Getting ready to head back home. This past weekend was, to say the least, lazy and low-key. I'm not complaining. I am sort of glad it ended up being a laid-back weekend. I rested. I reflected. I took the time to be alone and just be. Felt good. These are some of the observations or conclusions I've come upon during these past three days away from home:
I am a NEW YORKER to the core. A Puerto Rican New Yorker at that. I noticed during my trip to the Supermarket how everything in these parts caters to my Mexican brothers and Sisters. They definitely rule out here. Not sure if I was too thrilled at realizing this. If you're not Mexican, it seems you are Central American. Spanish may be spoken but not with the accent and flair I am used and accustomed to. Even the names of things are changed and seem foreign to me. For exmaple, Andre loves to eat "tostones" (fried Plaintains) so I decide to hop in the car (you have to drive everywhere in this town) and headed out to VONS Supermarket. Typical American venue with the aisles in the middle and the deli and meats on one side, Dairy products in the back against the wall, and Produce on the other end of the huge Temple of Nutrition and Consumption we are so used to and thankful for. The difference to me, as a Hispanic, was the complete absence of my GOYA products. Couldn't find a can of Goya Beans even if my life depended on it. Sure, their was plenty of canned beans but to me, since it did not say Goya, well I swear to you I felt I was buying generic or bootleg. I half expected to crack open a can and find something else inside. Disturbing. I wanted to see the familiar blue and yellow cans with the bold white letters! Nowhere to be found. Oh well, I thought to myself, this was just a fluke. I was sure I'd find them at the next Mega foodplex. Hopped in the car again and headed out to what Andre called the "hood". Yes, if anything, I would definitely find Goya beans in the "hood". I mean, I grew up in the ghettos of Brooklyn, NY and this is where I was introduced to the Goya products with the catchy Spanish slogan: " Si es Goya, tiene que ser bueno!" which was later translated to English when beans became mainstream..."If It's Good, It's Gotta be Goya". Way before "gringos" were mixing beans into their salads and making three bean chili, I was cleaning them off my plate with rice and whatever meat was made available to me. Rice and Beans- every Puerto Rican's staple; at least those of my generation.
So as I was saying, we drove to the "hood" which looked just like any suburban town with vast expanses of parking lots in front of countless shopping mall strips extending the length of six to eight lane roads. As a New Yorker, I love and appreciate sidewalks. I take them for granted. And I'm not talking about asphalt pathways with grass on either side of them. No. I'm talking about those huge gray cement blocks with blackened gum imbedded into them and pieces of paper and wrappers floating about like modern -day dust balls of the ghost towns portrayed in Old Westerns. No one walks in the Suburbs. No need for sidewalks. This goes against my Native New York City mindset and upbringing.
We finally get to the TAPATITO Supermarket and once again I am thrown into a state of mental confusion. Once inside, I head for the fresh Produce section, which was as traditionally expected, off to the left side and start searching for plantains. Finally spotted them piled up next to the bananas and realize they are called "Bananos" here in the West Coast. Bananos? WTF? You gotta be kidding. No matter, I grab a plastic bag and start filling it with my "bananos" from Guatemala. They look the same as the plaintains from the Dominica Republic I am used to purchasing at home so I think nothing of the fact that unlike back at home, you buy them by the pound here. Back home, I get my "platanos" for as much as ten for a buck! Here, sixty-nine cents a pound. Not sure what that translates to, but I figure, it must be cheap, or close to what I would get at home. Wrong! When the Cashier girl rings 'em up I play it off when I see that my five small "bananos" cost over five dollars. S.H.I.T.!
Well folks, not only am I in a different time zone which becomes annoying when at night I reach for my cell phone to make my customary calls and have to stop as I realize it may be ten o' clock here but its one o' clock back home and very few of my contacts will be up or happy to hear from me at that hour. I realize I need more West Coast friends.
All in all, thankfully, I get back to Andre's place and was relieved to find that those expensive "bananos" fry up just like back home and taste just as divine dipped in garlic butter. Same for the beans. I opened the can to find that the only thing different was the label. Same beans wit that nasty liquid I always gladly drain out of the can and same gassy effect after I'm done consuming them. Thank God my butt is all better now and passing gas is just like any other nocturnal and private activity. Thankful, I don't see stars anymore when I have to let one rip (I curse you Booty Cancer!).
Looking forward to getting back to familiarity; to the City that although "Disneyfied" and gentrified still is home to me. Where plantains are just that and can still be had for cheap. Where Goya still fills the aisles of most supermarkets and bodegas. Where Puerto Ricans are still the majority amongst Spanish-speaking folk, even if we are rapidly mainstreaming and migrating to the burbs. Where I can choose to walk anywhere if I so please and do so without feeling confined by the narrow pathways of the suburbs; finding plenty of other people walking on them also, adding to the hectic energy of what I identify with as home sweet home. And where last but not least, everyone is governed by the same time zone. Can't wait to be back where I belong. New York. Home Sweet Home.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
When Eunuchs Fall in Love
Sometimes you just have to stop and ask yourself: "Is it all worth it? Why am I doing what I am doing?" Questions which deserve serious contemplation and truthful answers that can only come from periods of honest and brutal self-reflection.
I understand, and agree wholeheartedly, that if this self-analysis is not guided and led by Holy Spirit, it most likely will lead to greater guilt and shame, at beholding the darkness in ones heart. Those created to walk in light, at seeing the opposite lurking within, if they are not careful, will stumble and fall into the pit filled with well-intentioned human strength and deeds. Going at it in the darkness, on your own merits and strength, will only serve to drag you deeper into the mire. I've fallen and gotten stuck in this pit one too many times and can give you a play by play of what goes on there. But I won't, simply because It won't do you any good. Talking about the dark and what goes on inside it is futile; it brings no good result, in my opinion. I will only speak of the darkness if it will help shed greater revelation of God's love. In every dark place I have found myself in, I have encountered the same thing time and time again; men and women yearning and dying to be love. Sadly, love that is not sacrificial tends to be the wrong kind of love. A love that cannot and will not set you free and propel you into greater depths freedom is no love worth falling into.
For years, I opened myself up unabashedly to the celebration of sexual expression. As a young gay man, I gave myself wholeheartedly to the pursuit of physical pleasure believing that somehow, during one of those lascivious sessions where sweat coupled with body fluids intermingled with my voracious thirst as my mouth and body fed on whatever was before me, I would at last find my own personal nirvana. So I thought. Each and every time, no matter how good the momentary sensations may have been, I always walked away just as empty if not all the more void of my quest for love. Eventually, I ended confusing love with lust. Whatever my eyes looked at and feasted on, it wanted all the more deeply inside me. All this only compounded my desperate need to be loved unconditionally.
Aprendi...I learned that such love, for me, will never be found in the arms of just any man. This, added to the physical consequences of my past promiscuity has brought me to the sincere personal conviction and present life vocation. I embrace singleness as the standard to uphold. Celibacy has become to me the discipline of a man who accepts the call to set himself apart. Celibacy has become my daily undergarment. I will no longer unite this body to another until it is at last made one with the head of the household I have been called, chosen, and adopted to belong forever to.
I only regret it took this long to finally find the willingness and determination to adhere to my life calling. Please understand me, when I embrace the role of a Modern Day Eunuch described in Matthew 19:12, I am neither one born that way but one made this way by the defilement of men upon my body. I have spoken about this in the past and will continue to elaborate upon it in the future since I believe others like me may benefit from my transparent and at times brutal confessions.
