A Letter
One of the purposes of this blog is to personalize the so-called ‘gay issue.’ That means letting you into my life a little (while still trying to maintain some modicum of privacy). I share with you this letter I wrote to my father. I haven’t yet sent it, and I’m not sure if I will, but I want you to read it because I want you to understand the pain that families have endured, and will continue to endure, because of our Church’s current ‘position’ on the ‘gay issue.’ I don't yet know at this point what will happen between me and my family. Hopefully we can come to terms with each other. I fear that we cannot.
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Dad,
I’ve given much thought in recent months about our relationship. I’ve wanted to call you, tell you everything that’s going on in my life and in my head. I’ve wanted to open myself up to you in hopes that you could understand what, exactly, I am doing and thinking (and correspondingly, why I am doing and thinking those things).
But I haven’t called to talk. I haven’t written, and I decided not to talk to you when I was visiting home. I can think of a few possible reasons why (but, frankly, I’m not sure which is the real reason):
I think I haven’t talked to you because I’m afraid of losing you and Mom again. The last few years have been hard on me (harder, I think, than you appreciate), but no time in my life has been as difficult as the months when you refused to speak to me and refused to have me in your home. I don’t want to endure again the pain of separation, the loneliness, the anger, and the emptiness of being a virtual orphan. I am afraid you’ll turn your back on me again.
I think I haven’t talked to you because I’m afraid of sounding unsure when I talk to you about my life and my faith. It’s odd: I can ramble and talk incessantly to perfect strangers about my faith, my theological ruminations, my concerns for the future, and the hurts of my past. But when I sit down to talk to you, I freeze. Instead of a moderately intelligent, somewhat self-assured 25 year-old, I become a stumbling, bumbling, confused pre-teen who’s in trouble with his parents again. I can’t explain myself to you because there is too much to say; I can’t defend myself because I can no longer speak on your terms and with your religious vocabulary (and when I use my own vocabulary you just tell me I should read less). So I end up stuttering and, flustered, I become defensive and combative. I haven’t talked to you because I’m not sure I’m able to talk to you.
I’m also afraid of not having all the answers. You, it seems, have it all figured out. If you have any Doubts, you’ve never revealed them to me. And since you have church, God, faith, and sexuality seamlessly woven together into a bullet-pointed, proof-texted devotional lesson, you allow me no room to wonder, to question, or to doubt. This makes me feel as though I can’t talk to you until I can combat each point, each assumption, each conclusion, each text. Until I can match scripture for scripture. I am not prepared to do that, so our conversations are between one who knows every answer and one who is struggling to figure out a few of the many possible answers to our common questions. You must give my mind room to breathe and process when we talk before you list yet another six verses and end the conversation. I would like it to be okay with you that I’m struggling. You could tell me that everyone struggles, but you don’t. Instead, you tell me the answer (your answer), and get upset when I don’t unquestioningly accept it.
I am, in short, afraid of you. My father. And, I’m afraid of me. Afraid of what I’ll say, and, frankly, afraid of where I’m going, since I go there largely alone (you will not accompany me, I trust). I would like to be able to lean on you, but I don’t think I can anymore.
Earlier, I said I have too much to say to get it all out. What is it I want to tell you, though? That you’re wrong? That the things you’ve taught me are wrong? That your visions of Church, of God, of Scripture, are crooked or backward or upside-down? Sometimes, yes, that’s what I want to say. But it’s more than that.
It’s not so much that I think you’re wrong. I just think there is more to be said. There has to be, or I have to leave behind the faith you’ve given me. I can no longer (and have for some time been unable) to accept all the things you’ve taught me, at least without some qualification. I can no longer look at the Bible in the way you taught me. I can no longer look at my mother in the way you taught me. I can no longer look at myself in the way you taught me. As I try to make your faith my own, I find I have to make adjustments.
I can’t look at the Bible like you want me to. Your way just seems too shallow and unfulfilling. I would love to just cite a chapter and verse for each theological proposition I proffer, but I can’t do that in good conscience. The way you taught me to look at scripture ignores too much: it ignores the humanity of the authors, compilers, and redactors. It ignores the bias of those who have given us our traditional glosses of texts. It reads selectively to fit a predefined comfort zone. It diminishes the Gospels in favor of the Epistles and pretends that apocryphal and non-canonical books don’t exist. It ignores the social, cultural, historical, and ideological contexts of the Scripture.
