And as always, the ever-present and enthusiastically-celebrated diversity common whenever two or more queer people gather in one place was hard to miss. There were lesbians in work boots and lesbians in pumps. There were gay men in rolled up shirtsleeves with humidity wrinkled collars and gay men in Scottish kilts and tassled white stockings. There were couples dressed like little gay bookends in matching white wedding dresses and matching tailored suits. There were couples representing every racial configuration. There were young couples, middle-aged couples, elderly couples and May-December couples. There were couples who measure the length of their relationship in months and couples who measure their years together by decades, but however long they’ve shared their lives this week all of them were newlyweds.

And while I looked through all the photographs there were passing moments when my eyes would tear up at a particularly poignant image; of two elderly women held in the familiar embrace of one another; of a young couple kissing with such tenderness you imagine for that one minute they forgot the crowds and the cameras around them because looking at their captured kiss you lose sight of everything else too. Even though every image I looked at was of people I’ve never met, I couldn’t help but be moved by every face and tear and smile. But really, it’s not as if crying at a wedding is a new thing. Those of us humans who have both a heart and a soul tend to get that warm goopy sentimental feeling when we see two people in love. Our happiness for them and our longing to have the same for ourselves swirls around in a cocktail of emotions that makes the crustiest of hearts get all soft and fuzzy.

But having said all that, what really happened last weekend in New York wasn’t a victory for love. It wasn’t about the uniting of two hearts, the promises made between two people or the potential for hundreds of happily ever-afters. The significance of what took place last weekend was nothing more and nothing less than gay and lesbian citizens of this country gaining one more right that belongs to every citizen of this country, and that is the right to enter into a legal and binding contract with another individual; a contract granted, protected, and honored by the government of this country for all its peoples. I am a full citizen of the United States of America or I am not, and if I am a full citizen then all the rights granted to the peoples of this country are to be equally mine.  Senator Mark J. Grisanti, a Republican who originally sought office by promising to oppose same-sex marriage but eventually changed his mind on the issue said following Friday’s vote, “I apologize for those who feel offended but I cannot deny a person, a human being, a taxpayer, a worker, the people of my district and across this state, the State of New York, and those people who make this the great state that it is the same rights that I have with my wife.”  Or as someone added to the comment section of an online new source, “Good grief! Now that gays can marry the next thing they’re going to be demanding is the right to be able to vote and pay taxes!” Bah-da-bing, bah-da-boom.  Marriage equality is about equal rights under the law.  Period.

Yes. Last weekend in New York we celebrated the wild and open expression of love between couples as they took a further step, and a big one, in their relationships. I laughed, I cried, and I kissed my beautiful bride in solidarity with the East Coast newlyweds. But with equal enthusiasm I also celebrated individual citizens of this country taking another step, and a big one, toward equal treatment under the law.

Remembering this is important, not only as we collectively move forward in pursuit of full rights under the law but in our personal lives as well. The worth of our relationships and our love and commitment to them should never be determined by others. No one has the privilege or responsibility to validate my relationship with my wife. No one other than she, and me, and God that is. We know what it is we have together. We know how deep our love and how genuine our commitment is to one another and to the life we share. We know that the other was brought into our life as a gift from God and that our union is a blessing to God. That others in our lives recognize and affirm our marriage is a wonderful thing but our marriage doesn’t depend on them to give it worth. In the same way, the worth of your life doesn’t hinge on anyone’s or everyone’s approval. You have already been fully and completely validated by God. Your great worth has been established in the love of God and in God’s eyes you are fully seen, fully known, and fully loved and if you allow God’s thoughts of you to shape your thoughts of you, then whether a thousand applaud or a thousand throw tomatoes nothing will cause you to sway and lose your footing.

See how I can weave God’s love for you into just about any conversation?

I know. I’m good.

(All images contained in this post were used with the permission of the photographers under a Creative Common License.)

But for those of you over on Facebook I have one itty bitty favor to ask of you, other than to stop poking me that is!  When I post a link to a new post here on my wall over there and you go to add a comment I’d ask that you consider making the long journey from Facebook to SisterFriends to post it on the blog.

