Lessons from the Wind

The wind is howling on the Palouse this morning.  It is the perfect amount of wind, enough to send the trees swaying but not breaking, enough to make the brightly colored leaves swirl around you, and enough to make you feel slightly unsteady as you walk.  The clouds are amazing this morning, grey with highlights of pink and purple, blue sky peeking through breaks.  The Palouse is alive and vibrant this morning.

I have been stalled out in my journey lately.  My workouts have ranged from rockin awesome (on rare occasion) to just not happening (on a fairly regular basis).  I have felt unsure of myself, I have felt frustrated by not knowing what is coming for Aimee and I, and I have been trying to figure out what it means to hold steady in all of this tumult.  But as I walked from the Rec Center to my office this morning, the wind taught me a valuable lesson.  As the wind swirled around me, blowing leaves every which way and threatening to blow over folks on their bikes, I just kept moving.  I planted one foot in front of the other and just kept moving.  Yes I was blown around a bit and had to retouch my hair when I got back to my office :) , but I made it just fine.  

The winds in my life are blowing strong.  We don't know where we are going, we don't know what tomorrow will bring.  But if we keep putting one foot in front of the other and moving forward, we will arrive at our destination.  So my dear friends if the winds of life are threatening and you feel like you are being blown over, know that you are strong enough to walk through it, one step at a time.  

A different coming out...

If you have read my blog, you know most of my coming out story. Today  is National Coming Out Day and I want to write about a different kind of coming out. It isn't about my sexuality or my gender expression, but it is something very personal to me and in some ways even more private than my sexuality.  This morning I posted on Facebook that I hurt and that I was having a pretty awful flare up.  I had a couple of folks ask me about it. (Which was not my intention, I really just needed support in that moment.)  I have been thinking about it all day and decided that I would write a blog post about it and let you all in on what is going on.

It all started long, long ago.  In high school I would get large boil like sores on my face. (Let me tell ya, for someone who was already feeling out of place, that little addition was priceless!)  They would come and go, I was put on acne medication and told to keep my face clean.  I did and they persisted.  I chalked it up to teenage hormones and was the target of plenty of harassment because of them.  Eventually they stopped forming on my face, but they were not forgotten.  My cheeks bear the scars their presence.  For years after high school I would get little isolated sores on my legs, groin, and occasionally in my armpit.  Again I figured it was just acne and tried to keep things as clean as possible, hoping they would just go away.  Sometimes they would get big, like in high school, come to a head and pop.  I didn't go to a doctor about them because well...who really wants to draw attention to sores in your nether regions?  Plus they didn't really hurt most of the time, so I figured they were just a part of my life.

Over the years I have had a couple of scares with the sores.  I had one form on my breast. (For someone with a family history of breast cancer, finding a lump is a little scary.) It turned out to be nothing, but when I had another one form in my armpit, I again got a little worried.  And when is grew to be the length of a baby carrot and extremely painful I decided to go to my doctor.  I did a little research before my appointment (I don't suggest self diagnosing yourself, but a little research to open the conversation up with you doc is perfectly reasonable.)  I came prepared with a print out of what I thought it was, really truly hoping I was wrong and that my doc would say, "Oh no, that's not it, take this pill and it will all be better."  Alas, that was not the case, instead, she took one look at the sore asked me a couple of questions and said, you have Hidradenitis suppurativa (HS).  My heart sunk because the paper folded neatly in my pocket was all about HS and I knew there was no cure.  She went on to say she had seen one other case, a woman who had come to her to get a doctor's finding for a disability claim.  Her HS had progressed to a point where she was in chronic pain and unable to work.  I wanted to cry.

So what is HS?  The long and the short of it is this, it is a skin disease.  (No it is not contagious, thank god.  I wouldn't wish this on anyone!)  It generally appears in regions of the body where skin touches skin, like the arm pits, groin and bum.  It also forms under bra and underwear lines. It can also form in other places, like the face or near hair follicles. Sweat glands get blocked and form lumps, sometimes they hurt, generally they really hurt.  If they remain blocked fluid can form behind them and can become infected and give the appearance of being a boil.  When they become inflamed is when the pain really starts for me.  The one in my armpit got so bad I could not put my arm down.  I am in stage I, thankfully.  My sores are isolated and have not formed tracts below the skin.  In Stage II tunnels form between sores and it spreads across a large area.  Stage III is beyond my comprehension of pain and I pray that I never, ever, ever, progress that far.

Why am I sharing this with you?  The first reason, I need your support.  I am going gluten free in an effort to reduce my symptoms and hopefully reduce the impact on my life.  I am not making this change lightly and it has caused a fair amount of frustration and tears.  I love sammiches, french toast, and a beautiful crusty baguette every now and again...oh and desserts, don't get me started on pastries, pies, and cakes on special occasions.  But I also love not being in pain, I love being able to sit in a car and not want to cry because it hurts to sit from Palouse to Moscow. (20 Minutes)  I have done some experimenting with food and research on what others have tried to combat their symptoms and eliminating gluten has been a major factor in relief.  And right now, I am looking forward to a little relief.  There may be other things that I try, but for now gluten is leaving my life.

The other reason I wanted to share is because I don't want to hide this anymore.  HS is a disease that most people want to hide.  Really I would rather not be talking about this, I would rather not have it, but I do, so I will help educate and reach out to others that may have it. There is little research being done and there is no cure, it is does not have big bucks coming in to study it.  Most of the time doctors throw drugs at the problem and hope it goes away.  But HS doesn't go away with pills, sometimes it flares bigger and badder, sometimes the symptoms are reduced to bearable.  I don't know about you, but living a "bearable" life is not my idea of awesome. I am going to do what I can to live a full, awesome, pain-free life.  If you have HS, HS like symptoms, or know someone who does, know that you are not alone.  I would love to connect with you and we can walk down this path together.

I am sparing you the gory details of this disease, if you want to see photos or know more about the experiences there are plenty of sites out there for you to read.  If you want to ask questions about how it has progressed for me, or you want a little more detail, I will happily share it with you via email.  I wrote this to reach out, to connect, and to continue to live an open and honest life.  This is not intended to be a "poor Mo" post. HS is a part of who I am, I am learning what it means for me, and how I can control it.  It does not define me. I will not allow it to hold me back from the person I want to be and the amazing things I have ahead of me.

Queering My Faith - The Long Road Home

 "Who hurt you so deeply?"  His words cut right through the facade, straight to my heart.  And they started a long overdue healing process in my life.  Paul could read the pain in my eyes when he asked me the question.  I couldn't answer, my tears spoke for me.  I don't remember the service that day, but Paul's words stuck with me and I knew I needed to make a change.  The life I was living was miserable, lonely, and hollow.  

As I sit here it feels like it all happened in the distant past, in another lifetime. But in reality it wasn't that long ago. It was about 4 years ago that I really started putting in the work to bring myself back to life.  I knew I needed help; the wounds were too deep and had gone untended for too long for me to handle them on my own.  The thought of asking for help terrified me.  I had been in and out of counseling at various points in my life and the thought of going back made me cringe. The choice to enter counseling had always been made for me, I went begrudgingly and skipped out at the first opportunity. At this point Aimee and I had been together for almost 6 years, many of those years I had been lost in a haze. She stuck by me and loved me, even when I hurt her with my actions.  So when I made the phone call to my doctor and to a counselor, it was as much for her, as it was for me.   It was the love of my Aimee and a desire to finally rid myself of the wounds in my past that carried me to my first session.

