I saw the possum before. I liked his feet. I think people wanted to throw rocks at him. He was where he didn't belong. When everyone went away he came down.
I saw him on a night.
He was dying. And I pulled over and I blocked traffic!
And I couldn't take one more thing I couldn't fix.
I couldn't fix.
It wasn't his time to stand.
The police came and they did not protect him. I dialed numbers like in dream and there was no one to help him. It was up to me but I couldn't.
Well that's just groovy if "the Lord" has been sending you clear messages written in the sky in three point outlines. I can't help but wonder if those three point outlines weren't actually the ones contained in editorial sermons and that was what we were supposed to be following exactly, immediately, and happily. It's a heck of a lot less abstract that way.
In my parenting, I'm kinda dropping the word "obey" from our discussion, at the very least for right now. It might be more for my frame of mind than for hers, I'm not sure yet. I just, personally, am not seeing where obedience is a useful adult skill. I working constantly on respect and gentleness. So a lot of "obeying" stuff falls into those for us. And I think a lot of the rest can be categorized as following instructions - I think that's an important adult skill for her. I want her to think independently. I think adults choose every day what rules they will obey and which ones they won't. I don't drive over 9 miles over the speed limit because it's not worth the consequences. I do indulge in buying raw milk. So this morning instead of saying, "I need you to obey." I said "I need you to follow these instructions right away." I'm not putting it out there as a parenting philosophy for everyone, I've never parented anyone other than my child, but I think this might work better for my baggage and for her need for very clear, non abstract language. And I'm not very stuck on the idea that the KJV (1611) uses the word "obey" or that my biggest parenting goal is to teach her to "obey" God.
I think, whatever God is, there is a lot more room for learning and feeling and nudging and responding and finding your "alignment with truth", and then following that - sniffing your way along, "Oops not that way, where did that track go? There it is, there it is!", than that song ever hinted.
I don't think that song was ever about God actually.
** unable to credit this as I borrowed this from a friend who found it elsewhere - if you know who this belongs to I would love to give credit where it is due
Belief and beauty and truth.
(these I hold)
That the earth is rounding and thankfull -
That it is full and greeting.
Like the smell of coffee -
And the bright eyes of children running.
Change and hope and seasons and dismay -
The beauty of trees, as bear as an old man.
Long established customs like the human greeting -
Laughter and humanity and meaning and dignity
An ideal world of memory and warmth
An ideal world of hope against hope
I'm gay. I'm queer. I'm (gasp!) a lesbian, though that's the description with which I am least comfortable. It says less, I think, about who I am. In case you missed that announcement, I don't want to leave anybody in the dark. It IS National Coming Out Day, after all. And there is a lot to be said for coming out, both for personal wholeness and for the bigger picture - for saying out loud "THIS is what gay (queer, bisexual, transgendered . . . ) looks like. I'm not a political position. I'm not a theory. This is me."
I can't imagine National Coming Out Day though ever not being, for me, about the people who aren't out.
Two years ago today I sent tons of love to my brave beautiful sister. And I tried to stand up as an ally and a supporter, and inside I ached, physically ached, to be able to say "Me too!".
One year ago I posted a picture on Facebook of myself wearing my bright pink "OUT" hoodie with the tag "NCO Day 2011". I couldn't catch my breath as I hit "Post". I purposely did it just before I left the house for the evening so that I couldn't monitor the reactions in real time. My heart pounded while I was away. And, ironically, almost no one caught it. In fact I don't think anyone who didn't already know learned that I was gay that day. I mean, come on, it's a blurry picture and "NCO" is pretty vague.
Today my Facebook cover photo is the first picture I publicly shared of me kissing a woman - the woman I adore. (And it includes three gorgeous dogs and the little girl who lights up my life. Just sayin'.) This year I get to write this blog. This year my friends list is different, and my "irl" friend list is even more different. And I am so flipping grateful to be here.
Because I don't think brave people come out and people who don't have the guts to live honestly stay in the closet. I believe I am blessed to be at a place and live in a world where I have everything I need to BE ABLE to live life authentically. I believe as Melissa Etheridge sings "every day I lived in hell I chose to stay", but I also believe that the moment that I had the love, the strength, the people, the hope to come out -- that was the day I started that journey. And it took courage and strength and tears and all I had, it took so much of me that I can't even comprehend it all yet, but there also was no other choice. The day everything was in a place I could do nothing BUT begin the baby steps I had to take.
And too many places in the world, in the South, and in my dear closeted friend's homes, it's not safe to come out. There are people starving for authenticity who can't do it yet. So that's what National Coming Out Day means to me. It's the day I remember them, I remember me, and I want to send them, and me, all the love in the world. I want to tell them this: I watched those "It Gets Better" videos. I saw the pictures. And I WISHED they applied to me. I thought they were for the people who were brave enough to come out - who were on that journey and were struggling. And they are for them. But they were also for me. They were for the girl who chose to spend one more day in hell because she couldn't face rejection, and loss of friends, and loss of support from the people she leaned on the hardest, the girl who wasn't ready yet to lose everything she knew because she didn't yet know that, if she let go of the cliff edge she was hanging from, the ground was only a few feet away. I didn't know that these two things were both true -- It was going to hurt more before it got better, AND living the way I needed to right then, hiding that huge chunk of me, was already the hardest thing I'd ever have to do.
And I live in the US of A. I can't wrap my mind around the plight of my glbt family around the world who have so much more to lose.
So that's my post. I'm out. I'm gay. To my LGBTQ family who aren't out - oh heavens, I love you! I remember how this day hurt. It's ok. Be where you are. And when everything you need is in place, you'll walk out into this gorgeous sunny world and all the love you need will be here for you. All that love is already wrapped around you right now where you are. I hope you feel it today.
The title isn't original, it was stuck in my brain and jumped up, volunteering, when I started typing. I was craving writing, probably due to the nudging of the oh so lovely Christy from Seeds and Weeds. If you don't know her you might wanna fix that.
Tonight I celebrate with my dear friends at One Wheaton. I can't help but think about last year.
The sign, since you probably can't read it, says "Rooted in Baptism". Under that sign are we, students past and present, of Christian colleges and universities who gave years of our lives and large chunks of money because we believed learning who God is was worth both our years and our money.
I took this picture because I knew that where I was then was not where I would always be.
You can see the bandaid just under my hem. This is what it covered.
Actually it was worse that night.
This is the outside view of what the inside felt like -- turning the inside pain of rejection, of questioning, of people rewriting my story into outward pain. Outward pain is easier. That spot between your ribs, just above your stomach -- it is so much harder to hold the pain there.
That night was cool sweet love on my burns, the inside ones. More importantly than anything else in the world, I wasn't alone.
One year ago we sat under that sign, rooted in baptism.
