I’m in a Friday funk. Who says that? These days, I do. My
dog Bob died a few Fridays ago, and last Friday, the woman who’s been like my
second mom suffered a stroke. Her daughter was out of town, so I flew with her
on a Life Flight plane to the University of Utah Medical Center. In the midst
of that Friday frenzy, we had just enough time for my girlfriend to stop by my
house and grab my fat jeans and a phone charger. I had a Visa, my ID and an
inhaler, so I was as prepared as I could be for the rest of that Friday to
unfold. I like to be prepared.
The latest contributor to my Friday funk was kicking off Friday
the 13th with Representative Ken Andrus’s editorial “LGBT and Add the Words”. While I disagree with some of what he says, I
am grateful for the compassion and empathy that was laced throughout. We’ve
been without both on both sides of this topic. His words, however, still sting.
I’m by no means the voice for the LGBT community, but I am one voice who feels
compelled to respond.
For argument’s sake, let’s say I’m a sinner. In my 42 years
of earthly existence, some of my sins are easier to admit than others. Some of
my sins I’ll shamelessly joke about like eating donuts or swearing at the new
puppy. Some of my sins fill me with so much shame, I continue to sin in not
forgiving myself.
There's a house currently for sale two blocks from mine. I
covet it completely. Perhaps I should start wearing a scarlet "C" so
that every Christian knows I openly covet. Perhaps some Christians are okay
serving me in spite of my sexual orientation, but would rather not engage in
business with me because I covet. For those that view elements of being LGBT to
be sinful, I suppose I should wear an “L” because I’m a lesbian, but I’ve
always disliked the word. Could I please have a “G”?
I personally don’t give a rat’s rear end about wedding cakes
and photographers. Regarding the themes expressed in Representative Andrus’
editorial, it’s the services I needed throughout my recent Friday experiences
that concern me.
When I first meet people, let’s face it. I look gay. I don’t
really need a letter. The veterinarian who would pronounce my dog dead was new
in town. Would she be a “Christian”? Would the business slated to cremate Bob
assert their religious freedoms and ask me to take him somewhere else? While
standing amidst a dozen buzzing doctors and nurses trying to save the 85 year
old woman I adore, would the attendant decline to bring me a desperately needed
tampon because he couldn’t serve someone who engages in their definition of “immoral
behavior” ? When the doctors had her
stabilized and I felt I could step away to the 24-hour Starbucks, would the
barista decline my latte request because of my short hair and masculine gait?
This runs through my mind constantly. Constantly.
It's these
circumstances when I need people that I most fear the far reaches of a nebulous
“religious freedom”. It’s these moments when
I experience the worst part of being LGBT. There’s the fear of being judged,
but worse for me, it’s when I feel myself judging others. I don’t judge (I
hope) in way that will lead me to treat people differently, but rather I judge out
of that fear and an instinctive need for emotional and perhaps physical
protection. I judge to brace myself. I
judge to be prepared.
The LDS church’s public statement supporting LGBT
protections for housing and employment while ensuring their religious freedoms
remain intact will continue to have me reflexively look for CTR rings on female
nurses or search for a mid-thigh garment line of male doctors. My eyes are open
for cross pendants and bumper stickers. I sigh in relief when a male nurse
shows up with a pony tail or facial hair or when I see tattoos or smell smoke
on the physical therapist because chances are higher that I can withhold my
full suit of emotional armor.
While adjusting my armor through judgments and assumptions,
I become exactly what I don’t want and exactly what hurts people in the first
place. One who judges. Can I get a “J”?
Perhaps labels for sinners isn’t all that’s needed. Maybe
those of the LDS or Lutheran faith who wish not to serve LGBT people could
identify themselves with an “L” so we could just avoid each other altogether.
But then how would we tell the “L”s for LDS, Lutheran and lesbian apart? If we followed
a sinner/Christian labeling, we’d start looking the same. Perhaps we are the
same.
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| Still my favorite letter! |
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