I strongly dislike taking any kind of medication, even Advil when I have a headache.  I walked into my doctor's office seeking help for depression, fully expecting I would be leaving with a prescription.  I had been on anti-depressants before and had always ended up taking myself off of them without telling my doctor.  So I was honest and open with my doc about my lack of love for meds, of any kind, and my history of ditching them when I thought they were not working anymore.  She was awesome and open with me.  She let me know that it was important that I take them, but if for any reason I wanted to go off, to call her first.  I had never been given that option before and knowing that I would not be on them forever was what I needed to hear.

Next came counseling.  In many ways this was more difficult than taking a pill.  But I also knew it was necessary for any healing to take place in my life.  This counseling experience was life changing for me. For the first time in my life I allowed myself to truly share what was going on under the surface.  I was very aware of my tendency to say what my counselor wanted to hear and to bail as soon as I could.  And honestly there were times when I wanted to do that, but I didn't let myself. I stuck with it, through the dark and difficult, so I could start growing again.    

As I started to heal, I was able to start exploring the role of religion in my life.  What started to emerge was so different from anything I had experienced.  This time around there was no denying my queerness, there was no putting an essential part of my life back in a box and hiding it away.  If Christianity was going to have a role in my life, it had to mesh with my queer identity.  Some of you may read this and cringe.  I know exactly what you are thinking, that I can't have both; that there must be a choice between the two.  I respect that opinion, I respect that is the truth that you hold.  I respect that is the faith tradition to which you cling.  For me it does not ring true.  I lived through a "pray the gay away" experience completely denying that part of me existed.  I also lived through a period of completely denying any role of Christianity in my life.  Both experiences lead me into serious darkness and if I was going to live an honest life, a life of integrity I had to make room for both experiences.  

I have come to realize that I walked away from Evangelical Christianity, not from God.  I walked away from a way of seeing the world that is so full of fear.  I walked away from an "us v them" mentality, that can only divide and never bring people together.  I walked away from a black and white world and stepped into a world full of color, full of light, and full of love.  There definitely is a comfort that comes from living in a worldview that is prescribed and laid out for you.  It is awesome to not think and not be challenged. I totally get it, I lived it, I knew it.  Living in such a prescribed way is too confining for me and I believe too small of view of God.  We have made God into our image, rather than the other way around.  If God created us in hir image, then we are far more expansive and amazing than we can ever imagine, because God is far more expansive and amazing that we can ever imagine.  We are far greater than we will ever know and far greater than we can ever envision ourselves to be.  

We are limitless if we allow ourselves to fully live into that calling on our lives.  We unfortunately have setup systems of comfort and control.  We live is boxes because it is far more comfortable to live in the known than the unknown.  There have always been people who have lived outside of the box; they have been called mystics, heretics, saints and other things.  They lived lives beyond the average experience, not because they were somehow better at communicating with God, but because they got it.  They understood the expansiveness of God and tried to capture that in their own lives.  It was through the exploration of my queerness, from stepping outside of my own prescribed boxes that I was able to start to "get" that understanding of God.  My lived experience as a trans queer person informs my view of God and in turn as my view of God expands so does my understanding of queerness.  God will never live within a prescribed box, no matter the size or shape of the space.  We can try and try and try to fit God down into our image but ze will never fit.  Ever.  So if we can't get God to fit in our box, maybe we should try to live without the box.  It can be uncomfortable, but trust me when I tell you, that living into the fullness of who you are, is a truly spiritual experience.  As I continue to accept myself for the fullness and wonder that I am, the more connected and in tune I feel with God.  

So find your passion my friends, live into the fullness of who you are, and connect with something greater than yourself.  You don't need to use the same language that I do.  I use God because that is what I know, that is what I have experienced.. You can use whatever language that is comfortable for you to express your spirituality.  Again, I can hear some of you wanting to call me out for not toeing the party line of Evangelical Christianity.  And again I say, I get it.  Call me what you will, pray for me all you want, live in the boxes that are comfortable, that is your choice. And this is mine.  I choose to live an open, expansive, inclusive, powerful life.  There is no box that can hold me now; I will never go back into a black and white world.  I invite you to step out into the world of color, into a world that is full of mystery and wonder, and a world that is ready for you. The question is, are you ready for it?

Queering My Faith - Walking Away

I was exhausted. From the beginning of December to the beginning of February, I had been in the fight of my life. After giving my resignation, a weight lifted but a deep sadness also started to take hold of me. That sadness clung to me for years and even now as a write this there are still remnants remaining in my heart. I loved working with young people. I loved watching them interact with their world in amazing and powerful ways. In an instant that world was gone. Not because I was horrible at my job, not because I had committed a crime, but because I had the courage to finally accept myself and live an honest, open life.

From my birth to the point I left my job, my faith had been the central identity in my life. Everything that I thought about myself and the world was in relation to my Christian faith. I was a Christian woman, a Christian lesbian, a Christian (fill in the blank). It was the core of my identity, my entire world was built upon that foundation. So the rejection I felt from the church was more than just losing my job. To me it was aimed at the very core of who I was and if other Christians felt that way, the rejection must therefore extend to the way God felt about me.

I had a few loose ends to tie after my resignation, there was a big program at the end of the month that I was committed to seeing through, but that was it.  The Sunday after my resignation I did not want to be in church in Moscow, I didn't want to face a bunch of questions as to why I was leaving, so Aimee and I went to Spokane.  We were still just really good friends at this point.  I had poured my heart out to her for months, telling her how I felt about her and she always replied with I like you as a friend, but nothing more.  So for me, leaving the church also meant I was potentially losing a friend.  I had no intention of staying in Moscow after I resigned.  My plan was to move back to Spokane and start a new chapter in my life. But that weekend in Spokane was amazing and changed everything. (Even if I didn't know it at the time). We hung out at my mom's house, I read Aimee children's books from my childhood, we stayed up late talking and we found our second home, Bethany Presbyterian Church.

We were a little nervous about going to church that Sunday, I wasn't sure if I was ready to step foot in another church so soon.  My heart was still breaking and my wounds were so raw.  I almost started crying in the parking lot. A sign out side the door read, "Black White, Gay Straight, Rich Poor, It's All Good."  Those words were salve to my soul.  Walking in the door, being met with joy and love was almost too much for me.  We walked in an Paul, the pastor, immediately recognized me.  He had known my family for years and as he gave me a gigantic, massive, wonderful hug, my world melted around me. Trust when I say there is nothing in this world like a hug from Paul Rodkey. Aimee and I sat in church that morning surrounded by love, surrounded by grace, and surrounded by amazing wonderful people.   When the service ended we sat stunned at the awesomeness of Bethany.

That experience was the beginning of many, many wonderful friendships and a second family for us.  Words are not adequate to describe my love for the Bethany congregation, we may be small, but we are mighty!  But at the time, the awesomeness and the warmth was not enough to heal my heart.  I had been wounded so deeply that I just could not let myself be vulnerable again in a church setting.  We attended church when we were in Spokane, but I wouldn't let my guard down and fully engage with the community.  After a while we just stopped going to church.  We came up with plenty of superficial reasons for not going up to Bethany, but for me I had buried my anger, my hurt, my feelings of betrayal, and not dealt with the wounds so the simple act of going to church was painful. I just couldn't do it.

