My heart aches inside me, it breaks.
I see such hate, such disgust, so many pointed fingers.
But most of all, I see pain.
A person, genetically male, has called himself female.
One side rises, in triumph, in rejoicing over freedom of expression of self.
The other side rises vehemently in disgust and condemnation.
Disgusted with each other.
I am caught, caught in the center, my words stuck in my throat.
It has happened so many times.
What one side calls perversion, another calls self identity.
What do I call it?
Scripture is clear on such things, I believe scripture. But I don’t even remotely agree with those who condemn, with those who rise in disgust.
This question of sexuality, it is a question I’ve thought on deeply, searching deeply in the depths for truth. It is also something that I’ve been so afraid to speak of.
So what do I believe?
I believe that self-identity was never supposed to hold such power over us.
I believe that sexuality itself was never meant to have such a death grip on our lives.
I also believe that those who claim titles of “homosexual,” or “transgender,” have less choice in the matter than the condemners realize.
Do I believe they are born that way?
But I do believe that sexual identity is formed deeply in the mind at a very young age. Most don’t realize how much the mind is involved in everything we do. It learns behavior, it learns patterns, those imprints stay for life.
I can show you examples of this, extreme ones where a man has so imprinted his mind with porn, that he is incapable of arousal by anything else. Or the horrifying cases that would land in a therapists door of younger and younger boys not only in constant arousal from porn addiction but with an increasingly violent taste brought on by what they see. Those are extreme examples of how a mind is changed by what it is subjected to.
But such imprints, however they form, and whatever their result, are varied and wild, no specific equation. It is a mistake to say a person became such and such a way because of such and such a thing. We are complex creatures. Too complex for such simplifications.
But the condemners point to scripture, they call it sin.
Yes, so? And aren’t I too a sinner?
And the victors say, but they don’t have a choice!
Yes, so? Have I yet spoken to condemn?
So what do I see? With this man turned woman?
An object of disgust? No! Something to praise? No.
But I see a human. I see pain and grief and struggle and hope and a person trying to be happy.
And I can’t toss a stone, no, I never even think to pick a stone up.
This person is trying to be happy. Do I believe the way it has been gone about is right? No. But it is not my place to speak into this persons life.
But I will speak to the condemners, and I will ask, how can you toss stones?
And my heart aches, aches so deeply, for the pain in so many eyes.
I have always been able to see pain in a persons eyes. Pain they never meant me to see.
It nearly drowns me, it’s why I could hardly look at Robin Williams, I liked his films, but somehow he always made my heart ache, he always seemed so sad to me. Now I know why.
The words catch in my throat, because beyond the hate and the lashing out I see pain, pain on all sides.
And my heart grieves.
So I turn and I look full at Christ and I offer my heart of pain to Him, because only He can touch them, and I can’t carry this burden.
I’m not here to debate. I’m not here to agree. I’m just here saying, please, whatever it may mean: