Sticks and stones…

/ Lesa / 5 Comments

Did you have a nickname when you were growing up?  Maybe you still have it to this day.  I had several…the first of which I gave to myself…unbeknownst to me.  My name is Lesa Page (yes my parents spelled both my first name AND my middle name incorrectly).  When I was little, I couldn’t quite pronounce the two words and they came out as Esa Peach.  So, Esa Peach was my very first nickname and some family members to this day will sometimes call me by that name.  When I hit my teenage years, my nicknames became more related to the fact that I am vertically challenged.  A few of those names were:

Little
Little L
Stump – I of course didn’t care for this one too much
L – my dad calls me this today – I think he’s just lazy (smile)
Lesa Page – as a teenager there were so many Lisa’s that my friends called me by my first and middle name.  Kind of wish I would have stuck with that as an adult…I kind of like it.

When my son was a baby and toddler, his nickname was Booper.  My mom was so afraid that was going to stick.  I’m not even sure how Mike and I started calling him that, but it just seemed to fit him.  He was a pudgy little guy and Booper just seemed to work.  I’m sure he is happy that it was short-lived.  His nickname now is Kai (his name is Kyle).

It seems like yesterday that he was that little baby.  I remember holding for the first time.  To be honest, he looked like a little old man…kind of wrinkly and very little hair.  He quickly grew and like I said was a little pudge.  He unfortunately had colic as a baby.  And not the kind where the baby would cry during a certain time of day…it seemed to bother him all the time.  It made me feel so bad for him.  As I held him, his little legs would bunch up and he would throw his little head back with the most heart wrenching cry.  There were many days that I would cry right along with him as I bounced and paced the floors with him.  Man did I do a lot of pacing.

He eventually grew out of that and became a happy little guy.  I can still see his little face when I would walk into his room in the mornings to retrieve him from his crib.  He would say my name with his pacifier pushed to one side of his mouth and would give me the biggest smile.  It was as if his whole world just walked through the door.  I remember his first steps…arms stretched out like Frankenstein, teetering from one foot to the other with the biggest grin on his face.  He was so proud of himself.  He was a stubborn little bugger too.  The terrible twos are an understatement.  He was so smart which I swear made it worse.  Once he got something in his mind, boy was it tough to re-route him.  And the older he got, the harder it got.  Once he hit the elementary school age, it took a lot of creative thinking to stay one step ahead of him.  And when we really got stuck in a battle of the wills, it seemed like humor was the ONLY thing that would snap him out of it.  Good thing I’m a goof ball (smile).  It just took a little humor to break things up and then you could have a conversation with him.

He was always well liked in school by his teachers and classmates…especially the girls.  He was a straight A student all the way through high school.  I think he got a B or two in college, but seemed to always make the deans list even though he struggled terribly with anxiety and depression.  I’m really not sure how he did it.

As I’ve mentioned in other posts, we noticed a change in him around the age of 14 and things came to a head when he was 15 and we found out he was gay.  My friendly, preppy, kind boy turned into an angry, depressed, anxiety ridden boy.  The music he listened to changed, the clothes he wore changed, the kind of friends he had changed.  It was as if the internal struggle that he had been going through for years that we were unaware of came out to the surface in every way.  It was terrifying.  It was as if aliens had come in the middle of the night and replaced our child with someone who we didn’t recognize.  All of the hurt that he had hidden for so long was now out in the open.

I wish SO BADLY that I had the resources back then that I have now.  I would have done things SO differently.  I know I hurt him…before I knew he was gay…and after I found out.  You see, I lived in the place where I thought being gay was something that needed to be fixed.  I felt that way because that is what I had learned from the resources I had at the time.  I was given a lot of hope from those resources…unfortunately it was false hope.  Stories of change that were told later turned out to be lies. And I transferred that hope to him.  It gave him hope and when things didn’t change it only added to his frustration, hurt, and depression.

Society gives gay people a lot of grief about being gay.  Names are hurled at them like butch, fag, dyke, fairy…not exactly endearing nicknames.  And despite the little saying of “sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me,” they do indeed hurt.  The hard part though is when a gay person’s family is the cause of the hurt…not by name calling necessarily…although that does happen, but by attitudes and statements that are made.  Something I’ve heard more than once from a young gay person before coming out in regards to their family is this….