At the same time as we were venturing to church on a increasingly irregular basis, I had started my grad program in Anthropology and was heavily involved in the Gay Straight Alliance.  I had always had a community around me, that was one of the things I loved about be in a church.  So getting involved in the LGBT community in Moscow was very, very, important to me.  It was through this community that I started to come into a full acceptance of my sexual orientation.  I had a certain friend in the community that I hung out with a lot, we were always at her place, my place, or at the bar.  Talking for hours about nothing and everything.  She was also openly hostile toward Christianity and fueled my anger and frustration towards the institution.  She could see no distinction between the type of Christianity that wholly rejected LGBT people and the type of Christianity that was open, supportive, and nurturing. The more time I spent with her, the less I could see that distinction and the more distant I grew away from my roots. There came a time when I didn't even call myself a Christian.  I wanted nothing to do with the church and I was completely fine with the separation.  At least that's what I told myself.  I left it all behind and walked away.

This was a particularly dark period in my life.  I used alcohol to numb my feelings and when that didn't help I returned to cutting as a means to get the trapped feelings out.  I would not talk about what I was feeling with anyone.  I packed on the pounds over this period as well.  I had so much internalized self hatred that I just didn't care.  I was lost without my safety net of the church.  My life was by no means perfect when I was entrenched behind the walls of the church, but at least I had ways of pretending that it was.  Outside of the church walls I had nothing to fall back on. My friends were all so new that they didn't really know me, or they only knew what I would allow them to see.  I was dying on the inside and it was starting to take its toll on my health and well being.

Queering My Faith - The Final Blows

The conversation with the pastor and elder left me angry, hurt, and betrayed. I admit, there was no great solution to the situation. But I was living life with an openness that I had never experienced and I was not willing to go back into the closet. The stress of being closeted was too much for me. Having lived so much of my life hiding the smallest bits of difference I was not about to hide myself away again, I just couldn't do it. But that also didn't mean I needed to shout it from the roof tops. I was more than happy to let it be as it was and just move on. If people had questions they could ask me, but I was planning on remaining single, working with the youth, and doing what I loved.

It was made abundantly clear that I was a problem to be solved and I didn't have much say in the process. The pastor started talking about who needed to know about me. I told him that I didn't care who knew, but I wanted to be the one to tell my story. I asked him to please respect me enough to allow my voice to be heard. I knew that the session was meeting soon and I was worried that he would take it upon himself to inform them of the situation. (Session is the group of elders who oversee different ministries and operations of the church) I again asked him to let me come and tell session my story. He told me the agenda was full and he did anticipate there would be any time for new business. I again said that if time allowed I wanted, no needed, to be the one to tell my story. I waited by the phone that night, anticipating a phone call. I lived about a mile from the church and could be there in less than five minutes, I was ready to go if needed. The call never came, so I assumed it didn't come up. Oh, if only that were true.

I walked into the office the next morning after class and greeted Marty, the secretary. I could tell that sometime was not quite right, there was a tension in the air. As I went to cut through the pastor's office, to get to mine, Marty said that I probably didn't want to go in there. I asked why. She looked right at me and said "He told session last night." Everything inside of me exploded. The anger that came over me was instant. There was no time to process, there was no time to think. There was a pounding in my head and my body started to shake as I walked into his office. The anger was so intense that I remember very little about that moment. I did not sit down, I stood over his desk, trying not to dissolve into a puddle of tears, trying to be as strong as I could be in order to let him know what was running through my head. I remember him saying something like, there was time at the end, but not enough to call you, so we went ahead and discussed it. I slammed my hand down on his desk and told him that it was my story and he had taken that from me. He didn't get it, he said he was the pastor and it was his decision. I remember yelling, I remember tears, I remember my hand hurting for hours and wondering if I had broken it, and I remember slamming his door so hard the walls shook. I went to walk out of the main office but Marty stopped me. She told me to hand over my keys, that I was in no state to drive anywhere and I needed to park my ass on one of the couches in the youth room. I tried to get by her, but Marty was never a woman to take no for an answer. She handed me a youth room key and I handed her my keys. I sunk into a couch and sobbed. In that moment I knew my world had been ripped away from me, I had no control and I was on my way out.

The circle of people who knew I was out was getting bigger, but not by my choice. There was a small group of folks I wanted to talk to in person before the pastor had a chance to tell them. At the top of that list were the pastors at Shadle, my home church. I had grown up with them, they had been my spiritual guides my entire life, I knew that telling them would be difficult, but I wanted to be the one to do it. I drove up to Spokane and met with the head pastor. As soon as I started to talk he said, I already know. He had gotten a phone call earlier in the week from the pastor in Moscow asking for advice. I felt like I was yet again a problem to be solved and had no place in creating a solution. The meeting did not go well, I tried to relay my story, but it was met with "yes but" and "the bible says." I left feeling like I was falling. My spiritual foundation was crumbling and I didn't know what to do.

When I returned to Moscow I found out that the pastor wanted to inform the congregation. I said no. It was not his information to share and he had already said too much. He had been planning on writing something in the bulletin coming Sunday service. I strongly opposed this and again told him that it was my story to tell and if it needed to be disclosed I was going to be the one to do the talking this time. He told me that he would not write anything and I doubled checked with Marty before the bulletin was printed just to make sure. I also did not trust him to not say anything at church on Sunday. So, I turned to my people, the Gay Straight Alliance, I asked them to come to church on Sunday. I wanted witnesses to whatever was going to happen.

I picked up Aimee and headed to church. When we arrived there were already a couple of very lost looking GSA folks hanging out at the church. By the time the service started we filled two and a half pews. I don't think the pastor noticed all of them until he stood up and started into the announcements. I met his gaze as he was scanning the sanctuary. When he saw the number of people around me, he went white and I thought he was going to pass out on the spot. He didn't and he also said nothing to the congregation. When he asked for prayer requests I raised my hand and stood up. Again he went white and looked faint. I looked around the congregation and said that I was going through a difficult time and could use some prayer. That was all, I did not out myself, I simply asked my community to support me. There was a glimmer of hope after that service, maybe, just maybe there was a way for me to remain in the church and remain who I am. But it was short lived. The pastor never outed me, but when the final blow fell it was more than I could take.

A couple weeks later Aimee and I were sitting together during the Sunday morning service. Everything was normal until communion was served. On of the elders was walking down the aisle passing the trays with the bread. I heard him saying "body of Christ broken for you" as he handed the tray to the folks in the pew, when he handed me the tray he said nothing. Then I heard him say it behind me. Hoping that I had just not heard it, I waited until the tray with wine and grape juice was passed. Again I heard him saying, "Blood of Christ shed for you" as he walked down the aisle. And again he said nothing to me when he handed me the tray. My heart broke. My faith community was rejecting me. I had taken courageous steps to be open and honest about my life and my story and I was being rejected. It was too much to take.

I received a phone call that I was to meet with the youth committee that week to discuss what needed to happen next. I arrived at the appointed time, walked into the room and was told that they were "not ready for me yet." I also noticed that it was not just the youth committee, the personnel committee was also there along with the pastor. I went to my office and called Aimee. As we talked I realized that I could no longer work for that church and be in that environment. When they were ready I went back into the room and sat down. The pastor started talking at me and I held up my hand and said, "No, I need to talk first." I told then that I was done, that I had nothing left, and that I was feeling broken and battered. I told them what had happened the Sunday before during communion and told them it was the last straw. I could see relief in some of their eyes. I may never know what they intended to talk to me about, but I made my decision and I was sticking to it. I did not want to stay in a job where I was seconded guessed, made to live by rules set up my small minded people who were being ruled by fear and not love, and I was simply too tired to fight anymore. I would finish out the last program I had scheduled at the end of the month then I was done.

