254. On Homosexuality: Let Us Only Handle Love

Today’s post was written by the talented TMZ—Thomas Mark Zuniga, I mean, not the celebrity tabloid—as a response to my thoughts on homosexuality. For more wise words and wanderings from Tom, check out his blog and his book, Struggle Central.

When my blogging friend, Adam (or as I’ve long regarded him, “That Monkey Guy”), asked me to contribute a post on homosexuality to his blog, I knew I wanted to write something. I just didn’t know where to start. Homosexuality is, after all, a Pandora’s Box of an issue lined with nettles and littered with landmines.

I really latched onto something Adam wrote recently. He talked about how his convictions and sympathies often seem to oppose each other. Oddly enough, I often find myself in a similar stance regarding homosexuality—though from a more unique, complicating perspective.

You see, it’s been almost a year that I’ve been publicly “out” as a “gay Christian”—or whatever you’d label me. First, I wrote a book, and then I wrote a blog post.

When I initially “came out” on my blog, I wrote that despite my male attractions, I cannot mentally reconcile a homosexual relationship and my walk with Jesus. Given the choice of one or the other, I’ve staked everything on Christ; without Him, I am nothing.

What about other gay people though? What about other gay Christians who don’t do what I do and believe what I believe?

Honestly, I used to feel angry toward other gay people. But I used to feel really angry toward other gay Christians who claimed to pursue Jesus and same-sex partnerships.

Not sad. Not disappointed. Angry. I hated that these particular gay Christians had somehow found this theological “loophole” and were able to reconcile the two while I remained “holy” in my struggles through singleness.

In recent years, however, I’ve been learning the process of not letting my beliefs necessarily dictate my reactions. I know, I’m a horrible Christian, right?

Whether we like it or not, there exist gay people and gay Christians in homosexual relationships. While homosexuals certainly experience discrimination, homosexuality and gay marriage are gradually becoming more normalized, both inside Christianity and out.

Our evolving culture has often left me wondering in this question mark-sized boat:

How do you believe one thing yet still show love and grace toward others—human and spiritual siblings alike—who live quite the opposite?

I suppose my answer hearkens back to something else That Monkey Guy mentioned. Where is the outrage over poverty, homelessness, sex trafficking, child abuse, the failed foster system, and the disheartening list trails on?

Are we naive to think that homosexuality and gay marriage is the biggest “threat” facing America? The world? Is our time really best invested in endless vociferous debates?

As a non-confrontational person, I’ve long been “over” the debate. I’ve already stated what I believe on my blog, and I’m going to leave it at that. Moving forward, I just want to tell my story—my messy, miraculous story.

Contrary to what many naysayers have “advised” me, God has indeed used my conviction on homosexuality for good. He’s introduced me to some of the most solid brothers I could ever know, both online and off. He’s moved me across an entire continent for a fresh new life. He’s given me a voice to speak for the voiceless among whom I lived for over two decades.

I’d have never gained so many of my current blessings were I not attracted to the same sex.

I’m not saying my entire road has been paved with peace, but God has certainly used the apparent “bad” of this conviction for His good. I’m convinced He’s in the business of writing similar redemptive stories for homosexuals and heterosexuals alike.

Since my book’s release, I’ve exchanged numerous conversations with people of all ages on all sides of this contentious issue: young and old and gay and straight and religious and nonreligious. It’s becoming more of a “normal” thing for total strangers to confide in me their sacred sexual secrets. I am touched that people would entrust me with their problems and pain.

I love them all.

And so while my convictions may reside on one side of the homosexuality hotbed, I’m learning to plant my sympathies across both sides. I figure if God wants to convict somebody about his or her sexual proclivities, heterosexual or homosexual, His Spirit is capable. God doesn’t need my blog or my Twitter account to draw people into His arms.

My advice to others struggling at the crossroads of their convictions and sympathies is actually quite simple. Regardless the complicating “issue” at hand, just love people. Open up your phone; open up your home. Treat someone to breakfast, or let them cry into your chest.

Hear their stories. Uncover your similarities and differences alike. Connect. We were wired for love, I’m convinced.

God can handle the homosexuality issue. He is big enough; He can do it.

Let us only handle love.

253. A Post About Homosexuality

A number of weeks ago, I walked in on an acquaintance of mine and noticed an engagement ring on his finger. “Congratulations!” I exclaimed, beaming. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

My acquaintance, whom I’ll call Socrates, looked away and replied quietly, “Well, he’s actually a guy.”

Well.

Socrates and I chatted for a bit about his plans. He and his boyfriend hope to marry in Mexico before settling down together in Indiana.

“Mazel tov,” I said as we concluded our chat, and I meant it.

My unexpected talk with Socrates reminded me that I’ve wanted to write this post for a long time. The reason I’ve put it off is that… well… I’m not really sure what to say, and I’m afraid of what will happen when I say it.

Deep breath, guys. Let’s talk about homosexuality.

I’m deeply conflicted about homosexuality and the controversies surrounding it. My convictions are squarely on one side of the debate; my sympathies are squarely on the other. The prejudice and bitter hatred of some so-called Christians toward LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender) persons appalls and angers me. On a personal note, I have several gay acquaintances, and I appreciate them. They’re all good fellows.

All the same, I can’t support homosexuality on moral or spiritual grounds. Scripture seems inescapably clear upon the point: the first chapters of Romans and 1 Timothy condemn acts of physical homosexuality.

(Interestingly, Scripture never mentions sexual orientation; the concept apparently wasn’t current at the time. The Bible addresses same-sex acts, not same-sex attraction.)

I’m angered by Christians who use Scripture as a license for intolerance or cruelty. At the same time, I’m troubled at the way accusations of ignorance or bigotry are sometimes hurled at people who believe, sincerely and respectfully, that homosexuality is wrong. Tolerance is a fine philosophy, but only when it goes both ways.

I suppose the thing that troubles me most is how homosexuality is becoming the issue of American Christianity, eclipsing discussions of urgent problems like poverty and religious persecution. The recent Duck Dynasty controversy dominated the media for weeks. Where is the outrage for abuse and starvation and human rights violations?

It’s a mess.

I don’t have much more to say, which is why I’m going to yield the floor to a blogger who is much better qualified than I to discuss the issue. Check in next time for his thoughts!

A Blog Post with Many Exclamation Points!

Today is Be Nice to Someone on the Internet Day!

Go to someone’s Facebook profile, blog page, YouTube channel, deviantART page, Twitter profile or Tumblr account and leave a sincere, encouraging comment! Send someone an appreciative note, message or email! Find some other way to be nice to someone on the Internet!

Go quickly, before I run out of exclamation points! Let someone know he or she is appreciated! This is your mission!

That’s it, I’m out of exclamation points.

In seriousness, take a minute today to make the Internet awesome, and spread the word about Be Nice to Someone on the Internet Day.

In the meantime, I’ll order more exclamation points for this blog. I’m also short on the letters and K. I wonder why that is. I hardly ever use those letters. Oh, well.

Hey, here’s one last exclamation point. I’d better use it carefully.

Here goes: Go be nice to someone on the Internet!

251. Love Conquers Grumpy Cats

March 4 is Be Nice to Someone on the Internet Day. If you’ve never heard of this noble event, it may be because I totally made it up.

You see, the Internet is not always a nice place. It’s often a dreary minefield of arguments, insults, swearwords, misspellings and pervy pictures. The Internet is a place for creepers, hackers, perverts, jerks and trolls to make hurtful statements, propagate harmful spam and post pornographic depictions of cartoon characters.

To be fair, the Internet can be fantastic. It has Facebook, Wikipedia, Netflix and Strong Bad Emails, not to mention wonderful pictures, videos, blogs, articles, discussions and recipes for baking pie. Some of the people on the Internet are intelligent, gracious and kind.

It’s just a shame so many aren’t.

For all the blessings of the miraculous, invisible network we call teh internetz, it has a lot of problems. It could use some nice people. Just ask Grumpy Cat.

Grumpy Cat

Grumpy Cat, the solemn arbiter of the Internet, has spoken from the depths of her wisdom and sagacity. Let’s not be grumpy about the Internet and its problems. It just needs a little kindness.

