Keep-Your-Cool Boot Camp, I'm calling it.

Two weeks ago I talked about how I'm seriously considering a new venture, one that will inevitably have me playing a bit of defense as I navigate the feedback, fears, and faultfinding that will come my way should I plunge head-long into... whatever this thing might become.

The action steps have been pretty simple so far: start drawing up a document outlining my personal mission, vision, and goals, begin meeting intentionally and strategically with people who may share an interest in my passion, and get to know the gay community in San Diego better than I do via volunteering at the LGBT Center, Pride, AIDS Walk, Dining Out for Life, etc...

All of which is just great. But my friend pointed out to me perhaps the one thing I should be most interested in at the moment, the thing that could be my biggest immediate hurdle, is my tendency to REACT.

Let's name it & claim it: "longsuffering" is not my bag of fruit. At least as it pertains to the general mass of humanity. When people don't navigate well (and that concept translates to many aspects of life: conversation, choices, driving...), my first reaction is to SAY SOMETHING. React. Spew forth my own wisdom - at least, as I perceive it.

I'm not naturally gifted with Jesus' ability to look out on a crowd of people and feel compassion. In all honestly, I'm probably more likely to say something along the lines of "Look at those crazy fools." Not so with an individual - you give me one person who is hurt, confused, broken, needy, ignorant, rebellious, angry... whatever, and I'll be fierce in my resolve to see him through. I can relate to the one. But to the many? Well... it's a challenge.

My friend knows this about me. Which is why he suggested I spend some serious time on my knees over the next few months asking God to prepare me to stand in the middle of a culture war where slings & arrows are being thrown from both sides. To temper my reactionary nature. To give me access to a deep well of patience & grace.

The opportunities to learn this lesson are LIMITLESS, I've found. The old adage seems to be true - if you ask God for patience, a big box of it isn't likely to fall into your lap. Rather, you'll be given moments that challenge, try, test you and give you an opportunity to learn to exhibit patience. One moment it's being stuck behind an inept driver. The next it's answering the phone to a rude comment about the quality of my company's website. Then it's being confronted with the reality of people who just aren't on the same page as you. That urge to yell "GET WITH THE PROGRAM!" is what I'm learning to surrender.

So I'm in Keep-Your-Cool Boot Camp. That's action step numero uno. The great thing is, I've experienced firsthand many times this year how keeping your cool can really change the direction of a conversation. It's a skill I truly want to develop. So, if you see me out of line, you're invited to remind me. I just ask for a little patience & grace and I try to learn a little... patience & grace.

-MBW

For six solid months I was gifted with a reprieve from some of my deepest-seated inner struggles. I don't know why - it just happened. A reprieve from a struggle I've had since I can remember. (If you know me well, it's not what you're probably thinking.)

I'm talking about a certain reaction, reflex, relational paralysis that happens in my closest friendships. An learned response that tells me: "You are not loved. You are less important than other people. No one would stick with you if they knew what was really going on inside."

For most of my life, that has been my framework and foundation for how I see myself in this world. And when good people have attempted to meet me in my need, I have reacted badly time and again: self-sabotage, making accusations, inventing reasons why they couldn't possibly be serious about loving me.

I've been battling this, working through it, sifting out the lies and learning to unite my heart with reason for a few years now. Until last November, it was ongoing.

Then - abruptly, suddenly - it all ceased. I was free. Everything became as clear as day. For the first time, I found myself relating to other people in an almost completely healthy way, able to give and receive love without any sort of self-doubt or self-torture that used to accompany my attempts at friendship. It was absolute bliss: there are not words to describe how shocked I was to find that life could be lived outside of that prison of despair, perpetual fear, and paralysis that I had always known.

It was a gift - that's all there is to say. I didn't do anything to make it happen. It was a gift - a beautiful, miraculous, sensational gift.

But it ended. Last month, on an odd sort of night following an odd sort of day, the floodgates opened in full force and I fell prey to the darkest of fears and self-doubt. In an instant, I found myself right back in the thick of everything I had been so glad to leave behind. It was almost devastating.

But not quite. Because of those six months - because of that gift - I was able to look my fears in the face and with a resolution that surprised me, say: "NO. I do not have to live this way."

I prayed that night like I hadn't prayed in years - fervent, desperate, but with resolve to overcome my fears. I wasn't going to quit until I'd sent the demons back to hell. (That's a metaphor... or maybe not.)

I said:

"God, you have gifted me with 6 months of reprieve from the pain, longing, and disappointment that has shadowed my whole life. You picked me up out of the muck and mire and held me close, shielding me from the darkness that tries to overwhelm me. There wasn't a hint of it to be seen, felt, or heard.

