Commence

Thanks to the many who have given supportive comment to my last posting. I am very grateful.

In so many ways, I know this is not “all my fault,” and yet in some ways it is. I take responsibility for my decision to come out. And I believe and trust that it is the right decision (most of the time).

I purloined this Thomas Merton quote from Grateful Bear:

“We are not persuaders. We are the children of the Unknown. We are the ministers of silence that is needed to cure all victims of absurdity who lie dying of a contrived joy. Let us then recognize ourselves for who we are: dervishes mad with secret therapeutic love which cannot be bought or sold, and which the politician fears more than violent revolution, for violence changes nothing. But love changes everything.”

from Thomas Merton’s “Message to Poets” in Raids On The Unspeakable

Love changes everything. I am holding on to that as it seems everything around me is or will be changing. I desire some of these changes but out of love, not violence. And yet it is the “violence” of all the feelings that I fear so much.

Also, from Timbo’s blog I got this bit of a quote.

It is an idea believing that whether gay or straight our sexuality is not a defining ending point, but rather it is a beginning to a fully integrated and healthy relationship to the planet, each other, and our creator.

It is a beginning. I’m ready; I think.

Cheers, Joe.

The picture is of the abbey ruins on Lindisfarne, UK

Mea culpa

Today it feels like a low front has moved in. No, not weather, but me. A depression front has settled in. I’m fearing it will sock me in for a few days, like a chunky fog that settles down over the river, between the mountains.

What did I expect my wife to say, “Oh gosh, dear. How sad. Go your way. Be queer, and have a nice life. See ya later.” Is there no wonder she is furious and crushed? The waves of intense rage will come out, sooner or later. And then it will be all over again with the children.

I am destroying many of her dreams. I am breaking up the happy home. I am putting all our finances at risk (and they are at best precarious). Yes, my dreams, my home, my finances, too. But I am the one making a choice. I am the one turning every thing upside down. Everything. It’s me. No one else.

She can be furious at me. I have no one to be angry at. It is me. My fault. Nowhere else to turn. No one else to blame.

I think I have some understanding of my wife’s feelings of being devastated, deserted, demolished. From her perspective, I am the offending party. I am the one getting us into all this. I am the one who spoke the words, who came out of the closet. Me. I did it. I must take the responsibility. It is not here fault. Not her. It’s me.

All this comes at me like things falling off the top shelves onto my head. Like opening the proverbial Fibber McGee’s closet. Crashing. On me. God, the pain.

I have long been one to admit his mistakes, to own up to the truth, to be responsible for my shit (and where it lands). It is that drive for the Truth that has led me slowly to make my way out of the closet. So I have no one to blame by myself.

And that’s the problem. I slide over the edge. I spiral down. The self-loathing, the inner punishment, the self-contempt. God, the pain.

I do not know what survival will look like. I do not know what the next step will be. I do know that I must let go of knowing and not knowing. Trust that there is One who does know. One who will know. And One by whom I am known. Fully known, and yet still freely loved.

I don’t do well seeing very far beyond the end of my nose, sometimes. To know that there are many of you out there who have been where I am, done what I am doing, or now doing it yourself, is comfort and strength. Pray.

Thank you. Joe.

Enquiring minds want to know

Some responses to recent questions:

• Is that really me in the profile picture? Yes. Summer of 2004
• No, "Joe"was a childhood nickname from my grandfather (for whom I was named). Since he and I shared the same name, he always referred to me as "Joe." And I like that name far better than my real one, anyway.
• Why the anonymity? It really is necessary for me right now.
• If any know more about me, please keep it to yourself.
• If you have honored me with more info on you, be assured it will go nowhere
• My feet really are that big. I make that comment only because 1. I trip over them a lot, 2. only open my mouth to exchange them, 3. buying footwear is a major pain and expense, 4. I am hoping you will think it's indicative of something else.
• Yes, I am in therapy and on 2 anti-depressants - Sometimes I feel like a toxic waste dump, but, hey, "Better living through chemistry"
• Have I? yes. All kinds? probably. Really? hey I am not proud of it. Will you? not like that I hope.
• Brian (sub saxe) please send and email address.
• Heretical one, thanks for writing.