“They don’t like me….but they don’t know that they don’t like me.”

What we need to understand is that they are absorbing every remark, comment, facial expression, body language, etc. when it comes to our attitudes about gay people.  The first time I heard that from someone…my spirit was crushed because I know that my son felt that way before he came out.  Looking back…it explains a lot.  I’ve never said anything bad about gay people. I’ve worked with them, have a gay family member in my extended family, etc. and I’ve never felt anything but love for them.  But when you come from a place where you think they are broken and can be fixed, it is hurtful.  And I know my son overheard comments from me regarding this.

I don’t write this to make you feel guilty if you have a gay child and have gone about things differently then you would have like to or feel like you have messed up.  I can tell you that I messed up.  You can move past it.  You can ask for the person to forgive you…and then do what is hard and forgive yourself.  I still struggle with that part.  This post is more for everyone else who may or may not have a gay child, family member, or friend.  Be careful what you say and how you say it.  You never know who is listening…and if they are struggling they will be hyper sensitive to your speech and demeanor.  Let’s not have another child think…they don’t like me…but they don’t know that they don’t like me.

Today my son is a young adult.  The other day we were leaving for work at the same time (he is living at home to save money to one day move out).  I was sitting in my car as he walked down to his car that was parked in the cul-de-sac.  As I watched him in my side mirror with his slouchy hat (to control his curls), skinny jeans, and messenger bag slung across his shoulder, I was overwhelmed with thankfulness for his forgiving spirit for a mom who didn’t have a clue when he first came out.  I’m so thankful that his spark is back and I once again have my funny, happy boy.  He knows without a doubt that I love him.  But he can also say…

She likes me…and I know she likes me because she shows it in her words and actions.

Love each other…because it matters.

For he’s a jolly good fella…

/ Lesa / 16 Comments

It’s been a sad couple of weeks.  There have been some suicides, some of my friends have lost their moms and their dads, a friend lost his sister, our county lost two officers in the line of duty.  There have been many tears shed.  There have been funerals.  One of the officers was killed right in the Panera where I’ve met moms of other gay kids and it’s where we have our PFLAG board meetings.  Really scary…and really sad.  One of the officers funeral processions went by our church. Some of us stood in the parking lot as the procession went by to show our support.  There was a steady stream of cars for one hour.  One hour.  The respect and love that was poured out for those two officers was amazing to see…and humbling. We owe them so much.  All of them who serve and protect us every day.

Funerals are interesting.  Someone recently said we should have a funeral without the dead people.  Why is that?  Because they bring people together.  How many times have you gone to a funeral and seen family that you haven’t seen in years. What’s the common thing we say to each other in those instances?  “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.” Why don’t we?  The business of life gets in the way all too often.  One of the things that strikes me at every funeral I have ever been to are the stories that the loved ones tell of the person they’ve loved and lost.  Many times I learn things about the person I never knew.  And if I’m at a funeral in support of a friend and didn’t actually know the person who died…I usually leave wishing I had.

So…it’s gotten me to thinking.  Why don’t we tell people how we feel about them while they are still here?  Why do we tell the stories and what they’ve meant to us after they are gone?  As I’ve shared in another post, there were so many things that I wanted to tell my mom, but she died suddenly without warning and then it was too late.  I will probably add to that post as time goes on as it was really painful to write it.

So…this post is dedicated to my dad…who is very much alive and well as I write this (smile).

I have always been a daddy’s girl.  Growing up my dad was like a super hero to me…he still is (smile).  I wanted to go everywhere that he did…even if that meant hanging out at the garage while his car was worked on.  They always told me I was an old soul in a kids body so I never needed to be entertained and I always got along with adults…so sitting there waiting for my dad’s car was no big deal to me.

If you want to know where I get my quirky sense of humor, just talk to my dad.  The apple didn’t fall far from the tree (smile). And if you know me personally, you know I don’t mind making a fool of myself if it means getting a laugh or having fun (just watch one of my Lucille videos).  Got that from my dad.  He would always play the craziest things with me when I was little. At the time, we lived in a house that was basically a living room and kitchen on the first floor.  My dad would sit at the kitchen table, and I would be a “monster” in the living room.  I would put my arms over my head to make myself bigger and would give my most scary roar.  My dad would pretend to be scared.  He was so good at it that I truly believed I was scaring him.  To this day, I can still see his terrified face as the “monster” got closer and closer to him. Then there was the game that my mom hated.  I would pretend to be a puppy.  My dad sitting in the same chair at the kitchen table would make a fuss over me…”oh isn’t that the cutest puppy!”  He would pat me on the head and pretend to give me a treat.  I would act like a “good” puppy until he gave me the treat at which time I would pretend to bite his fingers.  He then would proceed to whack me with a newspaper.  Like I said…it mortified my mom, but I thought it was hilarious and it was one of my favorite “games” to play. He acted like I really bit him…hmmm….maybe he should have been an actor (smile).

 

He spent hours at that same kitchen table doing eye exercises with me when I was little because I had a lazy eye.  Thanks to him it is gone.  He also spent hours going over time-table flash cards to get me caught up to my class (I changed from public to private school in the 3rd grade and was very far behind everyone).  He never gave up on me.

He would read me bedtime stories at night.  Sometimes he would read to me a book that he was reading.  It went over my head, but I didn’t mind…I just liked spending time with my dad.  There was one time when he came into the room where I was waiting for him and he stubbed his toe on the door.  He jumped around holding his foot for what seemed like forever. Still makes me giggle when I think about it today.  I know…not very nice…but remember I got my sense of humor from my dad (smile).

When I was ten, he built our first color television.  He had ordered it through the mail.  It came with big instruction binders and he spent what felt like hours in the basement putting it together.  I remember being so impressed by that…and totally thrilled to have a color television.  As I got older, he would continue to help with my math homework. Algebra and geometry where the bane of my existence…but he persevered and I passed.  He was the master of board games and spent hours playing them with me.  He taught me how to play chess, how to budget my money, how to do my taxes, and many other life skills that help me to this day.

He was the king of embarrassing me as a teenager.  It included fake tripping in the middle of restaurants, answering the door when a date would come to pick me up with a huge sombrero on his head, or a baseball cap with the bill flipped up, wearing his robe.  But making the boyfriends think he was crazy is a dad’s job…right??

I can’t go to a grocery store and see butterscotch krimpets, peanut butter tandykakes, slimjims, or gingersnap cookies without thinking of my dad.  These were all goodies that he would bring me home on grocery shopping day (not all at once of course).  Late night grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches and midnight runs to Dunkin Donuts (which was right up the street from our house in the city) are also fond memories that I have growing up with my dad.

He served in the army beginning at the ripe old age of 17, worked hard for many years enduring strikes and lay-offs, buried his first wife (my mom) when he was 52 and his second wife 10 years after that.  He is married a third time to a wonderful woman who unfortunately is sick with kidney disease.  He has not had an easy time of it, but he still has that silly sense of humor.

He is my biggest supporter of my blog and its controversial topic.  He has accepted his gay grandson without batting an eye. He is smart, and funny, and like I said…still my super hero.  I appreciate all that he has taught me and all the memories he has given me.  I love him to the moon and back.

Dad…I love you more…and you know…love matters.

I’ve had the radish…

/ Lesa / 16 Comments

When my family planned a trip to New England a few years ago, my friend from Vermont taught me a few of the sayings that are from there.  Her family was traveling with us so it was really fun to have our very own tour guide.  We visited Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine both times that we vacationed together up there.  The saying, “I’ve had the radish” was the funniest to me.  I mean…what do New Englanders have against radishes (smile).  She explained to me that when her mom was at her wit’s end with her and her brothers she would let them know that she’d had the radish.  They knew then that they better settle down or they were going to get it.  They would also say it when something was worn out or ready for the trash.  Pretty funny, but then again being from Baltimore has its own little world of sayings as well.

This is how I’m feeling right now…I’ve had the radish.  I’m wondering seriously if this is even real life.  Am I living in one of my crazy dreams?  It feels like it.  My chest physically hurts, and the only thing that keeps going through my mind is what breaks God’s heart is breaking mine.

broken-heart-with-hammer

A young man who I met about a little over a year ago took his life yesterday.  I remember hearing his story.  I remember sitting with his mom as she tearfully told my group that her church refused to baptize her son.  How distraught she and her husband and her son were about that….rightfully so.  I can’t get his face out of my mind.  His shy demeanor, his intelligence, his compassion.  The church was going to meet with them to discuss this with them further.  After many attempts to do so…and simply just being blown off…I guess they waited too long.  I wonder if these leaders will sit down with this family now.  (he suffered from depression, but I promise you the church’s response did not help)

The church and their statements…their policies…I wonder as they sit in their meetings if they consider the consequences of their decisions.  Do they know any LGBTQ people?  Have they learned their stories?  Asked what they needed?  I am often asked, “Why don’t the LGBTQ people who aren’t happy with their churches find an affirming church?”  The answer is simple…in many areas of our country…there aren’t any affirming churches.  There are the churches that will say they are welcoming, but they don’t have anyone LGBTQ attending.  If you were truly a welcoming congregation, you would have them attending because they would know that you were welcoming.  In many cases, churches tolerate the LGBTQ community and then pat themselves on the back that they let them attend.

The Mormon church recently introduced a policy in November regarding the LGBT community.  Since then there have been 32 LGBTQ suicides in the last 81 days.  Let that sink in…  While it’s impossible to know whether the new policy triggered the reaction of these suicides, the circumstantial evidence can’t be ignored.  The church was asked about this and they replied, “they do not reject LGBT members.” Really?  Have you asked them how they feel about your new policy? Clearly there is a disconnect.

I gotta be honest.  I feel sick…I feel hopeless…and I feel helpless.  It makes me want to have NOTHING to do with the church.  I know that’s harsh.  I know there is a good possibility that we all may never agree, but making people feel as if they are unworthy of love…thrown away…is not how we should handle that disagreement.

If you have a conversation with someone about God, Christianity, the Gospel…whatever the topic regarding faith…and they leave feeling less than, unloved, belittled, etc…you are DOING IT WRONG.  As Christians we are to bear good fruit. What kind of fruit are you bearing?  How many lives must we lose?

For now I will remind myself of Isaiah 61:1-3

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion– to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor.

beauty-from-ashes

Lord bring us beauty from ashes.  Love each other…love matters…and how we love matters even more.

 

 

 

Lesa did you know?…

/ Lesa / 7 Comments

I can’t believe another year has begun…and we are past the middle of the first month already.  Maybe it’s because Christmas hasn’t quite been over for us yet.  We just had our family Christmas with my in-laws this past Saturday, and this coming weekend was supposed to be Mike’s holiday party at work, but because of all the snow they are calling for it is now going to be at the end of February.  So, I guess the holidays are going to last a bit longer for us.

Have you ever had a year where you just couldn’t get into Christmas…maybe even felt a little sad?  I had one of those this year.  I’m not even really sure why this year bothered me.  I know people who struggle with depression during the holidays and although I miss my loved ones who are no longer on this earth every holiday, I don’t usually get the blues.  I didn’t get as much quiet time with God and that may be why…but for whatever reason…I was pretty weepy…and certain Christmas songs sure didn’t help.

One of my all time favorite Christmas songs is Mary Did You Know? written by Mark Lowry.  Right now my favorite version is by Pentatonix.

As a mother, it isn’t hard for me to connect to this song.  I try to imagine how Mary must have felt raising Jesus.  She of course knew who she was raising, but she didn’t know everything that they would go through. There is a scene in the movie Passion of the Christ that will forever remain with me.  It’s when Jesus is walking with the cross and he falls.  Mary is in the crowd and as she watches him fall she has flashbacks to when he was a toddler learning to walk. They show him falling as a toddler and then they go back to the scene of him as an adult.  That scene hits me right in the heart.  Our children are our children until the day we die…no matter how old they get, and when they hurt…we hurt.

As I listened to the song this year, I couldn’t help but wonder what life would have been like if I’d known sooner that my son was gay.

Mary did you know that your baby boy would one day walk on water?
Lesa did you know that your baby boy would one day discover he was gay?
Mary did you know that your baby boy would save our sons and daughters?
Lesa did you know that your baby boy would be called an abomination?
Mary did you know that your baby boy will give sight to a blind man?
Lesa did you know that your baby boy would be discriminated against? (there are currently 115 anti-LGBT bills that have been introduced in state and local legislation)
Mary did you know that your baby boy would calm the storm with his hand?
Lesa did you know that your baby boy would have preachers calling for his death from their pulpits. (these aren’t outlandish Westboro Baptist type churches – they are every day churches – I won’t put their names here because they could be a trigger for someone, but if you want more info you can contact me.)

Would I want to know these things as I held my baby boy?  No, I have to say that I’m glad I didn’t.  As much as I wish I could have prepared him for what he was about to face, I wasn’t prepared to handle it back then.  I, of course, wish I could have protected him from the pain he went through with the coming out process, but I know that it has shaped him into the strong person he is now.  I am a different person now having gone though this with him.  I shudder to think of how I may have handled it if I had known back then.  (please understand that I am not comparing raising a gay son to raising Jesus so don’t email me about that – smile).

There were a lot of engagements happening this Christmas…and maybe that was part of my sadness.  It’s a reminder that my son may not have the same joy of that occasion.  Yes, he can get married at the moment…but…

Will he have a clerk refuse to sign his marriage license?
Will he have a baker refuse to make his cake?
Will he have a florist refuse to create his flower arrangements?
Will the venue find a reason for him not to have his reception where he would like it?

These are the kind of things that our kids are faced with on a daily basis.

So, these have been my holiday musings.  I hope one day I won’t have such things to ponder.  I share them with you as a reminder that there is still work to be done.  Because whether or not we agree on things, the one thing I know for sure is that everyone should be loved.

There’s a line in the song that pertains to Mary and myself:

This child that you delivered, will soon deliver you.

My son has delivered me from the box I was living in, and had God stuffed in there with me, and helped me love others unconditionally.  I am forever grateful for that and it makes the journey a little less painful.

So let me ask you…

Do you know…that you are loved.  If you don’t, contact me.

Love matters…but how we love matters even more.

Happy New Year 2016!

/ Lesa / Leave a comment

As Mike and I were preparing for friends to come over yesterday to ring in the new year, I had a memory surface from my childhood.  Growing up my parents would get all gussied up for new year’s.  They would get together with friends and family for dinner and dancing.  There was one year in particular that I remember.  They had gotten ready for the big night and as they were getting ready to leave I was sitting on our steps crying.  My dad came over to me and asked why I was crying…it was unusual  for me.  You see…this particular year my mom was wearing the most gorgeous dress I had ever seen.  It was silver and sparkly from head to toe and had an open back.  I thought she looked beautiful.  I explained to my dad that I was worried that men would whistle at my mom because she looked so pretty.  Now don’t ask me why I thought that was so upsetting, but apparently it was a grave concern for me.  My dad assured me that if anyone whistled at her he would promptly punch them in the nose.  And apparently that’s all I need to know because I was fine after that (smile).  Funny how little memories like that can just pop into your brain at the most unexpected times.

I can’t believe that 2015 has come to an end.  I know everyone says it, but where has the time gone?  It just keeps going faster and faster.  If you have been following me for a while, you know that I didn’t write as much this year.  When I first started this blog, I wrote a post just about once a week.  This year it was more like once a month.  There are a few reasons for that…this year I’ve spent more time with people in person, learning their stories and getting to know them better, I’ve helped to start a PFLAG chapter in my area, and honestly after sharing my story at my church in July I needed a bit of a break from everything.  I’m excited to see what this new year holds and where God takes me on this journey.  I hope you come along with me (smile).

In 2015, my blog was viewed by people in 89 different countries.  I still can’t believe how far-reaching a blog can be!  Here are the most viewed blog posts in 2015 (two are from 2014, but seem to be favorites that people visit often).  If you missed one, check it out.  And if it touches you, please share (smile):

Is God REALLY good ALL the time…

Perspective…sometimes it knocks you off your feet…

A Mother’s Heart…

Sacred moments…

The face of courage...

Do you speak love fluently…

As you face the new year, embrace the challenges, the adventures, the possibilities…

It’s a new start…with a blank slate.

Get out there and love…because it matters.

Happy New Year!