I can’t separate scholarship and faith like you want. You are afraid of what will happen to me if I keep reading. I think you’re afraid that the books I read will lead me away from God. I, on the other hand, am afraid of what will happen to me if I stop studying and learning. I’m afraid my faith will shrivel. For me, studying, learning, and reading are acts of worship. I can’t imagine faith without them. I must admit, though, that your fears are, to some degree, founded. The things I read change me. I can’t read a book on feminist theology and then look at Paul’s writings the same way I did before. But that doesn’t mean I can or should stop reading and thinking. It just means I have to be careful while I do so.
I can’t separate my faith from my Experience. Take the experiences I’ve had with my friends as an example. In the same way the things I read change me, my friends and colleagues change me. You are afraid of this, too. I know that. But it cannot be helped. When you and Mom told me I could not come home, when the stress of graduate school, loss of family, and near loss of faith landed me in the hospital, my friends were there for me. I was cared for, loved, and affirmed by those you believe are leading me astray. Perhaps they are; I don’t yet know. But I know that when I was at my lowest, they held me, stood by me, and gave me what you (and my Church) would not: affirmation. They saved my life and, perhaps, my faith. So what am I to do with them? Am I to leave them behind because they don’t share our (your) faith? Am I to shut them out when they tell me I should find a different church for my own health and sanity?
I have to make adjustments because of the things I know in my heart. I know that women are equal to men in value, intellect, heart, faith, and clerical ability. I know that it is immoral to assign them a lesser place. I know that it is wrong that I’ve never heard either of my Grandmothers pray (not because they have no faith, mind you, but because they are women). It is wrong that I haven’t heard my mother pray since I was baptized. I know that any use of scripture to diminish the place of women in our society, our families, or (and especially) our churches has to be a false and errant use of scripture. I know and believe this and, though I can accept the fact that you think I’m incorrect, I cannot accept the ease with which you seem to dismiss me and those like me who want our sisters’ voices to be heard.
Another thing I know in my heart: I am gay. You will not accept this, nor will you accept the way this shapes my view of faith. You still believe I can be cured. You still believe that I’ve made a misguided lifestyle choice. You believe it impossible to be gay and a Christian. You insist on believing that my eternal salvation hinges on whether I am “practicing” or “celibate.” I can live with the fact that you believe these things. I cannot, though, abide your absolute refusal to consider the possibility that I might have actually thought this all through, that I might actually deserve your respect, that I might actually be more than a petulant, misguided child. I cannot abide the fact that you never ask me how I’m doing, that you’ve never expressed concern that I might be hurting, and especially that you’ve never acknowledged that you and your church might have caused me pain. You’ve never apologized for the comments you’ve made about gays and AIDS, you’ve never apologized for the things you said to me after I first said the words “I’m gay,” you’ve never acknowledged that you may have overreacted throughout that first year.
So, for all these reasons, I can’t talk to you about my faith. I can’t tell you that I was asked to leave a church I had been attending for two years. I can’t tell you that I’m afraid I’ll never find a church I can call home. I can’t tell you that, while I’ve figured some things out, I don’t have all the answers (I am, after all, only 25. I’m young and could sometimes use advice.).
I don’t know where we go now. I don’t know how we come to terms with our differences. I don’t know how we rebuild our relationship after the last several years of pain. I hope we can. Maybe it will just take time. But until the time comes when we can be truly reconciled, what do we do?
All my love,
Your Son
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Dad,
I’ve given much thought in recent months about our relationship. I’ve wanted to call you, tell you everything that’s going on in my life and in my head. I’ve wanted to open myself up to you in hopes that you could understand what, exactly, I am doing and thinking (and correspondingly, why I am doing and thinking those things).