For the sake of the One who called me, went all out to go find me, and snatch me out of the burning fire, I now dedicate my life to getting to know and be known by. It will take a lifetime to do so and even then I will require all of eternity to fully grasp and comprehend. This brightest of stars, who gave up his position of omnipresence, by taking on the form of man, is forever worthy to be followed. When I think of how Jesus did this for me, I can't help but want to live in return and get to know Him in all His fullness.
Which answers the question deep inside begging to be looked at and answered. Yes, it is well worth it because HE is WORTHY. My relationship with Him up till now attests to it. He was the only man who has and continues to love me with such sacrificial and undying love which leads me to understand in part why their was no one else in all of creation who was worthy to take the scroll in Heaven and open it. Such magnificence I long to come closer to and look upon with unshielded gaze.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
I understand, and agree wholeheartedly, that if this self-analysis is not guided and led by Holy Spirit, it most likely will lead to greater guilt and shame, at beholding the darkness in ones heart. Those created to walk in light, at seeing the opposite lurking within, if they are not careful, will stumble and fall into the pit filled with well-intentioned human strength and deeds. Going at it in the darkness, on your own merits and strength, will only serve to drag you deeper into the mire. I've fallen and gotten stuck in this pit one too many times and can give you a play by play of what goes on there. But I won't, simply because It won't do you any good. Talking about the dark and what goes on inside it is futile; it brings no good result, in my opinion. I will only speak of the darkness if it will help shed greater revelation of God's love. In every dark place I have found myself in, I have encountered the same thing time and time again; men and women yearning and dying to be love. Sadly, love that is not sacrificial tends to be the wrong kind of love. A love that cannot and will not set you free and propel you into greater depths freedom is no love worth falling into.
For years, I opened myself up unabashedly to the celebration of sexual expression. As a young gay man, I gave myself wholeheartedly to the pursuit of physical pleasure believing that somehow, during one of those lascivious sessions where sweat coupled with body fluids intermingled with my voracious thirst as my mouth and body fed on whatever was before me, I would at last find my own personal nirvana. So I thought. Each and every time, no matter how good the momentary sensations may have been, I always walked away just as empty if not all the more void of my quest for love. Eventually, I ended confusing love with lust. Whatever my eyes looked at and feasted on, it wanted all the more deeply inside me. All this only compounded my desperate need to be loved unconditionally.
Aprendi...I learned that such love, for me, will never be found in the arms of just any man. This, added to the physical consequences of my past promiscuity has brought me to the sincere personal conviction and present life vocation. I embrace singleness as the standard to uphold. Celibacy has become to me the discipline of a man who accepts the call to set himself apart. Celibacy has become my daily undergarment. I will no longer unite this body to another until it is at last made one with the head of the household I have been called, chosen, and adopted to belong forever to.
I only regret it took this long to finally find the willingness and determination to adhere to my life calling. Please understand me, when I embrace the role of a Modern Day Eunuch described in Matthew 19:12, I am neither one born that way but one made this way by the defilement of men upon my body. I have spoken about this in the past and will continue to elaborate upon it in the future since I believe others like me may benefit from my transparent and at times brutal confessions.
For the sake of the One who called me, went all out to go find me, and snatch me out of the burning fire, I now dedicate my life to getting to know and be known by. It will take a lifetime to do so and even then I will require all of eternity to fully grasp and comprehend. This brightest of stars, who gave up his position of omnipresence, by taking on the form of man, is forever worthy to be followed. When I think of how Jesus did this for me, I can't help but want to live in return and get to know Him in all His fullness.
Which answers the question deep inside begging to be looked at and answered. Yes, it is well worth it because HE is WORTHY. My relationship with Him up till now attests to it. He was the only man who has and continues to love me with such sacrificial and undying love which leads me to understand in part why their was no one else in all of creation who was worthy to take the scroll in Heaven and open it. Such magnificence I long to come closer to and look upon with unshielded gaze.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Momentary Afflictions
I reconnected with someone I haven't seen or heard from in years and in the exchange of the customary "How have you been?" question the million dollar question came up: "Are you Happy?"
Yes I am. I have come to the point in my life where I can truthfully say that in any situation I may find myself in, I choose to be happy and truly content. Truly.
This past year alone my eyes have opened to the reality that happiness is but a state of mind. It is an emotion coveted by the human race and one of the few pursuits built into and advocated for in our Bill of Rights as Americans. I find that to be interesting and completely understandable. Who in this life, in this world full of strife and pain, does not want to attain to the full measure of happiness? I sure do. I was created to be happy. Unfortunately, in a broken world where human nature is altered and crippled by the effects of original sin, humanity must have to endure at times periods of unhappiness. Don't know a soul who hasn't had to wrestle with this fact and found themselves many times chasing it down. Happiness can be elusive at most. Some days, I have been known to be caught up in the vicious cycle desperately trying to be happy. Yes, even when I have felt that I had done everything in my power and followed the established protocols and expectations in order to reach that state of being, well, it was not to be had. It can make a man downright depressed!
My personal battle with anger and bitterness, served as a means of ensuring my happiness was short lived or circumvented. I could laugh and celebrate life like the best of people but at the end of the day, I found myself empty-handed and void of whatever semblance of happiness I thought I possessed. At the core, I was deeply unsatisfied with my life. I was not content with the work of my hands. I suffered from a condition known to many of never measuring up to the expectations of others and allowing that to affect and alter how I viewed and felt about myself. I based my happiness on this and it only served to make feel incomplete and unsatisfied. It wasn't until I finally reached the end of myself, and more importantly, my vain striving, that I was finally able to turn the corner. And in turning that corner I came to the following personal truths, truths which have set me free.
First and foremost, I realized I wasn't created to go at this alone. I really do need a personal God to see me through and help me maneuver the choppy waters of life. Yes, a faithful navigator. But in order to allow him to take over the reins I had to acknowledge how much He truly cares and loves me...even if life is not going my way. Too many times when things were going wrong I'd tend to blame God since He was all-powerful and could easily make my life easy and blessed if He truly loved me. I finally came to the realization that even though He does love and care for me I need to understand that it is through the hard times that I come closer to experiencing His touch in my life. Those momentary troubles and afflictions that come in with the ebbs and flows of life are the very things that allow us to see His hand at work in us. Hands working towards shaping and molding us into His perfect image. But this is a process, a painful one at that, which requires patience and time; the two components we lack the most, at times.
I've always hated how people at seeing my brokenness have tried to fix me. Deep down I resented it. I viewed it as a confirmation of how I perceived and viewed myself; unworthy and unfit to be loved. In part, I know now I gave people too much power and control over my life and my crippling issues. It wasn't until I finally found myself at the end once again considering suicide that this truth became clear to me- Brokenness is good. It is in this state that I'm able to best reflect the treasures hidden deep inside me. It is through brokenness that I am able to demonstrate faithfully that my life and the measure of the happiness I have attained or have yet to attain is not dependent on what I can or cannot do for myself but on the level of trust and faith I place on the One who loves every part of me in my brokenness. He cherishes me in my brokenness. He designed me to be whole but in the meantime, He is able to use the cracks in my foundation, as well as the gaping holes still under construction, to demonstrate His surpassing glory to others. We are all works in progress who are destined to be heirs with God and co-heirs with Christ. I believe this with all my heart and once a truth makes it down from the realm of the mind and penetrates the heart, it begins to manifest in what we do, say, and how we feel.
