I know I need to continue with my story. And I’m not even necessarily ashamed of it anymore. But it hurts so much. It takes me to such a deep, dark place…and I’ve been pretty low recently anyway. But I think I have to write it. I have to get it out. No matter how it makes me look the fool.

In my remembering, I dragged out my old journal. There aren’t many entries from my time there. But reading these, it’s like I’m right back there again.

August 31, 2008
In the middle lounge of Creel, my dorm. My roommates are Tracie, Joanne, and Jacqueline. I meant to call Ann around 2:30 or 3:00, but I took The Longest Nap Ever. Sam just texted me to tell me Ann plans to call me when she gets home tomorrow. I’m hoping to be able to talk to her alone.

Tracie reminds me a lot of Joe, in her mannerisms. It makes it hard sometimes – so happy and familiar, yet a reminder of hellish pain. She’s my PC (prayer captain). She’s “talking” to a “man friend,” Eric. Everyone here is “talking” to someone. It’s a little scary.

Joanne is very quiet, like me. I’m still not sure if she’s okay with me.

Jacqueline seems very bubbly – an Asian Rachel. She’s more of a mystery b/c she hasn’t been around.

There are clones – people who buy into it all and ask no questions. There are genuinely nice people who seem to care more about people than rules. I can see how a freshman can get sucked in- it’s so overwhelming, and to fall into step and become a clone, to fit in…it’d be so easy. I keep making mental notes. Do this. Do this, but remember it’s wrong. Remember the Lord gave you a mind. Submit because submitting is right, not because the rule is right.

I saw Peter Wednesday, alone in his office. He seems to plan to keep in touch. He hugged me goodbye, warmly.

September 4, 2008
Had to think what day it was. I feel like I’ve lived days in the past 14 hours.

September 7, 2008
Against my fears, my doubts, my ignorance,
I trust in thee, O Father of my Lord!
The world went on in this same broken dance,
When, worn and mocked, he trusted and adored;
I too will trust, and gather my poor best
To face the truth-faced false. So in his nest
I shall awake at length, a little scarred and scored.

Things cannot look all right so long as I
Am not all right who see – therefore not right
Can see. The lamp within sends out the light
Which shows the things; and if its rays go wry,
Or are not white, they must part show a lie.
The man, half-cured, did men not trees conclude,
Because he moving saw what else had seemed wood.

Give me, take from me, as thou wilt. I learn -
Slowly and stubbornly I learn to yield
With a strange hopefulness. As from the field
Of hard-fought battle won, the victor chief
Turns thankfully, although his heart to yearn,
So from my old things to thy new I turn,
With sad, thee-trusting heart, and not in grief.

September 12, 2008
My second week at Bob Jones University is drawing to a close. I struggle still with the same pain, anger, and lust…I brought my trials with me.

I talked to Peter for about an hour yesterday online. Nothing significant…aside from furthering our contact.

Thusfar I spend most of my time in my room. I’ve made a few friends, but mostly acquaintances. We all talk about guys. All the time. The “every girl has that perfect guy waiting for her” mentality is pervasive. I’m different enough without that.

“The Devil and God are raging inside me.” I struggle with sin and wanting to be wholly committed to the Lord. Rather, I struggle with the warring desires for sin and the Lord, knowing fully I can’t have both.

September 24, 2008
I’m sick, and on prednisone. Fun times.

I miss Joe. So much that my chest aches (apart from asthma). No one has ever known me like he does. I’ve never been as vulnerable with anyone as I was with him, apart from Ann. Tracie was talking about her relationship with Eric, how she wants to hear what he’s thinking, what she does that reaffirms him, etc…Joe told me those things. How putting my arm around him when he was angry and hurting meant so much to him. How sitting with me during The Last Samurai made him feel a little better. He emailed me devotional after devotional that made him think of me. He kept my hands warm. He help me hand so I wouldn’t stumble on the rocks. He let me know that talking to me helped him a bit. Told me I was the best example of a Christian he knew – that he know the love of Christ through me. That any man would be blessed to marry me.

I’ve been so open. So naked. So vulnerable. So hurt. Once again, the deadened feeling about marriage has returned. Almost a fleeting, yet insistent nagging subconscious thought – I’ll never trust anyone like that again. I’ll never let anyone get to know me so well. If I do get married, he won’t love me. And my heart will slowly die, starving for his love, but unable to let him love me.

God, my hope is You. You know my hurt and me shame so well. I love a married man. I lust after an unbeliever. I am unfaithful. An adulteress, an idolater, a double-minded woman. Unite my heart. Give me wisdom, discernment, and courage. May I lean wholly upon You, being wholly dependent on You and wholly obedient to You. Forgive me for my unfaithfulness and my sin. Purify me. Create in me a clean heart. Restore to me the joy of Your salvation. Don’t despise my brokenness. Heal me that I may serve You with a whole heart.

October 1, 2008
Today is the day of prayer. I feel rather choked, trapped, suffocating by my inability or unwillingness to be open if anyone is around.

October 6, 2008
Sharona brought Ann to me Saturday.

I talked to Peter on Sunday.

Daniel, Janae, and I are all in hell, unable to help each other.

God, why?

October 8, 2008
Life and Ministry of Paul, having just blanked on a verse I memorized. Eh, well.

Daniel’s heartbreak breaks my heart – but never have I been more proud of him. He told her all, and told her they couldn’t be together. And I have his word he’ll never drink it all to numbness again…though I confess part of that could be that I haven’t even had that option available to me.

Janae’s trip to Penn state was not as innocent as she originally claimed. I am not angry; neither am I surprised. I hurt for her. I understand her pain too well.

I got off campus for a bit yesterday. My sanity required it. Not that I don’t love it here. But it’s easy for things to pile up and seem inescapable, insurmountable. Spending a couple of hours away in privacy helped a LOT. Kind of amazes me.

