A soothing spray of hot water hits my face. My face flushes, the heat rising from within, making the hot water feel cool; my eyes mist up, the tears pooling up, unleashing the sadness I’ve held for so long. And I weep. I can’t stop, I don’t want it to stop. I let myself go.
***
October 24, 2004
I’m standing in the back corner near the bar counter, hidden from everyone’s view, hoping no one would notice this awkward mess of a guy. I’ve come to listen to this guy read, this guy whose site I found only a few days prior to tonight’s event. I don’t know what it was, but there was something about his posts, his words… They were like a strong hand grabbing hold of mine, reassuringly safe, ever so encouraging, the hand leading me a step closer to accepting myself.
But I’m not ready, especially not tonight. Tonight, I’ll be content standing at my corner, unnoticed by everyone else there, just to hear him and others out, to find out whether what I felt reading him was an isolated fluke or not. It’s not, I discover to my horror. For the first time in a long while, I don’t feel bad about myself for having certain thoughts and feelings. I feel normal. Yet, I can’t reconcile myself to this liberating emotion.
As soon as the last person finish reading his piece, I swiftly retreat down the stairway, shoving open the bar door, taking me to a chilly autumn night in DC. On the metro ride home, I decide I should start writing or even start a blog of my own, hoping for I don’t know what.
***
October 17, 2004
For some reason, today of all days, I decide to go to church with my roommate. I end my self-imposed exile from church. The preacher, up on his pulpit, speaks, praising those who lead a life that is righteous, one that is rooted in God’s love, one that is pleasing to God. His words are something I’ve heard so many times during my youth, the words I’ve tried so hard to keep and uphold. Then, the tone of the sermon changes like some dark clouds quickly encroaching to cover the bright blue sky; the love he spoke of before had disappeared like the sun hiding behind the bleak black clouds. The theme of his sermon was thus:
It’s an abomination.
It’s an unforgivable sin.
Those who have chosen that path will never know God’s love.
I’ve never heard a sermon laced with so much disgust for a group of people who are only looking for acceptance. Yes, I’ve heard it called a sin, but so is eating pork. Having been encouraged by countless godly people to believe that God’s love has no limits, proven by the Son up on Calvary, the blood shed for everyone, I feel livid listening to this man up on the pulpit. The good reverend’s words are like a slap to my face, a sharp knife piercing me from behind, making me feel very unwelcome in a place where God is supposed to be communing with His people. Even though I neither see nor identify myself as them, I feel ostracized.
***
Evening November 1, 2004
I start writing the psalm. But it’s full of angry words, so I stop without finishing it and let it sit… Tonight, God and I know the truth. Finally I accept it, but it terrifies me all the same, because tonight, I both see and identify myself as them. Still, I feel ostracized, but still I let it be my secret. Those who know me need not know, not yet anyway. I don't know when, but not now. But the psalm is my revelation of the secret I've kept all my life. It shall be finished and posted on my blog, I vow, so that, at least, strangers can know me.
No comments:
Post a Comment