All this to say that I am happy now, even if I am incomplete or broken and still struggling to define my path in the journey set before me. As I shared with a co-worker this past week and encouraged her to do in her brokenness..."just accept it and let the goodness spill out and bless others". I endeavor to do this very thing which I believe will bring glory and honor to the One who I embrace with all my heart and emotions, the One I kneel before and confess as my Faithful Friend, Brother, Husband, and King. How can I not be happy with someone so great by my side?
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Yes I am. I have come to the point in my life where I can truthfully say that in any situation I may find myself in, I choose to be happy and truly content. Truly.
This past year alone my eyes have opened to the reality that happiness is but a state of mind. It is an emotion coveted by the human race and one of the few pursuits built into and advocated for in our Bill of Rights as Americans. I find that to be interesting and completely understandable. Who in this life, in this world full of strife and pain, does not want to attain to the full measure of happiness? I sure do. I was created to be happy. Unfortunately, in a broken world where human nature is altered and crippled by the effects of original sin, humanity must have to endure at times periods of unhappiness. Don't know a soul who hasn't had to wrestle with this fact and found themselves many times chasing it down. Happiness can be elusive at most. Some days, I have been known to be caught up in the vicious cycle desperately trying to be happy. Yes, even when I have felt that I had done everything in my power and followed the established protocols and expectations in order to reach that state of being, well, it was not to be had. It can make a man downright depressed!
My personal battle with anger and bitterness, served as a means of ensuring my happiness was short lived or circumvented. I could laugh and celebrate life like the best of people but at the end of the day, I found myself empty-handed and void of whatever semblance of happiness I thought I possessed. At the core, I was deeply unsatisfied with my life. I was not content with the work of my hands. I suffered from a condition known to many of never measuring up to the expectations of others and allowing that to affect and alter how I viewed and felt about myself. I based my happiness on this and it only served to make feel incomplete and unsatisfied. It wasn't until I finally reached the end of myself, and more importantly, my vain striving, that I was finally able to turn the corner. And in turning that corner I came to the following personal truths, truths which have set me free.
First and foremost, I realized I wasn't created to go at this alone. I really do need a personal God to see me through and help me maneuver the choppy waters of life. Yes, a faithful navigator. But in order to allow him to take over the reins I had to acknowledge how much He truly cares and loves me...even if life is not going my way. Too many times when things were going wrong I'd tend to blame God since He was all-powerful and could easily make my life easy and blessed if He truly loved me. I finally came to the realization that even though He does love and care for me I need to understand that it is through the hard times that I come closer to experiencing His touch in my life. Those momentary troubles and afflictions that come in with the ebbs and flows of life are the very things that allow us to see His hand at work in us. Hands working towards shaping and molding us into His perfect image. But this is a process, a painful one at that, which requires patience and time; the two components we lack the most, at times.
I've always hated how people at seeing my brokenness have tried to fix me. Deep down I resented it. I viewed it as a confirmation of how I perceived and viewed myself; unworthy and unfit to be loved. In part, I know now I gave people too much power and control over my life and my crippling issues. It wasn't until I finally found myself at the end once again considering suicide that this truth became clear to me- Brokenness is good. It is in this state that I'm able to best reflect the treasures hidden deep inside me. It is through brokenness that I am able to demonstrate faithfully that my life and the measure of the happiness I have attained or have yet to attain is not dependent on what I can or cannot do for myself but on the level of trust and faith I place on the One who loves every part of me in my brokenness. He cherishes me in my brokenness. He designed me to be whole but in the meantime, He is able to use the cracks in my foundation, as well as the gaping holes still under construction, to demonstrate His surpassing glory to others. We are all works in progress who are destined to be heirs with God and co-heirs with Christ. I believe this with all my heart and once a truth makes it down from the realm of the mind and penetrates the heart, it begins to manifest in what we do, say, and how we feel.
All this to say that I am happy now, even if I am incomplete or broken and still struggling to define my path in the journey set before me. As I shared with a co-worker this past week and encouraged her to do in her brokenness..."just accept it and let the goodness spill out and bless others". I endeavor to do this very thing which I believe will bring glory and honor to the One who I embrace with all my heart and emotions, the One I kneel before and confess as my Faithful Friend, Brother, Husband, and King. How can I not be happy with someone so great by my side?
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Scratching the Gay Marriage Surface... Part I
Feeling feverish at the moment. I hope it doesn't get any worse. Drove up to Massachusetts to be with my family and enjoy Thanksgiving. I was feeling fine all the way here and no sooner I walk in the door my body begins to take a downward spiral. No better place to be sick than in close proximity to Mom. She always rises to the occasion and does what she knows to do to nurse me back to health. Truly thankful to have people who love me. Even more thankful to live to see healing and restoration take place between my parents and I. Honestly speaking, I never thought I'd see the day. Yet God has a way of constantly surprising me and bringing me closer to wholeness. Truly thankful.
Funny how you wait and wait for the inspiration to write to hit and when it finally does you find yourself writing about something completely unexpected. I really don't mean to stir the waters and become controversial but I can't help but want to write about the whole Gay Marriage thing. I know very well that in the circles I travel I am the minority. I wish the use of labels were not needed or mattered much but sadly, at least with me, they are used often and punitively. Case in point, when I dare to stand in the face of traditional values and conservative views and proclaim myself as how I view myself, that being a "Born-Again Gay Christian", I am immediately reprimanded, rebuked, and chastised. I am confronted with immediate opposition from the members of my own church. I am assaulted with people who have a compounding need to correct me.
"There is no such thing as a Gay Christian. You can't be both. It's either one or the other so pick a side."
Or my all-time favorite: "God is not done with you yet. You need healing and deliverance. Once you receive it, you will be free (not to mention Straight)." Well, I guess I haven't learned to receive it. This kind of response always makes me feel like I am at fault. Like I haven't tried hard enough.
Well, I may be in bondage. I am not going to deny this nor do I care to have to defend myself concerning the matter but I resent the thought that I am less than or not complete because I refuse to deny the truth about my sexuality. I refuse to pretend having no sexual and emotional attraction towards men. If I've said it once, I'll say it a million times: " I am exclusively attracted to men which in definition authenticates my labeling myself as Gay". Nor does it matter to me the fact that I have embraced my singleness and am committed to pursuing a vow of celibacy. I am presently celibate not because I believe or consider same sex attraction as inherently evil or unacceptable in the eyes of God. I am intimate with the few and scarce biblical passages forbidding or condemning homosexuality. Even so, I do not ascribe to the beliefs that men who have sex with each other are reprobates or abominable. I do believe wholeheartedly that they, like everyone else, regardless of their sexual preference or orientation, "have all fallen short of the glory of God." Whether we be, Gay, Straight, Bi, Questioning, Transgender, etc. it is my sincere belief we all need a deeper revelation of God's love towards us. Then and only then when we enter into a deep and conscious reality that we were created to love and be loved by a Merciful and Kind God are we able to experience freedom. Simply put, I am celibate because I have come to the place of receiving God's call for my life to enter into a deeper and richer relationship with Him. I say no to sex because for me it only drives me farther apart from experiencing what God has designed for me to experience alongside Him. To be the Bride of Christ in the here and now, as well as in the world to come, is my highest calling. A calling I have come to embrace and cherish in my life's journey.
