Diamonds Are Sexy

On February 12th, an openly gay 15 year-old boy named Larry, who was an eighth grader in Oxnard, CA, was murdered by a fellow eighth grader named Brandon. Larry was killed because he was gay. Days before he was murdered, Larry asked his killer to be his valentine…

I don’t want to be political. This is not political. I’m not a political person, but this is personal to me. A boy has been killed, and a number of lives have been ruined. And, somewhere along the line, the killer (Brandon) got the message that it’s so threatening, and so awful, and so horrific that Larry would want to be his valentine that killing Larry seemed to be the right thing to do. And when the message out there is so horrible, that–to be gay–you can get killed for it, we need to change the message.

Larry was not a second-class citizen. I am not a second-class citizen. IT IS OKAY IF YOU’RE GAY. I don’t care what people say; I don’t care what people think. And I know there are entire groups of people who face discrimination every single day, and we’re a long way from treating each other equally. All of it is unacceptable… ALL OF IT. But, I would like you to start paying attention to how often being gay is the punchline of a monologue, or how often gay jokes are in a movie. And that kind of message–laughing at someone because they’re gay–is just the beginning. It starts with laughing at someone, then it’s verbal abuse, then it’s physical abuse, and then it’s this kid Brandon killing a kid like Larry.

We must change our country, and we CAN do it. We can do it with our behavior, we can do it with our messages that we send our children, we can do it with our vote. This is an election year and there’s a lot of talk about change. I think one thing we should change is hate. Check on who you’re voting for. Does that person really, truly believe that we are all equal under the law? If you’re not sure, change your vote. We deserve better. My heart goes out to everybody involved in this horrible, horrible incident. The whole… all the families, and this poor… even… you know, Brandon’s life is changed because he did this.

~Ellen Degeneres, 2/29/08 Broadcast of the Ellen show.

Read the Los Angeles Times full story.

Once again, when the time comes for repose I find my mind filled with thoughts. As a general rule, thoughts at this time of night (1:00 a.m.) give rise to my anxiety levels, so I thought I might try to do my mind and heart some good by sorting some of them out in print.

I have an appointment in the morning with Dr. Tilley, my cardiologist. We’re doing a stress test and a follow-up cholesterol screening. I had blood work done six weeks ago, just prior to my discectomy, and the numbers weren’t so good. I’ve made no real progress since my heart surgery (August 2005). My weight is actually up (now around 255 lbs), and my cholesterol/triglycerides have also gone up since this time last year. Dr. Tilley and I spoke about changing my meds, but I told him that I wanted to see what I could accomplish in the six weeks that I’d be home. My eating, work, exercise, and rest habits were all compromised when I went to Manila, and I wanted to see if I could bring them back under some sort of control.

As I mentioned, I had a discectomy about six weeks ago to repair a ruptured disc (cervical 6-7), and I’ve been on leave since then. It has given me the time to try to implement some techniques to get my health under control: oatmeal every morning for breakfast, salads for lunch, walking daily. I feel as though I’ve done better with these strategies this time around, particularly the oatmeal, but I’m still overeating during other times of the day, and I’ve not kept my commitment to walk EVERY day.

I really don’t understand what’s causing me to sabotage myself every time I start to make a little progress. There has to be some psychological explanation. Perhaps I’m afraid of what the healthy, thin, happy me might become? Perhaps I’m afraid that, without my weight to use as an excuse, I’ll have nothing to blame but myself if I fail at something.

The thought of going back to work also has me feeling anxious. I’ve begun to sense that, despite all our efforts as a training team, we’re just running in circles because of the lack of support from other departments within our company. I was hoping for an opportunity to join the curriculum design team, but that has fallen through, and I’m having some difficulty getting emotionally and psychologically behind the company.

With Justin’s entrance to law school eminent, I’ve begun to consider what I might do with my life as well. Lately (and probably as a result of so much energy spent thinking about meals) I’ve been reminded of my dream to own and operate a café. Just a small place where people can come and enjoy a light lunch, snack, or dessert and a cup of coffee or espresso, as well as enjoy the company of others. It’s been a dream of mine for years, and it’s something I could get behind with 100% of my spirit. It seems like it would really suit my personality and lifestyle, combining the things I enjoy most: food, coffee, music, business, and people.

So, what to do?

I think the first thing is to figure out what it is that I’m holding on to. I was watching a TiVo’d episode of Oprah today in which she had enlisted the expertise of an “organizational guru” to help people de-clutter their homes. According to this gentleman, the clutter in our homes most assuredly is connected to the clutter in our lives. This sort of thinking resonates with me, and I believe that if I can figure out what’s cluttering up my life, the obstacles to my weight loss and subsequent overall good health would fall away…

There’s a very real sense – deep down – that I must make my peace with God. I’ve been wrestling with the angel for too long. I think that, in some way, my obesity is the result of a sometimes-not-so-subconscious act of defiance. It’s my way of saying, “God, I no longer trust you. You screwed up my life all that time when I was being obedient, and now, I’ll show you… I can screw it up just as good on my own!” The logic is dizzying, I know. But I really believe that’s what it boils down to.

