Category Archives: Lindsey’s Reflections

The Language Police

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A reflection by Lindsey

When a person is trying to figure out whether he or she fits somewhere along the LGBT spectrum, many other people are quick to suggest language. If a boy realizes that he likes boys, some would encourage him to call himself “gay” and wear that label with pride. Others would demand that he resist the urge to “identify with his sin” and discuss his realization in terms of “struggling with same-sex attraction.” Members of LGBT couples might be counseled to avoid using any kind of romantic indicator in favor of “friend” or “roommate”… Or they may be encouraged to adopt every form of spousal language, whether that language seems fitting to them or not. Personally, I find the linguistic directives from both conservative and liberal camps drive me nuts. I see these directives as little more than people proudly displaying a “Language Police” badge on their sleeves.

Members of the Language Police overlook that a person on the LGBT spectrum can have a hard time finding appropriately descriptive language. A girl who likes girls might find that the “lesbian” label accurately describes her experience. However, the same girl who likes girls might find that she actually likes girls and boys (where the bisexual label offers a bit better description), or that she feels great solidarity with gay Christians, perceives her sexual attractions as leaning significantly more towards girls than boys, and deems it appropriate to use the word “gay” to describe her experience. A guy who grew up being socialized as a girl might find that “transgender” is the best word to describe his experience, or he might prefer using words like “genderqueer” or “agender.” Every label has a meaning. Moreover, every label is an approximation used to describe some aspect of a person’s experience. Individuals need space to decide what words work best for them.

Each individual adopting a certain label has an active role in determining what that label means. As soon as a person connects the word “gay” to some facet of his or her experience, that person actively communicates what it means to be gay. When other people make claims about the label, they should be reflect on whether their claims speak to the experience of every person wearing the label. If someone says “It’s impossible to be a gay Christian,” that person overlooks or denies the experiences of many gay people who are Christians. When a group gets larger, many labels get boiled down to one essence or another. Many people I know who use the word “gay” to describe themselves focus on the idea that gay people simply experience attraction to the same sex.

Members of the Language Police rarely want an individual to communicate what a label means to him or her. The Language Police assume that if you use a word like “transgender,” what you’re really saying is that you desire medical interventions to allow you reshape the sexed characteristics of your body to align with your gender. Members of the Language Police have a difficult, even impossible time understanding that labels are approximations used by people to describe a part of their reality. Furthermore, members of the Language Police assume that they know the meaning of the label and that the person resisting their interpretation has no appreciation for the English* language. (*Feel free to substitute the name of other languages as is relevant for your situation.) Engaging in linguistic policing requires that the enforcer assumes a position of power and is incredibly patronizing, dismissive, and rude.

I know that we’ve taken time to try and educate our readers on how to talk with others about A Queer Calling. This action differs from the action of the Language Police because we are trying to help other people accurately describe us. We’re trying to be clear about the language we use, why we use it, and what the language means to us. We assume that people actually care enough about us to try to respect our language and get to know us. We do not claim a monopoly on the experiences of all celibate, LGBT, Christian couples. One of the reasons our friends encouraged us to start our blog is that many of them had heard some stories from LGBT Christian couples not called to celibacy but wanted to hear more about how we understand our life together. We care about helping our allies understand our experience; and we do not offer linguistic corrections because we’re trying to deny other people their experiences. We offer linguistic corrections because we want the words people use to describe us to reflect our experience.

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Battling a Regenerating Hydra

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A reflection by Lindsey

This week is National Eating Disorders Awareness Week. Recognizing that it’s important for those who live with the effects of an eating disorder to share their stories, we wanted to use our individual reflection pieces this week to talk about our experiences with eating disorders. Sarah first developed bulimia at 12 and has been living with its effects even as Sarah has achieved a solid amount of recovery. I began supporting Sarah in recovery almost immediately after our friendship began. In today’s post, I share a reflection about supporting someone recovering from an eating disorder.

Update: you can read Sarah’s reflection here.