Part of accepting my call and destiny as a passionate lover of God and His Son is to confront what I believe is the rampant homophobia inherent and prevalent in God's household. The Church needs to heal from its own self-righteous indignation. The pathway to Heaven needs to be cleared away of our preconceived notions. We need to stop interpreting God's mind and heart erroneously and stop shutting the door on the very ones He came to die and rise again for. Enough with the hierarchy of sins!
Recently, a vocal opponent to Gay marriage spoke up and gave his reasons why Gay marriage should not be legalized. While gracious and merciful in his response, he at least made a reconciliatory attempt by conceding to civil unions. In reading his response, I could not help but see why the Gay Rights movement compares itself to the Anti-Slavery and Civil Rights movements of old. The same arguments then are being revived and once again utilized in the defense of strictly heterosexual unions. What was once the battle against racism is now being vehemently fought in the arena of sexism.
I'm not going to pretend that I will even come close to changing anyone's mind overnight. Religious prejudice, as well as centuries old strongly held traditions and practices are never easy to eradicate. Every worthwhile battle in mankind's history has required incredible fortitude and resistance in the face of tyranny and hatred. Jesus himself said it best when he declared how "the kingdom of God suffers violence..." With that said, I would propose to the nay-sayers and unflinching critics of Same Sex Marriage that maybe the time has come to realize that just because we believe something to be absolute truth, God may be challenging and offending our minds and emotions in order to make plain to us all the foolish contents of our hearts. Maybe, just maybe, God is trying to let us know that what we hold fast to and would like nothing better to see imposed upon everyone around us, is in the end better left carried out by the Holy Spirit, the only one who is able to guide and lead us in the path of abiding truth.
I ran across the following blog and found the words spoken by T.D. Jakes echoing my own sentiments regarding this matter. He says plainly:
"Several months ago I had the privilege of appearing again on “Larry King Live.” He asked me a very poignant question, “Is this a Christian nation?” I immediately replied, “No. This is a nation with a lot of Christians in it.” Many times majority groups think that their views control the country, which for me as a Christian is a great idea. But what happens when and if the numbers switch and we aren’t the majority? The founding fathers created a democratic system that separated church from state so that, as a country, we could avoid the slippery slope of getting into the business of telling people what to believe. That is a job they left to be determined by the individual, the synagogue, the mosque and the church!
A country that has one national religion as its only compass is much more of a theocracy than a democracy. That kind of tyranny leads to witch burning, spiritual genocide, forced and fraudulent expressions of faith, and God knows what else. As wonderful as faith is, faith out of control can be lethal.
I love democracy because it is designed to keep the government from telling me when and how to serve communion, and it allows room for debate without dominance. Religious people will never agree on everything within or outside of the bounds of the church. Democracy allows that debate without polluting it further with political intervention as long as that debate doesn’t infringe on another human’s rights. Lately, it is my view that religion has become increasingly a servant to politics, and whenever a flame is needed to move a candidate or party closer to power, they ignite the flame of the faith community by playing on controversial issues and fear. This isn’t new religious jargon; it’s the same lingo that moved the civil rights movement forward. It disannulled the religious language that slave owners used to justify their hideous abuse of African men and women in our history. Communism enforced an atheistic view that denied its citizens the pursuit of an open practice of faith."
To read whole article go to: http://www.tdjenterprises.com/blog/?p=85
We should not fall into the error that our way is the best way. Too many bloody wars and conflicts have been fought in God's name, which in the end brought nothing but shame and disdain for the message of the Cross. I know I am surrounded by passionate men and women who no matter what will hold to their beliefs and even die for them if necessary. So be it. Nonetheless, my ardent prayer is for openness in dialogue. A simple acknowledgment that we are called to love, to love one another and more importantly, to love our enemies. How will people know how great HE is if we, His representatives, insist on going the way of giving God lip service and futile attempts to honor Him with our vain traditions? Will it not only serve to drive away those who are in need of the power of the Cross and the freedom it provides to all who follow? We must learn to love our enemies and stop giving lip service to the often used rhetoric among religious people: "God loves the sinner but hates the Sin". This is just another way of condoning the right to condemn alternative lifestyles and promote tha language of avoidance and deep seated hatred of what we do not understand.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Funny how you wait and wait for the inspiration to write to hit and when it finally does you find yourself writing about something completely unexpected. I really don't mean to stir the waters and become controversial but I can't help but want to write about the whole Gay Marriage thing. I know very well that in the circles I travel I am the minority. I wish the use of labels were not needed or mattered much but sadly, at least with me, they are used often and punitively. Case in point, when I dare to stand in the face of traditional values and conservative views and proclaim myself as how I view myself, that being a "Born-Again Gay Christian", I am immediately reprimanded, rebuked, and chastised. I am confronted with immediate opposition from the members of my own church. I am assaulted with people who have a compounding need to correct me.
"There is no such thing as a Gay Christian. You can't be both. It's either one or the other so pick a side."
Or my all-time favorite: "God is not done with you yet. You need healing and deliverance. Once you receive it, you will be free (not to mention Straight)." Well, I guess I haven't learned to receive it. This kind of response always makes me feel like I am at fault. Like I haven't tried hard enough.
Well, I may be in bondage. I am not going to deny this nor do I care to have to defend myself concerning the matter but I resent the thought that I am less than or not complete because I refuse to deny the truth about my sexuality. I refuse to pretend having no sexual and emotional attraction towards men. If I've said it once, I'll say it a million times: " I am exclusively attracted to men which in definition authenticates my labeling myself as Gay". Nor does it matter to me the fact that I have embraced my singleness and am committed to pursuing a vow of celibacy. I am presently celibate not because I believe or consider same sex attraction as inherently evil or unacceptable in the eyes of God. I am intimate with the few and scarce biblical passages forbidding or condemning homosexuality. Even so, I do not ascribe to the beliefs that men who have sex with each other are reprobates or abominable. I do believe wholeheartedly that they, like everyone else, regardless of their sexual preference or orientation, "have all fallen short of the glory of God." Whether we be, Gay, Straight, Bi, Questioning, Transgender, etc. it is my sincere belief we all need a deeper revelation of God's love towards us. Then and only then when we enter into a deep and conscious reality that we were created to love and be loved by a Merciful and Kind God are we able to experience freedom. Simply put, I am celibate because I have come to the place of receiving God's call for my life to enter into a deeper and richer relationship with Him. I say no to sex because for me it only drives me farther apart from experiencing what God has designed for me to experience alongside Him. To be the Bride of Christ in the here and now, as well as in the world to come, is my highest calling. A calling I have come to embrace and cherish in my life's journey.
Part of accepting my call and destiny as a passionate lover of God and His Son is to confront what I believe is the rampant homophobia inherent and prevalent in God's household. The Church needs to heal from its own self-righteous indignation. The pathway to Heaven needs to be cleared away of our preconceived notions. We need to stop interpreting God's mind and heart erroneously and stop shutting the door on the very ones He came to die and rise again for. Enough with the hierarchy of sins!
Recently, a vocal opponent to Gay marriage spoke up and gave his reasons why Gay marriage should not be legalized. While gracious and merciful in his response, he at least made a reconciliatory attempt by conceding to civil unions. In reading his response, I could not help but see why the Gay Rights movement compares itself to the Anti-Slavery and Civil Rights movements of old. The same arguments then are being revived and once again utilized in the defense of strictly heterosexual unions. What was once the battle against racism is now being vehemently fought in the arena of sexism.
