My Soapbox

There are people I know and dearly love who hold a literalist view of the Bible. I do not. I am a Red-Letter Christian. I think most of Christianity is too hung up on Paul's words and not enough on Christ's words. Paul does not hold the keys to the kingdom, Christ does. Paul had beef with everyone, except himself, of course. Christ accepted, loved and protected those who needed and wanted it. Christ holds salvation, Paul does not. You would think that would be the end to the argument, but it is not.

You see, there's this great movement to move back to the faith of our founding fathers. Which, let's be honest, they were not looking to start a theocracy. They were escaping religious persecution, they certainly did not want to form a nation intended to persecute religions. That's why our founding fathers ratified the First Amendment so the federal government wouldn't establish any religion. Wait, a minute... That means... No...! The founding fathers wanted this great nation to remain *gasp* secular? Yes. They had seen what happened when religion became involved in government (the persecution held by the Church of England against the Puritans and the persecution by the Puritans during the witch trials in Salem as just two examples). They wanted a religion-free government, despite the majority of our founding fathers being practicing Christians. The United States has never been a Christian nation; that's rhetoric. It was meant to be a nation without any religious affiliation, founded by Christians, but not ruled by Christian doctrine.

Now, suppose a person came forward and began saying overweight people shouldn't marry because their children would be overweight and never get proper parenting. The parents would never take the kids to the park, or sign them up for sports, or be able to wrap their pudgy arms around their children to give them proper hugs. Or worse! The couple might not have access to their genitalia and even be able to have children... And let them adopt?? They can't properly nourish themselves, how would they be able to give their children proper nutrition? And gluttony! Gluttony is a sin unto death!

Suddenly this fringe group spreads this message and mainstream America begins to pick it up. Over night there is outrage toward overweight people because they are living a life of sin! The Bible says gluttony is a sin, therefore these people ought not be married to contaminate their children into thinking that gluttony is ok!! Yeah!! Gluttons aren't deserving of the same rights as the rest of us, so let's strip them of their right to marry whoever they want! Those nasty sinners! (I mean, how do overweight people even HAVE sex??)

But then others begin to say, "No, all they need is to repent of their sin and be delivered from gluttony. They'll stop overeating. All it takes is prayer and a change in the way they think!"

And those who are overweight begin to say, "It's a glandular problem! My thyroid is out of whack! I've been overweight my entire life - it's genetic!" But let's be honest, no one believes them. They can control their weight through diet and exercise, right? I know, let's put it to a public vote! Who cares that the majority of people in the United States are overweight - they're sinners and they shouldn't spread their filthy propaganda to their children and grandchildren! All their marriages will show is how we have allowed sin to infiltrate our every day thinking. We are a nation built on fit, healthy and attractive people!

Sounds a bit silly. Fat people not being allowed to get married because they will abuse or neglect their children and make them fat, too? Right... But, wait! We have a very similar argument going on right now concerning gays and marriage.

In the beginning God created all things and called all things very good. Including mankind and all the genetic code found within man (pre-fall genetic code I might add - including cancer, celiac, baldness, glandular, and yes, gay genes). God called it good. All of it. Including us today - He has that amazing ability to see down the road into the future. He knew what He was doing when He created cancer, celiac disease, Hodgkins-lymphoma, AIDS, flu, etc. And the argument that these things didn't enter into the world until the fall, well, where did these things come from? Did the world make them, or are they twisted/perverted versions of what God intended? If so, you've got to believe in evolution. Did Satan create them? If so, then he has much more power than any of us have ever thought. I actually believe God made all things and declared them good, knowing what would happen in time, knowing we would need a Saviour, a Healer, a Teacher, an example of Love.

So if God has declared me good, but also has declared me being alone not good, then shouldn't it be said that God never intended for me to be alone? Can't it be said that He has fashioned for me a suitable helpmate? Now, if I am declared good, being gay and all, but me being alone is not good, then logically a suitable helpmate for me is another gay man. Right?