Tomorrow, March 4, is Be Nice to Someone on the Internet Day. Tomorrow, go to someone’s Facebook profile, blog page, YouTube channel, deviantART page, Twitter profile or Tumblr account and leave a sincere, encouraging comment. Find someone you appreciate—whether an artist, a musician, a blogger, a friend or a total stranger—and let that person know he or she is appreciated.

I’ll post a reminder tomorrow on this blog for the event. In your own creative, unique, wonderful way, do something to make the Internet a better, nicer, kinder place—and please spread the word!

“Amor vincit Interretium,” said the ancient philosophers, and they spoke truly: Love conquers the Internet. Tomorrow, let’s prove them right. Tomorrow, let’s conquer insults and arguments and cruel words.

Tomorrow, dear reader, let’s make the Internet awesome.

250. Life Lessons from a Thirsty Blogger

So I drink a lot of coffee. Don't judge me.

Yes, I drink a lot of coffee. Don’t judge me.

If anyone has ever wondered how I come up with ideas for this blog, the picture above tells the whole story: I sit and drink coffee and wait for something to happen. What can I say? Blogging is thirsty work.

(Due credit to the inimitable Wes Molebash for the splendid caricature, which has become my official Internet profile picture and a new banner for this blog.)

Today marks another milestone in the sunny existence of Typewriter Monkey Task Force: a blog fueled by coffee, sustained by geeky enthusiasm and buoyed by the support of loved ones. This blog has allowed me to share my passion for everything from God to tea to Tolkien. In good times and in bad, working on TMTF has brought me no end of satisfaction, comfort, encouragement, joy and pleasure. It has also given me the privilege of connecting with many fascinating, creative, generous people—writers, bloggers, artists and others—whom I would otherwise never have known.

In the two and a half years since starting this silly blog, I have gained a number of personal insights about life, the universe and everything. Today—as my typewriter monkeys and I celebrate this milestone with banana shakes and coffee, respectively—I’d like to share ten of the best lessons I’ve learned since TMTF began.

I must focus on today

I’m really good at brooding about the past, worrying about the future and generally thinking about all times but the present. God has given me today. Yesterday and tomorrow are in his hands, and I need to leave them there. My business isn’t to be burdened by worries or regrets, but to make the most of the time I have been given.

What matters is not what I feel, but what I do

For a long time, I made a simple assumption: If I felt bad, I was doing badly; if I felt good, I was doing well. I was wrong. Feelings are mostly beyond my control and largely unconnected to how well or badly I’m living my life. Depression isn’t proof of failure, nor does success does guarantee happiness. I should do my best under all circumstances, no matter what I feel.

I need sleep

I hate to say it, but I can’t shrug off sleep deprivation. Those late nights playing Ace Attorney or reading random Wikipedia articles seriously affect my concentration, mood and overall health. A long sleep can totally brighten my day; a short sleep can tip me over the brink into sickness or severe depression. In fact, I would go so far as to say sleep is almost as important as coffee.

Prayer and Scripture really, really make a difference

The past two years have taught me that prayer and Scripture are anchors. These commitments to God keep me rooted in my faith and focused on things that matter. When I quit praying and reading Scripture, I drift away from God. When I drift away from God, I become kind of a jerk. When I become kind of a jerk, everybody loses. Prayer and Scripture make an incredible difference in my life for good—even more than coffee, which is saying something.

I am not a great writer

I’m a pretty good writer, I think. Writing is one of my greatest talents, along with drinking coffee and having magnificent sideburns. I’m a good writer—but not a great one. When I was younger, I assumed my writing was brilliant. Working on this blog, failing to make The Eliot Papers a success and (above all) reading fantastic works by truly great writers have given me healthy doses of perspective and humility.

Things don’t fall apart

Heck, I wrote an entire post about this. No matter how I try to keep things together, I shall sometimes fail. It is well, then, that God is there to hold things together when my best efforts can’t keep them from falling apart.

I can’t fix people, but I can love them

If Doctor Who has taught me one thing, it is the importance of having epic sideburns. If the series has taught me a second thing, however, it is the value in simply showing kindness. “The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things,” the good Doctor reminds us. “The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant.” The world is full of hurting people. I may not be able to take away their bad things, but nothing will ever prevent me from adding to their good ones.

