Author: Carol Gibbs

 

Henry’s love of film started when he was very young. When it became time for him to commit himself to his passion, he came to America to pursue a master’s in film. His films are an outward expression of the deepest part of him. They speak about his life experience—his childhood memories, the influences of his Asian culture, and his greatest fears.

Henry’s Story

     I do not have many happy memories of my childhood. Our family was very poor when I was young. I was an only child in a very conservative family in a small city in Asia. My relationship with my parents was polite. The culture is much more reserved, so I never remember having any physical affection, hugs or kisses, never an “I love you.” This, too, is very cultural so it was never something that I missed. My parents did hold my hand as a young child to keep me safe. Safety is primary in my culture.

     Because of the sense of lack in our city, there was no sense of community. There was a pervasive fear that someone would take the little that you had. That meant that there were no community gatherings, opportunities for team sports, or any type of group activities for children. Everyone kept to themselves. I engaged in solitary activities and learned to play the violin and piano and learned to paint.

     One of the benefits of employment in my city was that the employer is responsible for providing a place for all employees to live. We lived in a small apartment provided by my mother’s job. When the building was torn down, we moved to a community of homes built around a courtyard but there was still no connection with the neighbors.

     I was raised in an area of Asia where religion was not as present as it is in America. Most people in my area were atheist. I learned later to have faith in my art, myself, and my dream as an artist and filmmaker.

     My parents always valued higher education. I remember my father going to America to pursue his PhD degree when I was six years old. It was a big deal to go to study there and I knew of no other parents that did that. He was gone for three years though it felt like six or seven to me. After he left for America, it was just me and my mother, so she had the most influence in my life.

     My father’s absence caused me to start to feel isolated for the first time. I have a vivid memory of my mother deciding that she needed to go to shopping with her friend one afternoon instead of hanging out with me. I remember running after her bike in hope that she would not go. It’s funny to think about it now because I cannot recall at all the moment she left Asia to join my father in America for a year, but I could remember the afternoon she went shopping without me.

     After my mother left, I lived with my paternal grandparents. They were elderly and focused on keeping me safe during this time. I had a few friends but rarely played with them. Most of my time was spent with my grandparents. My memories of childhood at this age were very practical ones. How much homework did I need to do? What did I need to learn? I felt isolated and alone most of the time. I don’t remember too much sadness, it was just life.

     My first impression of America was when my parents returned. They came bearing gifts. I couldn’t wait to open the salmon from the “deep ocean.” This was a big deal. My parents wanted to have a gathering of their relatives to share the salmon from the “deep ocean” and to celebrate their return so I was forced to wait. I will never forget my disappointment when the fish was finally served. It tasted horrible. The “liquid chocolate” (chocolate syrup) was strange and new but much tastier. This started my fantasy about America.

     Adolescence became very challenging for me. When I entered middle school, I started to experience same-sex attraction. Gay jokes were always somewhat popular in Asia, as a way to emasculate and de-humanize a man. This made me feel very uncomfortable. I remember thinking that one student was very handsome. I guess that probably was my first awakening of my sexual orientation. I never talked with that person, so nothing more happened. It was not until much later that I began to understand what I was experiencing.

     The saving grace of this time was that my dream of becoming a filmmaker began to take root in my heart. It gave me hope for my future. I watched and collected as many movies as possible. I started reading film magazines that spoke about many of the films from America. This had a major impact on me and out of that developed a desire to go west.

     But the older I got (as much as I tried to hide it), my authentic-self began to emerge, and people noticed me. Discrimination was everywhere. In high school, there was a bully who would wait outside of my class every day just so he could call me “freak” in front of everyone. I guess he sensed that I was “different.” I was so afraid, I never had the courage to even look in his eyes to know what he looked like. Going to school every day was terrifying for me.

     The concept of being an Asian gay man in our homophobic and conservative small city was very difficult. First, I really didn’t totally understand it myself and there was no one I could talk to about it. The little information I did have of the homosexual life, I found on the internet. I remember feeling like a “freak” and a “second class person” growing up. I lived in constant fear and hid who I was.

     The increased academic pressure in high school helped to divert some of the attention from me. High school is all about preparing for the SAT. If you are successful in high school, you are set for life. Everything is taught with this test in mind. There was no room for creativity…only book knowledge (film was not part of the curriculum). The school system set the goals for each person’s life. Students were required to choose one of two tracks: science (which included biology, physics and chemistry) and literature (which included history, politics, and geology). Everyone learned English, math, and our native language. In my culture, the score on the SAT is a major life event. It determines your future success.

     Because I am an only child, my parents had very severe expectations for me. They had their own ideas for the person they wanted me to become. My parents wanted me to be a scientist or doctor since they are both in the field of science. My father is a biologist and my mother a nurse. I chose the science route to appease them and completed my high school years successfully.

     My passion to be a filmmaker continued to grow so when it came time to choose a college, I chose one that had a directing major. My parents thought I was joking when I informed them of my decision. When they realized that I was serious they became angry and started to pressure me to choose a different course of study. I insisted and began a hunger strike to convince them. They decided that they would take me to see an artist in a large city in Asia in hopes that he would change my mind. He informed me that I didn’t have sufficient talent to be successful in the directing major and that I should listen to my parents. I stood firm and went forward with my choice, developing in my greatest passion…film.

     While in college, I developed a close relationship with a Frenchman who was doing an exchange study in economics in the city where I was attending college. He was introduced to me by one of my good friends. I had never met a gay person before. He told me about his life as a gay man and the struggles he had encountered—not being accepted by others and not accepting himself. It was something I never had the opportunity to talk about with anyone before. We hung out together for about three months, going to dinner, traveling, and going to parties. We partied a lot. I was very attracted to him, related to him deeply, and I started to build a fantasy around how “we needed to be together to save each other.” We had some very deep conversations, so he knew of the fantasy that I projected on him. However, he was a very reserved and troubled person, so we never got together. If he did not want to be reached, he would just disappear. It hurt me deeply because I felt humiliated after offering myself to someone completely, then getting rejected. I have grown considerably from that experience. I understand that most of my “savior” complex is not much related to that person himself but to the social, racial, and life history of my formation. I cannot escape it. It took me years to understand that I do not need him or anyone to “save” me. We have remained friends and talk every six months. It is a weird relationship and he understands he has power over me. I understand that also. It’s quite poisonous for me but I am curious to see what is next. I went to Paris to see him again two years after he left Asia.

     After completing my college degree in Asia in directing, I came to America to complete a master’s in film and make movies. The inspiration of my films continues to be from my own personal experiences. One of my first films is about a gay man who has had a one-night stand and the loss he feels afterwards. This film has deeply touched hearts and has been played at film festivals all around the world. Slowly, I am being recognized as an artist and filmmaker. This was all I ever wanted…to live that dream.

     It wasn’t until I came to America that I started to understand another layer of my identity. It was a mind-blowing experience for me to jump from the most conservative culture right into the most liberal of environments. Then slowly, I started to understand that the problems I have had within myself were from growing up in an environment that is hostile toward who I am. I would not and could not say I have become a new person since I came to America, but on some level my education has given me a way to see the world, myself, and to express my voice. The geographical change, from a small city in Asia to America, was my chance to move into a “new life.” But, of course, life is a long journey to slowly understand and create myself.

     I was twenty-two when I first told someone that I was gay. It was one of my classmates. It was not much of a decision. I basically thought, okay this is my new life, and this is what I am going to do.It was not planned, and I cannot remember what I said. I didn’t have a big moment or feeling after telling the person. I really think many people had just figured it out about me. It was a gradual process for me to agree with them. I didn’t really need to tell a lot of people.

     I still have not come out to my family, yet. I don’t think my parents would understand me at all. I believe it would be the end of our relationship. I have no friends or relatives in Asia that are gay.No one would even talk about it there.

     I have never really dated anyone before. I have very high expectations about what a loving relationship should be. Part of this, I believe, is because of my lack of experience. My concept of love is naive and in some ways like Disney fantasies in their “prince and princess” movies. Hopefully my expectation is not too unrealistically high. Over the years, I am beginning to understand myself slightly better. I think I would prefer to wait for a relationship that is mutual…where we both deserve each other.

     I do have many supportive friends here in America. One of the biggest influences in my life has been my mentor. She has helped me to find my voice autobiographically as a filmmaker. It has given me faith in my art, myself, and my dream as an artist and filmmaker.

     I have learned a few lessons over the years. The first lesson has been to accept myself as a gay man. The second is to accept myself as an Asian gay man. To understand the American freedom and gay culture is difficult. Freedom is not only limited by sexual orientation but also racism. It is important for me to understand myself as I live in a society that doesn’t provide me with examples of people like me.

     I have no words of advice for others coming out. I am still working out the details of that myself. Give me another thirty years to come up with my first words of wisdom. It is my hope that my films will speak. If someone feels touched or feels that there are people in the world just like them because of my films, that’s great.I am just going to continue making my films andcreating my voice as an Asian LGBTQ artist filmmaker.

Henry has been in America making films for five years. His heartfelt movies are autobiographical in nature; an expression of his life as an Asian gay man. It is his hope to stay and continue his career.

Excerpt from Who Do You Say I Am? Personal Life Stories Told by the LGBTQ Community, by Carol Marchant Gibbs

 

 

 

   There are “strangers” in our midst; people we are reluctant to know because they are different from us. Whether they have immigrated from another country or their families have lived here for centuries and they live next door, they are strangers because they are different. Rather than celebrating these differences, we hide behind a “wall” in this amazingly diverse world and they remain unknown.

