Relentless

My congregation has created a Visioning Community charged with leading Bering in discerning and implementing God’s vision. As Council Chair I am a part of that community. We met yesterday and midst food and fellowship had a great conversation about a host of topics. I realized though that when it comes to my relationship with Christianity and the church, I still have a tendency to ‘see’ myself based on the way the Christian world has ‘seen’ me for so many years – as a lesbian. Funny, I don’t carry that primary identifier into any other area of my life. In most instances I think of myself first as human and then usually as a woman. Depending on the circumstances I might add to that recovering alcoholic, lesbian, or Christian.

Over the past week I have coincidentally watched several documentaries that helped me recognize and understand where that reality was developed. One is for the BIBLE tells me so, which powerfully explores current and continued religious anti-gay bias in the United States. I also watched One Nation Under God, an older film, yet still valid today about conversion therapy for gays and lesbians. Last I watched Dangerous Living which explores the lives of gay and lesbian people in non-western cultures.

When I finished watching these documentaries I was awash in sadness and overwhelmed by the reality that I have been at the mercy of a kind of relentless abuse my entire life. No wonder I still have a tendency to look over my shoulder. Still sadder though is the reality that the only time I still look over my shoulder is when I am involved in church.

Honoring a Legacy

It has been a long time since I posted anything – I will be honest with you, I just did not want to write. I was having enough feelings and I didn’t want to do anything to encourage more of them. Right now I am having so many feelings though that the risk of more doesn’t even concern me.

My parents were young children when the depression struck America and they were both raised with the belief that you worked hard in life and that debt was to be avoided at all costs. Even though my parents owned a jewelry store, we did not live an abundant life materially or financially. We were not poor, but we were not well off. My mother budgeted, pinched pennies, and stretched money with the best of them. They raised two kids and we never had health insurance. They had to pay cash for not just doctor visits but hospital stays and surgery. I am in awe of their strength and perseverance.

They bought their first home on the G.I. Bill. I remember my Mom made the curtains for every room in the house and we landscaped it ourselves – including growing the grass from seed. Their yard was gorgeous. My Dad grew roses.

We moved from that house to one in a ‘better’ neighborhood when I was sixteen. Dad lived in that second house 42 years. Towards the end of his life as I tried to talk with him about selling the house and moving to a place where he would get help, all he was concerned about was leaving the house to my brother and I. The month before he died he asked me if there was going to be enough money left to pay off my house. It was so important to him.

I paid my house off March 19, 2008.