I'm not going to pretend that I will even come close to changing anyone's mind overnight. Religious prejudice, as well as centuries old strongly held traditions and practices are never easy to eradicate. Every worthwhile battle in mankind's history has required incredible fortitude and resistance in the face of tyranny and hatred. Jesus himself said it best when he declared how "the kingdom of God suffers violence..." With that said, I would propose to the nay-sayers and unflinching critics of Same Sex Marriage that maybe the time has come to realize that just because we believe something to be absolute truth, God may be challenging and offending our minds and emotions in order to make plain to us all the foolish contents of our hearts. Maybe, just maybe, God is trying to let us know that what we hold fast to and would like nothing better to see imposed upon everyone around us, is in the end better left carried out by the Holy Spirit, the only one who is able to guide and lead us in the path of abiding truth.
I ran across the following blog and found the words spoken by T.D. Jakes echoing my own sentiments regarding this matter. He says plainly:
"Several months ago I had the privilege of appearing again on “Larry King Live.” He asked me a very poignant question, “Is this a Christian nation?” I immediately replied, “No. This is a nation with a lot of Christians in it.” Many times majority groups think that their views control the country, which for me as a Christian is a great idea. But what happens when and if the numbers switch and we aren’t the majority? The founding fathers created a democratic system that separated church from state so that, as a country, we could avoid the slippery slope of getting into the business of telling people what to believe. That is a job they left to be determined by the individual, the synagogue, the mosque and the church!
A country that has one national religion as its only compass is much more of a theocracy than a democracy. That kind of tyranny leads to witch burning, spiritual genocide, forced and fraudulent expressions of faith, and God knows what else. As wonderful as faith is, faith out of control can be lethal.
I love democracy because it is designed to keep the government from telling me when and how to serve communion, and it allows room for debate without dominance. Religious people will never agree on everything within or outside of the bounds of the church. Democracy allows that debate without polluting it further with political intervention as long as that debate doesn’t infringe on another human’s rights. Lately, it is my view that religion has become increasingly a servant to politics, and whenever a flame is needed to move a candidate or party closer to power, they ignite the flame of the faith community by playing on controversial issues and fear. This isn’t new religious jargon; it’s the same lingo that moved the civil rights movement forward. It disannulled the religious language that slave owners used to justify their hideous abuse of African men and women in our history. Communism enforced an atheistic view that denied its citizens the pursuit of an open practice of faith."
To read whole article go to: http://www.tdjenterprises.com/blog/?p=85
We should not fall into the error that our way is the best way. Too many bloody wars and conflicts have been fought in God's name, which in the end brought nothing but shame and disdain for the message of the Cross. I know I am surrounded by passionate men and women who no matter what will hold to their beliefs and even die for them if necessary. So be it. Nonetheless, my ardent prayer is for openness in dialogue. A simple acknowledgment that we are called to love, to love one another and more importantly, to love our enemies. How will people know how great HE is if we, His representatives, insist on going the way of giving God lip service and futile attempts to honor Him with our vain traditions? Will it not only serve to drive away those who are in need of the power of the Cross and the freedom it provides to all who follow? We must learn to love our enemies and stop giving lip service to the often used rhetoric among religious people: "God loves the sinner but hates the Sin". This is just another way of condoning the right to condemn alternative lifestyles and promote tha language of avoidance and deep seated hatred of what we do not understand.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Feelings of Rejection and What to do in the Midst of It
I consider myself fortunate to have many more supportive people than adversaries surrounding me. People who have loved me through the many traumatic events of my life and when the fear of rejection has reared its ugly head, have come alongside me and reminded me of my worth in God's eyes. Today was no less different. I made my way to Church with a heavy heart and full of fearful expectation that today would be the day when my worst fears would finally manifest and deal me a heavy and irreversible blow. This is the irrational thing about fears; it tends to loom bigger and more ominous than the truth and light of God's affirming touch. At least, this is how it tends to feel during those moments when one starts to doubt that love could ever remain faithful. Yet, this love comes through every single time, and gently reminds me how unyielding it is in the presence of my doubts and fears. This amazing love, somehow always wins me over and brings me safely to the other side.
It has been an extremely long week for me as I have dealt with the lies of rejection. Same old lies.
"You are not good enough..."
"People will turn away from you and abandon you for good."
"God Himself can't love you..."
And so on. It's enough to make grown men want to lie down and hide under the covers for days on end.
Can't really tell you what led to this present bout at the present moment since I want to be careful not to fall under the old patterns of lashing out against those I believe have in any way let me down or betrayed me. No, this time around I am determined to allow myself and others the benefit of believing the best about a given situation and not jump to conclusions. But it hurts like hell nonetheless. Rejection falls over my shoulders like an ill-fitted leaden garment. It slows my steps and causes me to move cumbersomely. I lose the will to dance when rejection makes it presence known.
Through it all, I want to believe and trust God that no matter how bad things may look or feel, I will get through it and become a better person because of whatever I may have to endure for the moment.
All this to say, regardless of what my emotions say about my situation, I am in a good place and well on the path to experiencing greater levels of truth and freedom; two key elements of wholeness and health in overcoming rejection. Call it blind optimism but deep down I believe that "All things work for the good of those who love God, and are called according to His purposes." I believe it. I hold firmly to it in the face of my overwhelming and irrational fears.
Perfect love casts out all fear.
It has been an extremely long week for me as I have dealt with the lies of rejection. Same old lies.
"You are not good enough..."
"People will turn away from you and abandon you for good."
"God Himself can't love you..."
And so on. It's enough to make grown men want to lie down and hide under the covers for days on end.
Can't really tell you what led to this present bout at the present moment since I want to be careful not to fall under the old patterns of lashing out against those I believe have in any way let me down or betrayed me. No, this time around I am determined to allow myself and others the benefit of believing the best about a given situation and not jump to conclusions. But it hurts like hell nonetheless. Rejection falls over my shoulders like an ill-fitted leaden garment. It slows my steps and causes me to move cumbersomely. I lose the will to dance when rejection makes it presence known.
Through it all, I want to believe and trust God that no matter how bad things may look or feel, I will get through it and become a better person because of whatever I may have to endure for the moment.
All this to say, regardless of what my emotions say about my situation, I am in a good place and well on the path to experiencing greater levels of truth and freedom; two key elements of wholeness and health in overcoming rejection. Call it blind optimism but deep down I believe that "All things work for the good of those who love God, and are called according to His purposes." I believe it. I hold firmly to it in the face of my overwhelming and irrational fears.
Perfect love casts out all fear.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
I'm cutting the ribbon and laying the cornerstone.
I want to lay a proper foundation for this new blogging venture. I'm afraid it's not going so well in that respect. Lately, I have been bombarded with work and completely distracted with other things. Yet, I find myself thinking about this writing business a great deal. I want to have a place to compile and input all these ideas and stories floating in my head. What I really want to do is write my long awaited book and have it published but I must confess I am nowhere as disciplined as I ought to be in order to make that happen.
So, I am left with random thoughts, bits and pieces scattered all over the place, and not much of anything worthwhile to write about. Frustrated, to say the least. Just thinking about a thing will not make it materialize in itself. Action is required, which is where my fingers come into play. I have decided to write every day whatever it is that comes to mind and not worry so much about structure and such things. I'm just going to type away and see what comes of it. I am going to call it an experiment in setting a foundation. Foundation for what exactly is anyone's guess at this moment but if I don't get around to just doing it, well, the day will surely come when I will regret never having attempted to write.
Here it is... I'm cutting the ribbon and laying the cornerstone while crossing my fingers. Remembering what I have been told, I will not despise small beginnings and with that forge ahead unto uncharted territory. Wish me luck!
So, I am left with random thoughts, bits and pieces scattered all over the place, and not much of anything worthwhile to write about. Frustrated, to say the least. Just thinking about a thing will not make it materialize in itself. Action is required, which is where my fingers come into play. I have decided to write every day whatever it is that comes to mind and not worry so much about structure and such things. I'm just going to type away and see what comes of it. I am going to call it an experiment in setting a foundation. Foundation for what exactly is anyone's guess at this moment but if I don't get around to just doing it, well, the day will surely come when I will regret never having attempted to write.
Here it is... I'm cutting the ribbon and laying the cornerstone while crossing my fingers. Remembering what I have been told, I will not despise small beginnings and with that forge ahead unto uncharted territory. Wish me luck!
Friday, September 11, 2009
The "I Wish You Were Never Born" Curse
I sit here and wonder: will my wounded heart ever mend? Will I wake up one day and finally be able to reach down into myself and never again fear having to puncture old wounds? Or will I have to learn to accept the broken places and be ever mindful of scars that threaten to gape open and come undone periodically?
More often than not, I wish I didn't have to look back. I want to be a life with no rear view mirrors. A life blessed with amnesia of painful past experiences. Yet, I know this is not realistic since their is much good that can and has come from looking back and exposing things that once caused great shame and guilt. I am being set free from the bondage of shame. It no longer has a hold on me. For that I am thankful. But does it have to hurt so damn much? God, grant me a tough layer of skin so when I look back and conquer the past I can find myself still standing whole and stronger than ever. I pray this also for everyone who has taken on the task and monumental challenge of addressing past wrongs; setting wholeness and freedom as their goal and just reward for the present hopeful condition of their lives. May we bear under the weight of such honorable accomplishments.
With that said, I take a deep breath and inhale deeply from the source of my victory and overcoming, and open that ominous door which leads to the past where pain, trauma, and suffering abounds. I am on a personal God sent mission: to deliver that little scared boy and scoop him up in my grown-up arms and bring him out to the safety of the light. For far too long he has cowered in the lonely and dark crevices, alone and destitute, whimpering and believing no one cared. Cry no more little one, help is on the way. You have been heard. You have a voice now. More so, you have a place of safety now where you can come to and never be harmed. Where I am bringing you to, no one will ever dare lay a hand on you. It is a place of abundance. A place of unmitigated laughter where the sun shines brightly and darkness is nowhere to be found. Oh, and even more importantly, it is a place where you never have to fear again, where truth is spoken in gentle breezes and complete acceptance is the golden standard, the only option available to those who are redeemed.
You see, my mother, in her misery, in her wretched pain at being in an unfaithful marriage where beatings to her tender pale flesh by a husband who would not and could not be man enough to take his marriage vows as a sacred oath and abide within its set boundaries; caused her great humiliation and grief more often than any woman should ever have to endure. I remember him never being home long enough to take care of the home front. He used our home as a pit stop to shower, eat a good cooked meal, change into his philandering clothes and head out the door to go be with his whores. And there she sat, seething in anger, full of resentment, feeling trapped in a loveless marriage. It was no wonder that this conduit of pent up loneliness and desolation would become an uncontrollable and raging channel of anger who could not see the pressing needs around her. We, her offspring, soon became tied to and identifiable with her deep seated resentment at being left alone to fend for herself. The joy of motherhood replaced by contempt and bitterness gave way to an onslaught of impatience which manifested into beatings and neglect on a daily basis. My mother lost her ability to effectively communicate with words and daily resorted to her hands and fists to let us, my sister and , know how much she resented us; the reason why she remained trapped in an unfruitful and decaying marriage.
This became crystal clear one rare evening where we sat down at the kitchen table as a family to eat dinner. Together on that rare occasion due to the fact that our paternal grandmother had come from Puerto Rico to visit and spend a few days with us. My mother had done what had been expected of her and prepared the evening meal. Don't ask me what it was but for whatever the reason I was in a finicky mood that night and refused to eat something that had been put on my plate. This was unacceptable. Unlike the Brady Bunch family, where if one of the kids did not want to eat or needed to be excused from the table, such a request was granted. Not so in the Rivera household. The unbreakable rule was you had to eat anything and everything served you and then you were granted permission to leave the table. This night I tested my mother's patience and looking back put her mothering skills to question in the presence of her mother-in-law because as we sat there and I raised a fuss about not wanting to finish my portion, my mother uttered those eternally damaging words no child should ever have to hear coming out of a mother's mouth. She looked at me and yelled: "I wish you had never been born!"... words that still resonate with the same intensity and devastation within my damaged emotions.
" I wish you had never been born!"
There. She said it and meant it. I looked up wide-eyed and waited for those seven words to reach over the table and do what no beating, as severe as they might have been, to reach me and puncture my soul. The words went deeper than any belt lashing ever could. Deeper than any insensitive and sudden smack. Even deeper than the worst of welts brought on by wire hangers or extension chords.
"I wish you had never been born!"
Hands down, the worst beating of my life up to that point. I remember looking around the table and searching the faces which stared back at me but did not come to my defense. My grandmother, with pity in her eyes, sat there silently. My younger sister, the only one who during those hellish an tormenting days of my childhood, was ever able to bring me relief with her sweet hugs and embraces, sat there frozen, knowing that a wrong move on her part might cause the curse which had just been unleashed and spoken, to be hurled at her direction. She looked at me, sadness filling her soul, feeling my pain, but unable for her own sake, to come to my defense. Yes, Cindy, my youngest sister, my lioness in pig-tails who always came to my defense in the school yard against the bullying of the older boys, but here, at the dinner table, she was completely unable and defenseless to come to my rescue. Finally, slowly, with innocent expectation quickly fading, I turned to look at my father, my last hope at being rescued from the curse of being unwanted and unloved. The man, the figure head of this broken and neglected family, never once reacted to my mother's curse and kept right on eating.
I put my head down and as surely as the tears are streaming down my face as I write this account, I sat there and cried, feeling the crushing weight of her words seep into my soul and take permanent residence in my young and hopeless life. Eight years old and already I knew what it felt like to be unloved and unwanted. Words that followed me for the rest of my life. Words that to this day make a grown man to this very day convulse and heave with way too much pain and sorrow at having to relive that moment in time where everything seemed lost; where the desperate need to be loved by a mother was denied him and caused what seemed unrepairable damage to fragile and sensitive emotions.
I cried alone that night at the kitchen table as the rest of the family watched in silence and hastily emptied their plates with little to no conversation exchanged. How surreal. They ate and moved on to the next activity while I sat there and let my tears fall onto food I refused to eat. My mother forbade me from getting up that night until every last morsel on my plate was gone. These were the days both my sister and I yearned for a Fido to come to the rescue and take our unwanted leftovers. No Fido came that night or any night and I sat there for hours alone with the cold food staring back at me and the spoken curse making its ironclad ball and chain weight felt deep in my psyche. No one came to say sorry that night. No one sat with me and took the time to explain what took me a lifetime to finally realize; that those piercing and hateful words, which had ascended from the pit of hell, were never meant to be carried and identified with. But what do eight year olds know of such matters? Isn't that what mature and caring adults are supposed to do; disseminate information and provide explanations? No one came back to the table that night to provide such relief. So I took on those words of death into myself and provided fertile ground for it to fester and grow like out of control weeds in an abandoned back lot somewhere where only vagrants and wild dogs roam and rummage through piles of garbage and unwanted objects.
To that place, that painful memory, is where I must travel back to this night. Armed with grown-up understanding and a good measure of God's revealed love for me, I go back tonight and make myself known to that little boy. I go with angels who with swords in hand cut through the thicket and darkness and provide me a path to safely go and retrieve what was lost and is now saved. As they fight and guard my every step I am left to concentrate on how I will reach out to that little frightened boy and convince him I come to rescue him and not cause him any further damage. He may not believe me at first. Many men have gone before me saying similar words only to take advantage of his defenseless spirit and trick him into going with them into dark places where once out of the prying eyes force him to his knees or to bend over and commit acts of sexual degradation and perversion. I must convince this little one that I come from the future, that I am he in grown-up form come to rescue him from the dark and shameful place he has been confined to. I will speak to him as I have been spoken to by the voice of magnanimous love and let him know he is at last free to leave that place and never to return.
I will speak gently and tenderly the very words spoken to me by my emancipator, my friend, my rescuer, Jesus, who has modeled for me how the work of setting the captives free is done. I will say to that little boy: " You are redeemed, you are not only wanted and loved, you are precious and fully accepted". I will sit with him at that table and finally take that plate from him and eat those leftovers for him. I will show him it is okay to feel what he feels and I will wait there as long as it takes until he is reassured I mean him no harm, that I speak truth and just want to love him with a love so pure and noble which will once and for all break the power of that spoken curse. Show him not only was he to be born but unto royalty and high esteem was he destined to be born into. Then maybe, after all that has been accomplished, he will see the value and worth in his life and in seeing it set out a course to boldly go back into darkness and snatch twigs forgotten and left in the fire of abuse and suffering.
May this life of pain and suffering be a catalyst for others to come into their own realms of self-discovery and freedom from the snares of shame and abuse. And one by one, every little scared boy and girl finally come out of the dark shadows and be set free to play and bask in the fullness of the light of acceptance and freedom. God's kingdom children free once and for all to run and play under the watchful and strong gaze of affirming love.
More often than not, I wish I didn't have to look back. I want to be a life with no rear view mirrors. A life blessed with amnesia of painful past experiences. Yet, I know this is not realistic since their is much good that can and has come from looking back and exposing things that once caused great shame and guilt. I am being set free from the bondage of shame. It no longer has a hold on me. For that I am thankful. But does it have to hurt so damn much? God, grant me a tough layer of skin so when I look back and conquer the past I can find myself still standing whole and stronger than ever. I pray this also for everyone who has taken on the task and monumental challenge of addressing past wrongs; setting wholeness and freedom as their goal and just reward for the present hopeful condition of their lives. May we bear under the weight of such honorable accomplishments.
With that said, I take a deep breath and inhale deeply from the source of my victory and overcoming, and open that ominous door which leads to the past where pain, trauma, and suffering abounds. I am on a personal God sent mission: to deliver that little scared boy and scoop him up in my grown-up arms and bring him out to the safety of the light. For far too long he has cowered in the lonely and dark crevices, alone and destitute, whimpering and believing no one cared. Cry no more little one, help is on the way. You have been heard. You have a voice now. More so, you have a place of safety now where you can come to and never be harmed. Where I am bringing you to, no one will ever dare lay a hand on you. It is a place of abundance. A place of unmitigated laughter where the sun shines brightly and darkness is nowhere to be found. Oh, and even more importantly, it is a place where you never have to fear again, where truth is spoken in gentle breezes and complete acceptance is the golden standard, the only option available to those who are redeemed.
You see, my mother, in her misery, in her wretched pain at being in an unfaithful marriage where beatings to her tender pale flesh by a husband who would not and could not be man enough to take his marriage vows as a sacred oath and abide within its set boundaries; caused her great humiliation and grief more often than any woman should ever have to endure. I remember him never being home long enough to take care of the home front. He used our home as a pit stop to shower, eat a good cooked meal, change into his philandering clothes and head out the door to go be with his whores. And there she sat, seething in anger, full of resentment, feeling trapped in a loveless marriage. It was no wonder that this conduit of pent up loneliness and desolation would become an uncontrollable and raging channel of anger who could not see the pressing needs around her. We, her offspring, soon became tied to and identifiable with her deep seated resentment at being left alone to fend for herself. The joy of motherhood replaced by contempt and bitterness gave way to an onslaught of impatience which manifested into beatings and neglect on a daily basis. My mother lost her ability to effectively communicate with words and daily resorted to her hands and fists to let us, my sister and , know how much she resented us; the reason why she remained trapped in an unfruitful and decaying marriage.
This became crystal clear one rare evening where we sat down at the kitchen table as a family to eat dinner. Together on that rare occasion due to the fact that our paternal grandmother had come from Puerto Rico to visit and spend a few days with us. My mother had done what had been expected of her and prepared the evening meal. Don't ask me what it was but for whatever the reason I was in a finicky mood that night and refused to eat something that had been put on my plate. This was unacceptable. Unlike the Brady Bunch family, where if one of the kids did not want to eat or needed to be excused from the table, such a request was granted. Not so in the Rivera household. The unbreakable rule was you had to eat anything and everything served you and then you were granted permission to leave the table. This night I tested my mother's patience and looking back put her mothering skills to question in the presence of her mother-in-law because as we sat there and I raised a fuss about not wanting to finish my portion, my mother uttered those eternally damaging words no child should ever have to hear coming out of a mother's mouth. She looked at me and yelled: "I wish you had never been born!"... words that still resonate with the same intensity and devastation within my damaged emotions.
" I wish you had never been born!"
There. She said it and meant it. I looked up wide-eyed and waited for those seven words to reach over the table and do what no beating, as severe as they might have been, to reach me and puncture my soul. The words went deeper than any belt lashing ever could. Deeper than any insensitive and sudden smack. Even deeper than the worst of welts brought on by wire hangers or extension chords.
"I wish you had never been born!"
Hands down, the worst beating of my life up to that point. I remember looking around the table and searching the faces which stared back at me but did not come to my defense. My grandmother, with pity in her eyes, sat there silently. My younger sister, the only one who during those hellish an tormenting days of my childhood, was ever able to bring me relief with her sweet hugs and embraces, sat there frozen, knowing that a wrong move on her part might cause the curse which had just been unleashed and spoken, to be hurled at her direction. She looked at me, sadness filling her soul, feeling my pain, but unable for her own sake, to come to my defense. Yes, Cindy, my youngest sister, my lioness in pig-tails who always came to my defense in the school yard against the bullying of the older boys, but here, at the dinner table, she was completely unable and defenseless to come to my rescue. Finally, slowly, with innocent expectation quickly fading, I turned to look at my father, my last hope at being rescued from the curse of being unwanted and unloved. The man, the figure head of this broken and neglected family, never once reacted to my mother's curse and kept right on eating.
