Renee is a well-educated physician who had everything she wanted in life. She had a long-term monogamous relationship with her lesbian partner, a son, a house, an accepting family and a great church. But, something was missing. Despite having all these things she had no peace. And, she didn’t know why. She found herself sitting in “a puddle of tears” crying out to God for the answer. What God revealed scared her. He asked her to put her sexuality under his guidance. Two years ago, she took that risk and is no longer in a same-sex relationship. She reports, “It was the scariest thing I have ever done in my life.” It challenged her entire sense of identity.  But the results were exactly what she hoped for. She finally had peace. And more than peace, she experienced a joy that made her want to “shout from the rooftops.”

Renee is one of three people who shared her story as part of a panel at Gateway Church in Austin, Texas in August 2009. All three panelists are members of Gateway. Two of them began attending the church with their lesbian partners. In fact, one of them admits she started coming just to test how Christians would react to her same-sex relationship. The third panelist began attending eight years ago after a member of Gateway stood up for him at the gym when he was being harassed by a couple Bible thumpers.

These are not testimonies of coming out of wild, drug abusing, promiscuous “lifestyles.” These are just three people pursuing God as they felt led. They admit still having same-sex attraction. The focus is not on changing sexual orientation, but on hearing from God and walking toward Him. Watch it for yourself here (Pastor Ted Beasley speaks for about 15 minutes and the panel discussion is about 35 minutes):

Click here: Gateway Video

This morning I shared my testimony yet again with a church congregation. Like most people, I feel naked standing before a crowd of eyes staring back expectantly. Its not easy to publicly address something as intimate and controversial as sexuality. But aside from nervousness there is another, weightier emotion that surfaces when I am asked to speak. Shame. Every time I tell my testimony I am reminded of my failures—and worse—I remind everyone else. I feel painfully and vulnerably exposed by my honesty. The discomfort might be enough to make me change my name and move to Mexico, except for one thing. In telling my story, I rise above the ashes.

Jennifer Kennedy Dean writes in Pursuing the Christ, “When I am tempted to hide or disguise the circumstances in my life when grace was most evident against the background of my sin, let me instead point to my failure to say, ‘Look what grace did!’ Let me tout the history of [God's] grace in my life without shame” (p.23). Beauty shines the brightest when contrasted with the ashes from whence it came. I would never have known the depth of God’s kindness if I had not fallen as far as I did. I would never have understood compassion if I had not experienced it in my time of need. I would never have seen God’s power if I had not been rescued in my weakness. To withhold my testimony is to stifle praise for what God has done.

My heart is ignited when I share my story. I want to shout to the world, “God is amazing! Look what he has done in my life! He is worth losing everything for! Seek him with your whole heart, soul and mind, and never let go!” My heart practically bursts with gratitude and the urgent proclamation: Pursue Him! Yet, tragically, there are those who do not share my joy. They find my weakness embarrassing. These are the ones who shush me with their eyes, condemn me with awkward silences, or shame me by swiftly changing the subject. These are the ones who would rather keep me locked in silence than to see me rise above the ashes by telling my story—especially when I admit I still have same-sex attraction.

When Brian Pengelly dared to be honest about his continued attraction to men, during a recent presentation to youth, some of the church leaders circulated a condemning e-mail. No matter that Brian hasn’t been in a same-sex relationship since high school. Or that he is happily married to a woman and walking in obedience to Christ. Rather than praising God for what He has done in Brian’s life, these leaders robbed the Lord of His glory. As Brian put it he was “told that what God has done is not enough.” Yet it is in the midst of weakness and not despite it that God’s movement is most apparent. As Paul the Apostle said, “I will boast all the more gladly in my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me” (2 Cor. 12:9).

It is one thing to testify of God’s greatness when all is well, it is quite another to praise him when life is not all that we might wish (or what others wish for us). Such sacrificial praise comes from those who realize present circumstances are not always what they seem to be; God is at work. It took years of pain before I finally saw a sculpture emerge from the glass shards. And, even now, not everything is “fixed.” But, I am learning that even if he doesn’t completely heal me of same-sex attraction, what He has done is enough. He has taken away my shame and replaced it with something beautiful. So, don’t despise my testimony. Don’t shush me. Don’t change the subject. Worship God with me! Then eagerly tell my story to someone else so that God is praised all the more.

