Thursday, March 27, 2014

Going Somewhere

Insert trite saying here, such as "life is a winding road" or "the only constant is change" blah blah. I got some news, that I was loathe to tell anyone because, obviously, then everyone will know. And judge, cheer or jeer. And of course there is the huge barnacle that all perfectionists carry - what if I FAIL? and everyone knows it. But I am going to share this because there are a lot of folks who think, in regards to making big changes, something like: "it's too late" or "I'm too old" or "that's too scary". But, it is the example of some lovely women I know that have made those big leaps and sacrficies that inspired me to do the same. So, in the spirit of encouragement here ya go: I am going to college.

Let me back up and revisit the moment, at our big HS senior party when I won some sort of drawing. On the entry ticket you were required to write your name, and where you were attending college. After spending 12 years in the Catholic education system, not going to college was unthinkable. Even the slower kids and slackers were going somewhere. They drew my name. "Shelley Anderson!, " he read. "Shelley is uh.....going nowhere." A cheer went up in the crowd. I felt for a moment like a hero - brave enough to make a decision that quite a few wanted to make, but didn't have the courage to because of family pressure. But I wasn't a hero, just a kid who knew herself. The reason I didn't go? I am a practical gal - I simply didn't have a dream. (sort of like the anti MLK Jr. "I don't have a dream..." ) Why waste money and time, just because I was "supposed to"? I never liked doing what I was supposed to, so I didn't. And I don't. I rarely regretted the decision. Perhaps only in those odd moments when groups of strangers were trotting out their credentials. And I had none of my own.

But this isn't entirely honest. 90% of the reason I didn't attend college after High School was because I couldn't think of anything I specifically wanted to pursue, that would lead to a decent career. The other 10% was fear based. I graduated in the top 20% of a pretty smart bunch, but deep down - I didn't think I could hack it. The truth is that, besides a natural propensity for language, I kind of felt like I was ...well - dumb.

But things change. I've had 17 years out of school and 9 years out of the workforce, to look after my gals. And a lot of time to think. I've been some amazing places, and done some confidence building and worthwhile things in the last decade. Staying home to raise a family is admirable and worth doing. But I find in myself, that my contentment is inextricably linked with advancement and achievement. I am satisfied most in life, when I make progress. I want to work. I want to gain knowledge. I think I kind of NEED to.

So a few months ago, when I felt a call in my heart to pursue a particular profession, I had to make a decision. Keep on doing...not much. Running my non-profit, writing for a little extra cash, hanging with my kids in the summer. Or do the really poop in your pants terrifying thing of go to college so I can have...wait for it - a CAREER. That is insane to even think of, for a girl who has had more low end jobs in 8 years than most would have in their lives. College.With a bunch of kids. And face down the algebra demons, and the chem lab ghosts. And the field I've chosen, it couldn't get much worse, really. I HAD to pick the thing that was like insanely HARD to do. I've had several admissions reps tell me not to BOTHER. Don't try. (WHO says that?!) Isn't there something else you want to do? This program, is not just hard to get into, it's damn near impossible. Good grades are not enough. Why don't you try something else? Good God, could it get any more gut clenching than that  for someone who suffers from high levels of anxiety?

But though they made me tear up a little and get down for a moment, I had made up my mind. I would try, and risk failing, because I want a better life for me and my family. I am 34 years old. I have not sat in a classroom and taken notes in 17 years. But, as my buddy Josh says: I have to take my life to the Next Level. I am not going to stagnate here. I want more. Everything I've done up until this point has been a stepping stone to the thing I fear most - taking a risk and possibly finding out, for real this time, that I am not good enough. I hope I will find the opposite. But my willingness to TRY is a huge win for high anxiety self doubting perfectionists everywhere. If it isn't too late for me - then it's not too late for you either. We only get one shot in life...blah blah etc etc. DO something.

Godspeed.

Tuesday, December 31, 2013

2013: Beauty from Ashes

A recent survey conducted by the Economist revealed that 2 in 3 Americans think 2013 stunk. It's good to know I'm not alone.

While I am a much more emotionally balanced and optimistic person than I once was, that doesn't prevent me from saying this:

2013 has been unequivocally, the worst year of my life.

It began with mysterious health struggles, that still persist. Continued with the pain and shame of cancelling and then resigning from a race I founded and love. Then my niece died. My athletic ability faded away. My body saddled with constant pain. My parents sold our childhood home and moved away. Depression. Anxiety. Serious personal difficulties. And more than my share of emotional pain. And at times - anguish.

So I am not sad to see the door close on 2013. In fact, I can hardly throw it out onto the street fast enough.

Yet, time and circumstance changes all people. So, though I have been staring hard at a few rotten trees this year, I can still see the forest. There is good that comes from pain...balance in the universe. In fact, I am unable to think of one bad thing that has happened in life, that didn't give rise to something good. Maybe not equally as good, because no one said life was a zero sum equation. But good, nonetheless. Christians call that "beauty from ashes".

In the mountains - forest fires, landslides, and avalanches can destroy delicately balanced natural systems. But ecologists are quick to point out that there are hosts of species, unable to survive in old growth land areas. Change in surface environment creates a diverse environment where new species can survive. So, after the devastation, new things will take root that never existed in that place before. Different plants, attracting new wildlife. Creating some of the most rich and beautiful landscapes. Yes, there is destruction, but eventually there is new life.

So while I am excited to say goodnight to this awful year, I anxiously anticipate the new growth that will come. I write this to encourage those who have suffered far worse than myself. Those who have lost the ability to see the forest any longer. Take heart, Americans. The seeds are sown, it won't be long now before they surface.

Godspeed.

Monday, September 23, 2013

Harper's Legacy

"Dear Diary,
I had that dream again. The one with the stillborn babies. This time they were lined up on small brown mats - dozens of them lying identically and lifelessly on their sides. They aren't grotesque - they are beautiful and frail and delicate, curled into perfect balls. Sometimes there is one baby, other times - like last night, too many to count. 1 in every 160 births. 2,000 babies a day.

I've been having this dream since the day Harper arrived. The days before that it was of me and my sister, heavily pregnant in the forest. Waiting to give birth to death. But after she came, it has been the babies. Bones and ashes. Helpless little bodies. I don't spend my days dwelling on her, but the dreams still come.

I got to lay eyes on her just that once. On her graceful perfectly formed hand. The pearly shell fingernails. I couldn't help it. I bent down to the tiny casket, that was shorter than my shin bone, and pushed my face right in. Studying her hands and her face. The mind cannot comprehend a human so small. I had to get close to be sure she wasn't a doll. Her existence defies definition. She was never "alive". Yet you wouldn't dare think that, because she so obviously was. I memorized her hand, poking out from under her ribbon cuffed gown.

What can be done for these that I dream of? Featherless birds, perished from nothingness to nothingness? There is only one thing I can do - clothe them."

I wrote this in my dear diary on July 6th, two weeks after our niece Harper was stillborn. I had been haunted by these dreams ever since leaving Louisiana. Harper had been clothed for her photos and funeral by a non-profit called Threads of Love. They provided a beautiful gown and bonnet, as well as some memory items, to Wendy and Steve in the hospital. The gift touched them so much that they asked for memorial donations in Harper's name to be directed there. I read up on the international ministry, that has more than 100 chapters world wide, and found there wasn't one in Western NY. I'll have to change that, I thought to myself.
And then I came home. And life goes on and you and I and everyone else is busy with the things that we are busy with. But the dreams were persistent. Every night it was - tiny babies, perished and unclothed. I wasn't frightened or tormented by them,  they simply visited me very matter of fact in my sleep. One morning with the visions fresh on my mind, I put my to-do list aside, sat down, and sewed a tiny white gown. The bodice so small it fit within my palm. That afternoon I sent off an application to form a chapter of Threads of Love. The dreams never returned once I began to sew.

My family has, as I am sure millions of families around the world have, felt the burden of being able to do nothing to heal my sister and brother in law - to remove their pain, to somehow bring her back. But this is something that we do in her honor. It is a practical gift - a blanket, a memory envelope, a prayer, and a gown for a child too small to wear store bought clothes. It removes the painful task of shopping for a burial outfit. Gives these tiny humans the same dignity we give to others in death. But it's not about clothes. Not really. It is about God. It is about shared grief. It is about letting a devastated family know that somebody cares. God cares. We care. So along with my mother and best friend, we have created Harper's Legacy Threads of Love.

The goal of Harper's Legacy is to supply every hospital in Monroe County with a bereavement package for families who have lost a child due to miscarriage, stillbirth, or NICU death. This will take money and time. But I don't believe that God's plan for Harper ended when she was unable to take a breath. She has a legacy, as every person does. And this is a part of it. I hope you will take a few moments to visit our website. Share it with anyone and everyone you can. This will take an army of volunteer sewers, knitters and crocheters. It will take money and fabric and thread and time. And prayer - that Harper's Legacy reaches far beyond our family, and has no end.


Wednesday, August 7, 2013

The Beginner

There once was a girl who was full of excitement and curiosity. She called herself a 'Starter'. Because she was not a Finisher. She wanted to learn everything and do everything and know everything. She worked hard, and in whatever she did, she was pretty okay. Or kind of good. And sometimes - great. She was stubborn and insisted on learning everything by trying it. So she began. A lot. And she learned to be content to be a beginner, and a rare finisher.

It's not that there was a dearth of half painted pictures and abandoned odd jobs around her house. She would finish one project. Maybe two or three. And then grow distracted and decide it was time to learn more. Many times her passion led her down one path, but the path turned out to be shorter than she'd expected. And her road ended because she was bored, or weary, or in too much pain. No matter what though, she tried never to end on a bad note. For after all, she was simply being what she was made to be -  a Beginner. Not a quitter.

And if it were worth it. If what she began was special enough, the Beginner sought out a Collaborator or a Finisher. Someone who could take what she began and keep it from dying. And so, our protagonist spent her life making something from nothing again and again, and because of her care - the special things outlived her influence. And it was her legacy. Famous for nothing, but for being the Beginner.


I wrote this little story to console myself upon my retirement as director of Mind The Ducks. Because, though I believe the words above, there is a small voice inside that is reminding me that commitment is honorable, and because I lack it, I am dishonorable. But I know it can't be true. The reality is that in 2009, when I began MTD, I thought I'd be lucky to make five years out of it, because I knew how my passions waxed and waned. And also because of the toll that race planning took on my mind, my body, my relationships. When I began, I already saw the end. I never did envision the new beginning it was given.

I have thought often about my problem with perseverance. In fact, I readily admit that there are only a handful of things I have made a long term commitment too and succeeded in keeping - and most of those things are relationships. Marriage, faith, motherhood and friendship. None of my projects have held me captive for too long. I quit Mind The Ducks in part due to the physical strain, in part due to the anxiety and emotional tax, and in part because the things that I want to spend my time doing and thinking about no longer include race directing. Ultrarunning is a worthy pursuit. So is race directing. It is a very selfless thing to do, I suppose. But it is not the selfless thing I want to be doing anymore. I have other ideas in mind. As usual, the winds...they've shifted.

But, to start something new again means that I am yet again, the Beginner. Will this then be the endeavor I see through to the end of my life? Realistically - no. But if I can help one person? Two? Ten? Or thousands - does it matter? Haven't I still left the earth better than I found it?

I pen this because there are a lot of people like me - curious about everything, unable to commit to much of anything - who feel like if they cannot sign on the line marked "forever", they should just stay in bed and rot. But it is a waste of your life, isn't it? Isn't it better to begin than to never start?

I think back on what I have learned from Mind The Ducks, what I have gained, and find that it has given me much more than it took from me. And I call to mind as well all the triumph, the friendships, the life changing and transcendent moments that our racers had, and think how can one say it is not worth it to have started something this wonderful, simply because I couldn't complete it? Maybe they would have had their breakthrough, big win, or broken spirit at another race. But they didn't. They had it at MINE. I did that. Me. I dreamed it. I worked for it. I made it happen. And because I love it, and because I realize that IT is worthy, I found someone to take up the cause and keep it alive. Someone who was just as capable, if not more so, than myself. I would not have handed it to anyone who couldn't do my baby justice. It is likely that I would have just continued it myself as the quality faded along with my waning enthusiasm. I am grateful to and excited for the new race director. There s a great deal of work, yes - but also a great deal of joy to be had in the job. And as for me - it is time to use my gift of beginning somewhere else. I have nothing but pride in what I began, and in myself for having the courage to realize the road was at it's end, and take another path.

Whether you are simply a starter, or you are the type who can commit for life, I encourage you to follow your passions (practically, okay? - don't blow through all your savings on a motorcycle because you have some latent fantasy about being a motocross racer) where they lead you, and spread positive influence -wherever and however you were created to.

Godspeed.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

You are not alone in this


Saturday evening I received a call from my father, telling me that my sister, who moved to Baton Rouge last year, had lost her daughter. She was 34 weeks pregnant with baby Harper, and was planning on a home birth. She had had a previously successful birth, no history of pregnancy troubles and things were going well. When out of the blue the baby stopped moving. When she delivered her daughter's corpse yesterday, the cord was wrapped around her neck 4 times, around her back and shoulders and then tied in a knot. It was too much. Her body was 3 lbs 14 oz, and at this stage of pregnancy could have lived had she been born alive. But she wasn't.

My grief is for my sister, for how can I really grieve for a child I never met? I had trouble sleeping on Saturday night. I cried for hours for the pain they faced ahead. Labor and delivery are just about the most frightening and painful trials a woman will face in life, and the strength to bear it comes from the fact that there is a prize at the end. Your child. Who gets to come home with you and be a part of your family. How would she bear this? Find the strength for it? This is something only a mother understands. Men may bristle at that statement, but aren't there things about the male experience women can't know? It isn't meant as an insult or a dismissal. Ask a mother what she would think of that lifelessness inside of her. A baby shaped shell, when she almost held her prize-child in her arms. So close to the end. So so close. It is horrific. There are no words to explain it, save for that. And how would she find the strength to do it? She would. And how will they find the strength to go on...to hope again? They will. You just do.

I lay up tormented by painful vignettes. Leaving the hospital empty armed. Baskets of folded diapers and bibs that will never be worn. Her sibling saying her name and asking after the one you worked so hard to teach him about. I dreamt tortured dreams - alone with my heavily pregnant sister in dark places, dim moss covered woods filled with bats and inhuman noises- waiting for the labor to begin. I cried myself to sleep and I cried myself awake.

Speaking to her that night on the phone I didn't know what to say. My mouth was useless. Words were meaningless. Yet I offered to pray, somehow. And I recalled what Job said after his riches, his land, his home, and his children had all been stolen away: "Naked I came into this world. Naked will I depart. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be His name." It is the only response to any tragedy really, because there is never ever ever a "why" that is good enough. You can choose not to accept it. You can choose to be angry. But that changes none of the facts. Later on I opened to those first few chapters of Job, a book I have read repeatedly over the years for comfort. After Job's wife recommended that he "curse God and die", his three friends from far away hear of his predicament and go to him. When they find him, his house blown down, his body covered in sores, everything he worked for and loved taken away - they are stunned. Then they cover their heads in dust, sit down in the ashes and don't attempt to speak to him for a week.

And for the first time, in a life that has had a minimal to average amount of suffering, I understood the Isrealite tradition of rending their clothes, throwing dust in their hair, refraining from eating and speaking, when faced with tremendous grief. It described perfectly what I wanted to do. To share her suffering somehow, by suffering even a small bit myself.

Harper's funeral is Thursday morning. I, a friend from far away, will go to her and Steve, proverbial dust in my hair. Because the worst part for my family is being far away - with only words to bridge the divide, when words are stupid and useless and vulgar right now.  To share their grief, and show them that they are not alone.


Just watch:


Friday, June 21, 2013

Wastin' Time

"With the help of God and true friends
I've come to realize
I still have two strong legs
And wings to fly."



Where to begin? It started after a major surgery to repair a hernia in late December. I took my last long run in however long it would take to be better. I was okay, and I was going to be okay, but I just needed to stop a while and take care of this thing. About a week after I was home, shocked at how extreme the recovery was, I found this lump in my neck. That didn't go away. It was hard and painless and I worried about it a bit, because my surgery had been in my lower stomach/ groin area - which is certainly nowhere near my neck. Over about 10 weeks I saw 6 different doctors, all of whom believed my lump, which was an enlarged lyphnode, had nothing to do with my surgery. Meantime, I had been given the all clear to run, but after a few triumphant weeks, I became weaker and winded and my ability slipped away. And I itched dreadfully - all over, but particularly on my upper body - my scalp and my neck. It was a deep itch, an urge to scratch my brain, that just wouldn't be satisfied. They told me to take Benadryl. I learned to live with it. After 8 weeks, more lumps came, on both sides of my neck and into my collarbone. Cervical subscapular lymph nodes. A couple doctors were concerned, others were not. Taken as a whole they conceded my symptoms were wierd, but that I was probably okay, and that it was just odd timing with my surgery.

On my end, I feared that the weakened state of my immune system had allowed something latent in me to bloom - specifically, lymphoma. I spent many hours reading and researching. And months of fear - feeling as though I were being shadowed by a ghost. Waiting at every turn to steal my freedom and my youth and my health away long term. It got so I almost wished I had cancer, so I could stop wondering what it was. Something was obviously wrong that my body was reacting to - and the longing to know whether it was a big something or a little something was intense and deeply frustrating. Every blood test came back normal, as well as CT scans of my chest. I was forced to cancel MTD for a couple of reasons - but this was the main one. I had no energy, was scared and depressed, itching like mad and helplessly watching as some process took over my strong body, and seemingly took it away from me. I ran very short distances at very slow speeds. Walking up the stairs with a load of laundry caused me to double over and grab my knees at the top. How could I guarantee that I would be healthy enough to put on a race? I would not do my race half-assed - it would be excellent or it wouldn't be at all. That was one of the hardest decisions of my life. But I was relieved once it was done - I could focus on answers and not on my obligations to others.

The longer things went on, the more concerned my primary doctor grew and the time had come to have a full excisional biopsy. So at 18 weeks after I had first discovered the enlarged node, I had 4 of them removed through a 2 inch incision in my neck. I only waited 2 days to hear - benign. There should have been a sense of relief, but in it's place was anger and fear that I would never know. That I would go on itching, helplessly watching these lumps grow, a shadow of who I was - waiting to die, or not die, of some mysterious disease. Who knew? None of my doctors did - and the chorus of "your fine"s  took their toll on my heart. I was not "fine" just because they couldn't figure it out.

And then something happened. My (still quite young) mother has been struggling with arthritis and crippling pain in her back for the last couple of years. She finally went to the last of the last specialists who told her there was nothing they could do for her. This was it - the rest of her life in pain. She's only 60. When she told us the news, a fierce anger rose up in me. This was NOT going to be my life. For 5 months I had been sitting around, waiting. Waiting for something to come that may or may not be threatening my life. Waiting for a new symptom or to mysteriously get better. Waiting to be 100% before I put one foot in front of the other again. But I wasn't waiting - I was wasting. I was not myself - my life had grown miserable and the window of joy had shrunk to a pinprick of light. I resolved to stop the madness right then and there. To stop waiting on something that might never come. And realize that I am healthy TODAY. I can walk TODAY. I am alive TODAY. I may have lost a lot from my body, but I haven't lost everything - and I'd be damned if it all slipped away. If I rolled over and played dead. I was going to stand up and fight back against whatever this thing is that has made me itchy, tired, weak and lumpy. I wouldn't give it more of my brain space. They are telling me I am fine, so I am going to believe them. TODAY I am fine. TODAY I am capable. That's all I know, and until soemthing new or dramatic happens, that's all I want to know.


Last week I spent a few days backpacking the Appalachian trail just north of the Smoky Mountains. I summited 6 mountains. I carried my house and bed and kitchen on my back. I covered 35 miles in 44 hours with 2 full nights of sleep mixed in there. I walked through hail and electrical storms and fog and heat. I went alone, without the support of my family, and hired a guide for company. I ate breakfast with strangers and flew on a plane without someone to administer Dramamine. This trip was as much about a little getaway adventure for myself as it was about proving something. That I still have two strong legs, and wings to fly. And until they are forcibly removed from me - I will use them. I will live my life, damn it. Without fear of what may come. Because what comes for us all is the same thing - death. Why in hell would I sit around and wait for it?
"I ain't wastin time no more
Cause time goes by like hurricanes
and faster things."
- Allman Brothers




P.S. In case you are wondering, here is a health update - the remaining swollen lymphnodes are still growing slowly and I still have the maddening itch. Much of my lower body strength has returned with concerted effort, but my speed and stamina are still a fraction of what they were. However, at this point, I cannot be sure that it isn't due to this extended time off. It has been 6 months and two weeks since my initial symptoms began.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

I'm Out

This is a coming out of sorts, though much less personal, challenging, and life changing as the one millions of gay Americans have faced. Yet it is similar in some ways- burdened by fears of being ostracized, questioning whether it is just easier to stay silent and live a lie. But I have realized two things over the last few years - the value of scrutinizing accepted norms and authority (whether they be cultural, relational, governmental or spiritual), and being quiet in the face of injustice; while it may bring you short term peace, also brings feelings of being stifled and living an inauthentic and shallow life. I have an opportunity, however small, to provoke thoughtful discussion and introspection within my circle of Christian acquaintances, and I feel obligated to do so.

For many Christians across America, the issue of marriage equality is cut and dry:
The bible says that homosexuality is sin, so enabling gay Americans to marry is wrong. It is condoning or legitimizing sin. I think it really is that simple for most.Yet there are many reasons that I feel this belief is deeply flawed, and I want to challenge my brothers and sisters to open their minds and reconsider this position.

I want to touch briefly on an issue that many atheists and the formerly faithful have with the bible, with us, and it's validity - especially in this argument. That is the willful disregard for parts of the bible that are difficult to comprehend or execute, while embracing the parts that feel right or good. As an example - the Old Testament tells us that tattooing is prohibited, that haircuts are prohibited, that a menstruating woman should live outside the city limits in a tent during her monthly so as not to contaminate anyone, that you may not lift a finger on the seventh day of the week, that you shouldn't drool over your neighbor's new car, and that eating meat from an animal with a split hoof is deplorable (sorry Christians, no more bacon!) And of course most of those, and scads of other requirements, suggestions, and laws are disregarded today because, Christians say, they were rules for a different people group in a different time. (Yet they will still embrace Leviticus 18:22, and 20:13 whole heartedly). So then perhaps the New Testament is all that should be followed - in that case women should never wear jewelry, cannot sit in church service with the men, should not be in a clergy or leadership position, and if I sin by looking at porn - I should cut my eyes out. These are just a few examples of how inerrant scripture is selectively read by believers. Each Christian is guilty of manipulating the text to support their own desires and whims at times. And how we choose to interpret, believe and apply is very often decided by religious leaders, spiritual movements and culture. At one time, Christians around the world whole heartedly supported slavery and segregation - and used the bible to justify it. I argue that we are living in similar times now, and that those who crowd the steps of courthouses around the nation, holding signs that share messages of condemnation for the estimated 1 in 5 Americans who are gay, will live to regret it. I predict that all of you who are "defending marriage" on religious grounds are going to be on the wrong side of history. And hopefully will look back in 30 years with disdain at your bigotry and realize that people can no more choose to be gay than they can choose to be black.  What I am suggesting is that you not simply accept every word that falls from the lips of your pastor, or the radio evangelist or your favorite author. But to read your sacred text with an open mind, and curiosity. It is not a sin to question. God made your beautiful intelligent mind - use it to think for yourself.

But my aim isn't to convince you that homosexuality isn't sin, because that actually has little to do with why DOMA should be repealed. While there are so many arguments and angles to this debate that I cannot address them here, I want to address human rights, individual freedom and ethics. Because, whether you are religious or not, that really has to be the focus of the conversation. So I will lay out a few simple reasons below, illustrating why all Christians should be fighting for human rights, not squashing them.

1) Jesus wouldn't care. Jesus lived during the reign of one of the most corrupt governments in history. Yet every time his disciples, religious teachers and rowdy crowds tried to incite in him to some sort of action against the government, he never took the bait. (such as in Mark 12: 13-17) He encouraged social justice - calling on all of us to love our neighbors, to care for the less fortunate, to honor God and to reject sin in our own lives. But, he also knew that the governments we'd be living under would not mirror our beliefs and he never once encouraged his followers to get involved in politics, and illustrated that we are not to act as citizens of this world, but of the next. (see John 17:14, John 18:36)

2) This isn't your church:

You know what Christians? You are not the only people who live here. And you don't get to play moral police with the millions of Americans who don't subscribe to your belief system. Is that the country you want? Sure - as long as it serves your interest, right? But what if churches and religious schools were outlawed? What if the government took over the airwaves and removed Christian radio and television? We have an obligation as citizens to fight for freedom - to keep it alive and healthy. The idea of the freedoms guaranteed in the Constitution is that all Americans regardless of race, age, gender or religion should have access to the same rights. Not conditional rights - if you choose to look and breathe and live like such and so, but inherent inalienable rights. When you limit the rights of others, you are setting precedents that will someday lead to the removal of your own.

3) Laws are in place to protect us from one another. The laws of this land should stop just short of infringing upon the freedom to choose for myself. I have the right to get drunk as a skunk every night if I want to. I do not have the right to drive a vehicle afterward, because then I infringe on my neighbor's right to life and safety. I don't want the government to protect me from myself, and in all honesty - you probably don't either. We should all be able to live the lives we feel are best so long as they don't harm anyone else. Many religious people argue that gay marriage harms society, but I have yet to see any valid argument or study about why that is a reasonable presumption.

4) What do you care? Really? What skin is it off your nose that the lesbian couple next door gets a piece of paper and tax benefits that you have and enjoy, versus simply co-habitating forever? Do you think that by keeping DOMA in place, and by voting down states rights to same sex marriage, that you are going to eradicate homosexuality? And why would you try? As I recall - Jesus said something about removing the deck board from your own eye before you try and take the splinter out of your neighbor's. How's this - you worry about your everlasting soul, and let others work out their own salvation. Your responsbilitity as a believer is limited to loving God, loving others, and telling people about the love of a God who sent his only son to rescue you. That's it. You do not have to judge, parent, or play moral authority with every person you meet. That is nowhere in your job description. And really, all you do by standing against people in judgement, is turn them off from a God who desperately loves them and wants to be in relationship with them, and leave your own fool self open for judgement.

I am not asking you to change your mind about what is sin and what isn't sin. I am simply asking that you take your feelings out of your political beliefs and consider this very concise statement from blogger, the Church-State Guy that sums everything I've said up very nicely:

"Probably the simplest, lowest-common-denominator explanation for evangelical support for same-sex marriage:
"You can believe homosexuality is a sin and still believe that same-sex marriage should be legal." -- Pastor Tim Keller

Separation of civil rights from doctrinal teaching. That's how people of faith need to understand the 1st Amendment. It's NOT the right to fight for your government to be "religious", it's fighting for your government to stay secular in order to enable ALL OF US to be religious."



There - I'm out. I am a recovering Fundamentalist Christian who believes that homosexuality is innate and not choice, who believes that my opinion on the moral implication of practicing homosexuality is completely irrelevant, and that gays should have the same right to the joy and misery of marriage as the rest of us.