of class. She had known their older siblings and had bright expectations for them. If you did not grow up in my small town and did not have a bright older sibling, you were screwed. Her special bunch got chosen to go to the academic fair or the brightest of the bright. She never chose me, so I used to think I was just not as smart as them. 

I still have scars from her treatment of me, but they have now healed. However, I will always remember running into her. She only taught me for 3 years of elementary school, but for some reason she still felt that she could try to sink her claws into me although I was an adult. 

"You have to work really hard to get that. People who get that are extremely hard working." 

I was just told that statement last week at graduate school. I do not know what this person meant by telling this statement to me right after I had just told them I was trying to get the thing they were referring to. 

Hopefully, when I get it at my graduation in May 2019, they will think that I am a hard worker. I would like to have thought they already thought this of me- that I was a hard worker who has the capability of academic success. Maybe this person was making a general statement that meant to say nothing about me. I have no clue. However, I felt a bit underestimated. Are people truly that underwhelmed by me? 

One of my supervisors wanted me to read a letter of recommendation they wrote for me.

I was trying to apply for a job, and I needed some recommendation letters. While most people kept their letters private and only shared them with my future employer, this person let me read her letter.

I do not remember the exact words, but I will always feel their message: there is more to me than meets the eye.

I don't want to puff myself up. Generally, I feel super down on myself. People tell me things about myself that make me feel lower than poop in the dirt. I like that at least one person saw that I have more to offer than meets the eye. I am modest about it. It's not in my being to brag and gloat. I prefer silent, modest success. I prefer my work and effort to speak for itself. I prefer to express myself with my actions- they will speak for themselves.

Yet here I am using words to blog. Ironic, I know.

Blessings

I cannot believe this semester is almost over. I can finally smell the aroma of May 2019 graduation. So many life events have been paired along with this semester. We bought a house and moved to a new town. I started a new internship at a new church. We are still navigating our first year of marriage. Many good and busy things have happened.

When I started this journey, I did not have much. I packed up everything I owned, claimed furniture off of the side of the road, worked whatever jobs I could find, and relied on food stamps to eat. So much has changed from then to now. I cannot believe I am married, have 2 dogs, and live in a house that we own!

Thanksgiving just passed, and I think I have a lot to be thankful for. I consider all of these things to be blessings- blessings paired with hard work, but gifts to be thankful for nonetheless.

Let this be a short blog of gratitude.

A Healing Heart

You do not know how deeply you have touched me.
I was so deflated. I considered giving up, letting go.
But you found me. We found each other really.

Not many people, places, or things have built me up.
You are strong cement. You have sturdy blocks.
My foundation was broken, but you mended it.

How can it be that not so long ago I cried on the bathroom floor?
Maybe the universe caught my tears and laid them on your heart.
Because of you, my face is dry. I'm learning joy. Yes, I smile more.

My lungs had shrunk. Their air was gone- two dusty bags inside me.
Shriveled rubber carcasses of empty balloons rotting.
You brought me back to life. You filled my soul.

I dreamt of my heartbeat stopping. Better if I were gone.
Better to feel no more. Better to be somewhere else.
You showed me I have worth. I am valuable to this world.

I lost faith in most people. So many bridges crumbled.
They shattered them willingly, in front of my face.
My hands left with none but ash and rubble.

Up from the dirty destruction you came. A green sprout.
You brought life and beauty. Can this be true? Are you real?
Why would you want to be here with someone so unworthy?

But you had love for me. Tender care. Patience.
You were not like the other faces. You looked inside me.
You did not turn away or ask me to change.

You foster growth. You lift me up. Inspiring. Encouraging.
Maybe this is what it feels like to be cherished- to be wanted.
Maybe this is what it means to have a healing heart.

Oh, The Things We Say "In Love"

The Events of Thanksgiving Eve, 2017

I emailed my dad. We usually talk about shallow things and business-like topics. School, work, logistical information... But he had been texting me trying to get me to come to Charlotte to see his grandparents for Thanksgiving. Many circumstances and factors were working against making a trip to Charlotte, NC this year. 

1. I had just had a concussion on Sunday and was not driving myself anywhere, nor did I feel well.
2. I had fallen way behind on school work because of the concussion, and final exams/papers are the first week of December. Not to mention... wedding planning is consuming. And by the way? I had to prepare to preach the Sunday after Thanksgiving. 
3. I needed to see my other grandmother, aunt, uncles, and cousins in Columbia, SC to make wedding plans and catch up. My grandmother is walking me down the aisle. She was also going to give me spools of tulle to use at the wedding. My grandmother is a very key part of my support system. I want to spend as much time with her as I can in the years we have left together.
4. There is no place to sleep in Charlotte with me, my fiancé, and 2 dogs. 
5. My Charlotte grandmother wrote me saying her dog had been having issues biting, and I did not want to bring my dogs in that setting. 
6. The kicker: I am about to get married, and not telling my grandparents I am even gay or even in a relationship is getting old. Plus it's getting hard to evade the subject or explain who my fiancé is, much less why I live with her. I have been told for years to "never tell" my dad's parents I am gay for it would "break their hearts." But, I am out to everyone else and no longer wish to be partially closeted around people who I have been told to remain in the closet around. I am getting married for goodness sake. 
7. Additional bonus: I have not really lived in my dad's house/town since 2008 when I went off to college. I never came out in the town because I did not want to threaten my dad's job or create social hardships/economic hardships for the rest of my family. I told my dad that his parents and the small town I grew up in are the only places I am not out in. 

