Date: Sun, 18 Jul 2010 19:42:06 -0400
From: Kurt Ross <kurtross9711@gmail.com>
Subject: What happened to the little boy?

I'm in a bit of a mood these days, so no telling how this may come out, but
getting a few things down on cyberpaper may be a bit therapeutic, even if
no one else reads it.  Here goes...

The main activity recently has been packing up and/or disposing of the
remainder of Mom's life accumulation at her little house, since it looks
like she'll be at the nursing home for the rest of her days on earth.  This
process in itself is emotional enough, but has been made more poignant
because of Mom's eagerness to reminisce.  The first days I was here she was
talking a lot about a little boy she used to know, this bright little
fellow who was always happy, gentle and kind.  He was talkative and
sociable and never met a stranger.  I have memories of the same little guy,
and Mom's conversation has made me think about him more than I have for
quite a while.

As I remember him, he recognized at an early age that he was somehow
different from many of the other little boys he knew, though in those years
he couldn't have put his finger on just what made him different.  His
mother recognized his unique qualities, and seemed to love him all the
more.  Her gentleness and care made him feel secure and special, very aware
of being cherished.  Other members of his large extended family likewise
showed him abundant affection, and as a result, he was quick to return that
affection to everyone he met.

His dad, however, seemed to also be aware of the little boy's
differentness, and reacted to what he couldn't understand by withholding
any affection or care he might have felt.  The little boy was a bit
confused by the difference in the treatment he received from his parents,
but not knowing any better, thought that maybe it was a daddy's job to be
angry and violent, just as it was a mommy's job to be sweet and caring,
drying tears and bringing comfort to little boys whose very existence
seemed to provoke anger.  It didn't take long for the little boy to
understand that being cheerful and affectionate with his daddy usually
resulted in harsh words (or worse), so he retreated and found his refuge in
reading.  He could spend many hours a day in the worlds that books opened
to him, and if sitting quietly in his room with a book helped make him
invisible, so much the better.

The little boy found school enjoyable in some ways, though barely tolerable
in others.  He didn't excel at many of the physical activities and was
usually among the last chosen when teams were picked.  But there were
always a few friends who didn't seem to mind his lack of athletic prowess
or interest, and teachers were usually kind and understanding souls who
appreciated his enthusiastic participation in academic activities as well
as his congenial attitude.

The little boy's mother worshipped a God whose Spirit had worked in her to
produce beautiful qualities of faith and love, joy and peace, gentleness,
patience and humility.  The little boy loved to hear his mother pray, to
sit with her and listen as she read her Holy Book.  He loved the peace he
felt among the group of believers to which she belonged, and their worship
never ceased to thrill him with its combination of depth and simplicity.
(Strangely enough, the little boy's dad was supposedly a believer and
worshipper of the same God, but the little boy secretly suspected that
somehow his dad had never gotten personally acquainted with God like his
mother had, and if he had, certainly didn't keep in very good touch with
Him.)  The little boy loved to listen to the teaching about the grace and
mercy and kindness personified in his mother's God.  When still very young,
faith took on great importance to him, inspiring him to embrace his
mother's God as his own.

Time passed slowly, as it does when one is young, and the little boy wasn't
so little anymore.  As he turned into a teenager, some of the differences
he'd been aware of became a little clearer.  He'd always gotten along well
with little girls, even when other little boys avoided them in fear of
catching their cooties.  Now, with childhood's end in sight, changing
voices and changing shapes were accompanied by changing interests, and his
contemporaries began their first awkward attempts at pairing off.  Not
wanting to be left out, the boy found a few special girls to hold hands
with as they walked the halls at school, but it didn't seem to provide him
with the thrill that it did for other boys, and it certainly introduced an
element that complicated friendships that had seemed so easy and natural
before.

At the same time, the boy began having these strange new thoughts about
other boys, thoughts that made him increasingly uncomfortable.  In fifth
grade he'd heard the word "homo" for the first time, and came home to ask
his mother what it meant.  She'd explained in her usual calm and simple
manner, but the scorn with which he heard it used by others at
school—along with "faggot", which he'd learned the next year—made him
very certain that he never wanted to be one of those people.  But didn't he
get to choose?  How could he be having these thoughts when he'd already
decided that he didn't want to be anything of the sort, especially if it
might make other people hate him even more than they already did?  The boy
decided he'd avoid looking at other boys and having any physical contact
with them, and eventually he'd get over this phase that was frightening him
more and more.

Years passed and the boy grew, but the feelings didn't go away.  If
anything, they became stronger and more alarming.  Knowing that if anyone
discovered his terrible secret he would certainly be ostracized completely,
he kept to himself as much as possible.  His family's frequent moves from
place to place during his teen years helped him stay anonymous in school,
never quite getting past his status as "the new kid".  A few persistent
classmates managed to befriend him, and while he responded to their
kindness with gratitude and loyalty, the fear of betraying himself kept him
from getting very close.

Determined to get away from a home where his very presence still seemed to
continually incite rage, the boy left school as quickly as possible and
moved away from home at age sixteen.  Though he had always been at the top
of his class, the lack of both financial and emotional support made further
study seem impossible, so he went to the city, rented a tiny house in the
poorest area of town, and found a job in a factory.  The men in the factory
were a rough bunch, so a few more layers of protection went up lest they
should discover that he was one of those people whom they so often
ridiculed.

