Promises

Looking Back... Looking Forward

Growing up the son of a missionary and gospel singer/evangelist who were committed to living, "by faith:" asking no one but God to meet the family's needs shaped me in some interesting and challenging ways. I grew up having visited many of the 48 contiguous states, and seeing many things my peers only dreamed of seeing. At the same time, Mom would drive up to the house with us in the car and there would be groceries on the front porch that she needed, hadn't asked for, and cooked with that night to feed us. We were always dirt-poor, and always had enough.

If Dad was called for meetings in East Texas or Florida, he'd always say yes, and then he'd pull out the Rolodex and begin calling churches and pastors along the way to build an itinerary so he could afford to get there. You see, Dad never required any payment and never knew what he was going to get (if anything) and so the idea of the church covering his expenses was foreign to him. We paid our own way and graciously accepted whatever was offered to us upon completion of our mission or crusade in the community. Nearly always, every weekend and every Wednesday night were booked and we'd simply travel from community to community in order to reach the place that first booked us. It could take weeks, but it is how we traveled. 

In today's world, I wonder what my parents' Facebook accounts would look like. Undoubtedly, they would post pictures of churches where they ministered and pictures of Dad singing or Mom telling a story or leading a Bible Study or women's meeting, but I imagine there would be a lot of pictures of Timothy and I swimming outside of Boonesborough, Kentucky in the Cumberland Gap where I spent my 10th birthday, or of us touring the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, and Straight Street in Philly on the 4th of July 1976. Perhaps you'd see pictures of us playing at Niagara Falls or Fort Ticonderoga, looking at Mt Rushmore, Yellowstone, the Grand Tetons or the Grand Canyon. 

Maybe my parents would have been smart enough not to post those photos that family and friends wanted to see on their public pages so that people wouldn't get the wrong idea about the family and think that we were flush and simply playing all the time. Because that certainly wasn't the case. I don't know how they would have worked that out and I wish I did.

This summer has been a celebration summer for Paula and I. We spent the first two years of our marriage never qutie having enough to pay the bills, and spending at least one, or many times two or three nights each week apart, as I traveled to the Little Fishing Village to the North of Portland for School. Supporters stopped supporting Paula because they assumed, as a man, I'd take care of her financially. After all, isn't that my job? They don't realize that as a grad student, living on the edge, having betrayed my former ministry partners through my adultery, I simply couldn't. 

Like many couples, especially older-- poorer ones, blending our financial lives is one of our greatest challenges. In contrast to my background, Paula grew up in an affluent family who trained her how to manage money well. In some ways, we're good for each other and in others we sometimes want to kill each other. 

So this summer, in the wake of three life-changing years, we've chased beauty as we've lived, using many of the travel strategies I learned growing up. We've taken Dr. Dan Allender's advice and taken the time to connect to each other more tightly, and God in new and fresh ways. It is easier now that I don't have another book to read and paper to write. When we've gone somewhere for business, we combine it with a day or two to relax along the way.

In June I graduated in Seattle and took Thomas to check out a school in British Columbia. I combined the two because I couldn't afford to take him on this campus visit any other way. Since we were in BC, TL and I tagged on two days in Whistler that didn't cost us anything except for the gas to get there. We took our food and had a kitchen in which to cook. We had a brilliant time.

In July, Paula gave me a 50th birthday/graduation gift and we rode 1701 miles to Canmore, Alberta to see the Canadian Rockies. It was a vacation to be sure, and it cost money to do. We were celebrating major milestones. And our celebration was also an act of worship. Paula called it a Pilgrimage. The bonus was that we stopped along the way to develop new ministry partnerships and see people we'd never get a chance to see if we weren't making the trip.

August is Paula's birthday month and September is our anniversary month and so we planned to go to Bend on a working vacation/celebration to see and connect with people for the Kingdom. After that trip was planned friends gave us an actual real-life vacation at Depoe Bay. It caught us both off guard and was probably the best vacation ever, and yet, even then we spent our mornings reading, planning, and writing together before going to play in the afternoons.

So you can't imagine my disappointment when Paula told me that someone said to another of her friends,"It seems like all they do is vacation."

