The life of any Christian — I’d dare say every Christian — has one primary influence; a single, defining element that is at the very heart and crux of our great faith: the Holy Bible. No matter the denomination, the sect, or whether it’s one of a multitude of storefront churches across the country, the Bible is the basis of that church’s doctrine.

To some, it is the written word of God. To others, it is the guide by which their church traditions flow. Some have more of one than the other. Still others elevate the Bible as the literal, perfect, pure, fell-out-of-the-sky stone tablet that was etched into creation by the Lord Himself.

The moment I hint that I do not embrace the notion that the Bible is the “verbally inspired Word of God,” quite a few people will immediately bypass everything else in this article. They may go straight to the “back” button on their browser. Sometimes, they’ll scroll down to the comment section to tell me what an awful sinner I am because I “reject” the Bible. Of course, they’ll drop a few Scripture citations that drive more nails in the coffin of my damnation (as if I haven’t already been damned at least a few times a week just for being gay). This scripture quoting is particularly amusing if they’re convinced that I reject the Bible they’re quoting (which, of course, I don’t).

For them, I simply say this: God bless you. My walk has taken me into a different direction.
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Quite simply, I’ve been there. During the many years that I embraced the absolute inerrancy of the Bible, I slapped away anything that would dare to question the validity of Scripture. My belief system was a shell that was protected by that all-important doctrine. It was my faith, after all. And that faith demanded proof. It required evidence. Thankfully, I had all the evidence I needed within that well-worn soft leather cover.

As time passed, I began to look a little deeper into some of those long-held doctrines, and noticed some of the stress cracks.

At the center of this discussion are a couple of passages of Scripture:

All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work. (2 Timothy 3:16-17, NIV)

To the fundamentalist, this passage of Scripture is clear. The phrase rendered in the NIV as “God-breathed” is translated as “inspired” in the all-important King James Version. This means that every word of the Bible (usually the KJV to the fundamentalist, or at the very least, in the original languages) is uttered and written exactly as God whispered into the ear of the author.

I don’t know what “inspired” meant back in 1611 when the KJV was translated, but today it means:

1. aroused, animated, or imbued with the spirit to do something, by or as if by supernatural or divine influence: an inspired poet.
2. resulting from such inspiration: an inspired poem; an inspired plan.
3. inhaled: inspired air.

What’s missing here is a fourth definition that says “dictated word for word by God” — as if the men who wrote the Bible were merely entranced secretaries, rather than men who brought their own point of view to what they were writing.

Conservative evangelical pastor and teacher Stephen Mansfield once described the phrase “God-breathed” as if it was indeed men who wrote the Scriptures, and as they wrote, God breathed on their writings. He might have meant it in a little bit more of a literal fashion than I might have. I still like it, though.

Either way, the one question I would ask is this: Did Paul consider his own letters to be Scripture? Was he talking about his own writing when he said “all Scripture is God-breathed?” Once I began to ask that question, the immediate response from anyone reasonable would be, “probably not.” But to the Bible-is-inerrant crowd, it would be a resounding “yes.” Why? Because it’s in the Bible, it’s Scripture. So there.

Whether it’s literal or metaphorical, the “God-breathed” nature of Scripture is something that Christians and theologians will discuss until the end of time. As for the “verbal dictation” and “writing in a trance” concept, there’s a little bit of basis for that as well, as told by Peter in his second epistle:

We also have the prophetic message as something completely reliable, and you will do well to pay attention to it, as to a light shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts. Above all, you must understand that no prophecy of Scripture came about by the prophet’s own interpretation of things. For prophecy never had its origin in the human will, but prophets, though human, spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit. (2 Peter 19-21, NIV)

Of course, the passage speaks of the “prophets,” not scribes. But that doesn’t matter, right? The Bible is the Bible. It’s all prophecy. Or is it? More cracks.

I really don’t have a desire to pick apart Scripture. That’s not my intention. For me, there was just enough of a “splinter in my mind” to know that something just wasn’t right. I could have chosen to believe exactly what I was supposed to — because, after all, my eternal soul was on the line. Especially since it says in Revelation:

For I testify unto every man that heareth the words of the prophecy of this book, If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book:

And if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life, and out of the holy city, and from the things which are written in this book. (Revelation 22:18-19, KJV)

I chose the KJV in this case because of the interesting twist that’s in the original language, specifically the word for “book.” This passage is used by fundamentalist pastors and leaders all over the country to scare the hell out of anyone who would question the Bible, or even to stay away from more modern translations.

The Greek word in this particular case is biblion, not biblia. What’s the difference? Simple. Biblia was used three times in Scripture — every time, it was translated into “book.” or “Volume.” In short, it was always a collection of works. Biblion, on the other hand — as it is used in Revelation 22, is referring to a single scroll. Not the book as a whole.

Quite simply, when this passage was written, the volume wasn’t compiled. Thus, applying it to the entire Bible is not only foolish, but simply wrong. This is just one example of a modern push to put our own doctrines into a text that never intended such doctrine. Even if we were to accept this as face value in a “the Bible is true because the Bible says it’s true” world of circular reasoning, then we’d still have to deal with this — yet another teeny crack.

Two more passages that allowed me to continue on my faith. The first is another core tenet from the very beginning of the Gospel of John:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. (John 1:1-5, NIV)

For some, the “Word of God” is the Bible. Yet here, it’s crystal clear that the Word is the Lord Himself, Jesus. He is the Beginning, and all of creation was made through Him. Not a book. Quite simply, the book isn’t the Word. Once I realized this, I knew that my days of worshipping the book were coming to an end.

Finally, the great message of faith in Hebrews 11 begins with a profound statement that shook me to my core:

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. (Hebrews 11:1, NIV)

And this:

So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God. (Romans 10:16, KJV)

I came to realize two things. First, my belief in Christ wasn’t because I heard the Gospel. It was because I believed. And that faith came to be by the “word of God.” Not because I heard the word of God, but because the Word of God Himself gave me that faith.

Faith doesn’t require evidence. Scripture clearly indicates that faith is evidence. A person can’t be argued into the kingdom of God. They can’t be debated into having faith. Because if they could, they could easily be argued or debated right out of it. This is why so many people walk away from fundamentalism and into agnosticism or atheism — the arguments have rung shallow. And they found those arguments severely lacking.

I don’t have to believe that the world was created in six literal days to know that God created the heavens and the earth. Just one look at photos from the Hubble Space Telescope reveals the majesty and glory of creation.

I don’t have to believe the Bible is accurate in its descriptions of historical events to see the hand of God through history. And I don’t have to believe the Bible is inerrant to know that Jesus Christ is Lord.

“But you have no basis for your belief,” a fundamentalist friend of mine told me, “If you question one part of the Bible, then none of it is valid.”

“Precisely,” I said. “And I’m okay with that.”

Quite simply, faith that requires evidence — ceases to be faith. Fundamentalism strips away the mystery and majesty of the Creator of the universe and puts Him into a single set of basic doctrines. How asinine.

I don’t need to believe that the Bible is inerrant to see a glimpse of the glory of the God its pages reveal. Because, after all, how could we possibly contain all that majesty into a mere 66 different scrolls? A God I can wrap my head around just isn’t worthy of worship.

I don’t want to worship a God I can understand. I’m not interested in following a Jesus that I can comprehend with doctrines or theology. Jesus kept his disciples on their toes — why should I expect anything less?

Next up… does the “Rapture” have a bad rap?

