&

I ran 10 miles today. My brain was full,
and the time passed quickly. Side benefit
of overthinking everything in life?

I am 42 years old. For as long as I can remember, I have been told that being gay is a sin and I would have to choose my relationship with God, or my true identity. So for my whole adult life, I hid who I really was and never pursued a partnership with anyone. I chose God and denied my desire to share my life with someone.

When I had weight loss surgery in July of last year, I finally dealt with the one thing that had separated me from the rest of the world around me. I finally addressed the life long challenge that felt impossible to conquer. I realized I had no reason to hide anymore, that it would be terrifying to come out for all the reasons I remained hidden my whole life. What would my church friends say? What would my old Young Life friends say? What would my YMCA co-workers say?

I am a gay christian. I am gay, and I am a christian. And. Not or. I am wrestling with what the Old Testament says about me. I am wrestling with what the New Testament says about me. However, I am not wrestling with what Jesus says about me.

When I started telling my friends in July that I was gay, I was embraced with open arms. I got the classic responses of "DUH" and "what took you so long?" and "how long have you known?" to which I always answer "how long have you known you're straight?"

I had a wonderful coming out experience. Last week at the church I attend, the pastor gave a sermon on how same sex marriage is wrong, and if anyone in the congregation is struggling with a same sex relationship, they offer counseling to help people with that. I was at church with my partner, and the pastor's sermon only made me hold her hand tighter.

That church sermon was the only time I felt shamed since coming out. Therapy wouldn't turn me straight just like therapy wouldn't change my skin color or my gender. It is not a choice to be gay. No one would choose this life. It is lonely, and difficult, and heart breaking to think I have to be alone in order to honor God's call on my life. I hid for 42 years. I chose to hide for 42 years because I had well-meaning christian leaders that I trusted preach the same message I heard last week.

My partner and I are staying at this church. After the sermon this week, we had strangers come up to us and hug us, saying they were sorry for the message and that it doesn't represent the congregation. My partner talked to the pastor afterwards and let him know how offended and judged we felt, and that we didn't think he represented the views of the congregation. The pastor was kind, but had nothing to say.

This week at church, we walked in together holding hands. And we are staying at this church rather than choosing to run away because of the people in the congregation. The teenagers that might be struggling with their own sexuality, the older couple with a gay son or daughter wondering how to love them like Jesus does, the interracial couples that fear being judged themselves. We are staying because we love the people, love the message, and love the challenge.

I am a Christian. And I am gay. And I don't want to be ashamed of either of these parts of my life anymore. It's amazing what a little courage can do. And a lot of support.

And. Not or.

ONE-DER-LAND!

The stalls are real! It might have taken me three weeks
to lose that last pound to hit the 100's but we did it!

This has been a week. A challenging week. A week in which I lost the joy in what I am accomplishing with my weight loss and my health.

Has that ever happened to you? You are cruising along and staying on track and feeling great but something else hits you from the side that you weren't expecting. For me, that was several things this week. Whether it's work, family, finances, whatever causes the stress - something seemingly small can derail us.

And I was derailed this week. But I can't turn to food like I used to my whole life. However, I did have to fight the desire to crawl into a hole. I fought the urge to stop responding to texts and phone calls, close the blinds, call in sick, and pull the covers over my head. Instead, I am learning how to fight through pain instead of hide from it. I am learning how to let people in instead of locking them out. I am learning to let myself be taken care of as much as I have taken care of others.

God gave me a gift this week. He allowed me to hit that Onederland mark. I didn't do anything spectacular this week. I am eating like I am supposed to, trying to get 100 grams of protein a day, and working out 5 days a week. The half marathon I am training for is in 3 weeks. I am running. A lot. But the weight loss stalls are real, and when I asked my nutritionist if I was done losing weight she quickly, emphatically said "NO! You will lose for the next 8-10 months."

When was the last time I saw a "1" at the beginning of my weight? When was the last time I weighed one hundred something pounds? Was it middle school? If so, I don't remember because my brain blocked the traumatizing days of getting physicals as a 12 year old. And every year after that. The social anxiety and embarrassment of having to go to a doctor once a year and pretend that I wasn't overweight crushed me. The end of the summer was always nerve racking because I knew that any day, my mom would take me for my yearly physical.

We have to let go of one thing to hold on to another. I have to let go of my past to hold on to my future. One summer in high school, I was getting out of a boat to step on to the dock and I hesitated. I hesitated too long with one foot in the boat and one foot on the dock. The boat split from the dock and I fell into the water, flailing with windmill arms the whole way down. I should have let go of the boat and trusted the dock. With both feet. All in.

We are all moving forward. Onederland is not the end. But today, I am resting in this accomplishment and reflecting on how I got here. I am overwhelmed and grateful. I am hopeful and happy. I am proud and humbled. And I am letting go of the boat and trusting the dock.

With both feet.

All in.

This elusive place called Onederland

If you have read my blogs before, I think I know what you're thinking. She did it! She made it to Onederland! What an accomplishment?

Nope.

It's been three weeks and my weight has just...stalled. My doctor said eat more carbs. My nutritionist said eat more often. My nurse said eat more protein. My body is changing but the scale just...isn't.

I share this for one big reason: this weight loss thing is a battle for my heart and my soul. And I don't want to only share the victories. The real truth is that I am wildly frustrated. And I am wondering when I will get to see a "1" at the beginning of my weight on the scale. I thought I would have crushed that milestone by now. A three week stall when I am training for a half marathon and running 15-18 miles a week?

Come on.

The thing that I hate about social media is we don't really post what's truly going on. We post the best stuff. The stuff we are proud of. The moments that we want to remember. Because why would we post about the struggles? The stuff we are ashamed of? The moments we want to forget?

Amidst this frustration of a perceived "lack of progress" I am reminded daily of how far I have come. And God gives me three words every day when I want to quit.

Stay. The. Course.

Stay the course. Remain and be present in the process. Embrace the discomfort. Do the work. Share all of it. All of it. Because our collective story will never just be the "facebook moments." Our story is the highs and lows and all points in between. 

We will make it to Onederland. When it's time. And until then, we will stay the course. Today I ran 9 miles, because that's what is on my training plan. Tomorrow will reveal itself to me. 

When it's time.