Posted on by palmtreemomma

100% Absolute Surety

Growing up in an uber-conservative subculture of evangelical Americanism gave me the experience of needing to be 100% right. 100% sure. 100% of the time.

Sure…

…of God.

…of salvation.

… the afterlife.

…of what to do and not to do in this life.

There was no hint of mystery because 100% surety leaves no place for mystery. If something held mystery or did not make sense, it was whisked away or given answers that made even less sense. Instead of bringing relief, this way of living delivered a strange mix of anxiety. When you must know everything 100%, you must not stop. Never rest. Never be okay with anything less than 100% surety.

Instead of being filled with peace, I was filled with anxiety. I can’t tell you how many nights I laid awake as a young child, so worried that I may have forgotten to confess one of my many sins. The fear that I would perchance miss the sound of The Trumpet and be left behind to suffer through the Tribulation and eventually hell itself. I lay there terrified that the house would burn down in the night and I would burn with it.

Eventually, I came to a more solid place in my belief where I was sure I had been forgiven and my soul would not be sent to hellfire. Yet, I still had much anxiety. Even in the knowing. Even in the so-called peace.

room for mystery

If there is only one formula for eternal salvation, and missing one aspect, even slightly, could negate that eternal salvation, then how could one ever really be sure? Especially when so many voices proclaimed their formula the correct one.

100% surety leaves no place for mystery. Yet the reality of life, as I live and breathe and look around me is that that there is so much mystery. There is so very, very much that cannot be explained.

I suppose that is why eventually I dropped the priestly robes I had acquired and found myself stepping into the mystical, mysterious role of prophet. Questioner. A believer who is also a doubter.

I found I could no longer put the Divine into a box, wrapped in neat and tidy answers. Nor could I follow a god that would kill me if I made the slightest misstep. I suppose, without even fully knowing what I was doing, I went on a quest to find the god of love. To see if he/she/they existed.

I like what I have found, even though I cannot fully explain what I have found. I do know that I have more peace and less anxiety now that I have embraced mystery.

holding holes up to the light

It takes bravery to admit the holes in one’s faith. Pull out the questions that have been shoved into darkness and hold them up to the light. Knowing the whole thing could crumble. I mean, really, who likes to sit in the rubble, surrounded by dust, ashes, and little tangible substance? But it was only in the empty spaces, held up to the light, where I could experience light. Only in the mystery that I began to see beauty in the questions and unknowns. 100% surety leaves no place for mystery. But once I made mystery my friend instead of my enemy, everything changed.

A couple of years ago I had the honor of traveling to Bangladesh with some friends. I no longer moved as one who had the answers that everyone else needed. And in one profound moment, that I will never forget, this question came to live in me.


What if we all have a piece of the puzzle of who god is?

I had spent 2 weeks moving nonstop. Heart open, taking in as much as I could. From reconnecting with the gentle Hindu woman who used to clean my house, to the conservative Muslim driver who cared for me and shared his water when I became horribly ill. From the refugee camp of the most unwanted people on earth to the home of a dear friend who shared her recent journey of going on the Haj. We heard the songs of women who used to work in the red light district, saw the smiles of their babies. I shared endless cups of tea and plates of curry. Hindus, Christians, Buddhists, Muslims. All of us rubbing shoulders. Laughing. Crying. Living. Loving. Each person I met unveiled a piece of the Divine I had not seen before. Unseen because I had not been looking. Because I thought I had the entire piece already.

But what if we all have a tiny piece of the puzzle of who god is? What if we never get a glimpse of the beauty of the whole because we are all so sure that our piece is the only piece that gives peace. The only piece that is right.

Can’t say that I know for sure, but I have a hunch that embracing mystery and setting aside our need to be right is where the journey to the Divine begins.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Photo courtesy of Adrienne Gerber Photography.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Happily Ever After

I spent my childhood outdoors, as much as possible. Making imaginary homes under the pine trees or tucked into a hillside. When the heat became too much to bear, my friends and I would spend long afternoons inside. We would raid my mom’s lingerie stash and dress up. There was a long flowing white gown with a matching robe that was perfect for playing bride. I spent hours imagining what it would be like to get married. Like most girls, I couldn’t wait for some prince charming to sweep me off my feet and live happily ever after.

Austin certainly did sweep me off my feet but the happily ever after part is still working itself out. Don’t get me wrong. We have many moments of happiness. But a good marriage takes a lot of work.

Studies show that nearly 50% of all marriages end in divorce. For those in Mixed Orientation Marriages, (MOM) only an average of 20% stay together.

Austin came out to me just before our 12th anniversary. That was nearly 11 years ago and we are still together. Not because of cultural or religious obligations. But because we wanted to make it work. Despite the pain, confusion and all the unknowns, we wanted to grow old together.

I’ve been working on a list of ideas. Things that have helped us do more than just survive these past 11 years. And I can’t wait to share these thoughts with you.

But it would all be pointless if I didn’t start here.

With Honesty.

Without honesty, there can be no happily ever after.

Before we were married, Austin struggled to decide whether or not to come out to me. Many he went to for advice said the same thing. That it would be best not to tell me. That it would just make it harder for me.

So we married and I was in complete ignorance. I feel at times that the whole world knew he was queer before I did. My gaydar was nonexistent, thanks to my conservative religious upbringing. I was led to believe that it was impossible for queer people to be Christians. It didn’t enter my mind that anyone around me could possibly be queer.

before

The early years of marriage were quite good. We had lots of fun. Didn’t fight. Traveled the world. I felt seen and loved in ways I never had before. We had a couple of babies. Settled into life. For a while it felt like happily ever after.