And in doing so, you've given me a glimpse of what life can be like. You've let me taste freedom. You've given me reason to believe in something better. I had no proof that I could live unencumbered by the chains of mistrust and self-loathing - until these 6 months. Now I know what it's like; I've sampled it; I've lived it... for a moment.

But nothing worth having ever comes easily. And I believe that you showed me this way, this freedom, to give me something worth fighting for. Like you did for Moses, you took me up to the mountaintop and showed me the Promised Land. You let me know it that it is real - that there is more to hope for than these desert wanderings.

And because of that, I can't help but be filled with hope. I won't despair and I won't retreat. I will fight for freedom because it's the sweetest thing I've ever known. And because I believe you are a God who values the journey over the destination, I will answer your call to follow the the Way that is messy, unknown - yes, frightening - because I believe it will be worth it. You have made me believe it will be worth it.

There is one more thing, God. During these six months of reprieve, the interaction I've had with people has been revelatory. I've made the discovery that my story can make a difference for someone else. That because I have known the darkness and the oppressive weight of fear and doubt, I can speak to other people in darkness from my place of hope, from the promise of freedom. In a divine twist that only you could imagine, my personal history of pain can be a catalyst for a future of hope for many. I want to serve you in that way. I want to serve others in that way."

That was my prayer that night.

It still is.

-M

Last night I reconnected with yet another friend from college days who had read this blog and had some encouraging words for me. She shared her sadness at the way the church has treated me (and many like me) over the years. It was very kind. It made me realize though, that my blog recently has only focused on one aspect of my journey in and through the church - the largely negative aspect. And so today is about sharing my reason for hope in the church, my own story of reconciliation, and why I don't believe it's a waste of energy believing that two communities currently engaged in a culture war can find common ground.

Part of the reason why I've started blogging again, and why I've been so personal and honest with what I say, is because lately (and by lately, I mean over the past 2 months) I've reached an unusual place in my journey (and by unusual, I mean a place I don't think I've ever really experienced before). That place could be vaguely classified as a place of direction, or directed-ness. In describing it to my roommate, I used the phrase, "Not a destination, but a direction." Much of my life has been puzzling, with varied and seemingly unrelated passions and hobbies, varied and seemingly unrelated personal struggles and demons, and varied and seemingly unrelated places and communities in which I've found myself. I haven't ever really made much sense of any of it. I recall telling my best friend once that I felt like Esau. "Jacob have I loved; Esau have I hated," said God. Jacob and Esau were twins, born into the same family, the same culture, the same everything. Jacob was chosen - given a destiny, hope, a future. Esau was not - he lost his name in the family and becomes nothing more than a blip on the radar. And it seemed largely out of his control. Esau has been a reference point for me over the years as I've wrestled with my own longing for purpose. When I concluded that I was merely fated to oblivion, he became my commisserator. I even wrote a song called "Esau," paralleling his story with my own.

But the God of purpose has been at work. Not just lately, not just in the past two months. But, it would seem, for the duration of my life. That feeling - no, more than a feeling - that underlying sense of reality is something I've heard many speak of over the years. Often, I received their words with a measure of resentment that I, too, did not sense God's underlying purpose for my life. But here I am, drinking for perhaps the first time long draughts of hope, purpose, and excitement over the direction toward which I feel pulled, led... called.

Here is why I feel these things. About four years ago, I was invited to help build a faith community from scratch. It's why I'm in San Diego - I followed my friends here in order to help them in their own vision for an urban church that developed around a common desire for a return to the way of Jesus in community with other people. Not a church that attracted devotees with flashy marketing, incredible music and production, iconic leadership and teaching... All those things are fine, but my friends had a desire for something more organic, rooted in relationship. Something that took the "come as you are" culture and morphed it into "I will come to you as you are." A community built intentionally through the power of reaching into another person's life and challenging her to engage in a deeper relationship with her challenger, and ultimately with God.

FYI - it's working. Slowly, but surely, Citywalk is finding its footing here in San Diego. And this is the community I call home. A place where "come as you are" simply isn't enough. We are challenged to be intentional about our interactions with people, not simply inviting them to come to our church, but finding them where they are, staying with them where they are, coming back frequently to where they are. And trusting that this, which is commonly called "incarnational ministry" in church circles, the way Jesus chose to live his life, will be the means of reconciliation back to the God of purpose and love for people who have been disconnected from those things.

