False assumptions on both sides of the marriage debate

Most of you who know me know that granting all people the right to marry is an issue that is near and dear to my heart. However, unity is also an important issue to me... even in a topic as divisive as this. So here are some things that I think each side of this debate need to recognize. Because if you can't please everyone, you might as well piss everyone off just a little bit.

1. Marriage between any man and a woman honors God. Even if you believe that marriage is solely meant to be between a man and a woman, you are defending an institution between two imperfect people. I would even argue that some marriages do not honor God. Some marriages are entered into for selfish and manipulative reasons. One of the biggest reasons that it is to everyone's benefit to keep separate the legal and spiritual components of marriage is that not everyone believes the same thing about what marriage means to them. To define marriage by the rules of the Christian religion is just as troubling as defining marriage by the rules of any other religion. Separation of church and state is so important, because it allows us to cling to our own notions of the sacred right of marriage, without having to subscribe to anyone else's.

2. Those who oppose gay marriage are bigots. This is simply untrue. There are always people who will fit that cliche, of course, but it is incredibly unfair to stick such a label on half of the population. Within my own church there are some amazing people on each side of this debate. I realize that this is an issue that is intimate and personal on so many levels. Marriage, sexuality, and identity are all topics that strike at the core of who we are. But the fact of the matter is that when words such as "bigot" are thrown out, they only serve to end the dialogue. That is the point at which we all stop learning from each other and practicing compassion.

3. This has nothing to do with civil rights. One of the female representatives from Minnesota said yesterday that she was feeling torn between the African American community and doing what she felt was right. She correctly pinpointed the turmoil that the issue of gay marriage has stirred within the black community, and in black churches in particular. It is easy to forget that a mere 50 years ago, interracial marriage was banned. And guess what? It was just as divisive amongst Christians then as the issue of gay marriage is today. Even more revealing, is that many believed that the ban on interracial marriage was in accordance with the bible, and had verses that they felt backed this stance up. Sound familiar?

What are some other misconceptions that have surrounded this debate, in your opinion?

the Shore and the Ocean

I have never experienced anything as terrifying as anxiety. That feeling of helplessness, restlessness... of wanting to crawl out of your skin to a safe, warm place anywhere else but here.

Anxiety is not something that I feel all that often, but when I do, I don't handle it well. For me there is no slow decent into these murky waters. It is akin to someone strapping a ten ton boulder to my feet as I abruptly and rapidly sink to the bottom of an angry sea.

This kind of sudden, jarring darkness is the most accurate way I know how to describe this. I don't know how to cope. It is as though I lose the ability to function, forget all of the skills that I know and have learned and even teach to others who are dealing with these issues. I pray, I meditate, I talk through it, I cuddle with my dog, but relief feels out of my reach. And the truth is that this is how anxiety is for me-- it peaks and settles in a short period of time. Sometimes it's just a matter of riding the wave.

These episodes are a rare occurence, and I am eternally grateful for that. As I sit in the "ick" of all of this, I gather enormous empathy for my clients and friends who deal with this on a daily basis. I cannot fathom the strength that they have. Depression I can handle. Not this.

I am a work in progress.

“I am the shore and the ocean, awaiting myself on both sides.”
― Dejan Stojanovic, The Shape

My brother

I distinctly remember the day that my brother Sam was born. I had just turned 5. I remember picking out his name. Its worth noting that I'm not sure how accurate that memory is, but I always grew up believing that I had a say in picking his name. I remember my grandparents coming from Nebraska to take Seth and I back with them for a week, and crying because I wanted to be with my new baby brother. I remember when we returned home, that Sam had to be in that little incubator because of his jaundice.

He was the baby of the family in every way. A little string bean child with a long neck who quickly earned the nickname "ET." I can never remember a time where I did not love my brother. 

We remained close even through my tumultuous teenage years. When I was caught smoking by my parents an 8 year old Sam made me a card that showed him crying. It said that when I smoked it made him sad, and he made me a lanyard to wear so that I would remember not to. 

But growing up is inevitable and often even painful. I moved to California in my early 20s as Sam was finishing high school. He came out of the closet to my parents and a few days later told me over the phone. I remember being shocked, not that he was gay (I felt that I had known this since he was very young) but that he had told me last. It was an accurate reflection of how our lives had started to grow apart and was difficult for me to accept. 