But unbeknownst to me, Austin was Bi. That part didn’t go away when he got married, as he had hoped. If he brought it up to a friend or counselor, they still gave the same advise. To not tell me. So he kept it to himself, cordoning off a very real part of who he is. Stuffing it deeper into the closet.

So much energy was being spent on hiding that he didn’t have the energy to truly live. Or love.

Here’s the thing. No matter who you are, how adept you are at stuffing and hiding, it takes its toll. So much energy was being spent on hiding that he didn’t have the energy to truly live. Or love.

Eventually, I picked up that something was wrong. I just didn’t know what. Couldn’t put my finger on it. But I knew that whatever it was, we were in trouble.

after

I’m glad Austin finally decided to come out to me. To bring his whole self to our marriage. But I have to be honest. The weight of hidden truths and in-authenticity grows over time. The cost of honesty grows the longer it goes. It was crushing to realize that the man I thought I had married was not who I had been led to believe he was. Everything we had was built on an illusion. It was a blow to my self-esteem and it tested all of the painstaking work I had done to heal from my own painful past. And now we had 3 little boys to think about. There was no way to just hit the pause button and figure things out.

If you’ve read my blog from the beginning, you will know that we found our way. Bit by bit. But it was difficult. Many straight spouses decide not to stay and I get that.

It’s not easy to realize the person you love the most has been hiding something from you.

I know that Austin had his reasons. But this is not a post about him. This is a post about how those reasons ended up hurting me. How his decision devastated me.

If you are in the closet, wondering whether or not to come out to the person you love, this post is also for you. If you love someone, that person deserves your honesty. They deserve to see the whole you. And you deserve to be able to show them the whole you. It’s true that they could leave you, scattering pieces of your broken heart in the mud. Yet, wouldn’t you rather be seen and loved for who you really are than them loving a fake version of yourself that you have to work so hard to keep up with? If it is meant to be, you will both find your way through and will have a love story of the century.

You must learn to love your whole self before you can truly love others. There is no happily ever after without honesty. Without stepping into wholeness and authenticity. You deserve it. The person you love deserves it too.

to the gatekeepers

My final thoughts are for the larger community, especially religious communities. The shame that keeps people in the closet starts with you. I hate to break it to you, but you are the gatekeepers that lead to much pain. Sometimes broken marriages. Or depression. Sometimes even suicide. There are more mixed-orientation marriages among you than you will ever know. So much unnecessary pain. Hiding. Betrayal.

Imagine, instead, being gatekeepers of authenticity. Honesty. Thriving. Imagine creating a community where no one has to hide a part of themselves in order to be accepted. The love and life that would flow from a place like that just might be enough to heal the broken world.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

What the Church Prepared Me For

Growing up in the church, in the 80s and 90s, there was zero visible representation from the *queer community. At least not in any of the half dozen churches I called home during those years. That, combined with the shudders and grimaces that would accompany any discussion of the gay community, I always assumed they were way out there somewhere. In fact, I subconsciously believed that it was impossible for a queer person to be a Christian.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up to the fact that my husband is bi…and my brother is gay.

*not all members of the LGBTQ community identify as “queer” but I use it here because Austin self identifies as queer. It was originally used as a derogatory epithet, so it’s usage should never be assumed.

an impossible reality

The impossible had just become a very real reality.

And it shook me. To the core. The startling reality I suddenly found myself in caused me to question everything. On the one hand, I was dealing with the very real issues of my self-worth and my personal journey through profound brokenness towards wholeness. On the other, there was a crisis of faith that simmered slowly on the back burner. I had to relegate that one to the back burner because suddenly discovering I wasn’t married to a straight person took a lot of energy to process. Many of my early posts share a glimpse into that portion of the journey.

So on the back burner, this pot simmered and brewed. Like the foam that rises to the top of a pot of lentils, the untruths slowly rose to the top where they could be seen and scooped away. Washed down the drain.

the church didn’t prepare me to love

What I found after years of brewing and scooping, of stirring and waiting, was that the church has done a pretty pitiful job of actually loving others. In fact, I will dare to say that the church is pretty good at creating “others”, fine-tuning the art of other-izing. The church didn’t prepare me to love, it prepared me to judge. Us vs. them. It legalized pride, barriers, and condescension. What breaks my heart the most is that it caused people to hide God-given parts of themselves in shame and try to be someone they are not.

It strikes me as odd that the very institution designed to represent the one who died because he loved those on the margins, is often responsible for creating those margins.

Think about it.

The ones who followed all the religious laws perfectly couldn’t stand the teacher from the backwoods town who constantly broke the religious laws.

This teacher seemed to relish sitting in the margins the religious leaders had created.

He became “other” himself rather than other-ize.

The folks on the margins, the ones who weren’t welcomed into the religious establishment, they felt comfortable hanging out with him. Margins disappeared and everyone shared in the experience of being uniquely human.

Beautiful.

Loved.

Worthy.

Us.

Imagine the hope for the world if we could see all of humanity as us.

Just us.

The church didn’t prepare me to love, but Jesus did. As my previously held beliefs collided with my reality, a new way of seeing things was born. As the world slowly softened around the edges once again, I discovered some beautiful things.

Man-made things like borders and margins, they can go away. They are self-protective mechanisms. Only love is ancient and inclusive.

And yes, there are queer Christians. Many of them. I am incredibly blessed to know a few of them. They have shown me a space that is lovely and inclusive.