Being here makes me feel like my life is so small. I’m still the new kid. People don’t know how to take me, and I’m hesitant to become good friends with anyone. My previous “lives” as it were only exist in my head, but not in this place. Maybe that’s why getting away helped.

The next entry wasn’t written until after Joe and his wife got back together, and the ones after that are just…heartbreaking. Joy at dating Gary. A hastily-scribbled reminder that God still loved me, no matter what I did, that must have come after the first time we fooled around, quickly followed by hopelessness and despair. My emotional breakdowns becoming more frequent. Then finally after we actually had sex, and the calm before the suicidal thoughts overtook me. As if that isn’t hard enough to recount, then there’s the seeking help from our church, telling our parents, the ill-planned marriage plot, and finally the expulsion.

There’s just so much emotionally to unpack. And I know that I need to. It’s one of those pains that surely must be lessened when shared, that seems to fester the longer it’s kept inside. But it’s so hard. And I’m low as it is.

I’m remembering this largely due to my participation in a conversation over on Patheos regarding pacifism/gun ownership.

I was taught to read the Bible literally. Very literally. As in, “Always interpret literally, unless it simply doesn’t make sense to do so.” And being raised as a fundamentalist and a biblicist, there were very few passages that were considered okay to interpret another way. And thus I have a very hard time understanding the Bible in any other way than how I was taught.

Due to my upbringing, about the time I started college (a little before, really) I started becoming more and more legalistic, more and more fundamentalist. Most of the damage was focused inward, on myself, castigating myself for being unable to live up to God’s standard of perfection. I struggled so deeply with so many issues. And rereading this post that I wrote just over four years ago hammers home to me just how much I’ve changed, while also reminding me how much confusion there still is in my head, in my heart.

So here it is: another piece of my life that is both long gone and yet suddenly so near. I am so different. I am so much the same.

I don’t know if I can put into words what my thoughts are right now. Sometimes I think something gets drastically lost in the translation from thoughts to words…but I’ll try.

“Set your mind on things above, not on things below. Have this mind in you which was also in Christ Jesus…”

How will this manifest itself in real life? in my life?

I have a very simple view of life. Explaining that view in a way others understand is where things start to get complex :-), but it all boils down to following Christ. Please understand that I am in no way saying that I am an example of one who follows Christ perfectly. I’m so far from that, it shames me. It takes me a long time to make a firm decision about things, because once that decision is made there is no turning back. I do not do things in halves.

Having a career is not important to me. I love my job, but it is temporary. Using the talents the Lord has given me along with the training I have received, my desire is to be a help to those of the Lord’s people who cannot afford to pay standard graphic design fees. As insignificant as it might seem to some, it really burdens me when I see publications and websites that are full of good, godly material…and designed so poorly. Do I blame the brothers or sisters in charge of them? No, I don’t – because having worked both in Christian organizations and now in the graphic design industry, I understand very well how expensive quality design is and how little most Christian organizations can afford. Am I saying that the mere presentation of the gospel isn’t enough – that we have to make it look good? That’s a bit of a touchy subject. The gospel is certainly enough, and God forbid that I ever think I can improve on it. My desire is not to change one letter of the message, but rather to use basic principles of art and design to convey the creativity and beauty of our creative God while visually making the message clear. Does that make sense? Is it vain, or a waste of time? Over the past year, the Lord has made it clear to me that it is not.

In the same manner as above, rights are not important to me. Rather, I believe they should not be important. I struggle with this constantly as a woman, wanting to protect and avenge female friends who have been victims of harassment or assault, and having been assaulted myself (however in a minor way). I struggle with forgiveness, “turning the other cheek,” and “loving your enemies,” and whether doing those things must result in allowing evil to happen to others because of my silence. In my particular situation, I wasn’t silent…and I’m haunted by that. Yet I don’t think I could bear the thought of someone else going through that when I could have stopped it. I suppose this is one area in which I come before the Lord in fear and trembling, asking for discernment and peace of mind.

As a citizen of a city made without hands, a citizen of the United States, a student, an employee, a woman, and a daughter, submission must play a huge role in my life. HUGE. This does not come easily to me. But Christ submitted to the Father – He left His rightful place at the right hand of God to wrap eternity, omniscience, omnipotence, and omnipresence in a singular, weak, finite human body. What right have I, then, to elevate myself above what I ought? It is not too much for me to obey my parents. It will not be too much for me to obey the rules at Bob Jones University. Placing myself under authority is a privilege.

Love covers a multitude of sins. I like to think that I love people. But do I love them as Christ loved them? Do I reach out, reach into their lives, get to know them? Do I know their needs and petition the Lord for them? Do I help them bear their burdens? Or do I see them as a general annoyance, or something worse? Oh, Lord! Give me eyes to see souls as You see them, and give me a heart to love them as You love them!

There is so much more…but words cannot express. And it is late, and work comes early.

There are places that aren’t here. But while we’re here, may we allow the Lord to shape us into His image and prepare us to go wherever He may lead us.

If you follow me on Tumblr (where I am very vocal and far less “polished”), you know I’m still alive, still kicking, still struggling and growing and all that. I just…haven’t posted on here very much lately. Clearly.

I keep telling myself that I’m going to continue my story soon. And in fact, I’ve started writing bits and pieces of it already.

But honestly? I’m just…tired.

And I’ve actually been busy living life. Spending time with my parents. Hanging out with Amanda. Drawing. Playing piano.

In some ways, I’m growing stronger.

And as I grow stronger, I find that I need Stitch less and less, because I’m living and writing and breathing and talking and existing as The Real Me.

But I will be back here, writing my story, writing my discoveries.

I’m just not sure when.

Those of you who are regular readers here are by now quite familiar with Bob Jones University, and even a little bit of the drama that’s been going on there the past year. For those unaware of the drama (and who don’t want to click the previous link and read about it) I’ll post a little synopsis here.