But here’s the reality: God (or the Spirit-energy) didn’t screw up anything. I did. My own insecure sense of what was Right and True tipped the balance against me, and I traded true obedience for a two-dimensional picture of it. Now, I have the chance and the maturity to recognize what my life needs, and I’m still playing games. I’m using paper and crayons when I’ve got clay and a potter’s wheel…

Perhaps this blog is what I needed to get myself started on the right track again. Perhaps I just needed to accept my behavior as defiance, and allow myself to once again listen to and trust the heart of God.

My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand. ~ John 10:27-28

It’s 1:00 a.m. and I’ve given myself insomnia via too many Diet Sunkists. I’ve been staying at my parents’ house for the last few days celebrating a belated Christmas, as my sister and her family have just returned from a four month “gig” in Puerto Rico. Her husband is a professional baseball umpire, and he was working the winter league there. I think it’s pretty cool that Sis and the kids have been able to go with “Dirk” on so many of his assignments. It has given the kids an opportunity to see many places they might not otherwise have seen, plus it’s good for them to be with their dad.

I’m concerned, though, that those days may soon be over, as Dirk has impressed upon my sister his strong desire that she acquire a job outside of the home. I’ve balked at the notion, considering that for nearly six months out of the year (not counting these winter league assignments) my sister has to run the house alone. And she pretty much does the same during the other six months, too. Sis is a great mom and homemaker, and she juggles more than one person really ought to have to handle. I know that there are plenty of two-income families, and certainly plenty of single moms raising kids. But it just seems to me that if a family can survive on one income, they ought to do everything in their power to do just that.

I’m not around Sis and Dirk as much as I’d like to be, so I don’t see the everyday interaction and the family dynamic as clearly. I’d like to think that I have an open enough mind that I would be able to recognize if there were such a need. Dirk’s position does not provide insurance for the family during the off season, so I can see why there might be a need for Sis to work in order to secure some group coverage. My concern, though, is that her leaving the home may create an illusion of security that might cause Dirk to slack off during the off season or, worse yet, not work as hard to find a career that supports the family should his “dream job” fall through (God forbid).

Plus, as I mentioned before, if Sis is working, the family trips will be a thing of the past. The kids lose their dad, and Sis loses her husband for half the year, every year.

A conversation with my boyfriend, Justin, reminded me of a paper I wrote when I was in seminary. It focuses on a Bible passage that has been a mainstay for me over the years. I’ve posted the essay and works cited page below. Feel free to read and post comments.

Introduction

When I was a boy living in North Carolina, my parents thought it would be a good idea if my brother and I played on a little-league baseball team. Up to that time, I had never really developed much of an interest in baseball (or any sport really), but I didn’t dislike it, so I went with an open mind. I had no skills whatsoever. No one had ever taught me to hit, to throw, or to catch. I didn’t know how to slide, and I wasn’t a great runner. When I got a chance at bat, I struck out. When I was standing in right field facing a rapidly approaching fly ball, I would close my eyes, tense up my arms, my head and my face, and pray that the ball wouldn’t hit me. When I tried to throw, the ball would go 10 feet and plummet to the ground. I didn’t understand that you had to work at it to get better. All I knew was that I couldn’t do what everyone else seemed to be able to do. The guys on the team would either groan their disapproval of my mistakes or laugh at them, and it wasn’t long before I began to dislike baseball….

Twenty years later, I still avoid action sports.

It’s a sad story, and not uncommon in its basic principles. People have spent years of their lives avoiding situations that might produce anxiety—fearful to try anything new because of the intense discomfort that those situations produce. Certain individuals may even develop major phobias and insecurities because of the perceived traumas in their lives, while others can experience similar anxiety-producing stimuli and emerge unscathed.

Studies indicate that “the general category of anxiety disorders is the most prevalent class of so-called mental illnesses in the United States, … more common than either alcohol abuse or depression.” Interestingly, there doesn’t seem to even be an actual clinical definition for “anxiety” per se. To be specific, “it is recognized that ‘anxiety’ itself has not been shown to exist, apart from the bodily states and client reports from which the existence of anxiousness is inferred” (my emphasis). However, in my biblical studies, I have repeatedly found anxiety’s definition. Noted preacher and author Dr. John MacArthur states it two ways. First, from a rather logical point of view: “Anxiety is, at its core, an inappropriate response in light of the circumstances.” To qualify “inappropriate,” one might suggest that MacArthur must have some sort of absolute. He provides it in this, his second definition: “Anxiety is blatant distrust of the power and love of God.”

Dr. William Backus, Christian psychologist and ordained Lutheran clergyman, maintains that science has amply demonstrated what Scripture well attests: that there is power in learning to influence behavior. “Yet,” Backus states, “explanations based only on psychological formulations, useful though they may be occasionally, fall far short of offering an ultimate explanation for maladaptive anxiety and avoidance.” The purpose of this paper, then, is to examine from a Christian perspective why people experience anxiety, and to discuss how secular therapy has found success in reducing patients’ anxiety by using methods that seem to have foundational support in Scripture.

