I need to try, I need to make an attempt
to put into words, to even come close to describing
how it feels, what it means, to be able to begin
to reclaim part of my journey set aside
left behind, because it felt no longer mine

it belonged to someone I no longer was
the good little baptist girl
both the one who only pretended belief hoping to belong
and the one who truly believed, who chose her path 
who followed a calling, who made that her life
how could it belong to me, the queer me, the one know I am now

so I did what I do best, compartmentalize it away
(forty years of practice, it is my default coping skill)
out of my story like it never was real
like my story of faith began 
the day I walked my queer self back into a church
drastically different from what I'd known
drawn by a longing I didn't understand, didn't want, and couldn't ignore

any other option hurt too much, too complicated
too confusing, too tied up in an understanding of faith 
that calls me heretic, unrepentant sinner, damned to hell
for learning to love who I was created to be, who I always was
for not being able to tick the required boxes of belief
for being unapologetically queer

problem is those parts of my journey have shaped me
they inform who I am, what I believe
they've left scars that make me hesitant to trust, to engage
some from bad theology, some from my conscious choice
to cut myself off from my history and put that part of my life
back into a closet

but then ... music and a way of being church that feels familiar 
brings unexpected tears, a longing for something I miss?
this church so different, not in form, but in practice
this place, this choir, this priest welcomes
all of you always - no hiding required 

then ... unpacking boxes moved more than once
paper and books and music from a lifetime long past 
much let go, it no longer serves, definitely doesn't spark joy
but at the piano not touched in years
too tied up with the life no longer mine
I wander through the song books
fingers touch keys stumbling at first but finding confidence

tears stream, voice breaks, fingers cease their motion
the same lyrics that spoke before speak more loudly now
God knew the truth of who I was when I had no conscious clue
the words that showed me truth then still show me truth now
that I was known and loved before I knew myself

my queer self hidden but there and known and loved
in the me pretending to believe
in the me following a calling to serve
in the me who thought that part of life gone, never to return
it's still mine but I hear the words differently now
it's easier to hear when you're not hiding

I explore more, give myself permission to connect
to try an expression of faith closer to what I knew before
it's terrifying, but there is being known, being seen for who I am
there is welcome and compassion and people who understand
I breathe more deeply than in the six years since I found my way back to faith
more fully than I have in the ten years since I wrote my way out of the closet the first time

Six years ago on a Saturday night Christmas Eve, I accidentally found my way home
Six years later on another Saturday night Christmas Eve, I found my way home again
on four separate paths
one for the part of me that was Pastor Karen to my kiddos now long grown to adulthood
one that feels like the home where I found my own faith the first time
one for the part of me that revels in worship contemporary and free
one that is home where my queer self found faith again

maybe I don't need those from earlier in my journey to accept who I am now
though some have and I am grateful for that grace
maybe I need to give myself permission to be all of who I am 
not only as queer me
but as queer me whose journey of faith looks like more than one single path

It’s taken me since Christmas Eve to put this into something that feels close to capturing the shift that’s been happening.

With much gratitude to those who have been pastors, guides, mentors and friends along the path in all of its parts. There are too many to name, but some, both recent and so very not recent, need special mention for their part in my faith journey over the years and especially in these last few months.

To Devona, to my Spring Garden family back in the day (John, Rick, Margaret and Blake), to Wilkie, to Gene, to Shannon and Brian, to my St. John’s home now (Alastair, Patrick, Gillian, Kevin, Bill, Ruth, Stephanie and John), to Daniel, to Matt and the Monday night crew.