Throughout my life a pattern has emerged that has gotten me into trouble more than once. When it comes to matters of the heart, I tend to fall for someone who is unavailable. Especially if that person is a woman. Starting in junior high school, with a crush on an elementary school teacher who was straight, then a few years later a high school senior who was also straight. In college, I developed a crush on one of the BMOC's (Big Men On Campus). Turns out he was gay. Go figure!
My military career happened prior to DADT (Don't Ask, Don't Tell), so ANY female would have been off limits to me. Somehow my heart failed to get that message. Two fellow enlisted (female) soldiers, two officers (both female), and a male GI who declared his love for me three days prior to my shipping out for the next duty assignment. Timing is everything! All this happened years before I came out.
After moving back to the civilian ranks, the pattern continued. I came out with a married mother of two. She was followed by a teenaged alcoholic, another married mother of two, another alcoholic, and finally a woman 8 years my senior who was emotionally unavailable for a majority of the ten years we lived together. Needless to say, I'm a slow learner.
The latest learning opportunity came when I allowed my heart to fall for a woman long distance. After ending the destructive decade, finding this woman had been cause for hope. Maybe, just maybe, I'd found the right woman. Maybe my search was over. I thought things were going swimmingly, until she told me two months ago that she'd begun seeing someone closer to home. My heart broke into a million tiny pieces. Somehow this felt worse than the other situations.
What do I need to learn? Sometimes the grass isn't as green on closer inspection as it once seemed. Red flags are visible now. Perhaps those flags had been waving all along, but I chose to ignore them.
I so want to fall in love. But I want to do so for all the right reasons, not the wrong ones.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change (others), courage to change the things I can (myself and my reactions), and wisdom to know the difference.
Amen.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Bishop Gene Robinson's Inaugral Prayer
Welcome to Washington! The fun is about to begin, but first, please join me in pausing for a moment, to ask God's blessing upon our nation and our next president.
O God of our many understandings, we pray that you will
Bless us with tears - tears for a world in which over a billion people exist on less than a dollar a day, where young women in many lands are beaten and raped for wanting an education, and thousands die daily from malnutrition, malaria, and AIDS.
Bless this nation with anger - anger at discrimination, at home and abroad, against refugees and immigrants, women, people of color, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people.
Bless us with discomfort - at the easy, simplistic "answers" we've preferred to hear from our politicians, instead of the truth, about ourselves and our world, which we need to face if we are going to rise to the challenges of the future.
Bless us with patience - and the knowledge that none of what ails us will be "fixed" anytime soon, and the understanding that our new president is a human being, not a messiah.
Bless us with humility - open to understanding that our own needs as a nation must always be balanced with those of the world.
Bless us with freedom from mere tolerance - replacing it with a genuine respect and warm embrace of our differences,
And bless us with compassion and generosity - remembering that every religion's God judges us by the way we care for the most vulnerable.
And God, we give you thanks for your child Barack, as he assumes the office of President of the United States.
Give him wisdom beyond his years. Inspire him with President Lincoln's reconciling leadership style, President Kennedy's ability to enlist our best efforts, and Dr. King's dream of a nation for ALL people.
Give him a quiet heart, for our Ship of States needs a steady, calm captain.
Give him stirring words, for we will need to be inspired and motivated to make the personal and common sacrifices necessary to facing the challenges ahead.
Make him color-blind, reminding him of his own words that under his leadership, there will be neither red nor blue states, but the United States.
Help him remember his own oppression as a minority, drawing on that experience of discrimination, that he might seek to change the lives of those who are still its victims.
Give him strength to find family time and privacy, and help him remember that even though he is president, a father only gets one shot at his daughters' childhoods.
And please, God, keep him safe. We know we ask too much of our presidents, and we're asking FAR too much of this one. We implore you, O good and great God, to keep him safe. Hold him in the palm of your hand - that he might do the work we have called him to do, that he might find joy in this impossible calling, and that in the end, he might lead us as a nation to a place of integrity, prosperity and peace.
AMEN.
O God of our many understandings, we pray that you will
Bless us with tears - tears for a world in which over a billion people exist on less than a dollar a day, where young women in many lands are beaten and raped for wanting an education, and thousands die daily from malnutrition, malaria, and AIDS.
Bless this nation with anger - anger at discrimination, at home and abroad, against refugees and immigrants, women, people of color, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people.
Bless us with discomfort - at the easy, simplistic "answers" we've preferred to hear from our politicians, instead of the truth, about ourselves and our world, which we need to face if we are going to rise to the challenges of the future.