There was a nationally-covered case last year concerning a woman named Tina Anderson, who was raped at the age of 15 by a middle-aged married man in good standing at her church. His name was Ernest “Ernie” Willis. She became pregnant as a result of the rape. When she went to her pastor, Charles “Chuck” Phelps, he had her apologize in a church disciplinary meeting for “being in a compromising situation” that led to her pregnancy, while Ernie only said that he had been in an adulterous relationship – the two confessions were presented as separate, unrelated cases. After this confession, she was expelled from the church-run private school she attended and sent half a country away (from New Hampshire to Colorado) to live with another conservative family until she had the baby, which she was forced to give up for adoption. Her pastor never filed a report with the police (he called them a couple of times, but did not return their calls or follow up further). Her rapist was never outed to the church. The case didn’t come to light until last year, when Tina was contacted by NH police to confirm the story and ask if she wanted to press charges. Ernie was convicted not just for statutory rape but for two counts of forcible rape and sentenced accordingly.

It came to light this past fall that Chuck Phelps, Tina’s former pastor and a graduate of BJU, was on the board for the university despite his cover-up of her rape (in fact, he was a witness for the defense of Tina’s rapist during the trial).

Let me spell that out for you a little more clearly.

Chuck Phelps, the man who forced a 15-year-old girl to apologize to her entire church for being pregnant (without encouraging or allowing her to say that she had been raped nor to name the father), the man who served as a witness in the defense of this girl’s rapist when the case finally came to trial, the man who clearly aligned himself with the rapist and against his child victim – this man was appointed to the board of Bob Jones University. And subsequently defended by the school for his actions.

A student at the school, Christopher Peterman, learned about both the case and Chuck’s position as a board member, and organized a movement called Do Right, BJU (named after a famous saying from the founder of the school, “Do right until the stars fall!”). The movement was designed to pressure BJU to remove Chuck Phelps from his position on the board as well as to encourage the school to start reporting sexual abuse cases as required by law, since the school has a horrendous hidden history of both covering up abuse and victim-blaming. Part of this movement culminated in the first-ever student and alumni led protest held at BJU. The administration initially threatened Chris with expulsion for his “insubordination,” but when the media was alerted to the protest, a spokesman for the school stated that no one involved would suffer any administrative repercussions. Chuck Phelps resigned his position a few days before the protest (supposedly unrelated to the DR-BJU movement, protest, and a petition with over 1,000 signatures demanding his removal). This all happened towards the close of the fall semester of 2011.

As you can imagine, BJU didn’t appreciate Chris’s pressure on them nor the fact that they promised the media nothing would happen to punish him or other students. So, starting in the spring semester of 2012, they put an RA in Chris’s dorm room who frequently informed the dean of men of his activities. People started following him both on campus and off campus to try to catch him doing something that could earn him demerits or get him expelled. His Facebook page and Twitter account were watched constantly to catch him in some kind of wrong-doing. As to the extent of the following and monitoring, Chris says that in the multitudinous meetings he had with the dean of men, Jon Daulton, there were STACKS of printed papers of his Twitter feed and Facebook wall with things highlighted, circled, annotated. The dean of men would email, call, and text him at all hours, demanding to meet with him to discuss his spiritual status. I believe that he was technically on spiritual probation (meaning he had to meet regularly with an uncertified counselor for nouthetic counseling).

It takes 150 demerits to expel someone at BJU. He was recently given 50 demerits for watching an episode of Glee off campus. When he appealed that this was not against the rulebook, they conceded – but gave him the demerits anyway because they found the content of Glee morally reprehensible (the dancing, “immodesty,” and portrayal of homosexuality).

I want to touch on this point again briefly. There are people who keep saying, “But it is against the rules in the rulebook!” I agree that it seems to be, but I also argue that Chris took this before a committee comprised of representatives from the student body, the dean of men’s office, and the dean of women’s office and appealed using the handbook to demonstrate that it was not against the rules to watch the show. And the committee agreed with him. Let me repeat that again. The committee agreed that watching Glee off campus was not an infraction against the handbook. They then said, in essence, “But you should have known better, so you’re getting the demerits anyway.” He got demerits for an unwritten, unspoken rule that was admittedly created on the fly in order to justify giving him 1/3 of the demerits he would need to be expelled, mere weeks before graduation.

Then this past week, the dean of men called him into his office to tell him that he was going to receive 50 demerits for posting the lyrics to Matthew West’s “Only Grace” on his Facebook page (just the lyrics, not the song itself) and he would receive 25 demerits because that post occurred during class. Chris asked if he could appeal, and was given several hours between his initial meeting with the dean of men and the meeting he would have with the discipline committee.

During those hours, he prepared his appeal and also contacted the department of education and TRACS, the accrediting association BJU has its national accreditation with, to see if he had any recourse, believing himself to be already expelled. The conclusion of his meeting with the discipline committee was that he would not receive the 50 demerits for the song lyrics, but would still receive the 25 for posting during class. This left him at 145 demerits. Then he was informed that because he had contacted the DOE and TRACS, that he was being expelled because he was “intimidating” the school.

He was 9 days from graduating and will likely receive no refund.

This…this entire situation unsettles me. Angers me. Saddens me. I have lots of feelings about it all.

Basically, this week I have been reliving my own expulsion and reliving the conflicting feelings I have about it. For those who may not remember, I was expelled from BJU because it was discovered that I had sex with my then-boyfriend now-husband. I have written elsewhere about the shame I have about my sexual desire in general, along with the shame associated with my premarital sexual experiences. This shame, brought about by a lifetime of teaching and conditioning that I should feel shame about it, makes a large part of me feel that my expulsion was warranted. Fair. Just. While I now believe that there’s nothing morally wrong with consensual sex between two adults who love and are committed to one another, I understand the belief that this is a deep wrong. And so I am still hesitant at times to say that my expulsion was unjust. Despite the deeply personal questions asked, despite the assassination of my character by the dean of men to my father-in-law, despite the frightening cult-like process by which I was escorted off campus and not even allowed to use the bathroom without someone monitoring me. The shame is still there, and the deeply ingrained belief that I deserved (and still deserve) to be punished for my personal sex life at any given moment.