My faith community (we call ourselves Citywalkers) loves me. There is no arrogance in this statement, it is mere truth. The people for whom I am privileged to lead music on a weekly basis, really, truly, unconditionally love me. In particular, the friend who invited me to join him on this journey to San Diego, has so devotedly lived the incarnational way of Jesus toward me that it has radically changed my perspective. I used to be Esau. Sequestered, separated, and unwanted by God. But when my friend chose to live the incarnational, unconditional love of Jesus toward me for 5 years running - despite my best efforts to sabotage, disprove, reject, deflect, or otherwise destroy that love - I couldn't help but be changed. That's just the way of love. It changes your understanding of yourself. It changes your understanding of other people. It changes your understanding of God.

I promise you, I have not made it easy for people to love me. I looked for holes in their love. I jumped at any opportunity to twist a word, action, or even facial gesture into a sign of their rejection. Rejection was familiar. God had rejected me. The church had rejected me. People I once loved very deeply had rejected me. Life as Esau made sense. Until I learned I couldn't change the love these friends had for me. Until I learned that this love was reflective of the love Jesus showed to people in his own life. Until I could no longer believe I was unwanted because incarnational, unconditional love convinced me otherwise. And I learned this from the church. Not the church of my youth - but the church, nonetheless. A group of people following the way of Jesus in community.

(For the record, Citywalk is not what some might call a liberal and affirming church. It's not a place where being gay is celebrated at every gathering. There are many differing opinions between Citywalkers in regards to moral issues such as gay sex. Some are more traditional. Others are less restrictive. But what matters most in this family is that incarnational, unconditional love that characterizes all interactions, all conversations - and believe me, there is a healthy and multi-faceted conversation within our community surrounding this issue. The point is that Citywalk does not affirm homosexuality as a rule, but neither do we, as a church, condemn anyone who is gay or is having gay sex. Not only is that person welcome, but we will go to that person, we will be in that person's life, we will return without condition time and again to where that person is and choose to love that person until she is changed - and by changed I do not mean 'turned straight' - by that incarnational, unconditional love.)

Here within a mainline Christian, American, evangelical church community, I have found my place. I've experienced healing from the wounds my previous involvment in the Christian community inflicted. I stand confident in unconditional love from people who have my back. I stand confident in the unconditional love of God for me. So when I talk about the pain I've felt, the hurt I've experienced, the desperation and despair, the solitude and separation, the anger, defiance, and defensive attitude I adopted as a result of what I confronted in the church - I am talking about the former things. The old has gone, the new has come. I am happy. I have joy. I have purpose, direction, and am surrounded by people who love me. And I'm finally free to talk about my experience, share my story, and pray that I am able to connect with other people who are experiencing what I've gone through. To pray that my story can give hope to someone who has none. To find the Esaus of the world and show them incarnational, unconditional love.

Truly, I have no use for pity. And there is no need to apologize for the grievances of the church - at least to me. I've been through that fire. If you're moved at all by my story, I hope you will choose to love unconditionally that person you come into contact with who feels unwanted and separated from God. That gay son or daughter of God who feels so overwhelmingly condemned by the church that it may take five years or more of unconditional, incarnational love to break through the lies that bind his or her life. It will break through. We can't help but be changed.

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up - do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.
-God through the prophet Isaiah, chapter 43, verses 18 & 19

Incarnational. Unconditional.
-M

President's Day weekend I ventured up to Reno/Tahoe with my roommate and another friend to see old stomping ground and my pals up north. My travel mates had not yet been to Tahoe, so the goal was to educate them experientially while enjoying a relaxing three day weekend in America's Adventure Place. But after spending 38 hours in the car, and most of that in life-threatening snowstorms, avoiding collisions with other motorists, siderails, and mountain lions, I've decided it was, logistically, the worst trip I've ever taken. Relationally, can't complain - we had a great time with each other. And my friend Becky made some of the best meals I've had in recent months. So it was still worth it. But after broken chains, bumper-to-bumper traffic that turned a 2 hour voyage from Sac to Reno into 7 hours, various closed roads, unplowed highways with 2 inches of snow sitting on them, the densest fog I've ever had to crawl through at snailish speeds, and only being able to see about 8 inches of one of the world's most beautiful lakes - well, let's just say I won't be doing road trips through the Sierras in February anymore.

There are those days when the fog in your head seems to lift enough for you to see a clear vision of your future, what you want to be about in this world - perhaps enough to even articulate it. A proverb says, "As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another." This happened to me today. I was confronted by the Facebook friend mentioned in my last post, who generously read my blog and had a thoughtful response for me. Her response was like iron sharpening iron - it enabled me to think critically about my passions and why I believe what I believe. I'm posting my reply to her below because I feel I've captured in it the passion behind the things I believe and what I choose to build my life around.