Bless us with patience - and the knowledge that none of what ails us will be "fixed" anytime soon, and the understanding that our new president is a human being, not a messiah.
Bless us with humility - open to understanding that our own needs as a nation must always be balanced with those of the world.
Bless us with freedom from mere tolerance - replacing it with a genuine respect and warm embrace of our differences,
And bless us with compassion and generosity - remembering that every religion's God judges us by the way we care for the most vulnerable.
And God, we give you thanks for your child Barack, as he assumes the office of President of the United States.
Give him wisdom beyond his years. Inspire him with President Lincoln's reconciling leadership style, President Kennedy's ability to enlist our best efforts, and Dr. King's dream of a nation for ALL people.
Give him a quiet heart, for our Ship of States needs a steady, calm captain.
Give him stirring words, for we will need to be inspired and motivated to make the personal and common sacrifices necessary to facing the challenges ahead.
Make him color-blind, reminding him of his own words that under his leadership, there will be neither red nor blue states, but the United States.
Help him remember his own oppression as a minority, drawing on that experience of discrimination, that he might seek to change the lives of those who are still its victims.
Give him strength to find family time and privacy, and help him remember that even though he is president, a father only gets one shot at his daughters' childhoods.
And please, God, keep him safe. We know we ask too much of our presidents, and we're asking FAR too much of this one. We implore you, O good and great God, to keep him safe. Hold him in the palm of your hand - that he might do the work we have called him to do, that he might find joy in this impossible calling, and that in the end, he might lead us as a nation to a place of integrity, prosperity and peace.
AMEN.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
I grew up in Nazarene churches. My Dad was an ordained elder in the church when I was born. My brother and I were in church every time the doors were open ~ twice on Sundays, Wednesday night prayer meetings, and a week of revival services each Spring and Fall. We were told in no uncertain terms that we were to behave at all times, because someone might be watching us. We were to set a good example for the church members. After all, if the pastor's kids could do something, that must mean that it was okay for everyone else. This put a lot of pressure on us to be "perfect."
From a young age I was aware that Nazarene doctrine said we were all born sinners, and that we will go to hell if we die unsaved. And so, at the age of 6 or 7, I knelt between my parents one evening and asked Jesus to forgive my sins and come into my heart.
Around that same time, my brother (two years my senior) decided it was his job to teach me the facts of life. He also took it upon himself to give instructions to a few of the neighborhood boys, using me as the object lesson. Two other boys in our church, brothers who were two and four years older than me, also decided I needed to be taught how to have sex. It was not a very positive introduction! It wasn't until 25 years after the fact that I realized this was rape.
Though some of my classmates were dating in Jr High and the first two years of high school, I had no interest in having a boyfriend. I remember thinking early in high school that I didn't ever want to get married, because I didn't want to go through the "icky" steps of procreation. I thought of myself more as asexual.
One person who did get my attention around that time was my Physical Education teacher. There was something about her that piqued my curiosity. I felt in her a kindred spirit, though I was hard-pressed to identify what that might be. My brother labeled this a crush, though I think it was more that I saw in her a commonality that didn't seem to exist with others, that we were alike in a way that I couldn't name. And yes, she was a lesbian, though I didn't know that at the time.
In the summer before my last year of high school I finally had a boyfriend. We dated for about six months, until he found a girl he liked more. My feelings were hurt initially, but it was kind of a relief.
During the 5 years that I was a student at Olivet Nazarene University, I went on maybe a handful of dates with guys from college. Nothing serious. Most of these were "Twirp Week" dates, where the gals asked the guys out. The summer after my freshman year I briefly dated a man I'd know years earlier. He was the perfect gentleman, and I felt absolutely no pressure to be promiscuous. I think I really wanted that relationship to work, to prove to myself, my family, the world, that I was "normal."
Though I don't remember anything overt being said about it growing up, there was an unspoken understanding that homosexuality was as taboo as incest. At Olivet I met several women who were questioning their sexual orientation. One professor was unceremoniously fired during my freshman year for being a lesbian. Several years later, another professor was told that her contract would not be renewed the following year for the same reason. Ironically, there were two women students who lived together in the dorm for four years, one of them being a Resident Assistant. To the best of my knowledge, that couple is still together.