I teach, metaphorically, that there are three legs of the stool upon which I rest. One of those legs is that "what other people think of me is none of my business." I believe that wholeheartedly and I am also aware that this person's hurtful statement will lead us to make some changes, not to how we live, but how we portray the way we live.

The second leg of the stool is  "If you spot it you got it." The person thinking we're always on vacation has his/her own insecurities in regard to our actions. Regardless, we live in a world where perception matters. And as supported missionaries, we need to make sure that we are not harming our ability to develop kingdom partnerships with people who are called to support Kingdom work financially.

Unlike my parents, we can't post pictures of the people with whom we meet or even tell the stories of the lives that are changing when we meet with them. It isn't appropriate or ethical in our line of work. Those stories aren't "Facebookable." I thought the beauty we've chased along the way was, but that is apparently not so. APparently we need to limit that to a very few close friends. That is a sad reality we are going to have to face. I think you can expect some further changes to our Facebook feeds as we move forward. It might be that we need to cancel them altogether, creating other ways to communicate with our friends around the world. We'll see. We have some talking to do. 

Please feel free to chime in on this topic either in the comments below the blog or the Facebook post, or in a personal message on FB, or even in an email to Paula or me. On quite another note, I am sure that this is the reason that Allender doesn't use Facebook.

By the way. Here is the link that Paula's friend was sharing with Paula's other friend. It was this link that led to the discussion that has led to this post:

 

Chasing beauty, Day 4 - A long, Beautiful ride north to Canmore with Paula Gamble Grant, MA, NBA

So it ended up being a long 384-mile day. My foot is messed up, swollen and black and blue. The injury slowed us down. I move like Tim Conway in a Carol Burnett sketch. Because of that, we were 40 minutes late to see Josh & Rebecca Jaklich in Hayden, ID. They patiently waited for us and it was so encouraging to see them and catch up. After we left them we grabbed a quick bite to eat.

 

As we finally pulled out of Hayden, my comment to Paula, over our comms was, "Well, we are only getting away 2 hours later than I thought we would." My injury was making things tight. I don't like riding as late as we were going to have to ride. We couldn't mess around.

 

We were both in sweatshirts until we suited up for the rain south of Sandpoint, ID on the shored of Lake Pend Orielle, because of an isolated shower that caught us off guard. We found a pullout and put on rain pants and coats in the rain, but we didn't pull on our boot covers. She asked if we should and I said no thinking that Paula's cute, rugged, Harley boots were waterproof. I was wrong, and her boots leaked water through the laces even after that short downpour. Sorry, Babe.

 

The ride up Hwy 95, through Idaho's panhandle, was peaceful except for my inner state. The panhandle is full of racists, and my stomach turned when I had to follow a Jeep in need of a new muffler who had plastered a Stars & Bars, KKK Battle rag sticker to her back window. Racists notwithstanding, it was an alright ride. The last section of road north of Bonners Ferry is a fun sweeping drive up to the Eastport Border crossing. 

 

Neither Paula or I had crossed into Canada on motorcycles before. Before crossing, we read that:

1. We didn't need to take off our helmets to talk to the border agent but did need to remove our sunglasses and turn off our bikes when we pulled up.
2. We needed to approach the agent one bike at a time. If the officer waves the partner up, that is fine, but we needed to roll up one bike at a time.

Paula likes me to be in front, and so I went first. After I had turned the bike off, the agent informed me he hadn't gotten my license plate. This meant that I needed to walk the bike forward so he could read my plate. Paula had to do the same. This may vary from point of entry to point of entry, but I found it odd that they weren't taking pictures of our plates when we crossed into Canada.

My goal is always to leave people I meet happier than they were before they met me. It is part of how I try to bless my world. How that happens varies, but at border crossings and with customs agents, the general rule of thumb is that if I am friendly, honest, and engaging I leave them with a smile on their face.

The ride from the border to Cranbrook, BC was majestic. The road follows the Moyie river north past Moyie Lake. It has beautiful bends and wonderful scenery. We rode under glorious sunshine and that only added to or joy.

Soon after Cranbrook CA-95 merges with CA-93. They stay together until Radium Hot Springs. (We didn't know any of this as our phone navigation doesn't work in Canada. We could have stopped to get new SIM cards in Cranbrook  but decided not to waste the time. Instead, we relied on the wisdom of people we met in rest stops and gas stations to get us to our destination.