Yes, I have a lot of anger about my expulsion and about the way my husband and I were treated. I understand it from an experiential point of view in that my beliefs once aligned with that of the university in such matters. While my heart understands and is at times willing to concede, my mind recognizes that it was unjust, damaging, painful, and unChristlike.

What does this have to do with Chris’s story?

For me, I think it goes to show something. In the world of Bob Jones University – and fundamentalism in general – a man who stands up for the oppressed is every bit as damned as a woman who is not a virgin. A man who tries to respectfully (albeit publicly and strongly) hold “authority” of any kind accountable for their actions is every bit as damned as a whore.

When doing the right thing is punished more severely than doing the wrong thing, you’re doing Christianity wrong.

Bob Jones University has expelled graduating senior Christopher Peterman just days before he was to graduate. Allegedly, the expulsion is a penalty for watching Glee and for posting lyrics to a Christian song on his Facebook page. His posts to Facebook were being heavily monitored by Dean of Men, John Daulton.

Christopher Peterman was the founder of a Facebook protest at BJU, Do Right BJU, the first student-led protest in the university’s history. The goal of that protest was to remove Board of Trustees member Pastor Chuck Phelps, who famously failed to take proper measures in reporting a child rapist in his New Hampshire church for years (see ABC’s 20/20 episode Shattered Faith, 4/8/2011 http://abcnews.go.com/2020/video/scarred-childhood-13334532).

At the time of that protest, Peterman was promised by school administrators that he would suffer no penalties for taking a stand against Chuck Phelps. Although Phelps resigned under enormous pressure in the days leading up to the protest last December, former students and alumni predicted that Peterman would, in fact, be the target of administrators’ scrutiny and that they would eventually find a reason to expel him before graduation. This has now occurred.

In December of 2011, Bob Jones University representative Brian Scoles told local television host Kimberly Kelly that students would not be disciplined for their participation in this peaceful protest (http://www2.sceneon7.com/entertainment/2011/dec/05/main-evnet-ar-2806346/).

Despite this assurance, Christopher Peterman was expelled this past Tuesday evening, just ten days before he was to graduate from Bob Jones University. Peterman released this public statement last evening on YouTube, which has since gone viral, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vGRowXhO99c and on the Do Right BJU Facebook page, found here: https://www.facebook.com/DoRightBJU.

This story can be found in the following places:

CNN’s iReport (not vetted for CNN): Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The Huffington Post

PQ Monthly

Jezebel

The Advocate

Be The Change

Elizabeth Esther

Louisiana State University

Crushable

There are more, and I’ll update as I find more. For now, I need to work on a project with a deadline!

We left off my story with my struggle to forget about Joe by fantasizing sexually about Peter then mentally and emotionally and spiritually flogging myself over it. (Remember that thing when I said I wasn’t going to gloss over details even if they paint me in a bad light? Yeah. That. Right now.) And the depths of my despair were such that suicide started looking like a viable option.

Well, there was this guy who kept emailing me. Instant messaging me. Talking to me whenever he’d run into me. Frankly, annoying the hell out of me. He got me to agree to eat lunch with him during the Day of Prayer, and we’d met to exchange some software that we each had that the other wanted. But I really wanted nothing to do with him. He struck me as a hardcore BOJ who didn’t want to be a BOJ and who was trying to show me that he was cool. Arrogant, showy, and not as worldly-wise as he thought he was.

Yeah. I’m talking about Gary.

He kept asking me to eat meals with him. I kept saying no. But because I was saying no, I didn’t want him to catch me at the dining common after I’d said I was busy. So I didn’t eat any meals for almost a week. At long last, I was starving. Five days without eating a full meal was difficult even for me. So one evening I was heading out the door to finally eat at the dining common. Right before walking out, I decided to check my messages – and I had an instant message from him, asking me to meet him there.

Torn between my aversion to spending time with Gary and my extremely empty stomach, I finally threw my hands in the air and said, “Oh, what the heck.”

We met up outside the Dining Common and walked inside, loading up our trays and making very awkward small talk. I was desperate to find someone, anyone I knew for us to sit with. Finally, I spotted my chapel buddy – and as chance would have it, Gary knew him too. But then something weird happened. Gary and I started talking. And finding out that we had much in common. Chapel Buddy and his friend sat there the whole meal, staring at us as we talked nonstop. Finally, they left. And we kept talking, not noticing that we were soon the only ones left. Soon, the kitchen staff came and asked us to move into the lobby. So we did. And we kept talking, until we were asked to move outside so they could lock down the building. And we stood outside and talked some more, until we realized it was 10:25pm and prayer group was nigh upon us.

Honestly, after that night, I just thought, “I have a friend. This is great.” And I noticed something else – I was a little happier. The despair that had been so all-consuming had lessened ever so slightly.

It didn’t take long for me to start to confide in Gary the problems I was having. I talked to him about Joe first, expecting all sorts of condemnation. He simply stared at me with great sympathy, telling me over and over again that I did the right thing and it was okay to miss him. Then the topic of Peter came up. I still didn’t quite have the words to describe the disparity of desire and fear I felt regarding him. I often lamented to Gary that I hadn’t just slept with Peter and gotten it over with. He echoed Daniel’s sentiment to me when I’d confessed the same to him – “it may have made you feel better at first, but after the afterglow…you’d be worse for wear.”

