Category Archives: Queer

I Believe…

Posted on 3 September 2009 | 4 comments

people are inherently good.
in smelling flowers.
in watching butterflies.
that if everyone rode a motorcycle, we would be a much more peaceful planet.
in God.
tattoos make skin beautiful.
in sleeping for at least 9 hours each night.
that tragedies happen for a reason.
that we should share what we have with people who don’t have as much.
in feeding homeless people.
people live the best in community.
in running.
reading helps us to understand each other on a deeper level.
what we eat matters.
that beer is good.
everyone should get paid the same amount.
there should be no racism.
that gay people should be allowed to marry.
we should think for ourselves.
people should say please and thank you.
we should revere our elders.
we should train our children up in a calm, guiding manner.
in grace.
people should listen when other people talk.
people should answer the question, “How are you?” with an honest answer.
you should be able to make change out of the offering plate at church.
vanilla malts with frosted flakes and mini marshmallows are next to heaven in loveliness.
I could eat pizza for every meal.
swine flu is a government scare tactic to keep us paranoid.
people should be able to dress comfortably for all occasions.
clothing designers should learn that not all fat women are busty.
we should spend time discussing ideas and not people.
each year people should have to donate their most prized possession to a homeless shelter, domestic violence shelter, or children’s home.
most ill-feelings can be cured by walking in the woods.
squirrels really are out to get us.
when people swim they release their stress into the water with each stroke.
hormones kill brain cells.
most good music was made in the late 60s, early 70s.
diamonds are not a girls best friend.
we should still talk about AIDS and other STDs in health class, and talk about ways other than abstinence to prevent them.
every child deserves a happy childhood, but does not need to be spoiled to accomplish that childhood.
in equal rights for all people.
we throw away too much. We should be more frugal.
Chuck Taylors and Five Fingers are the world’s most perfect shoes.
in gleaning out of dumpsters.

Posted in Beer, Fat, Feminism, Food, Grace, Motorcycles, Politics, Queer, Reading, Relationships, Religion, Running, School, Teaching, Writing

Bea Arthur

Posted on 26 April 2009 | Leave a comment

I am mourning the passing of Bea. Check out the articles below.

Click here.

The Thursday After Ash Wednesday

Posted on 26 February 2009 | 1 comment

It’s Lent. I am not fasting. I am not sure I care.

An alternate title for this post could be: “Just Like Any Other Thursday.”

Let me try to explain. As much as Tom the homeless guy has no physical house, as much as he walks around talking to people that no one else can see, and as much as he has no creature comforts like thick wool socks and gloves that match to keep his hands warm, I have no spiritual place.

I don’t feel like Agape could ever be my church “home.” I go there. I like most of the people. However, I am also pro-choice, pro-gay marriage, not sure I believe in hell, non-fundamentalist, mostly non-evengelical, and unable to commit to the idea that there will be a second-coming of Christ. And I don’t base every decision I make or belief I hold on the “Inerrant Word of God(t).”

“How did you make it through seminary?” you might ask.

“Good question,” I would respond.

Like Tom, I find myself (although not literally) talking to people that no one else can see. I have been on a manic rush—learning that I could be slightly manic came free with my seminary tuition via the psychological evaluations they made us take—for about three weeks now, and although I talk to people who really exist, I am not sure they understand me. I talk too fast. I space out. I jumble my thoughts. God bless Debbie for bearing with me through my independent study with her. And Becky deserves a badge for putting up with me right now.

It isn’t that I haven’t slept in three weeks, because I have, but it is the fact that my sleep comes in small spurts, filled with fitful/unsettling dreams. I would say my last night of good sleep happened before I went to Chicago, before I had my current “am I doing the right thing with my life” crisis, and before I had this, my third round of the amazing English department head and chest cold.

And, about talking to people I can’t see, I sometimes think I have some strange, otherworldly perception. I frequently see little flashes of what I perceive to be people or spirits lingering about me. I haven’t seen as many in the house we live in, but I think my ability to sense what other people are feeling has increased, and I keep having a recurring dream about one of my professors.