It is with great joy that I leave every bit of that behind. I’ve since discovered something new, something wonderful, something refreshing. It’s a concept that’s completely and radically transformed my life, my worldview, my imagination, and my relationships. The liberty that I’ve found in this new way of life is staggering in its simplicity; stunning in its complexity. What is this new, amazing thing I’ve discovered?

In a word, it’s Christianity.

Fundamentalism has unfortunately become the most common expression of modern American Christianity. I differentiate it from evangelical Christianity only in that fundamentalism is a brand of “faith” that’s driven by a sense of rigidity that’s only found otherwise in marble statues. It is driven by certain core tenets, “laws” that aren’t merely a fence to contain its sheep. They erect a mile-high doctrinal wall that blocks any and all outside influence or possibility — whether it be science, education, history, or even reality.

The point of fundamentalism is that it is a belief system that is built around security. It all starts with the “Sinner’s Prayer,” during which the new believer will confess his or her sins, ask for forgiveness, and give their lives to Christ. Some will pay particular emphasis on asking the Holy Spirit to live in them, and others will immediately pray for the baptism of the Holy Spirit, which will lead to the “speaking of tongues.” (I put quotes there, not to question the practice, but so that those who aren’t Pentecostal or Charismatic may understand that this is a doctrinal belief that is not necessarily identical throughout fundamentalist circles.)

Once that initial prayer is given, or the tongues have been spoken, the new believer has that “experience” that is the basis of their lives from that moment on. Immediately, they are encouraged to “read their Bible every day” and “Get into a good (equally fundamentalist) church.”

Not only is fundamentalism built on “security” (even if they reject the Calvinist doctrine of the eternal security of the believer), it’s a place of safety. Since the wall of fundamentalism is built to “protect” believers from outside “worldly” influence, it creates a spiritual safe place where they can nurture their belief system without having to listen to or read anything that might question those beliefs.

Anyone who does question those beliefs are immediately called into question. They are not really Christian. They are wolves in sheep’s clothing. They are false prophets. False teachers. False this, false that.

In short, fundamentalists are taught to trust only their own leaders and their own doctrines. They alone have the truth. They alone will give you what you need. Don’t become soiled by any outside influence. Interestingly, this is the same tactic that is employed by talk radio hosts and by a certain right-wing “news” channel.

Science is questioned at every level. History is rewritten to support their beliefs. Anything that counters their belief is immediately thrown into scrutiny, and often rejected for the sake of the belief — despite mounting evidence otherwise. Quite simply, there can be no cracks in the wall of fundamentalism — because if cracks were to form, the wind of truth would begin to break through, tossing aside the house of fundamentalist cards into a cluttered pile.

It is safe. It must be kept safe. No outside influence is allowed. Anything and everything that runs afoul of fundamentalist doctrine is immediately blasted away with every weapon in their arsenal. Science. Evolution. History. Women’s Rights. Civil Rights. Homosexuality. Harry Potter.

And no, that last one isn’t a joke. It should be, though. Alas, whole volumes have been written to damn anyone who reads the popular boy wizard novels, and certainly the author that wrote them.

This post is the beginning of a brand new series that will explore some of these tenets — what I truly believe, and those which I no longer hold as true. It’s as much an exploration of my own faith as it will be an exercise in questioning everything.

Paul said it well when he wrote to the Corinthians:

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. (1 Corinthians 13:8-10, NIV)

To Paul, there would be a time where prophecies would cease, tongues are silenced, and knowledge will pass away. No matter what their beliefs or doctrines were, they would eventually fade away into nothingness. We all have only a piece of the whole truth. No matter what it is, there is no complete truth.

Interestingly, fundamentalists who reject the gifts of the spirit and the “speaking of tongues” will interpret verse 10 (when the completeness comes, what is in part disappears) as this: When the Bible is completed, all gifts of the spirit will pass away. There’s only one problem with this. Verse 8 says, “where there is knowledge, it will pass away.” So, now that the Bible is here — are we to become stupid? Are we to reject education, knowledge, and training? To some, the answer is clearly in the affirmative.

This is but one passage that left a gaping crack in my own fundamentalist beliefs, driving me to begin that genuine questioning of everything I held to be true, leading me to finding the great Truth Himself.

I invite you to spend the next few days with me as I go down this journey of faith. You might not agree with me on any of it, but perhaps you’ll see a little glimpse into what Paul might have been talking about in the next few verses of 1 Corinthians 13:

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. (1 Corinthians 13:11-13, NIV)

Plenty of people believe that he’s talking about when he (and the rest of us) are in eternity, but I think verse 11 is clear. We must leave our childish ways. I heard one theologian say succinctly: “It’s perfectly fine to have a fifth grade understanding of the Bible… if you’re in the fifth grade.”

When we can look at our faith, and our lives a little more honestly and openly, then there’s a really good chance that we can truly begin to grow as people, and as Christians.

I cannot promise that my readers will agree with everything I write, or even anything at all. I can promise this: You’ll see my own journey, and it might help to identify the cracks in your own wall. Whether you peek through those cracks or seal them entirely, that is left to you. Your journey and mine will always be different. But maybe — just maybe — you’ll begin to see the ever-present majesty of the glory of the living God that isn’t confined by the walls we try to build around us — and Him.

Next up: The Bible is the inspired Word of God. What does “inspired” mean?

These lyrics are dedicated to Stacey Campfield, Tony Perkins, Robert Knight, William Tapley (otherwise known as the Third Eagle of the Apocalypse, or the Co-Prophet of the End Times), Bryan Fischer, Maggie Gallagher, and anyone else who’s just batshit crazy.

For those of us who are Christian, but a little less uptight, enjoy. For anyone offended by the word “batshit,” well, I humbly ask your forgiveness. If you think I’ve written this song about you, then… well… you’re probably right.

BatShittery

(To the Tune of Chim Chim Cheroo)

By David W. Shelton

Batshittery, batshittery, Bat-shit-er-yyyyy!
A kook is as crazy, as crazy can be!
Batshittery, batshittery, Bat-shit-er-ooo!
Good God, you’re nutso,
a whack job, a tool!

It’s all too easy to see two plus two!

You claim that you’re Christian, but you’re just plain dumb,
Blaming your hate on God, that’s just bat dung
Now, Lying about gays is just blowing smoke
Because we all know, gays are happy ol’ blokes.

Batshittery, batshittery, Bat-shit-er-yyyyy!
A kook is as crazy, as crazy can be!
Batshittery, batshittery, Bat-shit-er-ooo!
Good God, you’re nutso,
a whack job, a tool!

Jealous you are about gay pride, yes you are
You wanna join in, and jump on your car
And dance on the float with those lovely queens
But then you realize that you would pro’lly be seen

There’s hardly no way, you’ll ever come out,
But you’re just as gay as a rainbow trout
But you’ve bought your ticket, Lies — all you shout!

Batshittery, batshittery, Bat-shit-er-yyyyy!
When you’re with a kook, you’re in sad company,
Nowhere will there be more nuts to see
Then them who are bat shit crazy, bat shit are you!
Oh, the batshit crazy, batshittery, bat shit that’s you!

I would eventually explore each of these themes in detail, but this was my turning point — and it not only helped me to put my thoughts together, but I later learned that it helped others as well. My hope is that my story will continue to touch lives.

It’s only fitting that I post this on February 19th, which happens to be Curtis’ birthday. We’ve been together for ten years now. It’s to him that I dedicate this post, as I gave him my heart so very completely all those years ago…

Okay. So. I’m gay. There. I said it.

