It’s a good time to be plus size. At least the interwebs says it is. I have seen a plethora of stories about us larger ladies and all the amazing things we are doing these days like running marathons, modeling swimsuits, getting married, even making it to the cover of magazines. There is a big part of me (no pun intended) that thinks, “Finally!” Finally, people are noticing that the heavy-set does all kinds of things you normal-set people do. Heck, we might even (gasp) be normal people.
But I have to confess I feel somewhat conflicted about the isn’t-it-great-to-be-fat movement online. I can’t speak for anyone but myself, so I won’t pretend to know what it’s like to live in the skin of the women featured in the posts I referenced. Here’s the thing, I don’t want to be judged or ridiculed because of my body size. I don’t want my weight to be a measure of my intellect. And I think brides should feel beautiful, and sexy, and loved on their wedding day. If you want to wear a bikini in size 22, more power to you. And, as a runner myself, if you want to run ultra marathons at 250 pounds, I will be the first person to cheer you on. I want to be treated like a person.
However, I want to be treated like a whole person, and my weight is a piece of the puzzle that makes up who I am. I am an active person and generally in good health, but I could weigh less and be healthier. Losing weight would lower my risk for diabetes, heart disease, cancer – or at least get rid of my chronic acid reflux… I don’t have a glandular problem, I don’t have some past trauma hanging over me. I simply eat too much. Some people smoke, or drink, or gamble. My personal challenge just happens to show on the outside more than other people’s problems.
I used to be very judgmental of people who smoked until I worked on a team filled with smokers. I watched them repeatedly try to quit. They would quit for their birthdays, make New Year’s resolutions to quit, quit on the Great American Smokeout day. They would make pacts to quit together. I saw smokers try Chantix or get nicotine patches, or gum, or e-cigarettes. I honestly never saw a group of folks try harder at anything over and over again. The experience was eye opening. Before, I thought they just didn’t want to stop that much, but I came to appreciate that the addiction of smoking is powerful and I was grateful I never happened to take it up in the first place.
That’s how it is with me and my weight. I have done any number of things to end my unhealthy eating habits. I buy fruits and vegetables (that I don’t finish and go bad in my fridge). I find new and interesting recipes. I train for half marathons. News Flash: you can train to run 13.1 or 26.2 miles and gain weight doing it. I make pacts with myself to cut out sugar, or alcohol, or processed food. I am a member of Weight Watchers and think I may have a record going for most years on the program without losing any weight. Sometimes I lose a few pounds. Generally, those pounds come back and bring a few friends along for the party. Maybe I don’t want it enough to make a lasting change, but please be rest assured I *try to lose weight* over and over again.
What do I want for my efforts? I sure don’t want to be tolerated. Tolerate means to “allow the existence.” I already exist and I don’t need anyone’s permission to keep on existing. Should I be celebrated? I love being the center of attention and who doesn’t love a good celebration. However, I don’t want to be celebrated for my plus-sizeness. Celebrate me for being smart, or a good friend, or maybe even (I hope) a good writer. That leaves acceptance. Accept me as a flawed human on this earth, just like all the other flawed humans – even the skinny ones.
Acceptance is not love. You love a person because he or she has lovable traits, but you accept everybody just because they’re alive and human. ~Albert Ellis
I have been trying to run the San Diego Rock N Roll Half Marathon for three years. And I have wanted to run it for even longer. My first attempt in 2013 was stalled before it started when friends got married the same weekend as the race. (It was a fantastic gypsy/camping wedding out in the woods and I was extremely glad not to miss it…) Last year I started training, raised the required donations and then had to drop out a month before the race due to injury. I figured the third time’s the charm and started training for San Diego again this past January. My training was conservative and I stayed healthy, but the specter of re-injury hung over the season. Unlike other races where I had finish times in mind (even if I said I didn’t), a huge success for me this time would be to make it to the start line in the first place. As I told many of my training teammates, I had “unfinished business” in San Diego and some part of me needed to conquer that race once and for all.
