Tag Archives: identity

Today I Choose to Wear an Orange Shirt

By Posted in Life Lessons, Poetry Tagged , , , , , , Leave a comment 
Can I be honest?
I don't like the colour orange.
Sure, there are places it can spark joy
In dancing flames
In leaves turned to brilliant fiery hues
during the cooling nights of autumn
In the happiness of marigolds

But in clothing or decorating?
Nope, I just don't get it.
Maybe it's growing up in the seventies
And I can't help but associate orange
with uncomfortable brown polyester pants

And orange shirts in particular?
Let's continue with the honesty here
I'm not small. I'm not thin.
I never have been.
And wearing an orange shirt
makes me feel like a giant pumpkin
despite years of work
learning to love the body 
that is mine,
childhood taunts still ring in my ears

Yes, there are options
An orange shirt pin
An orange accessory
to ease my inherent discomfort
in wearing an orange shirt

But today is not about me.
Today is a reminder of the harm done
Today is for honouring those who survived
and remembering those who did not.

I have the choice to wear what I choose
A choice that was taken away from Phyllis

And so I put aside my discomfort
I choose to listen
I choose to learn
I choose to be open to new ways 
of seeing and understanding the world
I choose not to look away from the harm done
and the ways the harm continues to be perpetuated
I choose to recognize how I benefit
I choose to consider how I can walk
more gently on this land that
my ancestors settled on without invitation
I choose to be grateful for the stewardship
of the Anishinaabe and the Haudenosaunee
on whose lands I was raised and grew to adulthood
oblivious of the history right around me
and of the lək̓ʷəŋən Peoples on whose lands
I now live, work, play and write as my whole self
Today I choose to wear an Orange Shirt

Today is Orange Shirt Day. If you’re not familiar with Orange Shirt Day, please visits OrangeShirtDay.org and read Phyllis Webstad’s story.

Yes, the federal government has chosen to call it the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation, but that’s not how the day started. For thoughts on that change, I’d recomend reading this thread from @OnaagoshinAnang on Twitter.

I’m going to spend much of my day reading the memoir Apocalypse Child by Carly Bulter and listening to the Gord Downie & Chanie Wenjack Fund’s A Day to Listen. When I pause for a bit to scroll on social media, I will be seeking to amplify Indigenous voices, because those are the stories we need to hear.

And even though I’m going to be at home for much of the day, I will be wearing my Orange Shirt.

For my friend, when your calling is questionned

By Posted in Poetry, Prayers for my friend Tagged , , , , Leave a comment 
it's not just one of you
it's so many of you
I see their words
the quotation marks they use
questioning the legitimacy of your calling
because of who you are
because you're a woman 
because you're queer
because you're gay or lesbian
because you're trans or non-binary
because you're disabled or neurodivergent
because you're not who they think God could possibly call

and every time I see those words
my heart breaks for you
I know many of you have grown accustomed to this hate
have learned to ignore their outrage
have thickened your skin
and learned to lean into God's calling
regardless of the hate thrown your way
and that is a beautiful and powerful thing

but I also remember how those words land
not every time 
sometimes you laugh them off
sometimes you roll your eyes and sigh
and move on because God has given 
you much more important tasks

but sometimes the words stick
not a serious cut
just a tiny prick 
on top of so many 
tiny pricks and prods and pokes
in the tenderest spot
where you are both strongest and most vulnerable
the spot where you know God's calling

in those moments 
know that you are seen
know that those who have heard those same words
even if we've left our callings behind 
we feel that pain with you
we see how God has called you
not despite of what makes you uniquely you
but because of what makes you uniquely you
because you're a woman 
because you're queer
because you're gay or lesbian
because you're trans or non-binary
because you're disabled or neurodivergent
because you're not who they think God could possibly call
that is exactly why God has called you

and we stand alongside you
offering our strength and our care
our ears, virtual or real
our understanding and our prayers
and when we can, even ourselves as shields 
so you can stay focused on the work
to which you are most definitely called

This is only the second time I’ve recorded myself reading one of my poems, but words on a page didn’t seem enough.

For those of you this is written for, I wanted you to be able hear them these words from the voice of a friend, in case that’s what you need to remind you.

Where does that leave me?