An important biblical text is Philippians 4:6 – 9, which, along with Matthew 6:33, have been touted by MacArthur as “the most comprehensive portions of Scripture” dealing with anxiety, and are “foundational to understanding how God feels about anxiety and why He feels that way.” This paper will examine the Philippians passage, primarily, but others will also be mentioned as they relate to the topic.

I am most appreciative of Dr. Gary Habermas, whose lectures on the subject of emotional doubt have served as the impetus for this work. Information borrowed from Dr. Habermas and other sources will be documented in the form of a “works cited” page (at the end of the paper).

Be Anxious for Nothing

To begin to see how anxiety sufferers find healing through secular therapy, we must first look more closely at how Scripture approaches anxiety. As the Apostle Paul nears the close of his letter to the Philippians in chapter four, he begins a series of exhortations to his dear friends. He sets the stage in verse two by discussing a need for reconciliation between two women (no doubt a source of anxiety among some), and immediately follows this admonition by reminding these fellow Christians of a foundational truth: “Rejoice! … The Lord is near!” This is the very substance for the next bit of counsel: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” The truth of the matter, in other words, is that it is because the Lord is near (because He is not unacquainted with suffering) that we need not be anxious! Paul is acknowledging that, even in emotionally troubling times, we do not have cause for anxiety.

In his book, A Theological Introduction to the Book of Psalms, J. Clinton McCann, Jr. offers a similar insight in his commentary of Psalm 88, a psalm of desperate cries from the darkest depths.

… Psalm 88 not only provides us with a way to articulate in the most extreme way that “life isn’t right,” but it also offers testimony to the extremes that God is willing to go to demonstrate faithful love for humanity. As the psalmist in Psalm 88 suffered, so God’s Son suffered life’s worst for us. That is what the cross is about. God loves us that much!

… To read Psalm 88 reminds us that even when we stand in utter darkness, we do not stand alone. We stand with the psalmist of old. We stand with Christ on the cross. To cry into the darkness “O Lord, my God” (Ps. 88:1) is an act of solidarity with the communion of saints and an act of faith and hope—indeed, an affirmation of the hope the resurrection.

It is our hope in Christ’s resurrection that Paul points to when he says, “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” That God is a God of suffering is our ultimate victory over suffering and anxiety. Unfortunately, this is not the portion of God’s Truth upon which science relies.

Put Truth in the Place of Lies

It is also unfortunate that many individuals (myself included) who profess to belong to Christ still suffer from anxiety. Why is this so? In his article, First Aid in Counseling: the Threatened Nervous Breakdown, Frank Lake suggests that people suffer anxiety because they “insist on justifying [themselves] by works in a world in which human beings are so constituted that such a life, seriously maintained until the end, cannot fail to lead to depression and death of the spirit….” In other words, we’re human, and we’re sinners. Backus offers a similar explanation, reminiscent of Paul’s writings about the conflict of our natures in Ephesians 4 and 2 Corinthians 4. He writes, “This old nature is just as dedicated to opposing God and promoting the Devil’s program as the new personality is to loving and trusting God…. The major aim of this old personality is to push us to live in unrestricted independence from God.”

Even with this explanation, the means by which we oppose God as it relates to anxiety needs further exposition. Herein is where science has made an effort to understand anxiety. Drs. Frank Dattilio and Arthur Freeman, noted authors and editors of several publications on cognitive therapy, make the following allowance: “The issue of what produces or fuels a crisis is not simply defined by a particular situation or set of circumstances but rather by the individual’s perception of the event and his/her ability (or inability) to effectively cope with that circumstance” (my emphasis). Further, they state that “[at] its most basic level, cognitive therapy is based on the assumption that there is an interaction between how individuals think and how they subsequently feel and behave.”

William Backus and Marie Chapian, collaborators on several books written from a Christian psychological perspective, concur with this assumption, citing Proverbs 23:7 as their primary biblical support of the notion that “man’s feelings, passions and behavior are subject to and conditioned by the way he thinks.” Ergo, “Our feelings are caused by what we tell ourselves about our circumstances, whether in words or in attitudes.”

Perhaps this is why, in Philippians 4:8, Paul is very specific in his instruction as it relates to struggles with anxiety: “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

Several types of cognitive therapy are centered on this idea. In fact, “much of the cognitive-behavioral literature stresses the importance of relating symptoms to the misinterpretation of interoceptive cues [how the body feels] and catastrophic cognitions” (my emphasis). (A formal assessment has even been developed, called the Symptoms-Automatic Thoughts-Emotions-Behavior assessment, to help panic sufferers recognize the progression from the initial bodily sensation to their catastrophic responses, linked by false cognitions/beliefs like “I’m getting worse”, “I’m having a heart attack”, “I’m not going to make it”, “I’m going to die”, etc.) The goal of the therapist in cognitive-behavioral models is to “organize the trauma memory, and either directly or indirectly [alter] the victim’s schemas of self and world….” In other words, the patient is assisted in the replacement of—reconditioning—the old associations with new, less threatening, associations.