I felt relief and deep sorrow. I felt like I was abandoning my kids and prayed that they would understand why I had resigned. But I had nothing left to give and needed to get out of that toxic environment. I had fought and lost. It was time to move on.

Queering My Faith - The Great Divorce

The question set off a series of explosions that threatened to take me down.  The aftermath was devastating and I refer to this period of my life as “The Great Divorce.”    My entire life I had been married to the church, to a certain brand of Christianity.  I knew nothing else.  I had never even considered another option or another way of being.  My life revolved around my relationship with God and my passion to serve in ministry.   In a matter of months it was ripped away from me and I was left standing in a debris field, broken, bleeding and numb.   

“Crap, crap, crap!”  That’s about all I could think after my students came to me.  I was being exposed and I didn't know what to do!  The only person in Moscow that knew anything had just moved on to seminary and was no longer around.   I was in school, but it was early in the semester and I didn’t know anyone well enough to disclose my struggles. I can imagine that conversation, "Hi nice to meet you, I'm a closeted lesbian youth director who's world is falling down around me.  Wanna be my friend?"  I have never been that bold.  So not knowing where to turn, I went to the pastor.  I wanted him to know what had been said, where I stood with my faith and sexuality, and to ask for help.  Worst. Mistake. Ever.    

Our conversation went something like this,

     Me: So, a couple of students asked me a question.
     Pastor:  What was the question?     
     Me:  They asked me if I was a lesbian.     
     Pastor: Oh. (Big Pause)  Well.   (Little pause)  Is it true?
     Me: Well, yes, but I have never been in a relationship, I plan of remaining single, I know…
     Pastor: (cutting me off) Well.  Let’s not ever talk about this again, not to the students, not to the 
                 congregation, to no one.
     Me: Well, I …     
     Pastor: (cutting me off again) To no one, end of conversation. 
     Me:  If I am asked about it, I am not going to lie about it.
     Pastor:  Make sure no one has any reason to ask about it.


I left feeling completely shut down and unheard, but I wanted to keep my job so I stayed quiet.  I was completely falling back into the double life I had led in college.  Only this time there was more drinking and my behavior became a little more reckless.  I would go to Spokane, party with my friends, and some how make it back down to church on Sunday.  I was stuck and I didn't know what to do.  I couldn't talk to anyone in Moscow and when I was in Spokane I was drunk most of the time.  It was pretty much not awesome. 


I was very thankful for my classes.  I could go, get lost in the material and not have to think about work.  I met Katie in one of my classes.  She wore rainbow laces in her Doc Martins, was openly lesbian, and was not afraid to speak up in class.  We chatted a little but she was pretty much a classroom acquaintance.  But that little interaction was enough for me to make one of the biggest steps of my life.  I don't remember how I found out about the Gay Straight Alliance but I was determined to go.  The group met the same night as my junior high youth group meeting and started at the same time youth group ended.  As soon as everyone was gone, I jumped in my car and rushed over to campus.  The meetings were held in the old Women's Center Building. I did laps around the Admin Lawn trying to gain enough courage to even look in the window.  I was terrified that someone from church would see me and know what I was doing. (Mind you it was 8:00 at night, dark, and no one was out of campus at that time, let alone anyone from church) On the third lap I glanced in the window and spotted someone with long hair in a pony tail.  It was Katie.  I mustered all the courage I had, looked around to make sure no one saw me and opened the door.  The room was packed and the meeting had already started so I found a spot on the floor and listened.  I don't remember much about that meeting, but just being in the presence of other LGBT people was enough.  I chatted with Katie a little and was introduced to others in the group.   I left feeling ok with the world, not fantastic, but not alone.  


The following week youth group finished up early and all of the rides showed up on time so I was able to make it to GSA before the meeting started.  I found a spot on one of the couches and made small talk with the folks around me.  At one point a woman walked in and sat across the room from me, she immediately caught me eye.  There was something about her that made my heart dance.  We went around the room and introduced ourselves.  I paid particular attention she spoke, I wanted to know her name!  She introduced herself as Aimee Stormo and said she had attended Seattle University, had spent the last semester in France, and had transferred to UI.  My heart sunk.  That little bit of information was enough to cause sheer panic.  She was the daughter of a couple at the church.  Her dad was an Elder and her mom was a Deacon.  I was far from the door so I couldn't bolt, but everything in me wanted to leave.  I could not let people from the church know that I was gay, I wasn't supposed to talk about it and here I was sitting in a meeting surrounded by gay people and the daughter of an Elder sitting across from me!  I was freaking out on the inside!  But then about 30 seconds later I realized...WAIT!  She is also sitting in a room full of gay people!  OMG!  What if she is gay too!?!


When the meeting was over we looked at each other and smiled.  One of her first questions was "Are you the youth director at First Pres? Are you THAT Mo?"  Again my instinct was to flee, but I stayed put.  We talked until they had to lock up the Women's Center, then we walked to my car and stood outside talking for another hour.  I was totally and completely taken by her.  I was thankful for the dark of the evening so she couldn't see me blush as we spoke.  Have I mentioned it was love at first sight?  Um, yeah, for me it was.  I asked her to be one of the volunteer youth leaders, since she had grown up in the church.  Then I could spend more time with her, I needed the volunteers, but I also was being a little selfish.  She happily agreed and started coming to youth group with me. We were strictly friends at this point.  I was still very much single and even though I had strong, like way strong, super strong, feelings for her I knew that there was no way I could keep my job and be a "practicing homosexual." Whatever that means. The other reason we were still friends, was well, she did not feel the same way about me.  She loved our friendship, but that was all she was looking for, so things stayed in friendship mode.  And boy was I ever grateful for that friendship. I didn't know it at the time, but November 2002 - March 1 2003 would be the most heart wrenching period of my life.


The Senior High Winter Retreat was coming up in a couple of weeks, so I asked Aimee to be one of my leaders for the trip.  I didn't really need another female leader, but I wanted her to come along.  If the question was the spark, the retreat was the gasoline.  It was an awesome weekend.  The speaker talked about honesty and integrity and really challenged everyone at camp to live open honest lives.  Needless to say I was feeling a little convicted about carrying such a large secret and not sharing it with the world.  After the last talk, before we piled into the vans to head home, we met as a youth group.  The speaker had asked us to talk about what we had learned that weekend and how it had impacted our lives.  We gathered as a group and the students started talking about their weekend.  At one point, one of the gals who had asked the question looked at me and asked about my weekend.  I looked at Aimee, I searched my heart for the right words, and tried to put the conversation with the Pastor out of my head.  She was not directly asking me if I was a lesbian, but given the topic of the weekend, it was inferred in the question.  


I cleared my throat, looked around the group, and with tears in my eyes I told them the truth.  I told them that I was gay, that I was a Christian, that I single and planning on staying that way.  I told them a little about the struggles that I had been through and that it was the first time I had ever told a group my story.  I was not met with animosity or disgust, I was met with kindness and love.  They got it, they were able to see past the distortions of conservative Christianity and embrace me as their youth director.  My heart was light as we drove home from the retreat, I had passed a test, I had told the truth and I felt like I had been set free.  That feeling didn't last long, as we pulled into the church parking lot I realized that I had to tell the pastor about the retreat.  That terrified me and I didn't sleep much that night.