By Posted in Poetry Tagged , , , , , Leave a comment 
I get it
You're angry
I get it
You've been hurt
Me too
It's not fair or right 
soooo many people 
take soooo long to become affirming
and even longer to "come out" as affirming

[yes, I know that phrase is going to annoy some of you
it kind of annoys me too when straight people use it
but we're more similar than we are different
and I'm rethinking my annoyance]

because tonight 
for the first time since I came out
I felt ashamed of my journey to figuring out I'm queer
and it wasn't the words or actions of 
a hateful Christian bigot that spawned the shame

it was vitriol directed at an ally who "came out" 
admitted he was wrong and 
apologized for what he'd previously believed
[and no, he didn't say he was "coming out" 
that's my word choice]

43 years it took me to figure it out
not broken and straight
queer and whole
and another 8 months to come out publicly

but before that 
41 years to become fully affirming
and only after I'd thrown church and faith away

I'd never walked away from friendships due to my faith
but I didn't know how to reconcile what I'd been taught 
with friends who'd come out (or were outed) years before
I loved them as best as I knew how
in the eighties and nineties and two thousands
but looking back it was ...
insufficient
because love the sinner, hate the sin always is
no matter how much you try to love the sinner
but I stayed and those friendships grew
and eventually I learned how to truly love them
and me

the person so many are mad at
he was honest 
it took him 9 years to get here

Can I be honest?
Or will this condemn me in your eyes?

I started asking the questions that eventually 
got me to realizing churches need rainbows 
when I was 17

so 9 years? 
that feels pretty short and pretty fast
24 years?
that's a lot of years I could have done things differently

so where does that leave me?
someone who is part of the community
someone who is queer
but also someone who took a lot longer on my journey 
to affirm and celebrate the dignity and diversity
of the 2SLGBTQIA+ community
than I wish it had

I can't change those years
You have no idea how much I wish I could
those regrets are mine to navigate

but please know when you rail against allies
who you think took too long
or didn't "come out" in quite the right way
I'm certain I'm not the only one who wonders
what you think of how long it took me

I don’t often link to my old blog, but I wrote about the moment when I finally became fully affirming. While I was specifically writing about a friend who was gay, my reference to the church needing rainbows was meant to include everyone within the 2SLGBTQIA+ community even though I didn’t have all the words for that back then.

Also, apologies, there are probably some typos in here that I’ll need to fix tomorrow, but it’s late and I need to go to sleep and, come what may, I need to say this out loud if I’m gong to have an likelihood of a decent sleep tonight.

The Puzzle

By Posted in Poetry, Written a long time ago Tagged Leave a comment 
little pieces of my life
one for you and one for you
and on and on it goes
'til one for ...
there should be one left for me

one piece is missing
the puzzle's incomplete

each person has a part of me
each person sees a different piece
strong for one
vulnerable for another
laughing and silly for someone
quiet and serious ofr someone else
no one person sees the whole

'cuase pieces are still missing
the puzzle's incomplete

one piece holds it all together
one piece defines the meaning of the rest
everything falls apart
if that one piece is lost

According to my notebook, I wrote this on March 22, 1993 — twenty years before I had any conscious clue what that puzzle piece might be, what part of me was missing and hidden even from myself.

I don’t remember the specific context and unlike much of what I wrote then, when I left myself notes about why I wrote it, I didn’t with this one. I wish I had.

What I do remeber is that I was a few short weeks before finishing my undergraduate degree and life was complicated and I felt pulled in so many directions. As much as I can look back now and see one piece that was clearly missing, I know the friendship dynamics that were going on then and I’m sure it was more about that, but also …

There clearly was a piece that was hidden and wouldn’t be found for a long, long while.

It’s Time

By Posted in Poetry Tagged , , Leave a comment 
It’s time


Time for me to make clear
Something I thought
Was obvious when I wrote
The Price of Hate

Most understood
Some asked questions
To clarify rather
Than make assumptions

On that day
And on the days since
I have felt
Unconditional support
And love
Overwhelming love
Healing love
Soaking in to places broken
For far too long

But today
In the midst of
Bathroom bills
In the aftermath of
Orlando
In the facebook posts
Run rampant
It is apparent
Some of you missed
What I said
Or ignored
What I said
Or forgot
What I said
Or didn’t care
What I said

So let me be
Perfectly
Crystally
Entirely
Explicitly
Proudly
Clear

I am not straight.