     The wall is not a physical one but a construct in our hearts… with the sole purpose of “protecting” ourselves from the unknown. The barriers that prevent us from interacting with people are many; skin color, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, religion and yes, even people with disabilities. Anyone who is different must work much harder to be valued and respected because we live in a nation gripped by fear of the unknown.

     The church could be instrumental in deconstructing the wall, but instead, even many of those who profess that each person beautifully exhibits the unique characteristics of God, lives in fear and some people remain on the outside.

     How do we get past our fears to welcome the “stranger” in our midst? The bible offers several suggestions about engaging with the “stranger.” Here are just a few.

      In Matthew 25:35, Jesus says, “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” 

      Then, in Hebrews 13:1, Paul says, “Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” 

     And in Romans 12:13, he says, “Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.” 

     The call is clear. We can no longer close our eyes to the injustice that surrounds us. No one is exempt from the responsibility of caring for their fellow man. As human beings, we are called to protect and care for those that God brings before us.

     Strangers are everywhere! May God make us keenly aware. May He open our eyes and strike our hearts with compassion so that we may respond with His kindness and love.

 

 

Stories Changing Lives

Reckless has not been back to her hometown since she came out in November of 2016 because she fears what might happen. She grew up in the heart of Appalachia in a very backward, homophobic town where she witnessed persecution toward the LGBTQ community. She has chosen to avoid that by never going home.

Reckless’ Story

     My life has been a constant battle, beginning with my parents’ divorce. I was a little over the age of four when my father left my mother. My dad is a veterinarian and owns his own clinic but never provided child support for my older brother and me. My mother worked three jobs to support us while my dad lived in a nice home with a pool and SUVs. At my father’s home, I was upper middle class and lived that lifestyle. At my mother’s, I was in the “working poor” class but, somehow, I never wanted for anything.

     My father remarried my stepmother right away. My stepmother had been working at my father’s clinic, which is how they met. It was shortly after when my half-brothers were born and life became even more hectic. Both of my parents wanted custody, so the court set a very dysfunctional visitation schedule that required my brother and me to see both parents every day, starting in kindergarten and ending when I was a freshman in high school. Each parent was also allotted one week’s worth of vacation time with us over the summer. My father had gained a new life and a new family, and my stepmother was frequently angered that she and her family, my father and half-brothers, had to plan their lives around my older brother and me. Instead of feeling loved, I felt like an object being passed back and forth. It was exhausting, and it seemed like there was never enough time to simply be a kid.

     My brother and I had an odd relationship. Early on, we were very close and he was everything that I wanted and needed in a big brother. However, as we grew older he became envious of me. He was three years older and somewhat introverted, while I was an extrovert and very sociable. I often got away with things that he would not have gotten away with. Looking back now, I see that there was wrong done on both ends that resulted in creating the odd relationship. The worst part is that he resented me for being so involved with activities because I did not have to work like he did at age fifteen. Life was difficult for the both of us, but I think he believed it was easier for me.

     My mom worked hard and truly loved her children. It was evident in the way that she advocated for us. I still remember days when my father would pry my arms off my mother’s neck, when I was four and five years old and the court-ordered schedule was a new thing. My mother had not gone to college and had a hard time finding a high paying job, so she started working three low paying jobs so that she could continue to provide for us. My mother remarried after one or two years and I gained two stepsiblings.

     My father had a lot to juggle between his business, his new family, and his old one. I did love my father but was frequently confused by the decisions that he made. To me, life before the divorce was perfect and I couldn’t understand why he had initiated so much change and there were times that I was very angry at him for doing so. Although I was hurt that he had chosen another family over the one that he already had, I also remember nights where he would soothe me as I held one of his fingers until I fell asleep.

     Things slowly deteriorated between the two of us and it was during freshman year that I stopped going to my dad’s house. I had just gotten back from a week-long vacation with one of my friends. It was 3:00 pm on Sunday afternoon and my mother was scheduled to pick me up at 6:00 pm. My father and stepmother left to go to the store and I was responsible for watching my little brothers. When 6:00 pm rolled around, my father was still not home. My mother had arrived to pick me up and I could not leave my little brothers alone. I called my dad more than twenty times and my mother was getting impatient. After fifteen minutes or so my father came home and told me that I was not allowed to leave. My dad wanted the week that I had gone to the beach with a friend to be considered my mother’s vacation week with me even though she had not gone. He wanted an additional vacation week with me at his house. When I refused, he became very angry and said that I was out of control and a bad child. The last thing that he said to me was, “If you leave with your mother instead of staying here for a week, don’t come back.” So, I didn’t.

     After nearly a year of not speaking to my father, Christmas time rolled around and my older brother, who was still going back and forth between both parents, brought me a Christmaspresent from my stepmother. I was confused that she sent me a present but opened it anyway. The inside contained a ring box and a bag, so I opened the ring box first. Surprisingly, something other than a ring was inside. The ring box was filled with dog feces and the bag was filled with rotten lettuce that had become liquid. There were many times following that experience that my father mailed me letters telling me how horrible I was and that my mother had corrupted me. I grew to despise my stepmother and was extremely hurt by my father.

     Before the split from my dad, between sports and seeing both parents daily, I was a very busy girl. I was an athlete and did cheerleading from first grade through my junior year of college. Gymnastics accompanied cheerleading, so I had some sort of practice almost every day during the week and some competitions on the weekend. I played soccer from seventh grade through senior year of high school and turned down a full scholarship to play collegiate soccer. There was not much room for anything else.

     I found it much easier to talk to women growing up so they became my closest relationships. In fourth and fifth grade, I had several infatuations with female role models in my life. At that time, I thought that my obsession with women was just a need for attention. I remember experiencing same-sex attraction as early as third grade. I had no real interest in dating boys but fell into peer pressure and the preconceived idea that I was supposed to be with them.

     As early as fourth grade I dated boys because I assumed that I was supposed to be straight. I did not allow myself to even explore the thought of being a lesbian. Every church that I had ever been to spoke against it and Christianity was very important to me. The churches in my hometown used the slogan “turn or burn” and being gay was said to be an unforgivable sin that would send you into an eternal fire pit. It was unsafe to be gay.

     I only knew of two gay men in the entire town and only one of them was open about his sexual orientation. One of the guys was one of my closest friends in middle school and he refused to go to the county high school because he feared that he would be harmed by those who were homophobic. Back then, he said that he didn’t want to attend the county high school because the city school had better academics, but we knew of high schoolers at the county school who had already been mean to him for being feminine. It was a rough awakening for my group of friends. I had gone to school with him since preschool. Knowing that he wouldn’t attend the same high school instilled a deeper fear of what being gay might do for my safety and I cowered even deeper in the closet.

     In high school, I tried to make myself attracted to guys and dated them during my freshman year and half of sophomore year. I loved making friends and got along with pretty much everyone. It was confusing for me dating guys and pretending to be straight. Each relationship that I was in with a boy felt forced and uncomfortable. It was like I had to invent ways to be “in relationship” with them because it felt so wrong. After several failed relationships, I thought that I had just not been with the right guy and even convinced myself that if I had sex with a guy, I would somehow start liking men. That experience woke me up to the reality of my identity. I never had sex again but I continued to attempt dating guys. By the end of sophomore year, I thought “maybe I am not meant to date anyone.” So, I did not date anyone from sophomore year to senior year. I threw all my time into soccer and cheerleading and being the very best friend to others that I could be. Being a good friend was important to me and somewhat filled my need for relationship with others.

     Before my freshman year in high school, I went to church with my dad. After our falling out, I did not go to church until junior year. Growing up in a non-denominational church that was highly influenced by surrounding Pentecostal and Baptist churches was somewhat good for me in terms of creating community with others. I was saved at the age of seven and thought I knew what Christianity was all about. I was close with the youth group, and my group of friends often got together outside of church. I thoroughly enjoyed church until I was in middle school, because it was around that time that I started having disputes with my father and stepmother and did not enjoy being around them. There was a time that I was sick on a Sunday morning and did not get out of bed to get dressed for church and my stepmother forced me to go anyway. I was wearing my pajamas and I was not allowed to change clothes. During the service, my stepmother approached the pastor and asked him to pray for me because I was becoming rebellious and an “evil” child. The pastor prayed for me and “laid hands on me” with several others. This event tainted the way that I viewed the church and no longer felt welcome in any church setting.

     During the summer between sophomore and junior year, I went to a Christian conference and had a spiritual experiencelike no other there that prompted me to recommit my life to Christ. Carl Lentz, one of the speakers, told a story about the way he would tell his daughters positive attributes that they held so that when the world started trying to influence their identity, they would be able to confidently say, “My Father (God) says___” instead. I thought about my relationship with my father and thought that if I could be forgiven by God for all the bad that I had done, there was some way that I could forgive my father for what he had done.

     Junior year, I started going to church with a friend and began to experience God differently than I had in the past.

     I was thankful to be forgiven. I did a lot of bad things during my freshman and sophomore year in high school, most of which were the result of trying to convince myself that I liked men. For example, during freshman year I had dated an older guy, a freshman in college, and he took full advantage of my fragile state, taking inappropriate photos of me. Long story, short, the guy that I had been dating started dating a new girl and she found the photos on his computer. She became enraged and decided to send the photos to everyone on his email list, which included nearly all my teachers and friends. The ones that received the pictures via email forwarded them to more people and soon the entire high school had seen them. My older brother and mother found out about them and there was a period of roughly a year that they looked at me as if I was horrible. When I attended the Christian conference, most people had forgotten about my past. I, however, had not, which led me to find peace and comfort in knowing that God forgave me for the horrible things that I had done. God helped me to begin to forgive myself and others. After that year, I slowly began talking to my father again.