I went into the office first thing in the morning.  I waited for the pastor to arrive and went straight to him.  I gave him a run down of the conversation and told him that I would not lie about who I was.  I could see red creeping up his round face and him gripping the edge of his desk.  I thought he was going to explode.  Thankfully he didn't, but he did come slightly unglued.  He was angry and trying to figure out how to "fix the mess I made."  I had class so I got up to leave.  He said we were not finished talking about this and I needed to come back right after class was over. I left feeling sick to my stomach, I did not want to come back, but I knew that I had to continue the conversation.  I loved my job and I did not want to lose it.  


After class I walked into the pastor's office.  He was not alone.  The youth elder was sitting across from him and the tension in the room was high.  I tried to joke a little and asked, "Oh, are you talking about me?"  The pastor said, "Yes, please have a seat."  I wanted to crawl out of the room and hide, I wanted to be anywhere but there in that moment.  My mind was racing and I was not processing what they were saying to me.  I felt like at any moment I would hear the words, "You're fired."  They didn't come but there was a lot of discussion on what to do with me, like I was some sort of problem to be solved. Phrases like, "If we ask you to leave there will be members of the congregation that get mad at us. But if we allow you to stay other people will get mad at us," were thrown around.  I asked that if congregation needed to know I would be the one to tell my story.  That brought one of my very favorite quotes from the pastor.  He looked at me and said, "If you stood up in church and told them you are a lesbian, that would be like one of the older gentlemen standing up and saying he had erectile dysfunction." At that point I went from numb to angry in about 3 seconds.  I told him it was not the same thing and that I have been single all of my life, I had never even kissed anyone.  That it wasn't about who I slept with, it was about who I was. 


When the meeting ended I was pissed! In talking to the students, I had not fundamentally changed I was still the same person.  I was just living with a little more integrity and honesty.  The powers that be (the pastor and the elder) decided that I needed to write a letter to the parents of the students at the retreat.  I wish I still had a copy of that letter, but it is long gone at this point.  It was vetted by the pastor before being sent out.  I received a hand written letter from a parent.  She berated me, she called me a liar and told me I had no place in youth ministry and I should "do the right thing" and resign immediately.  I had other parents quietly talk to me after church and others ignored it all together. Aside from that letter and a couple of less than pleasing interactions with folks in the know, the responses were at least minimally supportive.  I had hope that I would be able to keep my job, the thought of leaving "my kids" devastated me. They were (and still are) an amazing group of folks and I am so very thankful for the time we spent together as a youth group.  

Queering My Faith - Moving to Moscow...Idaho

I came home a little early from Egypt.  I was having trouble with one of my knees and I needed to see a doctor.  But I had a problem with this scenario, I didn't have a job or insurance.  So after sleeping for a day, I hopped in the car and went to Target.  I found the HR Team Lead and before I could ask about getting back to work, she asked if I could come in that night since they were short staffed.  I dug out my red and khaki and went to work.  Much had changed, many of my friends had moved on or had stopped partying.  I was promoted from sales floor grunt to recovery team lead then to cashier supervisor.  At the time I was content to be back and working, but I knew that I did not want to stay in retail for my whole life.  I had a calling and counting tills and dealing with angry customers was not my life's ambition.

Shortly after returning from Egypt I started having regular sessions with one of the Pastors of my home church.  We tried to work through events of my past and find ways of solidifying the changes that had occurred in Egypt.  I was a changed person, it was not God's plan for me to be gay, so I was going to keep working on it until I was fixed for good.  I was continuing to entrench myself in a conservative Christian worldview and anything that went against my beliefs was wrong, immoral, and I wanted nothing to do with it.    As much as it pains me to say it, I was extremely homophobic when I returned from Egypt and that homophobia was encouraged in the process of my healing.  I was never outwardly mean to people, but I would avoid them or pray for them, but I would not accept them as LGBT.

During the Spring of 2001 I started applying for youth director positions.  I had several interviews across Washington and Oregon.  As I was leaving for an interview south of Seattle I received a phone call from a church in Moscow, ID.  We chatted for a couple of minutes, I was asked to send a resume, and by the time I came home from Seattle I had a request for an interview.  It was a beautiful Moscow afternoon when I arrived.  I was early so toured the town a little and fell in love.  The interview went well and within a week I had an offer.    I was the new youth director for the First Presbyterian Church.  I was so excited!

I was a rad youth director, it made me so happy and I was so in love with my job.  I have always had a passion for working with young people.  I love the way they interact with the world, the way they push boundaries, and challenge me to think beyond what I know. It was a small youth group, but they were engaged and I had the opportunity to really get to know them.  I loved my job.

I fell in quickly with the congregation.  I didn't know anyone in Moscow so the folks at First Pres became my family.  I was happy.  I started working on getting myself in shape and watching what I ate.  I didn't have a car for almost the first year, so I rode my bike or walked everywhere. I went to Weight Watchers, I counted my points and I lost some weight. I kept my happy face on when I was at church, but I cried a lot when I was alone.  Deep feelings were starting to wake up in me and I was scared.  I had built a facade for people to see and admire.  I was a good strong, Christian, woman, you had a fantastic prayer life, read the Bible on a regular basis, and had my shit together.  Little did they know that I was looking up Exodus International meetings and scared as hell that I would be found out for the freak I was.  I was in contact with an ex-gay support group in the Spokane area and had I been able to get there my life may have taken a different turn.  But with no wheels I was stuck in Moscow.

So I turned to a friend at church, expecting to find the same rhetoric I had heard from other conservative Christians. But there was no condemnation or calls for denial of myself, instead I was met with compassion, grace, and a warmth that I had not experienced when I told people about my struggle.  She cried with me, not because I was broken, but because I had been hurt so badly by others who claimed Christianity but used the Bible as a weapon.  She cried because I had been told that in order to be whole I had to deny a beautiful and essential part of myself.  She was the first person to tell me that God made me who I am, all of who I am.

This sent me into a tail spin.  My world turned upside down, spun round and round, and did flips all at the same time.  My sense of self had been destroyed  and the rebirth process would take years and be very painful.  As I started to pick up the pieces I started the process of coming out again.  I had never come out to my family in college.  I think I came out to my sister first, quite unexpectedly.  I was in Spokane for the weekend and was going to a drag show. (Yes I was doing the double life thing again)  She asked why I was going and in her smart ass way said, "What are you, a lesbian?"  I said yes.  And the look on her face was priceless.  It was utter shock. It felt so good to finally say it.  Either in the same weekend or shortly there after I had a conversation with my mom.  We were at Riverfront Park, sitting on the steps of the carousel, looking at the river.  After much hemming and hawing I finally looked away and said "I'm gay."  Her response, "I know."  UGH!  All the build up in my head, all the anxiety and she already knew!  It was more than I ever hoped.  It would be a while before my brother would find out, but that came soon enough.

I was out to my family, but that was about it.  No one at church knew, except for that one friend.   I wanted to keep it quite.  It had no bearing on my ability to do my job.  I was a fantastic youth director, who happened to be a single woman who was a lesbian.  I figured as long as I didn't talk about it, everything would be fine.  And they were for a little while, but as I moved through the summer of 2002 I was starting to realize that I needed to think about a new career path.  I decided to go back to school and pursue my first degree choice.  I was going to be a teacher, just not a biology teacher. The University of Idaho is in Moscow so I was able to schedule my classes around my work and everything was great.