My best friend from those days was one of the closeted lesbians. As with my former PE teacher, there was a kinship with Dale that was unlike that with other friends. Dale had been accused by family and high school connections of being "queer", a label deeply resented. I think Dale was as afraid of being gay as I was. This soon caused friction between us. The pink elephant in the room that neither of us wanted to name. In Dale I recognized something about myself, something that I didn't want to acknowledge. In addition, because of my fear that she was going to make a pass at me, I wound up breaking off our friendship for a few years. It felt more like breaking up! My own fears came out as severe homophobia.
In my junior year, I took a class with a Psychology professor on the Bible & Psychology. One of the passages we discussed was Romans 1. That was the first time I remember homosexuality being specifically mentioned in a Nazarene setting. That professor took the bold position that it wasn't a sin to be gay, but it was a sin to be a practicing homosexual. By then, I knew that I felt different around certain women. I wouldn't allow myself to consider that I might be gay, but I did know that I felt more comfortable around these women than I did around men.
It was around that same time that I met my first out lesbian. We had a mutual friend, one of my classmates at Olivet. One night as the three of us were sitting together I told them the story of my friendship with Dale, of how it ended on a bad note because of my fears. They understood only too well, for their friendship had gone through similar storms several years prior. Something inside me had changed. For the first time, I allowed myself to have physical contact with an out lesbian WITHOUT fearing that she was making a pass at me. Physical contact that was not particularly sexual, but rather very loving, very gentle, very healing. With her help, I took baby steps to overcome my fear of being touched.
About a year later Dale and I reconnected. She had transferred to another school several states away. That distance was likely a deciding factor in her finally feeling free enough to come out. We were able to talk about the real reason I "broke up" with her and get everything out in the open. That was a huge relief! However, I was still not able to say that I was also attracted to women.
After leaving Olivet, I joined the US Army. Those four years of military service were before Don't Ask, Don't Tell, but it was still a time when witch hunts were being conducted on a regular basis. Good service members were forced out left and right, given dishonorable discharges, just for being gay or lesbian. Upstanding soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines, all trained and well-qualified to do their jobs, yet deemed undesirable because of who they were. At one post I was even approached by a senior officer to name names. I respectfully declined. Again, there was a clear message that coming out was not a safe course of action.
At each new duty station I met quite a few closeted lesbians and gay men. Honorable men and women, quietly doing their jobs to protect their homeland. I felt a kinship with these folks that I couldn't ... wouldn't put my finger on. In them I recognized that familiar something about myself that I didn't want to think about. My frequent joke was that I was the straightest person I knew. I tried very hard to be straight, to be the good Nazarene woman that my family, friends and church counted on me to be. It was simply unsafe to explore any of the feelings that tried to surface inside me from time to time. I wasn't ready to come out.
While stationed in Germany I twice attended a retreat for Nazarene military personnel stationed in Europe. As it happened, the retreat was held the week of my birthday both years I attended. It was a little slice of heaven. A chance to be around other Nazarenes, sing familiar hymns, hear familiar preaching. We had a General Superintendent, Nazarene chaplains, Nazarene missionaries. It was a welcome respite from military chapel services that tended to be too ecumenical for my tastes.
That first year, on the eve of my 25th birthday, I was sitting on the back row during the evening service. As clear as anything I've ever heard, a Voice said to me, "Love them to Me, Lynda. Just love them to Me." I knew beyond any shadow of a doubt Who the Voice belonged to, for it was the "still, small voice" of God. Just as surely, I knew who "them" was ~ gays and lesbians. I also knew way down deep inside that eventually I would be "one of them", though I knew it would be a l-o-n-g time before I would ever admit it. Being a good Nancy Nazarene then, I decided that God's calling meant I should go to Nazarene Theological Seminary after my Army tour was over, then move to San Francisco where God and I would "save all the queers."
There's a joke that goes, "If you ever want to hear God laugh, just tell Him your plans!" Thankfully, things didn't turn out exactly as I had planned. I'm grateful that God has a way of rescuing me from my own devices!
That same week at the retreat, I met a woman who would change my life. We were smitten with one another. It was the first time I felt something so strong for another woman. There we were, two good Nazarenes, both committed to the Lord, both active duty military, both closeted, and both afraid to speak aloud how we really felt about each other. Within a couple of months her military service was over, and she was free to become involved with another woman. (We remain close friends today.)
Wanting to prove to myself how straight I really was, I became involved with a man. We even set up house, living in sin together for a few months. Yet even then, way down deep, I knew that eventually I would come out ... when it was safe.
