When I am dreaming quantum dreams, what I see is an infinite web of relationship, flung across the vastness of space like a luminous net. It is made of energy, not thread. As I look, I can see light moving through it as a pulse moves through veins. Where am I in this picture?Am I alone? How could I ever be alone? I am part of a web that is pure relationship, with energy available to me that has been around since the universe was born. Where is God in this picture? At this point, it is not enough for me to proclaim that God is responsible for all this unity. Instead I want to proclaim that God is the unity - the very energy, the very intelligence, elegance and passion that make it all go. —Barbara Brown Taylor
When I was a young person I did not know what it meant to be gay in an actual or anatomical way, but in ninth grade some boys found a notebook used to share letters between my friend and I, and wrote things like “Lezzo” in it, despite the fact that there was no eros contained in its pages. In a turn of events that I can no longer remember, the notebook found its way into the hands of our vice-principal, and my friend and I were called into his office where I felt a sense of panic at the sight of the spiral on his desk. It was a small town in the 70’s and not “progressive,” so perhaps I had reason to fear that the intensity of my feelings about friendship and the world were in fact some sort of wrongdoing. But he was such a kind man. I can still see his tanned, angular face, crooked teeth, and boyish mop of hair as he gently told us that what he saw in those pages was truth and care and nothing of which to be ashamed. He handed me the notebook and my friend and I left and we did not use that notebook again.
In my childhood and adolescent years, I attended Girl Scout camp for two or three weeks every summer. We slept in moldy platform tents, the only air conditioning was in the nurse’s station, and within 24 hours I was typically covered in mosquito bites. Ancient outhouses were both gross and terrifying, given the spider population that tended to reside in them. There was no junk food, no telephones, and no boys - three of my favorite things on the planet - but every year I got off the bus like an exile returning home, in absolute ignorance of the fact that half of my counselors were gay. What I knew then was that I was more free in that place than I was any other. What I know now is that in the presence of women who were wholly themselves, even for three short months, the energy of freedom was enough for us all.
And then I accepted Jesus. His people had rules in place and suddenly all I could see was the ways it was possible to go wrong. Keeping myself and others out of H E Double Hockey Sticks became the the end-all/be-all of my life.
It was a grocery store bulletin board that led me to Jennifer and Michelle; a note with tear-off numbers advertising expert housecleaners, the sort that I was not, by nature or by circumstance, which at the time included five children under the age of seven. Arriving at our house for an estimate, Jennifer immediately reminded me of my camp counselors, but this time I knew what that meant and every few weeks when she and her partner Michelle arrived in flannel shirts and cargo shorts, buckets and brushes in tow, they told me their stories, unraveling tales of growing up and hiding and becoming seen. My youngest child, adorable and notoriously particular about his affections, fell madly in love with Jennifer, shrieking rapturously, “Nifer, Nifer!” every time she entered the house, and though I’d been trying to find a way to keep the rules straight in my head, I finally understood that in order to satisfy the God I’d been warned about, these two women would have to burn their lives to the ground. And so I did the only thing I could do - I burned that false idol instead.
My friend David stuck with me through it all and was waiting when I came out (haha see what I did there) on the other side of that small life, accepting my apologies with a grace and generosity that enabled an entirely new relationship. I am ever grateful for his sense of humor, bartending skills, deep love for me and my children, and willingness to let me grow and change my mind.
Roommate Matt, now Friend Matt hosts Broadway Breakdown, a podcast that is hilariously profane, wicked smart, and as insightful about the theater as anything I’ve read or listened to. Like seriously, if you are directing a show (well you will again some day) and feel like something isn’t working, Matt will know what it is and he will tell you how to fix it as only a brilliant, fierce, gay savant could. This episode is a perfect intersection of both his humor and his deep thoughtfulness - a conversation with Broadway actor Antoine L. Smith of The Color Purple.
Last week I binged the show Hollywood on Netflix and burst into tears at the end, despite it being a delightful and mostly upbeat show, because all I could think was, What if that had been true? What if, back in 1946 people with power had said some swears to the haters and held their ground? What if we’d had 70 years of Black actresses as leading ladies and seven decades of men holding hands on red carpets?
Tomorrow is the fifth anniversary of the SCOTUS decision that legalized same sex marriage. But for decades prior to June 26, 2015 there were people who expanded the world for all of us by living in truth and allowing us to do the same, people who saw that luminous net of connection as hope and not a threat. My gratitude, now five years old, remains unchanged.
Oh, Kate! You are as much a North Star to me as I can only hope to be for you ... if friends can’t right (or at least guide) each other to a new awareness or direction, then what’s the point? Love you forever! Cheers! ❤️
Loved it!! Your voice is so clear, so authentic, so Kate (and I loved that there was a comment from Rod Schuch on that Facebook screenshot. Writing his obituary was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done❤️.
Kate, I so look forward to these Maxines:)