I must be focused and intentional

It is so hard—so darn hard—to stay focused. I seem to live in a disorienting fog of distractions, diversions and complications. Depression and obsessive-compulsive impulses are only slightly greater obstacles to productivity than the Internet and its endless wealth of interesting articles and funny cat pictures. A useful, meaningful life doesn’t just happen. It takes intention, self-control and (in my case) a good deal of caffeine.

People are awesome

Human beings are amazing, awful, odd, ordinary, selfish, selfless creatures. In general, they’re pretty awesome. I’ve realized it’s worth getting to know people, and important to respect even those I don’t know.

I have good reasons for believing in God

When I began this blog, I felt conflicted about God and life and the universe in general. Many of my questions about God were unanswered. Some of them still are. It was while working on this blog that I reached a fundamentally important conclusion: I have my doubts about God and Christianity, but my evidence in their favor definitely outweighs my evidence against them. No worldview makes perfect sense to me, but Christianity makes the most sense.

Well, dear reader, thanks for reading this blog, putting up with our shenanigans and generally being awesome. My sincere thanks to everyone who has supported this blog, and to God for grace and coffee and stuff. Here’s to many more cheerful ramblings about faith, writing, video games, literature, life, the universe and everything!

248. The Problems of an Extrovert

Today’s post was written by Amy Green as a response to my introverted ramblings. For more great stuff from Amy, check out her previous guest post for TMTF and her blog The Monday Heretic, which covers such all-important subjects as God and bacon.

Hi, my name is Amy and I’m delighted to meet you and we probably have a lot in common that we should talk about for hours and hours.

Also, I’m an extrovert.

Like many extroverts, I need to be around people… but I don’t really know them.

Does that last part sound familiar? Maybe… exactly like what Adam said last week about introverts? That’s because it is. (I’m beginning to wonder if selfishness is the universal personality type.)

Of course, how this problem manifests itself is very different. Extroverts often struggle with having lots of somewhat shallow relationships. They wave to everyone they pass on campus, work the room at a company party, and seem to know everyone’s name at church.

That’s not a bad thing. There are many great things about being an extrovert. Extroverts often process verbally, meaning they think as they talk, so they seem to come to conclusions more quickly. They’re also often good leaders. And please, please do not tell me that extroverts aren’t capable of deep thought just because don’t give off the pensive philosopher air.

To be honest, society tends to gush over extroverts. Labels like “enthusiastic,” “assertive,” “generous,” and “sociable”—often applied to extroverts—seem much more positive than “thoughtful,” “introspective,” and “rational.”

However, sometimes that adjective-laden personality I haul into social situations is just a (slightly overwhelming) smokescreen. Sometimes when I’m in the middle of a monologue, I cringe because I know I’m talking over people, running them down like a conversational steamroller.

But I can’t stop because anything, anything would be better than silence.

In the silence, I have to face my doubts and inadequacies and fears about the future. The only person I have to talk to is myself, and sometimes I don’t really like myself.

But invite all of my friends over, and it’s okay. Because they all like me—see how much fun they’re having? So I must be likeable. I must be worth something.

But under every excited conversation, every party, every picture I post on Facebook of me with a dozen friends is the gnawing fear, “Please don’t abandon me to silence. Please don’t find out who I really am. Please don’t leave me.”

How can I love my neighbor as myself if I don’t love myself? And how can I love my neighbor when I’m constantly thinking about myself and how I’m being perceived?

This past year, I’ve learned to appreciate silence and have come to the conclusion that it’s not an enemy to attack with a barrage of words and jokes and laughter. It’s a way of choosing to believe I am worthy, even when I don’t feel like it, even without a constant stream of outside affirmation and approval.

I’m not saying that all extroverts struggle with putting up a façade for the rest of the world. But I have heard from many who admit it’s a significant problem.

Extroverts don’t have much trouble talking to people or meeting people or spending time with people—it gives us energy. But I think we have just as much trouble as introverts with loving people. That’s why God had to tell us over and over again to love each other. Because it’s hard and takes effort and none of us are good at it… but it’s important.

247. The Problems of an Introvert

I am an introvert. That said, go away. I wish to be left alone.

No, I didn’t mean it! Please come back!