CA-93/95 proved to be a "nice ride" rather than a stunning one. This might be because we knew we were heading into a storm (we could see it just ahead of us. We chose to ride into the darkness.)

That choice changed my anxiety level and affected my enjoyment of this stretch of highway. (I feel as if I have to at least pretend that I know what I am doing so that Paula doesn't worry. And, though I don't really know what I am doing and may make different choices at different times, if I were making the trip alone, this kind of trip does not feel unusual or worrisome to me.)  

My impressions if this stretch of roadway were also colored by the fact that there is major construction that held us up and then slowed us down: We were stopped for a good ten minutes by a flagger and then rode 45 mph on grooved pavement for a long 16 kilometers. Remember, Paula has only been riding a year and she hates grooved pavement. Please don't get me wrong, none of these 384 miles were boring. All of it was beautiful, and a lot of it spectacular. During this particular stretch, Paula's voice came over comms, "The Cliffs of Insanity!" Sure enough, at the north end of Columbia Lake, the headwaters of the mighty Columbia River, just south of Fairmont Hot Springs are some striking brown cliffs. We stopped to get gas and share a subway 12-inch just north of there.

From that point on, God directed the clouds to spit or pour on us. Dropping into Radium Hot Springs, I wanted to stop to get a picture of a stunning river curving below us. It was spectacular, but because of the rain, we pressed on.

The picture I didn't take as we came into Radium Hot Springs

Radium itself is a picturesque tourist mecca that borders the pass that crosses the Continental Divide. On a different kind of journey, we would have stopped, explored and enjoyed it more thoroughly. We didn't even pause on this ride.

At Radium Hot Springs CA95 / CA 93 split. We turned right to follow 93. Just as we did so, we saw a fleet of bikers coming down the pass, dressed in their rain gear and still pretty wet. 

Stock picture of a motorcyclist climbing out of Radium Hot Springs on Hwy 93

As we rode up the pass, I marveled at the road. It is most easily the steepest most incredibly engineered road I've ridden. It was a glorious ride in the rain. I can't imagine how glorious it would be in the sunshine! Parts of it seemed to be cut through the rocky mountain itself, and the stream that falls down the mountainside next to the road is a majestic shade of blue that is indescribably beautiful. Going up is always easier than going down. We rode down cautiously in the pouring rain. It's a very rough road. Once down the other side in the Mountain Valley, traveling along the Kootenay River, the rain stopped, and we increased our speed.

The Kootenay River Runs along Hwy 93

The rest of the way up to the Trans-Canadian Hwy was rough, but I continually shouted my wonder at the beauty through which we rode. There were, "Wow, look up to your right." and, "O my, wow!" escaping my lips along with songs of worship and an occasional verbal outburst from Paula at an unexpected bump in an unexpected place.

Once we reached Hwy 1, we sprinted to get to Canmore. The Trans-continental Hwy is a well-maintained and easy to ride. Canmore is 22 kilometers past Banf and so by the time we pulled in we were both massively sore. I could barely pull my bad leg across the bike to get off and hobble into our unit. We have covered parking that is close to the elevator to head up to our unit on the main floor. 

So far the clouds have us sopped in, and we can't see much, which is a crying shame because we get glimpses of breath-taking grandeur that we can't quite see. Hopefully, we'll be able to take some pictures over the next few days. 

This morning we rode through town to the grocery store, and Paula bought me a retractable cane so that I can hobble around. Our plan is to lay low today to try to give my foot the time it needs to heal a bit, then spend tomorrow exploring  So pics will come as we get them. Weatherwise, this is not the best time to be here, and it is still the best birthday gift I've ever been given. My wife loves me, and I am grateful. I've decided that her business cards need to read, "Paula Gamble-Grant, MA (Master of Arts), NBA (ninja badass). Maybe I can talk her into it when she orders more.