And yet I also know there are many more who are still in the closet. Hiding. Dying a bit on the inside. Wishing it would be safe to come out. Longing to live authentically. They are your sons and daughters. Brothers and sisters. Your neighbors. Choir directors. Sunday School Teachers. They are us.

The pandemic has given us the gift of pausing our crazy schedules and the mad rush about life. While we long for life to return to normal, maybe there are some “normals” that should never be returned to. Maybe it’s time to replace the need to be right and “holy” with the more urgent need to love.

Maybe we could be a little more like the One we say we follow. The one who didn’t think twice about breaking ancient religious law but was passionate about welcoming everyone to the table.

Everyone.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Saving Twigs While the Forest Burns

Life is sacred and life is life.

Regardless of gender, age, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status, education, race, species. Life is life. A woman’s womb weeps tears of blood every month new life is not cradled within. The sight of a wee babe makes our hearts go soft inside. Breathing slows down and anxiety lowers when I step outside and wander the backyard, caressed by the breeze, hands plucking ripe tomatoes, toes kissing blades of green grass. I soak in life and I am reborn.

Life is sacred and life is life. And I am very much for life. I guess, to be politically correct, you could say I am pro-life. But because I am pro-life, I pause at election time and do not vote based on the abortion issue. Being pro-life has widened the scope of my lens instead of narrowing it down to one thing.

Does that shock you? Give you pause and make you want to throw out my words like dirty dishwater? Hear me out first.

The possibility of duality

Being pro-life and pro-choice are not mutually exclusive. The Patriarchy has groomed us to see things in black and white. Right or wrong. Only one way. But femininity has taught me the possibility of duality. It has given me the right to question, to use my own brain and come up with endless possibilities instead of only one way.

I am pro-life. But I do not believe it is right for me to make that choice for another human. That is why I am also pro-choice. It is not my right to make moral decisions for another woman. It’s like expending my efforts to protect the little twigs in the forest from being burned when the entire forest is burning to the ground.

The dominant voices in the American evangelical church have told us that the most important issue to consider when voting is the abortion issue. In reality, this is a guise to distract us from the bigger picture. Are the little twigs necessary in the forest? Do they contain life? Yes and of course! But it does little good to protect them when the entire forest is burning to the ground!

Saving the twigs by saving the forest

It’s time to wake up to reality. We must throw our effort into protecting the whole of the forest. The time is here to come together and look at the bigger picture. Because it will take all of us to save the forest and, in doing so, we can create a place where all the little twigs can thrive.

I am pro-life and that is why I look at the bigger picture of what each candidate and their party stands for. I watch the way they treat the audience during debates. The way they treat minorities. Women. The differently-abled. I look at how the policies they propose will affect children. Single moms. Immigrants. I listen to friends of other races and orientations. When they tell me their lives are in danger because of policies with this administration, I take that seriously. Their lives matter to me. Life is sacred and life is life.

I try to imagine how the policies they make will affect women and children around the globe. I count the cost of future wars and hold the Iraqi and Afghani mothers in my hearts and hold their children with mine – because life is life. My children’s future is not more important than theirs. I think of soldiers blown to bits on foreign soil while their comrades return to us with PTSD, I see them and weep. Their life also has value to me.

Pro-life or pro-comfort?

Pro-life does not build walls and close humans in cages. Look not for the words you want to hear. Rather, look at the life your candidate leads. This is how you determine whether or not they actually stand for life or not. Words on paper, a signature captured to change a law, that is no victory for life. It is only a ploy to get your vote and to enable a life of comfort for a select few.

Look for the walls broken down. The cages open. Wars ended. Peaceful solutions found. Look for compassion, justice, and equality. See if there is regard for the earth itself. Will it be cared for or exploited?

The forest is burning. There are those who are pouring gas on the flames and telling us to only see and save the twigs. But I gather with my bucket of water. Pour out what I have and run for more.

If you burn the forest down, you will have to burn me with it. I stand with life. Black, brown, white. Gay, Straight, Bi, Trans. She, He, They. Immigrant, indigenous, and all who tremble with fear for their lives. They are human first. I see their faces and I stand with them. And we plant our feet on Mother Earth and she shares her water with us and we fill our buckets. There is room for you here too.

Because life is sacred. And life is life.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Leaving a God of Violence

This page, where I struggle to birth my thoughts into words and craft my journey as the wife of a bi guy into a narrative you will understand, has become a precious and healing space for me. In an effort to bring hope to others, I try to be open and transparent. In a culture that is all about image and perfect presentation, this is not easy. Sometimes it’s difficult to be honest. I am often misunderstood and judged. As a couple, we have been the brunt of much gossip. It’s hurtful and I’ll write more about that another day. Suffice it to say that even if my story is misunderstood and misconstrued, I know it will also be heard by someone who desperately needs to hear it.

So, today I am going to be upfront about something else. I went to church today. It’s been a minute since I entered the doors of a church. And, while I’m not ready to change that, I did go today because I wanted to hear Austin speak. It was beautiful, authentic and real. And while that is not the point of the narrative today, it made me realize that it’s probably time to stop hiding this part of my life from you.

Because I know I’m not the only one.

Why I stopped going to church

There are a number of reasons I stopped going to church. Since Austin has come out, I have realized just how many churches are not welcoming to the queer community. I have a hard time being comfortable in places where minorities are uncomfortable or marginalized. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. And yes, I know there are some churches that are welcoming to all people. Yet that is only a part of the larger picture that I am struggling with.

