I look around and I see a room of people staring. They are watching the exchange with interest. Then he lets go, we wipe our eyes and blow our noses on the small bar napkins, and we are silent. I look around the room again and something powerful happens, again. The Pharisee is nowhere to be found. He is gone. Something inside of me confirms that he’s left for good.
“Who are you looking for?” Ben asks, his arm still around me.
“No one. Just taking it all in,” I reply. I am free!
For the next three hours, Ben, Phil, and I talk. We talk about God, about our lives, about the experiences we have had that have taught us who we are, and about coming out. Ben prods me to tell my coming-out story as everyone in our circle has done. He tells me he feels it is every bit as valid as anyone else’s coming-out story. For the first time in my life, I am standing in a gay bar, a straight and Christian man, and I am accepted as one of the group without a second thought. I have found a new home and a new family—one that I never imagined I would be part of. My cup runneth over.
Ben prayed over me, prayed for my safety and my calling; and when that happened, the Pharisee in me was overcome. I think the Pharisee left me because nothing is left to tie us together. For the first time in a long time, I feel whole. Not because my eyes have been opened to a “new way of life,” because there is nothing new about this. Love is the original way. I also feel inspired because most of my fears were never realized. I was, in the end, accepted wholly and completely, as myself, by people who I have only this year learned to accept and affirm.
I leave the bar after tear-filled hugs and goodbyes, and I feel like a different person than I have been before…a better person. I think I am, for the first time, really following Jesus. The relationships I have formed along the way are a blessing. Nothing about life is easy, but walking in another person’s shoes is essential, because only then can we live with and for each other the way we are meant to. Ubuntu. I am because you are.
I have learned something about labels this year. It is the journey that defines us, not the labels people try to associate with us. I am not gay Tim; I am not even straight Tim.
I am Tim, and in the end, that is all that really matters.
The Beginning
Epilogue
My experiment ended, but it hasn’t finished. I don’t think it will ever finish because every day I am learning more about people and about myself.
I am sitting in a café in Southeast Portland, sipping a latte, and trying to decide what still needs to be said, and what is better left off the page. In the two years since coming out as straight, I am only now able to process everything that happened. Writing two drafts of this book has helped. As I wrote I was forced back into the memories of people and events that so radically changed me. I wrote about them and felt like I was back in Nashville listening to their stories and enjoying their company. Oddly enough I feel more capable of loving them now than ever, and I feel closer to them somehow, even with the distance.
Four months after my second coming out, I decided to leave the nest, once and for all. Nashville became too small, and leaving felt like the only tangible option. I packed up my Honda, and set out to Portland having never even visited the Pacific Northwest. It was the most therapeutic journey of my life, and my pilgrimage from the East to the West was a healing experience.
The friends that I made during my year have more than kept in touch. Shawn and I are closer than we ever have been. Weeks and months may pass in between conversations, yet somehow we know that the role we have played in one another’s life has solidified into something beautiful, a life-long friendship. Likewise, my childhood friend, Will, has continued to be an endless source of encouragement, and seeing his face when I visit home is always something that warms my heart. I have been blessed by the honesty and trust we share. He has never held my experiment against me. If anything it has strengthened our bond, and I am honored to be a part of his life.
Lindsey Hawkins, aka Samantha Zander, is now married to her soul-mate, Jesse. She has become my mentor in non-violence activism, and every so often when we talk, I still facetiously try to convince her to have an affair with me. I know we will always be close, and that our paths will always run parallel. She has made me a better man and a better human, and no one has ever set a higher example of peacemaker for me to aspire to. And Elizabeth, my childhood pastor’s daughter, has also become an unexpected sister. We met so randomly towards the end of my experiment, and I am thankful for that. She and Nicole married soon after my move to Portland, and both are flourishing in their faith and their marriage.
And then there’s my best friend Josh. No one in my life has ever invested in me the way Josh has. Josh is my brother, and none of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for his unyielding support, and endless encouragement.