Chasing Beauty, Part 2: Day One Ride

The "Rever*" map of our first day's route

There is a downside to Coms -- Things you say out loud that normally no one else but God can hear, get heard by your spouse. And it may be hard to comprehend, but I can be impatient sometimes. When Paula heard me giving directions to a car that was slowing me down in angry tones with cursing, she responded, "Stop it! I am viewing this as a pilgrimage. I am not in control. I am not in a hurry. I walk in faith and hope. I greet everyone with peace. I bring back only what God gives me. I'm chasing beauty."

I don't think I swore the rest of the ride. We looked at multiple possible routes to get here to the South end of Coeur D' Alene. We had to stop for gas before leaving Portland. Riding sanely, my Goldwing gets approximately 39-40 miles to the gallon. Paula's NT700 is supposed to get 54 but got over 57 MPG. My tank is only 4.6 gallons, and so I can only safely go 175 miles on a tank of gas. Paula can go 260 or so. We weren't overloaded fo the trip, but we are loaded. 

Monday morning traffic through Portland was relatively light. We cruised out Interstate 84 taking note that the exit to Multnomah Falls was closed since the parking lot was full. They pull a gate across to stop even motorcycles from entering. Traffic in the Dalles was gnarly. At one point an RV pulling a trailer did change lanes causing Paula, who was riding behind me to gasp, me to lay on my air horn and hit the brakes quite hard. 

Paula occasionally would shout surprise when heavy wind gusts tried to push her over or out of her lane. That is when the coms were toughest on me. Her shouts made me nervous, but we both got better at handling the wind and the subsequent verbal responses to it.

Biggs Junction at milepost 104 was our first gas stop. We also shared a "two for four" deal and hit the road again. The pic above was taken at this stop. When riders get to Biggs, they have an option, continue on I-84, which nearly everyone encourages, or cross the Columbia and take WA 14 east. We chose the road less traveled. It was the right choice. 14 is enjoyable. It is well maintained, and it stays within a stone's throw of the river most of the way. Not two curvy, but not boring either, with ample opportunities to pass. I followed Paula, turned the music on and up, kicked my right foot up onto my crash bar, resting my right elbow on my knee and rode without a care in the world, chasing my wife -- who is beauty -- down the road.

Our next stop was Columbia Park in Kennewick Washington. This park is the host of the hydroplane races in the Tri-cities. It was a necessary oasis for us. We stretched and held Yoga poses to stretch some more. We snacked and then hit the road again. A few miles up the road we made a gas stop in Connell, WA. So far I was familiar with all the roads on our route. That was about to change. We turned East on WA 26 toward Pullman. We immediately noticed a difference. The road was bumpier and not as well maintained. It wasn't bad, simply rough. We were still able to travel around 70 MPH, and there was hardly any traffic going our way. After about twenty miles of straight, "Nebraska-esque" road, it began to find some curves through unique, liminal land that transitions between the Eastern Washington planes and the foothills of the mountains we were approaching. The shifts are subtle but also profound. When you are on a bike, you have the opportunity to take it in and observe the subtle changes in ways you never could, if in a cage, traveling the same roads.

The road becomes so curvy and hilly that it became virtually impossible to pass safely and, as is often the case, this was precisely the place that five cars in front of me, the two of us and a couple of cars behind us all lined up behind a slow moving rancher in his pick up. I remembered Paula's pilgrim prayer those last five miles dropping into Colfax, WA. At Colfax, we turned north on WA 195 toward Spokane. 195 bends up a hill as it leaves town to the north. It is a two-laned, pot-hole laced road. Halfway up the hill, Google maps beeped at me to turn off the major road onto Hume Rd. Hume passed to the east of Steptoe Butte, and though the posted speeds said 50 MPH, we traveled much faster as we climbed into OakeDale.

This last section of our ride was a hoot. It was twisty and windy with good surfaces to place our tires. We traveled through Oakedale, Tekoe, and Plummer, through beautiful farming valleys that are tucked away from the rest of the world. We transitioned from the high, arid planes to lush forest lands, through the fertile green farming country. We never did see a sign that we entered Idaho.