Race morning we met in the lobby of the hotel at the un-godly hour of 4:30am for our shuttle ride to the start of the race. We arrived somewhere close to 5am and the race started at 6:50am. For whatever reason, if shuttling is involved, there is an unwritten rule that you must arrive ridiculously early. I had slept 0 hours the night before, so I’m not sure why it mattered when I got on the shuttle. In any case, I had plenty of time to (repeatedly) use the porta-potties, eat my traditional hard boiled egg and English muffin with peanut butter, and attempt to shake off the nerves. Finally, we made our way to the starting corrals and shuffled towards the start line. A small wave of emotion came over me as I crossed the start line and I realized that I was really, actually, doing this thing.
Fortunately, the marine layer over San Diego kept the temperature from being too hot. That being said, the weather was very humid for my Pacific Northwest sensitivities and sweat was pouring down my face from the get-go. Given how beautiful it is in San Diego, the race course is curiously largely residential. Running through neighborhoods does have it’s charms and in one particular stretch I could have partaken of any of the following being offered to runners: mimosas, fireball shots, whiskey shots, bloody marys, and margaritas. I honestly can’t imagine any of those going down well while running 13.1 miles, but I did see one runner make an abrupt U-turn to get a shot of whiskey so I guess it works for some folks. Around the bend in another neighborhood, women were stationed on both sides of the streets handing out napkins. I might have cried upon receiving one of those napkins to wipe off my face, but it was a little hard to tell the tears from the sweat at that point.
For whatever reason, bystanders felt it was important to tell the runners we were “almost there” and that after whatever hill we were on it was “downhill the rest of the way.” These statements were both lies. I heard an “almost there” at mile 4. That is not even the halfway point. Why on earth would you tell a runner they were almost there when they had over 9 miles to go?? On behalf of all runners everywhere, please CUT THAT CRAP OUT. It’s annoying, it’s the opposite of encouraging and the only time I want to hear it is when the finish line is in eye-shot. And even though I should have known better, I really (*really*) wanted the “downhill the rest of the way” lies to be true. It was a huge letdown anytime I rounded the corner and there was another hill in front of me.
Around Mile 9, a fellow teammate who was not running the race jumped onto the course to run to the finish with me. This is an amazing gift and having a running mate makes the time go by so much faster. However, there is another racing phenomenon known as the “Bite Me Zone.” This is when you are getting tired, you are probably a little bit sodium deleted (note sweating comments above) and you are emotionally DONE with this race. Except you are NOT DONE with this race. I was full-on into the ‘Zone’ when Tamira joined me on the course. She was friendly and upbeat and wanted to check in with how I was doing. She has since told me I was not nearly as cranky as I felt, but I finally did have to tell her that I appreciated her company as long as there was no talking (except for me occasionally complaining that we were going uphill again after being promised that it was downhill-the-rest-of-the-way). She tried valiantly to get me to sprint the last .10 of the race across the finish line but I would have none of it and kept my slow and steady pace all the way to the end.
It was a good race, and a tough race, and I was glad to be finished. I also want to give a huge shout-out to my coaches Tessa and Erica who were both a very welcome sight when I saw them out on the course.
Aside from the injury issues last year, I have run in the Seattle Rock N Roll race series every year it’s been held. This is my “home race” and I didn’t want to miss it. Besides, after missing out last year, I thought why not try and run 2 half marathons this season. The Seattle race was just a couple of weeks after San Diego’s race and I figured if I was trained for one, I would still be trained for the other one two weeks later. After finishing the San Diego half-marathon, I was tired, but I felt there was still another half marathon inside of me.
I was hoping for another overcast day like the one in San Diego, but I woke up to bright blue skies without a cloud in sight. I was nervous about the heat, but it was a cool morning and if I could sweat my way through San Diego, I could sweat my way through Seattle. One big difference with this race is that the start line is only a few blocks from my home. I slept in my own bed and wandered down to the race at the far more reasonable time of 6:30 instead of 4:30. I was also starting this race with my longtime running partner, Duana. She was not in San Diego so it was a comfort to have her here this time – even though she was running the full marathon and so the only time we would see each other was in the starting corral.