 

Sarah and I began our friendship talking on the phone. We were incredibly nerdy Ph.D. students intrigued by one another’s work, incurably capable of geeking out regarding various academic and spiritual topics, and immensely grateful to be able to talk with another person who seemed to “get” why various tough issues we faced in life were legitimate struggles. And really, you can strike “were” out of that last sentence because every aspect of it holds true to this day. As we started to settle into a conversational routine, eventually we migrated toward G-Chat so we could communicate as we worked on our academic projects. Online chatting with a friend can open up a new degree of vulnerability. In our first G-Chat together, Sarah opened up about being in recovery from bulimia.

Offering a listening ear is the first step of supporting someone in recovery from an eating disorder. Everyone’s experience of an eating disorder is different. While people with eating disorders might share a common set of symptoms, the reasons why they have developed the symptoms in the first place are as varied as the world’s ecosystems. Though there are many and varied types of eating disorders, most people understand these in three broad categories: anorexia (restricting food), bulimia (binge eating and purging), and binge eating disorder (binge eating without purging). Generally, I’ve learned to think of eating disorders as being characterized by disordered eating in the extreme. The broad eating disorder categories clue me in on what sort of patterns I might want to watch out for on a reasonably regular basis. It has been essential that I learn to listen when Sarah tells me how specific symptoms have manifested over the course of Sarah’s life. Just when I think I’m able to predict why something may have happened, I realize that there is even more nuance to Sarah’s story.

From my limited experience, eating disorder symptoms appear to emerge from two main roots–at least where Sarah is concerned. I’m offering my perspective because I think there’s a popular perception that the genesis of an eating disorder is easily explained. As I’ve gotten to know people seeking recovery, it seems that many can move between addressing two different kinds of root concerns. Again, what I’m about to describe needs to be interpreted in light of my initial point that listening is essential when you’re trying to support someone in recovery from an eating disorder–no two people are exactly alike. I’m also trying to discuss this issue from my perspective as a person providing support. When you don’t deal with an issue firsthand, it’s easy to say things that are incredibly hurtful and ignorant. I hope that sharing my perception of the roots of Sarah’s eating disorder will help other support people on their journeys.

In the beginning of my efforts at supporting Sarah, one key thing for me to realize was that trauma can lie at the root of an eating disorder. Towards this end, an individual develops eating disorder symptoms as maladaptive coping strategies for managing something distressing that is going on in his or her universe. Eating disorder symptoms may make a person feel powerful, in control, hidden, intelligent, skilled, resourceful, or any number of other positive attributes. Trauma can throw everything off-balance because a person is desperately trying to regain some sense of normal. For some trauma survivors, using eating disorder symptoms offers a way to make the trauma more bearable. I think it’s essential for support people to realize that the kinds of trauma that might lie underneath a person’s eating disorder can be incredibly varied. I have had to learn that I know nothing about Sarah’s trauma except what Sarah chooses to share with me. I cannot guess, I cannot assume, and when Sarah does feel like sharing I cannot make demands that Sarah disclose all details at once. I regularly ask for God’s help in being a safe person with whom Sarah can be vulnerable and a prayerful person as I try to intercede for Christ to aid Sarah in the midst of recovery.

Another thing I’ve had to learn to cope with is that sometimes it seems there is no easy way for a support person to describe why person might be likely to engage in eating disorder symptoms. My personal shorthand for this absolutely confounding nature of an eating disorder is “boredom” and I know there are a lot of problems with trying to suggest that word as a root cause for eating disorder behaviors. What I’m trying to capture is that I’ve observed eating disorder behaviors can produce their own sort of thrill, present their own sort of risks, and take advantage of a person’s fantastic ability to strategize and problem-solve. As an engineer, I know I personally take an odd sense of pride in being able to discuss the physics of any random object at the drop of the hat. I envisage some sort of similar pride if a person has managed to figure out which foods produce the best highs when purging. Behaviors themselves can produce a thrill. Purging and other means of manipulating one’s body can affect a person’s brain chemistry. Sometimes the thrill might be figuring out how to continue in behaviors after normal routes to those behaviors have closed or the body starts showing signs that it can no longer keep up with the symptoms. When an eating disorder develops a mind of its own, sufferers need to be connected with an appropriate level of care by trained professionals. There’s only so much a support person can do.

