i’m divorced.
i wish that i wasn’t. but that doesn’t change anything.
it’s a stigma in some circles – and over time i’ve learned to remove myself from relationships where i’m treated as ‘less than’ for mistakes of my past.
that’s not grace.
yet even in communities full of grace – the fact remains :: i failed at my first marriage.
the blame game doesn’t matter this far removed from the circumstances that drove those decisions – and though i’ve been fortunate to find an amazing woman to love me in spite of myself on this side of the wounds inflicted long ago, the scars remain – on my heart, and others’ hearts as well – and they’re not going anywhere.
sometime this year, i’ll be remarried to a woman who is truly a perfect fit for me (and i for her), one with whom i can be vulnerable and transparent and honest, and who extends to me the same courtesy and respect as we do life together.
and it’s not fair.
it wasn’t until a recent conversation i had with a dear friend that i was struck with the tragedy the joy my restoration potentially brings to others in the midst of their pain.
my friend is gay.
he wished he wasn’t. but that didn’t change anything.
raised in a conservative evangelical home, for years he attempted to repress his attractions to other men – sometimes failing, but most often fooling those in his immediate circles into believing he was just like his heterosexual peers – that he would one day grow up to fall in love with a woman, have children and fulfill his duties as a husband and a father with the blessing of his church and family.
and then he came out to them.
as my friend processed with me the words he spoke in the quietness of his home with his parents who had for years ignored signs he might not be attracted to women – but instead was – and had always been – attracted to men, a sense of pride and compassion was present within me.
pride because i was proud of him – for being willing to engage in transparency, honesty and vulnerability with his parents; of our friendship, that he was strong enough to share his story with me in that time and space; and admittedly proud of myself for ‘being there’ for him in that sacred space.
<ironically, the sense i have now is not one of pride admitting that fact>
compassion because i hurt for him – for the painful story over years of hiding his orientation for fear of being ‘outed’ as different – or worse; for his intense loneliness and sense of loss of dreams both he and others had for his life; and because i knew he was terrified of what his future holds.
‘It’s not fair.‘ he said, fighting tears.
‘i know,’ i replied as tears were already streaming down my face.
‘No. It’s not fair that you get a second chance. You already got married once. And you’ll get married again. Your family will come, your church will approve and society will treat you and Katie like you’re the perfect couple.
I’ll never have that. And that’s not fair.’
it was in the quietness of that moment that my friend introduced me to a song that could better articulate the pain and promise of that moment than either of us had capacity for :: scott alan’s ‘anything worth holding onto.’ (performed by crystal monee hall)
please – take a listen. read the lyrics, grab a tissue – you’ll need it.
lately it seems i’ve lost inspiration
it feels like it’s miles away.
i sleep through the day, cry through the nighttime
i’m caught in an empty space.
it takes effort to fight, i don’t have the strength
i’m holding onto what’s still left of me.
when the life you had planned
slowly slips through your hands;
when it feels like you just slept through
all the best years of your life;
when you can’t find your way,
when each day is the same;
when you’ve lost the fight inside of you,
is there anything worth holding onto?
it’s hard to be strong, when weakness is stronger
a prisoner in my own skin.
i’m not good on my own, i need to be cared for
someone to help these days begin.
there are dreams i let die,
that i just pushed aside;
i need to find out how to turn
the dark back into light.
when our warmth disappears,
when it’s been one of those years;
when you’re running from the truth
because you’re scared what you might find;
when the heart’s beyond repair,
when you wake and no one’s there;
when your home consists of only you,
is there anything worth holding onto?
maybe tomorrow my heart will reawaken,
and i can find what i’ve been searching for -
but today i’m tired and i’m running out of strength
all i know is i can’t live like this anymore.
when you’re so far from home,
that you’ve lost all signs of hope;
when you’re searching for salvation,
but it feels so far away;
when the words have disappeared,
and the melody’s unclear;
when there’s nothing left inside of you,
is there anything worth holding onto?
’cause i will still be holding on
to everything worth holding onto.
i still had a sense of compassion. but the pride turned to the humility that should have been present in the start of our conversation.
as i highlighted recently in this post,
The urgency here, though, is not in getting our theoretical ethics right; it is learning to love people we, as evangelical Christians, have too often failed to love – and indeed seeking forgiveness from people we have wounded.
My most passionate prayer for the discussion is not that we agree on my conclusions, or his, or anyone else’s, but that we might together find ways to make our churches counter-cultural communities of love where every person may find true human intimacy and God’s healing grace.
what do you think?