Don’t get me wrong. I read and appreciate your comments wherever you plop them, and would juzf like as many others as possible to read them along with me but that’s not always possible when everything is kept over on Facebook. I frequently have women tell me they’d like to friend me but are unable to because they’re not out to their friends and family, many of whom are among their Facebook friends.  By posting your comments on the blog they’ll have the opportunity to find strength and hope in your words. You know how it is. When you’re in a hard place in your life it can seem at times like you’re the only one who knows what it’s like to go through what you’re going through and has felt what you feel and so this is one of those times when the old adage that there’s strength in numbers is absolutely and powerfully true. By sharing your spin on things through your comments or even the simple knowing nod you give to something I’ve posted can mean the difference in someone having a little more hope today than they had the day before. So unless you’re trying to keep a low profile because of your infamous celebrity status or you don’t want to risk violating the terms of the witness protection contract you signed, then it would be most awesome and appreciated if you would occasionally chime in on the blog.

And FYI, while I’ll be baking more than blogging this week due to a number of cookie orders I need to complete by the end of the week, I’ll be getting another post or two up later in the week.

I noticed Little Blue dangling on the bottom branch of our Japanese maple tree and by the bottom branch I mean the one three feet off the ground. It seemed odd to see a bird loitering so close to the ground and odder still when rather than flying away as I got close to him he held his ground and gave me a royal stink eye at which point I assumed he wasn’t flying away because he couldn’t fly away because he was wounded and as I do in any emergency; I ran into the house and got my wife who flipped into Nurse Nightingale before my eyes. Leaping into action she dialed up the nearby wildlife emergency number, rounded up a shoebox, padded the box with a towel, poked the box with air holes, and with the shoebox under her arm and gloves on her hands (this woman of mine thinks of everything!) she went out to the bird, assessed the situation, and downgraded it to a non-emergency, level 1. Little Blue had simply fallen from the nest and was fine howbeit temporarily grounded. He was just learning to fly the hard way as baby birds often do.

While we were watching Little Blue from a close distance we couldn’t help but notice two adult blue jays swooping back and forth overhead from the high tree branches just above Little Blue to the highest point of our roof line and then back again. Back and forth they fluttered and dived and the whole time they were cawing and screaming and hurling, what I took as bluejayese profanities, in our direction. Whatever it was they were saying it was clear they were upset and if their screaming and darting back and forth wasn’t an indication of their emotional state the pointed peaks on the top of their heads told us all we needed to know. Apparently high anxiety runs in the family.

After a minute or two we walked across the yard away from Little Blue to see if that would calm everyone down, and by everyone I mean everyone with wings and a beak and a snarly attitude, but not one to leave well enough alone, I just had to take one more look and so back I went and this is when I saw the most awesome thing of all. There standing on the grass with Little Blue was one of the adult bluejays who had come down from the tree and positioned itself side by side, wing by wing next to Little Blue, and even when I took a step forward toward both the birds, the adult bird didn’t take flight for its own safety but hunkered down even closer to Little Blue and stood its ground. The adult bird couldn’t physically remove Little Blue from danger but neither was it going to leave him to face whatever danger came along. The tenderness of it all took my breath away.

The next day I spotted Little Blue again as I was walking to my car and again, there were two adult birds watching and loudly protesting my approach. The day after that there was no Little Blue to be found anywhere but the distinctive sound of blue jays could be heard echoing around our tree-filled courtyard and so I suspect Little Blue was flying high with Mom and Dad, or as we like to imagine in our household with his two mommies.

I also imagine that following his fall and in the subsequent time until he learned to fly on his own Little Blue wanted nothing more than for those two adult bluejays to to swoop down, grab his wings in theirs and carry him back up to the comfort and safety of that old familiar nest. “Rescue me! Save me!” might well have been the translation to all his little bird chirps and calls but we know that birds can’t carry their fledgings back to the nest. Instead when a baby falls the parents stay with him, watch over him, and provide for him until he’s able to spread his wings and fly. And the answer to your question is yes. I know this because of Wikipedia.

At least once in our lives we’ve all taken a fall from our nest. We tumbled from a place that was familiar to us, a nest where we felt comfortable and secure. We were living a life that was all we’d ever known and then something came along that sent us flailing into the unknown and it doesn’t really matter if we fell or we jumped or we were pushed. However it happened we became separated from the place, the friends, the family, the church, the job, or the life that once held us and we found ourselves in a strange land where everything was unknown and uncertain and more than scary enough at times to send the hairs on our heads upward into a razor sharp pointy peak.

