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A Place to Rest

anonymous | June 26th, 2006 (9:10 pm) |

This story was told in November 2004 at Wallingford United Methodist Church at a service celebrating the 20th anniversary of the church becoming a Reconciling Congregation.

Hi! For those of you who don’t know me very well, or know my history with Wallingford, I was figuring this out in order to speak here and I realized that I’ve been attending here for about thirteen years, which, wow, astounds me. And, for a number of those years I was very active in the Reconciling Committee here at Wallingford. I could talk for a really long time, I’m sure you’d love that, [laughter] about the many many ways that this community has been so important to me for those years, not just in a reconciling sense, but I’ll stick to the reconciling sense right now.

When Jim asked me to speak, I have to admit I was reluctant, not just because I would have to get up and speak in front of everyone, but there was this part of me, and I wondered about it and kinda thought a lot about it, that feels like a little kid having to take a bath. You know, like, “I don’t want to talk about reconciling!”

And I thought, “What’s that all about?” And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I like to come here and pretend sometimes. Pretend that this isn’t such a special place.

I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of having to provide evidence to the rest of the world that people who are gay like me are okay people. I’m tired of, really tired of, hearing an argument over whether or not I’m worthy to marry someone that I love. I’m tired of the label of “lesbian” defining me as a person to a lot of society. And so, I think what’s important to me is that I can come here and not be gay. [laughter]

Well, I’m gay, but … Okay, no, that was wrong .. Okay, yes, I’m gay, but that is not who I am.

I feel so fortunate to be in a place where I am myself. Being gay is a part of who I am but it is not what defines me, and as [we’ve heard today], we don’t keep track; we don’t take notice; we are just ourselves.

I’m blessed to be here because I can be everything that I am without having fear. I can work with youth and never, never be worried that parents are going to be concerned about the safety of their children with me, of how I might influence or harm their children.

Here I know that I could have my own children and be held up by this community as a worthy parent.

This is the one place outside of my home or my friends’ homes where I know that I can put my arm around someone that I love and not be afraid, and feel safe with that.

Here I know that I could marry whomever I choose regardless of what courts and lawmakers and politicians try to decide what, in their minds, is right. I know that I could marry who I want and be supported by this community in that marriage without a question.

Outside of here those things are always in the back of my mind as concerns. They don’t rule my life in any way, but they are always there. And this is the one place that I can come where those things do not have to be in my mind.

So I think I’m a little reluctant to talk because this is a blissful ignorance to be here. To celebrate reconciliation—maybe I don’t want to acknowledge that because it means there is more to be reconciled, and sometimes I like to just pretend that this is my world. This is the one place in my life where I can see an example of what it would be like to be free of that fight.

So, thank God for the people who have the energy to fight that fight right now. I’m sure that one day I’ll be charged up again. I’ll get that activism back. But for now it is a real blessing to me to have a place where I can come and rest for a while.

(this story has been edited for length and to remove names)