After my military service ended, I settled in Oklahoma City. This was where my family had lived for a time during my childhood, and it felt like home more than anywhere else. I joined the Nazarene church that my family had belonged to when my Dad was a student at Bethany Nazarene College (now Southern Nazarene University) years before. I decided that God must have changed His mind about calling me into ministry, that maybe I should pursue a different career. So I took a few business courses and worked full time in retail sales. There I met my first partner. We had a rather unconventional relationship, for it involved her estranged husband. During the first year, we all lived under the same roof ~ my partner and I, her two kids, and her ex-husband. The kids relished the fact that we were all together, for they didn't have to shuffle between places and got plenty of attention. Eventually we did get separate places. The kids called me "Mom2" and treated me as their third parent. We were a family, albeit a little unconventional at times.
Around the time my partner and I began dating, I began to feel more and more uncomfortable in the Nazarene church. One woman there, who also struggled with her sexual orientation, talked with me at length about how I should resist the urges and pray for healing, as if I was sick. The more I tried to resist the attraction to my girlfriend, the stronger my feelings became. I tried to pray, but I just couldn't shake who I had discovered myself to be ~ a woman who loved another woman. So I quit church.
Eventually my partner and I discovered an MCC congregation and we got involved there. It felt good to be back in church, even though the worship was somewhat different than the Nazarene services I'd known. We worshiped as a family, took communion together, were recognized by our new friends there as a legitimate family. We belonged! My heart was relieved to have a church home again. I felt the Holy Spirit on many occasions. In the words of John Wesley, my heart was strangely warmed. God really did love me!
My mother announced that she and her sister were coming to OKC for a visit. Since I was still not out to her, and they were planning to stay with us in our home, I decided the prudent thing to do was to come out to her. So I wrote Mom a letter, explaining that my "roommate" was actually my lover, that her kids were our kids. Mom was certainly welcome to visit, as was my aunt, but I wanted them to know the truth before they arrived. It didn't take long for Mom to announce a revision to the travel plans ... she was coming alone. She gave her sister some lame excuse so that she didn't have to tell her the truth about my "evil" lifestyle.
Mom brought her own glasses to drink out of ... presumably so she didn't catch AIDS from us. She insisted on doing all the dishes, I guess to make sure that all the gay germs were banished. My partner and I were careful not to show much PDA in front of Mom. Heaven forbid she see a happy, loving couple! The kids were on their best behavior, too. Still, the atmosphere was tense. I knew that Mom disapproved of our "lifestyle." We took her to church with us at the MCC. On the way home she railed about how we were just "playing church." I was very hurt. Not only was she attacking me verbally, she was attacking my family.
A year or two later Mom wrote to my brother and I, asking us to tell her of any unresolved issues between us. Things we might need to say to her while she was still living. Her own mother had recently died, and Mom wanted my brother and I to get out what we needed to, so we didn't have to stand beside her grave one day with loose ends that never got tied up. With much prayer and thought, I wrote back reminding Mom of that first visit after I came out to her. I told her that I wanted to have her recognize and accept my relationship the way she blindly accepted my brother's girlfriends; that I wanted her to acknowledge my family of choice too. That next Christmas Mom made sure to send gifts for my partner and both of our children. It must have been very difficult for her to do, for she still felt we were "living in sin". But it was progress!
In 1990, in between partners, I reconnected with the man that I'd dated and lived with while stationed in Germany. After several long telephone conversations, we decided to give it another try. I think I was trying to prove to myself once and for all whether I was really a lesbian, bisexual, or heterosexual. I quit my full-time job in Oklahoma City, packed all my belongings into my car, and moved to Reno, NV. It only took six weeks to convince myself that men are just not my cup of tea. (No offense to my male friends.)
There would be a few more partners over the years, including another woman with young children, two alcoholics, and a mentally ill woman. All believed in God to some extent, though not all were willing to put feet to their faith. In each relationship where we did attend church together regularly, it was at an MCC congregation.
The hardest person to come out to was myself, for in doing so I knew that I had to come out to my Heavenly Father. Religious training had instilled in me a fear that if I came out, it would equate to being doomed to hell. There was a disconnect between all that religious conditioning, the growing attraction to women, and the call to the ministry that God had placed on my heart.
Coming out has been an ongoing process for me. When I told my brother, he just laughed. He had figured me out while I was in Jr High, and was not the least bit upset. His attitude is pretty much live and let live. Mom finally seemed to accept that I could be a lesbian and still have a viable relationship with Christ. By the time she passed away, we were at peace on the issue. Dad was upset at first, though he has since become very accepting. He believes, as do I, that I'm gay by birth, not by choice or influence of others. Dad is now in favor of gay rights. Some of my aunts and uncles know, as do some of my cousins. Some are okay with it, others think I'm a sinner, and one excuses it because of the childhood sexual abuse. Thankfully, my relationship with the Lord is not contingent on what any of them think!