But I’d also like to note that Sarah’s working on recovery has helped me with my own relationship with food. It’s never been exceptionally problematic, but like most young adults, I can sometimes forget that Sour Patch Kids and Diet Coke are not the healthiest of snacks. I’ve learned how to pack my lunch as Sarah has shared meal planning resources from different dieticians. I have developed a taste for fish as Sarah’s high protein need means we eat protein in virtually every meal and snack. Sarah has even managed to turn me on to the idea of “Breakfast” and I have no idea how that happened. We can laugh about our various food quirks, appreciating them as a part of being human. We have decided that fish tastes better when the sauce is baked on, peas can only be tackled successfully with a spoon, and it’s totally okay to use your tongue to get the last bit of hummus still on the plate. Eating together is a great joy. I honestly look forward to every meal. We have restaurants we love, cupcakeries that are “our” cupcakeries, and a multiplicity of late night dinner options.

I’ve come to see recovery from an eating disorder as battling a constantly regenerating hydra. Just when you think that you’ve cut off one head, it can spurt afresh from a new spot. If I can be so bold, I think the only way to slay an eating disorder effectively is to slash off the heads and then try to address the root issues as expediently as possible. The existence of ever-regenerating heads means that you often have to “rinse and repeat.” It can be easy to get bogged down. Even if a person has had a very long time free from engaging in behaviors, he or she can still be staring the hydra in the face minute-by-minute. You can’t look only at the externals when you want to declare victory.

As a support person, I’m struck by the persistent nature of the regenerating hydra heads. I know Sarah works hard to address the roots and to resist any symptoms. I regard myself as Sarah’s biggest cheerleader while knowing full well it is Sarah’s recovery, not mine. Nonetheless, the eating disorder can throw curveballs. During a meal, Sarah might grab my hand in a way that says, “I need your support right now.” When we’re in a grocery store, Sarah might ask me to pick up some items that are down a surprisingly hard aisle. I might get a phone call where Sarah says, “Please talk to me so I can stay present on my drive home.” I never know exactly what Sarah might need at a given moment, but we’ve talked at length about what I’m willing to do in order to support Sarah. We’ve also identified other “go-to” folks when Sarah needs the kind of support that someone else is better suited to provide.

Helping someone beat an eating disorder means listening, encouraging him or her as he or she does the hard work to slay the hydra, knowing your own boundaries for supporting him or her in stopping active behaviors, being patient, and continuing in hope. Eventually, the hydric nemesis will be no more. Freedom is possible, but gosh, it’s a really, really, really hard fight.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.

My Failed Celibate Relationship

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A reflection by Lindsey

I’ve had a lot of different opportunities to learn about my vocation to celibacy. My partnership with Sarah provides a fantastic place to discern how God is calling me to live a celibate life. Additionally, I spent time cultivating celibacy as a single person. But the first place I explored living a celibate life was in a romantic relationship.

When I was first beginning my journey of reconciling my faith and sexuality, I found myself inexplicably drawn to a person I shall call Carey. Carey was several years older than me but lived a life richly connected to Christ in a local faith community. Carey’s pastor was supportive and accepting, encouraging Carey to pursue life in Christ. Despite our age gap, we seemed to be in similar life stages and exploring closely related callings. We could talk easily, and we grew closer and closer. It wasn’t long before I found myself desiring a relationship with Carey.