I had raised money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society this season in honor of my good friend Josh Dand’s cousin, Keegan, who lost his battle with blood cancer. In both races, I wore the same jersey with Keegan’s name written on the back. The race started with a fanfare of fireworks shooting from the Space Needle and we were off. Early in the race, a random stranger shouted at the top of her lungs, “DO IT FOR KEEGAN.” Maybe a mile later a runner came up behind me and said, “You’re running for Keegan? I have a friend running for Keegan in Florida today.” If San Diego had been my own personal unfinished business, this race I was going to focus on Keegan, and for Steve Palesch, and for Gil – those who had lost the battle with blood cancer. This was their race.
One of my favorite parts of the Rock N Roll series of races is the high school cheer teams out on the course. The have some of the best signs (“If Britney Spears can make it through 2007, you can make it through this race.”) and yell out encouragement (“After this race, you won’t have to go to the gym for a month!”) and offer high-fives. I decided that high fives from kids and cheerleaders are filled with jolts of energy and that I was going to return every high-five offered to me. I also heard Tamira and another teammate hollering out my name at one of the cheer stops and this time I had a smile on my face when she saw me.
Close to Mile 9 there is a long slow section that goes through a mile-long tunnel. That might sound nice on a sunny day, but it’s muggy and the walls are covered in car exhaust and it’s all uphill. As I mentally prepared to approach the tunnel, I reminded myself that this race was for Keegan and “Do it for Keegan” was going to be my mantra. I entered the tunnel and that mantra powered my way up the hill. After that, you have another bit of a hill before the most beautiful glorious long downhill on the race. I decided Steve Palesch and Gil were going to power me up this next hill and once again I found myself at the top of the hill in short order. When I got there, I found one of my coaches from last year was helping out on the course. Yon sprinted up to meet me and it was a wonderful surprise to see his smiling face (and he is always smiling). He ran me down the hill and then ran back up again to greet other runners.
Between Mile 10 and 11, I noticed that I was not having my usual “Bite Me Zone” moment. Although sunny, there was a wonderful breeze and the weather remained cool. It was, in fact, perfect running weather. The Seattle course also showcases the city in a way that the San Diego course fails to do – we start at the Space Needle, skirt Lake Washington, and run along the waterfront on top of the Alaskan Way Viaduct. I saw Coach Erica at Mile 11 and she asked if I needed anything and I was happy to report that I felt good. As I came around the bend after Mile 12, I saw teammate Craig – or rather I heard him chanting my name and running up to run with me. There is nothing that beats hearing your name when out on a race. A few seconds later, I heard someone else yell out my name and found my good friend Mark was on the sidelines holding up a sign that said, “Run Lyda Run” and I was able to give him a quick and (sorry Mark) sweaty hug. Craig ran me to the bottom of the last push to the finish and as I entered the finishing chute, Brian was there on the sidelines to give me a high five. I basically floated across the finish line from all the support I received from my friends and family.
Before these races, I had begun to wonder if the Seattle event was getting a little tired and routine for me. But what I found is that sometimes the familiar has it’s own rewards. No one yelled out my name in San Diego like they did here. In Seattle, I knew the course well enough to ignore the “almost there” folks and I knew exactly where the hills were located and how bad (or not) they would be to climb. I reconnected with the reason I was running in Seattle in a way that I didn’t quite capture in San Diego. I was grateful to both races as I gained something important from both of them. As Dorothy says, there is no place like home, but she never would have had that sentiment if she hadn’t left Kansas in the first place. I may or may not run the San Diego race again in the future, but I will definitely be back home where I belong for the Seattle Rock N Roll race.
My company is undergoing an organizational change. This is nothing new. You work long enough and every organization changes. Change is the only constant, right? I was not part of this latest re-org, but I will have to say goodbye to a number of colleagues at the end of June. Sad to say, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to watch people leave, or be the person leaving. These situations are never easy, but I’m usually able to maintain some sense of perspective. Having changed jobs, I know you can leave one and find another one. There are good people in lots of places. Job transition is not necessarily the worst thing that can happen to a person.
