The following is a "testimonial" I plan (hope) to give at
my church in the next couple of weeks in honor of the
National Coming Out Day:
As a child I was afraid of the dark. To me, laying in bed late at night in a house devoid of the common sounds of talking, laughter and communion, darkness was a place of loneliness. My parents placed a nightlite in my room and my door would regularly remain cracked. This light would provide a glimpse of hope for the following day, a reminder that there was love around me. Sometimes my light would go out, or the door would be closed. My parents were always there to refresh that light and continue the reminder of their presence.
As I've grown I've worked to maintain that light in the darkest corners of life. This light comes to me in the form of loving friends and family. As I traveled through my 20's, an exciting time of college, parties, music and fun, I found it more difficult to provide myself true light. I found myself living darkness in the midst of blinding light. I was not happy. I was presenting myself as a person whom I was not.
By my 28th birthday I decided that I needed to become the person I had created on the surface. I attempted to let the puppet drive the hand and I deeply hurt some of those around me in the process.
I came to [this church] in crisis. My plan had fallen apart. I was deeply wrapped in the most pervasive darkness of my life and I didn't know how to get out. You provided me an out. I walked in the the front doors, was greeted by my mentor in the pulpit, and jumped into the hymn, "what it is to be free." I cried. I looked around to find myself surrounded by true and light. I saw black people, young people, white people and people older than myself. I was illuminated by poor people, rich people, straight people and my people:
Gay people. I couldn't see for the light. It was only then that I knew freedom, truth in my life, and myself. Thank you for this. You [church], my friends and my family. Thank you for returning the light.