Why have I not come out to these two groups specifically yet? Because those are hard decisions to make. I can handle backlash for myself, but of course I do not want anyone else in my family to suffer in any way or be ostracized  I also wanted to respect the wishes of those who have told me to "never tell." But not telling is getting a little ridiculous considering the fact that I am getting married and would like to start a family on a 5-year plan basis. 

So, I wanted to explain myself to my dad and tell him that I plan on not going to Charlotte this year because of the many reasons above. I told him I was planning on writing a letter to my grandmother soon to tell her I am getting married, I am gay, and I will give her space to decide how she would like to go about having a relationship with me in the future. 

I owe this to my soon to be wife. I owe this to myself. 

I debated whether or not I should share my dad's response verbatim, but I do not want to pretend his words to not exist. I also do not want to hear his words alone. I have a tendency to take things inwardly and feel alone, but that is not a good thing to do. I have support. I want to be supportive others. I am free to tell my story. And this, this email... it is part of my story. So, let's talk about things and share with each other. 

The Email:

Holli,

Hope you are feeling better and that the concussion is healing.  Also pray you have safe travel to Columbia.

It is interesting that you wrote, as I have been contemplating writing to you similarly for a while.  Since you took the first step, I feel affirmed in responding.

Thank you for openly and honestly sharing your feelings and your viewpoints.  Mom has shared some of the things you have discussed with her by phone or text, but I appreciate hearing from you directly.

Before I get too far, let me first of all say that I love you.  I loved you before you were born, even before you were conceived--when there was just the hope and dream of you. And, in spite of what you probably often think, I love you and will always love you.  Of course, daring to love someone also means that you willingly submit yourself to the possibility of heartache.  If your heart cannot be broken, then it never truly loves.

Secondly, I am a sinner saved by God’s grace.  And in spite of His Lordship in my life through the Holy Spirit, I am still a sinner.  There are past sins that have left huge scars on many people, including you, for which I am deeply sorry.  God has forgiven me; most of those people have forgiven me.  But there will probably always be scars and consequences of those sins which can only be healed by God Himself.  And yet, knowing all of this, there are things I think, say, and even do every day that are flat out sin.  I am not perfect and never will be on this earth; all that to say that nothing following comes from a “holier than thou” attitude or perspective.

I have been to seminary (though quite a long time ago).  I have read and heard a myriad of teachings on a variety of issues.  There are opinions and feelings that, through a journey of life experiences, relationships with people, interaction with all types of believers, and personal spiritual growth, have evolved and changed over nearly 57 years.  I am more knowledgeable, experienced, and hopefully wiser than I was 35 years ago, yet I am still growing and learning.  Most days I am humbled by what little I do know and how far I still have to go to be like Christ.

I have learned this:  when it comes to right and wrong, when determining morality, there must be an objective yet authoritative standard; whether a person is a Christian or not, that standard is the Word of God.  God certainly does not need to base His truth on one’s belief in Him; it is unequivocally Truth.  One can choose not to believe in God, another can choose to believe in God, and another can be a true Christian, yet none of this affects that fact that the Bible is God’s Truth.  And within those Scriptures, basically very little is left up to interpretation or opinion, and certainly not to that of us imperfect humans.  We study, we explore, we learn within the confines of our limited knowledge, history, culture, and technology—but God and His truth do not change.

The issue of homosexuality, according to God’s Word, is not up for interpretation.  It doesn’t need to be— the Bible clearly states that it is sin.  You can theologize it, debate it, and disagree with it all you want to—nothing changes the Biblical fact that it is sin.  It doesn’t matter your denomination, your belief system, your opinion, or anyone else’s—it is sin.  That is not an SBC or conservative or fundamental interpretation—it is God’s Word.  You can philosophize, debate, doubt, twist, turn, spin, theologize, and justify it any way you want to; none of that changes anything!  Been there, done that.  It doesn’t matter what a professor, a psychologist, a scientist, a psychiatrist, a judge, a court, a legislature, a law, a preacher, a church, a society, a government, a nation, a survey, public opinion, or anything or anyone else says: homosexuality is sin.  Just because a society or a state or a denomination or a church accepts it does NOT make it moral or right; it certainly does not make it Christian. And, yes, it breaks my heart, grieves me, hurts me that my daughter, whom I love, has been brain-washed into this immoral and sinful lifestyle.    