     The college I attended the following fall had a culture that was much more open to the LGBTQ community. I majored in sociology. Sophomore year, I took a sociology class that was taught by a lesbian. She was married to a woman who also worked at the college. I saw the way they interacted with one another and it resonated with me. I wanted that in my life. At that moment, I realized that I was gay. It was difficult for me to accept this fact, due to my Christian beliefs. I remember praying multiple times during the day asking God to take the burden away from me.

     In the middle of my sophomore year, I met someone through mutual friends. She was a lesbian and pursued me. I was extremely vulnerable; I had not told anyone about my sexualorientation and therefore had no one to discuss it with, and immediately responded. We talked for a while then started dating. I really didn’t like her emotionally, physically, or spiritually but it was comforting to have someone to talk to about being gay and the reality of it. We ended up dating for two years and no one knew about us. She went to another college. so it was easy to lie about where I was going and what I was doing. I was popular and lived in a sorority house, so people were constantly asking me where I was going so frequently. Lying became an everyday thing for me to do. The relationship was not good, although I convinced myself that it was for almost a year and a half. The woman was very manipulative and required that I see her every two weeks. My life became an intense schedule of friends—home—girlfriend—classes. It was crazy. She also communicated with me constantly through texts. If I did not respond to her within a couple of minutes she became furious. She isolated me from all my friends and made it so that I was only close with her. She controlled every moment of my life. I was not allowed to go to fraternity parties or drink with my friends. I was not allowed to go to my sorority formals. She even became hostile toward me when I became a sociology tutor, simply because that meant I would be spending time with other people. She was extremely abusive and sexually assaulted me more than ten times. Further, she often did things to me that would cause me to have panic attacks and thought that doing so was funny. She would also come into the bathroom while I was showering and take pictures of me while showering, although I always locked the door, she would unlock it and barge in. She violated me frequently.

     At the end of my junior year, I became more depressed than ever. I thought it was because I was not out yet, which was a lie that my girlfriend told me. I wasn’t allowing myself to see the abuse that was happening to me and my girlfriend tried to divert my attention elsewhere.

     At the beginning of my senior year, I started seeing a counselor. We tried to find the root of my depression and the counselor asked me to write down every time I was anxious.After doing this for a week, I realized that every anxious moment involved my girlfriend. As I came to the realization that I was being severely abused, I started ending our relationship slowly. First, I stopped talking to her so frequently by telling her that I had a group assignment that I needed to work on or that I had a paper due the next day. After doing that for several weeks, I told her that I needed some time to myself to think about things and after a month I broke things off between us. I told her that I was not going to do it anymore. She responded with the threat of “outing” me and threatened to send the nude photos of me that she had taken while I was showering to people that I knew.

     You probably wonder why I endured such a difficult relationship. Why did I put up with it for so long? I had heard since childhood from the church and culture that no one would accept me because I was gay. I was heavily involved with my college’s gender and women’s society, and planned events like “Take Back the Night.” I knew what abusive relationships looked like and people often came to me for advice on how to get out of them. It’s different when it happens to you, though. I just wanted to be loved and accepted.

     After escaping the traumatic relationship, a sorority sister who was an alumnus, started badgering me about what was going on. I innocently shared with her and thought nothing of it. Six months later, I noticed that my roommate started acting strange toward me. A week later, after returning to the dorm, my roommate locked the door behind me and confronted me. Apparently, my sorority sister had shared everything with many and it made its way to my roommate. I told my roommate the truth, that I was gay. The first thing that she said was, “You have been in this room with me. You have watched me change.” I quickly reassured her that I had no romantic feelings toward any of my sorority sisters and that they are like my literal siblings. Then, she felt disappointed that I had been through so much trauma and did not share it with her. She was mostly sad that I had to endure such pain on my own. She became most accepting of me and we remain friends to this day.

     The sexual assault and abuse left me with post-traumatic stress disorder. I would have night sweats and terrors feared going to sleep. I slept very little…usually from 4:00 am to 8:30 am. I was triggered by almost everything around me. Seeing the same car that she used to drive, hearing certain words, even movies shown in class, caused me to have flashbacks of being raped. That winter, I began to fill my life with my friends and it brought health to my soul. Recovery from abuse is not linear… it’s more closely related to a roller coaster. I had days that I would wake from night terrors paralyzed, unable to get out of bed. I had others where my friends would drag me out of my room to keep my mind off things.

     I was majoring in sociology and religion and decided to come out to my religion professor that winter. We were discussing my thesis, “A Feminist Theology of the Cross as Liberation.” It was empowering for me to study the liberation model and learn about the strength we gain through the resurrection of Christ. But, after my horrible experience of abuse, I found it difficult to read some of the material as it related to minorities, particularly women, and the struggle to gain liberation from abusive relationships when using theology that included the classic atonement models. I started talking to the professor about changing topics and shared about my abusive relationship. She was awesome. She asked if family and friends knew and said that I would need that support. Regardless of what happened, she said that I was strong and would get through it and that the liberation model would be helpful for healing. She met with me often to discuss things and to make sure that I wasn’t being triggered by the material and checked in on me often. After a lot of support from her and my counselor, I completed my thesis and my sociology and religion majors.

     After sharing with the professor and with my counselor, I started attending their church. I went to the contemporary service. It was welcoming and affirming. I was reminded of God’s love for me.

     December 2015, I came out to my friends. My best friend was the first to hear the news. She knew I was something, gay or asexual, but was not sure which. Then I came out to my other close friends. They knew that something that had been going on because I seemed different for the last two years, but they did not know I was having such a difficult time. They knewsomething was pulling me down. They were patiently waiting for me to share it. I remember them checking on me over winter breaks to see if I was okay. They were there for me even though they had no idea what kind of turmoil that I was experiencing. They cared for me and attempted to help me even when I did not know how to help myself. They were loving and very affirming.

     Throughout my college career I attempted to make sense of my sexuality. I did a study during my senior year on the campus climate for LGBTQ+ students, primarily doing interviews with people involved in Campus Spectrum, my college’s LGBTQ+ alliance. I had been involved in the Gay Straight Alliance since freshman year supporting those who were out. There were only five people that I knew of that were “out” on campus and I wanted to know why. Being gay myself and being somewhat in the closet caused me to evaluate the campus climate and want to see why others believed that LGBTQ people weren’t out on campus. I interviewed people that were involved with Campus Spectrum and asked them questions about their understanding of the LGBTQ atmosphere on campus. I had been friends with them since freshman year, and I shared about myself because they were so open and honest with me. They kept my secret because they knew what it was like to be fearful of coming out. I also was vice president of the women and gender group. I found much overlap between those that were involved in Campus Spectrum and those within this women and gender group. Being around such open and affirming people allowed me to open up and feel confident in telling them who I was and who I wanted to love.

     The July after graduation, I started talking to the woman who is now my fiancée, Boomie. We had been in the same sorority at the same college but were separated by five years. She was often an alumna for sorority rituals and events and we knew of one another through that. I had always had a crush on her and wanted to pursue her although I did not know if she was gay. I wasn’t out and being in the abusive relationship caused me not to. After we started talking, I knew that we shared many of the same interests and values and that we would get along well. However, I was slow to allow myself to be in a relationship again. The last one had left me broken and I worried that I would not be able to date her without negative flashbacks occurring and messing it up between us. However, after much prayer and serious discussion with her, we began a relationship in August. At the time that we started dating, I was living with my older brother. He had gotten a job in the same town my college was located in, and I was interning at a local church for the following summer and fall. There were many nights when I stayed over at Boomie’s and my brother would become very angry, saying that I was using his house as a storage unit. Although he was often angry at me for spending so much time away, he never knew exactly where I was staying, as I was still hiding my sexual orientation from my family. I loved being in Boomie’s presence and wouldn’t have done anything differently. I knew from early on that she was someone that I could see spending my life with.

     In October, my mom called to ask if I was dating her. Since I had been living with my brother at the time, he must have shared. I felt no need to lie about it anymore and told my mother the truth. My mom explained that she was envisioning a different life for me and she cried, and cried, and cried. She did not say a lot during that conversation, but said that although she did not understand it, she wanted me to be happy.

     In November of that same year, my dad’s response was very different. “You are going to go to hell. You need to go to counseling. We did not raise you this way.” A most unpleasant conversation via text message. He said that I had ruined his life and that he thought I was just being rebellious, once again. He would not talk to me face to face after that. One of my half-brothers offered his unsolicited opinion. “You have killed your father and ruined his life.” Then, he continued to tell me how much my father’s family hates me. I have not spoken to him since.

     Although their reaction was horrible, it was not surprising. During my sophomore year, I tweeted that one of my favorite poets would be performing in a town nearby and that I wanted to go. The poet happens to be gay. My half-brother called a couple of minutes after that tweet to tell me that my dad and stepmother knew that I was gay and that they were both infuriated at me. He also said that they were cussing, yelling, and saying that I was demonic and that I had gone crazy.