On the last section of road on the way to Pat's

And what can be said about Lake Coeur D Alene itself? It is truly a beautiful and wondrous lake, over 26 miles long with fingers that explore the hollers of Idaho's panhandle. We are staying with Pat Cooke, a long-time friend of the Gamble family and one of my favorite people. She has a beautiful lakeside home on the shores of Lake Coeur D'Alene's south side, across from Harrison, ID (the blue dot on the map). It reminds me of the lakeside home on Chelan where I used to vacation growing up. We are here until tomorrow when we head north, meet some friends for coffee, then ride further north, cross the border to Canada to Lake Louise, Canada. 

After a hard day's work the bikes get to take a break

------------------------------------------

*Rever is a free app that tracks riders, letting them know their speed, maximum speed, time riding, and miles ridden. It then maps the route you ride. I'm liking what they are offering and they are continually making improvements.

Chasing Beauty, Part 1: getting the Bikes Ready

Taking a bike trip isn't like taking a car trip. We are sorting through what to take and what bags to take as well as making sure the bikes are ready for the journey. In the case of my '86 Honda GL1200 Goldwing Interstate, that is easier said than done.

I bought the bike cheaply two and a half years ago. The owner had spent painstaking hours cleaning it up, so it looked immaculate. I knew it didn't run, but my friend, a mechanic, thought it wouldn't take that much to get it going. Some of you may remember the fiasco that followed with the Bike shop that kept the bike seven months longer than they said they would to "fix it," broke my left side mirror and then charged me to replace it, and did shoddy work. Finally, the bike was returned to me, but soon I discovered that I still had electrical problems that needed to be fixed. Enter my brother-in-law, Scott, an electrical wizard. He installed what Goldwing owners call a "Poor boy" charging system. We purchased a kit, and he installed it. My bike went from using its stator to charge to charging itself from a Geo Metro alternator. This fixed most but not all of the problem, because when the bike is parked there is still a drain on the battery, and if the bike sits for more than 24 hours it drains the battery too far, and it won't start. 

So today, I rode down to McMinnville and Scott installed a battery disconnect for me. This meant cutting a hole in one of my side panels. The battery cutoff has a key that has to be inserted for power to get to the bike, so it is also a pretty fantastic theft deterrent. Also, we installed a new energy source to keep my phone charged and a solar battery tender to keep the battery charging even when it is sitting. I can't tell you how much more confidence I have making the trip because of Scott's skill and generosity.

Meanwhile, Paula has changed bikes. She has gone to a 2010 Honda NT700A. She says, "I needed to get a bike that has hips like mine." I think she looks better on it and it does provide her more stability.
I call it a "mini-Goldwing." She sold her old bike and bought this one essentially so we could take trips like this, but she also made money on the deal, That was a nice bonus. Insurance is also less expensive since moving away from a naked sportbike.

Today, she installed a new power source so she can also plug her phone in and keep it charged, and adjusted her clutch so that she has more play in it and it is more comfortable for her. Bikes require us to be much more in tune with our world and our bodies, We adjust them to fit our size and our tendencies. She needed more play when she squeezed because she has small hands and she wanted the lever closer to the handlebar when it was engaging. She accomplished that and is much happier now.

Power for our phones is important because they are an integral part of our Cardo Scala GX9 Communication system that allows us to talk while we ride. Buying the Cardos has made a huge difference to us. We love them. If she wants, Paula can hear the crazy stream of consciousness that flies around in my cranial cavity when I ride. Or I can hear things I never thought I'd hear her say. More importantly, we can let one another know that we need to take a break, to look out for a road hazard, or talk about getting around or through traffic.

This trip, we are each carrying two extra sets of gloves, one of which can be worn as an underlayer, and I am packing several extra large bandanas to help keep my unruly hair in line and to cover up my face if we get caught in any rain storms. I chose my half shell rather than full face helmet for this ride. Paula always rides in a modular. Both of us are also carrying waterproof jackets, pants, and boot covers. We have created a make-shift tool-kit that we carry in a Redkin canvas toiletry bag. In the kit, we have an assortment of open-ended and box wrenches, as well as sockets and an adjustable. We are also carrying a Philips and flat head screwdriver, a leatherman, and a couple of sets of pliers and a box cutter. I've learned to always carry jumper cables, and we are taking additional power sources for our phones.