Note: Passover is fast approaching, and I think we could all benefit from learning the spunky Passover song “Dayenu”. Dayenu is a Hebrew word meaning “It would have been enough for us.” The song reminds us not to disdain the “small” things, but be grateful for everything God does. Three of the stanzas are:

Had He done no more than save us from Egypt . . . dayenu.
Had He done no more than give us the Sabbath rest . . . dayenu.
Had He done no more than give us the Torah . . . dayenu.

You can listen to this lighthearted tune here.

My first kiss was under the vast African sky while on a summer mission trip to Zimbabwe. I was 15. He was 17. It went like most adolescent first kisses do— awkward and slobbery. I thought, “This is what I have been waiting for?” And Sung, equally puzzled, commented, “You’re a good kisser . . . I guess.” Efforts to imitate passionate, French kissing movie stars didn’t pan out as envisioned. But, despite my lack of skill in the art of smooching, Sung and I had a two-month summer “fling.” Or, at least we tried to. He tirelessly pursued me, and though drawn to him, I spent most of our relationship running in the opposite direction.

In fact, I have spent much of my life running from men. I have ignored them, hated them, feared them, competed with them, or politely, but disaffectedly, engaged them. Needless to say I formed few romantic relationships with the opposite sex. Aside from Sung, I never dated in high school, and while a few guys expressed interest in college, I turned them down. In post college years, I made two attempts to date men, one for three months and the other off and on for a year. Both relationships failed. They were good men, and I earnestly prayed to fall in love, but I simply had no romantic or sexual attraction to them. After these two unsuccessful ventures, I didn’t date another man for seven years.

The stress of dating the opposite sex made me crave women more. With women I felt accepted and nurtured; I experienced the power of desire, both sexually and emotionally; and I knew the wonder of being in love. But, the moment I tried to date a man, my walls shot through the roof. My stomach churned in anxious knots, and my mind fervently collated every possible flaw I could find in my date. “He watches too much TV.” “He isn’t masculine enough.” “He’s too masculine.” “He’s clumsy.” “He doesn’t have enough ambition.” “He’s too immature.” “He doesn’t dress right.” As Seinfeld might say, “He eats his peas one at a time!” Meanwhile, a woman could exhibit all these things and I would still date her. Women could do no wrong.

It didn’t matter if I was dating Prince Charming; I would still find each tiny infraction, enlarge it, and post it on the walls of my heart. My defenses were so strong that when one boyfriend tried to buy me a .50 cent brownie, I vehemently refused. At times my anxiety was so high I would literally have panic attacks. During one dinner date, I left the table repeatedly due to hyperventilating. In fact, the more I saw how compatible I was with a particular guy, the higher my anxiety. I feared being hoodwinked into marriage only to find myself padlocked into a life of misery. It wasn’t that I feared commitment—there were women I longed to marry. Rather, I feared men.

For several years I had a recurring nightmare of men trying to kill me—not just kill my body—but eradicate every trace of my existence. Being raised in a fundamentalist Christian culture, I perceived my femaleness was something to be despised. Women and girls were objects for the whims of men. Our desires, interests, and goals didn’t matter. We were only “helpmeets” meant to cook, clean, bear children and satisfy men sexually. Of course, not all the Christian men I encountered were like this. But, I could not “see” these good men because I was blinded by a broader cultural message.

It wasn’t uncommon for me to hear that women were not created to have dreams, but rather to support the dreams of their husbands (e.g. “Behind every good man is a good woman”). Men were “innately designed” to move out into the world, while women were designed to care for children. If a woman had her own dreams of moving out into the world, there was something wrong with her. She was “trying to be a man.” One of my Bible college professors informed our class that women must always submit to men, whether they are family or strangers, Christians or non-Christians, and even in secular work environments. I asked him after class, “What if I become a CEO of a company and I have male employees?” He smugly replied that I would need to show proper deference to my male employees. Otherwise, I was sinning against God.