But I haven’t called to talk. I haven’t written, and I decided not to talk to you when I was visiting home. I can think of a few possible reasons why (but, frankly, I’m not sure which is the real reason):
I think I haven’t talked to you because I’m afraid of losing you and Mom again. The last few years have been hard on me (harder, I think, than you appreciate), but no time in my life has been as difficult as the months when you refused to speak to me and refused to have me in your home. I don’t want to endure again the pain of separation, the loneliness, the anger, and the emptiness of being a virtual orphan. I am afraid you’ll turn your back on me again.
I think I haven’t talked to you because I’m afraid of sounding unsure when I talk to you about my life and my faith. It’s odd: I can ramble and talk incessantly to perfect strangers about my faith, my theological ruminations, my concerns for the future, and the hurts of my past. But when I sit down to talk to you, I freeze. Instead of a moderately intelligent, somewhat self-assured 25 year-old, I become a stumbling, bumbling, confused pre-teen who’s in trouble with his parents again. I can’t explain myself to you because there is too much to say; I can’t defend myself because I can no longer speak on your terms and with your religious vocabulary (and when I use my own vocabulary you just tell me I should read less). So I end up stuttering and, flustered, I become defensive and combative. I haven’t talked to you because I’m not sure I’m able to talk to you.
I’m also afraid of not having all the answers. You, it seems, have it all figured out. If you have any Doubts, you’ve never revealed them to me. And since you have church, God, faith, and sexuality seamlessly woven together into a bullet-pointed, proof-texted devotional lesson, you allow me no room to wonder, to question, or to doubt. This makes me feel as though I can’t talk to you until I can combat each point, each assumption, each conclusion, each text. Until I can match scripture for scripture. I am not prepared to do that, so our conversations are between one who knows every answer and one who is struggling to figure out a few of the many possible answers to our common questions. You must give my mind room to breathe and process when we talk before you list yet another six verses and end the conversation. I would like it to be okay with you that I’m struggling. You could tell me that everyone struggles, but you don’t. Instead, you tell me the answer (your answer), and get upset when I don’t unquestioningly accept it.
I am, in short, afraid of you. My father. And, I’m afraid of me. Afraid of what I’ll say, and, frankly, afraid of where I’m going, since I go there largely alone (you will not accompany me, I trust). I would like to be able to lean on you, but I don’t think I can anymore.
Earlier, I said I have too much to say to get it all out. What is it I want to tell you, though? That you’re wrong? That the things you’ve taught me are wrong? That your visions of Church, of God, of Scripture, are crooked or backward or upside-down? Sometimes, yes, that’s what I want to say. But it’s more than that.
It’s not so much that I think you’re wrong. I just think there is more to be said. There has to be, or I have to leave behind the faith you’ve given me. I can no longer (and have for some time been unable) to accept all the things you’ve taught me, at least without some qualification. I can no longer look at the Bible in the way you taught me. I can no longer look at my mother in the way you taught me. I can no longer look at myself in the way you taught me. As I try to make your faith my own, I find I have to make adjustments.
I can’t look at the Bible like you want me to. Your way just seems too shallow and unfulfilling. I would love to just cite a chapter and verse for each theological proposition I proffer, but I can’t do that in good conscience. The way you taught me to look at scripture ignores too much: it ignores the humanity of the authors, compilers, and redactors. It ignores the bias of those who have given us our traditional glosses of texts. It reads selectively to fit a predefined comfort zone. It diminishes the Gospels in favor of the Epistles and pretends that apocryphal and non-canonical books don’t exist. It ignores the social, cultural, historical, and ideological contexts of the Scripture.
I can’t separate scholarship and faith like you want. You are afraid of what will happen to me if I keep reading. I think you’re afraid that the books I read will lead me away from God. I, on the other hand, am afraid of what will happen to me if I stop studying and learning. I’m afraid my faith will shrivel. For me, studying, learning, and reading are acts of worship. I can’t imagine faith without them. I must admit, though, that your fears are, to some degree, founded. The things I read change me. I can’t read a book on feminist theology and then look at Paul’s writings the same way I did before. But that doesn’t mean I can or should stop reading and thinking. It just means I have to be careful while I do so.
