Eight Years Later

Perhaps it does not begin. Perhaps it is always.
Those are the beginning lyrics to the song “Where the Light Begins.”

It was Wednesday morning, November 6, 2024, when I felt that my light went out. I had a sinking feeling in my belly when I went to bed Tuesday night, had a nightmare that night (not to mention a worse nightmare I had the night before), and I couldn’t muster the courage to look at the news that morning. When Mathilda came into the workout room and read the NY Times headline, I slowly put down my weights and sobbed. I was gutted by the news. In addition to sending postcards and knocking on doors, I had also pleaded with God to do something. Do something that would stop the utter chaos and horrible nightmare that would become our country if that man were elected President. My earnest pleas went unheard, and I was gutted. Mathilda wrapped her arms around me and stayed there with me for several minutes as both of us were stunned and saddened by the incredibly bleak news.

It was a dark day. I wore black clothing, as people often do when they mourn. I cried off and on. Sometimes I didn’t even know that tears were welling up. They just fell without effort. The skies were gray, and the rain kept a steady pace. The weather outside was a perfect visual of my heavy heart.

The evening was rehearsal with my women’s chorus. Singing with the people who I consider to be my tribe was something my heart so desperately needed that day. Before we sang our pieces for our upcoming concert, we sang some songs of grief and healing. It was like balm to my wounded heart. The tears shared, the hugs given, the palpable love in the room filled with so many other wounded hearts. We sang a song called “Fire.” No words, just a remarkable myriad of rhythmic sounds, stomping, and body percussion; the perfect song and setting for getting out frustration, rage, and hurt.

We moved along to a song by Holly Near called “I Am Willing” –  

I am open and I am willing
To be hopeless would seem so strange
It dishonors those who go before us
So lift me up to the light of change.

The light of change. The next couple of days Gail and I talked about light. I’m not even sure how to be light right now.

I am a person who lives my life to a music soundtrack. Music speaks to me on so many levels and in so many circumstances. When I’m in a good space, I love happy music. When I’m mad, I love pissed-off, angry music. When I’m sad, I love melancholy music or deep, thought-provoking lyrics that trigger tears. I say all of this because this week has been quite a soundtrack. Honestly, I just want to live in a peaceful space and forget the reality of what will most likely happen come January 2025. It scares me to death. There’s more to fear than the price of eggs and a gallon of milk. Lives are at stake. Anyone who is not a white, straight, wealthy male will pay in some way, shape, or form. My payment could be my marriage, or it could be my life. I am gay and in a same-sex marriage. Gail and I are in a beautiful marriage that is blessed by God. To have that taken away from us is something that crushes me. The dreadful thought of me being taken from my kid has crossed my mind more than once. People will call that extreme, I don’t think it’s extreme in the slightest sense of the word. When a family member reached out the day after the election and said, “I don’t like him either, but there were millions of us who weren’t comfortable with the direction the progressives were taking the democratic party,” I was floored. Gutted even more. Well cousin, those progressives actually want to protect my marriage and my life. It is so infuriating that words were tossed at me so casually by a white, straight male who can’t even begin to fathom how important those protections are to millions of us. I do wonder what my quiet and reserved child (who doesn’t easily share her thoughts and feelings) thinks, as the life we now know could change into something very dark. Mathilda lives with two moms. What will happen to her two moms? Part of the blow to my gut was that those friends and family who say they love us so much forgot to take those mere words of love with them to the polls. Mere words. Their actions/vote revealed their true colors. I fail to see any love in their actions.

There’s a song we are preparing for our winter concert – “Not Ready to Make Nice.” That song, along with “Fire,” are two pieces that have been playing over and over in my head this week. When I’m in my righteous anger frame of mind, I can’t help but feel the fire as I am hurt to the core.

Then, there’s a shift from the fire to a calm. It’s after I spend time outside of my own head. I find encouraging words/music on friends’ social media pages or songs in other spaces of the interwebs. It’s a nice space of peace and rest. Calming. Healing. Maybe enough rest to be able to endure the fire that will undoubtedly show up again. I have been reminded of some gems this week – Where the Light Begins, A Beautiful Noise, The Peace of Wild Things… the list of positive light goes on and on.

Perhaps this day the light begins.

I’m still trying to catch my breath from the wind being knocked from my sails. I know I don’t have to muster up all the energy now. But when it’s time… when it’s time, we will gather. We will do the work. We will be the light of change. We must. Precious lives are at stake.

We are where the light begins.

Not Ready to Make Nice

I’m not ready to make nice.
I’m not ready to back down.
I find those two sentences
playing over and over and over in my head.
I used to call them earworms,
but I have come to realize that they are so much more.
I grew up being a pretty good kid who didn’t speak up.
I was taught not to ruffle feathers.
I am an Enneagram 2 to the nth degree,
and I wanted (still want) people to like me.
It can be a rather exhausting personality at times.
I have spent years remaining silent, and THAT is exhausting.

Not ready to make nice.
I spent most of my life fitting into a nice box
all to make sure others’ feelings wouldn’t get hurt.
I am growing weary of making nice.