Paula always rides with full armor and Harley Davison MC boots because they are solid and cute. I am always in jeans, boots, and leather gloves, but rarely armor up unless it is cold-weather riding. I am undoubtedly foolish in this choice. Yet, it is a conscious choice, and I am cognizant of the risks I take, and chose to take them anyway. If some day I lay in a hospital with large sections of skin missing, I will have done it to myself and you need not feel sorry for me. 

We are taking a camera and so will try to post pictures from the road starting tomorrow. 

Chasing Beauty: Introduction

On Monday morning Paula and I will start a motorcycle trip that will take us to Coeur D' alene, ID. On Wednesday we will leave Coeur D' alene and head north to Lake Louise, Alberta, Canada. 

Amidst the insanity this country is creating right now, we've decided to search out beauty that neither of us has seen, so we can encounter it together, find refreshment, meet God together, and enjoy the hope that beauty creates.

For the next week or so this blog will become a travel blog of sorts. Some of the wonder of this trip is that the journey on the bikes together is as important as our destinations. We will be free to roam, saunter on our bikes and frolic along the way. We will get to spend time with longtime friends while lingering on the shores of a majestic Idaho Lake, hiking in the majesty of the Canadian Rockies, or traveling with the lazy Columbia River as it flows south through Washington. 

I hope as we post pictures you will get to enjoy our ride with us, as we celebrate life together, and revel in God's absolute delight with us, and you. I'll post again soon. Enjoy the ride. #livetoride #ridetolive #wiveswhoridearethebest #adventuretogether #saunterlingerfrolictogether #worshiptogether #transformedtogether 

An Open Letter to My Love

My Love, 

When we married, Given the misogynistic culture we inhabited, I knew that a part of loving you meant creating space for you to be all God made you to be. I needed all those skills I gained as a lineman on my high school football team to "block for you" clearing obstacles from in front of you so that you could score. This wasn't because you needed help to function joyfully with your King. It was because others in our world would try to stop you. My first job was to make sure no one held you down and secondly, to ensure; I didn't get in the way.

We've known for several months that this was gong to be tough, for me at least. I took a risk last fall telling you that this year, my 50th birthday, as I entered the back half of my life, and as I finished graduate school, it would be a good time to learn how to be celebrated. I was going to leave it in your hands, partly because the idea of celebrating me is so f**king awkward, and partly because after all the shit I've pulled in the first half of my life it doesn't feel right to celebrate me. Today, it seems as if God doesn't either. That feeling sucks, and it is mine.

None of that is said to make you feel guilty. You are living into the fullness of your ontology. It is truly glorious and beautiful to watch. This is the moment we (you and me, Babe) get to reflect Trinitarian love and sacrifice back into the heavenly realm. This is where I get to be who God made me to be for you and those 80 folks you get to love this coming week. It costs more than I thought myself able to pay. 

The weight seems heavier in the furrow of Cyril's death somehow. I will take the kids to Ecola to talk to both Dad & Mum tomorrow. I kinda think Mum & Dad might like how things are turning out on this side of the implosion of "Clan Grant." Besides, it will be good for the kids to see where their grandparent's ashes are poured and remember them. 

As we physically move in opposite directions these next days; and as thousands of miles divide us, I'm writing to help us (me) remember that we've made Kingdom choices this week, and though in this moment they feel shitty to me I believe they will ultimately lead us to worship. 

When I married you the biggest surprise was discovering that I didn't need to be a lonely rebel. So, as you preach this week to many who are weary from "running for God," I pray that they find rest and delight -- like the little boy jumping off a park bench into his Daddy's arms == "Running to God." I'll pray as you "kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight."¹ And while you are unleashing the Spirit of God on the Demons of a well-meaning system that destroys its people, I will revel in beauty, and rest in the love of my son. I too will battle the darkness by playing in the light of creation. Maybe through our joint efforts, we'll create a crack that will let the light get in. That is my prayer, anyway.

it's gonna seem like I'm changing the subject in one of my famous ADHD moments, but I'm not. Earlier today I watched this U2 video. It moved me and I imagined us worshiping together as we live in the presence of our King. "

I like everything about this video. "Yahweh," the first song, feels descriptive of us. Everything from Bono's pleading lyric: "Don’t make a fist,” to the call for a broken heart at the end of "Yahweh," all rocked my world on this day where I find myself being so tender.