For some of us, coming out as lesbians jettisoned us into free fall and when we landed it felt as though we were all alone to find our way, but if a mother and father blue jay will remain ever watchful over their weak-winged child even putting themselves in harm’s way to comfort and protect him, will God not do at least that much for you? So look up because you aren’t alone. You never have been. Someone is watching over you. The same Someone whose wings once sheltered you in the warmth of the nest is with you still. Though it may feel at times like God has flown to the highest branch of the furthest tree from where you are, there will be other times when, as I recently heard a child describe it to me, God seems closer to you than your own skin. But whether it feels that God is far away or God is near, the truth is you have not been abandoned. You have not been forgotten. God may not be able to keep us from falling or save us from every trouble anymore than the birds can for their young but what God can and will do is remain with us wherever we land and through whatever life brings our way.

And the answer to your question is no. I don’t know this from Wikipedia. I know this because I’ve fallen from more than a few nests and every time God was there.

And God is here.

I haven’t forgotten over these months I’ve been gone from blogging that every day there are men, women, and young people caught in the internal conflict of reconciling their faith and sexuality; that GLBTQ people continue to be rejected by their families and condemned by their churches, and that the fight for equal rights and against lies and mistruths that devalue our worth and discredit our relationships continues on. I haven’t forgotten any of this nor have I forgotten you, but for a season in my life, as it should have been, my brother trumped everything and everyone in my life.

And while life is returning to normal, it’s a new normal with a new purpose and that’s to provide support for others living with ALS by raising money and awareness consider this disease. Helping others living with ALS was important to my brother and so in continuing his legacy and honoring his life, it’s important to me. Again, if we’re Facebook Buddies you know what I’m referring to and if you don’t, just check out Sweet Hope Cookies. Better yet, order Sweet Hope Cookies

But I also want you to know that this new purpose doesn’t replace SisterFriends-Together but is in addition to what we have going on here. My heart is still here even while it’s there and in both places I just want to do what any of us want to do, to try and make life a little better for someone else. Ease their suffering. Give them hope. Lend a helping hand. And so while at first glance SisterFriends Together and Sweet Hope Cookies seem like very different directions for me to take, the purpose at the heart of both is very much the same.

I just wanted to fill you in on what’s been happening and to let you know I’m still around and have no plans to leave. I love this place and I know the conversations we have are important to those who are beginning the journey that many of us have been on for a long long time. We have much to teach one another and we have even more to learn from one another. Please continue to be patient with me and my spotty blogging as I find a way to balance out my time between baking cookies over there and breaking the bread over here.

That’s right. A rich fantasy life is a healthy thing. Keep dreaming.

But back to the museum. Along with a small group of friends we were allowed in early before the general opening to the masses and then given a private tour of the exhibit before the crowds of ‘common folk’ descended. As we moved from room to room we had the chance to view original works of  Renoir, Cézanne, Gauguin, and Paul Signac who worked some kind of magic with dots! I realized in fairly short order that I’m no particular fan of Renoir nor was Cézannea particular thrill but all in all there were some remarkable paintings including this one titled “Rest” by the Danish artist, Wilhelm Hammershoi. As we art aficionados are prone to say, “something about it spoke to me.”

But my appreciation for this piece was little compared to what I felt when rounding the corner into one of the rooms I suddenly found myself standing directly across the hall from vanGogh’s “Starry Night over the Rhone.” Let me search for a word here.  Awesome. Powerful. Stunning. Magnificent. Breathtaking. All that and then some.

Among his full body of work vanGogh created several paintings featuring a starry night sky as the primary subject and while this wasn’t the most famous one (“Starry Night” came later in his life) I was none the less transfixed by the incredible energy and boldness of the night sky with every star casting light downward, becoming illuminant on the ripples of water. It truly was breathtaking, and while I used that word once already, the exquisiteness of this painting is double worthy of its application.