Backus and Chapian call their own version of this method “Misbelief Therapy.” Their three-step method involves (1) locating the misbeliefs, (2) removing them (arguing against them), and (3) replacing the misbeliefs with the truth. The major difference is that the “truth” Backus and Chapian speak of is based on the assurances from God’s Word.

Not surprisingly, both secular and Christian therapists report statistically significant success using these biblically based models. In fact, Dattilio and Freeman report that from 1970 to 1992 there was a 600% increase in professional interest in cognitive therapy.

If only the gospel message would spread so quickly!

Practice These Things

One of the likely reasons cognitive-behavioral techniques are becoming so popular is because they are “well adapted to short-term or brief therapy sessions,” no doubt a positive element in our health management plan-oriented society. Indeed, one can see how easily, in most circumstances, truth could be argued against the misbeliefs an anxiety sufferer tells himself about a particular fear or situation. For that session, or short series of sessions, the anxiety-causing stimuli may indeed be desensitized, with the patient free from the trauma for an extended period of time. The problem remains, however, when the patient doesn’t apply the conditioned truth in other circumstances. The knowledge of truth must become the application of truth.

God’s Word instructs us that “faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.” This is likely Paul’s thinking when he tells the Philippians to put into practice all they have “learned or received or heard … or seen.” MacArthur teaches that “Paul’s words speak of action that’s repetitious or continuous,” much like a musician practices an instrument or a doctor practices medicine. The idea conveys a routine, or pattern of life. Backus also supports this notion: “Faith will always prompt and urge us to go ahead and do our duty in spite of our fears. So by actually facing our fear, and doing our duty regardless of our impulse to avoid doing what we ought to, we find that faith causes us to do what will, in the long run, cure our fears—though in the short run it may create some discomfort.”

Conclusion

It is tragic that people are so debilitated by the lies they allow themselves to believe. How much richer would our lives be if we would only believe and activate the truth evident in the resurrection: that in Christ we can persevere through situations that threaten humiliation, failure, ridicule, or even death? The fullness of life is in this truth; that we may “rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.” This is our hope, issued by the very words of Christ, which assures us that in Him we may have peace: “In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world!”

Works Cited

Bruce A. Thyer, and Pamela Birsinger, “Treatment of Clients with Anxiety Disorders,” Cognitive and Behavioral Treatment: Methods and Applications, Ed. Donald K. Granvold (Belmont: Brooks/Cole Publishing Company, 1994)

John MacArthur, Jr., Anxiety Attacked (Wheaton: Victor Books, 1993)

William Backus, The Good News About Worry (Minneapolis: Bethany House Publishers, 1991)

Philippians 4:2 – 5

J. Clinton McCann, Jr., A Theological Introduction to the Book of Psalms

Frank Lake, “First Aid in Counseling: the Threatened Nervous Breakdown,” Expository Times, June 1967

Philippians 4:6

Philippians 4:7

Both 2 Corinthians 4:7 and Ephesians 4:17-24 speak of the paradox of Christ’s eternal spirit indwelling us, even though we are still sinners and finite.

Frank M. Dattilio and Arthur Freeman, ed., Cognitive-Behavioral Strategies in Crisis Intervention (New York: The Guilford Press, 1994)

William Backus and Marie Chapian, Telling Yourself the Truth (Minneapolis: Bethany House Publishers, 1980)

John G. Allen and Lisa Lewis, “A conceptual framework for treating traumatic memories and its application to EMDR,” Bulletin of the Menninger Clinic, Spring 96, Database: Academic Search Elite

Gary Habermas, Introduction to Apologetics, Liberty Baptist Theological Seminary, Lynchburg. 7 September 2000

James 2:17

Philippians 4:9

Romans 5:3-4

John 16:33

The following entry was originally written in August 2006

I wonder what it is that makes a person afraid of the truth. I think that perhaps at its marrow it has a great deal to do with having to acknowledge one’s own inadequacy to survive independently of the rest of the world. There seems to be a great need for people to prove themselves as strong… or beautiful… or powerful… or wealthy… or of great character… or anything besides the honest reality…

…The reality that we have moments of weakness… of mediocrity… of inadequacy… and that, by and large, these are elements that remain with us throughout our time on this planet. It is our nature as human beings to fall short of perfection (and, most often, immeasurably far).

One might argue that there are certainly people with strength or beauty or power or wealth…

…but how long does it last? A moment? A lifetime? Is it timeless? Was it earned? Was it given? Was it taken?

I received an email from my ex-wife today. She wrote to tell me that our entire marriage was a deception—that I’ve caused her so great a wound that she may never trust a man enough to be able to marry him. She wrote to tell me that the cassettes that I sent her recently were too much a reminder of our marriage, so she threw the entire package in the garbage. She wrote to tell me that, in short, I ruined her life…

Is this the truth?

I think that, perhaps, if she were to truly consider her life before she met me, she would find that there were other individuals in her life who also failed her, or fell short of her expectations, or did things which caused her to feel betrayed. She would find that her trust issues didn’t spring forth at the end of our marriage. Perhaps — just perhaps — she would discover that I have become the safe place for her to project all her anger, sorrow, grief, and even guilt. “Safe” because I am no longer in her life and, therefore, am silenced from pointing out that I, alone, am not the source of all her problems.