Faith continued to play the central role in the young man's life.  In his
awareness of God's love and care, he found much of the security,
fulfillment and peace he yearned for, and it became his dearest desire to
share the love of God with others.  After some years in the factory, at age
nineteen he began working in full time ministry.  This, at last, was the
answer to his longings; now he could associate with people whose
motivations were pure and loving, people who were wise and understanding,
compassionate and caring.  Now those troublesome thoughts and feelings
would disappear as he immersed himself completely in prayer and in service
to others.

Before long, it became evident that things weren't as simple as he'd hoped.
For one thing, not everyone shared the young man's ideals.  While many
indeed portrayed the purity and love he craved, others tended to
automatically condemn anyone whose ideas or traditions were different than
their own.  Radically differing ideas and attitudes among those who were
supposed to be leaders in the faith left him perplexed.  Worst of all, not
only were the feelings not going away, they actually seemed to be
intensifying.  And—horror of horrors—some seemed to see through his
carefully constructed layers of protection.  Efforts must be redoubled to
keep this terrible curse from ruining the perfect life he longed for.  Did
his love of music and singing somehow make him seem less masculine?  He
would avoid playing and singing in the presence of others.  Did being
careful with his clothing and appearance betray him?  He could learn to
dress in drab, uncoordinated, less-than-perfect combinations if that would
preserve the masquerade.  Did laughing and joking make him seem light and
frivolous?  He could be sober as a judge if it would help protect his
calling and his dream.  What was there to laugh about anyway?  Did anyone
suspect that his friendship with other men was an attempt to seduce them or
otherwise satisfy some perverse desires?  Then he'd just have to keep
himself a little more separate, build the wall a little higher, be even
more selective about letting others see inside.  No one must ever get close
enough to know the real identity so painstakingly hidden away.

Years of self-denial and desperate prayer for God to remove this awful
thorn in his flesh hadn't seemed to make any difference at all.  While
dedication and sincerity and ability had combined to produce a measure of
success in his ministry, made evident by the appreciation and gratitude
expressed by those with to whom he ministered, the struggle was just as
intense, and the wretchedness of self-condemnation at his wayward feelings
and desires at times was nearly unbearable.  What a relief, then, when one
day as he wrestled anxiously in prayer, God's message came so clear to his
heart, saying, "I made you just as I pleased.  You are not a mistake; you
are my very special creation and you are loved."

This revelation brought a wonderful release in many ways, though there were
still many unanswered questions.  Now instead of crying and begging for God
to change him, the man began to thank God for His unfathomable wisdom in
making him as He had, and instead of his futile prayers for change, prayed
that he could learn to better serve and honor God through his unique
identity.  He began to see opportunities where, instead of always hiding in
shame, he could actually open up and share with others who found themselves
in a similar situation, offering a measure of comfort and hope and support.
He still had to exercise a great deal of caution, since many people would
have found it impossible to accept a minister who admitted to even having
such feelings.  Some would even go so far as to say that the very presence
of such feelings was evidence that God had given up on him, that he was a
hopeless case.  But each time he was able to speak a word of encouragement
to those who faced similar issues, he became more convinced that this was
an important part of his vocation.  He met many who had never before been
able to confide in another person, let alone a Christian minister, without
being met with condemnation and contempt.  Sharing in the relief they felt
at finally having someone to whom they might unburden—someone to offer
courage and care—brought joy and a sense of purpose greater than any he
had felt before.

Each succeeding year seemed to pass more quickly, and the man found himself
middle-aged.  Through the years he had been able to open his heart to more
and more people, offering words of hope and strength.  God's presence
seemed so near and so real, and he was quite aware of receiving grace and
blessing in his ministry.  Yet all was not as he would have wished.  While
many people were finding great joy in moving beyond legalistic rigidity and
tradition-bound living, others tenaciously resisted the message of a God of
grace who was eager to share His love with all who would come to Him.  On
one hand, the value of faith and the reality of the peace the man found in
sharing love's message were continually increasing.  On the other hand,
divisions among the believers and an element of very vocal opposition to
the teaching of grace were compounded by the need to continue to hide an
integral part of himself, and the fear that one word or gesture or action
would betray his secret to those who would then use it to destroy him.  The
stress of walking this tightrope began to affect his health in many ways,
making even the routine activities of life seem at times an impossible
burden.

God began to speak very clearly that it was time to make a change, but the
man resisted.  In spite of difficulty and disappointment, he loved his work
in the ministry and cherished the opportunities of sharing faith and love
with those around him.  He could not imagine any other life that would be
attractive or rewarding.  Yet God's direction became more and more evident,
pointing him unmistakably away from the life he had known for so long.
After a long and painful struggle, it became evident there was no other
choice than to accept this new direction.  It was the greatest leap of
faith he had ever taken, not without many tears and much trepidation.  Yet
it was clearly the only way to be at peace with himself and with God, and
so he walked forward, not knowing what might be waiting for him.

Nearly three years have passed since he stepped away from his formal role
in the ministry.  He still has not found his new niche in life.  Days have
been filled with routine activities, getting a university degree and
working enough to pay the bills.  He misses the interactions that were so
much a part of life before, and most nights his dreams still find him busy
ministering, teaching, counseling, and sharing faith and the love of God.
Yet he feels direction will become clear and that God's purpose in all of
life's changes will be evident.  He thinks of that happy, loving little boy
he used to know, and trusts there will still be years ahead for laughter,
hope, and love.

****************

If this resonates with anyone, I'd love to hear from you:
kurtross9711@gmail.com