But there was a problem… or so I thought. Carey was earnestly and stridently convicted that gay sex is a sin and could not be approved under any circumstances. How in the world could a relationship work out? My own views on how to reconcile one’s faith with one’s LGBT status were in flux, and I didn’t want to be trespassing on Carey’s ethical conscience. We had several conversations about the perceived tension and came to the conclusion that it was possible to pursue a relationship that didn’t involve sex. Through a series of unlikely events, I ended up flying to visit Carey a few weeks later. We hit it off with a good deal of instant chemistry.

Carey and I started a strong relationship forged on mutual respect and shared commitment to Christ. We explored different ways to share a prayer life that worked even when we were separated by many states. Our common faith tradition anchored our time spent together. Carey had a bit more experience within our tradition and taught me quite a lot about how to live a way of life aligned with particular aspects of our tradition. We tried to pray early and often, ever growing towards a more complete prayer life in our tradition.

Our discussions about celibacy involved a lot of boundary work. We thought about the counsel given to unmarried heterosexual couples and tried to implement that in our lives. We also talked a lot about what dating heterosexual couples did with each other that did not count as sex. I found myself constantly right up against the boundaries. But I wasn’t driven to the boundaries because I wanted more; I was driven to the boundaries because they defined our limits about what we were willing to share together.

However, from my perspective, our boundary work related to defining sex seemed to bubble over into boundary work in other areas. Every bit of additional boundary work seemed to pull us apart rather than bring us closer together. Night prayer became attached to going to bed, specifically to Carey’s bedtime, a boundary that didn’t work very well with us living on different schedules in different time zones. We started praying separately. Our own tradition became an exclusive marker of faithfully living a Christian life. It became very easy to devote large chunks of conversation to being critical of people in other Christian traditions. We experienced even more conflicts when we talked about politics, especially as we started reading authors referenced by politicians from the other side of the aisle. Fighting politically is never fun. Towards the very end of our relationship together, our boundary work also expanded to only being friends with other LGBT couples in which both parties earnestly believed gay sex is a sin. For my part, I struggled mightily with this idea because I couldn’t see how boundaries in our relationship manifested any differently from those of dating LGBT couples who earnestly believed in trying to save sex until marriage.

I’m not sharing the unraveling of my relationship to point fingers at Carey, or to point fingers at me. I think both Carey and I found ourselves in over our heads because we had never stopped to think about what it might look like to cultivate a celibate vocation together. We had a pretty good handle on what abstinence entailed. Yet, over a year after we broke off our relationship, I had experienced a great deal of conviction that my relationship with Carey did not serve me in cultivating a celibate vocation. We never broke our rules about physical boundaries set to make sure we remained abstinent, but I felt slightly betrayed by my body and its capacity for surprising sexual connection.

I also felt misled by my Christian tradition. Early on in our relationship, Carey found a small book that detailed some of the authoritative teaching discussing LGBT people and their relationships. The practical counsel of the book boiled down to a belief that as LGBT people grew in their capacity to love one another, they would then make the God-honoring choice to refrain from homogenital acts. In the aftermath of my failed relationship, I found myself rather angry. How could the wisdom of my Christian tradition give me but two commands? There was the lofty call to “grow in love” and then the very specific directive to “avoid homogential acts.” I felt that in my relationship with Carey, eventually we tipped the balance towards the latter rather than the former.

Since failing in my first celibate relationship, I’ve become ever more convinced of the need to define celibacy in the positive. I have tried to live my life by the axiom, “Human beings have meaningful relationships with other human beings,” trusting God to show me places of rich connection. I began visiting different vowed celibate people to learn a bit more about how they lived their lives. I learned how to take myself out on dates, exploring different ways to appreciate myself as a beloved child of God as opposed to thinking that every significant friendship would eventually blossom romantically. I’ve become a big advocate of the idea that it’s worth spending time discerning what the vocation of celibacy might look like in a particular individual’s life before encouraging that person to jump into a celibate relationship. I’ve known other people who have experienced failed celibate relationships, and it’s almost uncanny how my friends’ relationships have mirrored the relationship I shared with Carey. I do not wish a failed celibate relationship on anyone, so I speak out about the need to be mindful when cultivating a celibate vocation.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.