Let me be clear, this is not about any, one particular church. It is about the big C as a whole. To be honest, it has a lot to do with the 81% of white evangelicals who voted for and elected a president who is the antithesis of what I believe a good leader should be. I’ve been looking around in disbelief for the past several years, unable to reconcile what I am seeing and hearing with the values drilled into me since birth. To love God with all I have and then to love those around me with the same depth of love I have for myself.

A god of violence

What I see instead is a culture that has fallen at the feet of a god of violence. A culture that places the safety and value of one set of people far above the rest. A place where white unborn babies must be preserved at all cost, yet black and brown babies who die motherless in cages somehow have gotten what they deserved. A culture that treats the “other” as disposable. An economy of enormous privilege and wealth grown on the backs of slavery, yet we cannot acknowledge the depth of the racism that systemically holds back entire groups of people.

We have become a collective mob, wanting to build a virtual (and physical) wall to keep out anyone who is different. Preservation of self and safety has been made into a holy thing. Here white men are excused again and again for terrible acts of violence against women. Justification is almost always given for those who take the lives of black people. The list could go on and on.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a Trump hater. I’m actually grateful for him because he exposed an ugly truth about the culture I am a part of. He is a problem but more importantly, he is a symptom of a sick culture. I’m angry with those whose preservation of their own safety and security is their #1 commandment. Who justify violence when it protects their interests. And while you may try to tell me that this is just human nature, I have a history running through my bones that tells a different story.

Descendant of Refugees

Centuries ago, my ancestors were literally on the run for their lives. Persecuted for their religious beliefs, which went against mainstream Christianity of the day, they were hunted down for refusing to be a part of a church that fell at the feet of a God of violence. I can hear their steps echoing in the mountain passes of the Swiss alps as they fled north to the French Alps. My bones can feel the chill, passed down 9 generations. A chill that has turned into a resolve that peace is never borne from violence. Eventually, a few of my ancestors became refugees, emigrating to these United States.

So, yes, I am the descendant of refugees, of immigrants, of a people so committed to a life of non-violence that they left everything behind to start again. Yet I look around and I see entire communities of other descendants who are now justifying violence (unless it is against white unborn babies). I feel a terror in my bones, a howl of utter grief in my soul and I cannot be silent. Nor can I adhere to a gospel of violence. Of racism. Of exclusion.
It was either throw out the baby and the bathwater or open my eyes and see that the bathwater was toxic and was trying to turn the baby into something it was not.

Replacing the god of violence

I personally think people have both misunderstood and misinterpreted from the beginning. While I still have more questions than answers, I came to the point where I could no longer believe in a god of violence. And, because I still believe there is a God, I came to the conclusion that the fault lay in humans, not God.

And so I have stepped away and filled up my Sunday mornings with quiet. I have given my soul permission to breathe in, savor and settle into my truth. And it has been utterly beautiful and freeing. Not going to church has given me space to find and worship the Divine.

This is where I am at. It may not make sense to you. It may even offend you. But this is my journey and I must follow it. Just as I must break the silence and honor the grief that howls in my soul.

I leave you with a bit of poetry that sums it up.

Finding the Divine

I find the Divine in the quiet of my room.
Mystical truth on the pages of a book.
Intoxicating beauty in the bird’s song.
In snowflakes melting like butter on my cheeks.
I find her swirling in the waterfall and
Singing in the wind.
An ancient song still recognizable.
I see them in the eyes of the queer
Who blesses me, offering holy communion.
I feel him in the hands of a child,
Calling me to wonder and curiosity.
Divine grace falls on me like a winter shawl
As I take in the hospitality of friends who are other.
Her glorious strength is found in the circle of women
Who grace me with their stories.
And I am in awe.


The ocean breathing in and out as
Waves crash and then caress the sand.
Divine splashes everywhere.
Mountain strands that loom and ripple
Breathing glory that calls to mind
An ancient story. Never-ending. Grace and glory.
But, when I enter your big fancy churches
I cannot hear the ancient story anymore.
Because all I see is you.
And your quest for safety and security
Trumps the call to care for the earth itself.
Until the earth burns and its bodies cry,
Turned back from our borders and
Treated as if it were their fault they were born
Where they were born.
While the god of violence watches from his throne.


The Divine whisper is lost in here.
Stilled. Ignored. Silenced. Gone.
Because the Divine does not want to be safe.
Or rich. Or famous.
It lives in the tents of the refugees
And over the hills
Where they run for their lives.
It holds the babies left alone in cages and there it rages.
Divine grief rolls down the cheeks
Of those who are other.
It welcomes all who are outside.
Alone in the cold.
It huddles on the other side of the world
In all the places our missiles are pointing at.
Among the broken and the cast-out.
The Divine is there and you never noticed.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.


Posted on by palmtreemomma

Listen to the Suffering

Because my husband chose to marry me, a woman, he can easily pass as straight. And he did, for many years. We settled into our life together, raised our kids and grew our business. Whenever I would bring up the issue of his orientation, he would sort of shrug it off. He was okay with his life. We both worked on our stuff and made great strides toward wholeness. The depression from earlier years diminished and life was almost good. As good as it can be when you are starting a business and raising 3 wild boys in a small house with very little money. But we made it though every crisis that threatened our existence and it felt as if maybe life was almost normal. Whatever that means.

Then, out of the blue, we hit a rough patch. Tired of hiding, Austin started coming out of the closet to more of his close friends. He was always very candid with me about these conversations. While I was grateful to know, I was also puzzled because I sensed depression growing in him again. Something had changed and I couldn’t put my finger on it.