     When I became engaged, I decided that I would inform my dad before I let the world know on Facebook. I sent him a text but heard nothing for more than a day. When I called to see if he got the message, he replied, “I don’t know who you are anymore. We didn’t raise you this way.”

     “Can’t you just be happy that I am happy?” I cried out.

     Now he wants to get together to talk to me. He has hopes that he might “change my mind” and that I won’t be gay anymore. I assured him otherwise, but he says that he wants to try to talk some sense into me. It’s sad that my father, after all that we have been through, cannot accept me because of who I love. He treats me as if I have something seriously wrong with me—something that I could somehow spread to others. It is sad.

     My mother continues to support me and all my endeavors and is very excited to help plan the wedding which will happen in July 2018. She has grown so much and has become more accepting of others by knowing that her own daughter is a part of the LGBTQ community. My father, however, will not discuss my sexual orientation or anything, and rarely communicates with me. Both my fiancée and I have tried reaching out to him, and the response is never different: there is no response at all. My older brother and I speak on occasion and he finds no fault in my being gay although we don’t really get along generally. My half-brothers don’t talk to me. I have tried reaching out and they do not respond. My stepmother pretends to be accepting of me, although past situations have made me weary of her.

     Now I am employed by a human rights organization, working as an investigator of discrimination cases of race, age, and sexual orientation along with many other things. It is a perfect job for me because I am standing up for those who are persecuted. I used to think that being passive was better but, after studying the Bible and learning more about God and myself, I don’t think Jesus Christ was ever passive. Jesus actively opposed violence with non-violence and through the power of truth, evil was exposed for what it is. This active, non-violent opposition challenged the people surrounding Him, and even us today, to recognize the great power that comes from compassion and through living up to our God-breathed selves. In the same way that Jesus confronted the systematic evil during his time through the power of non-violent interactions, so should humanity act upon our call to stand against oppressive forces and not let others take advantage of our kindness and love for humanity. I have grown closer to God than ever and am excited about the future that I have alongside Him.

     In September 2017, I returned to seminary. I had taken a leave of absence because of the PTSD that put me behind on my collegiate career. I had to take an “incomplete” class during my final semester and finished my last class in August 2016. My GPA ended up being a 3.74, and I am quite proud to have gotten through the abuse with a decent GPA. I am really enjoying my studies now.

     This crazy, difficult, amazing, joy-filled journey in life has taught me many things. The first, and the most important, is that people were created to live in community with other people. God is three persons and each of those persons are equally important as the other. We are called to be in relationships with the people around us…regardless. The great Leslie Knope once said that no one achieves anything alone, and I believe that to be true. People need one another to live fulfilled and whole lives. I have experienced firsthand that we flourish when we love and connect with others in the way that Jesus did.

     The second lesson that I have learned is to volunteer as often as you can. The more that I give myself to helping the community around me, the more I start to find myself. By involving yourself in the liberation of those around you, you discover who you were meant to be as you treat others in the same way that Jesus does.

     The third is to draw closer to God. It is a safe place where love resides. There have been many times that I have listened to certain church voices that tell me that I am not loved or accepted by God. I urge you to search further and to find the greatness and all-encompassing love of the Creator. There is no person that can outrun or outgrow the deep and broad love that God offers. I am challenged daily as I learn about new aspects of God. Advocate. Advocate. Advocate. Jesus works daily as our Advocate and it is our duty and privilege to advocate for all of God’s creation. Take care of yourself, of others, and of the planet.

     Having role models and advisors is very important. Look to them when making large life decisions for they can see things that you sometimes cannot. Allow close friends and those that you trust to give you advice. We sometimes find ourselves in situations where our judgment is clouded, and we need an outside party to help us see the correct point of view, especially when it comes to abuse. It is difficult to point out situations of abuse when we are in them and therefore we need others to share wisdom and love when we need it most.

     Lastly, I have learned that it is okay to not be okay. Each of us have times where we carry burdens that cripple us. It is not God’s intention for us to carry burdens alone, but for us to join alongside one another. A weight that might crush us if we carry it alone would become weightless if many people carry it together. Ask for help when you need it. Don’t feel as if you will put too much pressure on others. There are people surrounding you that want to help relieve your burdens and would be happy to do so.

     After all the things that have happened to me and all the things that I have done, I have truly found happiness. God is the ultimate source of our joy and He aches for each of us to live the life that He imagines. This life is one where we fully accept ourselves and love the unique craftsmanship of the Creator. Do not allow the world to convince you that God did not breathe life into your bones.

Excerpt from Who Do You Say I Am? Personal Life Stories Told by the LGBTQ Community, by Carol Marchant Gibbs

     Jill’s parents were convinced that she was going to be a boy. Six years had passed between the third and fourth child and her parents believed time may have changed the pattern that they had experienced thus far but it did not. They were quite surprised when she was born their fourth girl. They had not even chosen a name for her beforehand. Jill’s father’s response was, “Well at least she will play sports.” So, she became an athlete.

Jill’s Story

     I was always very different from my sisters. They were older when I was born—six, eight, and ten years old. My older sister was charged with babysitting me when my mom went to her part-time job, so I was the closest to her. But most of the time, I was with my dad. So, while I was off with him, my sisters spent time with my mom and became much closer to her.

     Dad and I were very close, and he taught me everything he knew about sports and the outdoors. He taught me how to play baseball, basketball, to garden and fish. We were inseparable. I was always with him. I really cherished those moments.

     Every evening after dinner, my dad would take me to the local bar and introduce me to his friends. Some of the professional football players gathered at the bar and because my dad was an affluent man and very well known in our area, I got to meet them too.

     When it came time for me to play sports, there were no sports teams for girls so I played on the boys’ teams. At age eight, a girl playing football was completely unheard of so my mom gave me a boy’s name on the application and signed me up for football. I also played on a boys’ t-ball team and a “pitch” team—baseball where dads do the pitching.

     On Friday nights, our family would go to the fish fry at my aunt and uncle’s hotel. My grandfather was a coal miner, so my aunt and uncle ran a hotel in a coal mining town where the miners would stay when they would come to work. My dad’s family would gather there on the weekend. It was great fun being with my aunts, uncles, and cousins. My dad was an alcoholic and would sometimes drink too much while we were there which could make it difficult. Much of the time he was functional, but alcohol was a real struggle for him.

     I was exposed to a very conservative religion as a child. My dad was insistent that we go to church every Sunday. I was baptized and completed all the milestones required but I really don’t know what I thought about it. I was so young. I remember hearing my siblings talk about the discrepancy between who people pretended to be on Sunday, and the way those same people lived their daily lives. It did not match up. My dad would be one person on Sunday and in his career but a totally different person at home with his family. Going to church was something we were supposed to do and that was that.

     I was eleven years old when my dad died from complications of alcoholism. My mom packed us up and we moved to the beach. Living at the beach was something we had always talked about, so she decided the time was right. My sisters were grown and out the door by that time so they did not come with us. My mom’s response to my dad’s death was difficult. It was a type of post-traumatic stress disorder. She had been through so much being married to an alcoholic and spent some time in hibernation after we moved, mostly in her sewing room. She only emerged from that room when she went to grocery shop or go to my sports events. There was nothing more in her life…not even church.

     My dad’s passion for sports served me well. I became an outstanding athlete. In middle school, I played basketball. It soon became my favorite sport and a force that kept me on the straight and narrow in life. It connected me with a group of people and gave me a purpose.

     In high school, I played on the varsity basketball team as a sophomore. I took a little grief from the seniors at first…I got tripped a lot. But, the coach took a strong interest in me. He recognized my athletic talent and was diligent about pushing me to grow into my sport. Even at a height of five feet two inches, I became a very strong point guard. If it wasn’t for the team and the encouragement of my coach, I could have gotten into some trouble in high school.

     My mom did not have the emotional energy at the time to closely supervise my life, so I had the opportunity to do whatever I wanted. My coach became a surrogate parent that protected me from making unwise decisions. I chose sports. I also played softball and ran cross country for the track team.

     I spent a great deal of time at my best friend’s house while in high school. With my mom in solitude, my friend’s parents became surrogate parents to me and included me in their family activities. They were highly involved with the “Up with People” movement and brought me along with them. Up with Peoplewas an organization whose purpose was to inspire young people to make a difference in their world. They did musical performances to break down cultural barriers and create global understanding. My friend’s parents helped with the bands and we sang. For three years, fifteen to twenty students traveled around the state singing with the bands. We even went to the 1984 Olympics to perform. It was a wonderful experience.

     Understanding your sexuality is a process. I began to have feelings that I did not understand when I was in tenth grade. I remember being obsessed with the dancer in the movie “Flashdance.” I would watch the movie, over and over again. I was fascinated with the dancer but did not know why. It never dawned on me that I might be gay. I dated boys in high school. I always had a boyfriend. It was not until I got to college that I began to understand my sexuality.

     I always wondered if my dad’s influence of sports in my life caused me to be who I am today, but my family has shared stories that suggest additional influences. My sisters told me that when I was young, people would ask if I was their little brother. I wore my hair short, and I never liked to wear my shirt. I wore Spiderman and cowboys’ outfits. I was drawn to GI Joes, never played with dolls, and I would rather play tag outside than play kitchen. I was more interested in running, jumping, climbing, and getting dirty, and I grew up in a family of girls. They were not interested in the same things. Now, that was not my dad’s influence. I chose those things that I most wanted to do. We thought nothing of it at the time.