Coming out to my friend Dale was particularly difficult. We'd both suffered from my homophobia early on. I'm grateful that she forgave me, and that we were able to build a strong friendship that lasted through her suicide at age 36.
A friend of mine likes to ask, "Did you ever think you're out, and then you get "outer"?" In the last year and a half, since logging onto facebook for the first time, I've repeatedly gotten "outer." There have been reconnections with friends from grade school through college years. One ONU friend saw pictures I'd posted from Gay Days @ Disneyland and wrote to ask, "Are you okay? Are you covered by the Blood of Christ?" I replied, "I can honestly tell you that I'm just as covered by the Blood of Christ today as when I knelt between my parents as a child and asked Jesus into my heart. I'm joyfully living as God created me to be." She interpreted that to mean that I'm straight, as I'd guessed. God put conviction on my heart to come clean with her, which I did in an email a few weeks ago. I'm hoping we can have an honest conversation about faith and my sexuality.
About 8 years ago, while driving home from work, there was some divine intervention in the form of a wrong turn off the freeway. What I thought would be a shortcut around a traffic jam led instead to a Nazarene church I didn't know existed. I felt God leading me to attend, and went that next Sunday.
The pastor and I had an ongoing conversation for nearly three years. He was firmly convinced, as are many Christians, that homosexuality is condemned in the Bible, and therefore I was living a sinful lifestyle. He talked about normal vs. abnormal. This pastor also warned me that he would at some point preach on the "sin" of homosexality. Every week he would greet me with open arms and a smile, telling me that he loved me and was praying for me. I would respond that I was praying for him as well.
One week the pastor announced he would begin preaching a sermon series on sin. He emailed me that week, saying that the first sermon was going to be on sexual sin ... warning me in case I didn't want to be there. I did show up. True to his word, this was the sermon he'd told me a couple of years prior that he would "have" to preach. The sexual sin he chose to highlight? You guessed it, homosexuality. I sat through that sermon, painfully aware that it was targeted toward me. As usual, he greeted me on the way out, hugging me, proclaiming his love and prayer support. It didn't feel genuine! The next Sunday turned out to be part 2 of the same sermon. Sitting there, surrounded by my sisters and brothers in Christ, what came to me was this: "My God loves me way too much to listen to this!" I needed to worship with people who would treat me as an equal.
And so, after a 3-year absence, I returned to the United Methodist Church that I'd joined before attending that Nazarene church. While I'd been away, they had gotten a new pastor. Walking in that Sunday morning felt like a homecoming! I soon discovered other lesbians in the congregations. I was not alone!
The new UMC pastor greeted me very enthusiastically that first Sunday, telling me several times that they welcomed diversity. I wondered how she'd gotten my number so quickly. Later I would find out that she had been faithfully praying for my return. See, when she first came to the church, she had studied the latest pictorial directory in an effort to match faces and names more quickly. There she had seen a portrait of my partner and I, the only lesbian couple in the directory. Pastor L. had quite simply prayed me back into the fold.
From a young age I was aware that Nazarene doctrine said we were all born sinners, and that we will go to hell if we die unsaved. And so, at the age of 6 or 7, I knelt between my parents one evening and asked Jesus to forgive my sins and come into my heart.
Around that same time, my brother (two years my senior) decided it was his job to teach me the facts of life. He also took it upon himself to give instructions to a few of the neighborhood boys, using me as the object lesson. Two other boys in our church, brothers who were two and four years older than me, also decided I needed to be taught how to have sex. It was not a very positive introduction! It wasn't until 25 years after the fact that I realized this was rape.
Though some of my classmates were dating in Jr High and the first two years of high school, I had no interest in having a boyfriend. I remember thinking early in high school that I didn't ever want to get married, because I didn't want to go through the "icky" steps of procreation. I thought of myself more as asexual.
One person who did get my attention around that time was my Physical Education teacher. There was something about her that piqued my curiosity. I felt in her a kindred spirit, though I was hard-pressed to identify what that might be. My brother labeled this a crush, though I think it was more that I saw in her a commonality that didn't seem to exist with others, that we were alike in a way that I couldn't name. And yes, she was a lesbian, though I didn't know that at the time.