Everything was great until a couple of my students asked a question."Are you a lesbian?"  I answered with the best non-answer I could muster.  I said "I have never dated a woman and I have never dated a man."  Both were true statements, so I felt like I had not given away the biggest secret in the world.  I don't know that they believed me, but at the time I was relieved to be out of the situation.  We had been talking about integrity and living honest and open lives, so I felt slightly guilty for not telling the complete truth, but in the moment I needed to feel safe.   This question, as simple as it was, started a chain of events that were heart breaking, soul wrenching, and painfully liberating.



 

Queering My Faith - Livin' in Egypt Land

In August of 1999, I boarded a plane in Seattle.  My final destination, Cairo, Egypt.  I met up with the three other interns along the way.  Kelly, Terry, and I  connected somewhere in the Midwest. We flew onto New York and met up with the final part of our crew, my Beth. In that moment we were four strangers, sitting together, waiting for a plane, making small talk, and hoping to get some sleep on the flight. We would become family.

Flying into the Cairo airport was almost magical.  Egypt was a place of mystery and awe to me. I had dreamed of one day, hopefully, maybe, if I was lucky of traveling there, but there I was straining to see the pyramids from the plane as we landed.  As we touched down a surge of joy and apprehension washed over me.  I was starting a new life, these were completely new people, they knew nothing of my past, I was ready to put it all behind me and become a new person.

I swear I could feel the heat before they even opened the cabin door and as we walked off the plane into the Cairo sun, I melted.  I was exhausted from the long flight and running on pure adrenaline.  We made our way through customs and were met by Amy, the youth pastor, and a very excited youth group.  I went from tired to wired in about .03 seconds.  There were welcome signs and banners, joyful laughter, lots and lots of hugs and nicknames that still reside with us today. I knew in that moment it was going be an incredible year.  We piled into cars and headed to Maadi. I remember people asking me questions, but I don't remember any of the conversations, all I remember was watching a completely different world roll by my window.   I had traveled overseas before but driving through Cairo was like nothing I had ever experienced.  It was a whole new world and I was ready for a whole new life.

The first night I had dream that confirmed I was right where I was supposed to be.  I can still remember it clearly almost 13 years later.  I was sleeping on the couch, there was a knock at the door, no one was around so I got up to answer the door.  On the other side was my dad, smiling.  He said he was proud of me, gave me hug, and told me he loved me.  It was as real as day, it was perfect, it was what I needed to calm my nerves of being so far from home.  I woke up with tears in my eyes and a peace about being in Egypt.

Beth, Kelly, Terry, Mo, and Amy  - Fun Times!

Our orientation week included sleeping the desert, horseback riding near the Step Pyramids, an incredible meal in the home of an Egyptian family, and night in downtown Cairo.  We were getting to know each other, having an amazing time, and bonding as a group.  I didn't feel like I was hiding anything from the others, I felt like I was being my true and whole self.  I thought about Abby, but I was putting that all behind me and moving forward.

Within two weeks of being there I started to get a gnawing feeling.  I was not leaving it all behind and I was struggling.  I was a new person and I did not want to fall into old habits.  I was going to try something new, I was going to be open and honest, and not hold things inside.  So one evening I walked over to Amy's flat not knowing what would happen next.  I honestly don't remember a lot of the details from the conversation, but I poured my heart out.  I remember a couple of conditions for my internship, which, at the time, I completely agreed with.  They all had to do with spending time with the female members of the youth group.  I had to have one-on-ones in public, I couldn't have sleep overs, and there was one other that I don't remember. Thinking about it now, it makes me sad, but at the time they all seemed perfectly reasonable.  When I left that night I felt relieved, I wasn't being sent home, I had someone I could talk to, and I felt like I was finally going to be rid of the baggage.

What can I say? We rocked this look!

There was an almost instant bond between Beth and I.  We got each other from the start and by the end of the first month we could anticipate what the other would say and could finish each others sentences.  Shortly after talking to Amy, Beth and I were alone in the intern office at the church.  She asked me if I had ever heard the RENT soundtrack.  I had no clue what RENT was about so she played me the opening song.  She sang along with all of the words and when it got to the line "So let her be a lesbian, there are other fishies in sea." My heart jumped, I didn't want to listen anymore, but at the same time all I wanted to do was listen.  I was so conflicted.

I struggled and wrestled with my feelings.  I did not want to be gay. So I dedicated my year to purging it from my life.  I went through the music and purged anything that reminded me of the clubs or the gay "lifestyle."  I took the Cds over to Amy's place and she threw them away for me.  Next I wrote a letter.  The thought of that letter hurts my heart.  It was my choice to write it, but it was also strongly encouraged by others. I wrote to Abby.  It was full of fear and self hatred.  I told her that I couldn't talk to her anymore. I couldn't be a part of her life, I didn't believe that she could be gay and Christian.  It was an either/or but not a both. I wrote that I was changing and that God could heal her as well.  In one page I destroyed a friendship.  Years later I would see her again, we would hang out a little, but the connection that we had was gone.  I mourn that loss.  I don't know if I loved her, but I do know that my feelings for her were true, they were good, and they were real.  But I was willing to give all of that up for a deeper relationship with God.  I was willing to deny a part of myself in order to be whole.

I set out to build a ring of support around me.  If I was going to really purge the feelings from my life I needed to have prayer warriors and people around me that would lift me up and be support when I was feeling weak.  As the year went on I did start to change.  I prayed constantly to be healed, to take  my relationship with God to the next level, to be free and whole.  If you want something bad enough you find a way to make it work.  I was holding it together, I was doing my best, and I was on the right path.  I was going to make it work.

Conqueror Mo!

New Year's Eve, I was sitting on a beach in South Africa, crying and recommitting my life to the Lord.  We were there on a mission trip with the high school youth group.  The trip was incredible and powerful in many ways, but it was that night on the beach that transformed me.  It was another moment of leaving the old behind and starting fresh.  I released any residual feelings I had for other woman and committed myself to a life of singleness until God saw fit to bring the man I would marry into my life.  I felt free and whole for the first time. As I sit here and type a part of me wants to deny that experience as transformational.  I want to say that I was in denial, that I was pretending, but I wasn't.  In that moment, at that time that was my reality.

Before we left for South Africa I had received an email from my mom letting me know that my grandma was not doing well and needed surgery but she was too weak undergo the procedure.  So when I received a phone call in February it was not a surprise to find out that she had passed.  I was able to fly home for the service and spent about a week or so with my family.  During that time I went back to Target.  I wanted to test myself to see how much I had changed.  I ran into some of my old friends and the invited me to the drag show that night.  I went.  The club had changed or maybe it was me.  Either way the mystery and awe of the place was gone.  I passed my test and went back to Egypt with a smile.

The rest of the year was pretty much the same.  Lots of prayer and everyday pulling further and further away from the feelings I had.  By the time I left I felt that I had been healed completely.  I had started the year wanting so desperately to change and change I did.  I was ready to head home to a different life, to live free, and be the woman God had created me to be.

Little did I know that I was heading into one of the darkest periods on my life.

Queering My Faith - Wonderful Whitworth

Yes. I did wear that in public.

First, I know I cut the last post short but I had a panic moment when I tried to keep going.  My transition into college was a little atypical and I needed more time to figure out how to write about it. If you haven't read Part 1 I encourage you to do so.  I am not going to repeat the disclaimer, so if you don't remember it, please go back and read it.  