For much of my adult life, I’ve struggled with that very simple reality. In some parts of the country, this is a massive shock. In others, it’s liberation at its finest. However, in Middle Tennessee, an openly gay person isn’t always met with open arms.

Several questions have been thrown my direction regarding my sexuality, and they’re never easy. How do I know I’m gay? Do I think God made me this way? Do you think it’s okay? Isn’t it condemned in the Bible? Isn’t it unnatural? Interestingly, most of the questions begin with an assumption that homosexuality is just plain awful.

Preachers and conservative leaders are anxious to point a finger at the smoking gun that causes a person to be gay. Their belief is that sexual preference is a choice. They believe they made the right choice, and we gays should just choose to be straight. This kind of religious assumption is merely an excuse for prejudice. Prejudice never sees the truth, only its own perversion of it. Ironically, they’ll accuse gays of perversion.

The other side of the debate insists that one’s sexual orientation is established at birth. The difference between the two ideologies couldn’t be clearer. Sexual preference is rooted in the individual’s ability to choose their objects of attraction. Sexual orientation has at its core an understanding that we humans are drawn to each other, either hetero- or homosexual.

I could either believe that I chose to take this course for my own life, and others can congratulate themselves on their own “better” choice. Or, I could believe that I was created to be unique part of Creation—created with care, hope and love. And most of all, created with a destiny.

My entire adult life has been spent facing these very questions on my own before ever coming to a realization that I am, in fact, gay. And once I embraced my own sexuality, I was able to begin looking back at my life a little deeper. What I saw was not nearly as fragmented as I may have thought before.

Bird Legs and Legos

I grew up knowing that I was different. I knew that I wasn’t attracted to women, and even more horrific, I wasn’t interested in conversation with boys who always talked about how much they wanted to get into girls’ pants. I prided myself on being my mother’s favorite “unique rabbit.” I was creative, lived in my own imaginary world, and had far more interest in Legos than guns.

My skinny legs would never carry me very fast nor would they permit me to join a football team. This was convenient since I hated sports. I loved two things as a boy, Lego’s and Star Wars. I recently saw some Star Wars Lego sets on a toy store shelf. O to be a kid again!
I was creative. I loved Star-anything. I loved drawing. My imaginary world seemed far better than the one around me. While none of these traits would instantly draw me into homosexuality, they did establish how different I was from my peers. As if that wasn’t enough, I was hearing impaired. I have worn a hearing aid since I was a toddler. I was just different.

I was recently reminded of exactly how different I was when I saw a photo that was taken of me when I was four or five. I was in a field of yellow flowers and had on a Cincinnati Cubs hat, my mother’s sunglasses, a tank-top shirt, and a pair of shorts that revealed those incredibly scrawny legs. I also wore that old pouch-based hearing aid that was attached to the ‘plug’ in my ear.

The photo captured something even more than my skinny legs. I was picking the flowers and had looked up while still crouched. I don’t remember who took the photo, but I was obviously interrupted. I had flowers to pick! Who cared about my “bird legs” as Mom would call them? Have some flowers.

The Mom-inator!

My mother was an amazing woman. She always accepted me and embraced me no matter what. I only wish I took to her subtle “looks” a little more often. But subtlety never did work for me. Her hugs were always warm.  And her pinches, well, were painful.

I often wondered if my mother was related to the Terminator. I’ve since learned that all moms have this, but she had “the look.” To an adult, it was just a subtle way of getting the attention of an unruly child. But to a child, it was glowing red eyes that spat fire. One eyebrow went up, and the lips tightened. Both eyes glared. Now, on my brother, that worked. Not for me.

She had a special way of getting my attention. It was the “mom-inator pinch.” To the naked eye, she seemed normal. But in a restaurant or other public setting, she was a quiet, calculating, pinching machine. I’ll never forget the first time those fingers grabbed the skin at the base of my hip.

It seemed tingly at first. I never did notice “the look.” A few short moments later, I realized there was pain. Intense pain! Then to add insult to injury, my soft mother’s eyes were glowing red! Oh, NO! Then she spoke with an icy, cold voice.
“If you embarrass me, I’ll embarrass you.”

I didn’t want to scream. Somehow, I knew if I did, the vice grip on my right hip would only get tighter. I just nodded my head as my eyes watered and conceded defeat. From that moment on, all she ever had to do was show a pinching motion with her hand, and I instantly snapped back into shape.

I think what made episodes like the “mom-inator pinch” so memorable is that there were so few of them. Even though I could scarcely hear much of what she said, she always spoke with a warm tone, and never spoke down to me.  She was the encourager of the family, always looking for the best in everyone.

Piccolo Tunes

Sports never did work out for me. Every boy in my neighborhood had to go through the initiation of little league something, so off I went to baseball. Dad always said to keep my eye on the ball. He just didn’t mean literally. Oh well. My foray into basketball was just as much of an abject failure. I think I only scored one goal in two entire seasons. And we even lost that game.

Soccer was the sport that held my interest the longest. I was proud to be one of the founding members of the Clarksville little league. I was short, scrawny, and oh, so blonde.

Because I had just gotten a brand-new behind-the-ear hearing aid, my parents wanted to protect it. Their brilliant idea was for me to wear wrestling headgear. I think I looked more like an alien than a human child. Felt like one too.

I played soccer for seven years after that. Sadly, I think I actually got worse every year. I finally had to quit after the neighborhood egghead scored a goal long before I did. If only David Beckham had been around then. He would have given me some inspiration!

Then there was gymnastics. Finally, something I could enjoy! We tumbled, arched, stretched and jumped all over the room. The only real problem was that I wasn’t really paying attention to the teacher. All right, that’s a bit modest. I ignored the whole room. In my mind I was soaring into the sky as I rescued the damsel in distress who was screaming my name!

Someone was screaming my name, all right. It was the instructor. “David! It’s your turn! David! Go! Go now!” But the teacher wasn’t the only one who noticed my trip into another imaginary world.

“Isn’t he cute?” A lady in the group of parents said to someone next to them. “That boy marches to the beat of a different drummer.”

Mom was also in the group and overheard the comment. She turned around to face the woman, and gave her a warm smile. The woman’s face flushed. She was sure that Mom was about to thrash her verbally.

“No ma’am, he doesn’t,” my mother said softly. “He skips to the tune of a piccolo in an entirely different band.”

Gee. Thanks, Mom. But then, I think that tune was the Sledge Sisters’ ultra-gay classic, “We are Family.” I haven’t gotten that tune out of my head since!

Hopeful Father

To be sure, I can’t “blame” my sexuality on my parents. I could try if I wanted to, but in those formative years that some conservatives say are critical, both parents were supportive and loving. My mother loved me unconditionally. She accepted me. She challenged me to excel. My father’s passion was to constantly tell me that God made me for a reason. His hope was for me to overcome my hearing loss. He taught me something early in life that I’d never forget.

He taught me perseverance. For years, he would come into my bedroom at night and pray with me and for me. He prayed that the Lord would give me perfect hearing on a nightly basis. He had faith. And more importantly, he believed that God answered prayer. And so did I. I still believe it.

“Homosexuals have bad relationships with their fathers,” I’ve heard. Sure, it was rocky in my teen and early adult years, but what boy doesn’t assert his independence? I turned my back on him in my mid-teens. Years later, I realized how much damage I’d done.

And no, I was never sexually abused. My parents taught me early on that I should never allow someone to touch me in an inappropriate manner or take advantage of me. They did all they could to shield me from the evils of the world. They forbade me from watching the R-rated movies and warned me to never take rides with strangers.