I stood across the room about 15 feet away for some time and then as the others standing in front of it began to flow toward the next painting my beloved and I walked up to the painting and stood as close to it as the tape boundary line on the floor would allow. I’d crossed a similar line earlier that morning in front of another painting before I was swiftly  reprimanded by a rather cranky man with a walkie-talkie and an attitude and was acutely aware his eyes were still burrowing into the back of my skull. Even from the position I held on the permissible side of the line I was close enough to vanGogh’s painting that I could have reached out and touched it were it not for Mr. Cranky Pants with the walkie-talkie. An original painting by the incredibly gifted extremely tormented Vincent vanGogh and I was within inches of a canvas into which he’d poured his energy and talent. It was….and here comes number three….breathtaking to consider, but still I became aware of something as I stood within an arms length of the painting that surprised me and then left me feeling a little dissatisfied. Standing that near to the painting the brilliant starlight reflecting downward through the deep blues of the night sky that had first appeared hauntingly captivating to me when viewed from across the other side of the room now looked like nothing more than an accumulation of small splashes and dare I say it, rather ordinary dabs of paint in varying shades of yellow and blue. The sense of awe in being so close to something vanGogh had physically worked on was still there but it was only when I returned to my former position on the other side of the room that the painting again took. my. breath. away. Breathtaking. That’s four.

By this time our friends had drifted into the adjacent gallery room and so we turned and began to walk away to join them but at the point I reached the threshold of the opening to the next collection I turned back and stood, transfixed once again by the painting of a starry night. Then  from out of nowhere I became teary-eyed and understood at once that there was more going on inside me.

So here I am. Maybe you are too. Nose pressed into the canvas of our lives, having lost sight of the bigger picture. There are days that come to us all when all we see are the dabs and splashes. Our lives look like a mess.  Nothing more than randomness and happenstance. No plan. No purpose. And when that’s all we can see then all we can feel is uncertainty, heartache, sorrow, doubt, and fear. What takes us to that place is different for us all. Coming to the self-awareness of being gay and overwhelmed with what that might mean and what it might cost. Coming out to others and walking safely through the emotional landmines of their reactions. Being blind-sided by the unexpected end of a relationship. Confronted by suffering and loss, whether someone elses or our own.  Whatever it is, it doesn’t feel good and it doesn’t look pretty. Not from here. Not now. Yet even from here our hearts tell us something that our eyes have yet to confirm. It tells us to take our comfort because no matter what it is we think we see or know from here, the painting is just as beautiful as it’s always been and the light that cuts through the darkness just as radiant as it once appeared. Our vision may be too narrow at this moment and our view too restricted, but there’s a gentle voice assuring us that the painting remains the same and that one day, from another angle that only another day somewhere ahead can provide we’ll see the painting again in all it’s fullness and it will be just as breathtaking, no, even more breathtaking than we now remember it to have been. That’s five and six.

When I saw these words recently on a Christmas platter, words that were meant to encourage believing in the magic of Christmas and to eliciting that warm generous feeling of goodwill to all people, at least until the day after Christmas,  I changed the script in my head to read, “There comes a moment, at any moment, when something whispers in your ear: Believe! Believe! Believe!”

I’ve been hearing it these past weeks. There’s been a continual whisper calling me to believe! believe! believe!

In my heart or spirit or wherever such knowing lies, I know the whisper is God’s spirit speaking to my own. I know where it comes from because it’s not at all an unfamiliar sound in my ears.

I heard it first as a child laying in bed, covers drawn over my head as a defense against the shadowy monster hiding in the back of my open closet. In the trembling voice of a child frightened in the dark I sang as softly as my fear allowed me that Jesus loves me this I know, and the whisper came bringing assurance and shelter against harm.

I heard it again when my grandma, the first person in my immediate world who I loved to the point of adoring died. Returning on a flight home to find consolation in family I heard the whisper dancing to me over the clouds below and above me that she was wrapped up in God, that we who were left were wrapped up in God and that all would be well.

And through those long anguished days of discovering another part of who I was that until then had been hidden even from me and then of having my world shift and groan from the fracturing of relationships I had thought were anchored firm for life, the whisper never paused, never abated, always softly saying, “I am yours you are mine, I am yours you are mine, you are mine, you are mine, you are mine.”

For as long as I’ve breathed on this earth, for as long as I can remember the whisper has always been there, always present, ever whispering “believe! believe! believe!” And I have. And I do. And I will.

And yet, while the whisper remains the same, there’s something about this time in my life that’s not the same. In the past there was always just one overriding question scratching at my heart. “Will I be safe? Can my family get through this? Do you still love me?” The whisper came and in wooing me to believe I knew what I was to believe; believe that God would keep me safe through the night, that God would hold my family through our loss, that God’s love remained with me and that I remained in Him.

