MY God Wouldn’t Send Me A Gay Man

The polite/politically correct thing to do would be to start this post with a disclaimer, but I’m not too much of either. My beliefs and opinions on sexuality are irrelevant, which is why I haven’t posted them. Want a disclaimer? Read it here.

Throughout my 25 years of life, I’ve witnessed many a marriage end in divorce for a myriad of reasons. I’ve seen more than I’d like to admit end because the male in the relationship liked men. Some were more “I’m leaving you. I’m gay”, while others were a “I’m going on ‘business’ trips to pride weekends” type of guys. All were gay.

I started thinking about these women that entered unions  in which one person was homosexual. In the past I’d heard the vast majority say, on numerous occasions, that their husband was sent to them by God. Heard them talk about how He placed this wonderful man in their life when they were least expecting it. How grateful they were for such a blessing.

And this is the face that I make on the inside when I hear of their terrible divorce.

 Now, I know that God is always in the blessing business, but didn’t he say somethings in The Good Book about being equally yoked? Something about hetero and homo just don’t  seem very equal. Maybe it’s just me.

There is the argument that could be made for the unfortunate victims of divorce, that they didn’t know. Very much a possibility. For some. But hasn’t God also given us a spirit of discernment? We can even take God out of the equation for a second. Women have gut feelings. Did not nary a one of these women have a feeling that something just wasn’t right? NONE OF THEM?! Of course not. God sent them the man. He’s perfect!

No. Let’s be real. MY  God doesn’t just send out alley oops of complete failure for entertainment purposes. You can’t tell me that he plopped a man who likes men in front of you and said “here is the man who you are supposed to love and marry”. Just… NO. Here’s the way that I imagine these mismatched marriages come about:

Women live their lives in fear of being forever alone. As they get older, this fear become much more real. So what do they do? Find themselves a man, duh. The problem is, their determination to win over their impending forever aloneness overshadows everything else. They have blurry vision. They don’t see all of the signs. They’re too busy listening to the ticking clock to hear anything else. They’re too preoccupied day dreaming about having a gut full of baby to notice the tug in their gut letting them know that something isn’t quite right.

Do I believe that God does indeed place people into our lives for various reasons? Yes. Do I believe that the man with whom I will enter holy matrimony will be someone who The Big Guy has placed in my life? Yes. Do I think that the gay men that women marry and give all sorts of testimonials about were sent to them by God? Absolutely not. MY God just wouldn’t do that. I don’t know about yours.

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I. Write. Period.

One of my favorite places.

 

If I have something bothering me, I usually write it out. If I have SOMETHING to say to someone, I write it out first.  When I really need to talk to God, I write Him a letter. I work out all of the jumbled thoughts in my head by writing them down. That is when they start to make sense. When my pen hits paper, I enter my happy place.

People (read: various opinionated family members and close friends) always comment on how much I don’t communicate. I started telling myself that I need to start talking more and writing less. I said that I would practice, and eventually I wouldn’t need so many notebooks. I started trying, and it has not worked at all. I’ve been frustrated and confused. Oh, and I haven’t been talking. I’ve been spending too much time trying to work my thought out in my head for fear of saying the wrong thing. Nothing has come out right, at least I don’t feel that it has. I’ve been second guessing decisions and harboring doubt. I never feel this way when I write.

Today I picked up the journal that I bought with the intention of jotting down lists and started penning everything that came to mind. I felt better with every word. Then I picked up the journal that I bought for the sole purpose of writing to God and let the words fly. What started as one of the most ratchet letters of frustration that I ever did wrote, ended a something so much more than anything that I’ve been attempting to say with my mouth. And now I’m back here where I started. Writing. Writing about how I tried to ruin one of the “perfect” things about myself.

I write. If I don’t write, I”m lost. I don’t need to make a living from it; don’t need anyone’s approval. I need a pen and paper to communicate with myself, my emotions, my God and my dreams, my goals and the people who I love. I do not want to change that. Ever.

I Will Be Careful With My Steps

I have had a habit in the past of making decisions on a whim and immediately carrying them out without a second thought. This seemed to work for me quite well, mainly because I wasn’t concerned with consequences. Whatever happened in the future was not happening in the present, thus not at the forefront of my thoughts. I was in the moment, the decision and seeing that it was carried out in grande fashion.

Those days are no more. I have much more time to think on my hands. I contemplate my future more often than one would think. I ponder over the domino effect of various decisions. I weigh the options of stepping out on a random hunch or waiting for opportunity to fall into my lap. I have not completely abandoned my gut feelings and instincts, though. Those feelings are what landed me in Nashville again in the first place. That is a decision that I am still reminded, sometimes on a daily basis, was the right one to make. When it comes to my future, I am careful with my steps.  am not going to up and decide that I am supposed to follow Option A or start pursuing Idea B. Everything about a decision will be well analyzed and prayed over. I will not place a time limit on making decisions. However long it takes for me know received answers and approval/disapproval from the man upstairs will be how long it takes me to take my next step. This is, after all, my life and I have to make sure that I’m doing everything that is right for ME.