Why I Won’t Just Write About My Sexuality

Boy holding paper plane on Jinshanling Great Wall

Most of the top hits on my blog have packed the punch of emotional and cringeworthy stories, the ones etched in the far walls of my spirit. They are significant and, I believe, life-giving to those fellow marchers feeling the aches of chained ankles dragging dark memories and frightening futures. For however many of you that follow here, I hope these have helped you somehow.

 

But I gotta tell ya. I can’t keep writing only about sexuality.

 

It’s not that any of you have pressured me to, but I have taken the responses I have received and played them like broken records every single time I type. I am no martyr, but I feel like somehow I want to keep taking care of you. Especially my LGBT listeners. Beyond being gay, there are plenty of other passions and dreams that drive me forward. Stories of preventable genocide and teenage parents and God’s grace and my beloved literature continue to color my conscience. My journal is chalk full of stories that actually have little relation to being gay in Church. I think they can be encouraging and I want you to hear them.

 

I have so much to say, but sometimes feel stifled because I want the audience to get what the audience wants to hear. I want to keep getting emails about how this story and that story refreshed someone in their journey, but at times, I feel like I am writing with that end in sight. My real memories get muddled with what I want them to sound like and its stressful.

 

The experiences I have had with the church and their arrow flung messages are important for the body to know about. I won’t slow down on that. Our Church is a whore, but she is our mother, so I want to help her be better. Bind up the wounded others like me.

 

Additionally, I can’t linger in my thoughts too long. The more ruckus I make in my mind’s attic, the more unbalanced those emotions get and then the ghosts from closeted past rush back to haunt me. There are times to visit those vestibules and times to let the dust settle in on them. The other day I actually started writing a non-fiction novel (which is hard!) but I did it because I needed to get out of my own head for awhile. So much so that I started making up someone else’s story.

 

Every now and then I hear that tip-toeing of temptation to make up spiritual awakenings. Moments that opened my eyes to something- just so I can post about it. I’ve flirted with that ethical line before, but have yet to cross it. I am scared of a day that I am so dry on the divine that I cannot describe Him anymore. I need to relieve myself of the pressure of writing about sounds unheard and sights unseen. Some weeks there may be twenty + pieces, others, there may just be two. Whatever warps into my world that week.

 

This space has been so sacred for me, and I want to keep it that way. But I have to have my whole heart in it.

 

I have to take my eyes off the stats so I can see God better. Throughout all of this, I will keep you posted and I won’t hesitate to rant a little. But I think somewhere along the way I lost sight of what this page was born into. How it helped me to mature into something better than before. It allowed me to shed old skins for new ones. I need to recapture that good seed again. And make these gravel stones fertile.

 

Love you all,

RR