I’m not ready to back down.
My life matters.
I won’t back down on a truth that is so important.
(Hell, it took me 42 years to realize that I actually matter).

They say time heals everything
but I’m still waiting.

Okay or not Okay? That is the Question.

Way back when people used to think being left-handed was “of the devil.” Way back when, and even into the present, some churches excommunicated folks for getting divorced. When human beings decided the Bible said these things were okay, left-handed people were then allowed to use their God-given ability to actually use their correct hand, and divorced people were accepted, and maybe even seen for that matter, as books were written (some evangelical authors at that) about going through divorce with grace and it seemed to miraculously be “okay” in the Bible. What the hell? I’m very curious to see if/when humans will finally decide that the Bible says that being gay is okay. Hopefully in my lifetime, but I honestly have my doubts. Granted, I don’t exist to make sure that human beings tell me I’m okay, but the vitriolic behavior from the church is wearying. It’s sad to know that some of the heart healing in my life was and continues to be due to some church people… all in the name of “the Bible says.” Good grief.

All the Daylight Today

Today I wrote in an email response to someone about the first day of summer – “Time is flying by this year, but I’m enjoying allllll the daylight today.” And I am. I sure do love all the daylight of the first day of summer. As much as I hate losing an hour in the spring when we spring forward for daylight savings, I love when my evenings are well-lit with the beautiful sun (even if it might come with a 92-degree day). I love light. I love the light-heartedness of a bright evening (and in West Michigan it’s light very late into the day and that is awesome).

Some thoughts on this fantastic day full of alllll the daylight:

The perspective on the passage of the mustard seed shared in a sermon by #nadiabolzweber titled “It’s a Low Bar (thank God).” Tears may have started streaming down my face as I was reading her sermon. When she picked apart the Greek of the text it made me feel less inadequate compared to the years I had heard that passage before. I grew up thinking it always meant that I didn’t have enough faith. I have spent decades beating myself up for believing that I constantly didn’t have enough faith. But when you read the Greek, and look deeper than the English language, you get a deeper and more accurate meaning. A meaning that actually helps a person see themselves the way that God sees a person. It helps that person see themselves as adequate. It’s rather refreshing.

I have been trying to articulate the following thoughts for a while, and these thoughts finally formed into the shape of words and I wanted to write them out. Several people in my life, mostly the conservative evangelical type who feel all uncomfortable when something is out of their evangelical norm, question my faith. But I will say this… beyond a shadow of a doubt, my faith goes deep. My faith goes deep; even when people who disagree with my gay life might think that my faith isn’t big enough, or that my faith doesn’t exist anymore or at all. My faith goes deep when I think of my life journey these past several years when I was trying to figure out if God loved me anymore when I fell in love with the incredible human who is now my wife. My faith goes deep when I realize God absolutely loves me to my core and God makes me adequate. And no matter who might think that I have walked away from God, or walked away from my faith because of who I am, who I am married to, or what I believe… those people cannot be further from the truth. I know what I know. I know what my heart and my gut know. The peace that passes all understanding resides in my soul. Joy and contentment abound. It’s rather refreshing.

Two bright spots today that are as gorgeous as the sun on this first day of summer…
1. My faith goes deep.
2. I am adequate.

Onward.

Pensive Heart Space

Doing some reading lately as I find myself on a deconstructing journey. While driving home from my daughter’s bus stop, I said to God, “Thank you that you gave me the wisdom to not throw you out with the bathwater. You didn’t do anything to wrong me. You’ve never held me at arm’s length.” And that’s the way I see it.

While spending several years being taught that the Bible says one thing, I’m finding in my late 40s that the Bible most definitely says more than one thing and that the people who decided to kick me out of their church, or their lives, or hold me at arm’s length all the while saying, “I love you” has made me wonder what God was really all about. I am grateful for a deconstruction journey. I am slowly but surely figuring out that God isn’t at all what people have taught me.

Finding myself pensive today after reading an article by Sarah Bessey^1. She gave blessings of grace that touched a tender part of my heart. I wept. It put me in a heart space where I feel a little raw today.

Times Have Changed

When we moved to town last summer, a dear friend of ours bought this Lego set for Mathilda. She put it together that day and it sits on display in her room. This would have never been gifted to me when I was a kid, and if it had been, I would have been so scared to put it together, let alone put it on display in my room. It’s nice to be bringing up Mathilda in a very different time and in a very different home life from when I was her age. It’s nice to know how to teach my kid what it looks like to include and to love humans for who they are. She’s an incredible Bird with an incredible heart.

Pride Goes Deep

I spent a lot of my life being ashamed as I hid any sort of feelings that I had. I was told time and again that liking someone who is like me was wrong, wrong, wrong, and that God would not like me… but it goes deeper than that – God would not love me and God would be so disappointed in me. So I hid. Gladly hid. Are you kidding? What kid doesn’t want to be liked, especially by a God who’s supposed to love the whole world? I spent a lot of years during the month of June thinking that folks celebrating Pride were just people who didn’t know Christ and were just living sinful lives. I was always taught that gay people couldn’t have a relationship with Christ. But I had a relationship with him, and I wasn’t about to give that up by admitting that I had some sort of feelings for girls that I couldn’t even begin to explain. I wasn’t one of those “bad” people.