Dash it, I didn’t mean to drive away my readers. Well, for those of you who haven’t left, I’ll admit being introverted isn’t a bad thing. Jesus Christ was an introvert. I scoff at the idea that introverts are broken extroverts. Some people simply enjoy being alone, and I’m one of them.

However, as an introvert, I often struggle to connect with people in a meaningful way. Sure, I’m amiable and polite. I get along just fine with coworkers and churchgoers and people at Wal-Mart. That’s not the problem at all.

The problem is that I don’t really know them.

It takes effort to get to know someone. Introverts don’t always enjoy getting to know people, so why make an effort? It’s much easier to be respectful and friendly, and then to go home to a cup of tea and a good book. This is a fine plan in the short term. In the long term, it leads to a life full of tea, packed with books and bereft of friends.

Making friends is hard, especially after high school and college. When something is hard, people generally feel disinclined to attempt it. For introverts, getting to know people is particularly exhausting.

This is why Facebook and other social media are so attractive to introverts. They require only brief visits and very little commitment. Facebook is convenient. It’s also shallow. Social media can enable deep discussions, but it’s mostly inundated with jokes and memes and rants and snippets of personal news. When I use social media, I feel like I’m standing in a crowd. I hear a little bit of everything from everyone, but meaningful conversations are difficult.

Facebook makes me feel connected because it gives me glimpses into the lives of people I love. I like a post here, leave a comment there and feel I’ve done my duty as a loyal friend. No need for emotional exhaustion: Facebook and Twitter bring relationships to the comfort of my armchair.

That’s the problem.

Facebook and Twitter are often blessings. Social media are wonderful way to keep in touch with people, hear their personal news and chuckle at their jokes. For introverts, however, social media can become a substitute for relationships or an excuse for not interacting with others. Social media may not be deep or meaningful, but they’re easy—certainly easier than meeting strangers, making commitments and spending time with people.

I never seem to have enough time, and I’m sometimes reluctant to spend it with others. People are exhausting. What I forget is that people are also awesome. More to the point, God has called me to love them. How can I love my neighbor when I don’t really know him?

As much as introverts struggle to relate to people, I’m sure extroverts have problems of their own. (Selfishly, I kind of hope they do; weakness loves company.) Check back next time for a guest’s thoughts on the problems of being an extrovert!

245. That Time I Stayed in the World’s Worst Motel

My family and I share a number of memories over which we laugh from time to time. We’ve been through a lot, and many of our experiences are funny in retrospect. Of course, not all of them were funny at the time.

Perhaps the most notorious of these was That Time I Stayed in the World’s Worst Motel, a harrowing experience that bound my family together in suffering and endurance. After all, the deepest love and brightest humor are forged in the fiery crucible of such trials. Nothing brings a family together like a bad motel!

I wish I could say the Motel of Despair, whose official name was something unassuming like The Dollar Inn, was fronted by a sign that spelled out HELLO in red neon lights, and that the O had burned out, but that would not be strictly true to the facts.

It would, however, have been a fair description.

My memories of that fateful night are pretty hazy. I suspect this is because my subconscious is trying to protect my fragile psyche by repressing all recollections of that motel. I remember a dingy room with a damp, moldy carpet. There was a television, I recall, dating from approximately 1943, which gave us dozens of channels of static. I seem to recall finding a crumpled chip bag and half a bottle of soda beneath the bed.

Then there was the bathroom. It… it was… that bathroom…

The horror! The horror!

The water was rust-colored, I think, and the floor teemed with fascinating specimens of molds and fungi. There may have been insects or arachnids lurking in the shadows, but I honestly don’t remember.

I do remember that the “pool” promised by the motel’s brochure was a rectangular hole in the ground, not much larger than a couple of bathtubs side by side, built of concrete. The “continental breakfast” offered by the motel was one or two packets of instant oatmeal, supplied grudgingly in the office by the motel staff.

I have stayed in resorts, hotels, motels, cabins, inns and hostels in several countries across three continents. Many of these were not fancy or luxurious. Some lacked hot water; most lacked television; practically all lacked Internet. In one memorable set of cabins—which, may I add, my family and I visited regularly over many years—we found, on separate occasions, a snake slithering across the floor and an enormous frog lurking in the toilet.