As an extension of that, there is no such thing as “gay marriage;” in fact, the term itself is an oxymoron.  The Biblical definition of marriage—the only one that matters—is between a man and a woman.  Period.  It does not make ANY difference how anyone else wants to redefine it.  God ordained it and God established it; therefore it is God and God alone who has the privilege and responsibility of defining it.  You have been duped; Tara has been duped.  The biggest lie you tell/live is to yourself.  So don’t talk about you and Tara “getting married;” there is no such thing in God’s eyes.  It is an ill-advised, misinterpreted, Biblically inaccurate, irresponsible, God-defying fantasy of rebellion and sin.  You have been deceived.  And it doesn’t matter if you live in Kershaw, Georgetown, Charlotte, Raleigh, or New York City—sin is sin!  By the way, there is also no such thing as “gender/sexual orientation”—God created humans as male and female.  Period!  All this other stuff is man-made justification of sin and/or mental illness.

So, no, I will not be there on January 6. Thank you for the invitation, but I regretfully decline.  Mom and the boys are free to attend if they’d like.  I do pray that God will somehow intervene in your life (and Tara’s) before then; I know and believe He can, but, then again, that is not usually His style.  He often chooses to “give us up to ourselves” and let us have our sinful way until we are broken, humbled, and ready to go to Him, much like the Prodigal Son.  He never gives up on us; he is always waiting, looking, longing for us to return.  And if and when we do, He runs to us with open arms and receives us back as our child.  That is what I pray for you; that is what I do for you; that is what I hope will happen to you.  I pray every day that God will somehow deliver you from this sinful, immoral lifestyle.  I know He can; I cannot help but trust and believe that He will.  It might not be in my lifetime--if not, I will die with that part of my heart broken—but I hope it will be in yours, before it’s too late.

I am sorry you have had to lie for all of these years; that is one of the consequences of sin.  I know you think it’s everybody else fault, that we/they are in the wrong because your lifestyle is not accepted--been there, done that, too.  That is simply (and I speak from experience) an excuse to escape responsibility and accountability for our sin.  Deep down inside of your heart, I know that you know this is wrong.  It has been covered up by years of deception, false teaching, and lies.  I pray that God will peel all of that back and somehow allow you to re-discover His truth.  I had already decided to sit Mom and Michael down, hopefully on Thursday night or sometime Friday, and tell them about the lifestyle you have chosen.  If you want to send them a letter or whatever, that’s fine, but they do deserve to know why their granddaughter is not coming to see them for Thanksgiving.  I will ask her about telling Dad, considering his current mental state.  We probably should have done this a long time ago, but as their son, I have not wanted to see their hearts broken, as I know they will be.  But you are right: as you are choosing to continue to digress down this path, they deserve to know.  And I will let them decide how they want to handle it and their relationship with you.  One of the ugly things about sin is that it can destroy relationships or at least cripple them; your choice of sin can and will have a bearing on the types of relationships people choose to have with you, but they are not the ones who cause it.  

I will say that it is not fair for you to put your grandparents or us down; you are the one who has chosen a lifestyle of sin, and it is not right to blame others for the consequences.  No, a “belief system” cannot be passed through a bloodline, just as salvation cannot be.  However, a Christian belief system must be based upon the principles and foundation of God’s Word.  Sin is defined and has been judged—not the person, but the sin.  God instructs us to be discerning and to be in agreement with what He and His Word have already judged.  As difficult as it might be sometimes, we are to love and care for the person, especially with regard to their eternal destiny, but that does not mean that we are to be tolerant and certainly not condoning of their sin.  That simply is not Biblical.  The difficulty of that challenge is multiplied when the person is someone we love and care about deeply.  To stand for what is right and against what sin is according to God’s Word is not wrong!  That is the tactic of our liberal society: stand for the Bible and disagree with sin, and you are called extremist, fundamental, hateful, bigot, intolerant, slanderer, un-American—the list goes on.  This is our current culture’s coping mechanism for refusing to take responsibility and accountability for sin.  

Yes, God is love, but He much more than just love.  Jesus died to save us from the penalty of sin—eternal separation from God in a place of torment and suffering called hell—but we must not forget the prophecy about Jesus.  True, I am in Singing Christmas Tree mode, but remember that Isaiah declared that the coming Messiah (Jesus) would save us from our sin, not just from the consequence of our sin.  When Jesus healed—physically and spiritually—He forgave person’s sin but He also told them to “go and sin no more.”  Did they sin again? Of course—we all do, even after our salvation experience.  But did they continue in their same lifestyle of sin?  No!  And while we like to focus on the love and grace of God, we cannot disregard His judgment of sin and the fact that with forgiveness comes a call for repentance: turning away from sin and turning to Christ as Savior and Lord.