But, more than this, I also know that upon careful scrutiny she would find that there was, indeed, genuine affection woven throughout our marriage. That there was compassion. And love. And many moments of joy. That there was a man who wanted to love her as completely as she deserved to be loved… but who was afraid of the truth.

I think I know why I’ve been afraid of the truth. I’ve been afraid of the truth because I have believed that the truth will reveal to others the “unattractive” parts of my persona: undisciplined, needy, unconventional, selfish, controlling… all the things that I dislike about myself. Or perhaps that they will find some other “flaw.” Something that they deem to be undesirable but that I don’t… thereby making me undesirable by default – because I don’t find that part of myself to be an area that requires reform! I’ve been afraid that the people who mean the most to me will find me undesirable, and thus, unlovable.

And so, I’ve worked to polish and to make presentable the parts of myself that I consider attractive—my intellect, my personality, my music—in hopes that I might be lucky enough to have them outweigh or perhaps even completely overshadow (and thereby “eliminate”) the things about myself that I detest. I sometimes find myself working to change the parts of myself that others say need to be changed, even though I never found anything wrong with them. I find myself allowing people—even people I hardly know—to believe certain things about me because it involves less risk of rejection than it would to correct them.

I’ve been afraid of the truth because so many people who claim to know and love God don’t treat others in a manner consistent with the notion that God’s love has been poured out for ALL those who would receive it, regardless of who they are or what they do. They practice this inconsistency because, deep down, they themselves don’t believe it’s true. If people believed with even the smallest part their hearts that their sins were forgiven and that God loved them immeasurably, there would be no need to fear the truth.

I have fallen short of the expectations of people whom I considered dear friends and, because I was afraid of the truth, I have lost their friendship. I have fallen short of the expectations of those with whom I once worshipped and, because I was afraid of the truth, I no longer have their camaraderie. I failed to embrace my homosexuality as God-given and, because I was afraid of the truth, I married my best friend only to later have the marriage called a ruse and counted as worthless.

I suppose the hope is that God’s love is steadfast no matter how we may disappoint God (assuming God can be disappointed). Sometimes, though, it’s hard to find that encouraging when the ones you have grown to love and depend on are gone, and you fear that it’s only a matter of time before you hurt the ones who are left.

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand. My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father’s hand. (John 10:27-29)

The following entry was originally written on July 13, 2006

For the next eight weeks, I’ll be supervising and certifying customer service training for my company (UnitedHealthcare) in Manila, Philippines. Here is blog number one: The Departure.

I took my first airplane ride when I was 28… just before my 29th birthday, actually. Lisa and I were taking a summer trip to visit Lisa’s brother, Paul, and his family in Illinois. I had resigned from my teaching position the previous December in order to attend seminary at Liberty University, and I took a part-time job at Lynchburg City Greyhound to help pay the bills. (The Greyhound stuff comes into play later.)

Lisa had flown several times before on account of her job, so this trip was nothing new to her. I, on the other hand, regarded it with a bit of trepidation. I was taking everything in rather quietly (as is my way), and keeping my concerns and anxiety pretty well in check. (To be perfectly honest, I was as excited as I was nervous.) When our time came to board the plane, however, I was overcome by an unexpected emotion – disappointment. I remarked to Lisa, “It’s a Greyhound with wings.” I suppose I was expecting something with more grandeur (and more space). Up to that point, my only airplane experience was that of movies and television. This little commuter plane offered a meager comparison.

Since then, I have flown a few more times, and have even had the good fortune to fly in the “first class” sections once or twice. But today, I can say that I have REALLY flown! At this very moment I am a “World Business Class” traveler aboard Northwest Airlines, en route to Manila, Philippines. I flew from Greensboro to Detroit on a commuter plane, not unlike those of my past experiences. But as I arrived at the gate for my connection, I looked out the window onto the tarmac to see the Boeing 747 being prepped for my departure and thought to myself, “Now THAT’S an airplane!”

The seats are cushy and large, with buttons for adjusting a host of comfort zones: two lumbar settings that rotate for a lovely massage, foot rest, seat extension, full reclining for sleeping, etc. AND I can stand upright without bumping my head on the storage compartment! I’m in heaven! The attendants are fantastic, and I’m working on my third glass of champagne.

We have an interesting flight path… we’re flying north to Canada, then across Alaska, and will then fly over Russia before landing in Nagoya, Japan, for refueling. The captain says that we’ve got light winds, so we ought to arrive about an hour ahead of schedule. I hope that means that I’ll be able to step off the plane for a bit. I believe it will still be another 4 or 5 hours from Japan to my final destination.