My relationship with my family has also been reconciled. My mother, once an adamant conservative, is now an ally of the LGBT community. She and I have walked into this world of grace together, and her friendship is priceless. I love my mom. Her strength and passion for people is my North Star. It guides me and inspires me and I owe her so much more than I could ever hope to express.
Shortly after my move to Portland, my sister-in-law, Maren, gave birth to my first nephew, and I have never been as proud of my brother as I am seeing him as a dad. We have more than reconciled, we have bonded together as a family, and I still look to him as a hero and one of my closest friends. Our family has lived in a perpetual state of transition for the past eight years, but now, as things settle down, I am filled with gratitude. We have made it through so much, and I am thankful to God for his endless mercy.
In the past two years I’ve continued to immerse myself in the LGBT world. I’ve attended churches, both conservative and open and affirming, I have participated in Pride days and AIDS walks (where I still saw not one conservative, mainstream church presented), and my community of friends has never been more diverse. I am in tune with people, for the first time in my life. I feel the pulse them in the pulse of Portland, inside myself, and I am thankful that God has taught me how to love.
We live in a society that condones culture wars, and even proudly proclaims them, but as with any type of war there are casualties, and those casualties are not people we can afford to lose. The sanctity of human life that I have been taught about all of my life doesn’t just apply to a fetus inside its mother’s womb, it applies to all living and breathing men and women. It applies to me and to you. It applies to the murderer on death row, and the 5th grade school teacher that faithfully teaches children day in and day out. We don’t get to choose who is made with the Imago Dei, the image of God, and we don’t have the right to choose who we are called to love.
For years I have been living on a self-created mountain of moral absolutism, and thankfully my year taught me that that life is not what Christ has called me to. Since my year ended I have struggled daily with one question. Where do I belong? And now I feel I know the answer. As a Christ follower, I am called to live in the wounds that my mountain has created. It goes beyond living in the tension because it means living within the hearts of others, walking with them in the ever deepening of their pain, and if I am ever to fully emulate Jesus then I must live in the blood and gore that the church has created. That I created.
I have heard the question posed, at what point can one be an ally to the queer community? I think for me being an ally means that I must shift my focus off of my perceived moral imperative and live in community and relationship with all people. I must sacrifice and serve without the condition of labels, and without worrying how it will make me look. And while all of this may sound like the typical ranting of a now liberal Christian, I challenge you to see past those labels.
My mother said it best towards the end of my year. She looked at me and said in earnest, “I don’t think Satan is just the father of lies, I think he’s the father of labels.” And I have to agree. I am Tim. After two decades of trying to defin
e and categorize myself and everyone else around me, that is the only label that I choose to keep. It’s funny how names are underrated. The world seems to be addicted to labels. Steve the lawyer, Josh the rapper, Renee the lesbian, Methodist minister…Every name has to be paired with something “greater”, or more recognizable than itself. Before I started writing this book I always dreamed of being Tim the writer, and now that I have actually written a book, I think my name will do. Names are what this ended up being about. This has been my journey from Tim the writer, to just Tim. It’s also how Steve the lawyer, Josh the rapper, and Renee the lesbian, Methodist minister became Steve, Josh, and Renee. I think that is all that matters.
As a Christian oftentimes people expect me to have the answers, and in my pride I’d like to think I do—I can’t help it, I was raised Baptist—but there are certain things I’ll never have an answer for.
I may never again be confident that my truth is absolute, and I doubt I will ever be able to take definitive stands on certain ideas that seem to divide everyone else. There are issues that conservatives rally behind, and those outside the church rally against, and I may never be one hundred percent either way. I will never understand how people that claim to love Christ can bully someone to death, nor will I understand why certain people among us allow their self-destructive natures to guide them towards a reckless abuse of alcohol, power, or sex. I will never understand hate and the many forms it takes. It is a cruel shape-shifter, and an evil master.