And profanity was absolutely forbidden. To my father’s credit, I never heard him use a single obscenity until he and I were on the golf course. And damned if he didn’t make sure I knew what he was saying… he’d get my attention and then say his word. He would wave his arms so that I was looking at him and then he’d tap his chin.

“Dayum!” he said. I do love the southern dialect.

I heard damn and hell frequently, but only the most flubbed shots would deserve that truly vile expletive, shit!

A Gay-Ole Time

Strangely, I was closer to the truth in the sixth grade than I was until I came out. One day in P.E. class, someone asked me a question that I never expected.

“David, are you gay?”

“Of course I am,” I replied. I had even once looked up the word shortly before then after hearing the theme song to The Flintstones. What is a gay-ole-time? It’s a happy and cheerful time! Darn right I’m gay. If only I knew.

I was called a faggot for the rest of my school career. I didn’t know what that was until the seventh grade. When I did learn the meaning of faggot, I shuddered at the implication and had almost forgotten that day in gym class. But, the word was out. Of course, I was oblivious.

Hell, I didn’t even know what fuck meant until I was in the eighth grade when a boy asked me if I wanted to fuck some girl who had walked by. I had an inquisitive look on my face, and he described the act very explicitly with his hands and fingers.

I was revolted! I said, “No, I’m not that kind of guy.” Oh, how right I was! Although, I must confess that my eyes were frequently diverted to many of the boys around me even then. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, they say.

Different Strokes!

By my early teens, a model Baptist boy and even had a slight crush on the prettiest girl in the class. I had never masturbated, and truthfully, I didn’t know what it was. I also never noticed the fact that girls never caught my eye. It was the boys. I wondered what a boy looked like naked, and was afraid of getting an erection while changing in front of other boys.

There were times that I was in the locker room and would just stare at every gorgeous Adonis that would step into those musky communal showers. By the time I was in high school, I couldn’t take my eyes off them. But I never even entertained the thought that I wanted to do anything with those boys sexually. But wow, they were gorgeous.

Oh? There were girls? I never noticed. High school was a time where I had a few female friends, but most of my friends were boys. I don’t know if any of them were gay, and I never even thought to ask. I wouldn’t have known what to do even if I knew they were. I didn’t even know enough about high school life that a boy was supposed to have a girlfriend. I never did.

Faggot.

I heard that nearly every day I walked the halls of my high school. Some thugs would direct that epithet at me every time I passed by. I ignored it. I didn’t like it, but I ignored it. I didn’t think it was true. So why fret over it? The name-calling didn’t bother me nearly as much as the sheer contempt that was on their face as they said the word. It was as though they ceased being human and became these contorted raisin-faced mutants who had nothing but hatred for their fellow classmates.

t wasn’t until later that I realized how sheltered my life was. As I look back on my early teen years, I can’t escape reality. My heart would flutter at the thought of seeing a naked male, where women and girls just didn’t have the same effect. My late teen years were met with even more frustration when I was expected to date girls and to lead a normal life. I never even entertained the thought that I wasn’t normal. Oh, sure, I prided myself on being different. I just never thought that being gay was a part of that.

Maybe I’m just dense.

Shattered Dreams

At the age of fifteen, my life had taken a radical turn with my parents’ divorce. I had known friends who had divorced parents. I watched as these friends were tossed back and forth between their mom and dad as though they were excess baggage. I was suddenly faced with the reality that the same thing was about to happen to my nine-year-old sister and me.

We saw the best and worst in everyone. My parents both said things I’d never imagined they’d ever say. They fought. They struggled. But in the end, they split. Each blamed the other—each thought the other was ‘wrong.’ They didn’t understand each other, and I don’t think they really tried. Everything I knew came crashing down. They fought over money; they fought over relationships. They fought over who was right. They fought over who was wrong.

Even though my parents’ bitter divorce shook my world into pieces, my sexuality was never even a small factor. After the final mushroom cloud of the divorce cleared, I began to pick up the pieces. By then, puberty had kicked in with all the raging hormones that you could imagine. It was then that I discovered the wonderful release of masturbation and finally had a way to express my sexuality. How wonderful! Strangely, sex with girls never came to mind while masturbating.

Some theologians or psychoanalysts would insist that my sexual fantasies that had begun around that time were just a sexualizing of needing male role models. I had plenty of male role models. What I needed was someone who I could embrace and love. If only I had recognized it then. But two things kept me from seeking out anything with another boy my age. They were my religious morality and my complete and total ignorance of the very nature of my sexuality.

I was taught to be chaste until marriage. I was also ignorant of what a gay relationship could really be. I never knew adult gay couples except in passing, and even then it was just a matter of gossip. I never thought to ask someone older than I was why I was so drawn to the male body. So I left it all alone.

In my late teens, I discovered R-rated movies. And they had naked people in them! And with the advent of video rentals, I could pause and rewind to my heart’s content! After everyone else went to bed, anyway. I would look at the couples having sex and try to ignore the fact that I was more interested in the men than I was in the women. I was ignorant. And that ignorance kept me from falling into the arms of another man.

But I’m not Gay! I Can’t Be!

I went through my early adult years in a similar state of bliss. I didn’t have any girlfriends except one who really rocked my world. Wow, she was great. But you know, sex wasn’t on my mind with her. But ironically enough, she left me for another woman. Go figure.

Her name was Janice. I was drawn to her as a person. She had beautiful eyes, and a perfect personality. We talked every day, hung out, prayed and loved. We never had sex. But we learned something very important; we learned that we could love. She drifted from the relationship after a few months, and it wasn’t too long afterward that she came out to me as a lesbian. I never did condemn her. I couldn’t. I will forever remember our time together with great fondness.

But it was then that I could recognize those same-sex stirrings in my own soul. It was really the first time that I took a look inside my own heart to see some rather uncomfortable things. Men turned me on; especially beautiful men. I didn’t want to be turned on by all of the beautiful male bodies I saw around me, but I couldn’t escape it.

By then, I was in my early twenties, and I had managed to skirt the issue most of my life. At that time, I was put face to face with a side of myself that I had thought was a lie. Suddenly, I was more aware than ever before. I was attracted… no, passionately attracted to men. How could this be? I’m Christian! I’m not supposed to be gay!

I tried drawing closer to the Lord in every part of my life. I tried to suppress it. Strangely, I rarely dated any women after Janice. I was emotionally attached to other men. Some of those attachments were far deeper than I ever let on. I thought I was winning the fight.

The reality was that I was simply denying the battle. Christians aren’t supposed to be gay.

By the time I was 25, I had discovered that there was a very large and vibrant gay community online. I was as interested in the gay chats as I was in the Christian chats. They gave me a change to explore theology and a chance to learn that there were real people that had the same kinds of struggles I had.

After a while, I managed to brush the gay issue aside for a few more months. In the words of Scripture, I wanted to “know Christ and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings.” I still believed that sexual orientation was a ‘preference.’ So I made a choice to ignore my sexuality.

I don’t know how I did it, but I somehow managed to leave my own sexual struggles alone for a time. My philosophy was to starve the beast. I soon discovered that sexuality couldn’t be starved. It just wouldn’t die! I tried to beat it down time after time. But in the end, I would end up beating, oh, never mind.

Masturbation was my only release. I could never talk to anyone about it. Everyone fantasizes while masturbating, but my mind was filled with images of men. But I wasn’t gay. I couldn’t be gay. I was a Christian. I loved to teach the Scriptures and share new revelations. Where were these same-sex desires coming from? They had to be from the devil. I knew that godly Christians weren’t sexually attracted to men.