In it, she is trapped in a house that is slowly crumbling and there is no way out. Even though the walls keep falling down, she can never get out. Each time she thinks she is able to get out another wall is standing in her path. Then it crumbles, and she has to run to another part of the house to find another way out. She can’t just leave through the crumbling wall because the actual pieces of the wall are detrimental to her safety. I get the sense that there is heat or a gas building up around her as well. She screams, but I can’t hear what she is screaming. All I can do is watch her suffer. I have tried to re-dream, so that I can get into the dream with her and help her out of the house, but it won’t work.

I am not sure I have ever had a dream like this before about someone I know so superficially. I did have a weird dream about my Aunt Winnie. I dreamed she died on the actual night she died. And, the other night I had a dream about one of my former students. The next day I received an email from her, which wouldn’t be weird if I had conversations with her regularly. But, I don’t. In fact, I haven’t heard from her since I had her in class two semesters ago.

This dream about my professor is different, though, I have had it for about two weeks straight, and then I stopped having it, but I had it again last night. Weird. So that’s my version of talking to people who aren’t actually there. I just have weird dreams and sensations about real people, which are particularly obvious and happen increasingly when I cannot sleep well. Or when, as the professor who read my psych. report said, I am “slightly manic.”

Back to my analogy about Tom’s physical homelessness and my spiritual homelessness, I don’t have the creature comforts that come with finding a perfect spiritual home. I have never been to a church where I feel completely comfortable. I know the point of church isn’t my personal comfort, but I want to be able to be who I am in Christ. I don’t want to have to mask or hide any part of myself in order to feel accepted. It isn’t that I don’t recognize that all of us have areas of spiritual growth and development; it is that I think differently about what those areas might be than the ways other people perceive them.

We know what our behaviors are. We know the bible says. We know where they don’t line up. Church should be about giving grace to people until they do line up, not about doling out condemnation because they don’t align. I don’t believe in tough love; I believe in grace.

For example, I know I should spend more time contemplating scripture. How do I know this? One quick example is Psalm 1: “But his delight is in the law of the LORD, and on his law he meditates day and night.” I do not meditate on this law day and night. I barely even look at my bible, nor do I memorize scripture. How then can I meditate day and night? My behavior does not align with what I perceive to be an overarching theme of the Biblical text. I know what I need to do to fix it, now I need the church to provide me with the support to do it.

The same would hold true for an alcoholic. Or a liar. Or a stern parent. Or a woman of ill-repute.

Typically, churches are so consumed with their own agenda (abortion, homosexuality, blah, blah, blah) that they can’t pay any attention to helping their parishioners foster the close relationship with God that is paramount in Christian life. Would we need to talk about abortion if everyone was willing to help an impoverished or single mother raise her child? Would we need to talk about it if we provided birth control education to teenagers? When was the last time you heard a sermon or had a small-group that focused on how we are to keep God’s words hidden in our hearts, so that it can inform our behavior and shape our lives? Come on. Be honest.

This might be a message of grace: through your understanding of and meditation on God’s words, your relationship with [Them] will be strengthened. In turn, you will better understand what God’s love means in this world, and you will be able to pour God’s love out to other people. I mean, if I was a pastor, I would preach about this. This would be the thick wool socks and matching, warm gloves I would give to my congregation.

So, all this to say, I feel like a spiritual homeless person. Does anyone know of any good shelters that will take me in? Mess that I am.

1 Comment

Posted in Grace, Politics, Queer, Relationships, Religion, Winter Weather

Waiting is Not My Strong Suit

Posted on 23 February 2009 | 2 comments

I hate waiting. I think everything should happen instantly.

I should know right now, today, whether or not I have a job for next school year.

I should know right now, today, if I will have an assistantship for the summer.

I should know right now, today, what will be my future.

I’m impatient. I admit it.