Thus began a difficult few years in his life. Sam moved to New York to go to art school. When he came home on holidays he was nothing like the sweet, caring boy that I remembered. He was struggling, deeply hurting in his personal life, and making choices to deal with his pain in ways that I could not understand. I agonized over how to connect with him on anything other than a superficial level. It felt impossible.

During those years I grieved for the loss of our relationship. I worked hard on accepting the fact that I had no control. I could not repair what had been broken, it was beyond my ability. 

Two years ago, Sam moved back to Minneapolis. I still had no hope of our relationship being restored, and was actually somewhat resentful. His moving back to Minneapolis meant that I would have to see him more, that I would be asked to keep an eye on him at my parents request. To my surprise, Sam made some attempts at spending time with me. However, time spent together was difficult and awkward. Nonetheless, I continued to try to love him the best I could. I probably failed a this a lot.

A year ago Sam decided to get sober. Things began to change. Our interactions slowly accumulated depth. For my 26th birthday, he made me a cake. I was quite floored, because it was the first time I think I had gotten a birthday present from him since we were little. 

My 27th birthday was this past week, and I got to spend it with my little brother. We watched Downton Abbey and ate ice cream cake. I marveled at how far our relationship has come, little by little. Somewhere, the awkwardness seeped away. We are comfortable in each other's presence once again. We are honest and loving. It is more than I ever could have asked for. It is more than I ever thought was possible. 

Today I received a letter from Sam. In it he told me how proud he is of me, and how much he loves me. He told me he looks up to me, his big sister. This fills me with joy in a way that I cannot explain. And more than anything, it gives me hope. The things we think are impossible are the things that God longs to restore. The heaviness and pain of broken relationships that we carry are never without meaning, without lessons, without hope. 

Great Expectations

There are certain expectations that our society places upon plus sized women. We are expected to dress to "flatter" our bodies, to hide our bellies and curves and ample assets. We are taught that there are many aspects of our bodies that we need to cover up--- because no one wants to see such things. How many times have you heard "there are some items of clothing that larger women just should not wear!"

We are expected to diet, and seem to confound some people when we choose a salad for lunch out of preference and without hidden, guilt-ridden motives. We are expected to be happy with our severely limited fashion choices; our little corner of a department store filled with formless, shapeless, often hideous clothing. We are told to be grateful for any attention from men. It is assumed that we loathe our bodies (and indeed many of us do).

On many days it feels like a bold decision to be who I am at this moment, unapologetically. I often feel socially inappropriate for simply being me. For not apologizing for my weight, for not striving or promising to be a "thinner version of me." For taking up space. For reminding people of their own insecurities.

On most days I am more than capable of being this radical woman who is trying to accept herself exactly as-is. But sometimes, many times, it is exhausting. It is lonely. It feels fruitless. It's like a never-ending marathon where everyone else seems to be running in the opposite direction.

Radical acceptance of self: much easier said than done.

The year in all it's newness

As each year passes, some things within me change while others very much stay the same. I get older, a little more comfortable with who I am. I become more aware of my shortcomings, and continue to seek that balance between accepting them and striving to make myself a better person. I grow thicker skin. I'd like to think that I am more resilient than I once was. Or perhaps I have always been resilient and have simply never had the strength to claim this for myself. 

I become settled in my ways. I've been in the same city and the same apartment now for over a year and a half-- the longest I have ever stayed in one place since high school. At times the comfort of having been in one place for so long unnerves me. I look back at my travels and worry that my wanderlust and desire to try new things will fade with age. Unfamiliar places now bring anxiety and poor sleep. Maybe these elements were present when I was twenty, but they seem now to be much more pronounced. This makes me feel old.

So maybe I won't be packing all of my belongings in a Winnebago anytime soon. But it's a trade-off  I suppose. I have things now that I've never had before. I'm becoming established in a career. I have a precious, irreplaceable group of friends. I'm not nearly as miserable as I was in my early twenties.

Time is a strange concept. We try to capture, contain, and cherish the pieces that are good to us; to fast forward the moments that cause us insurmountable pain. It is the ultimate aspect of life that we cannot control-- how much time we have, what it might bring, and what it leaves behind.

“Time is what we want most, but what we use worst.” 
― William Penn