The Painful Truth

The more we talked, the more I began to realize that he hadn’t been as happy all these years as he had led me to believe. Though he said he was fine, things were not always fine.

Once again, I felt the rug being yanked out from beneath me. This time, though, I wasn’t just shocked and scared, I was angry. I had believed him when he said he was doing okay. I trusted and thought we were in a good place. But obviously we were not in a good place if he was feeling miserable.

While my brain knew it was not about me, it still was another blow to my self esteem. The healthy part of my self knows it’s not my job to make him happy and I can’t change his orientation. It just is. But I also feel terrible if my partner is unhappy. It’s pretty hard to be a feeling person and not take it at least a little bit personally.

I was sure this time that we were headed for a divorce. As a big-picture-carry-the-world-on-my-shoulders kind of person, I turned every scenario over in my mind. Who would raise the kids? Who would stay in the house? Would we sell the business? What would I do for a job? On and on my brain churned and my broken heart reshaped itself into tears dripping down my cheeks.

It’s pretty damn hard to see suffering in another and not be able to do a single thing to ease that suffering and bring happiness.

I was still angry too, that he let me think he was happy when he wasn’t.

It’s a weird place to be in – broken because you see the suffering of another and can do nothing but suffer with them. Yet to be so angry you kind of just want to walk out the front door and never look back.

Tired of Hiding

Sometimes the greatest gift we can give ourselves is to lean in and really listen to our suffering. Something began to emerge and slowly make sense as we did this.

Sometimes the greatest gift we can give ourselves is to lean in and really listen to our suffering.

Austin was tired of hiding who he was. He had long reached the place of no longer fighting against who he was or trying to change his orientation. He had accepted his bisexual identity but was still passing as straight. And he was not alone. 26% of bisexual adults are not out to anyone important in their lives, while 54% are out only to a few people.

It takes a heck of a lot of energy to pass as something you are not. There is a longing deep within us that wants others to see us and love us for who we really are. We all get tired of hiding and want to leave our masks and molds at the door and bring our true selves to the table. The dream of finding a place we can both be real and celebrated is in all of us.

Any time we must keep our true self hidden in order to fit in or please the powers that be, we are saying yes to a toxic system.

Any time we must keep our true self hidden in order to fit in or please the powers that be, we are saying yes to a toxic system. One can only survive toxicity for so long before dying from the poison. Rather than die from the inside out, Austin was slowly bringing his whole self to the table.

Receiving the Gift

When someone takes off their mask and shows you their true self, they are offering you a priceless gift.

When I was a child, I loved to give gifts. There was one person I remember, that I could never seem to give a good enough gift to. No matter what I gave or how hard I tried, it was never a cherished gift. It stung my little heart but it also taught me a most valuable lesson. I learned to cherish the gifts I am given and to celebrate the heart that is offering the gift.

Are you able to cherish the gift of authenticity when it is given to you? Or does your religion cause you to argue and debate? Can you accept what you hear without trying to change the gift in some way? Are you able to celebrate the heart that is offering the gift even if it makes you uncomfortable?

I’ve kind of gotten a front row seat at seeing how people respond. Sometimes its beautiful – like the friend and mentor who got up from her seat and wrapped Austin in an embrace after hearing his story.

It can get ugly when people just want to prove how right they are or start hurtful rumors behind our backs.

Sometimes it is awkward when people don’t know what to say.

Sometime there’s a quiet “Me too” whispered back.

The gift of authenticity

So while you may wonder what happened next with us, I want you to sit here in this for a minute. I want you to think about how you receive the gift of authenticity. It’s a dying treasure, swallowed up by a toxic culture. But people around you are tired of hiding and long to be safe enough to show you who they are.

Sadly, some of you will never know the authenticity of those nearest you. There are doors that will always be closed because you have already shown that you are not a safe person.

We need to be safe receptacles for authenticity. We must create safe spaces where people no longer need to hide. If your religion has some folks preferring to hide than be real, maybe you should rethink your religion. If your God can’t love authenticity, maybe you are the one who doesn’t really know your God. When you must argue and convince the other that you are right, you show your own toxicity, along with a fear of authenticity.

It doesn’t need to be this way. There are many who are oh so tired of hiding. We can foster authenticity by living it ourselves and we can dismantle toxicity by being safe people.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Human First

Everyone loves a good story, one filled with hope and redemption. All I need to do is follow the trail of likes, comments and extra visitors on my blog. I can see exactly what people like and want to hear.

Most of us are drawn to what makes us feel comfortable. Our whole lives we’ve been steeped in the lie that tells us life is supposed to feel good. That every story can and should have a happy ending and that bad things aren’t supposed to happen.

The truth is more nuanced and difficult to pin down. My life is much too busy and complicated to figure out what it is supposed to be. All I know is what is. Life is messy, disappointing, surprising, exhilarating, depressing, good, bad, beautiful, ugly all at the same time. It just is.

Many of you shared your love for last week’s post about the business we built out of the ashes of our marriage. Realize however that not everyone has this same story. There are many couples in MOMs who are exhausting themselves with questions and tears. They struggle to figure out whether or not they can and should try to remain in their marriages. Even for us, I still have days when I have doubts. It’s not easy.

Life is Messy

I’ve felt despair shake my body while tears squeezed their way from my heart onto my cheeks, feeling things too deep for words. There are other strains and stresses in my life that I have not shared with you. Years spent living so poor we were an inch from life on the streets. All this in the middle of the earthquake that defined our marriage. Life is messy and sometimes the pain is unbearable.

