Tonight's Distinguished Guest Blogger

When I think about my dad, I think about his gentle and easy smile ... his work-worn hands ... the ever-present twinkle in his dark brown eyes. When I think about my dad, I think about the stories he would tell me as I sat tucked inside his strong arms on lazy Sunday afternoons in Tennessee ... the tunes he would whistle as he tilled the ground in his beloved vegetable garden ... the hymns he would sing as he worked in the small room that held his vast array of tools. When I think about my dad, I think about the times he placed cool cloths on my head when I was sick ... the basketball goal he crafted for me from metal and wood ... the countless late-night softball games he attended after he had worked all day at the railroad. When I think about my dad, I think about love ... unconditional, total, complete, pure, fathomless love. When I think about my dad, I think about how very blessed and lucky I was to have been raised by a man of such honor and integrity ... a man of such wisdom and kindness ... a man of such patience and love. Not everyone has that kind of dad, you know ... not everyone has that kind of dad at all.

The post that follows this evening was written by a gentleman I had the distinct honor of meeting last spring ... a gentleman whose courage and bravery is truly humbling to me ... a gentleman who possesses an inner strength that can only come from overcoming extreme adversity ... a gentleman whose heart beats with a pure and steadfast desire to tear down the walls of hate and discrimination and build in their place pillars of love and acceptance for all people. He is kind and gentle and humble and caring and compassionate and honorable and loyal and trustworthy ... and he is my friend. He inspires me to be a better person ... encourages me to persevere through the darkest nights ... sees the me I hope to one day become. In some ways, he and I are very different, but in other ways, we are so very much the same. Some of you may not like or agree with the words of my friend tonight, and that's okay. Some of you will stand and cheer because his words ring true within your hearts as well, and that's okay, too. We don't all have to be alike or agree on all the issues ... we can be different and we can disagree. When all is said and done, what's most important is that we love and respect each other ... different or alike, in agreement or not, tall or short, rich or poor, gay or straight, black or white, chubby or skinny ... what's most important is that we love and respect each other.

My dear friend Nate Phelps gave his permission for me to publish his name this evening, and many of you are familiar with his father, Fred ... Fred Phelps ... the preacher from Topeka whose hatred for people like me has garnered international attention down through the years. Nate left home when he was 18, and he now travels the world speaking for the cause of gay rights ... that's right, Nate speaks on behalf of the very people he was taught from birth to hate. I am honored to share his words with you this evening ... words from the heart of a man who walked through the fire of hate and learned what it really means to love. 

"This is Jaymi"

"She was born last May 15^th at the Peter Laughheed Hospital in Calgary, Alberta Canada. She was a tiny little thing, 5 lbs. 11ozs. I’ve spent a lot of time with her these past seven months. No real schedule. There have been times when we had her nearby constantly for months then she would be gone for a few weeks or days. But I know Jaymi and that precious, heart-melting smile she gives me tells me she knows her G-Paw too.

I’m an atheist. That is to say that I don’t think change will ever come from outside this world so I think in terms of how I can change it here and now. Better comes from us. Period.

I imagine a similar photo from 54 years ago. A scruffy man looking down with a bit of discomfort, sadness and awe in his eyes at a small boy sleeping in his arms. Fast forward through those 54 years. Discovering life, violence, religion, isolation, hatred, shame…

…pausing in 8^th grade. A video is released to the school system (Black History: Lost, Stolen or Strayed) to teach us how we treated black people in America now that we’re determined not to treat them that way anymore. Learning that we held ideas in our heads for centuries that somehow these people were different. Seeing the images of man’s ability for cruelty toward one another, bodies broken in the most horrific ways for the most meaningless reasons. Feelings of sadness and shame. Wanting to stand up and apologize. Wondering where Ham or Canaan fit into this whole business.

Fast forward again. Hope, escape, starting over, searching, new life, questioning, permission, letting go, redefining, simplifying, finding out for myself, painful choices.

Deep breath.

Painful choices.

Starting over…so tired of starting over…

Painful choices. Helping others, finding a voice, trying to understand…

Pause again. We need a new video released to America (Gay History: Denied, Forbidden or Prayed Away) to teach us how we treated gay people in America now that we’re determined not to treat them that way anymore.

This is Jaymi. It’s likely she will have a photo taken of her one day looking down at a tiny child with a bit of discomfort, sadness and awe on her face. Perhaps, in that photo, she will be taking a moment remembering her life to that point. We can’t say for sure what her passions will have been, what she focused her hopes and dreams on, but because we stared god in the face today, we know it won’t be the tortured struggle of homosexuality any longer.

I love you Jaymi."