I was a good, godly Christian. I lived my faith more and more each day. I prayed. I read my Bible. I was also attracted to men. I agonized night after night and asked the Lord to take away these feelings.  Tear-stained pillows became common, as I would try to break away from what I thought were chains of bondage.

Conservative theology drove my faith, and I tried to pull out this gay demon out of me. It wasn’t supposed to be there. I struggled in every way to keep it from getting control of me. I studied the Scriptures to learn more of the ways of the Lord and to learn more of who I was called to be.

Breaking Stereotypes

After nearly two decades of struggling with the “gay issue,” I began to see a few things in Scripture that would change my life. The first to profoundly affect me is the reality that God is love. Later, I learned that not only is he a God of love, He is crazy about me! This Jesus who died on the cross didn’t do it because I was a worthless piece of trash that needed to be pulled from the fire, but because He loved me so much he didn’t want my own shortcomings and sin to stand between us!

I was still at odds—Could I be Christian and gay? I tried to reconcile my faith and sexuality or to kill my sexuality. Fortunately, I never resigned to extreme measures like trying to cut off appendages, but if homosexuality was as serious as the preachers made it out to be, I needed to do something!

There were a few situations where I would meet the people I talked to online. One was specifically for sex, but I walked away from that at the last minute. I wanted to have the arms of a man around me, but couldn’t get past the idea that it was wrong. That conviction saved me a lot of heartache later, but the struggle remained.

I sat in churches and listened to sermons that blasted gays as these horrible people who stole the innocence of young boys and raped each other in prison. Homosexuals were taking over the government. “Militant homosexuals” were marching in Disney World. How horrendous! They’d parade down streets wearing very little but their rainbow flags and bear signs like “FAGS RULE.” After seeing such revolting images, I knew I didn’t want anything to do with homosexuals.

And such people could NEVER be Christian. So I fought it more and more. I cringed whenever the preachers would bring up homosexuals. But something in me began to change over time. I started meeting Christians online who had the same struggles as I had. These were young men who had the same upbringing that I had, and they had the same conflict. They were drawn to men, and were told time and again that they had to change.

They had to make the right choice. I started to see a pattern. Some would fight it, others would take their sexuality so far that they would fall off the extreme of incredible promiscuity and anonymous encounters. Their stories broke my heart. How could I condemn them? I’d be doing the same thing given the opportunity.

Other people I knew went through brainwashing and ex-gay that added to their confusion. I pray that they find their path to be in the arms of Christ’s love as they continue their inward battle. One young man told me he had been exorcised of the “gay demon.” It wasn’t long that he was blindsided by another moment of indiscretion with a masseur. These were real men who fought the same war that I did, and none of us knew where to turn.

My heart was filled with compassion, but I rarely had the words to give as a solution. All I could say was, “I know how you feel.” They shared their agony and their tears. I listened to each and every one of them. But more importantly, I knew that I wasn’t alone anymore. I could finally talk with people heart-to-heart about this raging storm that was tormenting me. Once again, the beast was tamed. For the moment.

Love in All the Right Places

I thought I had it licked. I never had to research the Scriptures since I KNEW homosexuality was wrong. After all, these preachers are always right. But then, something bizarre happened. My struggles came back again, and this time they weren’t going away.

I started looking through personal ads online, and came across one that struck me as different. It was for a man who was my age who was different. He wasn’t looking for sex. He didn’t start his profile with measurements. He wanted friendship. And there was just something sincere about it.

I answered the ad. I told him I didn’t know if I was gay or not, but I knew I wanted to get to know him. We had similar interests, and neither one of us was looking for sex. He was such a refreshing difference. Everyone else I had talked to online that either wanted a good fuck or a good blowjob.

His name was Curtis. He was also an artist and was an incredibly beautiful person. When we met, there was an instant and deep connection that I simply couldn’t deny. It was real. It was beautiful. I looked into his eyes and saw a piece of myself. I had feelings that I’d never had before… my heart fluttered, my heartbeat quickened.

But he’s a MAN, I said to myself. I’m not supposed to fall in love with a MAN. After several months of our friendship, I realized the obviousness of the truth. I am in love. And I can’t deny it. Curtis is such a wonderful human being, filled with love, hope and dreams. And he loves me. What more could I ever ask for?

I knew he was sincere. I knew he loved me. But I couldn’t let myself go yet. For months, I wrestled with the idea. I then started to do some research and some intense soul searching. And after time, I began to see the obviousness of the truth. Curtis gave me a new Bible as a Christmas present and had engraved on it the verse that talks about how Jonathan loved David as himself. It was a beautiful expression of a Biblical parallel to my own love for Curtis.

“But they weren’t gay!”  I’ve grown tired of the kind of shortsightedness that refuses to see Biblical characters as the human beings they were. Sex or no sex, the love between David and Jonathan was a perfect love that was exactly the kind of love that had grown between Curtis and me.

I’ve since come to understand that Jesus said precisely nothing about sexual orientation, and when he was approached by a Centurion who wanted his young male servant healed (the Greek indicates that this man loved his servant far more than the English reveals), he commended the man on his faith! This is a far cry from the picture of Jesus we’re often given that condemns us to hell.

So after many months of hiding, struggling, and squirming, I had to open my eyes. My love for Curtis was not only real, but it’s the kind of love I’d always thought I was capable of. Our first kiss shook the earth. I’ll never forget it. Nor will I ever forget how hard I tried to avoid that kiss!

We would sit together and talk for hours on end. We’d hug. But kissing was a no-no! Oh no, I could never kiss a man! After weeks of torture, I would give in… but no kissing on the lips! One could imagine the comedy of errors that followed for the next few days. We would kiss every conceivable place on each other’s faces… cheeks, forehead, nose, and eyes. Our first lip-to-lip kiss was as accidental as it was breathtaking. He was so patient with me. Far more so than I ever would have been with anyone. Maybe that’s why I’m so deeply in love with him!

We’ve been together now for almost two years. It’s getting harder and harder for me to hide…and I’m reaching a time in my life that I don’t want to hide anymore. I’m in love, and I want the world to know. Yes, I’m gay. And I love a man.

Cracking the Closet Door

After a few months into my relationship with Curtis, I had that nagging in my inner self that I was treating him like a dark alley secret instead of the love of my life. I knew what had to happen, but that next step scared the hell out of me.

I had to tell someone. By the summer of 2002, only a few online friends knew about Curtis. This would simply not do. But where should I start? After all, telling someone that I’m gay isn’t exactly like telling someone that I bought a new car. But damn it, it SHOULD be!

My family consists of my father with whom I’ve been building a stronger relationship over time. I never really knew where he stood on the “gay issue.” My mother was once falsely accused of being a lesbian once, and so that was a no-go, and my brother… well, I love him dearly, but gosh. How do I tell my manly brother who has a thriving southern family that I’m gay? Then there was my sister, the pinko-commie-liberal-black sheep of the family.

Perfect!

She had come to town to help a friend move, and I decided that would be the ideal time to talk to her. My stomach had twisted and turned over what I’d say, so I finally told her. I’ve been seeing a man over the previous few months. She smiled.

“It’s about time you figured it out!”

“What?” I said.

“David, you had a purple truck. Get a clue! I’ve known you were gay for years.”

“Oh…” I paused. “Oh!”

What followed were several hours of conversation about Curtis, what he was like, where he was from, and the works. I was so relieved that I could finally talk to SOMEONE about my love, that it was an endless flood. I never thought that my coming out would be so easy.