Perhaps the reason we gravitate toward stories of hope and redemption is because we want to believe that it will be okay in the end, for us. We long for the reassurance that the mud and muck we are wading through will be worth it. We listen to these stories and we share them with others because we want them to experience that same hope. This is not a bad sentiment, but the true test of friendship is when I choose to be present in the midst of the unending crisis. This kind of a friend stays present throughout the course of a disasters or a break-up. Staying for closet door openings and truth telling moments, whether we agree or not. It is not looking for an escape route as soon as the ending is not looking so rosy. True friendship sticks around when life is messy.

It has become clear to me this year that many Christians have a difficult time with this type of love. Loving someone different from themselves seems like too much work and self protection is given a higher priority. All I need to do is to talk about Pride events, the border wall or immigrants and the barriers begin to go up. This is all pretty ironic when you study ancient texts and read the words spoken by their prophet that they will be known (as Christians) because of the love they have for each other.

Perhaps it wasn’t always this way. I hope not. But I’ve noticed a trend in the American church that has been painful.

some things i notice

These Christians feel the need to let us know they love us but they disagree. It’s a weird urge that doesn’t let them commence being friends until they have explained their beliefs. It is as if the only way for them to keep themselves clean is by putting this clarifying distance between us.

This type of Christian loves us but wants to influence us to change in some way. They offer their wisdom or the wisdom of another person who has chosen to live out their queerness in a different way. Perhaps they assume that we have never thought of those things ourselves and wrestled with those same questions.

These folks say their faith is for all people. Much of our experience proves otherwise. They like to surround themselves with those who look like them, speak their language and comply with their unspoken club rules.

Sometimes they are just socially awkward, preferring silence or small talk. They let their discomfort lead them. Instead of leading by doing the work to love all, they prefer to hold on to judgement, especially when life gets messy.

Another way

In February, I had the privilege of returning to Bangladesh. It had been nearly 9 years since I last pressed the soles of my sandals onto the land I had once called home. For 2 weeks I wrapped myself in her embrace. As I listened to her heartbeat, I remembered what my Muslim friends taught me. While the weeks were full of experiences that illustrate my point, the one that shows it best was the day I was so sick the earth felt like it was going to swallow me up.

excerpt from the Kahiniwalla blog –

Misery violently took over my night, pushed sleep aside and sent me rushing to the bathroom. The initial relief was short lived. I soon found myself fumbling in the darkness, desperate for the antibiotics the Traveler’s Clinic had sent with me. I gulped down the first giant tablet, determined to be ready for travel by morning.

Yet, morning still found me pasted to my bed, stomach swirling in unreasonable circles. Eyes squinted tightly shut to block out the light and hands grasping a plastic bag just in case. As we left the city behind and headed towards Dhaka, I laid back in my seat and willed myself to survive the journey.

It was awful, I’m not gonna lie. Our driver, Ramjan, who had been nothing but a gentleman since we left Dhaka, was now doing his best to maneuver his way home. It wasn’t long before I found myself squatting on the side of the road, upheaving the remains of my stomach. Ramjan hovered beside me, full of concern, telling my friend to hold my hand and pull my hair back. He even took a long look at my vomit to try to figure out what I had eaten that was causing my insides to have such a mutiny.

When I was finished, he motioned for me to hold out my hands so he could pour water into them. He showed me how to rinse out my mouth and wash my face. As I squatted in the dirt by the side of the road and cupped my hands to accept his gift of water, I felt the Divine tapping me on the shoulder and I knew I was taking in a holy sacrament. I saw my Creator mirrored so beautifully in the face of our Muslim driver who shared his water with this tired and sick American woman. Something inside came unglued and it’s a wonder I made it back into the van instead of catapulting down the embankment.

Human First

The water shared by our conservative Muslim driver was still wet on my face when I remembered what my Muslim friends had been teaching me all along – to see others as human first. Not once did they share their beliefs before deciding whether or not to be a friend. Though the ancient text they follow may tell them that I am an infidel, they showed me a depth of love and acceptance I rarely see people of my own background and faith giving to those who are, in some way, different.

I cannot count the times I have been shown love and grace by people whose beliefs were quite different from my own. I was a stranger, and they loved me. Though I was different, they accepted me. I was a foreigner and they welcomed me, giving me a seat at the table and the best of their food. Though I was an infidel they took care of me as if I were their own. I held their babies and they held mine. They saw me as human first and they treasured my humanity.

Life is messy and complicated but it becomes beautiful when we see each other as human first. We have so much to learn from those unlike ourselves!


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Photo courtesy of Adrienne Gerber Photography.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Embracing Authenticity

Image depicting at a Pride event, holding the lgbtq+ rainbow flag and the trans flag.

We were in God’s womb before we were in our mother’s.

Crafted by unique design, out of a universe of possibilities, we were first birthed in a magical place. Our DNA, physical features, orientation, likes and dislikes, the things that make us fierce and the things that tender us, were all brought together in the kiss of the Divine. Not a mistake nor an accident. While flaming stars danced across the night sky, our pronouns were whispered over us and our authentic self was called into being.

And then we born, and the world gave us its definition of who we are and how to live. Family customs, religious traditions, cultural norms, and expectations showed us the proper way to be. Most of us were taught to be normal instead of authentic and most of us have, sadly, been okay with this. We have forgotten our authentic self.