Soon, I was hanging out with Gary at every available moment – in part because I so enjoyed his company, and in large part because I was growing afraid of being alone with all of my toxic art supplies and sharp X-acto blades. He offered a friendly ear, a proverbial shoulder to lean on, a constancy that I hadn’t felt for a long time. And he started relying on me, as well. Confiding in me his fear that his parents would move while he was at school – his father was seeking a new pastorate. He didn’t want to move again, much as he disliked his town and his church. Confiding in me that he didn’t really agree with a lot of things about BJU or how he grew up. Struggling with what to do over the summer after school, feeling led to work at a camp but not sure if he should because of the cost. We began to bond.

It was bizarre for me emotionally. When I was with him, I was happy. When I wasn’t with him, all of my fear and anger and shame and unhappiness threatened to overwhelm me. My heart was in such turmoil. I’d sent Peter a Facebook friend request in a moment of weakness, and it was accepted in a matter of seconds. Nathanael and I had been exchanging emails intermittently, and I had even worked up the nerve to call him for “homework assistance.” Neither of us wanted to hang up – he was apparently quite lonely and missing me. When we hung up, his voice sounded thick and unsteady…and I fell to pieces after closing my phone.

I was so confused – I loved Joe, because I knew he needed my love after being rejected and abandoned by so many for his desire for divorce. I desired Peter because I’d never been sexually attracted to a man before, and he wielded his power well over me even from a distance. And Nathanael was untouchable in my mind – to me, he was pure and undefiled and I could not defile him by placing expectations and hopes on him before he knew the wretched person I really was, so we continued in (what I thought was) our unspoken understanding that someday we’d try to be together. And so I clung to Gary, the person who made me feel safe, whom I trusted wholeheartedly after such a short time but felt absolutely no romantic attachment to whatsoever. He was my steadiness in a world where I felt I had no foothold.

By this time, I had mostly decided that I wasn’t going to get married. I felt so much shame over my sexuality and desire, over my love for Joe (even though I had done what I believed to be right), over…just…everything. So much shame. But once upon a time, I’d had a list of things I wanted in my future husband. (I think this was something I was told to do by some dating book I read in high school.) I had finally whittled down the list to three things: 1. He must be a growing Christian. 2. He must be a strong spiritual leader. 3. I must trust him entirely. I decided that attraction should have nothing to do with it, or at least not be a determining factor. I’m unsure of how I feel about those things today, but that’s how it was then.

One day in late October, I noticed that Joe’s away message was particularly upsetting to me – he seemed in great distress of some kind. So I changed my away message to reflect that I was praying and concerned, with the admonition to not respond to me. I went to my afternoon classes, then came back and checked my email before going to work in the art building with Gary in the evening…and there sat an email from Joe. It began:

I know you said not to respond, and I pray that you will forgive me, but I feel that I must (and you’ll understand shortly).

First, I would like to thank you for your many prayers (and don’t stop as they are still very much needed).  Second, I thought you should know that I am, in fact, reconciling with my wife.  The Lord has been very busy this past year and through the work of the Spirit and the elders at my church, I have been brought to the point where I know that I was wrong in my decision.  I have confessed to the church my actions; I have asked for their forgiveness (which they’ve graciously given); I have asked my wife for forgiveness and told her my desire to reconcile with her (at first, she was against it, but she prayed about it and did some research and is now flying back from her home to be with me – tomorrow, in fact).  (Hurray for God!!!)

It went on to describe how his family was taking the news, but I couldn’t read it. It’s a good thing I was alone in the room at the time – I began sobbing uncontrollably, gasping for breath, feeling as if every hurt I’d ever felt was nothing in comparison to the confusion and searing pain I was feeling now. I didn’t understand fully why I was in such pain, since I had truly been praying that he would reconcile with his wife. On some level, I ached because I knew I could never be friends with him again now. And, if I’m honest with myself, I ached because now it truly meant that he would never be mine.

I had planned to write more than this, but for now I feel that this is enough. And I know that it sounds like I was a boy-crazy whore (or, at least, I feel that’s what it sounds like…but as Gary tells me, I am my own harshest critic). I’m reasonably certain that wasn’t the case – I wasn’t that boy crazy. I think I had the emotional/relational maturity of a teenager at this point due to my extreme lack of experience with men. I had never really dated anyone, partly because I may not have been allowed to and partly because I bought into the “I Kissed Dating Goodbye” rhetoric and lifestyle hook, line, and sinker. That sort of thinking views every man as a potential mate (something I both hated and revered), and covers sexuality and desire and attraction and relationship in a layer of confusion, intrigue, and ultimately shame.

Also, at this point in time, all that would have needed to happen for me to drop all other contemplations would have been for Nathanael to declare a romantic intent towards me. There’s a line of a song that describes how I felt about him at this time: “I would wait for you forever if you would just ask me.” I would have still struggled with the attraction for others, but my heart would have been committed even if he hadn’t wanted to be in a relationship until after college. I would have waited. But he never said anything outright, and living from text to text, email to email, phone call to phone call, all sporadic was no way to live.

In the midst of all of my confusion and pain wrapped around relationships, Gary was my safe place. He had my attention, if only to keep me from hurting myself.

Quite the opposite, really. And it’s hard for me, now, to understand that. And probably even for some of you. I have not always been how I am now, and I will not always be how I am now. We learn and we grow.

I wrote this on November 6, 2007. I remember this night so clearly. I remember the sincerity of my belief, of my grief and wrestling.

Stitch from 2007 would so deeply ashamed of Stitch from 2012. So ashamed. I guess the way my parents are ashamed. And that’s why I am more accepting of them – because I was once as conservative as they are. Perhaps even more so.

As in the tradition of “In jeans and an orange hoody,” the italics are my commentary now, with a synopsis beneath.

Sometimes I wish that I didn’t take the Bible as seriously as I do, because then I wouldn’t run into so many roadblocks with fellow believers who don’t have the same convictions.

Warning! Warning, 20-year-old me! The Bible talks an awful lot about love and unity, too! When the law becomes more important to you than grace, you are in error.

I am not saying in the slightest that these believers are immature, or lesser believers. Neither am I saying that I am mature or a better believer.