My senior year was, by far, my favorite year.  I felt connected to friends at school and church.  I was a leader on the track team, I was a leader in my youth group, and I knew that I was heading to Whitworth College in the fall.  Life was good.  There was always an underlying fear of rejection, if I let folks really see me or my difference, but I had finally gotten to a point where I fit into my group of friends. I was comfortable.  

Right after graduation I went camping with a couple of friends, went to visit my grandparents, packed up the car and moved to Montana.  I didn’t want to go, I wanted to stay in Spokane, but my family was moving and I didn’t have a job or a place to stay so I went along.  My dad had already moved to Montana at the beginning of my senior year and the rest of the family stayed in Spokane so my mom could graduate from EWU and I could graduate from high school.  It was hard leaving the house I grew up in, but I was very glad to be together as a family again.  We spent the summer hiking in the Beartooth Mountains and exploring Eastern Montana on our Hendrickson Family Fun Days.  It was a fantastic summer and I cherish the memories.   

On the Saturday before I was to leave for school, my dad took me fly fishing.  It was a beautiful August day on the Stillwater River.  We didn't catch a thing, but I found out I was a natural fly fisherman.  I can still feel the water rushing around my calves, the colors of the day, and the way my dad stood so tall and strong in the current.  It is one of my best and happiest memories with my dad.  I was leaving for Whitworth in less than a week and loved having that morning with him.  Three days later, my world came crashing down and I was forever changed.  As clearly as I remember that morning of fishing, I remember the moment I found out that my dad had died. Everything stopped, there was no sound, there was no breath, there was no thought, everything stopped.  I spent the next week in a haze.  I remember very little.  The days and nights all melted into one long unending day.  I remember making a phone call to a friend.  I remember food, lots and lots of food and not wanting to eat any of it. I remember riding my bike so fast, wanting to fly so far away, wanting to go back in time and change what happened. And I remember having the first crisis of my faith.  I was 18, I didn't understand loss of this magnitude and I sure didn't understand how my God could let this happen. 


At some point during that week I packed for school. I am not really sure how, but I did.  There was a service in Montana then we all filled the cars and drove to Spokane for a service at Shadle.  I was home and everything was changed.  Family and friends surrounded me, held me up, and were my source of strength. We laughed together, we cried together, and we most importantly we were together.  After the services were over and family all started to head home, my mom dropped me off at school, got me settled into my dorm room and headed back to Montana. After being surrounded by people for a week I was suddenly alone.  Orientation was already over, all of the other freshman had gone through Initiation together and bonded.  And there I was, a sad, broken girl, not sure which way was up.   Thankfully I was in the same dorm as one of my friends from Shadle Park Pres, she was a couple of years ahead of me at Whitworth and was an absolute lifesaver.  She was (and still is) a people magnet and pretty much knew everyone in the dorm, so I stuck with her and soon I had a small group of friends. I knew early on I had a decision to make.  I could either try and hide or I could engage.  I chose to engage and open myself up to people.  It was an incredibly liberating feeling.  I had found a second home, I was surrounded by Christians (and one pagan, there's at least one in every crowd), my faith was blossoming, I had found a niche.  


I started school as a Biology Major. I wanted to teach.  But then I crashed up against Organic Chemistry and Calculus and well, let's just say they didn't go over very well.  I actually dropped O-Chem the day of our first big test, I had already decided that I was changing my major and Chemistry was no longer a required course.  I had felt the call of God, I was being lead in the direction of ministry. I promptly changed my major to Religion and set a new course for my life.  I would earn my degree, find a job in youth ministry until I was too "old" to be a youth pastor, then I would go to seminary and be a "real" pastor.  I was set, or so I thought.  


Sometime during my freshman year I started to realize that maybe I wasn't straight.  There was no way that I would admit that I had "those" feelings, but my difference was starting to take shape in front of me.  And having just changed my degree to Religion, I was even more careful about disclosing that part of myself.  I was still grieving and trying to process my dad's death, so I buried any feelings I had for women.  After all, good Christians are not gay, they do not have those attractions, so I fell back on what I knew - bury and deny.  That would come back to bite me later, but there is really only so much a mind and spirit can take at one time.  


I was bribed into counseling with chili cheese fries and a milkshake. I will admit was probably the best place for me, but given that I had grown up taking barbs and blows, I had become pretty adept at hiding what I was feeling and only letting out what was safe. So I would do my time in the counseling office and then I would take long walks in the Back 40.  It was my way of trying to process, I needed to be alone.  I would find a place to sit, watch the sunset and cry, or I would pray wondering why, wanting so badly for things to be different.  I worked my way in and out of the stages of grief in the Back 40, but when anger hit, I had no idea how to handle it.  It would come over me in waves and I had no outlet.  I had never felt anything like it and I certainly had no clue how to process it.  One day while out on a walk, in the midst of wave of anger, I hauled off and hit a tree.  Full force punched it and all of a sudden the anger lifted, my hand hurt like hell, but the anger was gone. I quickly realized the power in that action, but also instinctively knew that it would not be well received by my peers or my counselor, so I hid it.  Pain became an outlet for me when I could express how I was feeling or things were just too intense.  It became a pattern that took years and incredible amounts of strength and determination to break.  Today I can look at the scars on my arm and not feel shame, they are a part of who I am, but they do not define me.  If you are a cutter, know that I understand, know that I will always listen, know that it does not define you and there other ways of walking through what you are feeling.  And most importantly, know that you are a beautiful, strong, amazing person, who happens to be going through a really shitty time and that it will pass.  I promise.  




I had never been popular in high school, I had my group of friends, but I could walk the halls and remain unseen. At Whitworth, my world was the complete opposite, I couldn't walk across campus without someone calling out to me from across the Loop.  Everywhere I went, in every dorm, in every class, I had friends, wonderful amazing incredible friends.  Many of those friendships are still near and dear to my heart.  They helped hold me together and helped to pick up the pieces when I fell apart. I was learning what it was like to trust people and to truly live in community.  They helped to pull me out of my shell and helped me to see how incredible I was.  


My faith really shaped almost everything I did at Whitworth.  From my classes, to the friends I hung out with, to the way I viewed my world.  I was being trained up in conservative, evangelical, Christianity.  I learned how to disciple new believers, how to evangelize to the unbelievers, how to preach, and how to teach.  I read the Bible daily, for classes and in my personal devotions. I studied Christian history, doctrine and ethics.  And never once did I question any of it.  I absorbed it like a sponge.  There was no thinking for myself, it was always thinking about the whole.  Trying to sacrifice myself in order to uplift and uphold the Gospel.  I was really good at self sacrifice, I was really good at thinking about others before myself.  It was the perfect place for me.  


My junior year I moved out of the dorm and into an apartment with a couple of friends.  This move meant that I needed to find a job to pay for rent.  I looked around and was offered a job at Target.  Little did I know how this job would shape my future.  At first, it was just a job.  I put on the red and khaki and organized shelves and folded towels, went home did homework and went to class.  I slowly started making friends at Target.  They were very different from my friends at Whitworth, some where quite liberal in their thinking and it was very, very new to me.  I had never really been exposed to that way of thinking and it intrigued me.  