The Fragility of Vocation

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A reflection by Lindsey

When we start to speak of celibacy as a vocation, we give ourselves the task of defining vocation. Some people perceive of celibacy as a spiritual gift, where God supernaturally empowers a person to live a celibate life. Other people consider their own experiences of their sexualities and wonder how it is possible to live a life without sexual release and/or sexual connection to another person. There’s an idea that for a person gifted with the spiritual gift of celibacy, then the vocation of celibacy is reasonably easy and straightforward.

However, I’d like to posit that all vocations are inherently fragile. No vocational discernment period is without struggle. And, to be honest, there are a good number of vocations that just don’t make it until the end of a person’s earthly life. When we speak about celibacy as a vocation, it is illustrative to remember that marriage is a vocation and monasticism is a vocation. Our vocations pull us into relationships with other people in the world around us. All humans experience difficulties of learning to love in the context of relationships; this difficulty can increase the fragility of vocations.

I know of many people who seemed uniquely gifted towards marriage. They conceived of themselves first and foremost as family people. They devoted a considerable amount of energy towards building visions of what married life could look like. They spent time discerning how to work towards God-honoring marriages in broader faith communities and with the people they eventually married. Yet, despite their best efforts, their marriages failed.

I’ve also met some monastics who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God was calling them towards monastic life. They devoted considerable time discerning which monastic communities they should enter. They devoted themselves to prayer and spiritual counsel. After extensive searches, they found the monasteries they intended to call home for the rest of their lives. They did whatever they could to try to live in community with those particular brotherhoods or sisterhoods. Yet, in the end, they found themselves seemingly without a choice to leave the monastic communities.

As I’ve watched perceived “rock-solid” vocations fall apart around me, I’ve had to think deeply on what mechanisms wreak havoc on people I’ve come to respect, cherish, admire, and love. In the end, I’ve come to the conclusion that love is an entirely fragile force. Love has the potential to hold the universe together. Yet, something in our human hearts can turn us away from this life-giving force. Living into our vocations causes us to look this fragility dead on, and for many of us the odds do not appear to be in our favor when it comes to safeguarding vocation.

When Sarah and I first got together, I remember telling Sarah that I thought, “Please forgive me” were the three most important words in any relationship. Seeking forgiveness helps me remember to be humble. Trying to head off my mouth before it speaks words helps me learn to be kind. Offering assurances that there is nothing Sarah can do or fail to do that will influence my commitment to our relationship forges a channel in my own heart to support us when we go through rocky times together.

I tell Sarah regularly, “I’m opting in, 100%. I want to be here. I want to support you.” The more I say those words, the more I realize that love gives people the freedom to choose the opposite. Love does not mandate acceptance; love hinges on faith… faith that the other is in for the long-haul as well. Every time I tell Sarah that I’m opting in, I can’t help but think of people I know who existed in situations where there was no choice but for a mutual opting out.

When love takes its leave, it’s not long before manipulation and coercion overtake a person. Manipulation and coercion act to destroy trust, promulgate falsehoods, and leave a wake of destruction. I’m all too aware that people can choose manipulation and coercion in situations that demand a seemingly quick fix. Occasionally, I find myself doing everything possible to prevent manipulation and coercion from taking root in my heart. I’m trying to get better at monitoring the fault lines within my own heart, submitting myself to God in prayer, and begging for the Holy Spirit to guide me in the ways of love and affection.

All vocations seem to be inescapably fragile because vocations come as people learn to love as God loves. God’s love is mysterious. It’s all-powerful while being all-humble. It’s all-knowing while being all-listening. It’s all-present while respecting all boundaries. Sometimes, walking in the way of love feels like walking on a tightrope. Other times, walking in the way of love feels like a leisurely stroll through a field with a naturally defined path. May God impress on us both the difficulty of these tasks and the abundant grace available to us as we seek to live out our vocations… for the long haul.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.