I. Am. Queer.

Perfectly
Crystally
Entirely
Explicitly
Proudly
Queer

It is not your business
To know why I claim
That particular word
I am a private person
My sex life
My love life
My romantic desires
Are none of your concern

It is enough for you to know

I am queer

And have always been
Even when I didn’t
Acknowledge or
Understand or
Speak that truth

So when I say
What I need to say
In this moment
Today
I hope your ears
Are open to hear

You are someone who
Matters to me
Whose friendship
I value
A relationship
I hope
Can continue

But …

When you speak hate
When share hate
When you keep silent
In the face of hate
Toward anyone
Who is

Lesbian
Gay
Bisexual
Transgender
Asexual
Aromatic
Pansexual
Intersex
Gender Fluid
Gender Neutral
Two Spirit
Non-Binary
Queer
And any other letter
In the gloriously
Rainbow coloured alphabet
That makes up
The people I claim as siblings

When you tolerate hate
Against my family
You are speaking hate
Against me

It is not
Against an unknown evil
With an agenda
Contrary to God’s will
You are spewing hate
At someone you
Have known for years
Someone you once called
Family
Classmate
Student
Colleague
Youth Leader
Mentor
Pastor
Friend
Or whatever other label
You choose to apply to
What we shared
What connected us

And yes
Sharing posts
Making comments
Supporting political movements
In the name of religious belief that
Vilify
Misgender
Stigmatize
Deny rights to
Denigrate
Dehumanize
Is speaking hate

You are entitled to
Your theology
Your belief
Your point of view
Your fear
Your emotional reaction
To something you
Don’t understand or
Don’t experience or
Don’t acknowledge

You are not entitled
To use any of
Those reasons
To lessen
The innate value
Of another human being
To take away rights
To block protections to
Ensure safety
To make someone else’s life
Harder to live

Be grateful
For the privilege
You have never needed
To realize you have

Use that privilege
Make the world
Safer for all people
Do what the God
You claim commanded
Act justly
Love mercy
Walk humbly with your God
Defend the oppressed
Love your neighbor as yourself

If you can’t
If you won’t
Don’t be surprised
When I decide to
Prioritize the well-being of
My rainbow family
Over your need to
Prove you are
Righteous and faithful
At the cost of
Our mental health
Our dignity
Our lives

I first wrote, recorded and hit publish on this poem in June 2016.

It’s been bouncing around in my head these last few weeks as a rising tide of hate keeps sweeping across the U.S. and is also quite visible in Canada too. I almost decided to update the poem, but then someone might think this is a new phenomenon. It’s not and it wasn’t when I wrote it, but I was new to it. As someone who’d only been out for two years.

I’d never recorded me speaking one of my poems before, but it is too easy for people, especially within the Christian community, to share and make what they think are “innocent comments” without realizing the impact it has on real people that they actually know, so I wanted to make sure there was a human face to these words.

For those who are prepared to engage in respectful dialogue, I welcome your thoughts and am prepared to engage in that conversation with you. I lived and pastored in the evangelical church world, I know that moving away from what we were taught is hard and scary and feels like it must be wrong. The thing I can say now (that I couldn’t have said back in 2016) is God is still here, outside the box we were taught God belonged in. There is good fruit and there is community with other people of Christian faith that gives spaces for questions and being all of who you are.

However, please be aware that your “theological questions” are my day-to-day life.  As such, I may choose to disengage from the discussion and/or block your involvement, if the conversation turns from respectful engagement and generous spaciousness.

Also, in case it wasn’t clear, from the poem, the existence, humanity and dignity of 2SLGBTQIA+ people is not up for debate nor is the existence of faithful 2SLGBTQIA+ Christians.

What Name Do You Call?

By Posted in Poetry Tagged , , , Leave a comment
Clouds at sunset
once i called you Jesus
with that word, i could relate to you
safe, knowable
baby in a manager
willing sacrifice
Spirit seemed so far away
untouchable, distant
Father was the angry god
i could never hope to satisfy

one day i wished more for mystery
a god i could not contain
Spirit became the name i called
ever-present, intimately intertwined
yet other in every possible way
Jesus, still when comfort needed
but Father rarely spoken
afraid i’d disappoint

in wonder i remember
moment of discovery
the day i learned to call you Father
arms open, reaching out to embrace
holding me close in love
unashamed of how broken i felt
Father offering everything i lacked
three-in-one, i knew you then
knowable mystery accepting
me in love

those words now leave me tangled
web of hurt, anger, bitterness
i try to call your name
but my voice will not speak
those words i once used
my heart contracts
the walls close in
once familiar names
my life no longer knows you
the face i see reflected
lacks truth of who you are
of who i am in you
i need a new word
but who am i to name
the source of all creation

each day i sit in silence
whispering a single word
seeking, trying to find the one
that encompasses and draws us together
Ruah, Breath, i seek to draw you in
Creator, most easily recognized
your handiwork surrounds me
i sit with you in stillness
but still you feel unknown
i breathe
inhale, exhale
pause, repeat
in the space carved out
my heart feels a new name
so clear the word seems spoken in my ear