Months later, I told Dad. I’d learned that he was very supportive of gays and probably suspected.

“I wish you had told me sooner,” he said. “I just want you to be happy.” Hell, I wish I had KNOWN sooner about my sexuality. Would have kept me from a lot of mental self-abuse. It was the biggest hug he’d given me in years.

Telling Mom was a lot harder. They had been happily divorced for years, but I knew I owed it to her to tell her the truth. She lives three hours from me, so I could have kept the “dark alley” secret for years, if need be. But it would never do. My conscious wouldn’t relent on the thrashing I’d been getting. I simply had to tell her.

So I did.  It was the day after Thanksgiving of that year. I sat down with her to tell her my story of how I fell in love… with a man.

“Do you think you’re gay?” She asked.

“I know I am.” I said that with a lot more conviction than I’d ever thought possible. We talked for a good hour about life and general realities associated with homosexuality, and it was all in all a good conversation. It was a tough pill for her to swallow, but she confessed that she wasn’t all that surprised. We sat in her newly constructed walk-in closet as we talked. It didn’t dawn on me that I was coming out of the closet IN a closet until well into the conversation. We both laughed.

So, the process continues. I’ve been cracking the closet door inch by inch, and I’m only now beginning to realize the incredible freedom in walking the path that I know has been laid out for me. I look to the future with wide-eyed wonder and hope, knowing that the challenge is only beginning. This short reflection of my own life has shown me much more than my sexual orientation. It’s revealed something far greater. That revelation is that while I may be a “unique rabbit,” I’m still part of a family.

One thing is for certain. This story is only beginning.

But I’m still dense. At least my legs aren’t scrawny any more.

I don’t feel sorry for Sheriff Paul Babeu. Not even a little bit. Here’s a guy who tried to make his way through the American political scene by hiding the fact that he’s gay (as if it’s a bad thing) and then when his closet of lies and deception starts to crack, he goes ballistic, even threatening to have his ex-boyfriend deported.

Now, poor little Pauley has to resign his volunteer position as the state’s Romney campaign co-chair.

“Sheriff Babeu has stepped down from his volunteer position with the campaign so he can focus on the allegations against him,” Romney spokesman Ryan Williams told The Arizona Republic in a statement. “We support his decision.”

It’s a story we see all too often. A republican star politician gets caught with his hands in a cookie jar, and his world collapses around him. This time it’s Babeau who has crumbs on his fingers. The Phoenix New Times ran a detailed article on Babeau’s explosion of stupidity that included this verbal spanking from a resident immigration attorney:

…Nancy-Jo Merricctt, a longtime Phoenix immigration attorney, says such a threat would be indicative of an “atmosphere that’s been created politically in this state, so that if you get angry at someone who is Hispanic, you immediately jump down to the level of threatening to deport him.

“If what [Babeu's attorney] says is correct [about Jose's being illegal], either the sheriff had a long relationship with someone he knew was undocumented, while all the time being Mr. Bluster about the border and using it for political gain,” or he threatened to deport someone he just broke up with, Merritt says.

“That’s just the worst kind of hypocrisy.”

Let’s be clear about this. Being gay is not a bad thing. I would suspect that Babeau could have easily continued his political career as an out gay man while maintaining his very masculine image. But the moment he attempted to use his power to protect his “not-gay” identity, he became the worst kind of weasel.

When will Republicans learn that being gay is just fine. Dear GOP, Stop pretending to be the moral saviors of society. Your “culture war” charade is nothing more than an attack on integrity and common decency. This is why Paul Babeu joins the disgraced ranks of people like Senator Larry Craig, Congressman Mark Foley and plenty of other people who were thrown to the wolves because you silly Republicans think everyone has to be straight to be in politics.

You did this to yourselves, Republicans. You sweep the gays under the bus at every opportunity and you wonder why men and women who share your ideals feel like they have to hide in order to advance in your ranks.

So, no. I don’t feel sorry for Mr. Romney’s campaign or for Mr. Babeu. It’s just another example of a hypocritical R-dude who got caught while living a lie. This is what conservatism has produced. All the rules and attempts to legislate morality without any of the basic respect for their fellow man to realize that gay people are just fine the way they are.

Just imagine what would happen if politicians learned something about “integrity.” And “integrity,” boys and girls, means that you don’t hide the fact that you’re gay just so you can get a few votes.

I guess he can turn his Adam4Adam profile back on now.

The “personhood” concept is simple enough: the moment a human egg cell is conceived, it is a complete human life. If such a law or amendment is passed, it would effectively elevate any attempt to take that life as equivalent to murder.

An organization called “Personhood USA” has been spearheading the effort to strip away what they call the “Blackman Hole” in the decision paper written by Justice Harry Blackman for the Roe v. Wade decision in 1973:

“If this suggestion of personhood is established, the appellant’s case, of course, collapses, for the fetus’ right to life would then be guaranteed specifically by the Amendment.”

Their goal is simple enough: establish personhood, and Roe v. Wade comes crashing down.

As with any issue that surrounds sexuality, reality is a little more complex than the folks at Personhood USA would have us believe. The Center for Reproductive Rights fought a personhood amendment in Mississippi that ultimately failed in the 2010 election. In an article posted the day of that election, The Atlantic’s Kay Steiger wrote:

But even if the initiative passes today, it’s unlikely that anything will change too quickly on the ground in Mississippi, where there is only one operating abortion clinic in the state. The Center for Reproductive Rights has pledged to file suit against the amendment immediately and expects the courts to issue an injunction against it because it “clearly violates the Constitution,” according to group President Nancy Northup.

Critics of the personhood movement say that such “definitions” of human life would not only allow abortion to be criminalized, but would also open the doors for criminal investigations of miscarriages, and a ban certain types of birth control. It would also potentially halt many forms of infertility treatment.

Personhood amendments have failed not only in otherwise ultra-conservative Mississippi, but also in twice Colorado — the latest by a 3 to 1 margin. These failures haven’t even slowed down the movement though. A new attempt in Colorado is underway.

Personhood USA got their first big victory this week in Virginia. The Virginia House passed HB1 to define personhood at the moment of conception — the first bill written and filed for the year (so much for a focus on jobs) — passed with a supermajority. Another bill requires any women that seek an abortion undergo an invasive ultrasound procedure. USA Today writes:

Del. Bob Marshall’s House Bill 1 on personhood at conception passed on a 66-32 vote. And on a 63-36 vote, the House passed a bill that requires women to have a “transvaginal ultrasound” before undergoing abortions.

Opponents said the bills were unprecedented intrusions into the prerogatives and decisions not just of pregnant women but of women trying to avoid conceiving.

The ultrasound procedure is particularly alarming. Again from USA Today:

The ultrasound legislation would constitute an unprecedented government mandate to insert vaginal ultrasonic probes into women as part of a state-ordered effort to dissuade them from terminating pregnancies, legislative opponents noted.

“We’re talking about inside a woman’s body,” Del. Charnielle Herring, a Democrat, said in an emotional floor speech. “This is the first time, if we pass this bill, that we will be dictating a medical procedure to a physician.”

The clear target in these efforts isn’t abortion. These far-right policy attempts are nothing more than an all out war on women and their rights to make reproductive decisions. Their goal isn’t just to make abortion illegal. They’re looking to turn women and their doctors into criminals.

How long should their prison sentence be? Ten years? Twenty? Fifty? How long should we put women and their doctors in jail for a decision that should be left to them, and them alone?