     When I graduated from high school and went on to college, I had my first exposure to gays and lesbians that were my age. I had a good friend who was a lesbian on my softball team. She introduced me to her friends who were gay. People never talked about their sexuality at that time, you just knew. In college, I started dating women sophomore year.

     We never talked about my sexuality in my family until many years later. I think my dad would have really had a hard time accepting it. He probably would have flipped out. My mom had a very hard time with it. I told her my second year of college. She had had a sense about it but never mentioned it or understood this fully. After I graduated from college, I moved south with a person I was dating at the time and we lived together for four years. Mom shared her concern and disapproval of my lifestyle with my sisters.

     I did have three relatives on my dad’s side that were gay but no one ever talked about it. I had a cousin on my dad’s side, my cousin’s oldest daughter, and an uncle that were gay. So, if there is anything to genetics, the gay gene came from my dad’s side.

     My cousin lived her secret life until she was in her thirties. She never shared with her parents about her lifestyle because she knew they would highly object. I remember going to spend the night with my aunt as a child. In her hallway was a shrine of a religious figure illuminated twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, to remind them of their religion. It was so ingrained in our thinking that my cousin was not allowed to be herself. She was not allowed to be gay because of her religion. She later married a man. They have no children. She says she is happy, but I know her other life and I wonder about that.

     My cousin couldn’t be open with her mom but I could be with my aunt (her mom). When I opened up to my aunt about my sexuality, she did not really accept or challenge me, she just listened. Yet, she never would have accepted her daughter.

     I met my wife in 1994 while I was living at the beach. We met at a party with mutual college friends and stayed friends for a few years. We would go biking or to the beach together. We did not start dating until after my mother died in 1996.

     We were married in a ceremony in 2000 before gay marriage was legal. November 2016, we finally had an actual wedding ceremony. We invited our family to celebrate with us. I invited my aunt and cousins but a week before the ceremony, one of my sisters discouraged my aunt out from attending. Only one of my three sisters came to our wedding. My oldest sister and I had been very close because she was the one who would babysit me but she refused to come. This was very hurtful because her life has been a mess. As much as she took care of me when I was little, I have taken care of her as an adult—health-wise, emotionally, and financially. My sister that is closest to my age, got involved in a religious group and is outwardly opposed to the gay lifestyle. She sent a scathing five-page letter that was very hurtful telling me that I was going to burn in hell and so would my children. She was the one that talked behind my back to all my family members which caused my aunt to choose not to come to the wedding. This response put a wedge between us. I believe my sister’s heart has started to soften by her interactions with me but her beliefs have not changed. I am not emotionally comfortable with any of my sisters right now, nor do I care to have a relationship with them. None of them know what goes on in my life. My wife loves one of my sisters and tolerates the others.

     We have three children: a fourteen-year-old son, twelve-year-old son, and nine-year-old daughter. My wife gave birth to all three after a few years of infertility. Giving birth was not something I volunteered to do. They are amazing children.

     Our friendships have changed through the years since we started having children. We used to have many gay friends but most of them were not having children. As our focus on our family became the priority, our gay friendships began to change. We started to have more in common with our heterosexual friends with families and that has become our community. I think we are the straightest gay couple I know. We do see our gay older friends on occasion.

     Through the years, I have had some ambivalence about religion because of my experience. Since I came out, I have been guarded. I kind of put church in the same category as my sisters…two steps removed. It is important to me to learn from the Bible so I listen to the audio Bible daily. I did return to church when we started to have children because my wife believed that it was important for them. She believed that the religious community would embrace us.

     Sadly, much of the most hurtful persecution we have received has been through the church. We went to one church that called us into a meeting to inform us that we could not be members of their church. We could attend, but we could not be members or serve in any capacity. When we questioned them about this, they said that we were living in sin as a gay couple. My wife really struggled with that but I was not at all surprised. I wonder how persecution is consistent with Christian values.

     We were not defeated by this response, we changed churches. Though the people at our current church seem welcoming, I feel we are held at a distance. Our boys have been volunteering in the children’s ministry and our house church is very open and affirming. I have also heard that the new pastor would like to address the LGBTQ issue in the church in the future. There is no overt discrimination, but we are not 100 percent welcome either. Sadly, I really did not expect to be. Experiences like we have had are what deters the LGBTQ community from coming to church.

     Our children have also received persecution in school. In late elementary and middle school, our oldest son was teased about having two moms. Not as much has happened since he is in high school. Our younger son has also received comments, but he is not as vocal about it. Our daughter is still young enough that she has been protected from that.

     Today, many people in the gay community believe that there is no room for being a Christian and being gay, that you must make a choice between the two. Don’t buy into that belief. You do not need to choose between a loving God and being gay. Growing up, I could not do both and it moved me away from God and the church. It does not have to be mutually exclusive. You do need to understand that there will be people that will not accept you. Don’t let that take away from your identity or take you away from your faith.

Jill is a social worker and licensed therapist in practice with her wife. She no longer plays basketball but is a die-hard fan of women’s basketball. Jill lives with her wife and three children in the northeast.

Stories Changing Lives!!!!

 

Dear Friends,

     I had an incredible weekend promoting my book, Who Do You Say I Am ? Personal Life Stories Told by the LGBTQ Community.

    Saturday, I participated in the Baltimore Book Festival.  The day was filled with people expressing their gratitude for my book and their hope for healing in their communities. Parents shared stories about their children, as did many from the LGBTQ community. I spoke to pastors and other church leadership who are trying to reconcile this in their churches. It was beautiful. 

     Then on Sunday, I had a book event at Ascension Lutheran in Towson, MD. There was a wonderfully encouraging group in attendance. I read one of the stories from my book, then people had an opportunity to ask questions, prompting a very interesting discussion. Many thanks to all of those people who helped to make this possible.    

     When I wrote this book, it was my hope that through these stories, God would bring a deeper understanding of the LGBTQ community and create an openness in the church. It is such a joy to see this begin to happen.

I look forward to sharing my story and the stories of the LGBTQ Community in my book in other venues. If you know of any opportunities where I can do that, please contact me. I am eager to share my heart about this very important message of love. 

With gratitude,

Carol

 

Hi friends,

     Just a reminder that you are invited to my first book event on Sunday, September 30, at Ascension Lutheran Church , 7601 York Road, Towson, MD, at 4:00 pm.

      You can learn more about Who Do You Say I Am? Personal Life Stories Told by the LGBTQ Community on this site and on the book’s page on Amazon — https://www.amazon.com/Who-Do-You-Say-Community ebook/dp/B07BJN3H59/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_product_top?ie=UTF8. 

Dear Friends,

     On Sunday, September 30 from 4:00pm-6:00pm, I will be having a book event to promote my new book, Who Do You Say I Am? Personal Life Stories Told by the LGBTQ Community. The event will be held at Ascension Lutheran Church, 7601 York Road, Towson Maryland.

     You can learn more about the book on this site and on the book’s page on Amazon — https://www.amazon.com/Who-Do-You-Say-Community ebook/dp/B07BJN3H59/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_product_top?ie=UTF8 I have been very encouraged by the response.

“Don’t ask, don’t tell!” That was the slogan promoted by his dad’s employer. Brandon’s dad was career Navy. So, when Brandon finally came out at age twenty, he was completely surprised by his dad’s reaction. His dad was the one who never went to church. He considered himself a Christian but didn’t fit the bill of what Brandon was told it looked like to be “born again;” church attendance, fellowship with Christians, and being a part of the life of the church. And yet, in that moment when Brandon really needed love, support, acceptance, grace, and mercy, his dad was the one who provided it.

 Brandon’s Story

     I grew up in an independent, ultra-conservative, fundamentalist church. My mother was responsible for making sure my brother, who was five years younger, and I had a proper religious upbringing. My father rarely went to church. His family was not very religious, from what I understand. My paternal grandmother was a clairvoyant medium, which I think is a no-no in most conservative churches. Through the years, my mother and I “progressed” together from the ultra-conservative forms of fundamentalism to a slightly more liberal approach but still stayed on the conservative side of the fence.

     Our family was very close. Because my father’s career required that we move every three to four years, our family and faith were the few constant aspects of life. We depended on each other. Through the course of his career we lived in a few different states, spending much of the time in Virginia. He retired the same year I graduated from high school, 2000.

     My mom was the most important person in my life. I was a momma’s boy. We shared a deep friendship. She used to tell me that I was “born more mature” than she was when she had me. She was only nineteen when I was born. We talked about everything. She shared things with me that some would probably say a mother shouldn’t share with a child. We had a tight bond throughout my entire life. Even during the rocky times when I was coming out, we remained close…and I loved that.

     Dad and I were never very close, partly because his job took him out to sea for several months at a time. We were also very different. Dad had more in common with my brother and they understood each other and were very close. But when I came out later in life, something happened to my relationship with my dad and we grew much closer.

     My brother and I spent a great deal of time together growing up. I was the safe one and did not take many risks. I spent much of my time protecting him from injury. While I have never had a broken bone or so much as a cavity, he broke several bones and needed to be stitched up multiple times in his childhood. We did have fun despite all the injuries.

     In elementary school, I always felt different from the other children. I was a loner and could feel isolated even when in a group. I was more of an observer than a participant and was often not actively involved with the other children. I spent most of my time with the adults because I found them much more interesting and I felt more comfortable with them. I have been called an “old soul” on many occasions.