The second song, "40," was a soundtrack for our young adulthood, and it always moves me. Toward the end, when Bono picked up the spotlight, people knew they mattered. When the camera person caught the look on Edge’s face as he listened to Chicago’s choir ask, “How long?” he captured a transcendent moment. And when Larry needed to join the choir's plaintive question one last time, all of our corporate, pent up frustration with God not living up to our demands went into his rhythmic Gestaltic act, unloading on his drums and cymbals.

"How long, must we sing this song?"

I don't have a great answer to this question. I know that I am singing the chorus to "40" this week while you are away. And, I know that singing the song with you as we patiently and sometimes impatiently wait --  and as we point and walk with people toward Jesus, toward hope, toward freedom, and peace; we too touch the transcendent reality for which we were made. Touching the transcendent with you makes everything worthwhile; even the pain that we experience in moments of profound disappointment, when we feel not only unloveable but unworthy. Those moments of hopeful eternity are bigger than the moments of turmoil. So, break a leg, sweetheart. I love you. The Kingdom is better because you love and delight in our King. 

Jim Elliot wrote, "I have one desire, to live a life of reckless abandon for my Lord, putting all my energy and strength into it." It was my prayer for a long time. Now, I've added, so long as Paula is by my side.

______________________________________________

^{1 Bruce Cockburn, "Lovers in a dangerous time," performed with Steven Page of "Bare Naked Ladies"}

 

 

 

Please help me get the 2 x 4 out of my eye

The new storyline that the Pulse killer was himself a closeted gay man changes this storyline drastically. It is wrong to call this a homophobic attack. Having said that, in some ways, it is much more devastatingly indicting of our current culture (I originally stated "American," but that is inaccurate. It is worldwide) or corporate psyche that pushes difference to the margins. Everyone pushes people away who are different (especially people that scare them or trigger their shame) to the margins of their psyches and physical lives. As we think about people who intimidate, frighten or repulse us, in our minds we have to make them small, ugly, repulsive,emasculated, and dehumanized. We make them "wholly other" to escape our shame and feel more powerful ourselves. For what we think we see in the one we hate is merely an image of our shattered selves that reveals the bits we or others broke off and would prefer stay hidden.

As a man, recognizing my tendencies to do this, and remembering doing it with homosexuals because of my insecurities, I relate to the above paragraph. All people do this, and not merely with sexual things (though sex is a powerful drive and it happens a lot in this arena). We do this with gender issues as well. Genesis 3 suggests that much of our misogyny is a result of this fear and is a resultant curse that drives men to "rule over" women.

Consequences and curses are nearly always connected to real life choices. Adam's chose to do nothing when the serpent tempted Eve. He was with her when she ate. The serpent didn't deceive him, and he still didn't say anything to try to stop her from eating. The only explanation I can find for his choices is that he was scared and so he froze -- a typical amygdalaian response. As men, we are famous for freezing. Our silence belies our fear. We are paralyzed by it and for a time, do not move or speak. When we ultimately do, if our amygdala is still in charge, we will most often act or speak violently. The level of our violence is directly related to the depth of the cortisol engulfing our amygdalas. At this point, we are hopelessly caught in a cycle that often becomes vicious and dangerous. I need to note here that though I am primarily speaking of men, women's brains are wired similarly, and though they may express violence differently, those acts are still sinister, kill, and destroy.

The reason the above conversation is vital to our understanding of this particular issue is that people live freely when fear is no longer a threat. What I realized this week is that as a 6'4" white male, who looks like he walked off the set of Sons of Anarchy, I don't know social fear like my gay friends. When I was much younger, I walked my dog Ashleigh -- a giant, gorgeous Gordan Setter -- down the north end of MLK in Portland late at night, greeting the prostitutes and drug dealers that used to hang out in my neighborhood. I was friendly to them, and they to me. Ashleigh made up her mind on a case by case basis. My lack of fear surprised those I encountered; many assumed I was a cop because I engaged them as humans who had worth without any fear. My wife never knew that freedom. I recently saw a meme about men fearing prison for the same reason women fear walking down the streets. My stature, my gender, and my race change the way that the world engages me. I have no fears about being physically attacked. My amygdala shoots into hyper-drive for entirely different reasons: creepy spiders and scary snakes, heights, or losing respect are what drive my amygdala crazy.