In the summer before my last year of high school I finally had a boyfriend. We dated for about six months, until he found a girl he liked more. My feelings were hurt initially, but it was kind of a relief.
During the 5 years that I was a student at Olivet Nazarene University, I went on maybe a handful of dates with guys from college. Nothing serious. Most of these were "Twirp Week" dates, where the gals asked the guys out. The summer after my freshman year I briefly dated a man I'd know years earlier. He was the perfect gentleman, and I felt absolutely no pressure to be promiscuous. I think I really wanted that relationship to work, to prove to myself, my family, the world, that I was "normal."
Though I don't remember anything overt being said about it growing up, there was an unspoken understanding that homosexuality was as taboo as incest. At Olivet I met several women who were questioning their sexual orientation. One professor was unceremoniously fired during my freshman year for being a lesbian. Several years later, another professor was told that her contract would not be renewed the following year for the same reason. Ironically, there were two women students who lived together in the dorm for four years, one of them being a Resident Assistant. To the best of my knowledge, that couple is still together.
My best friend from those days was one of the closeted lesbians. As with my former PE teacher, there was a kinship with Dale that was unlike that with other friends. Dale had been accused by family and high school connections of being "queer", a label deeply resented. I think Dale was as afraid of being gay as I was. This soon caused friction between us. The pink elephant in the room that neither of us wanted to name. In Dale I recognized something about myself, something that I didn't want to acknowledge. In addition, because of my fear that she was going to make a pass at me, I wound up breaking off our friendship for a few years. It felt more like breaking up! My own fears came out as severe homophobia.
In my junior year, I took a class with a Psychology professor on the Bible & Psychology. One of the passages we discussed was Romans 1. That was the first time I remember homosexuality being specifically mentioned in a Nazarene setting. That professor took the bold position that it wasn't a sin to be gay, but it was a sin to be a practicing homosexual. By then, I knew that I felt different around certain women. I wouldn't allow myself to consider that I might be gay, but I did know that I felt more comfortable around these women than I did around men.
It was around that same time that I met my first out lesbian. We had a mutual friend, one of my classmates at Olivet. One night as the three of us were sitting together I told them the story of my friendship with Dale, of how it ended on a bad note because of my fears. They understood only too well, for their friendship had gone through similar storms several years prior. Something inside me had changed. For the first time, I allowed myself to have physical contact with an out lesbian WITHOUT fearing that she was making a pass at me. Physical contact that was not particularly sexual, but rather very loving, very gentle, very healing. With her help, I took baby steps to overcome my fear of being touched.
About a year later Dale and I reconnected. She had transferred to another school several states away. That distance was likely a deciding factor in her finally feeling free enough to come out. We were able to talk about the real reason I "broke up" with her and get everything out in the open. That was a huge relief! However, I was still not able to say that I was also attracted to women.
After leaving Olivet, I joined the US Army. Those four years of military service were before Don't Ask, Don't Tell, but it was still a time when witch hunts were being conducted on a regular basis. Good service members were forced out left and right, given dishonorable discharges, just for being gay or lesbian. Upstanding soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines, all trained and well-qualified to do their jobs, yet deemed undesirable because of who they were. At one post I was even approached by a senior officer to name names. I respectfully declined. Again, there was a clear message that coming out was not a safe course of action.
At each new duty station I met quite a few closeted lesbians and gay men. Honorable men and women, quietly doing their jobs to protect their homeland. I felt a kinship with these folks that I couldn't ... wouldn't put my finger on. In them I recognized that familiar something about myself that I didn't want to think about. My frequent joke was that I was the straightest person I knew. I tried very hard to be straight, to be the good Nazarene woman that my family, friends and church counted on me to be. It was simply unsafe to explore any of the feelings that tried to surface inside me from time to time. I wasn't ready to come out.
While stationed in Germany I twice attended a retreat for Nazarene military personnel stationed in Europe. As it happened, the retreat was held the week of my birthday both years I attended. It was a little slice of heaven. A chance to be around other Nazarenes, sing familiar hymns, hear familiar preaching. We had a General Superintendent, Nazarene chaplains, Nazarene missionaries. It was a welcome respite from military chapel services that tended to be too ecumenical for my tastes.