     I started to experience attraction to the same sex as early as five years old. I have a vivid memory of standing in line with the other kindergarteners about to go into our school and seeing a boy that I had a huge crush on. I remember looking at him and knowing I was feeling something for him. That’s all I remember…me looking at him as we stood in line, feeling those feelings.

     I have memories of playing pretend and dress-up, acting, singing, and dancing. One of my most vivid memories, where I felt the happiest and most like “me”, was when I was playing with some neighborhood kids on the playground one day. I think I was between six and eight years old at the time. It was just a few of us. I don’t even remember who they were or what they looked like. I just remember they were girls, and one of them had a small purse with a long strap. I put the purse over my shoulder and pretended to be Dorothy Zbornak from The Golden Girls. I have no idea how I even knew who that was, my grandma must have let me watch it with her. I was tall, and mature, and proud—and an old woman.But at some point, I pushed all those interests aside. My love for music remained but instead of singing, I went into the band.

     In middle school, I tried playing soccer but really did not like it, too much running, so I started playing the clarinet. I picked up the clarinet because my dad told me that his father used to play the clarinet. His father had died unexpectedly of heart failure before I was born. So, when I auditioned for band in sixth grade, the band teacher let me try out a clarinet. I was a natural. I had all the embouchure and breath support needed to play it. I remember clearly the band director turning the mouthpiece of the clarinet around so I could blow into it while he moved his fingers on the keys. I produced a beautiful sound. He was impressed, and that made me feel great about myself. For one, because I knew my dad would be proud. Two, because I did love music and finally found something I was good at and enjoyed. And three, my mom was excited to connect with the band director because when she met him they realized they had gone to high school together. It was a cool experience all around.

     Other than band, seventh and eighth grades were not great. I was always picked on and had a difficult time understanding the other kids. They did not understand me either.

     I remember when I was in eighth grade, the seniors from the area high school came to help with our band. I found myself strongly attracted to the drum major, who happened to be a guy. I tried to ignore those feelings and never told anyone about what I was experiencing.

     When I got to high school, I finally hit my stride. I was in an environment with other peers who were older than me. Being in band allowed me the opportunity to be in classes with the seniors, so my freshman year, I became very popular with them. I even started semi-dating a girl. It didn’t go very far, because she was also dating someone else…and some other not-so-obvious reasons at the time. But just as my popularity started to rise, the military moved us again. This time we moved to the area near my mom’s family.

     Church continued to be a major aspect of our lives. God was always part of my story from a young age. My mom says the earliest things I used to talk about involved becoming a preacher. That makes sense, not only from a calling standpoint, but in church the pastor was akin to a celebrity of sorts. You listen to him and never question. What kid wouldn’t want that? I didn’t seem to mind the fact that I was sheltered from almost everything—pop culture, secular music, TV, movies, etc.

     I was so engrossed in my church that it made it easier to ignore what was going on in my body. I do remember hearing the hellfire and brimstone sermons about homosexuals from televangelists and my own pastors. Growing up, one of my pastors used to tell us the way we could identify a homosexual was by the earrings. “Left ear: not queer. Right ear: wrong ear. Both ears: woman.”

     I started working at a theme park when I was sixteen and continued for several years. It was my favorite job ever. I worked my way up and got promoted quickly, three times over the course of two years. There were a lot of gay folks who worked as performers there, and in other areas of the park. Even while still attending my fundamentalist church and “being straight,” I developed a crush on my supervisor who was gay. He was older than me by about five years and again, while I was still “straight,” was my first gay kiss. It never grew into anything more, but it naturally created a lot more internal conflict for me.

     I became good friends with many of my co-workers. I was closest to Sharon. She was a Christian and very open-minded, and we spent a great deal of time together. After going to the gym one day, we stopped at a Christian bookstore. Sharon told me that she recognized one of the guys working there from a gay bar that she had gone to. I went back to the bookstore later to meet the guy again. We struck up a conversation and started seeing each other. We fell in love very quickly, and our relationship was tumultuous to say the least. We were both from very strict churches and carried a burden of guilt about our relationship that made it very difficult to stay together. We were stuck in a cycle of dating, repenting of our relationship, breaking up, and then getting back together. It was very difficult.

     In November of 2000, after my experience at the theme park and during a “repent” cycle with the guy I fell in love with, I joined the Army National Guard. I got back together with the guy before deploying and he told me he would wait for me. Just before I left we went into another “repent” cycle and didn’t see each other again for many years. I went to basic training— “boot camp” and military police school and was mobilized shortly after on 9/11. A year later we deployed to Kuwait and then Iraq in 2003-2004.

     Prior to boot camp in 2001, I tried telling my parents about my struggle with same-sex attraction. They were driving me to the Military Entrance Processing Station (MEPS), where I would do all the preliminary paperwork and medical checks, and head to basic training directly from there. I was in the back seat of our minivan and I kept leaning forward to start to tell them but I just could not do it. I wanted them to know that it was something I had been struggling with but was working on and trusted God had healed me. I never got it out that day.

     While deployed the first time in 2003, I was working in lay-ministry with the soldiers in my unit as I always had. I had a core group of other fundamentalist Christian friends there with similar worldviews. At one point, I became so overwhelmed by my secret, feeling guilt and shame, that I decided I needed to tell my family.

     Fortunately, the phone in our barracks had a long enough cord for me to pull it up on a nearby top bunk. I called home and started to cry when my mom picked up the phone. I don’t remember my exact words, but it was something to the effect of, “I just wanted to tell you that I’ve been struggling with homosexuality, and I’m trying to be straight.” My mom’s only response was, “Talk to your father,” and she handed him the phone. Then, I told my dad what I had been carrying around for so long. I remember hearing and feeling his voice change. It was one of pure love and acceptance, and he said, “That’s okay, son, God still loves you!” After a moment, he added, “Now… don’t tell anybody else.” From a man who spent more than two decades in the military, that advice made sense. That’s all I remember from that call. I later found out that they were on their way to a family picnic. It was the Fourth of July. Probably not the best timing.

     I heard some years later, that my mom basically shut down at that point and did not talk to anyone for a week. It is understandable, I suppose. My revelation had a lot of implications for me, her, and her relationship with my dad after all the lying I’d done to cover my tracks.

     Back in the barracks in Kuwait, I hung up the phone and felt immediate relief. It was good to get it off my chest even though I knew things would be rocky at home with mom. And despite my dad’s warning, I soon shared my “struggles” with a few close Christian friends in my unit. I wanted them to help keep me accountable and on the “straight and narrow.” I ordered a correspondence course to help me become and stay straight. It was from a ministry run by a man who said God healed him of his homosexuality, and he was now happily married to his wife, with no remnants of his former “lifestyle.”

     My relationship with my mom was pretty damaged for a while. For better or worse, I was seven thousand miles away, and being that it was the early 2000s, we didn’t have much access to the internet. We communicated mainly through snail mail, and she shared her concerns to me through pen and paper. She expressed that she didn’t want me to go to hell, and shared Bible passages with me typically used against homosexuality, saying she was praying for me, encouraging me in my work with the ex-gay correspondence course program.

     I remained in the Middle East for eight more months. My unit moved north from Kuwait to Baghdad. Most of my unit there did not really connect with our chaplain. Somehow, I was among a lot of other fundamentalists of different flavors… and our chaplain was a woman. We tried not to talk about the whole “woman pastor” thing, even though some of the guys took issue with it. I got along well with her, though, and she trusted me and allowed me to lead chapel services for our midnight shift guys. So, every week for eight months I preached a midnight service on Sunday and a Wednesday night service as well. It was energizing and empowering and incredible.

     After returning to the United States in August 2004, I enrolled at Liberty University, the late Jerry Falwell’s conservative Christian institution. I started going to a church that had a ministry with recovery groups for people dealing with different issues—divorce, porn addiction, alcohol abuse, and same-sex attraction.I went to the same sex-attraction group for many months and participated with the others in the group. We kept each other accountable to having thoughts that were pure and “straight,” and openly discussed our struggles. While I disagree with the premise of the group now, this was a big catalyst for me in just being able to speak openly about that part of my life with a group of people who shared similar struggles and could be empathetically supportive.

     The summer after my first full year at Liberty, I was home visiting my parents and the phrase “gay theology” popped into my head as I sat at their computer. I searched it online and found a plethora of Christian websites showing their gay-affirming understanding of Scripture. I was blown away. I had no idea this existed before. I mean, I’d heard of “gay churches” but of course they were “ridiculous and satanic.” But, these churches were engaging with Scripture. That started my year and a half of devouring everything I could to try to sort it all out.

     I went to Liberty for one more semester before deciding to discontinue my studies. School was expensive and I didn’t want to take out any more loans. I moved back to my hometown and eventually got my own place with a roommate.

     In the next few months, I started leading praise and worship music for Wednesday night Bible study groups at the big southern Baptist church I was attending. I did that for several months until one day I got a text from my friend Alicia, saying that pastor James didn’t want us to have music that night before we split into our separate men’s and women’s Bible studies, which was our norm.

     Instantly, I sensed that he knew about me. “What was the big deal?”I thought to myself. After all, I had not made any decision about my sexuality yet. At that point, I had just been reading and praying and researching and looking at Greek and Hebrew and trying to prayerfully, diligently sort things out. I wasn’t dating. I wasn’t having sex. I was just trying to understand things.

     That night, I went to Bible study late, hoping to sneak in and avoid any conversations. But of course, pastor James wasn’t in Bible study; he was in his office waiting for me to walk by as I entered the church, so I walked into his office.