And I truly believed this. Truly, with all of my heart. I thought we had irreconcilable differences, that was all. But I know that’s not how it came across. Probably not how it comes across now that I am the accepting one, not the separatist.

It’s that I see doctrine as very important. Very, very important. If there is a pattern in Scripture, I see it as there for a reason – for us to follow. Once I see such a thing, my conscience will not be silent if I continue to act in opposition to it, even if it is something that no one else is convicted about.

One of the big things with Plymouth Brethren is the noticing of patterns in Scripture and seeing those patterns as explicitly there for instruction. Disobedience to a pattern is as bad or worse than disobedience to a stated command. At this time in my life, I was going to church at every possible opportunity of my own volition without my parents oftentimes. I was soaking up every bit of teaching that I could. And its effect on me was noticeable.

Most of my friends are of the belief that if it is not essential to salvation, then it is not essential. That is, while it’s certainly worth praying about and discovering on your own what the Lord wants you to do about it, it shouldn’t affect your life in such a way that it prevents you from doing things accepted as normal in the service of the Lord.

To an extent, I agree.

But I am finding that when I continue to act in opposition to some small thing I have seen in Scripture, the Lord shows me that it is, indeed, a bigger issue. Simple obedience is a big issue – if He shows me something that I continually ignore, I am sinning. And I’ve found that the denial of seemingly unimportant doctrines tends to deny one aspect or another of the very character of God in a subtle yet serious way.

I believed this. But now, I can see the struggle I’m going through. The subjugation of my reasoning and of who I was to fit within the whole of what I was taught to believe.

He keeps taking things away from me. Things that I saw as opportunities to minister and be ministered to. In a way, I’m hurt. I’m discouraged. I’m afraid of going to (friend)’s house tonight and telling everyone that I can’t be part of the singing ministry, because I’m afraid that I will say the wrong thing and needlessly offend someone.

I was part of a singing group with my college Bible study friends. I also was the pianist and arranged most of what we sang. We hadn’t even begun to perform publicly yet, and I felt led by the Lord to resign. I explain why a little bit further down.

In a way, I think that’s why the Lord led me into art – into graphic design. I had planned my entire junior high and high-school life to major in English. But I know that if I had, I would have used it for the Lord. On the surface, that sounds like a wonderful thing. I know that I would have written expositional/exegesical articles on Scripture and doctrine. I would feel the need to instruct with my writing. However, as a woman, I feel like that would be against Scripture for me to do. Would the Lord have blessed that ministry? Certainly – but not because of me. If He were to withhold His blessing, then He would also be withholding a blessing to His Word. He cannot refuse to bless His Word. However, in blessing His Word, He would not necessarily be blessing my actions, especially since they would be in opposition to His Word.

Uhm.

My next choice of major/vocation would have been music. I love music. I love to listen to it, perform it, write it. I love to write songs from the Word of God. In church music, however, my options would be slim. For reasons stated earlier, I could not perform or lead with my music and still feel that I was in line with Scripture (there are other reasons, but…). That would leave me with playing piano for the meetings, which is something I can do right now, so why pay for four years of school to say I can do it?

That’s it. That’s why I was resigning. I felt that I was taking on a leadership position that was not mine to take because I lacked a penis. Also, I never planned to leave the Plymouth Brethren. And there is no need for higher education to perform most of the functions of the church within the Plymouth Brethren. So I thought I was set with that.

But with art…I am not taking an authoritative role. I am not instructing others. I illustrate truths, but I do not expound upon them. I provide basic services that assist others to be able to preach the gospel and teach the believers. I can design websites, brochures, magazines that can preach the gospel. I can design posters, business cards, greeting cards to encourage others.

Am I too dogmatic? I hope not. I can only do what I feel the Lord is calling me to do, and no less. But I do not expect others to do the same. They must follow the Lord as He leads them, and His leading for them is not necessarily His leading for me.

I feel like I’ve gone in circles. I hope I’ve not been offensive, or on the other extreme, wishy-washy.

This was a mere five years ago, my friends. So much has changed in that time.

Basically…I believed that my life was to be spent in silence helping men proclaim the Bible.

And now…

Now I believe that God has given me a voice, and it would be wrong for me not to use it.

A lot can happen in five years.

It was…incredibly prophetic, actually.

My friend Amanda posted a link to this photo over the weekend on Facebook. Under my real name, I liked it. I thought it was fitting. Pointed. Worthy of consideration.

Sunday afternoon, my mother brought this up and asked me point-blank if I thought being gay was okay. My heart dropped into my stomach, and I knew that it was time for me to be honest.

I said yes.

In that split instant, everything changed. Things that I thought would never change. Could never change.

I was informed that all of my parents’ worst fears about me were confirmed by my acceptance of homosexuality. That my acceptance of it was clearly the result of abandoning Scripture and was an abomination to God, a stench in His nostrils, and not in keeping with being a follower of Christ. I had bought into the lies of the world, the lies of the devil, and I needed to repent.

My husband was in the kitchen while this was going on. He appeared at my side and forcefully told me that we were leaving. I think I shook my head – I’m not sure, because all of me was shaking. I thought, “Surely we can talk about this. Surely she doesn’t mean any of this the way it’s sounding.” She told me that I needed to hide it from Dad, lest he become more stressed out and his tumors become more active because of the stress (this is not the first time she has asked me to tone something down or not tell Dad because it could make his cancer worse). She continued to tell me what she thought about us and our beliefs, until Gary finally had enough of watching his wife wilt and weep. He told her that he was tired of her and my dad shoving their morality down our throats and not respecting our autonomy as adults, and that it was high time she offered us some respect. Things heated up until she declared that she couldn’t believe Gary was talking to her like that, and we were no longer welcome to stay with them. As she ran back to her room in tears, she told us that we had better be gone by the time she came back out.

All because I think it’s possible to be a homosexual Christian. Because I think that love should extend beyond our comfort zone and what is socially acceptable or normal.