As a father of an attractive daughter, I'm aware that urban women live in a constant state of hyper-arousal and fear when they are alone on the streets. Fear accompanies them like a bad case of tinnitus. It is always in the background and never goes away. That is bad enough, but gays and transgendered people live not merely with a threat of physical harm, though this fear is all too real. They are forced to live with psychic fears surrounding their relationships as well, because who they are as people is not close enough to the center of other peoples' comfort zones. So they marginalize them. Not because they do or say anything; but merely because they've found freedom to embrace a part of themselves that scares others without that freedom to death. Ironically, their sexual freedom becomes their jailer.

My stature, gender, race change the way that the world engages with me. Police and authorities relate to me differently than they do people of smaller stature or people of color. My fears are not about being physically attacked. My amygdala shoots into hyper-drive for entirely different reasons. As a father of an attractive daughter, I've known that women live in a constant state of hyper-arousal and fear when they have to go out. Fear accompanies them like a bad case of tinnitus. That is bad enough, but gays and transgendered people live not merely with a threat of physical harm when they are out, though this fear is all too real. They are forced to live with psychic fear surrounding their relationships as well, because who they are as people is not close enough to the center of other peoples' comfort zones. They are marginalized, not because they do or say anything; but merely because they've found freedom to embrace a part of themselves that scares other (without that freedom) to death. Their sexual freedom, becomes their jailer, as others who do not know such freedom (because of their own shame)¹ push them out of the center to the edges -- away from what they consider normal.

Can you feel the bind? If one acknowledges this integral part of themselves, discovering the freedom that it brings, they place themselves in a societal jail of contempt; experiencing constant physical, emotional, and mental threats. On the other hand, if they don't acknowledge this core piece or drive, they are free societally --accepted and loved because they are part of the majority -- but they are bound internally, wasting away inside because they can't acknowledge a part of themselves that is very real and powerful.

Some people caught in this bind, are incapable of acknowledging it to themselves either because they believe their desire and their longings are morally wrong. If this is you, it is easy to understand why you get angry so quickly. Justin Torres poetically points out that, because of all these realities, the only place that the gay community experiences any true freedom is at the gay club. The club is the gay community's temple. It is the only place they know that they can go to be free together and play and release all the pent up tension that the hyper-vigilance of always protecting oneself creates. It is the only place for the gay community to release trauma together. He writes:

People talk about liberation as if it’s some kind of permanent state, as if you get liberated and that’s it, you get some rights and that’s it, you get some acknowledgment and that’s it, happy now? But you’re going back down into the muck of it every day; this world constricts. You know what the opposite of Latin Night at the Queer Club is? Another Day in Straight White America. So when you walk into the club, if you’re lucky, it feels expansive. “Safe space” is a cliche, overused and exhausted in our discourse, but the fact remains that a sense of safety transforms the body, transforms the spirit. So many of us walk through the world without it. So when you walk through the door and it’s a salsa beat, and brown bodies, queer bodies, all writhing in some fake smoke and strobing lights, no matter how cool, how detached, how over-it you think you are, Latin Night at the Queer Club breaks your cool. You can’t help but smile, this is for you, for us.

While that is an excruciatingly sad reality, It is the reality we've created (and by "we," I mean "us conservative type, white, apparently fearless males"). In so doing we have sinned greatly and owe a debt we can't repay. We can only ask how we can make it right; cause, the reality is we F**ked it up.

Jesus was clear that before we try to take the speck out of the other's eye, we need to take the 2x4 out of our eye. Because we like being at the center and holding the power, we keep refusing to do that. So before we about their "sin," we need to address our own first. We have put the gay community in an impossible situation, and we need to repent.

Dedicated to Jeffrey Tangeman, a college roommate that knew he could never be honest with me because of who I was rather than who he was. RIP, brother.

_________________________________________________

^{1 I am not suggesting that everyone is a homosexual. I am suggesting that a high percentage of people have unresolved sexual issues. Relatively few explore and address issues surrounding their sexuality and that the shame that inhabits it.}