Leaping Back into Faith

As a child, I wasn't wild about church. I saw little use in a sixth iteration of getting out of bed to go someplace to be taught something while being intermittently picked on by my peers. Worse yet, this time 'round it was on the weekend and done while wearing uncomfortable clothes! I rebelled and called an end to the seemingly pointless ritual around the age of 13. I got back into church at university, this time attending a nearby Catholic church (quite a turn for someone raised Baptist). The novelty of the Catholic ceremony eventually wore off and I moved to Saint Mary's Metropolitan Community Church (MCC) in Greensboro (where I lived at the time). (The UFMCC is a Christian denomination with a special ministry to the queer community.)

I continued to attend church for some time after I found myself married, but my husband wasn't a church-goer and things came to a point where I'd rather stay at home and enjoy his company than go to church. I'd been a lapsed church-goer for several years when we divorced just before New Year 2006. Seeing a chance for a fresh start in multiple facets of my life, I made a New Year resolution to return to church and have found doing so to be a blessing. I've visited several churches of different denominations and am quite enjoying the experience.

My first foray back into faith was a visit in late January to MCC of Winston-Salem. It was comforting to experience a liturgy with which I was familiar, to be greeted warmly and sincerely, and to even see some familiar faces and catch up with some old acquaintances. The worship felt reverent and sincere and the pastor is a former Baptist minister. My boyfriend, Chris, and I have since visited MCC W-S together and will likely do so many more times.

In late January, I had lunch on separate occasions with two long-time friends (another New Year resolution) and found that they both attended Epiphany Presbyterian Chruch in Greensboro, a new, small, welcoming congregation. ("Welcoming" is a code word to us queer folk meaning that we'll be accepted as we are.) One of those long-time friends plays the piano during worship at Epiphany on alternating Sundays and has since become my boyfriend! (Yep, Chris.) I've visited this church several times and quite like it -- the pastor, the congregation, and the music (though I'm biased on that last point). The sermons are quite thought-provoking, interactive, and unlike anything that I'd experienced previously.

Wanting to visit my paternal grandmother one weekend, I drove to Mocksville and attended Jericho Church of Christ, where Granny and Pops are members. I was struck by the quantity of music in the service -- all a capella -- as well as by the strong out-reach to the local Latino community. I could tell that my family has a long history at this church, as it seemed that every second person that I met was a cousin, aunt, or uncle of some sort.

Chris and I visited Wake Forest Baptist Church in Winston-Salem, which meets in Wait Chapel on the campus of Wake Forest University. We each have friends and acquaintances that attend WFBC and we knew that it's a member of The Association of Welcoming and Affirming Baptists, a group of congregations that actively and affirmatively welcome queer folk into their midst. The music was great and the congregation was very friendly, so I look forward to visiting again.

The most moving experience of my church-going life took place in early March when Chris and I visited Pullen Memorial Baptist Chruch in Raleigh. He attended Pullen when he lived in Raleigh for a short while a few years ago and still misses the church. I'd heard of Pullen before; they were kicked out of the Southern Baptist Convention in the early 1990s when they blessed the union of a male couple. That Sunday at Pullen with Chris was an absolutely magical experience! I felt emotional through the whole service and had to concentrate in order to be able to sing without getting choked up. I had never felt anything like I felt that day in any church that I had ever attended. I was simply overwhelmed by love and acceptance and awe-struck that this was happening to me in a Baptist church, the tradition in which I was raised. Chris and I sat with my arm across his shoulder the whole time and I didn't feel any sort of discomfort -- no one so much as cast a sideways glance in our direction. The church was full of all sorts of families and many, many young people, as well. Of course, I felt acceptance at MCC, but I expected it there. And sure, queer folks were evident in every corner at Pullen and there was other diversity, too, but this is by-and-large a main-stream congregation that accepted us even though they didn't have to. This was the "real world" in which we were worshipping, as Chris put it, not a constructed enclave as at MCC (though such enclaves certainly serve a purpose). As the congregation filed out after the service, Chris introduced me to the pastor, she welcomed me, and it was all that I could do to eek out "It was a blessing." without crying. We walked the couple of blocks back to his car in silence, got in, then I sat and cried for fifteen minutes, overwhelmed by what I'd just experienced. "Such a big difference a little bit of love and acceptance can make," I commented.

I'm not sure where my religious journey will take me; such roads are often windy and stony. However, I look forward to visiting more churches, returning to those where I have felt the spirit's strong presence, and continuing to develop my faith and feed my soul. I encourage all of you to find a faith community where you feel welcomed, accepted, and loved in which your spirit will grow and flourish. :J

My Family

My family life is rather like the brain of an epileptic whose affliction has been treated with split-brain therapy... the two hemispheres have been irreparably severed, cutting off communication between the two halves.

(Though tangential to the actual topic at hand, here's an interesting tidbit from my linguistics class that's relevant to the above metaphor. Because language is processed in the left hemisphere and the brain's hemispheres control the opposite side of the body, a split-brain person can look at an object with his or her left eye and know what the object is, but cannot speak its name because the impulses from the left eye, processed in the right hemisphere, cannot travel to the language centre in the left hemisphere for articulation. Please feel free to correct me if I'm mistaken here.)