I can’t separate my faith from my Experience. Take the experiences I’ve had with my friends as an example. In the same way the things I read change me, my friends and colleagues change me. You are afraid of this, too. I know that. But it cannot be helped. When you and Mom told me I could not come home, when the stress of graduate school, loss of family, and near loss of faith landed me in the hospital, my friends were there for me. I was cared for, loved, and affirmed by those you believe are leading me astray. Perhaps they are; I don’t yet know. But I know that when I was at my lowest, they held me, stood by me, and gave me what you (and my Church) would not: affirmation. They saved my life and, perhaps, my faith. So what am I to do with them? Am I to leave them behind because they don’t share our (your) faith? Am I to shut them out when they tell me I should find a different church for my own health and sanity?
I have to make adjustments because of the things I know in my heart. I know that women are equal to men in value, intellect, heart, faith, and clerical ability. I know that it is immoral to assign them a lesser place. I know that it is wrong that I’ve never heard either of my Grandmothers pray (not because they have no faith, mind you, but because they are women). It is wrong that I haven’t heard my mother pray since I was baptized. I know that any use of scripture to diminish the place of women in our society, our families, or (and especially) our churches has to be a false and errant use of scripture. I know and believe this and, though I can accept the fact that you think I’m incorrect, I cannot accept the ease with which you seem to dismiss me and those like me who want our sisters’ voices to be heard.
Another thing I know in my heart: I am gay. You will not accept this, nor will you accept the way this shapes my view of faith. You still believe I can be cured. You still believe that I’ve made a misguided lifestyle choice. You believe it impossible to be gay and a Christian. You insist on believing that my eternal salvation hinges on whether I am “practicing” or “celibate.” I can live with the fact that you believe these things. I cannot, though, abide your absolute refusal to consider the possibility that I might have actually thought this all through, that I might actually deserve your respect, that I might actually be more than a petulant, misguided child. I cannot abide the fact that you never ask me how I’m doing, that you’ve never expressed concern that I might be hurting, and especially that you’ve never acknowledged that you and your church might have caused me pain. You’ve never apologized for the comments you’ve made about gays and AIDS, you’ve never apologized for the things you said to me after I first said the words “I’m gay,” you’ve never acknowledged that you may have overreacted throughout that first year.
So, for all these reasons, I can’t talk to you about my faith. I can’t tell you that I was asked to leave a church I had been attending for two years. I can’t tell you that I’m afraid I’ll never find a church I can call home. I can’t tell you that, while I’ve figured some things out, I don’t have all the answers (I am, after all, only 25. I’m young and could sometimes use advice.).
I don’t know where we go now. I don’t know how we come to terms with our differences. I don’t know how we rebuild our relationship after the last several years of pain. I hope we can. Maybe it will just take time. But until the time comes when we can be truly reconciled, what do we do?
All my love,
Your Son
posted by GR at 1/25/2006 11:07:00 AM
40 Comments:
Thank you for sharing.
That's a very brave thing you've written. Whether you show it to your father or not, and whether or not he accepts it, I hope that you will reap the reward you deserve for just having written it.
Thanks.
Beautifully written. I feel sorry for your Dad...I feel sorry for you. I pray that the two of you will talk and that this issue between you won't destroy the love that God wants for both of you to experience with each other.
My heart breaks for you and your Dad. Thank you for sharing this letter.
I don't pretend to understand much of what you're going through but I do know that God has a plan for you and your dad. I do know that my heart was touched by your honesty. I do know that life is not as simple as some claim it to be. I do know that God is my dad, who has never abandoned me even when I am not in agreement with Him.
GR,
This letter sounds hauntingly like one I wrote to my parents several years ago after my own personal struggles (which involve some of this same sort of thing) began. In my case, the letter only made things worse and so I wished I'd kept it and allowed it to have been my personal therapy as opposed to an attempt at reconciliation. My parents didn't have the "ears to hear" at that time. I will pray that you'll make the right decision about sending it so that your eventual reconcilliation with your parents will happen sooner, not later. It's not right. You've been treated poorly and not loved as Christ loves in this situation. I guess the only thing I can advise you to do is to allow the pain of it to draw you in to Him as you share of the bitter cup from which He partook.