I'll admit, what I initially wanted to say was very different. In fact, I simply wanted to write off my friend's thoughts as the type of conservative, traditional thinking that isn't all that helpful in opening a dialogue and a compassionate conversation. But the realization as I started to write back was that if I really and sincerely want to be a bridge-builder, engaging these conversations is imperative. I can't just ignore them. I feel very directed right now - some label it a "calling." I don't know if I would call today a watershed or landmark moment, but I certainly feel I found a voice to the impulses and beliefs I hold inside. Here it is, for better or worse...

You need to know why I prioritize things the way I do. You need to know why it's more important to me that the church chooses to be passive instead of fight, to love instead of picket, to be a voice of compassion instead of being a voice insistent on its own rights. Why I believe with all my heart that the church should stop fighting the war against abortion, gay marriage, and whatever "anti-Christian" activity it is you're referring to.

I am gay. I am the one who grew up in the conservative world, condemned from the pulpit and by my own family without anyone ever knowing what they were doing to me. I am the one who grew up with a secret so horrible I couldn't tell anyone, who grew up with an understanding that God could not possibly love me because of what I was. My only chance, only hope at being received into this family of believers into which I was born was to keep hidden this terrible secret. To smother it, to kill it if I could. To change into something that God, and everyone around me, would accept. Do you know why there is such a high suicide rate among gay people? It is because so many of us have been instilled with an idea that we are something unacceptable, unlovable, and unwanted. For the better portion of my life, every ounce of my energy was poured into creating the person I believed I had to be in order to find love and acceptance from God, from you, from everyone else. It is a devastating way to live.

Everyone struggles with issues of self-worth, with the desire to be loved. We all make decisions as we grow up based on the need to be affirmed, desired, valued, wanted. But the problem goes deeper for the homosexual. For a gay person born into a conservative, religious home, they grow up with the understanding that they personify the most abhorrent, perverse sin in the list of things God hates. An unknowing parent may do everything to show their child he is loved, but when that parent adds his or her voice to the wave of noise that is the church's antagonism toward the "sin of homosexuality," he or she confirms their own child's greatest fear: that God hates him. That he is separate, other, different. Disconnected from his family, friends, and from God. So, inevitably, that child will try to change, will pray for change, will hide his "sin," will do everything possible to cover it up. And that child will fail. There will be no change in that child's orientation. No matter what that child, that teen, that young adult does, he will feel like a failure every day of his life because he does not, cannot meet the standards of holiness that have been set for him.

And you will say, "But that's why Jesus died, to cover our sins and make us holy and presentable to God."

Try telling that to a gay person who can only see a church that spends the majority of it's time, energy, and money pouring into a war against the gay agenda - whatever that is. There is no such thing as real grace, real compassion, real, authentic love for the gays in the face the church puts forth in our world. Those picket signs, the "No on Prop 8" campaign, the insistence that orientation change is possible and that God's wish for all gay people is that they become straight - all these things drown out any love that might be trying to break through.

God did not leave us a mission to fight moral battles. Jesus did not fight moral battles. If anything, he challenged the accepted notions of morality in his day. He ate with tax collectors and "sinners." He exhibited grace and love to prostitutes. He (gasp!) healed on the Sabbath!

Until the church can prioritize people before an issue, faces before morality, we will continue to miss the mark. Until we acknowledge that God does not need or ask us to wage war on "sin," we will continue to alienate the very people he so much loves and so much longs to include in his kingdom. The church is working against the heart of God; we are counter-productive.

None of this has anything to do with what one believes about Obama and his policies. None of this has anything to do with aligning oneself with one political party or another. Yes, I was at times critical of Bush's policies. But only because he claimed to be a follower of Christ, and some things he chose to do did not align with the way of Jesus and the heart of God. Because I believe in the way of Jesus, in his mission to reconcile all people to God, it is my own mission to make that way evident to everyone. To give people every opportunity to "come as they are," to not block the gates with picket signs and a version of morality that is better than other people's morality. Right and wrong are not the crux upon which the entire church stands - they are NOT. Morality is not what makes a follower of Christ - it is NOT.

LOVE. Love is what makes someone a follower of Christ. "They will know you are Christians by your love." Love trumps everything - it trumps our "rights." It trumps whatever sin we may think separates someone from God. It blows away the need to white-knuckle the truth. It is sacrificial - it does not retaliate. Jesus straight-up told us that in this world we will have trouble - but, he says, "I give you my peace. Not peace as the world gives..." Christians will have trouble, and we're not told to fight back. Christians don't need to fight for morality because of the peace we have been given. We are free to simply love. Simply love. No fighting, no condemnation, no judgment - God can take care of himself. He doesn't need us to defend what is right and wrong in moral terms. He needs us to love. God needs a body - that was why Jesus came. God needed a body to physically reach out and touch the people he loves. And that mission has been left to us. We have bodies, we have hands. We must use those hands to reach out, to hold, to comfort - NEVER to close to the door on someone. NEVER to hold a picket sign. NEVER to write messages that will make God's beloved children believe that they are unloved, unwanted, and unacceptable.