Also, Jesus says nothing about homosexuality, but He talks a lot about judging others. And how he who is without sin should be the first to throw his stone. And He never threw stones, except at the Pharisees and Sadducees - the righteous indignant.

So, to my friends who don't agree with my "choice of lifestyle" I tell you this: God created me and declared me good. He created you and declared you good, too.

If God has declared us all good, why is marriage ok for you and not for me? Why are you more special than I? What makes you more worthy of marriage than I? If I have been redeemed (and I have), why should I not have all the benefits of God's children? I have been grafted into the vine after all.

That is all. I'm stepping off the soapbox now.

The Pause Button

I'd like to remain in 2011 for the rest of my life, please. It was a beautifully heart-breaking year; one that I'll not soon forget, nor wish to. It was the year I fell in love and realized how changing love is. It was the year that gave my dad cancer, but didn't take him from us. It was the year I mended the fences of my past. It was the year I offered myself forgiveness. It was the year I've been waiting for without even knowing it. I've been transformed by 2011. And it's because of that I would like to hit the pause button on life and stay in this moment forever.

But that can't happen. It won't happen. Life must go on, charging down the road, careening toward the inevitable of 2012. I can't allow my growth to be stunted because I'm unwilling to let go of the past. I must move forward accepting what is to come in the prospects of 2012. I have a hopeful dread for 2012; a longing to live in the moment, dangerously ignoring the future, loving recklessly without feeling. But that would be foolish. Unwise. Short-sighted. Daft.

2012 will be the year of living in the moment while thinking about the future, loving others recklessly with great feeling, focusing on others and myself, hoping for the miraculous and anticipating the reality. 2012 will be the year that solidifies me. 2012 will be the year I will look back on thirty years from now and be so thankful for.

And so in honor of 2012 I offer you this blessing:

May you find hot coffee for your mornings, a brightly shining sun for your day, and a soft pillow for your nights. May your friendships remain strong, your love increase two-fold, and your soul find nourishment. And may the face of God be always turned toward you for the rest of your days.

Happy New Year.

Another catching up to do

What can I say? It's been another long stretch without writing. The last little bit (I'm being lazy and don't want to take the time to look and see when I last posted on here...) I've done some thinking and realizing: we cannot make it alone in this world. We can't. It's impossible. Every person needs somebody (or even somebodies) to rely on when they can't do it themselves anymore.

My dad is dying. The doctors don't think the hormone therapy is working based on his PSA tests. I asked him about a support system, if he had anyone to talk to. He told me he didn't want to; he's not a talker. I know what he means. When everything hit the fan five years ago I didn't want to talk to anyone either. I drowned my sorrow in alcohol and crossword puzzles so I could forget for just a little while that my entire world was crashing at my feet; that everything I had lived for was a lie; that I had no idea who I was; that I was scared as hell; that I was spiraling deeper into depression. At that time I thought I had no one. I thought I was alone and there was no one who could even understand anything at all.

I was wrong. There were so many people there for me waiting to understand, waiting to help, waiting to grab my hand and pull me back up. People who loved me. People who didn't need to know the details, they just needed me to know they were there for me. People who smiled and listened to my angry speeches. People I now look at and wonder if they know they saved my life. People who love me unconditionally, who taught me to love unconditionally.

So, to my life-savers, you may not know who you are, but I am forever grateful and in awe of who you are and what you have done for me. Thank you.

A Catching Up of Sorts

It’s been several months since I last logged on to my blog. And so much life has happened. I look back and am staggered by what has happened since January.

I started my job with Amtrak. I travel between Seattle and Eugene, OR (a small university town about 1 ½ hours South of Portland, OR) and Vancouver, B.C. and Seattle and Chicago (sometimes Havre, MT, Minot, ND, Minneapolis, MN, or Spokane, WA depending on rock slides, derailments, flooding, storms, etc.). It’s an interesting life on the rails; I often wonder how people have made a career out of it. You rock back and forth, sometimes violently; you pitch and wheel like a drunken idiot; and you get little to no sleep. You grow tired of seeing the same faces for 48 hours in a row. There’s no escape from the train. And oh, god, the smell. Despite the failings of the job, it does pay well and I do have fun doing it – so I really have no right to complain much about it.

