When someone says they’re venting, they’re just blowing off steam. Webster’s says that venting is to give often vigorous or emotional expression. Recently it felt like so much more. I was speaking to a long-time friend. He’s a former marine whose uncle is in transition of gender reassignment, so you could imagine the conflict. I came out to my friend years ago. His reaction 16 years ago was really nonplused, but during our recent discussion he made up for it. I gave him no room for doubt that I was fed up and on the verge of grabbing a Gay Pride flag and clubbing him over the head with the flag pole.
It all started with his question. He truly wanted to know what the big deal was about the LGBT community’s desire to get married. He said, “Why would you want the right to get married just so you could have the right to get divorced and have alimony payments?” I felt like Julia Sugarbaker… I wanted to explode into a Southern accent and scream, “Have you just completely lost your mind!”
In his rant, he began to tell me the story of how his uncle’s transformation ticked him off. How it made him angry that this role model of manhood could dare to correct the family and make them call him Lisa. He said that he didn’t understand and didn’t want to understand. I held tight to my ordination and spilled my guts. I explained my journey that he was witness to when I came out. I gave him details of how I hated myself, how I tried to end my life twice because I was told that God hated me, and why I believed it. How I no longer wanted to be identified by my first name and would only answer to my middle name because it was given to me by someone other than my mother and father who had at one time turned their back on me.
How during the first five years of my marriage I warned my husband that one day God was going to deliver me, but I really wanted us to remain friends when He did. I told of all the years of nightmares of being tied to a stake in the church of my youth and being burned alive at the pulpit for the “final deliverance.” There was no sound from the other end of the line. At the end of my tirade I had to ask if he was even there. I was in tears, but he didn’t know. I was pushing past the cracking sound of tears that were trying to cause my voice to quake. When he finally uttered a sound I was ready to catch my breath and start machine gunning again. He muttered a wimpy, “I had no idea.”
I flipped the script and began to explain, “Now multiply my story by the millions who live this everyday. They have no one to love them in their transition. Now realize that one of those is your uncle who for whatever reason knew she was different. How she knew there was more to life than just one boxed-in definition of gender and/or sexuality. If you truly looked up to Lisa at one time then you can still learn from her to do whatever it takes to be happy, real, and genuine. She is able walk in truth for the first time in her life. Learn what kind of support she needs and give it to her. You admitted that she supported you by example and she probably never knew it. You say you loved her at one time, but you can’t even give her the support of calling her by her name?”
I ended the call with a plea and I made a statement that I’m sorry for to this day. I said, “Please reach past yourself, and let Lisa know that you still admire her for taking a stand, for the courage that most will never take. If you don’t then I’ll question if you ever supported me.” I said bye and so did he. That was the last time I spoke with him. It wasn’t fair to load our friendship with a warped emotional ultimatum, but I did it. I pray that he reaches out to Lisa and understands or at least wants to try to understand her just like he did for me so many years ago.
I pray the opportunity will present itself to find out if he ever did reach out and I’ll be able to apologize for ending the call the way I did. I also pray that the correct seeds were sown. I don’t know if he caught me at the wrong moment, if I was ashamed of him, or if God lead me to spout my mini-sermon. What I do know is that it was more than venting. I wanted to find Lisa and let her know that I love her and so does Jesus. That she’s not alone—and that she’s just who God created her to be.