All said, there are a few things I am sure of, and in the context of my own life I feel blessed. I am sure of love, of the radical and unyielding power it holds, and I’m sure of the barriers it can overcome. I am sure of relationships, especially those fueled by love, and sure of the prejudices that relationships can overcome. I am sure of my God, who I believe more than ever sent his Son for me, and I am sure of the reconciliation he offers, whether that be between families split apart over divisive issues, or members of opposing political parties. I am sure of the beauty that all mankind has inherited—a beauty that can never be stripped away by bad words or deeds, or even other human beings—and I’m sure of arrogance, and its ability to poison anything that can be called good. Most of all I am sure of my teacher empathy, who taught me that if we take a moment to step into another person’s shoes before we open our mouths, we can learn more about this life and our God, than by any other means. She is our greatest tool, operating hand in hand with love to create something dazzling, something that gives our breaths meaning.
Until this year I never quite understood why the LGBT community adopted the rainbow as a symbol for its existence. Diversity, unity and promise, a rainbow is said to express these ideals, but I believe it was chosen for an entirely different reason. I believe it was chosen because, above all else, a rainbow is beautiful, and everyone desires to be thought of as beautiful. For years I've lived color-blind in a world of rainbows, ignorant to the beauty all around me. And for the first real time, the words from my favorite hymn have meaning and are alive to me. "I once was lost, but now I'm found, was blind but now I see." Maybe beauty really is in the eye of the beholder, and whether or not we see it is the choice. Maybe it is the only choice that matters, after all.
Acknowledgements
Mom, I love you. For teaching me how to read and write and encouraging me when I felt unable to continue. For your strength and grace, and your example throughout my life. For your love of others. Thank you. To my wife, whoever you are, I cannot wait to know you. You’ve been with me all of my life and I yearn for the day us happens. To the rest of my immediate family, thank you for putting up with me. God owes you a good bottle of wine, or maybe a nice vacation. I know it hasn’t been easy at times, but your love keeps me going. Andrew and Maren, thank you for giving me two little nephews to corrupt! I promise to teach both of them everything I know about beer, cigars, and the great subversives that are my heroes.
To Joshua, my “Jonathon,” my beloved friend: You have never let me down, never let me feel alone, and never allowed me to give up. You not only pushed me into this mess, you also dove right into it with me. Now it’s your turn. I dared ya.
To John Harrison, my dear brother and first reader when I had no publisher or tangible idea how this book might make it onto the shelves, your encouragement is the reason I kept writing. I love you, brother! To Connie, thank you for adopting me into your family. I never knew I could have a second family and I owe so much to you. Thank you for continually talking me off the proverbial ledge while I wrote this book, and thank you for encouraging me that my writing “isn’t terrible.” To my mentor, Chad Estes, I am so thankful for you. To Kari Sherwood, for being an ever vigilant friend and for taking me to Portland Zoo! I am so thankful for you. To Shawn, you are the most beautiful man on the planet. Your heart is pure gold, and your friendship is priceless to me. Thank you for loving me as much as you do. To Will, Shawn, Samantha, Mel, Jay, Becky, and every other person who taught me just how much bigger God’s grace really is. I dedicate this book to you.
To Dave, my dear friend at Bluehead Publishing, thank you for giving me my shot. You made a dream come true, and you fed positivity and peace into me all along the way. To my editors, Charity and Isaac, thank you for turning a mess into something readable, and for helping me name this book. To Burke and the team at Allen Media Strategies, thank you for the invaluable support you’ve given as publicists. And I would be remiss if I didn’t thank the owners and baristas of my three favorite cafés: Anna Bannanas, First Cup Coffee House, and Satellite Coffee. I spent countless hours writing and editing my book in these three little shops. They caffeinated me and encouraged me while I wrote, and I would never be awake if it weren’t for them.
In June of 2012, I launched an Indiegogo crowd-sourcing campaign to fund the cost of my publicists, and in eleven days I reached my $8,000 goal. Not only did I reach it, but in the days to follow I surpassed it by almost $3000. People from all over the world stepped up financially to help me make this dream a reality, and to all of you from the United States, Australia, Ireland, Canada, and my angel from Wales, know that without you this road ahead of me would be a lot rockier. Thank you for your support and friendship.