*** At this point in my entry, my laptop battery died. ***

I did get the opportunity to stretch my legs in Nagoya, Japan… and nearly lost my carry-on luggage in the interim! Let me tell you… those cushy seats stop being so cushy somewhere between the 2nd and 13th hours. Even so, the flight wasn’t too bad. It was strange flying westward and into the sun, though. Even after the cabin lights were dimmed and the window shades shut, I was too excited to sleep. I would occasionally submit to the temptation to look out to see where we were and the sunlight would SCREAM through… resulting in quite a few startled, sleepy, and not-too-pleased facial expressions from the other passengers. Anyway, we finally arrived in Nagoya, and folks began to stir and gather their things once the breakfast meal was served.

Now, in the past, when I’ve had a stopover flight where some passengers depart, but others keep their assigned seats to continue on to another city, the passengers who are continuing on will often stay on the plane or just step off for a quick break and then return. So, when we arrived in Japan, I thought I’d go change my shirt, take a restroom break, and see what the airport looked like. I got to the end of the connecting ramp and spied a restroom, so I stepped in. After being taken aback by the porcelain-covered hole in the floor with a grab handle attached to the wall (which served as a toilet-plus-accessory), I began to think that Japan was no place for me! Shaken, but not yet undaunted, I changed my shirt, and began to follow the other passengers. I looked back, trying to find a sign or a “landmark” so I’d know where to reboard. Everything looked the same… So, not confident that I’d be successful, I marched myself against the departing traffic back to the airplane. I would just sacrifice the adventure and wait in my seat. Imagine my surprise when I found an army of cleaning staff tearing the place apart, replacing cushions, cleaning carpets, etc., and one of those gentlemen holding my bags and looking a bit confused. Fortunately, the flight attendant was still there and educated me about the “dog-and-pony” security check that the flights go through, and informed me that I’d have to go off the plane while it was serviced, and then re-board closer to our departure time.

With no real harm done, and with the assurance that if I just followed the signs I’d wind up in the right place, I took my newly educated self through the security check and waited for the boarding call. The rest of the flight was uneventful. A Philipino steel-drum band serenaded the arriving passengers! It was really cool, and I wanted to smile at them, but I was afraid they’d want a tip, so I kept my head down. (Yes… you can say it… whatever you’re thinking, it’s probably applicable here…)

Customs was surprisingly easy, and I found my driver without much ado. Everyone was extremely pleasant. The air was distinctly humid and full of exhaust fumes, but I was happy to finally be at my destination. The ride to the hotel was pretty short… maybe 20 minutes… and before long I was settling into a comfy queen-sized bed. All-in-all, it was a great experience, and I can’t wait to see what the next few weeks will hold.

More later.

To answer this question completely, I need to go back at least 20 years, if not more. I can’t distinctly recall that there was a “moment” when I started to realize that I was gay. I can remember as far back as fifth or sixth grade and finding other guys attractive in a way that was distinctly different from the way I looked at girls. I was certainly different from most of the other guys I knew: I had no competitive drive when it came to sports, and had no interest at all in contact sports. While the rest of the guys were playing kickball, I spent my playground time with my girlfriends, chatting about things, pretending, etc. I had a flair for acting, music, drawing, and writing, and I had a strong compulsion to be accepted and liked by my parents and my teachers. In the eyes of many of my peers (who were raised in a distinctly rural, distinctly “good ol’ boy,” distinctly how-old-were-you-when-you-got-your-first-rifle sort of area), I was a sissy.

I didn’t feel like a sissy, though. I was smart and creative, fun to be around, a deep thinker… in some respects I might have been considered a snob, I suppose. Still, I was extremely intimidated by anything that required athletic prowess, and I immediately became a target for name-calling and ostracism. To be quite frank, junior high was hell.

My parents were as loving and supportive as they knew how to be, but they also come from a background of traditional Christian values. Recognizing the potential signs of a coming-of-age sexual identity crisis in one of their sons, let alone assisting and nurturing him along the way would have never occurred to them. When, after a horribly demeaning experience on a class trip, I came home and told mom what happened, her reaction was, from my perspective, outrage that anyone would dare call me gay! It was totally untrue, and therefore slanderous! Many conversations with the principal and parents of a few of the offending students ensued which, in the long run, probably made the situation worse. All the while, my heart was breaking. I wanted so desperately to be able to say, “but I think I am gay, Mom.” I fantasized about the guys in the locker room all the time, I actually dreamt of sexual encounters with other guys, and I had a HUGE crush on my best friend.

Quite naturally, I turned inward. I began to pray constantly for God to take away the desires I had. It was my only option, since I so obviously didn’t fit the jock (and therefore, my perception of masculine) stereotype. God, however, never did take my desires away. Conversely, they strengthened. I struggled for years with the shame and fear of the truth ever being discovered. My worst fears were realized when my dad confronted me one evening after he found a gay novel in my bedroom. It was the first of many times afterward that I began to actually deny my identity. To be fair, my dad was very compassionate. He offered to get me professional help if I wanted it. There was no “how could yous” or “you’re a disgrace to us” at any point. But I knew, deep down, that by admitting that I was gay I would be disappointing my parents – and that was something I could never intentionally do.