My senior year I moved into my mom's house to save money. She lived about 15 minutes from Whitworth, so it wasn't far, but just far enough that I would drive to campus in the morning, then go to work and get home late in the evening.  I was still working at Target and had made some pretty good friends.  One of these new friends, I'll call her Abby, happened to be a lesbian.  She was the first person that I knew who was out and my world shook a little when I found out.  When she told me that her dad was a pastor and she was a Christian my world almost flew out of orbit.  That thought had never, EVER, ever occurred to me and I had no concept of how it could be true.  As I got to know her and started hanging out with my Target friends, old feelings started to grow inside of me. I started looking around at my friends at Whitworth, most of them had significant boyfriends or were engaged.  I had never found the right man, so I figured I would be celibate and serve God all my life.  


After after meeting Abby I was never the same.  We talked for hours, we laughed and we joked, I came out.  When I did she just looked at me and said "well duh, we all have been waiting for you to figure it out." This was the point of another crisis in my faith.  What in the world was I going to do, I was graduating in the spring with a degree in Religion, I was a good conservative Christian, there was no way that I could be gay too.  So my senior year I lived a double life.  I went to class, worked as a youth intern at a local church, and partied hard every weekend with my friends from Target.  I was introduced to a world that I never knew existed. I went to drag shows, drank, and danced until the early hours of the morning.  I would wake up a couple hours later and go teach Sunday school like nothing had happened the night before.  It was a mess. 


I started slowly coming out to my closest friends at school.  Some friends heard it, shrugged it off, and said this is who you are, it's fine.  These were not the majority, most had some sort of variation on, you know what the Bible says right, or that's not God's best for you, as their response.  I listened to them and my heart agreed with most of what they were saying.  I was being torn in two, one side of me felt free and happy when I was out at the shows, but one side of me was conflicted and broken when I thought about having to leave my Christian life behind.  In my mind there was no way to be both, I had to choose. 


The voices of my pastors, my professors, and friends won out in the end.  Midway through my senior year I found out about an incredible internship.  It was working for a church in Egypt.  It was my perfect escape.  I applied and waited.  Just before spring break I received an email, they wanted to interview me.  Late one night I waited for a phone call.  As I spoke with the caller, it became clear to me that I was most likely going to be offered one of the internships. At the end of the call it was confirmed, I was going to Egypt.  I had my out.  I was so excited on so many levels.  I had found a job far, far away from Spokane and temptation, I was going to Egypt, and I was going to be working for a church.  I felt like the calling to ministry that I had experienced my freshman year had been confirmed.  I was on the right path, I was going to serve God in a foreign land, and it was going to save me from my unnatural desires. In August of that year, I boarded a plane in Seattle, flew across the world, stepped into heat like I had never known and into a new chapter of my life.  

Queering My Faith Part 1

Baby Mo!  So little and cute!

I generally don't start my blog posts with disclaimers, but I feel like I should with this one.  I am Queer.  I am Christian.  I have come to a point where the two work beautifully together and in harmony.  That was not always the case.  A lot of people know bits of my story and many of you have walked with me through it.  I will do my best to honor and respect all who are a part of my story. But this is my story, this is how I experienced my journey.  Some of you may feel uncomfortable with some of the things I say, but I will not be intentionally unjust or mean about anything.  I have been deeply wounded at different points in my life, but those events have made me who I am today. I am a better and stronger person because of those events. Please remember this is my story, my memory isn't perfect, and I am doing my best to share from my perspective.

I was born and raised in Spokane, WA.  My family did live in Montana for a year when I was in kindergarten and then again after I graduated from high school, but Spokane is my home.  I am the oldest and therefore the smartest and wisest (right?) of three.  My parents were an awesome example of love and what a partnership is all about.  I grew up in a very supportive, loving, stable and amazing family.  I was a fairly typical kid. I played soccer, not well. I loved reading, thanks Mom! I went to summer camp every summer and sang with the Spokane Area Children's Chorus for several years.  Yep, it was a pretty white bread childhood.  Were things perfect? No.  Where there struggles and disappointments?  Yes.  But overall, I had a good childhood.

See, totally adorable! 

Soccer Star? Definitely Not!

Much of my life revolved around church.  Shadle Park Presbyterian was my second home.  I really, truly, grew up in that building and with that congregation.  I was born the week the pastor, who just retired after 30+ years, was called to lead the congregation.  He was one of my first visitors at the hospital.  As a child I ran around the church like I owned the place, I crawled under pews, and knew every nook and cranny. Even now I can close my eyes and still see the light filtering in through the windows of rooms long since remodeled.   Potlucks and camp outs, Sunday School and church camp, service projects and mission trips, those are the things I remember the most about growing up at Shadle.  I remember falling asleep in the nursery, hugs from Dorthy Watson when I walked in the door, dressing up as a beggar or a street musician for Bethlehem Revisited, and most of all a deep and abiding sense of family.  When I was at Shadle, I was home.

Sportin' the Camp Spalding shirt!  Pioneer Camp woohoo!

Shadle was my place of safety and refuge.  At home there was little to complain about, but school was another story.  I remember a schoolyard game of "Smear the Queer" breaking out in elementary school.
All of a sudden every kid on the playground was chasing me.  I didn't know what queer meant, but as the schoolyard piled on top of me, I knew it wasn't good and I was it.  That experience taught me being different was something to avoid and I should try and be like everyone else.  I never again wanted to be mistaken for different, so I found a small group of friends and stuck to them like glue.  I also learned to hide in plain sight. I was one of the tallest girls in all of my classes, but I could make myself small to avoid too much attention.  But at church, I was safe, I was secure, and I had a place.

8th grade

That sense of belonging and security became so incredibly important to me.  As I entered Junior High teasing and taunting became a normal part of my day.  I played basketball, sang in choir, and tried to fit in as best I could but still stuck out like a sore thumb.  But I fit in at church and I soaked it up.  It was where I learned about what it meant to be a Christian.  I learned to turn the other cheek, so when I was picked on at school I never fought back, I took it.  I took it all and stuffed it down deep and never let anyone see how much the words cut me.  But it was ok, I was being a good Christian, I was loving my enemy and giving it all over to God. At least that was how I viewed it. When I look at my 8th grade photo, I see a girl who was struggling to make it through the day.  A girl who saw no hope.  And a girl who had an incredible strength to endure and persevere through very painful years.  I want to wrap her up in my arms and tell her I love her, tell her she is an amazing beautiful person, and thank her for not giving up.

Winter Retreat at Camp Spalding

Greta and I after a frosting fight for my birthday! 

As high school rolled around I immersed myself in youth group, Sunday school, and mission trips.  Some of my favorite memories from high school happened on church trips. I even have my own song, sung to me upon returning from the hospital on a mission trip.  Oh yes, "Mo's not dead, she is alive!"  I was in my element at church and life was good when I was with my church people.  I continued to blend in as best I could in high school and did not let my difference be known.  I remember a youth group discussion on homosexuality.  When the youth director asked if we thought it was ok to not hire because they were homosexual, one of my friends answered "Of course!  They are disgusting and sick, I wouldn't want them in my place of business!"  Her response went unchallenged by the leaders and the other members of my youth group.  I said nothing, but inside I felt a twinge of pain as she spoke.  My first inkling of being lesbian was years away, but her words distressed me and the fact that no one challenged her spoke volumes. I still had feelings of difference and I was not about to speak up, for fear that I might give away my difference and lose out on the security of my church community.  There was no way I would sacrifice that feeling of belonging.

I am going to end this post here and start another one for my post high school years.  I fear that the post will get too long if I try and continue with the rest of my story. I will be working on it soon, so be on the look out.