This time around, however, I have been having a much harder time maintaining my objectivity. I have only been with this company for just over a year, so I don’t have the kind of relationships that come with working with the same people for many years. Yet I feel like I am losing my best friends. Some of them have been with the company for 14 years. I cannot even begin to imagine how difficult it must be for them to think about leaving after that amount of time. It hardly seems appropriate for me to be this level of upset after such a short amount of time together. Why do I feel so devastated?
Over the years, I have had a few great managers, some good managers, and fortunately only a small number of really bad managers. I have worked for great companies and not-so-great companies and some in between. I have had work that was satisfying, work that was boring, and work that was way over my head. I have worked with a lot of exceptional people and met a few I was not sorry never to see again. Very rarely, if you are lucky, you have the chance to work somewhere with a fantastic boss, amazing leadership, and co-workers that you universally respect and admire. When all of those pieces fall into place, it’s downright magical. I have had pieces of it here and there, but it wasn’t until I came to my current job that I got a taste of the kind of magic I hadn’t had in a long, long time.
I’ll offer just one example, of many. The group of folks I work alongside (most of whom are leaving) go crazy bonkers for team member’s birthdays. Because my team is all in the field and I’m the only one who physically works in the office, they adopted me for their birthday shenanigans. Offices get decorated with super hero signs, tropical flowers, we “put a bird on it” (a la Portlandia) for one birthday, and recently decorated someone’s office to be the Alaska Airlines Boardroom – complete with in flight magazines and airplane sized booze bottles. For my birthday, these amazing people decorated my office with a running theme since they knew I was training for a half marathon. They put out a water stop, finish line, and a huge RUN LYDA RUN sign on my door. Inside my office they covered the walls with inspirational running quotes, but not only did they decorate my office, they all showed up to work in track clothes and wore race bibs that said, “Team Lyda.” I was touched beyond words. It is powerful to be seen and known.
Upon hearing about my birthday treatment, a friend of mine said she had heard there were workplaces like that, but didn’t think they were real. Well, this place is real. And very, very special. My deep sadness comes from knowing that with all these people gone, the thing that made this place so magical is going with them. I looked into the future and I am mourning what would have been.
The truth in both work and life is that impermanence is part of the deal. The bad times don’t last forever, but neither do the good times. None of us gets out of this life alive. And I think the only way you navigate through these ups and downs without losing all hope is through gratitude. When the magic happens, you have to cherish and appreciate every moment you get. I am so thankful I had the chance to work with these wonderful people. I’m working as hard as I can to appreciate that I even got that opportunity to be with them and not focus on their leaving.
My friends, you will be missed. And I thank you for the time we have had together.
This is not a very sexy post, but neither is getting colon cancer, so let’s just leave it at that. If you want something more entertaining in the colonoscopy-lit genre, may I suggest Dave Barry: A journey into my colon — and yours. As Dave and anyone else who has ever had a colonoscopy can tell you, the procedure is no big deal. If you need one, go get one. On the scale of awkward and painful, I’d take a colonoscopy over a root canal any day.
What follows are a few tidbits that made my own experience a few months back easier and/or I wish I had known beforehand.
- Pick a Friend – they will tell you this when you call to schedule, so it may go without saying, but you will be sedated during the procedure and will need someone to take you there and take you home. No transportation buddy, no procedure.
- Pick a Day – I suggest a Friday. You will feel right as rain after the procedure, but you will be tired from both the sedation and being up all night in the loo.
- Pick a Time – this is the one I wish I had asked about more carefully. I am a morning person and figured early was better. However, I did not realize that my prep was a two-step process and selecting an 8am procedure meant I would have to get up at 4am to take a second dose of the prep. Ask the scheduler to help you factor the prep times into your selection of a procedure time. Note: you also don’t want to pick a time that is too late as your prep will then interfere with your ability to live a normal life greater than 2 feet from a bathroom.
