"Queer as Faith"
by Nathan Gunter

Queer as Faith is a weekly column by Nathan Gunter.  Unconventional and thought-provoking, Nathan writes as a gay Christian struggling to live authentically in the real world.

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Week 28:
Sand Plums

It seems that this has been the year of love. Already I've been to two weddings, and tomorrow I'll be fitted for a tux for a third, in which I'm an usher. Two of my closest friends are a married couple, and two more, my oldest friends Erica and Bryon, have each fallen in love in the past month.

They're such a pain in the ass.

It's not that I'm bitter - I'm really not. So far, I've been pretty lucky, in the sense of getting to have loved at all, and getting to have my still-beating heart ripped from my chest and shown to me, and through it all to learn that I actually am resilient and loved enough to live through it. Everyone should be so lucky, really.

Still, some words of Mary Chapin-Carpenter's come to mind a lot these days, and won't leave me alone: "Loneliness is like a cold: common, and no cure, we're told."

Most of the time I am fine with it - a handicap around which I've learned to work. Most of the time, I can let the loneliness be okay, because, as Rich Mullins said, "It's okay to be lonely as long as you're free."

One way I find of being okay with it is that, since I was a small child, I've always been fairly misanthropic, exactly in the pattern of my father. Oh sure, I can socialize and charm and flirt, yes, and sometimes even have fun. I imagine what it's like to be one of the popular kids, and back in the days when I had a few small limit issues - with guys especially - I found that I could arrange myself into a perfect little social butterfly and rule the room. The fact was, I didn't actually like most people and found I couldn't really pretend for very long, and after awhile I had to go breathe into a paper bag. I'm much happier at home entertaining a bowl of popcorn and an episode of Mystery Science Theater with the kitty.

Being entertaining, flirty Person took the kind of energy that is the first to go in life's teeny little trials, and now, I'm left with the solid, simple core of Me, who happens to be my most and least favorite person to be around. And of course, that's when I go and meet a guy, and have the unmitigated gall to like him and be liked in return.

I've traveled around the world, schmoozed with famous people, earned a religion degree from a fairly prestigious university, and dropped out of an Ivy League one. And yet, I suck at dating. I just can't get the hang of it, and that stage when you first meet someone, when you're supposed to feel all excited and gung-ho, leaves me feeling deflated and saggy, like a helium balloon two weeks after the party. I looked in mirrors - internal and external - and I saw that I am tough, and beloved, and slightly out of shape, and unable to pretend, and I felt like a really great guy who's on sale at the thrift shop.

And yes, there's the excitement, and the blushing, and the furtive sighs and late-night phone calls, and those are great. But there are also the times when my dad offers to take me out for a nice steak dinner, and it's like being invited to tour the snake house at the zoo on the day that they're replacing all the glass.

My first reaction to liking someone is rapturous joy, boundless hope, and increased confidence as to the potential of a life I'd once thought hopelessly lost. It reminds me that maybe there's someone, somewhere, who may be willing to come in and share this warm, cramped little space I call life; even if it's not this one - maybe, you know?

What happens, of course, is that this little thing inside me starts getting impatient, and looks at its watch, and taps its foot. It's like that friend who's ready to leave the party the second you arrive. But I'm having so much fun, do we have to go now? It sighs, almost sadly - Yes, I'm afraid so. And so I say goodbye to my joy and hope and accompany this little thing out the door, into the more spacious and fearful of my mind's landscapes, where there are weeping and gnashing of teeth, and laundry lists of my faults, issues, bodily flaws, neuroses, and past sins, read over loudspeakers in the voices of my parents, my teachers, the popular kids, and especially every guy I've ever dated. Running to find shelter in a thunderstorm.

It doesn't help that I recently quit smoking and started running again. This activity was unrelated to this guy, but the two managed to meet and converge: See? Proof! I am on my way to perfection!

The more this guy and I talked and flirted, the more that little thing inside began to seem to need to have its little private conferences: Okay, that's wonderful, but remember... And I'd nod miserably, I know, I know... And suddenly my running time every evening, which is usually such a joy, became harder.

I love to run. I get at least an hour by myself every day, in the beautiful, dusty weather of Oklahoma August. I have no music, no noise, just me and the smell of the sand plums that grow by the trail. There are rabbits who live out there, and sometimes, the rain falls just a bit, like Mana.

But as I worried my feelings over this guy into a frenzy, the more I felt the need to push myself further, harder: two miles became three, a ten-minute mile became an eight.

Then, one night, Erica called to tell me that she and her boyfriend had finally used The L Word - "I love you." I tried to hard to be excited, but all I could think was the worst, most condescending and horrible thought I have: "How cute." The next night I ran into Bryon at the club, and he was with his boyfriend. I lit up my first cigarette in a month. I felt rotten inside, like my heart had crawled down behind my stomach and vomited, then curled up there for a feverish nap. I felt so broken and sad, where I should be skipping, dancing, thanking, not envious and glowering, like Professor Snape after a bad joint.

I realized that I am completely out of my gourd. I prayed - "Jesus, I don't know what's happening with this guy, or with me, and I know you keep having to do this, but can I get some help with me here?" And I felt my heart peek its scared little eyes out, checking to see if all was safe. I took the weekend off running, ate Taco Bueno with my mom, and revisited everything about the whole situation, then set it aside. I reminded myself of a song I heard recently that goes, "If Barbie were real, she'd be six-foot-one, and her neck would be eighteen inches long. Her measurements would be 41-16-34." I taped it on my mirror and laughed at it every chance I got. I found that the two best remedies for this level of mental illness are - and always have been - prayer and laughing at yourself.

I kept praying, and didn't run, and when that little thing inside would sigh and tap its watch, I'd laugh, and keep staring up, waiting for some blue sky. I was like Russell Crowe in A Beautiful Mind, learning to ignore the tricks his mind is playing on him day in and day out.

Sometimes grace is just what lets us keep looking up for some more blue sky, you know? The next time I talked to this boy, I didn't feel my worry and stress perk up again, and they've mostly stayed gone. Instead, I feel confident, and lovable, and maybe even sexy, in my own, Hobbit-esque kind of way. When I feel like beating up on me, I cry out for help, and day by day, my eschatological little heart has stopped waiting for doomsday.

Sometimes, grace is the moment, just the moment, with no past, no future, just now. Breathing, breath, is Spirit, and Spirit is life.

When I next went for a run, I went farther than I have in a long time, and it seemed to pass too quickly. I was running, taking in the smell of sand plums and wild pears and imminent rain, when I came across a woman with her two small children out for a hike. A little rabbit darted across the trail in front of us, and we all stopped. We looked around at the rabbit, and at each other, eyes wide, as if maybe a small miracle had just taken place - did you see that? The little girl squealed, and pointed, and her laughter filled the air and tickled the sky, and I let myself catch my breath and have some water.

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