love in Christ,
grace
GR,
thank you for sharing your letter with all of us. whatever i may say to express my sympathy with you seems futile since your relationship with your father is unique and personal. however, i am quite moved by what you have written and want to say that i have had a similar experience and feel a sense of solidarity with you, though i don't really know you.
i came out to my parents (CoC) five years ago, by letter. i could not have a face-to-face conversation with them about being gay for fear of a harsh immediate reaction that i would always remember (something, it seems, you experienced). i will never forget the moment of letting that letter drop into the mailbox, wondering if i would never hear from my parents again. their reaction was not what i or my brother expected. in my mind our relationship has been better for the past five years, but we don't discuss my being gay.
then, just last week, when i revealed to my mother in a telephone conversation that an acquaintance is gay, she starts speaking about gay people in unfavorable terms. she used the term "practicing" which you mentioned. it became clear to me that she didn't understand what i meant when i wrote, "I am gay." for a day or so, i thought that i would have to come out all over again to my parents. however, i've decided i can't go through that again. at this point, the denial is theirs, not mine.
i truly believe that my parents love me. they have done the best that they can to deal with the revelation that their son is gay. nothing in their backgrounds prepared them to deal with anything like this situation, just as nothing in my upbringing prepared me to deal with being gay. so maybe we just have to accept our parents' limited understanding of who we are.
be thankful that you have a close circle of friends to support you. friends can become our families-by-choice when our families-by-birth can't or don't accept and love us as we are.
I need to change my profile to say, Not GKB.
Following Grace and Richard, and speaking generally: I hate it when relations with parents come to the point of letter writing. I went through it when my parents were in the process of suing each other over child support when I was in college. I had an exchange with my dad in which I should have just photocopied the original letter and sent the original to him, then, when he replied, sent the photocopy. It was as if he hadn't read it at all when I got his reply. In these days when we don't write letters at all, too much significance is tied to them by their senders, and too little recognition of that significance by the receiver. On top of it, there's too many emotions that interrupt fair reading. For that reason I'd say don't send it. Find a way to talk, then turn the letter into a memoir.
Fritz said:
I find it sad that you are 25 years old and still fear and need the approval of your parents to live your life as a thinking adult. I am sure that having the Bible thrust upon you by parents who live by that book has not made life easy for you, but remember, the Bible was written by men and men will write anything that will force a group of people to think and live the way the writers do. Being the sixth of eight children and treated so differntly than my siblings because I was obviously gay only made me a stronger Gay male. I excelled in the military, I've worked at the White House, in the Pentagon and for large companies for 40 years, on my own terms, sometimes being the "first openly Gay man" to work in these places, without repercussion (Yes, even in the U.S. Army) because I wouldn't allow anyone to mistreat me because of who I am. Take back the power of being who you are and tell the world to accept you for who you are, or get them out of your life. You can't choose or change your family, but you can choose those who respect you and want to share your open and honest life, not bowing to writings from 2,000 years ago that, to me, are largely in question. It could be your Dad has his misgivings about his own sexuality and wants to distance himself from you so others won't start scrutinizing him. If god is that important to you, find an open field or a quiet forest, look to the sky and pray to god there. A group of people in a building does not have have dibs on god. Although I don't subscribe to any religious restrictions, I feel those who do should have access. Best wishes in finding yourself and the strength to be who you really are.
Fritz:
Do I think my father has misgivings about his own sexuality? Hardly. I think instead that he was taught, from day one of his time here on earth, that men were supposed to look and sound and act certain ways. On top of that, he was taught, from day one, that gay people are going to hell (cite relevant chapter and verse).
So he's not angry because I make him uncomfortable in his own sexuality. He's damaged from a life of religious and social conditioning. And now his heart has been ripped out because his eldest son has "decided" to flaunt religious and social conventions. He hurts because he fears for my soul.
And though you may find it sad that I still seek the approval of my parents, I find it incredible that, in spite of everything, I still love them with all my heart and they love me with all theirs. It is the depth of the love that we have for each other that makes this all so difficult.
I am glad that things have worked out for you. But we have chosen different paths.
GR,
Just wanted to add to the many comments here a note of gratitude for sharing something so heartfelt. It touched me personally because I have toyed with the notion of writing my parents a letter much like the one you have written over the years. I have always stopped short because of lingering self doubt and the general uncertainty of the results it might produce.
I'm glad that you at least put pen to paper and poured out your thoughts and the stirrings of your conscious, whether you ultimately send it or not. You and I have tread a similar path with our lives growing up in the same church body and attending the same church-based university. I only hope you continue your studying and reading. The knowledge you gain may cause you to continue to question the church you grew up in, but undoubtedly will increase your faith in Christ in the long run. Please keep writing and sharing. You remind so many of us who struggle with our faith, love and sexuality that we are not alone in this fight.
Restorationist:
Given you are 25, I'd guess your Dad is over 50, not too old to see what is going on in the 21st Century and to mesh his upbringing with your sexuality. When your Dad and Mom decided to bring you into this world, they were not given the option of checking off the attributes they wanted you to possess, but they chose to be parents, period. You are their living, breathing creation and it is not your fault that you are not the custom made model they ordered. Could it be that god sent you to your Dad to test his faith? As your Father, supposedly a man of god, you should expect more from him than to blame yourself for his actions and unbending ideas. Be within reach of your Family if they extend a welcoming hand, but do not subject yourself to their narrow-minded expectations. You cannot change who you are, so be proud of yourself and move on, even if it means without them.
Fritz
GR-
i am always in awe of your ability to continue to love your parents. this is definitely a gift from God, whether or not you always feel like it is one. this love that you have for other people, evidenced by the love you continue to feel for your parents, is one of the things that make you who you are and that make those around you feel so intensely loving towards you.
i know that you have suffered pain. i know that there are things that you don't share, and i, as a friend, have come to terms with that. i am proud to know you. i could never have guessed what a profound impact you would have on my life when i met you. not a clue.
as to the issue of the letter-- there have been wise comments made so far. in the end, you have to do what makes your heart feel most comfortable. it might not be the best (easiest--quickest way to reconciliation) to send the letter, but it may not be the best (easiest-quickest way to reconciliation) to sit on it either. that will require much thought on your part. i know that thinking is not a problem for you, so...
thanks for sharing the letter, and continuing to post. i am reading even when i don't comment, which is probably the case for many.
Wow. Your letter is...amazing.
Your letter brings back strong memories for me. I wrote the same letter many times, yet never sent it. My relationship with my dad was similar to yours but now it is 20 years later and he and I are the best of friends as he is with my partner. Give it time and always be yourself.
i thank you for your vulnerability in posting this.
What a beautiful letter. I'm so sorry about what you've been through and what you will continue to go through. You're on a good path, though, and I wish you the best of luck.
I've read your letter to your father. It brought tears and sobs of sorrow. I have great compassion for your situation. You say you're afraid of your father. In all humility and love towards you and your struggle, I pray you are equally afraid of your Father. I say that with all respect for both you and your soul and for God who determines what he wants each of us to do and to not do. I don't know what else to say but may God guide and direct your path through this life. Not to offend anyone in any way, but to communicate what's in my mind and heart, I have always secretly believed there are many people who think they're homosexuals who really are not. They have such deep compassion for the homosexual plight that I think perhaps they become one in support of the cause. May you know without doubt that you are loved.
anon, are you sure you read gr's letter? it would sure be some special kind of sympathetic gayness to want to put oneself through the kind of thing g.r. has documented these past several months.
Anon,
I may be an advocate for "change" and believe in the the fluidity of sexuality....but even I know that people don't "become gay" out of sympathy. Goodness.
Hang in there GR!
grace
GR,
How I long to get a letter, a call, a word, anything from my son.
Your father has no idea what he is missing.
I will be your adopted mom, as my son has a heart of stone that I am praying will become clay like so the Master Potter can get mold him in His image.
You are a blessing.
Thanks for all the comments. Really.
Fritz,
Perhaps you are right. Perhaps my parents, being young parents, should have absorbed this news better than they have. I don't know.