- Pick your Poison – turns out there is more than one way to clean out your colon. Some prep solutions are more or less awful than the next. Make no mistake, to date, there is no good tasting bowel prep, but ask about the prep they are selecting for you and what are the pros/cons and options. (I had Suprep, which tasted like a liquid salt lick, but the internet says is less awful than some of the other options.)
The Week Ahead
- Go Vegetarian – or at least drop the red meat. The less you have in your colon, the less work the prep has to do. Save the surf-n-turf for a celebratory post-procedure meal and stick to lighter fare before-hand.
The Day Ahead
- No Food for you – this will be part of your instructions, but you will be on an all clear liquids diet the day before the procedure. You can eat jello, but no red or purple jello. And believe me there is only so much green jello a person can eat. Chicken broth and Sprite were my faithful companions.
- Chill it – mix up the prep ahead of time and put it in the fridge (unless your prep requires otherwise – see ‘pick your poison’ above). For whatever reason, chilled prep seems to go down better than room temperature prep.
- Suck it – having a straw made the prep go down way easier and faster than trying to drink it out of the container.
- Drink it – the prep is awful tasting and it is extremely tempting to bail out on finishing it all, but if you do not complete the prep and your colon is not clean enough, they will reschedule or repeat the procedure. What is worse than having to drink all that gross prep? Having to drink it again less than 10 years later…
- Short Attention Span Theater – As far as what to do when you are traipsing back and forth from the bathroom, some folks suggest taking an iPad with you and just stay in there for the duration. I did not find that necessary or desirable. However, whatever you decide to do, it will be punctuated by frequent interruptions. I put on some of my old favorite movies that I had seen a million times and therefore could safely pop in and out of the plot without missing anything.
- Baby your butt – one of the best bits of advice I got was to buy baby wipes. You will spend a lot of quality time on the throne during the prep and your bum gets a bit tender from all the wiping.
- Weigh-in – They will weigh you at the hospital when they take your vitals it will be the one day in your life you will be excited about getting on a scale.
- Take a little nap – they will hook you up to an IV and give you a sedative and then you will wake up and it’s all over. There is no discomfort or after-effects as, get this, there are no nerve endings inside your colon.
That’s it. Go home and have steak and eggs for breakfast. Relax on the sofa and watch a movie all the way through. Pat yourself on the back for doing something that’s really not so difficult and may save your life. Encourage a friend to do the same.
My running days have been put on hiatus due to a ‘very small’ stress fracture in my femur. I have also had more than my fair share of other health issues this year (misdiagnosed diverticulitis, actual kidney stone, antibiotic-induced C.Diff colitis…). None of them, thankfully, have fallen into the VERY SERIOUS bucket, although I suppose that is a somewhat relative and subjective description. If you counted by the number of benefit statements I have received from my insurance company, or by the ways and times my pelvis has been ‘imaged’ the stats are impressive (and expensive – how on earth do people without health insurance afford to be sick??). But, they are all resolved already or will be within a few months time. Hardly worth complaining about, especially when I consider those with chronic illnesses, those battling cancer, or those recovering from life-changing injuries. My problems pale in comparison and most definitely fit more appropriately into the NUISANCE bucket.
Regardless, I have found myself in a weird space of wanting to talk non-stop to those willing to listen (and/or unable to escape) about my laundry list of woes while at the same time feeling somewhat embarrassed for whining about what are ultimately minor problems. In my more zen like moments I am able to put my situation into perspective. Other times, I want the full-on, self-indulgent, pity-party-rave-of-the-century. And somewhere in between those extremes I simply wonder what is my deal with all this BITCHING I seem to be consumed with of late.
Because sometimes I can be a little dense, it took me a few days to connect the dots between not being able to run and not being able to bitch. I am fortunate to have found just about the perfect running partner in my friend, Duana. We are both pretty slow. Well, I am slower; a lot slower, but not by enough to make running with me more painful than running alone, so we make it work. We made a deal some time back that we “leave it all out on the trail.” This means no topic is off limits. We can bitch and moan about the most mundane frustrations of our day or talk deeply about our greatest fears and anxieties. We do both. Sometimes in the same breath, but if I’m honest there is probably more in the mundane category than life’s deepest mysteries. It’s an amazing gift to have a totally catch-free, no holds bared bitch buddy.