If I could know what my future holds, would I chose to see it? Would I want to know if I was going to get hit by a bus tomorrow? Would I want to know that I would live to be 100 years old? Probably not, but I just hate waiting.

I think what I really hate about waiting is the fact that usually when we wait, we are waiting for someone to evaluate us, to tell us what they think of us, or we are waiting for something over which we have absolutely no control. Fate: that whore.

I woke up at 9 o’clock this morning. I have done nothing productive yet today. I am the biggest slacker. Ever.

I have never realized how bad day-time television can be. Desperate Housewives is a really bad show.

I am really fortunate to have so many great professors. I am slowly realizing their value and their influence in my life. I often require a large skillet clanged against my head in order to understand such things. This time, I am getting it by osmosis.

I do not regret leaving Grace Church. I miss some of the people, my friends. It was good to see people I haven’t seen in ages. It was good to be back in a place that feels like home. It was good to know that in their own disfunctional way the people there still love me. I missed the time I spent there as both a parishioner and a professional.

But, I do not miss the mind games, the old-boys club, or the way some people find it necessary to manipulate others. Particularly I don’t miss a certain “pit-bull with attitude” who has no ability to see the results of his poorly chosen actions. A promise is a promise. You don’t reneg. Do you really think what you do is okay? Do you even consider how your actions impact others? No. No. No. I don’t think you do. If you did, you would reconsider. If you had as your first interest the salvation of others, you wouldn’t make it continually about you. That is selfish. We are called precisely to be unselfish, to give unconditionally, to give.

My brother found this saying on a bridge:

Generosity is not measured by how much we give, but by how much we keep.

I am still wading through wounds suffered in church. My pastor is leaving. I find it difficult to forgive. I find it difficult to find a reason to go to church. I find it difficult to believe. I find it difficult to put my faith in our church hiring someone like David to replace him. I think we may end up with a conservative, middle-aged, homophobic, pro-life misogynist who wants to put Jesus back in our schools. I don’t want to be there for that. I don’t want that.

And, I am not stupid enough to bind my belief in God with my belief in a man. My doubts have nothing to do with David’s leaving. His leaving just picked open old wounds that I have to let heal again. While they heal, I retain my right to be angry with God. So, God, I am angry with you, but I still love you.

2 Comments

Posted in Feminism, Grace, Politics, Queer, Relationships, Religion, School, Teaching

Pudge. The Pusher?

Posted on 22 February 2009 | 1 comment

Our cat, Pudge, is the guy who went to high school with me who always had pot and was always willing to share. I think that guy was my boyfriend until he changed. Until I lost him. Easy going and generous with bloodshot, large-pupiled eyes. He never wanted any money, but he was always benevolent.

Pudge is that cat. Slick and beautiful. I could see him saying in Cat-ese, “I got some shit, Man. Wanna go out behind the school and get high? You bring the cream soda and Cool Ranch Doritos, and I will take care of the rest.” I can see myself going with him. I might even fall in love.

I got up early this morning and went to Hartford City. I was going to surprise my parents by meeting them at church. They weren’t there, so I went downstairs and watched 1, 2, 3 Penguins with Kelley and the kids.

Then I went up to the sanctuary and found another Kelly to chat with. I went to breakfast with them, and had some tasty French Toast. I still haven’t figured out how to make exceptional French Toast. Maybe I never will.

We spent almost five hours occupying a booth at Richard’s. The whole time Ron, the owner, kept eye-balling us, willing us to leave with his smirk and stink eye.

We left the waitress thirteen bucks, which is more than she would have made from anyone else who would have sat there during her shift. Most people who go there leave less than a dollar. I know. My friend, Shannon, waited tables there during high school and part of college. Her tips always sucked.

I went to New Orleans with Shannon once. I told her she had nice orbs when I was drunk on Hurricanes and high on ghosty goodness. We were supposed to be looking for ghosts on a ghost tour, and right outside the Lalaurie Mansion, I told Shannon she had nice orbs. We didn’t even see any ghosts. sergeev-lalaurie