I put my head down and as surely as the tears are streaming down my face as I write this account, I sat there and cried, feeling the crushing weight of her words seep into my soul and take permanent residence in my young and hopeless life. Eight years old and already I knew what it felt like to be unloved and unwanted. Words that followed me for the rest of my life. Words that to this day make a grown man to this very day convulse and heave with way too much pain and sorrow at having to relive that moment in time where everything seemed lost; where the desperate need to be loved by a mother was denied him and caused what seemed unrepairable damage to fragile and sensitive emotions.
I cried alone that night at the kitchen table as the rest of the family watched in silence and hastily emptied their plates with little to no conversation exchanged. How surreal. They ate and moved on to the next activity while I sat there and let my tears fall onto food I refused to eat. My mother forbade me from getting up that night until every last morsel on my plate was gone. These were the days both my sister and I yearned for a Fido to come to the rescue and take our unwanted leftovers. No Fido came that night or any night and I sat there for hours alone with the cold food staring back at me and the spoken curse making its ironclad ball and chain weight felt deep in my psyche. No one came to say sorry that night. No one sat with me and took the time to explain what took me a lifetime to finally realize; that those piercing and hateful words, which had ascended from the pit of hell, were never meant to be carried and identified with. But what do eight year olds know of such matters? Isn't that what mature and caring adults are supposed to do; disseminate information and provide explanations? No one came back to the table that night to provide such relief. So I took on those words of death into myself and provided fertile ground for it to fester and grow like out of control weeds in an abandoned back lot somewhere where only vagrants and wild dogs roam and rummage through piles of garbage and unwanted objects.
To that place, that painful memory, is where I must travel back to this night. Armed with grown-up understanding and a good measure of God's revealed love for me, I go back tonight and make myself known to that little boy. I go with angels who with swords in hand cut through the thicket and darkness and provide me a path to safely go and retrieve what was lost and is now saved. As they fight and guard my every step I am left to concentrate on how I will reach out to that little frightened boy and convince him I come to rescue him and not cause him any further damage. He may not believe me at first. Many men have gone before me saying similar words only to take advantage of his defenseless spirit and trick him into going with them into dark places where once out of the prying eyes force him to his knees or to bend over and commit acts of sexual degradation and perversion. I must convince this little one that I come from the future, that I am he in grown-up form come to rescue him from the dark and shameful place he has been confined to. I will speak to him as I have been spoken to by the voice of magnanimous love and let him know he is at last free to leave that place and never to return.
I will speak gently and tenderly the very words spoken to me by my emancipator, my friend, my rescuer, Jesus, who has modeled for me how the work of setting the captives free is done. I will say to that little boy: " You are redeemed, you are not only wanted and loved, you are precious and fully accepted". I will sit with him at that table and finally take that plate from him and eat those leftovers for him. I will show him it is okay to feel what he feels and I will wait there as long as it takes until he is reassured I mean him no harm, that I speak truth and just want to love him with a love so pure and noble which will once and for all break the power of that spoken curse. Show him not only was he to be born but unto royalty and high esteem was he destined to be born into. Then maybe, after all that has been accomplished, he will see the value and worth in his life and in seeing it set out a course to boldly go back into darkness and snatch twigs forgotten and left in the fire of abuse and suffering.
May this life of pain and suffering be a catalyst for others to come into their own realms of self-discovery and freedom from the snares of shame and abuse. And one by one, every little scared boy and girl finally come out of the dark shadows and be set free to play and bask in the fullness of the light of acceptance and freedom. God's kingdom children free once and for all to run and play under the watchful and strong gaze of affirming love.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
When Five-Year-Olds are Raped
I was brutally introduced into the gay life at the tender age of five.
A sixteen year old neighbor, who lived on the top floor of the Brooklyn tenement building my family and I lived in, was taking a bath one day when my mother, younger sister and I stopped by for a visit. As was customary in those times, children were to be seen and not heard. Mom had instructed my sister and I to go into the bedrooms and play while she gathered in the kitchen with the other ladies who had already come together for coffee and neighborhood gossip. I remember how the women sat around the kitchen table sipping coffee, talking in loud voices and laughing at who knows what. The hens were loud enjoying each others company.
My sister who was three at the time went into one of the bedrooms where some girls had gathered to play with dolls. Me being a boy who had already learned that playing with dolls was absolutely forbidden stuck around in one of the adjacent bedrooms to wait for Luis Armando to finish his bath. We were the only males in the home. I stuck around and waited hoping he would let me play with the few toys he kept in his room.
Sigh. And thats when it happened. Luis Armando opened the bathroom door and summoned me to come into the bathroom. Never suspecting the terror that awaited me. I walked into his trap. No sooner had i entered the bathroom he grabbed me, laid me face down on the cold bathroom tiled floor and pulled my shorts and undies down to my ankles. He placed his hand over my mouth and introduced himself into me. My excruciatingly painful introduction to anal sex.
I remember the searing pain accompanied by the suffocating horror of his hand over my mouth. The muffled screams. The hot tears streaming down my face. His heavy frame pressing down on me threatening to break me. His hushed hot whispers telling me to be a good boy, to be quiet. To this day when I look back I am amazed at how I did not pass out right there and then. Sadly, I remained present for the whole ordeal feeling every brutal thrust going in and out of me until at last God saw fit to make the agony end. He shuddered and convulsed and finally lay still covering me in darkness.
His instructions were firm and clear as he pulled me off the wet floor and jumped back into the bathtub. "This never happened. If you tell anyone they will not believe you and will be angry with you. Pull up your shorts. Go quietly, like a good boy, and wait for me in my room". I did as I was told still covered in tears but deathly afraid to tell anyone what had just happened.
I carried this dark and shameful secret for many years. I never told a soul.
My molester found an obedient receptacle in me and continued to use me for his pleasure for several years after that first incident. I learned to take it. Grew up overnight capable of withstanding pain and hiding it for the sake of survival. I believed the lies fed to me that I had brought this hell upon myself and no one would or could save me from what became my new life.
Labeled and branded, other child molesters saw the signs and helped themselves in the process. It seemed wherever I went, someone was waiting to continue the process of defiling and rendering me worthless. a neighbor, two uncles, and a cousin; my captors and tormentors.
So when people try to convince me that "we" are born this way I know now that not to be the case in my life. I was made gay by the countless sexual and verbal abuse inflicted upon me. Verbal abuse from men and peers who would call me and tease me with such hateful words as "sissy", "faggot", "queer", "weak" and so on. They too did their part to cement into my psyche my present day identification and association with being Gay.
... And people wonder why, at times, I become a cauldron of seething volcanic anger. They dare judge me for ever wanting or even attempting to take my life into my own hands. Maybe now people will understand me better and not fault me for attempting suicide three times... for being fiercely mistrustful and independent in nature. For I have only myself and my God to count on when the darkness rolls in like a flood and the haunting memories, followed by the painful questions of "Why God, Why me? Where were you when I most needed you? Why...Why...Why? crash down on me and try to do me in.
I hope my painful and traumatic story may help someone out there who may be struggling with a similar situation. Believe me, take it from me, God is still good. He does care. He truly does and he alone is able to turn the very thing evil intended to destroy and undo us, to become the very thing that will become a blessing and strength.
As I write these words I am beginning to see greater and more meaningful purpose but more so I am entering into deeper levels of healing and revelation of god's love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)