     It was the typical, non-question question from PJ: “So, how’s everything going?”

     “Great,” I said.

     “Anything going on you want to talk about?” He asked.

     “No, not really—I’m good. How are you?” I replied.

     He was going to have to say whatever he wanted to say. I was not hiding anything, and I was not doing anything. I didn’t have anything I wanted to talk with him about because I knew how he would respond and I’d already read everything on that side of the argument. He basically let me know that it had come to his attention that I seemed to have a lot of gay friends on social media.

     I explained to him, openly, where I was, what I was feeling, and how I was prayerfully researching and reading and analyzing Scripture. I expressed that I had not come to any conclusions yet. I’ll never forget his response.

     “I think you know what the truth is here, and you’re just fighting it. The problem with sitting on the fence for so long, is that one day you’re going to fall down and you’re going to hurt yourself.”

     I don’t remember what awkward conversation ended that dialogue, but I left the church, got into my car, and just drove around for a while. There was much mental back-and-forth, and many of tears that night.

     Everything I’d been reading and all the beautiful LGBT Christians I’d been fellowshipping with in online chat rooms and prayer groups deeply resonated with me. In the physical world, I knew I loved this church community. They were my family. I felt at home there, and how could that be wrong?

     I made the decision that night. I would walk away from all this searching, and just accept the fact that my church was right, and that “gay Christianity” was a delusion. I couldn’t give up the church family and community I had. I was straight, and that was that.

     Later that evening when I got home, I logged into the computer to the website for a gay Christian ministry. I had become so active in participating in their online discussion groups, email prayer chains, and had been writing daily devotions for their email list for some time now.

     Their founder and still current leader, Mary, was such a beautiful model of Christ’s love to me.

     “No,” I said to myself. “This is not wrong. These people all love God and live like Jesus more than some of the other ‘Christians’ I know. I am gay.” And that was that. As quickly as I “decided” to go against my soul and be straight, I decided I was wrong and followed my heart and intuition.

     I later found out that I immediately became a hot topic in the Bible study and prayer circles at the church. I was apparently a “big scandal.” A couple of the guys from Bible study reached out to me, especially after I announced not too long thereafter that I was moving to Los Angeles. One wanted to have breakfast with me before I left. We did. He just wanted to say goodbye and make sure that I had seen a few of these Bible passages I may have missed. I moved to Los Angeles in July 2007 where I joined the army reserves.

     After I came out as a self-affirming gay Christian, a few years passed and mom had come to terms with things. We still loved each other very much and spoke regularly throughout all of this. At that point, she still didn’t agree with the “lifestyle” but was loving and kind. Dad never cared either way. The fact that he had three gay siblings probably helped some. I had met and spent time with my aunts and uncles, but we never spoke about their relationships. Even my aunt’s long-time partner was included as part of the family, yet the relationship was never identified. It’s incredible what we can avoid. Of course, when I came out, my aunt and her partner were just like, “Oh, thank God. We’ve been waiting for years.”

     About six years after I came out as being gay to my parents for the second time, not as just struggling with my sexuality, mom got to the point where she was open to meeting more people from my world and learning more about same sex attraction. I’d become heavily involved with the Gay Christian Network, which hosts a conference in a different spot around the U.S. every January. In January of 2013, she flew to meet me in Los Angeles, and we took a mother-son road trip to Phoenix, where the conference was held that year. That conference opened her eyes and heart in many ways. It does for pretty much everyone who steps into that conference center and takes part in the corporate worship led at the start of each conference.

     Time and time again, you would find parents who were formerly non-affirming, or “sitting on the fence” about what to think, standing up along with the hundreds of other souls in that room, singing, praising God, praying, crying, submitting their lives to Christ and to leading lives of love. Mom was no different. She started connecting with more people there and became fast friends with a lot of my friends, leading to her texting them more than I even did after the conference.

     When mom attended the next conference with me in Chicago in 2014, she opened up even more. She made it a point to pull me aside, tell me she loved me, and let me know that she affirmed me for who I was.

     I moved to New York to complete a degree in American studies in January 2014. Mom developed a highly aggressive form of breast cancer while I was away, so I returned home often to spend time with her. I missed many classes and was given many extensions for finals and papers but mom and I had some beautiful moments together. She died in January 2016. I returned to my studies and completed my B.A. in May 2016. She would have been very proud.

     Much has happened since then. My mom and I were very close, and her death was a significant emotional event for me. It caused me to question everything. I had never lost anyone so close. I became more open and began to question my own spirituality. What did I really believe, concerning life after death, and my own spirituality in general?

     I often wonder what life would have been like if I had grown up in a more mainline, liberal denomination. My faith background made a huge difference in delaying my coming out. How far could I have gone, tapping into my truest self sooner in life? Where would I be now?

     Throughout my military career, I had a desire to study and become a chaplain. I was involved in some sort of lay ministry wherever I went, and it made sense to me to stay in the military and have that be my career. But after I came out, I knew I needed to find an LGBT-affirming seminary. Last year, I finally finished the undergraduate degree I’d started so long ago and was accepted at Yale’s Divinity School. I was preparing to attend to start earning my master’s in divinity, the graduate degree required for military chaplains, when I realized that the career that I had recently started building as a life and leadership development coach was fulfilling more of my yearnings and callings than I thought it would. I was working with people to identify happier, more passionately creative ways of living, and along with my new position as an equal opportunity advisor in the Army Reserve. I was fulfilling my own desires to encourage others to live their God-given, truest selves in this world.

     I have learned that everyone has their own journey to walk. Coming out must be done according to your own timing. When you do come out, have a back-up plan. Make sure you are physically safe and stable. You could be potentially compromising your living, working, food, and shelter situation. Start by coming out to people or a community you know will be supportive. You will need that support. Even if you live in the “boonies,” find online support. As much as possible, do not attach yourself to any outcome. You can only control your own thoughts and actions. You have no control over how others will respond. Their response is not about you; it’s about them. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. You just need to be yourself. You are here for a purpose. The best way to find and live your purpose is to listen to yourself, to your biggest, truest, highest desires and callings. Respond openly and gratefully to them, wherever they might take you. You may feel guilty if you leave certain people or communities for your own mental health and livelihood. You may feel the need to somehow go back and save them from their ignorance and prove to them that you are still the same person, to prove your worthiness of their love, to show them that you are right, that you can be “gay and ____” (Christian, for example). In the quest to prove your point, you may be tempted to contort yourself to fit into some other boxes where you do not belong, in boxes that will become just as constrictive as the closet you just fought so hard to come out of. Be patient, be loving, be gentle with yourself.

     When I look back on my situation, I wonder how I could have done things differently. Part of me wishes I had given my family a chance to walk with me on my eighteen-month journey of prayer, research,and discovery of my identity. I went from “God wants me to be straight” to “No, I am actually designed this way.” But, I did not trust anyone or give anyone a chance. On the other hand, when I didfinally come out, many of their responses were telling. If I had not been as far along in my research and heard them give such dismissive responses, it may have taken me even longer to come out. They would have been examining everything I did. It was hard enough to “hide” when people were not actively watching me. Ultimately, I believe that if I hadknown how supportive my loved ones could have been, I would have come out sooner.

     My deepest desire is to live a life of love, openness, and non-judgment. My focus is on becoming all that I was created to be by exploring creativity and gender and helping others to do the same.

An excerpt from Who Do You Say I Am? Personal Life Stories Told by the LGBTQ Community, by Carol Marchant Gibbs

Andrew recently graduated from an open and affirming Lutheran seminary in the mid-west that warmly welcomes people from the LGBTQ community. Each person from that seminary community goes there because of a desire for all people to come to know the deep love of God.

     What Andrew has learned over the years is that God really is love and uses the circumstances of our lives to form us and build into us a capacity to communicate God’s love to others. Every moment is truly eternal. Sometimes this eternity surrounds us with joy, and sometimes it sucks every ounce of hope out of us. Andrew finds beauty, serenity, and purpose in the triune God, who binds all of eternity together.

Andrew’s Story

     When I was six years old, my dad was incarcerated for robbing several banks. He was a witty, intelligent, sarcastic, introspective, self-loathing, alcoholic, manic depressive, who happened to be sober until I was six years old. He had serious addiction problems and became delusional. My dad would collect-call me periodically from prison, and I would visit him on a regular basis. My paternal aunt faithfully took me to visit him. She loved her brother, and what could have been a traumatic experience for me helped to form love and compassion instead. I really value that time with my dad.

     My mom is an incredible person—loving, aloof, over-protective, hard-working, kind, genuine, and compassionate. She worked very hard to raise my sister, who was two years younger, and me, working 40 to 50-hour weeks as a respiratory therapist. Mom and dad divorced shortly before the armed robberies.

     My childhood was marked by prison visits, with a struggling, overworked mother sustaining a middle-class lifestyle, a co-dependent, loving paternal aunt, and faith in an ever- forgiving, loving, gracious God.

     There is much I can say about how being the child of a prisoner influenced me as a person. Reflecting on how it influenced my call to ordained ministry, I can say that I was forced to face the complexities of “right and wrong” from a young age. The questions, “Why must I suffer for my father’s crimes? Why must children and loved ones of those incarcerated suffer?” is something with which I continue to wrestle when reflecting on my childhood and relationship with my father. I also had to face the privilege my skin color and ancestrygiven me;most of my ancestors had a college education and land. My family received better treatment from the prison guardsthan most visitors did, and we were almost always the only white, middle class folks there. In the words of one of my mentors, “your life has been marked with extreme privilege and extreme oppression.” Simply put, this experience has given me a passion for justice that is restorative rather than oppressive. The justice Jesus Christ preached about, lived for, died for, and most of all rose for.