Let’s be clear. No one on the pro-choice side of the argument wants to “have as many abortions as possible.” It’s an outlandish argument that has absolutely no basis in fact. Nor are we “pro-abortion.” Our stance is simple: abortion should be safe and rare.

I’ll speak to a moment to those who are steadfastly pro-life and might even support the personhood movement.

What do you have to offer women and their unwanted babies once they’re forced to deliver? For girls and women who were kicked out of their families for being pregnant, do we add more people to welfare roles? What about counseling for the women who were forced to carry their rapist’s baby to to full term?

Are you going to adopt those babies? Oh, wait. There’s a lot of expense and red tape in adoption, you say. So a life isn’t worth red tape? Is that it?

It’s time for you to put your home where your politics are. To those who do adopt as many children as possible to save them from the abortion clinic, I commend you. But I fully expect every anti-abortion politician to have their names on adoption and foster lists all across the country.

Until then, you’re just full of it. You’ll make demands of women that you’re not willing to do yourself. You deserve nothing from me but contempt. There’s a word for that kind of behavior: hypocrite.

And do spare me the religious aspect of your argument. I’ve written of this before:

I heard one preacher say once, “You know why we have abortion in America? I’ll tell you why. It’s because a church said to a young, unwed mother, “you slut!” That’s why we have abortion in America.” I think he has a point.

The Church in America has become a master at judgment, and a novice at compassion. When we compound this to the reality that the early Roman Christians would roam the streets to look for exposed babies to raise as their own, the contrast becomes clear. What’s more, the emperor of the day even commented that “These Christians love our own more than we do.”

This was at a time when Christians were being killed in droves. Yet they still valued life so much that they would roam the streets at night to look for children or hide under bridges to wait as babies were discarded into the aqueducts.

Until we see religious anti-abortion groups actually begin to provide genuine alternatives, they really don’t have anything to offer. And it’s time that the rest of the country realize this. We don’t want your fingers in our face. We need your hands to help pull us out of crises. There’s nothing “pro-family” about “family” groups who only gripe about problems but never offer genuine, viable solutions.

In short, show me you care about the person before you try to push personhood.

The “controversy” in this case is that churches and church-related businesses are demanding to be exempt from the requirement. The policy primarily applies to religious colleges, hospitals, and other groups owned and operated by churches. In fact, churches have always been exempt:

Group health plans sponsored by certain religious employers, and group health insurance coverage in connection with such plans, are exempt from the requirement to cover contraceptive services.  A religious employer is one that:  (1) has the inculcation of religious values as its purpose; (2) primarily employs persons who share its religious tenets; (3) primarily serves persons who share its religious tenets; and (4) is a non-profit organization under Internal Revenue Code section 6033(a)(1) and section 6033(a)(3)(A)(i) or (iii).  45 C.F.R. §147.130(a)(1)(iv)(B).

Let me make one thing clear. This policy is not a part of any imaginary “war on religion” as some of our right wing commentators like to insist. This is entire controversy is little more than a thinly-veiled an attack on women.

Before anyone starts with the shrilling of “war on religion,” I should point out that the policy in question was found on on the US Department of Health and Human Services website on a page entitled “Women’s Preventive Services: Required Health Plan Coverage Guidelines — Affordable Care Act Expands Prevention Coverage for Women’s Health and Well-Being.” That’s right. It’s a page specifically dedicated to women’s prevention coverage.

Two major panels were convened recently on the issue. One was held by the House Oversight and Government Reform Committee, and the other by popular radio show host and Fox News star Sean Hannity. I’ll give you three guesses as to how many women were  on these panels.

The Republican-controlled House committee actually blocked testimony from a female witness. Apparently, Rep. Darryl Issa (R-California) only wanted clergy on the panel — not  the women the policy would impact.

The Hannity panel had more than a dozen men on its panel (and no women), including religious leaders who blathered about “being willing to die” for their beliefs. Yeah. They are willing to die to keep women from getting the birth control they need. Good luck with that, boys.

For the sake of humor (and knowing that it would get a fair amount of shock value), I posted the following status update on my Facebook page recently:

NEW RULE: To decide on birth control policies or testify on religious panels about who gets birth control coverage in health insurance, you cannot have a penis.

I was encouraged by the fact that nearly everyone who “liked” the post was a woman. Apparently, I tapped into something that actually made sense.

Being a man, and a gay man at that, I really don’t have a dog in this hunt. As such, it gives me a certain amount of objectivity on certain issues, contraception being one of them.

As I said before, it’s a women’s issue. Contraception is often a way of life for women — and not just to prevent unwanted pregnancies. Many women are prescribed hormonal birth control pills to help control their menstrual periods.

I’d like to think that conservative and religious leaders would have learned their lesson by now to stay out of women’s uteruses. Interestingly, they’re buckling down on this issue.

Really, now. What man is truly qualified to comment on menstrual periods? Our “weaker sex” often has to deal with abdominal pains that would cause us big, burly, macho men to double over. Every. Twenty. Eight. Days. A good way to manage those cramps is, you guessed it, birth control pills.

So how widespread is contraception coverage? According to the Guttmacher Institute, nine out of every ten insurance policy already includes contraception coverage. All federal insurance plans include it. More than half of the states in the union have laws requiring prescription contraception coverage.

Sixty-three percent of reproductive-age women who practice contraception use nonpermanent methods, including hormonal methods (such as the pill, patch, implant, injectable and vaginal ring), the IUD and condoms. The remaining women rely on female or male sterilization.

Contraceptive choices vary markedly with age. For women younger than 30, the pill is the leading method.  Among women aged 30 and older, more rely on sterilization.

And that’s not including the birth control pills that are prescribed for hormonal regulation.  Once again, the “religious liberty” folks are far more concerned with how their premium dollars are spent than whether or not the women who work for them have coverage for their contraception (yet they demand that secular tax dollars are spent for school vouchers).

Quite simply, the facts are not on the conservatives’ side on this issue. Especially since the latest announcement from the White House has clarified that religious employers (colleges, hospitals, etc.) are still required to provide contraception coverage, but insurance companies will absorb the costs of that coverage.

I’m not really sure how things will look once the dust settles. It’s becoming more clear that the women — whose lives the birth control issues affect directly — are going to have the last word. I can imagine just what the conservative men are going to end up saying eventually:

“Yes, dear.”

Campfield gained further notoriety when he embarrassed himself with bogus statistics while being interviewed by Sirius OutQ radio show host Michelangelo Signorile. He was also gloriously thrown out on his ass by a restauranteur in Knoxville.

How I wish I could have seen that.

The bill has garnered national criticism from bloggers, comedians, actors, and politicians alike. George Takei, famous for his role as Hikaru Sulu in Star Trek, offered the “use of his name” for the cause. “Instead of gay pride parades, let’s call them Takei pride parades,” or during the Christmas season, sing, “don we now our Takei apparel.”

Opponents to the bill filled the room with a sea of purple shirts.

The Tennessean reported on the subcommittee meeting (hat tip, Towleroad):

The House Education subcommittee approved the so-called “Don’t Say Gay” bill on a voice vote Wednesday, renewing a debate that roiled the legislature last spring over whether elementary and middle schools should be allowed to initiate discussions about homosexuality.

The panel accepted the version of the bill that passed the state Senate late in last year’s session.

Opponents say it will not curb talk about homosexuality among grade school kids but will send the signal that it should be stigmatized. But several lawmakers argued that it would protect parents’ right to educate their children about their beliefs on their own terms.