But now there are more questions swirling around within me than I can untangle and name. Questions that whatever the particulars all touch on some shade or form of why would you … how could you … when will you … where are you?

Is God a God of grace and faithfulness? Yes. Does God love, cherish and delight in us, in each and every one of us?  Oh, yes. Is God in his mercy and compassion ever present and near? Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Always. In this time of my life I don’t doubt nor do I disbelieve but I have questions, far more questions than I’ve ever carried before; questions that run through the marrow of me, through every vein of me, so that when the whisper comes to my ear saying “Believe! Believe! Believe!” I can’t help but ask, “What question are you answering to? What do you want me to believe in?”

Is God’s Spirit whispering in your ear, “Believe! Believe! Believe!”?

What question is God answering for you? What would God have you to believe?

]]> http://www.sisterfriends-together.org/believe-believe-believe/feed/ 9 http://www.sisterfriends-together.org/where-do-i-we-go-from-here/ http://www.sisterfriends-together.org/where-do-i-we-go-from-here/#comments Fri, 07 Jan 2011 23:00:26 +0000 anita http://www.sisterfriends-together.org/?p=5352 I’ve been so touched (in a warm and fuzzy way) over the past couple days by the comments left here and on Facebook and that I’ve received in email welcoming me enthusiastically back to blogging. I could let all those kind and generous words go to my head were it not for the one eensy-weensy fact that during the months I was completely absent from blogging the stats for visitors to SisterFriends was about the same as they are, more or less, when I’m actively blogging. Ouch. Side punch to the ego but actually I’m thrilled by that because what the consistent numbers mean is that over the past four months a number of visitors found SisterFriends while searching the internet or by clicking through from other sites. Hopefully as we continue from this point they’ll find something here that will make coming back worthwhile.

But getting back to my fragile and spoiled ego, I’m also working to convince myself that the numbers of hits remained stable because those of you who have been faithful readers and contributors to SisterFriends would stop by on occasion just to send a little stat love my way. I feel the love Girls and I’m clicking it right back to you. But enough of this group love. Let’s get back to business.

All these months I’ve really been in a quandary of where I’d pick up in terms of content when I returned to blogging. One thing I know that doesn’t work for me when it comes to blogging is that I can’t force a topic. I write from the heart and from what I’ve been experiencing in my life at the moment. That’s where I’m extremely limited as a writer. It’s not that I don’t want to open up a conversation around those issues that are of interest and concern to you because I do. More than anything. But I know me, and if the topic isn’t something that has my attention and passion right then and there, I’m just going to clink out words on my computer that end up sounding about as hollow as a chocolate Easter bunny, and don’t you just hate it when you get a big glossy chocolate bunny in your basket only to bite off it’s floppy ears to find nothing inside but air? I’m all for empty tombs at Easter but I want my chocolate bunnies packed full of sugary goodness! But I digress….again….as always…

This leads me to admit that in recent months being a gay woman and more significantly, a gay woman and Christian, hasn’t been center stage for me and given what I know some of you are dealing with at each and every moment of your lives as a closeted or out lesbian I realize I’m coming from a place of privilege to be able to have my identity as a lesbian somewhere down on the list of life issues at the moment. That’s not to say I’m not aware daily of being a lesbian and Christian since both are parts of all that I am, and just like you I haven’t remained untouched over these past few months by what’s been going on in our world concerning GLBTQ people. I’ve felt our personal and collective grief over the suicides in the fall of 2010 of queer youth that reached the media (think of all those young people whose deaths never received so much as a mention) and I’ve been equally moved by the compassionate response of so many ordinary folks, gay and straight, through Dan Savage’s “It Gets Better Project.” I’ve sat on the edge of my chair over every development in the Prop 8 case as it’s wiggled it’s way through the justice system and the lunacy of the sadistically slow repeal of DADT…don’t even get me started! The public discourse in the streets and the religious debate within the church about the validity of our lives and relationships are as raw and personal to me as they are to you but it’s just that in recent months there have been more immediate concerns and realities playing on the center stage of my life.