Naming is sacred

In my last post, I talked about naming and how helpful it was when my husband finally had the language to identify as bisexual. After decades of feeling like a misfit who did not belong anywhere, this gave him a sense of solidity and belongingness. His naming helped me to understand him better as well. We both benefited immensely when he began to embrace and live out of his authentic self.

While I have spent hours unpacking what bisexual means, I think it is important to note that this naming is so important for all queer people. Not only is naming personal, it is sacred.

Each person in the LGBTQ+ community has a name that describes their authentic self in terms of orientation or gender. Lesbian. Gay. Bisexual. Transgender. Queer. Asexual. Gender fluid. Pansexual, The list goes on. For a comprehensive list of names and definitions, click here. Those who are out of the closet have chosen a name that serves to give meaning and shape to the mystery of who they are. These terms are far from being restrictive, rather they give us the language to begin to understand our queer brothers and sisters.

Name Changing

Some have changed their given name as well. Those who identify as gender fluid, for instance, may have changed their name to something that is gender neutral. Transgender people often change their name as well. This is a sacred journey because they have heard whispers of authenticity and are now speaking aloud their authentic self. Rather than hiding behind a curtain of anonymity or pretending to be like everyone else, they are bravely remembering and revealing their authentic self.

I have friends who are parents of transgender children. I’ll be honest – I still sometimes catch myself calling them by their birth name and often the wrong pronoun slips off my tongue. I practice their new names in my head sometimes and there is something sacred about it. It’s bold and beautiful and such a lovely window into their soul, this new called-name that they have chosen. It shows me their strength and uniqueness and something of the fire in their soul.

When the soul remembers its authentic self and bravely shares that with the world, time pauses and the Divine holds its breath before breaking into applause.

My favorite TED Talk of all time was delivered by a transgender woman named Paula. Having spent time as both a man and a woman, she has a unique perspective on what it is like to be a woman. It is brilliant and moving and so good that I made my 3 boys sit down and watch it with me. I think every male in the country needs to watch it. When she gets to the part about her father calling her by her new name for the first time, I cry. Every time.

Paula.

Naming is sacred. When the soul remembers its authentic self and bravely shares that with the world, time pauses and the Divine holds its breath before breaking into applause.

Changing the narrative

Who are we to try and hush the voices bravely telling us who they are? As straight cisgender people, we have no idea what we are talking about when we downplay this need they have for naming their identity.

Whenever the majority decides the narrative for the minority, discrimination and injustice ensue.

The truth of the matter is – as cisgender heterosexuals, the world revolves around our identity so firmly that we never need to call it forth. It’s just there, built into the founding walls and documents of our country. Be it tax forms or restroom doors, we don’t have to even think about it. Straight cisgender is such a normal identity that we forget it’s there.

Whenever the majority decides the narrative for the minority, discrimination and injustice ensue.

It’s time to listen. We could learn so much from those whose voices we have shushed. Those who have heard and honored the call to authenticity are extraordinarily brave. In a world where too many of us are faking some kind of normal, the queer are blazing a trail.

Authenticity is the new beautiful.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

An Equal Place

In my last post I shared how the church we attended went through a formal discerning period to decide whether or not we would be welcoming. Today I would like to lean into the idea further and talk about what it means to be affirming.

In spaces that are affirming, everyone is welcomed and celebrated, not just tolerated. There is an equal place at the table for everyone and equal opportunities to serve and be served. It looks a lot like equality and is the antithesis of discrimination.

Closer than you think

An estimated 4.5% of the population of the United States identify themselves as being LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender). If you add those who identify as Intersex , Asexual, or Non-binary, the numbers would be even higher.

This number does not necessarily decrease in churches. Statistically speaking, if you are sitting with 200 people on any given Sunday morning, there are at least 9 people around you who identify as queer. If your church is not a safe place for them, they are in the closet or cage, as some have called it.

These are your brothers, your sisters, your children. Your aunts and uncles, even grandparents. They are your people and they are nearer to you than you think. Imagine sitting up to Grandma’s table over the holidays with your extended family, tables overflowing. You look and see everyone welcome but not everyone is given a plate of food. Not everyone is given a place to serve. Some watch, hungry, so hungry. You say they are welcome, you say they are loved. But still they are hungry. Alone. Confused. You might as well not have welcomed them when the welcome is conditional.

What if we have it wrong?

Once you have lived this reality instead of talked about this issue, this looks a whole lot different. From where I am standing, the things we expect of our queer brothers and sisters are heartless. God is not heartless and does not discriminate. When I read the ancient texts, I see a Divine heart that calls everyone to the table.

What if there were another way we could look at this? Studies have repeatedly shown that sexual orientation is not a choice. I cannot imagine a loving God creating 4.5% of the population with orientations that he actually hates. Does this not niggle inside of you, jostling long held ideas, passed down generation after generation? What if we are the ones who have interpreted it all wrong?

To discriminate against a creature that is loved by the Divine is an unspeakable loss that leaves the rest of creation keening and reeling in chaos.

Imagine that we get to the end of our life and discover that God truly does hate 4.5% of the US because of their sexual orientation, this part of them that they did not choose. If God hates them but we were loving and affirming, they will have lived their life with a place at the table, treated with equality, and died knowing they were loved. It doesn’t affect me at that point (other then regretting that I had followed a God who hates). But what if God loves them enough to give them an equal place at the table and I was the one who shut them out? Then I am the one who has lost the most.

To discriminate against a creature that is loved by the Divine is an unspeakable loss that leaves the rest of creation keening and reeling in chaos.