Not surprisingly, by the end of my freshman year in college, I was an emotional wreck. Severely depressed, with suicidal tendencies (though I never once actually attempted suicide), I was rendered completely incapable of day-to-day life. It took every bit of energy just to pull myself out of bed in the mornings, and I would lay awake for hours at night, praying for rest or death… I didn’t care which. Out of desperation, I finally turned to the university counseling center, where my therapist recommended anti-depressants, and we began working together on my self-esteem issues and my damaged (or, to be more P.C., my constrictive) notions of what it meant to be a Christian.

The following summer (after my sophomore year), I was blessed with the opportunity to work as a boys’ counselor at a Christian camp. Here, in the middle of nowhere, and among a group of peers who didn’t know anything about me or my past, I was able to test my ability to change. I made a full pendulum swing in regard to my personality. I was loud and opinionated, outspoken and energetic. It was one of the most empowering times of my life. The trouble with places like that is that you eventually have to return home and, once I was back in school, I found that the person I had become didn’t fit the person everyone knew. It was time to make some permanent changes, so I transferred to a different college. I was still struggling with my identity, but the struggle had changed: the new question was not whether or not I was gay, but whether or not I could be gay and still be Christian.

I poured myself into research. Conservative authors said one thing, liberal authors said another. But the more I read, the more convinced I became that what my heart was telling me had to be true: God lovingly created me, and who God created was a gay man. After more months of searching and after a good friend of mine declared that he just didn’t care anymore – he was gay, and it didn’t matter if God liked it – I made a decision to attend an on-campus seminar about being gay. I was terrified that my Christian friends would see me enter that meeting room, but I went anyway. I don’t recall anything that was said at that meeting, nor do I recall by name the people who were there. What I do remember distinctly was seeing a room full of normal people! People just like me! It was the most wonderful feeling in the world… I wasn’t a freak! On that day, October 11, 1993, I embraced my identity as a gay man loved by God, and for the first time in a decade, I was truly free.

The feeling didn’t last, however. I began to torment myself over the fact that I was now living two lives: the one I knew to be true, and the one my friends and family saw. It wasn’t a matter of behavior for me… I wasn’t sleeping around or anything like that. It was a matter of principal, identity, and spirit. My perspective was finally correct, as though I had been wearing corrective lenses my whole life only to discover that I had 20/20 vision and had removed the glasses. I wanted the whole world to know and to share in my newfound joy and freedom, and I couldn’t. Every time I went home, I became keenly aware of the generalized statements made by my loved ones that showed how ignorant they were about homosexuals. Once again, I realized that by speaking the truth as I understood it, I would be creating disharmony and disappointment.

The following is an excerpt from a journal entry on the morning I came out to my parents:

I woke up about 5 a.m. this morning, troubled about telling Mom and Dad. I knew this was “the day,” but I couldn’t force away the fears, or maybe more the pressure, that loomed inside my brain. I wanted so much to be straight so Mom and Dad wouldn’t be hurt. Why does being gay have to be so bad? I finally got out of bed around 7:00 a.m. and started watching Hamlet where Steven and I had left off the morning before. Daddy was already up. “What’re you doing up so early?”"Couldn’t sleep.” “Anything wrong?”

SILENCE… “Not really.”

Later, Mom came by where I was sitting and rested her hand on my head. “Just let it go, Chris. I love you.”

They left for church. I had worked up an arrangement of “Create In Me A Clean Heart” for offertory the night before. It’s a beautiful arrangement; it allows for lots of interpretation and expression. When I was practicing it last night, Vanessa commented on how sad it sounded. I’d felt pretty sad as I played it. After Mom and Dad left this morning I thought about what Mom had said about letting go. I reflected back to the words of the psalm*; how many times the promise of a clean heart and a pure spirit had uplifted me. As I played at church later that morning, I could feel God’s joy spread inside me, and offertory was was beautiful and uplifing.

I went through the afternoon waiting for a good time — it never came. After the evening service I thought the family could spend some quality time together, but our teenager [(my sister, "Sis")] “… didn’t feel like it,” so Mom, Dad and I just sat down in the living room. I felt very awkward, and I kept trying out opening lines in my head as Mom and Dad talked about something else. Then the phone rang. It was ”Bro” [(my brother)]. Everything seemed fine until he said, “Sis tells me you’ve chosen an alternative lifestyle.”

I calmly told him that I’d chosen nothing. He told me I was wrong, that God had not helped to decide anything, etc. I told him that I was sorry he’d found out that way, but I didn’t want to talk about it over the phone. (All this time, Mom and Dad are in the living room hearing all of my side of the conversation.) He did redeem himself by telling me that he loved me, and that means everything to me. He told me he wouldn’t tell Mom or Dad, and then he spoke with Mom for a minute. I sat back down and began devouring my nails. Dad asked what Bro and I were talking about, and I said, “Something that Sis told him.” I guess, because of how things are with Sis, that that was a sufficient answer because he didn’t press for anything further.