You already know this but D and I have walked through the deaths of both our moms within less than a year of one another and with that double grief still so close, we’re now walking along with the rest of my family with the progression of my brother’s ALS. I’m not telling you so you can feel sorry for us. Please don’t. We’re doing good. We accept that life is hard some times and this is just one of those times though certainly ratcheted up a few degrees more than we ever thought possible. But whatever the circumstances and whatever the future God is nearby. D and I have been a refuge for one another. Our church has been a constant source of love and support. My family is drawing closer in our reliance and appreciation for one another than ever and all of us are experiencing precious moments even in the storm that will be cherished forever. There are days when I’m deeply sad but every day without exception I’m deeply grateful for something I have, for someone I love, for something God has done. So no complaints from the cheap seats. I only tell you all this because these days my heart is focused on these circumstances and the life and faith questions they bring up. Yes, it really comes down to this; when confronted with death and dying, suffering and human frailty like everyone else I find myself occupied by reflections on the meaning of life (my meaning, your meaning, our meaning), on what gives us purpose, on how God is involved in our lives, on what God can (and perhaps can’t) do, and in the end what we take with us, what we leave, and where we go when a blanket of soil is spread over us.

These are the questions that I’m living in and I know they have to be the starting point for anything I say here. At least for now.   I’m striving to live an integrated rather than compartmentalized life (as I hope you are too) so I don’t believe for a minute that the gay will be entirely removed from the conversation. It also goes to say that the most meaningful lessons we learn are the ones that impact every part of our lives so even when the topic seems unrelated to being queer, I’m make the stretch, or rely on you to, to see what insights are there for us as GLBTQ people of faith.

Does this seem vague? Good. Then we’re both on the same page.

Oh. And by the way, if I was really intent on complaining about anything to gather your sympathy it would be by telling you the following. . . but first I need the boys to leave the room. Seriously leave. You’ll wish you had if you don’t.  So here it is. Exactly two days before my 54th birthday last month menopause descended on me in one fell swoop. No. Really. Imagine me as a pot of simmering soup and menopause as Chef Emeril Lagasse. Bam! Bam! One day, no symptoms. The next day headaches, hot flashes, tingling skin, night sweats, insomnia and a sudden desire to ram my car up into the trunk of the next driver who so much as thought about cutting me off in traffic. So if you want to feel sorry for me, then by all means, pity me in the throws of the early days of menopause. It’s not pretty.

And then again, perhaps your pity would best be invested toward D. Pity and prayer. She’s going to need it!

I love you all and I’m glad to be back. Now go phone or reach over and hug someone you love.

So here we are. At the start of a brand new year and along with it comes a renewed commitment from me to you to continue blogging and keep the lights on and the door open to this place. Even more importantly than having a renewed commitment, these months have provided me with a renewed desire and enthusiasm to be here, to connect with you, and to offer whatever I can that might be of help or encouragement to those who are just beginning a journey that some of us have been walking for a long and longer time. Simply said, I’ve missed you and I’ve missed exploring the depths of God’s love and grace with you. Let’s get back to it, shall we?

I don’t know for the moment how my posts are going to be unfolding in the coming months but right now my plan is to go with the none too original concept of writing shorter posts while blogging more frequently. If you’ve followed this blog for any time now you know that less is more and leave them wanting are adages I’ve failed to integrate into my writing style but that’s what I’m shooting for in 2011. A new me.  A woman of few words. The abridged version. Short and sweet. Direct. Concise. Oh, who am I kidding? When pigs fly. Anyway, I love ya, I missed ya, and I’m looking forward to wherever our conversation and the mighty good God above leads us.

Wow. Just three paragraphs. Anyone noticed any airborne squealers lately?

Though no new content is being added during my sabbatical from blogging there’s still plenty piled up in the archives you might enjoy and find encouraging. What follow are some of my favorite posts.

If you’re having a hard time reconciling your faith and sexuality…

• Unapologetically Christian, Unapologetically Lesbian
• More Than Ourselves Alone
• The Straight Pill
• What If I’m Wrong
• It Takes As Long As It Takes
• The Bible and Homosexuality

If you doubt God’s love for you…

• A Secret Name on a Small White Stone
• Periodic Reflections on the Love of God: Volume 1, Volume 2, and Volume 3

If you’re afraid of the cost of coming out…

• The Ending is Better than the Beginning
• Whack An Ear for God
• Have You Heard the Great News? Every Day is Full of Trouble!