Because that is what we do when we fight against gay marriage. That is what we do when we picket abortion clinics. We may believe we are defending physical life - but we are smothering spiritual life. In those moments, we are not going into all the world and spreading the Good News - we are spreading hate.

And you can be sure that I will continue to distinguish myself from a church that spreads hate.

So there you have it. What makes me tick, fuels my fire, gives me gas in my Ford so I keep truckin' for the Lord. (Actually, I drive a Dodge.)

-M

For my first journey back to blogging, I thought I'd just post a quick life update. My life. (It only seems appropriate, as this is my blog. However, if you'd like me to post an update of your life, I'll be happy to do so.)

The "big news" is that I'm in a new job. New job path. Career, I guess? I had been working for a retail development firm here in San Diego for 2 1/2 years. It was a good job - I enjoyed the company I kept, but alas, shopping is not exactly my favorite activity. Especially in shopping malls (or lifestyle centers, as most developers now prefer we call them). So, much as I enjoyed my coworkers, it was difficult to receive any sense of fulfillment from the work itself.

Last fall, I was actually feeling quite stuck. Believe it or not, I had somehow convinced myself that I had pretty much experienced all that San Diego had to offer me. I wanted to leave because I was unhappy at work and felt overwhelmed in the rest of life. My music was suffering (or rather, it was DOA) as I had no time to devote to it. The one thing I remained attached to in San Diego was my work with Citywalk, the faith community I helped to start. I love Citywalk - it's the most genuine communal expression of faith I've been a part of, and I have dear, dear friends in that community. I wasn't ready to leave that behind. So, I felt stuck because I was bored with my city, bored with my job, but couldn't leave. And who wanted to go job hunting in an economy like this?

Well, all it took to change that perspective was a layoff. As a company providing niche tenant coordination services to large mall developers, my former employer was one of the first to be hard-hit by the current economic crisis because our services were considered a luxury to many of our clients. I lost my job at the end of October. Certainly, there were feelings of disappointment and fears of not being able to pay the bills, but I actually reacted mostly in excitement. I promised myself that I wouldn't simply jump in bed with the first job that came along, but would instead take the time to evaluate where I was headed in life, and where I wanted to go. Options on the table included going back to school, pouring heart & soul into my music, or looking at the non-profit sector.

So, would you believe I was only unemployed for 72 hours? I still managed to fulfill my promise not to take the first job offer (it was a gracious offer from a friend who had a temp position to fill), but thanks to the gods of circumstance (otherwise known as Jehovah Jireh, I seem to recall from an old children's chorus?), I had a friend who was leaving his position at a non-profit here called LEAD San Diego. I couldn't have stepped into a role better suited for me. LEAD, not surprisingly, is a civic & community leadership development agency. We develop programs meant to inspire & educate people about the needs & challenges facing San Diego's future in order to produce a group of leaders who are ready to get their hands dirty, improving the quality of life in our little corner of the states.

Last fall I thought I had experienced all that San Diego has to offer. That was a big ole bucket of naivete & ignorance. I'm learning new things everyday through LEAD's programs and seminars (which I get to help execute!) that make me so thankful to live here, and help me focus my own energies toward the issues that I care about and can make a difference in. I suddenly feel about San Diego the same way I felt when I first moved here - just that it's a chasm of opportunity, and I want to dive in. (Metaphor cheesy meter: 8 out of 10)

So the whole boring job/boring city perspective went down the drain, and I'm totally wrapped up in getting to know more & more about America's Finest City as I earn my living helping to ensure we have educated, enthusiastic leaders to keep it moving. And, I get to stick around to be a part of Citywalk's future and enjoy these great friendships I have. Essentially, getting laid off was the best thing that could have happened to me; otherwise I might have hung around in an unfulfilling job, disliking my circumstances for who knows how long. And I really do believe there was some serious divine path-making going on there: to be laid off, have the human connections I did, receive support & help from friends who did everything from pray to offer jobs to help with my resume, and only be unemployed for 72 hours at the start of one of our nations most disastrous economic downturn in my lifetime - well, I'm just hard-pressed to explain it all away. Renewed purpose, love from friends & family, and food on the table - what more could I ask for?