My parents ("Mum" and "Pops") divorced when I was 3 years old and sparred in court over questions of visitation and child support off-and-on until I was 19. Raised by the maternal side of my family, I recently reconnected with Pops and his side of my family after more than two decades away from them. (I have adult cousins whom I never previously knew because they were born during my absence.) I first considered reconnecting with my paternals in 1998 at a friend's wedding. The bride's step-mother had been estranged from her father for many years, had reconnected with him some years earlier, and heartily encouraged me to do likewise, saying that the effort would be well worth it. A couple of years later, a friend's parents were visiting from the Midwest for the first time in many years; they knew Mum and Pops when they were still married -- knew them first-hand as individual people, not as caricatures drawn in one's mind from others' recollections. They told me that I should follow my gut instinct regarding contacting Pops; if I felt that I wanted to, then I should go for it.

I've spent the last three or so years becoming reacquainted with Pops, my paternal grandmother ("Granny"), my step-mom, my aunts and uncles, and my cousins. The verdict? I have fallen completely in love with all of them. They are invariably intelligent, open, kind-hearted, and wear their hearts on their sleeves. They love me and one another, value their friendships with one another, and relish spending time with one another. None has asked why I was absent for so long, cast any blame for my absense, questioned why I didn't return to the fold sooner, or put forth any sentiment other than that they are all invariably glad and thankful that I have come back into their lives and allowed them into mine. Granny flatters me, saying that God has answered one of her greatest prayers.

In the early stages of our renewed contact, Pops let me know that he was already aware that I was gay (having heard through the grapevine) and that he accepted that. Being who I am and thinking as I do, I introduced my husband at the time to my family and made certain that there would be a place for him in the family along-side of me. None ever made a snide remark, cast a side-ways glance (I apologise now for over-using that apt phrase.), or even raised an eye-brow at his physical presence at family functions or his implied presence by my mention of him in normal conversation. In fact, I felt that they treated him and his role in my life with the same gravity, deference, and respect as they treated their other in-laws.

A popular saying reckons that you can choose your friends, but not your family. I had the rare opportunity to do just that, after a fashion, and am very glad that I chose to reconnect. I extend my eternal gratitude to Jeff, my ex-husband, and Jeannie, my step-mom, for giving me the courage to make that choice and guide me along the path. :J

The Unniversary

Probably the most significant event (journey, actually) in my life thus far is my eleven-year marriage to a great guy. We met on 23 March 1995 -- a Thursday -- and hit it off from the beginning. That date became our anniversary, of which we celebrated ten happy ones. My marriage ended on 29 December 2005, also a Thursday. (One could easily craft a metaphor of Thor's hammer striking us on the various days, though with opposite effects.)

Tomorrow will be what one might call our "unniversary", what would've been our eleventh anniversary and the beginning of our twelfth year together, but which will be, instead, a day of reflection and, probably, mourning. I'll look back on many happy times, many sad times, times of elation, and times of desperation. (Such is marriage, eh?) I will think of the person that I was and the person that I've become, the influences that he had on me and I on him. Had I not been married for the past eleven years ... where would I be living today? ...what relationships would I have with friends and family? ...what food would I be eating? ...what clothing would I be wearing? ...how would the world look to me? ...would I be in a relationship with someone else? ...would I have had multiple such relationships?

Let me take this opportunity to clarify that I'm gay, so my intimate relationships are with men; they always have been and I feel quite comfortable saying that they always will be. Let me also affirm that I deliberately use the terms "husband", "marriage", "separation", and "divorce" to refer to the various elements of my relationships. Many might take issue with my use of such words that are most often used to refer to opposite-gender relationships and would point out that suitable alternatives exist for describing same-gender relationships. I would counter that words are important tools and that they go far in shaping our perceptions. I do not see my relationships as "alternative" in any way; my marriage to my husband of eleven years carries the same weight in my mind as my former in-laws' marriage of nearly 45 years (and counting) and my maternal grand-parents' marriage of 60+ years (and counting). We relied on each other in the same ways, helped each other in the same ways, were implicated in one another's emotional and financial lives in the same ways, and developed relationships with one another's families in the same ways. Why should I have called my ex my "partner" and referred to our relationship as a "partnership" and the dissolution thereof as a "breakup" when "husband", "marriage", and "divorce" perfectly describe the scenario in which I found myself? Why shouldn't I avail myself of words such as "marriage" and "husband" which accurately and honestly convey the situation to those hearing the words? There was no question in the listener's mind regarding what my ex and I meant to one another or how we lived our lives together. Whether or not they were comfortable with that knowledge is another matter and not of great concern to me.

I treasured my marriage when I was married. I treasure my experience being married and my ex now that we're divorced. Tomorrow, I'll look back and reflect on eleven years of my life with a mixture of emotions, but also look forward to the future -- to my life with a new gem to treasure -- with optimism. :J

In the beginning...

I've thought for a lot time about creating an on-line journal, the sort of thing that many now call a "Web log" or "blog". I was originally inspired by the well-known Justin's Life, published for many years by one Justin Clouse of Kentucky, Boston, Los Angeles, and San Diego. (BTW, what a cutie, eh? Hairy and smart? Woof!) I kept a journal for many years as a child and teen and thought that publishing such a work on-line was an excellent way to process my thoughts and feelings while letting far-flung friends and family keep up with what's going on in my life.

Problem is, I just never got 'round to doing anything about it. I was paralysed by fear of that crippling disease that seems to befall most bloggers -- apathy, writer's block, ennui. Call it what you will, it's just the dread of the blank page, the anticipation of coming up with something fresh and insightful, the intimidation of knowing that you've built a base of readers (however large or small) who are waiting for you to pour your words of wisdom onto the page so that they might savour your thoughts and ideas, but disappointing them instead.

Today, I decided to no longer give in to that fear, to create my blog, and to just see where this adventure takes me. Wanna come along? :J