Sometimes, I just need a date night…

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A reflection by Lindsey

I call after Sarah, “Please don’t change into your being-at-home clothes quite yet!” After raising one eyebrow, “Well, why not?” she makes eye contact before I say, “Because I want to take you out on a date.”

A couple of weeks ago, I found myself at my wit’s end. I have been on the job market for about a month. Unexpected job loss can take quite a toll on a person… and on a family team. My temperament has been off, fluctuating through the range of distressed to desperate to oddly hopeful to plain annoyed to…. you get the idea. The Big Financial Squeeze has its way of zapping energy out of me. Earlier in that day, I had a job interview. I drove the long-ish drive to the office building, had a reasonable-length interview, and was home before lunch. I made sure to drive all the way home because the cheapest food is food you already have. As I sat in the quiet eating my pasta, I couldn’t help but hear the voices that said, “HA! You just had a ‘day’s work’ and you were home by lunch!” and “Do you realize you spent more time traveling to the interview than you spent time interviewing? You’re a loser!”

These accusations are par for the course when navigating something like chronic depression. You know they aren’t true, you know they aren’t even coming from your own thoughts, and you know there is precious little you can do under your own power to make them shut up and give you a moment’s peace. I have gained some practice in overcoming the inertia of my own tapes. I started by looking at any objective evidence that the tapes might be uttering truths. Taking stock forward from that week, I realized I had secured some freelance work, likely had some additional temporary work on the way, and just finished an interview for a full-time position. Not surprisingly, the tapes were complete and utter hogwash, and I could consider an alternative. There was cause for cutting myself a break, for finding some space to be myself, and for celebrating. There was space for date night.

I began the practice of “Date Night” many years ago by taking myself out on dates whenever I felt so inclined. Panera, a walkable neighborhood, Noodles and Co., the local park, neighborhood coffee shops, and Pizza Hut offered me sanctuary at key moments when I needed to show myself an extra special dose of kindness. Although I was a cheap date (and very much relish in the skills associated with practicing Date Night on a budget), I began learning how to extend radical hospitality to others by first offering it to myself. I learned how to check in with myself and ask, “Lindsey, what do you really want to do right now?” I came to see myself as a worthwhile person and practiced simply being alone. The video below has some great pointers if you’re looking for a way to start.

As Sarah and I have gotten to know each other, I’ve brought my “Date Night” practice with me. It is something that we look forward to doing together. We never know when the other one will pull on the cord that opens the Date Night parachute, so we do our best always to have a few possibilities. We love cupcakes, Restaurant.com certificates, walks to various free things to do, outings to some of our favorite places if the day and time permits, and getting dinner together. We keep options open for every Date Night budget. I do my best to watch for when Sarah needs the time in addition to monitoring how I am feeling. We figure out what we are going to do, always knowing that a “plan” amounts to little more than figuring out travel directions. I think the only “rule” we have is that we must definitely get out of the house when enjoying a date.

A couple of weeks ago, we decided it was high time to use a Restaurant.com certificate that we had been sitting on for several months. It felt like a day where it was best to break completely from the routine. We tend to purchase certificates in bulk on different promotional days, and we bantered back and forth before deciding on a German restaurant. Truth be told, I don’t know much about German food, but I was feeling up for a culinary experience. We found ourselves in a small restaurant we wouldn’t have even known existed. As we looked over the menu, we listened to a live pianist and breathed a bit. We laughed as we realized that we could meet our certificate’s minimum spending guideline just choosing the two entrees and desserts we wanted to try. I always try to pick my meal so that it has components Sarah and I can share. Culinary adventures are more fun with multiple people; and, I thought the bread dumplings sounded interesting as I looked to pick the side dishes that would go with my dinner. Time seemed to stand still as we sat together, broke bread, shared a meal in a delightful venue, refreshed our spirits, and enjoyed one another’s company. We left the restaurant revitalized, and promised to return again and continue sampling from the dessert menu.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.