     I remember growing up feeling ashamed. My dad was in prison and my mom was a single parent but we received support and encouragement from our extended family and that really helped. My sister and I would spend summers with our mom’s sister at her home on the Jersey shore, and with my father’s sister while we took swimming lessons. From time to time, my grandparents helped us to go on family vacations.

     My mom was raised Presbyterian and my dad Roman Catholic, so when they married they attended an Episcopal church. After the divorce, my mom started attending a Lutheran church closer to our home. The church had several rifts while we were there, conservatives versus the progressives. When I wrote a story about the birth of Jesus that was inaccurate, it didn’t go well there so we moved on to the Episcopal church. We attended church once a month until I was confirmed.

     I stopped Sunday school altogether when I did not get a particularly great response to my question on creationism. Our Sunday school teacher asked us how the big bang could be true because, “one cannot blow up a junkyard and create a Corvette.” Me being raised a free thinker by my mom, pushed back. I asked, “But couldn’t God? Why can’t both be true?” After that, the teacher argued with me. When I told my mom about our exchange, she told me I didn’t have to go to Sunday school anymore.

     My faith formation really happened when I started going to a Lutheran summer camp at age ten. Everything changed after several summers spent at Mar-Lu-Ridge (MLR). There, I learned about and experienced a God that loved and accepted me for who I was. It was there I made my first life-long friends. At first, games, songs, Bible study, and team-building helped solidify these friendships. We expressed ourselves fully with each other there, sometimes this was euphoric and at other times it required patience and forgiveness. The natural beauty and the culture of shalom at Mar-Lu-Ridge opened our eyes to the divine presence that promises to be with us, especially when most vulnerable.

     The love, faith, and individuality of my counselors inspired me to spend four summers as a counselor at MLR. I could make the holy almost tangible for my campers, like my counselors had for me. My eyes would always water during the closing worship because the new spark of faith and shalom in each of them was so moving. Mar-Lu-Ridge demonstrated the transformative power of Gospel-inspired shalom.

     When I was eleven, my dad was released from prison and my sister and I had the opportunity to see him once a week. Visits were supervised by my aunt. I have fond memories of meals with my dad when he was home. He was an amazing cook and made incredible crab cakes.

     Despite my unusual circumstances, I was just a regular kid. I loved to play outside in the woods and I also loved strategy games. Swimming was also fun. I was an athlete and played recreational soccer until in high school, then ran hurdles for the track team.

     When I was twelve years old, I started to experience same-sex attraction. It was easy for me to ignore for a while because I was also attracted to girls. I consider myself bisexual. The homophobia in society prevented me from admitting what I was experiencing. I was raised by women that I highly respected. So, locker room talk was very offensive to me. It was difficult to know where I fit. So, I just stayed quiet about it.

      High school was an interesting challenge. I did not date in high school because I did not know how. I remember hearing derogatory remarks about the gay community. “Faggot” or “gay” was yelled out but not toward me. These hurtful words were made in passing. I would hide to escape from hearing them.

     My dad relapsed, while I was in high school, and he found himself back in prison. I was fifteen. This made it more challenging to have him directly involved in my life. He remained in prison until I was twenty-one.

     I attended college with the goal of majoring in international affairs with development studies. I wanted to study to be a diplomat because I saw it as a career where my gifts for working with people and history, and my desire to help people, intersected. After six months, I became disillusioned with American foreign policy, and the dream of becoming a diplomat quickly floated from my brain. This led to a brief crisis, especially when the idea of ordained ministry floated into my head—a career path some of the church ladies tried to encourage.

      Once I had reconciled the fact that this idea, which would set me apart from my friends and many in my generation, had taken root, I felt more and more called to nurture peoples’ spirituality and create a culture of shalom. In those moments, the dreams of presiding over God’s table and feeding God’s people would take hold. The thought of being a part of grassroots social justice movements, sustaining and renewing the spiritual life of a community, and standing in firm and vocal opposition to forces within the church that ignore the Gospel proclamation of shalom, was a signal that I had to seriously discern my vocation. With those thoughts racing through my head, I decided to send an innocent email inquiring about any internships relating to advocacy. I casually mentioned considering seminary. Next thing I knew, I had an email cc’d with about ten church leaders offering me all kinds of opportunities, except for an internship dealing with advocacy. It was through that interaction I was connected to Project Connect[1].

     Project Connect provided with me a grant to work at Luther Place for one academic year to discern whether I felt called to parish ministry. I facilitated Bible studies on Ruth and Esther at N Street Village, was one of four adult leaders for a new youth group, taught senior high Sunday school, preached, organized a young-adult-led Good Friday service, served on the young adult leadership team and the Steinbruck Center steering committee, and got hands-on experience with church administration. I also had weekly spiritual direction from a mentor. The entire experience was valuable, but the most transformative experiences in terms of the call to ordained ministry were my spiritual direction and being a part of the women of N Street’s Bible study.

It was also in college that I felt the freedom to come out as bisexual. I dated two women before coming out but it did not amount to anything serious. I remember being attracted to guys, but I did not want to become a “college gay” (someone who comes out because of the freedom college allows), because I am bisexual. I did not want to publicly close myself off to being with women. I do remember going to a party where I got drunk and pinched a man’s behind. My friend jokingly said that I was “bisexual.” I called her later to tell her she was right. She also admitted to being bisexual.

     I think it’s important to note that same-sex relationships develop differently and have different dynamics than heterosexual relationships. I believe that this is because of the culture of homophobia. So, for a long time, I explored my sexuality in private because I feared being exposed. I found myself attracted to people, but I never voiced my feelings for someone unless I was sure they had feelings for me. I fear rejection, but I think that has more to do with my family dynamics than my sexuality.

     I did try different ways to meet people, however. I enjoyed being a lifeguard at the gym, but nothing ever came out of my scanning the pool for “safety reasons.” Eventually, I worked up the courage to meet someone online. We hung out, but we were not in a relationship. I wanted to explore the physical aspect more than the emotional. After we graduated, we just stopped talking, and I think we were both okay with that. I did fall in love with someone over the course of two months, but it ended abruptly when the guy “ghosted” me. We had a misunderstanding and he just stopped all communication. Eventually, he responded and told me to stop trying to contact him through text messages. It was a very painful experience. About two years later, he apologized but I have no plans to have any contact with him in the foreseeable future. Why invest my energy in someone who flippantly abandoned me?

   Coming out was more of a progression for me. First, I told my good friend Samantha that I was dating men, when the conversation arose. She was so affirming. Then, I started telling people in my seminary. It was a little more complicated to explain what bisexual meant. That changed as I got more experience telling my story. Bisexuals can often be discriminated againstbecause it has been thought to be a stepping stone to being gay or straight. Many people do not understand that one can be attracted to both sexes.

     I was twenty-one when my dad was released from prison because of health reasons at age sixty. He had been hospitalized after a fall and had back problems. I saw him periodically but at age twenty-four, I became very frustrated with him and did not talk to him for a year. After a year of no communication we reconciled, and I am so glad we did. My dad died six months ago from an aneurism. He just collapsed one day and he was gone.

     I really did not come out to my family until I started dating my partner, Eric, three years ago. My mom responded that she “had a hunch.” She wanted me to be protected. My dad was accepting but always referred to my partner as my “friend.” My stepdad was uncomfortable at first but came around later. My sister was my greatest ally. She had done gender studies in college in her study of statistics and psychology, so she was very supportive.

     There have been a few people in my life that have had a profound impact on the person I have become. I am grateful for the influence my mom, dad, and aunt have had in my life. We have walked life’s journey through the joy and the pain. I have learned much about love from my experience with visiting my dad in prison. I do know that despite his choices, he never stopped loving me. My aunt faithfully strived to make that relationship continue. What a gift. My mom was always devoted to giving me the best life that she could. I am amazed at her strength and courage. She has loved me consistently well. The faithfulness of my family and friends has made me realize that I could have come out sooner. Through them, I have experienced God’s love in a new way.

     My call to ministry has developed over time. Before realizing that I felt called to ministry, I would have written off my time spent at my home church and the congregation there as insignificant. Now, I see it as the place that has been a steadfast support for me, a constant presence on my spiritual journey. It was the place where my Christian journey began in the waters of my baptism and is a place of constant affirmation of my call to ministry. My call is to proclaim the manifold and mysterious ways God is alive in this world through my words, and my sharing of the ancient sacraments of church and tangible grace with all who desire them.

         As far as sexuality is concerned, we must always remember that we are made in God’s image and should never be ashamed of who we are. He loves us no matter what. Feel the freedom to question and explore, always remembering that we are loved.

Andrew graduated from seminary in spring 2017 and has been called to pastor a congregation in the Lutheran church. He lives in the mid-west near his partner of three years, Eric.

Excerpt from Who Do You Say I Am? Personal Life Stories Told by the LGBTQ Community, by Carol Marchant Gibbs.

[1]Project Connect is a ministry of the eastern cluster of Lutheran seminaries with the mission of assisting young adults with vocational discernment,

^[2]Accompaniment in the context of the ELCA Global Mission’s way of doing “missionary” work.