Fast forward decades and the month of June is very different. It all started last year when I told my therapist that for me, for the first time ever since coming out, Pride wasn’t about being proud of being gay, it was the first time that I actually had no shame and that I wasn’t afraid to be proud.

Pride goes to a deeper level this year. This year I married the love of my life, the woman who is my person. In front of God and about 100 people (and who knows how many people have watched the video online), we had a most beautiful wedding ceremony full of love, light, God… a holy union. We entered into a marriage that is incredible, remarkable, and healthy. I’ve never been in a healthy relationship like the one I have with my wife. I look back at my life and can honestly say that I never really experienced healthy relationships in my family while growing up. Never experienced healthy relationships in most churches I’ve attended (up until the most recent church that is open and affirming – thank God). And I definitely did not have a healthy relationship in my first marriage; that was a very one-sided hurtful 20 years of living with another human being – ugh. A pastor in my current church said to me very recently, “Isn’t it nice living a life that makes sense after all of those years when things didn’t make sense?” Yes indeed. 100% agreed. Being in a relationship with my wife makes sense. Beyond words.

I was driving my daughter to school this morning and I said, “Happy Pride,” and with a sweet tone of a smile in her voice she said, “Happy Pride, Mom.” She’s a good kid who loves people for who they are. I’m proud that she’s my kid. I’m proud that she’s learning how to love, accept and include.

So onward with the month of Pride. When not only am I proud of who I am, but I am also not ashamed to move onward on a path that I love and where I find myself thriving.

Respect for Marriage

The Senate on Tuesday passed the Respect for Marriage Act, which would enshrine marriage equality in federal law, granting protections to same-sex and interracial couples.  (The Washington Post, Nov. 29, 2022)

So…. the conservatives who are against same-sex marriage have a problem with interracial marriage, too? If they’re going to tell me that I’m wrong for wanting to marry someone of the same sex “Because the Bible says so…” are they also going to, in the same breath, tell an interracial couple that they are wrong because the Bible says so?

A friend of mine told me that she can’t attend my wedding in the spring because of her theology. An interesting fact about said friend… she’s in an interracial marriage. She wants respect and protection for her marriage just as much as I want that same respect and protection for mine.

I’m baffled, to say the least.

From 2 to 11

In looking at photos from just a few years ago, I find myself asking, “Where did she go?” The little girl who used to gladly take selfies with her mom, would pose for photos and not roll her eyes. I miss her. I know it’s a part of her growing up, but I miss that little girl.

I remember when she was 2 years old and a long-time friend, who was actually raising tweens and teens at that time, said, “Oh, I miss the age of 2.” Ummmmm….. I sat dumbfounded at the mere thought of that statement. My mind was racing with “Who in the world misses the age of 2?” Who misses the age of terrible tantrums and constant time-outs?

Fast forward to the age of 11. The age of tween. I’m learning through a great parenting book (Untangled by Lisa Damour), which is a remarkable godsend, that we’re going thru a normal phase and that she’s growing in a healthy way. She’s starting to think for herself and question. Great! And oh my god, I think I might go insane! I feel like all of my IQ points went right out the window all in the span of one night. Glad she’s starting to reason and think for herself and grow into an amazing human, but this part of parenting might turn me gray (and that’s saying something because I don’t have any gray hairs yet and I’m 48 years old!)

My mantra as of late is “parenting is not for the faint of heart.” It’s true. It’s not. It takes some serious chutzpah! Sometimes I wonder if I’ve got what it takes, and then I pause and think, “God didn’t choose me to be the mother of this kid if I wasn’t up for the task.” And I firmly believe that. I freaking love that kid… so deeply that sometimes my bones ache right along with my heart. She is my mini-me, my challenge, my reward, my love, my insanity, my pride, and my joy.

I miss the age of 2. I get it.

Onward we go into more of the adventure. More of helping to shape my kid into the human being she is growing up to be. More setting boundaries and being the rule maker; more not being a cool person. Not for the faint of heart, but this heart of mine with love for her is strong. My eye might twitch on any given day, but I love her and I know that she is growing into one incredible human.

The 3 O’Clock Corridor

Through the afternoon
you work and wonder and wait
for the clock to keep ticking
so the end of the workday
will make its long-awaited appearance.
It is the 3 o’clock corridor
and you seem to realize
that a necessary uplifting
needs to make its way into your life.
It is time.
Time for a simple cup o joe;
the necessary nectar
that is your favorite habitual pick-me-up.
You pause in your day to make a cup.
The warm mug brings soothing comfort
and the aroma is dreamy like no other.
You close your eyes and take a sip.
You smile.
Pure simple joy as you
work and wonder and wait.

j.s. morneau
10/26/2022