In my mind, marriage to a man came to mean I could not be. “Marriage” was code for: You are no longer a person. Your thoughts, dreams, voice, desires, needs mean nothing. You don’t exist; you are merely an appendage to a man. No wonder I was having panic attacks! To marry a man was to look squarely into the face of my own death. “Femininity” was also something to be dreaded. It was code for: object to be used, doormat, and feigned stupidity. To be feminine meant I would have to sacrifice who I was to become something I was not. I did not discover the true meaning of femininity until I met Marc.

Despite my rough edges, Marc thought I was beautiful and amazing. We dated off and on for a year. While I was not able to fall in love with him, God used the relationship to challenge my fears about men. Something about the way Marc pursued me with such genuine care and initiative elicited something I had never felt before—the goodness of femininity. Contrary to everything I had been taught, I discovered it had nothing to do with make up, clothes or body shape. It had nothing to do with whether or not I liked caring for children. And it wasn’t even about sexual attraction. Rather, the feminine represented the core of my deepest Self. Marc’s healthy maleness drew out a part of me that could not be found in the arms of a woman.

To this day, I cannot explain femininity in words. It is a mysterious spiritual phenomenon that is only fully manifested in the dance of male and female (whether in friendship or romance). Unfortunately, society’s efforts to define this mystery often result in harmful stereotypes and ill-fitting “roles” that have nothing to do with true femininity and masculinity.

After dating Marc, I took a seven year hiatus from dating men. I had no sexual attraction to the opposite sex, and it seemed best to accept that reality than to risk breaking another guy’s heart. I resigned myself to the probability I would remain exclusively gay. That is, until a few years ago. After three or four years of being completely free from lesbian relationships, I noticed I was beginning to emotionally connect to some men, as well as experience various degrees of sexual attraction. It was not as strong as what I felt for women, but the fact that I was feeling anything at all came as a complete surprise. My years of pursuing forgiveness toward men, correcting my misconceptions of them, as well as being free from emotional entanglements with women, seemed to open my heart in new ways. Since then I have dated a couple men without the ill effects of panic attacks and more extreme defense mechanisms.

Will I ever fall in love with a man enough to marry? Can I move past the remaining fears I have about intimacy with men? These are questions that still linger. What I do know is I’m curious. You could say I am “bi-curious.” I am not out to “prove” myself heterosexual. Nor do I need marriage to feel complete. But, at the same time I give myself permission to be open to bisexuality. These days I find good men intriguing, and perhaps, in the coming years, I will satisfy my curiosity.

Note: This post is not intended to spark a discussion on whether or not change is possible. Nor am I interested in hosting a debate on women’s “roles.” However, I would love to hear your experiences with the opposite sex—the good and the painful. What do you fear? What do you hope for? Whether gay or straight, how do you relate to the opposite sex?

]]> http://pursuegod.wordpress.com/2009/02/15/kissing-boys/feed/ 46 pursuegod http://pursuegod.wordpress.com/2009/02/07/dennis-jernigans-story/ http://pursuegod.wordpress.com/2009/02/07/dennis-jernigans-story/#comments Sun, 08 Feb 2009 05:34:38 +0000 Karen K http://pursuegod.wordpress.com/?p=511 ]]>

I mentioned in a previous post that Dennis Jernigan’s music has been a source of much encouragement to me over the years. In the videos below he recounts his own painful struggle with same-gender attraction, and how God met him in that place of despair. God redeemed his pain; today his worship songs are sung in thousands of churches. Among his well-known tunes are “You are My All in All” and “We Will Worship the Lamb of Glory.” The difficulties he has suffered make his songs rich and authentic. Initially, I planned to post a link to this, along with a few other testimonies. But, after watching it, I decided to put the entire video testimony here.

If you are at home by yourself feeling lonely or discouraged, find a comfortable place to sit, grab some hot chocolate or tea, and let Dennis minister to you through his story. As he shares, he sings two songs that have meant a lot to me—one is in the first video and one is in the last video. At various times in my own journey I have listened to these songs over and over, and in the process felt God holding me up. There are nine short videos in the series making it about an hour long testimony. It is well worth watching all of it.