Beloved

i pause, my breath held close
Beloved, name and invitation
in one simple word
i cannot comprehend
you call me Beloved
at the core of my being
you invite me to intimacy
to be yours
to call you my own
Beloved you are all i have known
more than i can yet comprehend
reminder of the beauty
i have let slip away
lost in waves of anger and pain
Beloved offers comfort, understanding
growth to some thing more
Beloved demands no striving
offers rest and ease
encouragement to grow deeper
bolder, stronger
Beloved knows
I am enough
sunlight on the water

Written in September 2012 and previously published on blog I had then, several years after I’d walked away from church (but clearly not faith) and several years before I’d figured out I was queer.

Today, a conversation with a friend about the phrase he often uses in prayer “the God of so many names” made me of think it. Reading it again before sharing it with that friend reminded me of a truth I’d known but have allowed to get buried.

Excavating Faith

By Posted in Poetry Tagged , , , Leave a comment 
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.

I’ve had enough

By Posted in Poetry Tagged , Leave a comment 
I'm exhausted.
cisgender straight white men
rank on rank of privilege possessing
determined to use up
all the air for breathing
all the space for being

experts in all things
even those they've never experienced
certain they know and can explain
all the solutions to every problem
all the reasons why they are right
and everyone else is to blame

God grant me ... 
no, not just me.
God grant us who are something other
the serenity to accept our own worth and dignity
the courage to stand up and demand respect for each other
the wisdom to set boundaries to protect our mental health

—————–

Yes, I know. not all cisgender, straight, white men.

I get it. Not all Karens. Not all Christians. Not all … whatever word you feel the need to put in here.

Some of you, some of us, really are awesome people who seek to be everything other than the stereotypes, to use the privilege we have to amplify other voices, to listen, to learn, to take on our responsibility to educate those who are like us, to be … well, in my particular case … an “anti-Karen”.

But seriously there are more than enough who are, and it’s exhuasting for everyone who is something other. Do better.

Glimpses

By Posted in Poetry Tagged , , , Leave a comment

Tegan and Sara Concert

I hear a whispered voice
Full of childlike wonder
Excited to be in this place
To be with these people
To know her mother belongs
And by extension so does she
Her mother smiles
And quietly speaks
The queer community
It’s large and diverse
I see the smile on her face
Reflecting the joy
Radiating from her child’s face
Unobserved I find myself
Smiling in return
I understand the wonder
My eyes mirror the same

Standing in line
Quietly I watch
Sweet and so earnest
Yet wary to meet another’s eye
Trepidation visible in every pore
Would someone question
The choice of gendered washroom
What assumptions are being made
Our eyes quickly catch
I smile in welcome
Older femme to young, baby butch
I know the fear of assumptions made
Wish I had known myself that well
When I was still so young

My eyes are drawn in
Beautiful woman leans over
Shares a gentle kiss
With her much loved wife
Their tenderness obvious
Telegraphed across the distance
Of the sold-out theatre
My heart expands
With hope
Possibilities newly dreamed

The crowd is diverse
Encompassing gender, age
Sexuality and race
But visible across the spectrum
Whatever initial each of us claim
Our queerness is celebrated
Proudly proclaimed
In this space any need
To hide or pass
Far from our minds
These are our people
Music born from stories
That we call our own

—–

Primarily written during intermission at the Tegan and Sara concert early in March 2014.

Afraid

By Posted in Poetry Tagged , , , , Leave a comment

My brain says
It’s no one’s business
But my own

Why do I need
To tell everyone
Their assumptions
About me are
Flawed

Why should I need
To announce
I’m queer
Not straight

Why can’t I simply
Live my life
Love who I love
With no need of
Explanation

On the surface
That path should be
Available
Completely reasonable

My sexuality
Is my business
The only other
Who needs to know
Someone I have not met
Yet

My heart says
I can’t move beyond
Dreaming

If I’m afraid to claim
The truth of who I am
If I’m afraid of
Needing to explain

Forty-thee years of denying
Forty-three years of hiding
Not just from them
But even harder
To comprehend
From myself

That’s the question
I don’t want to answer
How could I
Live my life
So completely
Unaware
Repressed
Oblivious
Hidden
Lost
Broken
Afraid

Striving
To be someone
I never have been

Rather than being
The me
The world around
Said was sinner
Flawed
Disgusting
Abomination
Hated by God

So I hid
So deep
In such darkness
It took
Forty-three years
To find my way back
To myself

But I am still afraid