You know this--I know you do.  Somewhere deep inside your heart, I know you know this. But truly believing it is quite different. 

Yes, we are all getting old.  Your remaining grandparents are approaching their mid-eighties; your dad is almost 60!  None of us knows how much time we have left—heck, I could die before I finish typing this!  And no one ever said that the last years of our lives, even when we’re old, are going to be without heartache.  It’s just sad when that heartache comes at the hands of someone you love because of their bad decisions, and that’s why I hurt for Mom & Dad and for Mom & me.  It’s not because our personal dreams for you have been shattered; the only thing that I ever wanted for you was for you to be everything God made you to be, whatever that would be, in His will and way. The heartache is that God did not make you a homosexual—there’s no scientific proof of any sort, physiologically or otherwise, nor will there ever be—which means that, as long as this is your lifestyle, you cannot be everything He made you to be.  I will always love you as my daughter; but as long as you choose to go down this path, I will grieve and be disappointed.  But please do not interpret that as not loving you.  Perhaps one day, if you ever become a parent, you will understand.

Although this isn’t the best time, give me a little while to talk with the staff and deacons of the church.  I do not want you to feel like you have to live a lie for my sake or the sake of my job.  I will share this with them and allow them to choose my fate.  If the church is as loving and supportive as they have been in the past and as I believe they will be, I hope that they will be disappointed and grieve along with us, that their broken hearts (and there will be many) will move them to prayer for your repentance and delivery, as well.  However, if they no longer want me to continue as their Minister of Music because of this, I will resign.  Quite frankly, I’ve grown weary of the cover-up and not knowing what to say when people ask about you, anyway.  I know that there are already people in the congregation who are aware and some who probably suspect, but I’d rather just get it out in the open and deal with the consequences, especially if you are going through with January.  God is in control. 

I have gained a deeper perspective of who you are based upon your email and I trust you have done the same.  We will probably continue to vehemently disagree and this will continue to put a strain on our relationship, although perhaps less so now.  I would respectfully ask that you and Tara not display physical acts of affection in our presence or that of our church or community (if you ever come to Georgetown).  In the meantime, please drive safely and take good care of yourself.  Look forward to seeing you tomorrow.

I Love You, 

Dad

Oh, the things we say "in love."

Your Daughter Waits For You

(a response to a cold, insulting, Thanksgiving Eve email from my father)

We have more in common than sets us apart. 
I wish there were more compassion and respect between us, 
however that level of relationship would require both of us to be humble. 
If one side refuses to budge while the other is ready to agree to disagree for the sake of love,
then the relationship might die. 
It takes two.
Spitting and spewing weapons of verbal assault will not help. 

And so we are at a crossroad where I stand weaponless. 
I see you in front of me armed with anything you can get your hands on.
I wait on you drop your weapons, but you must value them more than me. 
We may be here until one of us dies and even after, but my hope is that your hostility will die first. 
I do not ask you to change,but you refuse to let me be as I am. 

Why do you insist that I bend to your will?
I know you think your will is God's.
That there is only one way of believing.
That there is no such thing as interpretation,
although that is an interpretation in itself.
That my marriage is not a marriage and never will be.
That I have been tricked, duped, and brainwashed.
That you have forbidden me to do something as innocent as holding hands in front of you.

The conclusion is this:
I would have to be cut from a precise cookie cutter to win your approval.
There is only one correct and true identity in your belief system.
I can either "choose" to be that or be nothing to you at all.
But I'd rather be myself.
I do not put this pressure on you, but you fight relentlessly against me.
So who is to blame for the tension between us?
My romantic relationship with a third party has nothing to do with you and I.
Yet you take it personally.

You take it as a direct blow and offense against you.
Of course that is ridiculous.
You may not like what I do or believe, but I do not agree with your views either.
Yet I have not shoved my doctrine down your throat.
Somehow still, my existence threatens your belief system.
When I walk into a room, you become possessed by an uncontrollable desire to shout your beliefs at the top of your lungs.
This gets us nowhere.

I have heard your list a million times. What good does it do?
Why do you feel so threatened by me?
I sit here today and tell you that you are free to be you.
However, I wonder just how fragile your belief system is.
It seems that if anyone else exists who believes contrary, then you explode with anger.
Life on the defense doesn't sound fun to me.
I'd rather be so secure in myself, my God, and my beliefs that I can love the most different person than me and not get a single one of my feathers ruffled.

To me, this is peace. I want to live in peace.
I wish you could have it. I wish we could share it.
I am ready to coexist with you.
I am ready to mutually respect each other to the point that neither one of us ever tries to change the other person.
Just be. Let go. Let God. Live on.
Will we ever reach this point?
Here with arms wide open, your daughter waits for you.