An Equal Place at the table

One Sunday morning I was served communion by a transgender woman. As I took my bread to dip in the cup, I looked into her blue eyes as clear as glass and saw a soul that had found rest. Her blessing washed over me and I felt knots in my soul loosening and long held biases slipping away. It was the holiest of communions for me. We stood as equals, yet she was light years ahead of me in terms of bravery and authenticity. I humbly received the symbol of life from one who had died a thousand deaths and bravely chosen life.

Creating an equal place at the table creates beautiful space for light to shine through. We may even lose a place of prominence but we will be enriched by the presence of some of the world’s kindest and most decent souls. I should know; I’m married to one. Those who have died a thousand deaths and bravely continue to choose life are the very ones we need to model bravery and kindness in a time of so much division and hate.

Voices of others

I’d like to give space for the voices of others who speak so well on this topic. Here are links to a few –

Patrick Gothman tells a similar story here of being at a family table, welcomed but not equal. His story illustrates what it feels like to be gay in a non-affirming church.

Kimberly Knight shares that the difference between welcoming and affirming is equality.

Beckett Hanan tells what non-affirming actually means.

Sarah Bessey shares her journey of becoming affirming in Penny in the Air.

In his book Does Jesus Really Love Me? , Jeff Chu talks about the year he spent traveling across the US. He met with gay Christians across the country and shares story after story of churches and gay people that are all over the spectrum. Some with very closed doors, some welcoming, and some affirming.

If you are interested in finding a church that offers an equal place at the table, Church Clarity helps to score churches on issues of both LGBTQ policy and women in leadership.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Photo courtesy of Adrienne Gerber Photography.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Welcoming or Not

About a year after Austin came out to me, I realized I was no longer crying every day. I still cried a lot, it just wasn’t every single day. I wrestled with not only my self esteem and fears, but also what this meant to my faith. As mentioned in a previous post, I realized I had to look through a different lens. We attended a small Mennonite church in our city. I knew of a handful of queer people that had come and gone over the years. When the elders announced that they were going to start a formal process for the members to discuss whether or not we would be a welcoming church for all people, I was thrilled.

The church should be the safest place for Queer people.

Here is the thing – even when I wasn’t sure what I believed any more, when I had only questions and no answers, there was one belief I was certain of. The church should be the safest place for Queer people. Or, depending on your faith background, the Synagogue, the Temple or the Mosque.

Engaging in Conversations

Many churches either do not talk about this, or the leadership decides whether or not to be welcoming. I have a lot of respect for our pastor and elders at the time. They were willing to engage all of us in conversations on the matter of welcoming.

The formal process that First Mennonite Church of Canton used was quite extensive and lasted for a year. Four different pastors from other congregations were brought in throughout the year, to share their views on the topic. All four pastors studied the same ancient Scriptures, but came out at four different places in regards to faith and accepting members of the LGBTQ+ community. It was fascinating, to say the least. I found my mind expanding and was grateful that the black and white lens of my childhood was not the only lens there was.

Only after learning about the various views did the congregation begin its formal discussion on the matter. One particularly unique part of this process was when all the adult members gathered together to share how the story of their life had been affected by the LGBTQ+ community and how this impacted their views. For most of us, it was a highly emotional evening. Some had siblings or children who were queer. Some had people they loved who had left the church and their faith all together because they were not welcomed. Austin was honest about his own story and came out of the closet to this small group of our faith community. I shared how his coming out had impacted me. It was a night of truth telling and utter vulnerability.

The congregation continued to meet to discuss where to go from here. To welcome or not to welcome. In the end, we decided to agree to disagree as we were more divided than we thought.

It broke my heart. Even though I still wasn’t sure how I felt about the entire issue, I held firmly to my belief. The church should be the safest place for Queer people.

When the Church rejects you

When the Church rejects you, it sure as heck feels like God has rejected you. Too many people have walked away from God when the Church closed its doors to them. This is a big problem and it is not reflective of God, but of us.

If our beliefs are driving people away from the Creator who loves them, then it is time to rethink our beliefs.

This is not the God I know. When Jesus was on earth, the only group of people he ever got angry with, ever had words of judgement for, were the religious elite. He sat outside with those who could not darken the Temple’s door, despite the fact that the religious laws, supposedly handed down by God, forbade him to do so.

Think about it for a minute.

Jesus broke religious laws to show God’s love to the those who were forbidden a place at the table. He was furious only with those who kept all the religious laws but had forgotten how to love.

Why do we think it should be any different today? For too long, we have held judgement up as the greatest commandment when the only commandment there really is, is to love. And love never, ever drives anyone away from God. If our beliefs drive people away from the Creator who loves them, it is time to rethink our beliefs. Perhaps there is another way to interpret things.

The church should be the safest place for Queer people. It should be a safe place to be honest, to wrestle with questions. It must become a place that is welcoming and affirming for all if we truly want to model what love looks like.

Every Sunday morning, thousands gather together across our nation to worship. Pews are filled with people who do not agree on many other things. We may be on opposite sides politically. Many cheer for opposite sports teams. We have strong opposing views on many things, yet we are able to lay these aside as we worship together. Humans, side by side. Why is this there where so many churches draw the line? Why is another person’s sexual orientation so important to us that we feel justified to shut them out when the One we say we follow never said a word on the matter. He did, however, say this:

The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

Jesus in Matthew 25:40

To deny the Queer a place at the table is to deny Christ. Welcoming the Queer at the table is welcoming Christ at the table. To affirm the Queer among us is to affirm Christ at the table.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Photo courtesy of Adrienne Gerber Photography.