THE CURSE HAS BEEN LIFTED

THE CURSE HAS BEEN LIFTED

Six months. Oy vey. It’s been six months since I’ve written a blog. Many excuses come to mind for my not taking the time to post, however I won’t bore you with those. My commitment to post is back in full force. Here we go. Are you ready? Let’s talk about Beauty and the Beast (Insert awkward clapping)! Fuzzy wuzzy, popcorn, candy coma induced thoughts come to mind when I go way back to 1991. This was my first introduction to Beauty and the Beast. I was thirteen and my brother was five. Many lazy days with this VHS on loop as background noise in our home. A staple, if you will, in the Disney library that remains embedded in my childhood memories. When I heard of a remake involving a live production musical it was everything in me too…well…I actually have no desire to see it. Where’s your inner princess Liz? Where has she gone? This princess doesn’t like live musicals and actually get’s very oddly embarrassed when (in a small setting especially) people start singing. For example, a coffee shop or hotel lobby. Or that friend who wants you to know they can sing. For some reason, “I’d rather not thank you.” In larger settings I’m fine. I’m odd, yes we all know this. Nevertheless, this has nothing to do with my blog today, just a few random Liz factoids. Back to hoopla over this movie. Just some thoughts for my Christian friends to consider. If you aren’t familiar with the controversy swirling around this movie, in a nutshell, the 2017’s Disney live action musical will feature...
Did I Choose to be Gay?

Did I Choose to be Gay?

That afternoon when I was seventeen still stands out as a marker in my mind so clearly. It was the day I finally spoke with my father about coming out as a lesbian. Soberly, I walked into the room where he was sitting quietly on the couch. After our awkward interaction, in which I disclosed that I was a lesbian, he asked me if I wanted help. I had no confidence in his ability to help me and was completely disconnect from God, so I rejected the offer. I go into depth further about my journey in my book The God of My Parents and other blog posts you can read here and here. However, in this blog, I’d like to talk about how certain verbiage that is thrown around by Christians in order to be effective in reaching the gay community is actually very damaging. I will be writing about the concept of choice. To choose something you need to first see another option. During the time in my life when I came out to my dad, due to my disconnected and false understanding of God, I lived a desperately lonely and isolated existence. I was starving for affection and affirmation and had been for some time. I began to attempt to meet these needs, these deep longings for affirmation, validation and emotional safety through romantic relationships with women. But did I choose to be gay? This is a question I hear from many well meaning Christians when trying to communicate the truth of the gospel. I experienced substantial deficits in my life but while I very much had...
Straightforward: The Gay Blog

Straightforward: The Gay Blog

I wasn’t a pretty lesbian. Well, I think my girlfriend found me pretty, but nowadays it seems that when you turn on the TV most lesbians are gorgeous and infinitely confident. Jodi Foster, Ellen Page, Gillian Anderson, Ellen Degeneres’ partner with the name that I can’t pronounce…all strong, beautiful women. Nope. Not me, though. I was awkward. Precarious. Insecure. I was proud, but stayed in the background. For those of you who haven’t read my book The God of My Parents, it may be helpful if I give some details about my life. Deep in the mountains of Northern California rests a little town I’ll call Wilsonville. To this day the small wooded community still only houses about twelve-hundred people. My parents left their well-paying jobs in Silicon Valley and relocated there to pastor a church of about five members when I was seven. We contrasted pretty sharply with the culture of this community. As I wrote in my book, “If you were forced to lump all of the residents of Wilsonville into two primary groups you could call them the hippies and the rednecks. Hippies that grew pot, rednecks that cut timber, hippies that protested the cutting of timber, rednecks that smoked pot but hated the hippies, Native Americans that grew pot and cut timber, and the few that simply lived in the middle of it all.” Considering the environment in which I grew up I would probably identify more as a “missionary kid” than a “pastor’s kid,” because I was exposed to so much more culture than perhaps the typical ministry child. Outside of our tiny church...