Unfortunately, they haven't. Though I understand why you want to "be proud of [my]self and move on, even if it means without them," I'm not sure it's all that easy. I am proud of who I am, and I don't plan on attempting to change my orientation for my parents, nor do I plan to commit to a life of celibacy as they've asked. I want to get married and have a family, and I plan to live my life as my own.
But I can't move on without my parents and my siblings. I love them too much for that. I want them to be part of my family, even if it takes 20 years of talking and poking and prodding.
Anon,
I don't plan on launching into a debate on what makes people gay, primarily because I don't have the foggiest idea (and I don't really care that much anymore).
Suffice it to say that I am not confused about whether or not I am gay, nor did I become gay out of sympathy for or solidarity with the gay community (and I'm not sure what you mean by the 'homosexual plight').
kburton,
I miss you. Come visit me.
Hoots,
Though I don't know details of your relationship with your son, all I can tell you is: patience. We must have patience if we ever hope to make our families whole again.
Dear Gay Restorationist:
Understand your Father's indoctrination into his faith ("chapter and verse", as you put it), but be true to your thoughts and happiness. Recognize that your family will never become a Norman Rockwell family. I understand your need and desire to be part of your family, but be sure that they, in turn, accept you for who you are. Don't sell yourself short or you will regret and resent those you have held in such high regard. Meet them half-way.
Best Wishes! Fritz
I cannot even begin to imagine what it would feel like to be in your situation. I have two wonderful parents who I know would be devastated if I were to even hint at being gay (which, I am not by the way). The reason I am writing is to tell you that I am praying for you and this whole situation with our church. I believe God is the one who decides what happens with people's souls....and I am sure thankful he does. At this point I know what my beliefs are about homosexuality, and that some people struggle with it. I believe it is a struggle and a choice you have to make, but I sure hope that whatever choice my unborn son will make in the future, I will love him and keep him in my prayers. Maybe this is rambling, and I am sorry for it, but as a mother-to-be it made me think of what I would do.
I hope God gives us all wisdom to discern between right and wrong, and to align our will with His. I pray your father learns grace, and I pray you find your answers and truths, which will lead you to be made one with the Lord.
God Bless, -E
To Greg and Grace. Have you never heard of a person so sympathetic to the poor that they cast off their own riches to become one of them? There are people out there mixed up enough to join anything out of sympathy and a tender heart. I know what I'm talking about on this one.
sounds like Jesus to me, anon. you're in good company, GR!
That's not sympathy, anon, that's asceticism.
Anon,
Don't you think your reasoning is a bit simplistic? I mean, the story starts out nicely: a sweet gentle guy feels bad for the way the gays were treated when they all got AIDS, so he starts to fight for gay rights and ... you know the rest. The story sounds nice, and might even make a pleasant little commercial for Exodus or some other ex-gay ministry.
But, like many other theories about why people are gay (distant father + assertive mother = gay, molestation + recruitment = gay, genetic makeup + prenatal hormones = gay), it ignores the mysterious complexity of human sexuality. It reduces myriad working parts to nothing more than a simple equation.
Anon,
Do you mean that you know what you are talking about in that you actually know of someone who became gay out of sympathy? I'm not being defensive...it's hard to get words not to sound that way. I'm just really very curious about that and find it hard to swallow. Since, frankly, I know quite a bit about what I'm talking about on this issue as well...or at least I've done a heck of a lot of talking, caring, praying, living with, and empathizing for those who are gay and want to be as well as with those who struggle with same sex attractions. This is the very FIRST time I've heard anyone suggest such a thing as you are saying here. It's not at all like empathizing with the poor. Being poor is an identity of situation and there are specific steps that can be taken to overcome it (assuming one does not want to be poor). Being gay or struggling with attractions is quite a different animal than being poor. It just is. I'm just wondering if you are actually talking about a person you know of who says they became gay out of sympathy?
in Him,
grace
GR, may the peace of Christ which passes all understand keep your heart in the knowledge and love of God and of Jesus Christ, our Lord. And may the blessing of God Almight, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit be upon you and remain with you always. Amen.