Here in Seattle there’s something referred to as The Seattle Freeze. Now we’re not talking about winter because for the most part winter is gray, rainy and hovers around 48 degrees (that’s 9 Celsius for my non-U.S. friends and family). No, no; a winter freeze is somewhat acceptable here, if not unexpected. New people, however, are not. The Seattle Freeze is when you try to make new friends, but you can’t because, just like in high school, everyone is already well established in their own cliques. So you end up eating lunch by yourself at the end of a table talking to nobody, feeling sorry for yourself, hoping, please, God, please, that somebody will come up to you and say hello. But no one ever does, so you sip on your coffee moping in the corner, until- Wait! Was that a smile? Did that person just smile at me and say hi? Hi! Oh, god, hello! Will you be my friend? Please? Please?? Pllllllllllleeeeeeeassssseeee be my friend!!!!

Now I never had the displeasure of living through that scenario; well, I sort of did, but I had a couple of friends here who helped me pass my time when I needed it. And then I met Danny – one of the best men I have ever known. He introduced me to his friends and now I have a great circle of friends. And I like to think we don’t commit the social sin of freezing people out. We often include strangers in our conversations while out. Maybe I’m hoping too much here? I don’t think I am.

A year and a half ago my dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer. He received radiation therapy and his PSA levels dropped to normal levels (for him). The PSA levels stayed low for almost a year, but they started rising again about two months ago. There was talk (hope?) that it was only an infection, so they tried antibiotics, but the PSA levels kept rising. So they sent my dad in for an MRI and bone scan. They found dark spots on his clavicle, scapula, sternum, and vertebrae (I don’t remember which number at the moment). The doctors pretty much squashed the hope that it was arthritis and a biopsy was ordered.

When I was a kid I questioned whether my father loved me. He worked a lot, and he had four small children I’m sure he felt obligated to spend time with. And it wasn’t exactly like he and I had all that much in common. I was more interested in baking and dolls than cars, or sports; as I grew through my teenage years that rift seemed to grow larger. I felt like my dad knew nothing about me or what I liked – I played violin, I acted on stage; things I thought he didn’t know much about. Then, 5 years ago, when everything went from bad to worse, my dad was there for me like no one else was. And suddenly I understood the love my dad has for me: an encompassing love that isn’t changed by disappointment, things I can or can’t do, or who I am. It’s truly an unequivocal love that I don’t have to earn; it’s been there my entire life, I just didn’t recognize it.

So as the cancer tries to rage in my father’s body I’m left with this: does my father know I love him just as much as he loves me? Does he know I would take the cancer from his bones and put it into my own so he can live if I could? Does he know a world without my father in it is like the winter here in Seattle: dark, chilly, and gray? Does he know I hope against hope that he will gather his strength and fight for his life with every last fiber of his being? And win? Does he know I love him - with my whole heart - without expectation?

Summer in Seattle is a strange thing. The sun comes out, as do the squinting people trying to figure out what that bright, glowing ball is in that azure expanse above their heads. Some people even shake their fists in the air hurling insults at the thing that leaves their skin burned. Others come alive and soak up the sun as much as possible hopping from one activity to another warming with the rays and exertion. I like to walk and look at the mountains, trees, and flowers, soaking the sunshine as much as possible and taking delight in the wonders of creation. After a long winter of 45 degrees and gray skies, 65 degrees and sunshine is a welcomed relief.

And, the sun breaks through my cloudy skies and warms my soul.

2010

Looking back 2010 is easily the most successful year I've had - well, maybe the most accomplished. Here are the highlights in kind of chronological order, but not always.