Thank you: Analiise Salo ~ Benjamin Ady ~ Bonnie ~ Cassandra Perry ~ Daniel Puneky ~ David Barford ~ Jeff Abarta ~ John Atkins ~ Justin Throneberry ~ Kaan Williams ~ Manuel Lara Bisch ~ Megan Elliott ~ Michael Kazarnowicz ~ Michael San Miguel ~ Perry Ross ~ Rick Koelz ~ Scott "Gringo" Blair ~ Zachary Nawar ~ Sally Conning ~ Adam Buckheit ~ Adrienne White ~ Alfred C. Schram ~ Alysn Ford ~ Antonio Michaelangelo D'souza ~ Aylynn Marsh ~ Bryce Anders ~ Buck ~ Bud Wilson ~ Candice Reich ~ Chad Estes ~ Colin ~ Cynthia Coe ~ Daniel West ~ Darryl Yong ~ Dave Thompson & Corrigan Gommenginger ~ David Calkins ~ Deirdre Milligan ~ Douglas C. Sloan ~ James Saliba ~ Jamye Swinford ~ Jason Heffernan ~ Jaymie Ford ~ Jeffrey Yasskin ~ Jenée Arthur ~ Jesus Segura ~ JoÌÇl Larose ~ Joanne Goldsmith ~ Joel Guenette ~ John Mink ~ Jonathon Sehon ~ Josef Ottosson ~ Josh Yochem ~ Julie Quinn ~ Kara Lien Roberts ~ Kurt O. Richards ~ Logan Carlton Marston ~ Luke Vierboom ~ Lynette Petkov ~ Maria Kettleson Anderson ~ Mario Raul Jara ~ Mark Savage ~ Marq Hwang ~ Martin Eldred ~ Mary Courtney Blake ~ Matthew Doran ~ Melisa Wilkes ~ Melita Caulfield ~ Michael Lawrence Schwartz ~ Mike Raven ~ Miss Sophie Hume ~ Morgan McColum ~ Nathan Scott ~ Nicole ~ Patrick Curtain ~ Paul Karlsen ~ Paul Kinney ~ Pete Cooper ~ Remco Douma ~ Renio Uittenbogaard ~ RF Conway ~ Rhiannon Michell ~ Rodney Vincent ~ Rowan Dax ~ Rowena Knill ~ Samuel E. Goodwin ~ Scott Johnson ~ Shawn Hurst ~ Shirley Ostrander ~ Sonja Lisk ~ Stephen Cruz ~ Suzanne Patt ~ Talayeh Saghatchian ~ Terry Clees ~ Thomas Bartels ~ Tom Jasinski ~ Tyson Gene Peveto ~ Roger Steven Smith ~ Sally Conning ~ Beth Kavanagh ~ Dan Bold ~ Deborah Perreau ~ Eric Brandt ~ Ian A. M. Robertson ~ Jeannette Aracri ~ Kevin Hudgins ~ Kirsti Reeve ~ Kristy McAllister ~ Leslie Johnson ~ Lisa M Campbell ~ Marie Linders ~ Matthew Billingsley ~ Natasha Roussel ~ Nathaniel Keifer-Wheals ~ Sally Conning ~ Suzanne M Wonder ~ Juliana Claro Mourisca ~ Conley & Kate Blac
k ~ Peter Musser ~ Andrew Taylor ~ Brian T. Kelley ~ Elizabeth Chapin
About the Author
Timothy Kurek, a Portland, Oregon based author and speaker is tackling some of the front burner issues of our day. His unrestrained style of immersion lends a uniquely empathetic perspective, engaging his audiences with empathy, humor, and refreshing candor.
Contact Info
For information about Timothy Kurek, or to book him for speaking engagements, please visit:
timothykurek.com
If your book club of ten or more would like to speak with
Timothy free of charge, please contact:
[email protected]
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