We did go back a few hours later to apologize for Gary’s tone – it was harsh, and at the time I believed he had been way out of line. I’m not so sure about that anymore. But we did what we thought to be right. I was – and am – determined to be gracious and loving. I explained to them that my entire life, I have endeavoured to be The Good Child, because of how they feel like they were bad parents with my brother. I have done my best to make them happy, to be there for them, to conform to their beliefs. But that I needed to have a safe place to ask questions. And that surely there was a way for us to have different opinions and be okay. I needed to not be afraid of voicing opinions, of being a different person. They responded that sometimes it’s better to keep things to yourself, and that I should always feel safe asking questions since Mom encouraged questions when I was a child. That was quickly followed by, “But take your questions to God, and be willing to hear things you won’t like.” Dad (who wasn’t there for the initial fight, but was there for the apology) let us know not to expect help or support from them in the future should we find ourselves in need of help, even in desperate need. On the one hand, I understand that. On the other hand…I don’t get it. Because no matter how badly they’ve hurt me in the past, I have always done what I could to help. Particularly since we found out that Dad is dying.

I’m just…I’m reeling. My parents have been such a constant fixture in my life, the perfect picture of unconditional love and acceptance and friendship. And that’s…that’s kind of shattered now. I’ve never been kicked out of my parents’ house before. I’ve never stood up for what I believe with them before, in the effort of keeping the peace. All of my life, I have believed that they have always wanted my best. I still think they want my best. But…I have catered to them in an effort to make them feel better. I have let them have rule of many aspects of my life. I’ve let them hurt me time and time again, and refused to say anything because I know their motives to be pure.

But I think this is a time to withdraw and set boundaries.

But I have no idea how to do that.

I really have always been The Good Child. I’ve always believed the same thing they did, been extremely close to them, desperately wanted and needed their approval. And now…now their disapproval hangs over me like a storm, and I don’t think this storm is going to pass. Even if it does, it will leave quite a devastation in its wake. Our relationship with them will never be the same.

And while I was initially furious with Gary for his harshness with my mom, now all I can see is how he was protecting me from her hatefulness. How he had my back, even though I was going to let her keep hurting me. How now that I feel I’ve lost my parents in a way, he’s all I have left. It’s a bittersweet feeling. His steadiness and protection mean the world to me.

Nevertheless…I am absolutely determined to interact with everyone – especially my parents – in love, graciousness, and honesty, with acceptance of their right to believe differently without allowing them to try to impose their beliefs on me or allowing them to define my spiritual status. Suddenly, I’m incredibly thankful that it’s to my own master that I stand or fall, and to no one else.

Taken at my sixteenth birthday party. I was going through a goth/punk/safety pin phase.

Dear 16-year-old Stitch/Jo:

Let me just say right now that you completely and totally ROCK that hair-cut. Don’t listen to the girl in your class who tells you that she’s afraid that it makes your face look fat. It doesn’t. You look amazing. You won’t have hair that short again for the next nine years, so savor it (even though you’ll get convicted in a few months that you’re disrupting God’s order by having short hair. I wish I could say don’t do that, but we both know that time travel doesn’t really exist).

Seriously. This picture, nine years later, embodies for almost-25-year-old you all of the awesomeness that you possessed at that time in your life. Sophomore year of high school was your year, though you probably don’t realize it. You have a group of friends with whom you hang out regularly. You’re almost popular – at least, the popular kids no longer make fun of you. You are at your musical height – I wish I had your vocal range, and man do I ever wish I was as fantastic of a pianist as you are. Your biggest regret is not-quite dating that loser who swore to you that his girlfriend wasn’t actually his girlfriend and you believed him. You’re doing pretty great. You will look back on this year of your life with tremendous fondness and longing.

There’s so much I want to tell you. Like that your current crush really isn’t worth it. And homeschooling is not going to be fun for you. Even little things, like don’t get your cartilage pierced at Claire’s…twice. Seriously. Don’t do it.

But…if there’s one thing and one thing only that I could impart to you right now, it would be this:

choose love.

Always. Choose love.

Things are going to get really rough for you, just like they do for everyone your age who is trying to Figure It All Out and Make Sense of the World (yes, all teenagers do this – and often, you never really stop). You’re going to learn that things aren’t always the way you were taught they were. And that sometimes things just really, really suck. You’ll be hurt badly and often. You’ll probably hurt others, badly and often and unintentionally.

But stop and evaluate – and choose love.

You’ll meet atheists who aren’t evil anarchists desiring nothing more than the flesh of a new-born baby, people who are actually warm-hearted humanitarians who want nothing more than to leave the world (and everyone in it) better off. You’ll meet people who take advantage of your innocence and kindness, and that will scar you so deeply that you’ll never be the same. You’ll meet Christians who AREN’T from the assemblies who love Jesus every bit as much as you do. You’ll meet homosexuals who aren’t obsessed with sex or the next conquest who share many of your likes and dislikes and personality traits. You’ll meet Christians who say they love you and forgive you and want God’s best in your life but they actually cut you down and demean you and treat you as if you are less than human. You’ll meet people of different faiths and share a deep common ground with them. You’ll be so confused by all of these things. You’ll rethink your beliefs and agonize over the rethinking because you want so desperately to be liked and to be right.

Let it all go, dear girl. You don’t have to be right all the time. The world is not black and white. Things never go according to plan, and you cannot change people no matter how desperately you want to.

But each and every time, choose love.

Sometimes choosing love will look like putting aside your preconceptions and learning afresh. I know how much you hate that, feeling out of your depth and new at something. But it’s worth it.

Sometimes choosing love will look like removing yourself completely from a situation and loving yourself even when everyone around you is telling you that you don’t deserve love. I know you too well to think I have to tell you to love those people, because I know you will anyway. And I know that it’s a struggle to love yourself – it’s a struggle that never really goes away. But how can you love others as you love yourself if you don’t love yourself?