That first year, on the eve of my 25th birthday, I was sitting on the back row during the evening service. As clear as anything I've ever heard, a Voice said to me, "Love them to Me, Lynda. Just love them to Me." I knew beyond any shadow of a doubt Who the Voice belonged to, for it was the "still, small voice" of God. Just as surely, I knew who "them" was ~ gays and lesbians. I also knew way down deep inside that eventually I would be "one of them", though I knew it would be a l-o-n-g time before I would ever admit it. Being a good Nancy Nazarene then, I decided that God's calling meant I should go to Nazarene Theological Seminary after my Army tour was over, then move to San Francisco where God and I would "save all the queers."
There's a joke that goes, "If you ever want to hear God laugh, just tell Him your plans!" Thankfully, things didn't turn out exactly as I had planned. I'm grateful that God has a way of rescuing me from my own devices!
That same week at the retreat, I met a woman who would change my life. We were smitten with one another. It was the first time I felt something so strong for another woman. There we were, two good Nazarenes, both committed to the Lord, both active duty military, both closeted, and both afraid to speak aloud how we really felt about each other. Within a couple of months her military service was over, and she was free to become involved with another woman. (We remain close friends today.)
Wanting to prove to myself how straight I really was, I became involved with a man. We even set up house, living in sin together for a few months. Yet even then, way down deep, I knew that eventually I would come out ... when it was safe.
After my military service ended, I settled in Oklahoma City. This was where my family had lived for a time during my childhood, and it felt like home more than anywhere else. I joined the Nazarene church that my family had belonged to when my Dad was a student at Bethany Nazarene College (now Southern Nazarene University) years before. I decided that God must have changed His mind about calling me into ministry, that maybe I should pursue a different career. So I took a few business courses and worked full time in retail sales. There I met my first partner. We had a rather unconventional relationship, for it involved her estranged husband. During the first year, we all lived under the same roof ~ my partner and I, her two kids, and her ex-husband. The kids relished the fact that we were all together, for they didn't have to shuffle between places and got plenty of attention. Eventually we did get separate places. The kids called me "Mom2" and treated me as their third parent. We were a family, albeit a little unconventional at times.
Around the time my partner and I began dating, I began to feel more and more uncomfortable in the Nazarene church. One woman there, who also struggled with her sexual orientation, talked with me at length about how I should resist the urges and pray for healing, as if I was sick. The more I tried to resist the attraction to my girlfriend, the stronger my feelings became. I tried to pray, but I just couldn't shake who I had discovered myself to be ~ a woman who loved another woman. So I quit church.
Eventually my partner and I discovered an MCC congregation and we got involved there. It felt good to be back in church, even though the worship was somewhat different than the Nazarene services I'd known. We worshiped as a family, took communion together, were recognized by our new friends there as a legitimate family. We belonged! My heart was relieved to have a church home again. I felt the Holy Spirit on many occasions. In the words of John Wesley, my heart was strangely warmed. God really did love me!
My mother announced that she and her sister were coming to OKC for a visit. Since I was still not out to her, and they were planning to stay with us in our home, I decided the prudent thing to do was to come out to her. So I wrote Mom a letter, explaining that my "roommate" was actually my lover, that her kids were our kids. Mom was certainly welcome to visit, as was my aunt, but I wanted them to know the truth before they arrived. It didn't take long for Mom to announce a revision to the travel plans ... she was coming alone. She gave her sister some lame excuse so that she didn't have to tell her the truth about my "evil" lifestyle.
Mom brought her own glasses to drink out of ... presumably so she didn't catch AIDS from us. She insisted on doing all the dishes, I guess to make sure that all the gay germs were banished. My partner and I were careful not to show much PDA in front of Mom. Heaven forbid she see a happy, loving couple! The kids were on their best behavior, too. Still, the atmosphere was tense. I knew that Mom disapproved of our "lifestyle." We took her to church with us at the MCC. On the way home she railed about how we were just "playing church." I was very hurt. Not only was she attacking me verbally, she was attacking my family.
A year or two later Mom wrote to my brother and I, asking us to tell her of any unresolved issues between us. Things we might need to say to her while she was still living. Her own mother had recently died, and Mom wanted my brother and I to get out what we needed to, so we didn't have to stand beside her grave one day with loose ends that never got tied up. With much prayer and thought, I wrote back reminding Mom of that first visit after I came out to her. I told her that I wanted to have her recognize and accept my relationship the way she blindly accepted my brother's girlfriends; that I wanted her to acknowledge my family of choice too. That next Christmas Mom made sure to send gifts for my partner and both of our children. It must have been very difficult for her to do, for she still felt we were "living in sin". But it was progress!