However, no place I have ever stayed was worse than The Dollar Inn. It may not have been the world’s worst motel, but it was certainly the worst I have ever seen. I consider myself fortunate to have survived it, and blessed to have had the moral support of my parents and brothers. Whatever else our stay in that motel may have been, it was memorable. We have certainly never forgotten it.

244. Many Are Cold, Few Are Frozen

Many Are Cold, Few Are FrozenI hate cold weather. There is a reason Dante put ice in the inmost circle of hell. When this blog froze—literally froze—last month, I felt pretty miserable, and very cold.

(My younger brother felt perfectly fine. He’s impervious to cold. It’s like a superpower.)

Late in January, when my typewriter monkeys got out of prison (don’t ask) and returned to my apartment, the cold was insufferable. It was then I decided to give my readers a glimpse into the trials of a chilly blogger and his assistants. Thus my dad sketched the Typewriter Monkey Task Force at work, depicting my monkeys typing with aching fingers, tails kinked by cold, fur specked with frost, muffled in parkas and muttering bitterly.

(Yes, I tried turning up the heat in my apartment, but my building’s feeble furnace was no match for winter’s insidious chill. Warm clothes were all that stood between us and the cruel ferocity of winter weather.)

I had planned to share my dad’s full sketch, but there was… a problem. My typewriter monkeys—pyromaniacs, every last of them—decided the best way to keep warm was to start a fire in my living room.

Well, a huge patch of my carpet has gone up in smoke, and my typewriter monkeys are back in the clink for arson, and only fragments of my dad’s lovely picture remains. I have shared this single scrap, singed and brittle, in gratefulness toward my parents for supporting my blog and in bitterness toward the Typewriter Monkey Task Force for burning a hole in my carpet.

Ah, well. I hope my monkeys are warmer in prison than they were in my apartment. Now, if you will excuse me, I should probably seek treatment for frostbite and hypothermia. I hope you’re warm, dear reader, wherever you are!

241. Things Don’t Fall Apart

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.

~ William Butler Yeats

In these few well-chosen words, Mr. Yeats neatly sums up one of my greatest fears: things falling apart.

A few weeks ago, I was sick. I think it was a cold. It felt like ebola virus disease. I spent days shuffling around my apartment in a fevered delirium, coughing painfully and waiting for the sweet relief I assumed only death could bring. My younger brother generously made me hot chocolate and compassionately refrained from smacking me every time I whined about how awful I felt.

At the same time as my sickness, and probably for the same reasons, I had a bout with really severe depression. For my readers who’ve suffered depression—I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. For my readers who haven’t suffered depression, you probably have no idea how blessed you are. Depression sucks. I’m not sure I can overstate this. Depression sucks.

The worst part of all this wasn’t the fever, the fatigue or even the bleak hopelessness.

The worst part was the helplessness.

The prospect of going back to work was terrifying. Hang it, the mere thought of leaving my apartment scared me. I couldn’t make any progress on this blog, and wondered why the ruddy heck I ever thought having a blog was a good idea in the first place. It felt like there was nothing good, useful or meaningful I could possibly do. I was reduced to a shadow of myself, and I was sure it was only a matter of time before things fell apart.

Things didn’t fall apart.

They never do.

As usual, I survived. I took some time off work, took a break from this blog and drank a lot of tea. With God’s help, I made it.

The Apostle Paul had a lot to say about suffering. I admire Paul very much, I suppose because he’s so darn sensible. Books like 1 John are full of baffling statements echoed endlessly. Revelation is full of incomprehensible visions. The Bible is packed with vague poetry and dense theology… and then there’s dear, simple, sensible Paul. I wish he were still around, so that I could hug him.

As I was reading the first chapter of Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, I was arrested by the following words.

We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt we had received the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us again. On him we have set our hope that he will continue to deliver us.

A few weeks ago, I felt as pleasant and cheerful as death.

It is well, then, that my God is the God who raises the dead.

I’m not sure why I had to spend days being utterly miserable and absolutely useless. Perhaps it was to remind me of two things.

First, I’m not in control.

Second, God is.

I may not be able to hold things together, but God will always be there to keep them from falling apart.