The House sponsor of the bill is Rep Joey Hensley, who obviously cares more about keeping gays in their place than actually helping school curriculum or, you know, getting jobs in Tennessee. The fact that this bill was placed on the agenda so early in the year should be a huge wake up call to everyone in the state. GOP priority has never been about jobs. It’s about pushing back every bit of progress they possibly can.

Jonathan Cole, President of the Tennessee Equality Project, reported on the day’s events.

Despite warnings of the message such a bill sends to students in Tennessee public schools, the subcommittee voted to silence a teacher’s ability to have age-appropriate discussions with K-8 students when that discussion falls outside “natural human reproduction science.” Even in its amended form, HB0229 and SB0049  marginalizes lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender or questioning students or their families.

During the hearing, Rep. Bill Dunn (R-Knoxville) stated the amended version of the bill is in line with current curriculum and is consistent with what is already written in Title 49 of the Tennessee Code Annotated. If that is the case, then why would anyone advance this divisive legislation?

Rep. Craig Fitzhugh (D-Ripley) said it best: this bill does not improve education and is a solution in search of a problem. It is unnecessary and has the potential to do harm.

The group has organized a petition to urge the full House Education Committee to reject the bill. Please sign it if you live in a district that’s represented by a member of that committee.

Joe Pitts, who represents Clarksville’s district 67, has pledged to oppose the bill. Be sure to thank him for doing the right thing.

Don’t try to deny it. You refuse to use basic words like “gay” in conversations about the LGBT community. Instead, you steadfastly stick to your preferred “neutral” word, “homosexual.” After all, you say, homosexuals aren’t really gay. Not only that, it’s a focus on the “sex” that you think we have all the time. It’s obvious every time you say it. “homo-SEX-ual.”  And when you’re not trying to be professional and are among friends, you use the words you really want to use: faggot, dyke, and queer. After all, you don’t like us.

When someone brings up the notion of gay rights, you immediately tense up and declare that “they shouldn’t have special rights!” as if there’s something “special” about the fact that we gays shouldn’t have to fear getting fired or kicked out of our apartment because we’re gay. You fight tooth and nail to keep equal employment and non-discrimination laws from being passed because, after all, we can just stop having sex with people of the same sex anytime. That would mean we’re not gay anymore. Unfortunately, though, you still wouldn’t like us if we started to date your daughter.

In fact, you don’t want us to have kids at all. You think we’re all pedophiles, which is a complete lie, and you’ve never come to terms with the fact that homosexuality and pedophilia are two completely different things. You use this false connection as a reason to ban us from adopting the children that you don’t want, and even to try to take our own children away from us. You don’t like us at all, and you certainly don’t want us to raise a family.

You don’t want us to be your kid’s teacher, your doctor, or your nurse. But you’re okay if we cut your hair, tell you a joke, or even make your floral arrangement. That way, we’re in jobs that fit your stereotype, and you can leave as quickly as you came in. You might like our witty jokes on TV, but you still don’t like us.

You know your kid and their friends call that other boy a “faggot” every time they pass each other in the hallway at school. They beat him up because he’s not manly enough, and they torture him verbally at every opportunity. You told your kid what you think gays do in the bedroom, and they pass those stories along to their friends — gerbils and all — thus adding to the great mass misinformation that is dispensed against us. You didn’t tell that kid not to like us, but he learned it from you anyway.

Now that we’re starting to get past the fact that you don’t like us, we’re pushing forward with gay rights and marriage equality. And we’re gaining a lot of ground. We’re getting married in more states than ever, and we’re living our very normal, boring lives. Nevertheless, you’re going to spend countless millions of dollars to fight tooth and nail to keep us from being able to marry in our own country or our own state. You know full well that if we were to be able to marry, it wouldn’t affect your marriage even a little bit. But what’s a little truth when it comes to the fact that you really don’t like us?

When you listen to your pastor talk about the “evils” of homosexuality, you nod your head right along as he talks about the leather, the drag queens, AIDS, effeminate men and masculine women, and how they’re all an abomination to God. You glaze over the scripture verses he gives you that prove that gays are bad, and you never give it a second thought — at least not until you have the opportunity to quote that verse right back at us face-to-face. You say you love us enough to give us the truth, but the reality is that the truth is ugly. You don’t like us.

You refer to our lives as a “lifestyle.” Never mind the fact that our lives are exactly like yours in every way, except for one single element: the bedroom. Ultimately, it’s there that your revulsion really comes into play.

If you’re a woman, you might be irked that a man would choose another man over you. If you’re a man, you bristle at the idea that there’s a woman you can’t have because she likes girls. “She just needs a man to rock her world,” or “He hasn’t met the right girl yet.” Whatever. We’ve heard it all before. We’ve turned you down. And you don’t like it.

No, you don’t like us at all. You don’t like the fact that a man can look at an other man’s hairy ass and say “I want that.” You loathe the fact that a man would be willing to receive anal sex and enjoy it. The concept a man performing fellatio on his boyfriend is enough to turn your stomach. You never want to think of these things, but even a moment’s thought is enough for you to define a gay man solely by the sex act itself. It’s certainly enough for you to determine how much you don’t like us.

We get it. You don’t like us. Not even a little. Maybe you’ll come to terms with that one day, and then we’ll begin to have a conversation — that your dislike is not a wall that keeps us from our equality. It’s a hurdle to overcome.

That hurdle isn’t ours. It’s yours. You don’t have to like the idea of gay sex. Quite frankly, you shouldn’t even try to understand it. You’re not gay. You’ll never “get” why a man wants to get frisky with another guy or why a woman just isn’t into men.

You don’t have to like us. But you do need to be honest about what keeps you from beginning to understand us, and what keeps you from finally embracing us as human beings. There, the conversation can begin, and there, understanding can take shape.

One thing you really do need to understand: just because you don’t like us doesn’t mean you get to decide how we live. You certainly shouldn’t carry that contempt into a ballot box. Voting down a person’s rights just because you don’t like them — well, that’s just petty. And you know it.

But this article isn’t about condemnation and pointing fingers — it’s an opportunity. Get to know a gay person. Start those conversations. Listen to our stories. Let us tell you about our lives, our loves, and our hopes. Go bowling with us. Have dinner with us. Talk over coffee. Over Mexican food even.

Who knows, you might even learn to like us.

The Advocate reports that LGBT Christian clergy members are voicing strong opposition to MSNBC, in particular, for giving Perkins airtime without mention of his organization’s hate group status. Openly gay Episcopal Bishop Gene Robinson is among those who are calling for the network to give Perkins the boot.

“FRC has been designated a hate group by the Southern Poverty Law Center for using dishonest, incendiary rhetoric about gay and lesbian Americans,” notes a press release from the online action network Faithful America, “but MSNBC has continued offering a friendly venue for Perkins, neither informing their viewers of FRC’s status nor including any rebuttal from progressive religious leaders. Perkins has appeared on MSNBC more often this year than on any other cable news network.”

Even Lawrence O’Donnell, who once ripped the Perkins and the FRC for being a “joke” later had the hate group’s leader on his show without a peep about their hate group status. Faithful America’s website describes the situation:

MSNBC has built its business on progressive viewers, and they need to hear that we find it unacceptable to provide an unquestioning platform for the Religious Right’s hatred and fear-mongering.

I add my voice to these and other progressives who call for MSNBC (and all major cable news networks) to stop giving screen time to hate groups. The only thing they deserve is a giant door slapping them in the rear on their way out of the mainstream and into the obscurity of the fringes where they belong.