I then proceeded, voice and hands shaking, to bring up a topic our pastor has addressed recently (and frequently) about how the Church should receive all people, disregarding sex, race, status, etc., and I said that I had been dealing with what the Christian’s role should be in dealing with the gay community. Mom started praying immediately (at least that is how I perceived it). She looked down, inward really, and was silent as Daddy and I talked about what the Bible says (neither one with our Bible in hand). The conversation didn’t go far until we were both up, searching for our Bibles. (Mom continued to pray.) I came back with my NIV and my copy of Is the Homosexual My Neighbor? [by Letha Dawson Scanzoni and Virginia Ramey Mollenkott.] It wasn’t long before it all came out.

Once we disqualified the Israeli Holiness Code in Leviticus, we discussed Paul’s discussion in Romans of “natural v. unnatural.” It boiled down slowly to my belief that some people naturally have desires for the same sex and I know because I’m one of those people.

Mom and Dad were wonderful listeners, and neither fought me in the least. Mother showed how much she loves me by talking about the dangers and the people who won’t understand — people whom I love. All her hurt was for me. She told me she believed in a God of miracles. I concurred, but answered by saying that I’d been praying for God to change me for years and that I did not believe that God was going to change this. “Sometimes,” she said, “when we come to a peace about something, God removes it.”

I am at peace. My family is praying for me, and I can feel those prayers changing me…

Within six months, I had abandoned my freedom and joy for a life of “obedience.” I had allowed myself to become convinced that my being a homosexual was not the design of my Creator (who, after all, had created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve — thank you very much, Mr. Falwell). I began my first year of teaching, and subsequently spiraled again into depression. After some medication changes, I began seeing a therapist who helped me work on more of my self-esteem issues, and encouraged me in my walk to know God more intimately. With an obedient heart, I began attending a Bible study and began to make some friends. I poured myself into work and church and for a short time I was successful in suppressing my desire to have a loving, romantic relationship with a man.

Eventually, I met a girl through a mutual friend, and we started dating. She was lively and fun, full of charisma, and beautiful. She was not a Christian, but she had a loving spirit, and I was intrigued by her energy. I truly felt as though she might be “the one.” We began dating. Within a month or so, we talked about my past – my homosexual experiences and “tendencies” – and how strongly we believed that God had healed me of that “affliction.” I believed God brought ”Sara” into my life to be my partner, and I was determined to be obedient.

I loved Sara. We got along amazingly well. She became a Christian while we were dating, and her love just blossomed. We had chemistry like no other couple around, but it was not sexual chemistry. We never kissed (beyond a quick peck) before we were married, and we certainly didn’t have sex. Cuddling wasn’t even something we did much of (if at all… I don’t remember). Yet, it didn’t occur to me that this was strange or unusual. I was being obedient, and God would reward me. We were married November 16, 1996.

The difficulties of our marriage can be detailed at another time, but after 5 years of a practically sexless marriage, Sara and I found ourselves miserably unhappy. Through a series of events, and with the help of one of my best friends, I was finally able to grab the bull by the horns and look it in the face: I’m gay, and I have no reason to be ashamed.

Sara and I spent the next three months struggling (an overwhelming theme in this story) over what we should do. I think the breaking point for me was a conversation we had in the office of our home. We were discussing the familiar passages in the Bible that are regularly used to condemn homosexuality. I was steadfast, and completely confident that these passages were irrelevant to what I, in my own experience knew to be true of both God and myself. Then the question came… “Can you honestly tell me that it’s God’s design for you to be gay?” With all sincerity, I contemplated the question personally and honestly. I considered my life, and the torment that has marked its passage. I considered my relationship with God; the intimate moments, the epiphanies, and the joys, but also the pleading, the unanswered prayers, the times of seeming utter abandonment. I then considered a God who designed me and created me – I, who had finally found peace and who had embraced as lovely this part of my character – with no promise of true love and fulfillment on this Earth, when that has been my greatest desire. It was that last contemplation… that of a God who would subject me to that sort of torment intentionally… which completely broke my heart. My response was weak, as my throat had tensed up, and tears welled up in my eyes. “If it’s not, then I may as well be dead.”

I remember holding my sobs back as I deliberately made my way, blinded by tears, down the hall to my bedroom. Once the door was shut, 20 years of anguish came rushing down with the force of a dam bursting. Nothing I could do would stop it, and I finally surrendered to the sorrow of my situation. All that I knew – my faith, my family, my wife, my intended profession, were all being washed away, pounded down to whatever foundation might lay beneath.

I’ve never talked to Sara about that moment. She came in to comfort me, but it was not the comfort of a loving wife that I needed. It was the comfort of a loving husband. I think we both realized it nearly at the same time, and she left. I’m sure she went somewhere and cried as well. Divorce is a horrible business.

Anyway, like a phoenix from the ashes, I now find myself strong and confident, whole and alive, and very certain that God’s design does include my being gay. I’ve met a wonderful man whom I have great hope may someday be more than a friend. But even if this gentleman is not the man God intends for me, I am thrilled for the life that lies ahead of me! Every day brings with it new challenges, successes, disappointments, etc. but, regardless of what may come, I can say with confidence that I deserve all the blessing and joy and fulfillment of any straight man on this planet! I told you Diamonds Are Sexy!

* The psalm referenced above:

Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me. Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free spirit. Psalm 51:10-12