Plus you add running to the equation and it’s win-win. Each step on the trail releases each whine and moan into the pavement and at the end of the run we are tired, sweaty, and a lot less stressed-out. Without the running, I feel like my petty complaints are hanging in a cloud around me, tagging along wherever I go. Talking about them does help and I am so grateful for those who have been a sounding board these past few weeks, but without the running to go along with the talk, I seem to be having a harder time letting the pettiness go.
Meditation would probably help, or yoga, or coffee dates or happy hours, or even a good Rom-Com on Netflix. I don’t discount any of those alternate methods, but I sure will be glad when the day comes that I can lace back up my running shoes.
Tuesday morning will be my first day of a new job with a new company after 5 months of unemployment. I am both excited and nervous about what-comes-next and I’m sure it will be the stuff of future blog posts. As I anxiously await these new adventures, I have reflected a bit on what I learned during my “in-between” time.
My family and friends have been awesome, although I pretty much already knew that. They kept me sane, or at least kept me company, during my darker days. My husband, who knew better than to try and tell me ‘everything would be fine,’ showed me listings for studio apartments in Hawaii along with calculations on how we could sell everything, take the cat, and move to paradise. It was never the reality of moving to Hawaii, but the idea of it, that he knew I needed. My friends met me for lunch, coffee, or drinks and did tell me everything would be fine when they saw that that was what I needed. My family encouraged my search efforts by offering either to move in with me and pay me rent or for me to move in with them and pay them rent… Those ‘threats’ were in jest, but I was comforted by knowing that no matter what happened my family had my back.
This experience, and the support I received, showed me what a truly blessed life I live. I have much to be thankful for and any complaints I have are, at their worst, mere inconveniences.
The biggest surprise for me in all this was the help I received from total strangers. One of my strategies based on online networking techniques I learned in my time at LexBlog was to target companies that I was interested in, based on industry (e.g., technology, social media, online marketing) and use LinkedIn to research local contacts within those companies. Once I had a specific name, I looked to see if I had any connection to them through mutual friends or some other common interest. From there I sent out emails that included specific questions I had about their role or their company and asked if they would be willing to meet for coffee. Of course, some of these emails were ignored or my request was politely declined, but I was delighted to find others who accepted my invitations.
These coffee dates were a godsend to me. One of the challenges of job searching is the amount of rejection you have to endure and yet stay positive and hopeful. Applications go ignored, or you talk to a recruiter and then never hear from them again. Not to mention those times when you make it to the face to face interview stage only to have the company go another direction or select a more qualified candidate, or in the case of one interview that went sideways have them re-post the position you applied for the next day. Your self-confidence takes a beating and you start to wonder if you actually have some sort of anti-job cooties.
Unlike interviews, having coffee with someone is more about sharing ideas than evaluating each other. I loved learning about what the people I met were doing, why they did it, what they liked about it, or didn’t like about it. I also enjoyed talking about what was going on in their particular industry. I was able to offer my own observations and sometimes we agreed and sometimes we engaged in lively debate. All of this left me feeling like I actually had something to offer the world. I would come home from these encounters high on a much needed dose of confidence-building.
Aside from the time these people shared with me (and I view time as a precious commodity), I was time and time again taken aback by the generosity of spirit shown to me. I was encouraged, offered free advice, and connected with yet other contacts. None of these people knew me and had no reason to help me, and still they all said yes. There are lots of reasons to be disheartened by the state of the world these days, but I saw that given the chance there are plenty of people who will reach out to a total stranger and offer a helping hand. None of the people I met with asked for anything in exchange, except perhaps to pay it forward. I was humbled by their humankind-ness and I have made a promise to myself to do whatever I can to offer the same to others when the chance presents itself.