Free Fallin'

You cross your arms on your chest and stand on the edge of some kind of elevated platform, exposed, alone. Standing on the edge you fall backwards. The moment of terror. Oh God. And then, folk on the ground, lined up facing one another, arms outstretched, catch you. From the beginning of the fall until you feel there arms on your back, that is the moment of terror. Are they really there; will they make the catch? Chris writes well about this in one of his posts.

You wonder if they will catch you. Do you trust them enough? Coming out feels like doing a trust fall, but with no assurance there is any one there to catch you. On this end, I have few if any friends to whom I can confide. It would seem very lonely indeed, except for my connections through the blogosmos.

I have felt richly blest to have many friends in the blogosphere. We have never met, face to face. We don’t even know one another’s real names or many details of our lives. And yet you have been catching me for some time now, and I thank you.

The roller coaster of emotions has left the station. As the ascent begins, you hear that clack – clack – clack – clack of the ratchets as the lock into place, preventing a back slide. You approach slowly the top of the arc. You cross the apex. Thedescentbeginsthe bottom dropsoutthefloorfallsaway. . . . . .

The pit of your stomach is somewhere near your ears. What next, what next. . . .

Terrifying, and exhilarating. Fear in the anticipation, fear in the execution, fear in the midst of it all.

Jesus said “fear not.” Y*W* G*d says, “I will be with you.”

Shalom, Joe.

Grief

I love butterflies. They are beautiful, a real wonder. But I do not like butterflies as an Easter symbol. Sure, the caterpillar goes into the cocoon and changes, emerging as something entirely new, but the creature does not die. It does not experience the grave.

I know we are moving toward the season of Lent, and it may seem premature to talk of Easter. But there is no Easter without Good Friday. There is no resurrection without the crucifixion. No new life without death. Right now, I feel like I am in the midst of death.

This Saturday afternoon, I told my wife. I am gay.

Of course this topic is one that has been part of our marriage for most all of its twenty years. But we always thought it was something else. I could get over it. I could make some choices and things could stay at status quo.

Now, she knows otherwise, and the news is devastating for both of us. I have had months to think about this. She has not. I am not sure what the next step will be, but it is one we will make together. Pray for us.

Every time I see a couple walking together, holding hands, laughing, playing with their children, I think, "Oh God, why couldn't I be normal. Why can't I be straight and regular. Why can't I fit in and make it work out." What would I give for that? Of course I know there is nothing I can give. There is nothing to be done. I am who I am, what I am, the way I am. This is devastating.

Even in the midst of my mixed up mind, I have had thoughts of our growing old together. What will we do in retirement, when the kids are grown, with grandchildren. Now, a lot of dreams are altered forever. There is much to mourn.

Once the cat is out of the bag (or rather, the bear is out of the closet), I cannot go back. For a fleeting few moments, I wanted to. That comes from that part of me that is driven to make everyone happy, to keep the peace, to please. I can do it no more. Despite my desires to be straight and normal (whatever the hell that means), I am feeling at least a bit content with who I am. I know that there will be a lot of anguish to come. But I know it will be better in the long run.

In the midst of this crucifying pain, I can only hope and pray for an Easter that will reveal new life to me, and to my wife, and eventually my children, as well. I do not understand why God is calling me on this journey, but I trust that he is with me. I ask your prayers.

We are treated as impostors, and yet are true; as unknown, and yet are well known; as dying, and see—we are alive; as punished, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing everything. 2 Corinthians 6.8b-10

Oremus

I ask your prayers.

I get really confused about prayer, sometimes, wondering what it's really about. It is all too easy to think of prayer as "trying to change God's mind." Yet, that doesn't seem quite right. There is a lot of evidence in the Hebrew Bible (i.e., the Old Testament) where "God repented of the evil." Check out Jonah, for instance.

Surely prayer cannot be about changning God's mind. If that were so, then wouldn't the one with the most prayers win? Can we convince God to love us more, or do we need to? I think not. I am firmly convinced that prayer is about changing us, not our changing God.

But if that be the case, then why prayer for someone else, unless the prayer has to do with our relationship with that person in a concrete way, such as our needing forgiveness or needing to forgive. Is it about sending energy to or toward another person? That sounds a bit new agey. And what does it mean to say that prayer "works?" Is it only if we are faithful "enough?"