If you’re getting ready to come out to family…

• Remarkably Unsuccessful
• What I Wish Someone Had Told Me Before the Big Reveal: Part 1 and Part 2

If you’re worn out by everyone having an issue with the gay in you…

• Theology Not Apology
• If We Don’t Choose to Be Different, We’ll Be Just the Same

And if you’re getting within so much as a hundred feet of entering into a relationship….

• Dyke Dating: Reconciliation Before Relationship
• Dyke Dating: Reconciliation Before Relationship – One More Thing
• Dyke Dating: Coming Out Before Going In (to a relationship)
• Dyke Dating: Online Courtship Caveats
• Dyke Dating: God’s Girlfriend Guarantee
• Lesbian Relationships: Preparing for Love
• Lesbian Relationships: Postscript to Preparing for Love
• Lesbian Relationships: Finding Love
• Lesbian Relationships: Is She the One?
• Lesbian Relationships: Nurturing Love

If you’d like to connect with other Christian lesbians and bisexual women in friendship, join the girls over at the SisterFriends Community Forum.

If you’re looking for a local church that welcomes and affirms GLBTQ people, then begin your search by exploring our resources to finding a gay-affirming congregation.

And finally,

If you want to know when I begin adding new content to SisterFriends again, subscribe to receive posts by email in the space provided near the top of the page in the far right column.

Blessings,
Anita

That’s right. I’m back. But then again, not really. I’m only stopping by to drop off a couple posts and bid you a temporary so long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, goodbye, which I recommend you imagine me singing to you while attired in a ginormous pair of lederhosen. I suppose that imagery could either be delightfully entertaining or deeply disturbing imagery. You say tomato, I say tomahto.

One thing we might agree on is that the past 12 months have been rough ones for my wife and I. There was my extended recovery time from double surgeries, both our moms died less than a year apart, and my brother was diagnosed with ALS. While there was also an abundance of joys and gratitudes in the year, 2010 has definitely taken its toll. To put it mildly, I’m worn out by all the hard and heavy issues we’ve been living through and while I’ve really tried behind the scenes these last weeks to add some new posts I’ve found myself too distracted in thinking and weary in heart to put so much as two sentences together about being queer and Christian or any of the trigger topics that impact us as both or either. I still care about it all but I’m just in a season of life where I had to admit to myself and now to you that I’m done, I’m spent, I need a break. Uncle!

That’s why after nearly 13 years of doing what I do here (even when here was known by a different name) I’ve made the decision to take a sabbatical from Sisterfriends-Together for an extended period of time, most likely until January 2011 but perhaps for as long as a year. I don’t know exactly how long but as long as I need. What this means is that while I’ll continue to follow up on emails and looking after the SisterFriends Community Forum, I won’t be adding any new posts here for the foreseeable future. Again, this is to be a temporary hiatus and not a permanent one.

For the next few months I want and intend to do nothing more or less than give myself completely over to the things I enjoy and the people I love in my immediate world so I can lighten up and live in the moment rather than live in what has been or what may or may not come in the future. I’m going to throw myself into teaching and playing with the little ones at Sunday School. I’m going to try my hand at creating fanciful cake pops and poke my finger into my favorite Italian cookbooks and give a try at whatever recipe my finger lands on. I’m going on long walks in the crisp autumn air and hikes with D in the Redwoods. I’m going to carve pumpkins, practice my photography, read my way through the leaning tower of novels I’ve collected for the last three eons, take an Italian language class with my wife, and leave snarky comments on John’s blog. I’m going to empty our lemon tree as those little tart globes of goodness ripen and bake all things lemony. I’m going to turn the music up loud and dance when no one is watching. I’m going to quiz God on some questions I’ve been gathering up in recent weeks and then wait with notepad and pencil in hand for answers that may or may not come. I’m going to spend time with my brother and stack up as many memories as I can while I can.

And while things are quiet here, I’ll be adding little bobs and bits of fluff and fun over at my completely self-absorbed All Anita All The Time blog, The Passionate Plate: Savoring Life in Small Bites, and if you want to stay connected with me there, I’d love to have you come on over. And Facebook. You can always find me there. I may not have any posts in me of substantive content but there’s no end to the mundane status updates this girl can generate in the course of a day.

Before the end of the day I’ll be adding one additional post that will be a space holder at the top of the blog until I leap back in with both feet. And I will leap back in. Just give me some time.

In the meantime, don’t forget….God has your back. Always.