Let our New Year’s resolution be this: we will be there for one another as fellow members of humanity, in the finest sense of the word. ~Goran Persson
Duck Dynasty. Eastside Catholic School. Frank Schaefer. Utah. The ‘homosexual debate’ in the media (social or otherwise) is inescapable these days. Everywhere you turn someone somewhere has something to say about it. It’s wrong. It’s love. It’s free speech. It’s freedom of religion. It’s a sin. It’s not a choice. I’m sure I don’t have anything to add to this discussion that hasn’t already been said and probably said better. So, why bother to add my meager two cents worth to the mile high pile of opinions, feelings, and beliefs?
fan addict of Facebook, I have been watching much of the back and forth play out in my News Feed. I went to high school in The South, so not surprisingly many of my Facebook friends from that era are of a more conservative bent. I live in Seattle, so of equal no surprise many of my Facebook friends from this locale are much more liberal. A not un-small number of them are gay. I was raised by college professors, so it’s fair to say that I lean left in these matters. I suppose I could just go ahead and un-friend those right-wing folk who don’t share my views or my beliefs, but I don’t actually want to lose those connections.
There are loads of subjects on which I don’t agree with my lefty-liberal friends, but I’m keeping them too. If I had a dollar for every time I disagreed with my husband on religion, politics, or any other subject under the sun, I would be independently wealthy. Agreement is not a requirement for a relationship in my book. In fact, I will confess that I sometimes get frustrated with my more liberal friends for being so intolerant of other views and building a fortress of like-mindedness. I think it’s healthy to have our convictions challenged now and again. It either reinforces them or, heaven forbid, forces us to reconsider them. I try to be open to the possibility that I still have plenty to learn and how can I know where or how I might learn it if I close off anything that doesn’t fit nicely into my worldview?
So I keep my patchwork quilt of friends and am sometimes beyond amazed by what Facebook chooses to put next to each other in my feed. It’s like the developers have a twisted sense of irony and I kid you not I will see NRA posts next to a petition for gun control. Mostly, I stay out of the debate. I will “like” things I agree with, ignore those I don’t, and otherwise stick to sharing all things cat/internet related.
However, it has begun to trouble me to stay silent on the subject of homosexuality. Like many other subjects, I do have beliefs and opinions on this topic. You could probably piece two and two together based on what I share and like without too much effort, and I have not been totally silent on this, but that is not the same as taking a stand and speaking your mind and your heart. After some internal debate about the best way to do that, this blog is where I share my thoughts and feelings and it represents no other views than my own, so it seemed to be the right place and the time is clearly now.
My one ‘rule’ for friending and un-friending in Facebook and in Life is that people treat each other with respect, regardless of how they feel about an issue, a topic, or anyone else’s lifestyle. So, with that respectfulness in mind for my family and friends who may feel differently, here is where I stand…
I believe that love is love and when two people come together in love, regardless of their gender, I believe God smiles on that love. I believe that the so-called gay lifestyle is pretty much the same as the hetero lifestyle. Hormones may drive our actions more when we’re younger, but eventually that is replaced by true relationships, family, and finding someone you can actually put up with for the rest of your life. I have been witness to two growing families in the past few weeks. In one case, a child was born in an unscheduled c-section after over two years of grappling with fertility issues. In another, a child was adopted from abroad and his welcome to this country was a surprise stay in the hospital for illnesses unknown. In both cases, parents cried tears of worry, tears of frustration, and finally tears of joy at these additions to their lives. I simply cannot believe that God looked any differently on either of these family units just because one was heterosexual and the other was homosexual. Love is love.
My position may cause me to lose friends, but if there wasn’t room for us to agree to disagree, it’s just as well that we part ways. My hope is that those who disagree with me on this will take this as an opportunity to thoughtfully challenge their own convictions and then follow their hearts, as I follow mine. For those who agree, I hope you will see the message behind the message that acceptance of others applies to you as well.
Let us not speak of tolerance. This negative word implies grudging concessions by smug consciences. Rather, let us speak of mutual understanding and mutual respect. ~Father Dominique Pire