In 1990, in between partners, I reconnected with the man that I'd dated and lived with while stationed in Germany. After several long telephone conversations, we decided to give it another try. I think I was trying to prove to myself once and for all whether I was really a lesbian, bisexual, or heterosexual. I quit my full-time job in Oklahoma City, packed all my belongings into my car, and moved to Reno, NV. It only took six weeks to convince myself that men are just not my cup of tea. (No offense to my male friends.)
There would be a few more partners over the years, including another woman with young children, two alcoholics, and a mentally ill woman. All believed in God to some extent, though not all were willing to put feet to their faith. In each relationship where we did attend church together regularly, it was at an MCC congregation.
The hardest person to come out to was myself, for in doing so I knew that I had to come out to my Heavenly Father. Religious training had instilled in me a fear that if I came out, it would equate to being doomed to hell. There was a disconnect between all that religious conditioning, the growing attraction to women, and the call to the ministry that God had placed on my heart.
Coming out has been an ongoing process for me. When I told my brother, he just laughed. He had figured me out while I was in Jr High, and was not the least bit upset. His attitude is pretty much live and let live. Mom finally seemed to accept that I could be a lesbian and still have a viable relationship with Christ. By the time she passed away, we were at peace on the issue. Dad was upset at first, though he has since become very accepting. He believes, as do I, that I'm gay by birth, not by choice or influence of others. Dad is now in favor of gay rights. Some of my aunts and uncles know, as do some of my cousins. Some are okay with it, others think I'm a sinner, and one excuses it because of the childhood sexual abuse. Thankfully, my relationship with the Lord is not contingent on what any of them think!
Coming out to my friend Dale was particularly difficult. We'd both suffered from my homophobia early on. I'm grateful that she forgave me, and that we were able to build a strong friendship that lasted through her suicide at age 36.
A friend of mine likes to ask, "Did you ever think you're out, and then you get "outer"?" In the last year and a half, since logging onto facebook for the first time, I've repeatedly gotten "outer." There have been reconnections with friends from grade school through college years. One ONU friend saw pictures I'd posted from Gay Days @ Disneyland and wrote to ask, "Are you okay? Are you covered by the Blood of Christ?" I replied, "I can honestly tell you that I'm just as covered by the Blood of Christ today as when I knelt between my parents as a child and asked Jesus into my heart. I'm joyfully living as God created me to be." She interpreted that to mean that I'm straight, as I'd guessed. God put conviction on my heart to come clean with her, which I did in an email a few weeks ago. I'm hoping we can have an honest conversation about faith and my sexuality.
About 8 years ago, while driving home from work, there was some divine intervention in the form of a wrong turn off the freeway. What I thought would be a shortcut around a traffic jam led instead to a Nazarene church I didn't know existed. I felt God leading me to attend, and went that next Sunday.
The pastor and I had an ongoing conversation for nearly three years. He was firmly convinced, as are many Christians, that homosexuality is condemned in the Bible, and therefore I was living a sinful lifestyle. He talked about normal vs. abnormal. This pastor also warned me that he would at some point preach on the "sin" of homosexality. Every week he would greet me with open arms and a smile, telling me that he loved me and was praying for me. I would respond that I was praying for him as well.
One week the pastor announced he would begin preaching a sermon series on sin. He emailed me that week, saying that the first sermon was going to be on sexual sin ... warning me in case I didn't want to be there. I did show up. True to his word, this was the sermon he'd told me a couple of years prior that he would "have" to preach. The sexual sin he chose to highlight? You guessed it, homosexuality. I sat through that sermon, painfully aware that it was targeted toward me. As usual, he greeted me on the way out, hugging me, proclaiming his love and prayer support. It didn't feel genuine! The next Sunday turned out to be part 2 of the same sermon. Sitting there, surrounded by my sisters and brothers in Christ, what came to me was this: "My God loves me way too much to listen to this!" I needed to worship with people who would treat me as an equal.
And so, after a 3-year absence, I returned to the United Methodist Church that I'd joined before attending that Nazarene church. While I'd been away, they had gotten a new pastor. Walking in that Sunday morning felt like a homecoming! I soon discovered other lesbians in the congregations. I was not alone!
The new UMC pastor greeted me very enthusiastically that first Sunday, telling me several times that they welcomed diversity. I wondered how she'd gotten my number so quickly. Later I would find out that she had been faithfully praying for my return. See, when she first came to the church, she had studied the latest pictorial directory in an effort to match faces and names more quickly. There she had seen a portrait of my partner and I, the only lesbian couple in the directory. Pastor L. had quite simply prayed me back into the fold.
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