The Episcopal CHurch's Book of Common Prayer (1979) says "Prayer is responding to God, by thought and by deeds, with or without words." (p. 856). Responding to God. So, God moves us to pray. Why? I can understand about God opening my heart to changes I need, but, again, how does this help others?

Thanks be to God that the power or efficacy of prayer is not dependent on my understanding it. Even though I sometimes feel clueless about prayer, I still do it. At least some. Whatever it does or does not do, it is something we are called to do. Jesus prayed, taught, and healed - and so should we. So I do. But God only knows why. Yes, exactly.


Soooooo, I ask your prayers. My process of coming out is beginning to commence to get started taking some new turns. I am frightened (but not paralyzed). I am unsure (but no less convinced). So, please keep me in your prayers, that I may be faithful to God's calling on my life, that I may not lose heart, that I may have serenity to accept, courage to change, and wisdom to know.

Pax vobiscum. Joe.

A Little Lavendar

Just watched the movie Ladies in Lavendar with Dames Judi Dench and Maggie Smith as well as German-Spanish actor Daniel Bruhl. It was a very good film, very touching, sad, etc. But I am a bit ashamed to admit that watching Daniel Bruhl was a big attraction. It feels so good, though, to be able to admit that at all. If I am a bit ashamed, it's only a bit.

Cheers, Joe.

When the going gets tough . . . . go play

I was not really “raised,” I just grew up. With a dysfunctional family that danced around my father’s rages and abuse, my grandmother’s alcoholism, my mother’s depression, and many other issues, I quickly learned some important coping mechanisms. “Don’t bother anyone, don’t upset anyone, don’t ask questions that might be difficult to answer, don’t ask for help”. A corollary to this is, of course, pay attention to the needs of others, pull your own weight and theirs, too, their needs are more important than yours.

One of the very special holy places in my youth, a sacred space of nurture and refuge, was a creek. Playing in the water at the neighborhood creek was a very important refuge from a violent house. Slipping out the back door and over the fence, this creek was the perfect sort for building dams, canals, bridges, towns, etc. In true “boy” fashion, I’d build a dam and then knock it down. Such activity carried me away from the barriers and floods of home. Here, at least, I could be in charge of what was held back, and when the barrage was unleashed. This was holy ground, indeed. Of course we all need some holy ground and sacred space of time and distance to renew and refresh ourselves and sense of God’s presence. For me, it is still playing in a creek.

Throughout my life, God’s grace has been at work, sometimes in spite of me. The deep sense that “God will provide” was imparted to me by my mother and several experiences in which our family, always on the financial edge, would somehow get fed. God did provide.

One gift of my attention deficit disorder has been to be lame and clueless to the extent that God could push and cajole and beckon and I have followed when I didn’t even know I was being led. The emotional abandonment of childhood led me to turn to relationship with God. Hey, nobody else was around, but God always seemed to be there. In reflection, I see God’s grace and mercy very present in my life.

Here it is in mid-February, and it’s going to be 60 today! (and snow tomorrow!). I gotta get out of here. It’s time for a romp in the woods, and some playing in the water.

Cheers, Joe.

I Cried

I saw "the movie" and I cried. It was so painful on so many levels. Maybe it's a little different if your out, maybe one can critique it from a very different perspective, more as art than life.

But for me, it was all too much like life, even though Ennis and Jack and I have lives that are vastly different is most ways. I've never been to Wyoming. I haven't been on a horse since I was 5. And (significantly) I have never had a relationship with a man, only brief, nameless encounters. You can guess . . . .

But I yearn for it. So, I cried. Of course, I cry at a lot of movies. I cried for me. I cried for them.

I yearn for it, that deep, loving relationship with a man. I have a significant relationship with a woman (my wife) whom I love dearly. How do I put into words what the difference is, though I know that difference like I know my own face. It is radically different, but as yet, I cannot find a way to describe or delineate or adeqately differentiate. How strange.

I am guessing that any reading this (both of you, maybe!) will understand deeply what I am saying here. But how to put it into words. Mystery.

Anyway, Brokeback Mountain was a good flick. And I cried; for me, and for those whose longings go beyond words.

Don't ask, Don't tell.

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