I lost 68 pounds. I started the year at 297 pounds and am closing the year at 229 pounds. p90x may very well have saved me from hating myself more and more each day. Losing that much weight certainly brought an increase to my confidence. And it brought me a happiness I never thought I'd find. Go figure.

I took a vacation for myself. For the first time, I went somewhere I wanted to go without an agenda or person to visit. I took the train to Seattle in May and found a part of myself I didn't know existed: a selfishness, a desire for happiness, a need to live for me. A door opened that I couldn't close. Living for my happiness and purpose has proven amazing and beautiful.

I discovered purpose. I found what it is I want to do for the rest of my life: I want to open a bakery. I want to befriend the community. I want to be a place where everyone feels welcomed and loved; where they feel like family. That's important to me.

I discovered I had a heart. And it's the year I opened myself back up to my heart. I have no regrets.

I started dating. After years of internal and religious struggle with who I am, I opened myself up to the possibility that I could love someone and be loved in return. It was a fairly bumpy adventure that I was able to withdraw a few humorous anecdotes from, and it certainly isn't over; but 2010 is going out much more promising than how it came in.

I quit my job to pursue my own interests. I felt guilty and selfish when I came home from my vacation in Seattle and put my notice in at work - my four month notice, I should add; you know, in order for them to find my replacement and get him hired and in role, etc. I felt like I was letting everyone down by pursuing my happiness. But through the process I learned a little about myself.

I was laid off work two weeks before my notice was complete. So with that, I collected unemployment and used that as my springboard to move across the country - 2000 miles away.

I took a three month sabbatical from working. And it was the best thing I have ever done. I moved to Seattle, acclimated myself to the city and people, and allowed myself to enjoy who I was discovering me to be. It really has been the most refreshing time of my life and has allowed me to focus on me.

I made the best cupcake I have ever tasted. And the best cupcake the reviewer of my cupcake has ever had; it was received gloriously. From what I understand people are still angry that the "[cute], gay cupcake maker' is no longer employed at Uncle Cheetah's Soup Shop. (I added the [cute] part because I am quite sure someone must have thought I was cute... Maybe not, but this is my blog after all and I'll think what I will, thank you very much.) It confirmed that I should be making pastries. (To read the review, click here.)

I decided it was time for a change. I moved to a strange city, a strange climate, and surrounded myself with strange people. I moved from the comforts of my friends and family - the people I love and trust; people who loved and accepted me despite my faults and inadequacies - to a beautiful and wondrous city 2000 miles away from my hometown.

I accepted loneliness as a temporary companion. I enjoyed a most beautiful and hauntingly lonely Christmas. I discovered how a thoughtful gift from a friend can make her, 2000 miles away, reach out, grab my hand, kiss my cheek, and make my heart soar and beat in agonizing fondness. I realized home is where your heart is. I learned how excruciatingly painful it is to be alone on Christmas and I vow that no one I know will ever have to endure that. I found that a simple ten minute conversation can change my outlook and provide a way to feel grounded, grateful, and not so alone.

I found hope and comfort in what I hope to become traditions. Pictures of the city in all four "seasons." Visiting the Sculpture Park on blustery days. Walking Ravenna Park and being in complete awe of the towering pines. Riding the bus and gaping at the mountains. Attending a Christmas Eve candlelight Lessons and Carols. Smiling at strangers. Thanking the bus driver.

I decided to make myself better for me and for others. I learned sentiment and emotion are separate notions. I learned to reopen my heart and realized tenderness is something I will never forget about again. I learned what it means to forgive myself. I learned what it means to forgive my past. I learned what it means to forgive my enemy. I learned to forgive others. I learned that no matter who you are, you are always deserving of love.

It's the year I uncovered the years of grime of who I thought I was and found who I really am. So far I like what I've unearthed.

2010 was the year I vowed to live for my happiness. 2011 is the year I vow to continue living for myself. And also for others.

Not for the sensitive...