Sometimes choosing love will look like laying down arms in the middle of a fight in order to love the other person the way they need to be loved at that moment.

Sometimes choosing love will look like choking back words of anger, dissent, or even just innocuously offering a different opinion from someone because you realize that they are not yet ready to hear what you have to say.

Sometimes choosing love will look like abandoning the faith to other people, when really you’re putting ON the faith and living the love and freedom you believe in.

You are so young. I am so young. We have much to learn, you and I, six years apart and still growing.

But in the face of all of the unknowable, unsearchable future, let’s you and I promise to always choose love – for ourselves, for others. We’ll find our way from there.

The past couple of months have been revolutionary to me. All of our bills are getting paid on time, in full – for some things like credit cards, school loans, or hospital bills, we’ve been paying more than we owe. And we’re not starving. Our fridge and pantry are well-stocked. And yet we still have money in the bank, let alone an ever-growing amount of money we’ve been saving. This is such a far cry from where we were not long ago financially. Gary’s no-longer-new job has certainly helped, especially his recent raise. We just…suddenly have plenty, and I’m not quite sure what to do with plenty anymore. But it’s…so, so nice. Some of the worry is gone.

We have also been actively looking for a house to rent near my parents. We thought we’d found The One about 30 minutes from my parents (and 40 minutes from my work) – it was a brick rancher, 3 bedrooms, nice yard, garage, huge basement with lots of storage space. Both of us fell in love with it. However, we were one of two applicants…and the other applicants were chosen. I was really sad about that for a while. I emotionally attach to things, even objects – once I start arranging my furniture in a place and start imagining myself living there, it’s all over – in my head, it’s mine now. So that was hard to deal with.

After spending every weekend at my parents’ house for the past month or more, we chose this past weekend to stay at home and recover and relax. We both woke up with horrendous migraines on Saturday morning, and took strong medicine and chilled for a while. Once we started feeling a little better, we heated up leftover pizza for lunch and decided to have an X-Men marathon. There we were, still lounging in our pajamas, Sherlock lodged between us, and my phone rang. It was my dad. He sounded nearly giddy. “Hi! We’re looking at a house for you!” I was…suspicious. And unsure of whether or not a line had just been crossed somehow. But then he began to describe it to me – it is a two-story duplex with a full, finished basement and a room for an office down there. Large kitchen and dining room area. Large bathroom. Back porch/deck with a small yard. Sherlock is allowed with no extra charge. All in all, about 2700 square feet (triple what our apartment is right now) – for over $100 less a month. “I just…I can really see you guys living here,” Dad said at long last. I put him on hold and relayed the information to Gary. “You okay with another 2-hour trip to Mom and Dad’s to see this house?”

So up we went. Dropped Sherlock off at my parents’ and drove over to the duplex together. The neighborhood is relatively nice. It seems like the neighbors all know each other. There’s a Mennonite and a Baptist church within walking distance – while we don’t plan on utilizing either of them, both churches have large pieces of land that they section off for the neighbors if we wanted to have a garden. They also bring by free vegetables every summer from their own gardens. My brother and his family actually used to live in this neighborhood and they loved it.

We walked inside, and I was just blown away. I’m big on textures and feelings. The carpet is luxuriant, or as I called it in my little-girlish excitment, “squishy!” The living room is small, but we immediately went to the basement where there is a large open area that I immediately dubbed The Family Room, where the TV and furniture could go. Gary and I looked at each other and decided that The Living Room would actually be The Music and Arts Room. Off to the side of The Family Room are two rooms – one is the laundry room with a long counter beside the washer for folding clothes. The other is a small room with a tiny window that could easily serve as my office for when I work at home. We walked back upstairs and explored the kitchen and dining room. The wood is warm, almost a cherry wood. The walls are off-white. Everything could easily be very bright or very dark, depending on how we handle the blinds – which is perfect for me, since sometimes I hate having the house dark and other times when I have a migraine it’s imperative that it be dark.

We walked upstairs where the two bedrooms and bathroom are. The bathroom is about the size of our bathroom now, which is pretty large, with lots of storage and sink space. The guest room is smallish with a walk-in closet. The master bedroom is larger than our room now. And upon entering the master bedroom and immediately placing our furniture in it, I was hooked. I took Gary aside and asked what he thought. He was hesitant after we both loved the other house and didn’t get it, but he agreed that we should fill out an application and offer to pay the security deposit and first month’s rent up front in the hopes that it would secure our tenantship.

The man said that he had a few other people looking at it, but that he’d let us know. He owns all of the houses and duplexes on the street and takes really good care of them. He seemed happy that we wanted to use the basement room as an office – one of his prospects for the house wanted to use it as a bedroom, which would be against code because there are no exits in the basement. We hoped that would give us an upper hand.

We went to dinner with my parents afterwards. They had talked us up quite a bit to him – nothing untrue, just telling him all our good qualities (we’re quiet, we always pay rent on time and have never missed a payment, we’re a “good Christian couple,” both with steady jobs, I grew up in town and we’re invested in staying put for a few years). I tried not to hope too much. We spent the night with plans to leave Sunday morning.

As we were packing to leave on Sunday morning, my phone rang. “Hi, this is Mark – you looked at my house yesterday. Just wanted you to know that if you want it, it’s yours.” My heart pounded. I think I actually said, “Really?!” I must have, because he was quiet for a second, then said, “…yeah?” He was at the house at that moment, so we went, signed the lease, and got the keys for the house.

Ladies and gentleman, a year after determining that we were going to move to be closer to my dad and my family, we are moving. We have a house. We have money. Things…things are looking up. We start moving in this week, hopefully moving our bedroom and toiletries and just enough for us to start living at the place while we take the rest of the month to move the rest of our furniture and books. I’m so, so, so excited. And so thankful.

Thanks for being part of my journey! What’s been going on with you all?