I read your letter tonight and I thank God for you. I have seen innumerable friends brought to the depths of despair by things their churches and their families have said to them upon their coming out. It is by the grace of God alone that I have not lost more of them, but one was enough. May you continue to be a voice in the desert for these people. May our generation of Christians be the ones to set these things right.
Wow. This letter says so many of the things that I would like to say to my father. The specific issue(s) that your father objects to are different than mine, but the relationship between father and son is the same. The options as I see them in my situation are:
1.) Avoid contact with each other. Don't waste any energy on trying to maintain a relationship, you'll only be frustrated. Concentrate your energy on relationships with other people.
2.) Have only a superficial relationship. Talk to each other once in a while, but mainly about the weather, sports, etc. Try to pretend that nothing is wrong. Avoid any serious subjects and hide the real issues. Learn to smile and nod a lot.
3.) Try to work it out. This involves both sides getting angry and both people making at least minor concessions/changes. This option makes things worse before they can get better. There is no guarantee that resolution can be had, only that things will be worse for a while, if not indefinately.
I explained my situation as I see it to a psychologist. After getting more detail, he basically advised me to avoid option 3 altogether. For certain people of certain mindsets, who only see the world in black and white, real change is nearly impossible. This is especially true with older people who have held certain beliefs for many decades.
Option 3 is what I want to do, but I've refrained and went with Option 1 for a while, and am now trying out option 2. It feels real shallow, almost hypocritical on my part.
Thanks again for sharing your letter and good luck.
-Ray
GR,
You may not value my input in this in the least...but...I've done Ray's option #2 for about 6 years....and we are just beginning to get somewhere in our relationship as far as healing. (with my parents) It takes a long time....but it's not a bad option.
grace
Just wanted you to know that I'm proud to know you and you are loved, so much more than you even know.
-Ang
Ang,
No words, kid.
Thanks for sharing. I keep thinking how I would act if I recieved this letterfrom one of my children. I may one day. I'll need to think through what I'll say and do. Thanks for making me reflect.
Thank you so much for your bravery, insight, compassion, determination, faith, and honesty.
I would never claim to know or predict how your father will react. But as far as my predictions for you go: you've made the hardest and most important step and like all the brave men and women who tore through hatred and fear with pen and paper, paint and canvas, brass and melody, you know know yourself truly- being queer at this moment in history has it's ups and downs, but I think, we as a group and as individuals, are the few souls who are most self-aware. Few heteros pass through a self-loathing phase that includes the loathing of almost everyone else. We do and we triumph in our self discovery.
Thank you and welcome to being queer.
I want to write something, but what else is there to be said? Your letter contains so many of my emotions. I haven't told my parents but I think they know. That makes it worse... if they do know then they are just trying to crush me, change me, and deny me when they ask when I'll get married or suggest I date a certain guy from church.
I'm sure they think this is a phase and I'll get over it, and I'm sure they think my best friend whom I've fallen in love with has corrupted me... that's not the case, but my words to them wouldn't change anything. They will always have a rebuttal for everything I say.
My dad tried to ask me about it once, but not because he wanted to know me better - because he suspected and he was angry. I lied because this is such a huge, sensitive issue for my life that I didn't feel he deserved to know when he wouldn't even consider my feelings - when he was angry. I know he would cry which would make me feel guilty... as if this is his problem - but I know he would feel like it is. I also know both my parents would tell me all the verses, explain why my love is a sin - I know all of these things already. It's not as if I don't think about this every minute of every day, but they would act like I'm being careless, and reckless.
I'm in love; I want to get married, and I want to have children. She dreams about our child and she cries because she can't give him to me. Why is this so hard? Why can't my family support me? I know why - because they would be scared to death that I'm going to hell. It's not that they want to hurt me, or that they love me less - it's just that they are terrified for me.
I love God with my whole heart - I have for as long as I can remember. I want Him in my life always. Doesn't that mean anything?
Is there no way to make this easier? I don't think so, which is why these words are useless. They won't help.
Dear GR,
You said you want to get married and have a family. What do you mean by that? Are you planning to have a heterosexual kind of marriage? Just for clarification.
Lantis
Beautiful, the letter to your dad.
Thank you for posting it. So good to read
From Danny/Scandinavia
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