My room smells like man. I know, I know... I am a man and I pretty much live in my room, but it smells like sick, unwashed man; like unbrushed teeth in the morning man; like I just ran five miles, had sex with a condom, and didn't shower until the next morning man. And I can honestly say none of that has happened (except I did run 2 and half miles, but I showered promptly afterward). I just can't pinpoint the smell and it's bothering me. And it's disgusting.

I'm beginning to think the moisture has seeped through the walls and carpeting to provide aiding and abetting for the smell. I think even the bedsheets and comforter are in on it. It kind of smells like the inside of my dad's old hockey gloves. And that kind of makes my stomach turn...

And here's the kicker: there are no dirty dishes in here, no old food, no trash. So why does it smell like seven-day-old salsa mixed with chicken and cheese smothered in Verde enchilada sauce? It didn't smell like this last night. Let's account for what is in my room: my violin, books, my Christmas tree (that I have forgotten to water and is almost dead - but no, that's not the smell), my "idols," my jar of Michigan dirt (so I never have to live there again unless I choose to), the pile of sundries my parents sent me (it could be the pumpkin loaves, but doubtful... Sniff test is commencing... Nope.), shoes (nope), bag, clothes, coat, computer, CDs, and electric heater... All check out.

At this point the only thing left to do is air my room out. It's 38 degrees outside and rainy (surprise.........!!); it looks like I'll be coping with the smell for a while.

On a brighter, less disgusting note: 2011 resolutions are here! More to come!

My First Christmas

I'd like to be a little caustic about Christmas. I'd like to whine about how unenjoyable my Christmas might be, or how I'm going to be alone, or how I'm not even having a traditional Christmas dinner (turkey breast was too expensive, I had to go with steak on sale - evidently the first meat I've purchased since I moved. I figured you'd want to know that for some reason...). I'd like to whine about how I won't see my family, and can't afford to fly home. I'd like to, but it seems trivial. (I mean, sure, in a way I just did whine about it all...)

Instead, I'm focusing on what I'm going to consider my first Christmas.

Now is the time to start some traditions and do things I've always wanted to do, but have never really done on my own. Christmas Eve I'm going to church. A United Church of Christ church. For their Lessons and Carols 11 pm candlelight service. I've always wanted to attend a candlelight service so late at night; I think there's a beauty and sacredness to singing carols by candlelight in honor of the Christ. I may even dress in a suit for the occasion; at least a tie and nice pants. And when I get home from church, I think I'll listen to a Christmas album - perhaps the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, or Dean Martin, or Burl Ives, or even the beautiful Ella Fitzgerald - while sipping a glass of eggnog (that may or may not be spiked with Jack Daniels). I'll find a book of poetry about winter, or snow, or Christmas, or love and read that - sometimes aloud when I find meaningful passages - while the dulcet sound of Ms. Fitzgerald soothes my soul.

And as for Christmas Day, you may ask? I'll wake up when I want to (usually around four in the morning because I'm always excited by Christmas), cook some breakfast, open the presents/packages that have "amassed," and probably go on a Christmas walk through the neighborhood. I might even do some caroling while strolling; I'm thinking "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen," "Good King Wenceslas," "Joy to the World," and "Silent Night." Maybe some "O Holy Night" and "Ave Maria" for good measure. I can spend the day in my underwear (which I won't because I like my clothes), I can drink as much eggnog as I'd like (a quart's worth, which is what I bought and more than enough to make me feel ill by day's end), I can eat what I want (in my case; a flank steak, sweet potato, brussels sprouts and southern-style macaroni and cheese), and I can watch Christmas movies all day. Somewhere in the mix I'm sure I'll take a nap since there's nothing like a day full of nothing to make you feel tired. At night, I'm going to light my Mexican grocer bought Sacred Heart of Jesus candle and have a vigil for those I love. I'll make a few Christmas phone calls to my family and friends. And then I'll fall asleep full of food and love.

I think that sounds like a beautiful, lovely, meaningful, and - not necessarily, but I think so - almost perfect Christmas. And with that, may you find beauty, love, and meaning this Christmas.