Changing the Known

By: Ladd LeBus

Hold up, hold up, hold up.  You mean you are telling me…what?  Let me get this this straight.  There is an answer to all of this? No, no, better yet, let me go back, way back.  It is time I settled this in my mind once and for all.

 

Dancing with Dolly and Moses 1975

Many years before Ralphie learned that tongues stick to frozen flagpoles, I learned that same lesson with my tongue and metal ice trays.  My grandmother came to the rescue and released my tongue with a cup of warm water which came straight from the faucet.  I suppose I was fortunate that the water was always lukewarm during the summer in Wichita Falls, Texas.  I remember thinking that my grandmother’s freezer was so amazing.  She had a snow-filled winter wonderland in her freezer year-round.  I loved scraping the sides of the freezer in an attempt to make a snowball for the next unsuspecting family member that entered her kitchen.  I have important news.  There was never enough frost to make the weapon, but I could get a good unapproving head shake and another unforgettable little smile of disbelief from my grandmother.  Afterall, that was always my intention.

 

With a perpetual smell of natural gas and the scent of a boiling chicken in the air, my grandmother attempted to wrangle my sister and me by teaching us classical piano works like Jesus Loves Me This I know, Chopsticks and a little musical ditty that had to do with dropping my dolly in some dirt.  She created head-to-head Bible book races in which the first contestant to find the book of Obadiah would win a half of a piece of stale Double Mint Gum from the bottom of her purse.  She taught me to dance to gospel tunes from Dolly Parton.  We watched endless satellite broadcasts of the PTL club starring Jim Bakker and a wispy-eyed wife named Tammy Faye.  All the while, a statue of Moses, complete with God’s Ten Commandments etched in stone, watched from the top her dual-purpose credenza and stereo console.

 

Those days were so simple.  She read me stories from a children’s picture Bible about Mary, Joseph and the birth of Jesus.  She showed me how God protected David from giants with only a rock and a sling shot.  I learned about Noah and floods and enormous stones that were miraculously rolled away to expose an empty tomb.  She taught me so much.  She was kind, gentle, loving and filled with unwavering faith and compassion.  I never heard her say a bad word about anyone, and she could cook the best potato, noodle and tomato soup the world would never know.

 

Well at least that’s how I remember it.

 

There goes the neighborhood 1978

Kids are rough.  Not the let’s get in some Tough Skin Jeans and roll around in the dirt rough, they can be so cruel.  I watched as neighborhood kids ridiculed a girl that didn’t celebrate Christmas, but celebrated a mysterious holiday known as Hannukah.  There was a Baptist family whose kids were considered weird because they were not allowed to come out and play.  And then there was the large friendly Catholic family across the street who kept me after school until my mom came home from work.  Everyone in the neighborhood loved the Catholic family. I especially liked the fact that they added Velveeta and apples to their tuna fish sandwiches, and they let me watch Brady Bunch after school on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.  I must have assumed all good Catholics did this.

 

Myself, well I was a Bapcatholimetheran.  I had served time in a Catholic School with a big scary nun, attended vacation Bible school with the Baptists and attended a Baptist, Methodist and a Lutheran Church throughout my childhood church going career.  Truly though, I considered myself to be quite fortunate.  I  felt that I was all knowing when it came to religion.  I knew what Baptists were not allowed to do, and how Methodists could do more than Baptists, but not as much as Catholics.  I thought Catholics actually had it best.  They got wine and French bread from the priest instead of a tiny glass of grape juice and a stale cracker from the volunteer ushers on the fourth Sunday of each month.

 

I thought I had it all down.  It made complete sense then, so when did it all change.  When did a ball of confusion knock me upside the head and leave me questioning not only my faith, but myself in general?

 

The Ball of Confusion

Early on in elementary school, I learned don’t, mess with nuns .  Sister Anne, my teacher at the time, sent me to the Head Master for swinging on the legs of another student that was dangling from the monkey bars.  I thought I was Tarzan, but my friend Andy the human vine, couldn’t support my weight.  He quickly plummeted to the sand below and I landed myself in the office of Sister Elizabeth.  I considered this to be the accelerated program of learning the great power of gravity and nuns.  I found out the hard way that Sister Elizabeth wasn’t a fan of Tarzan.

 

In eighth grade I attended a Baptist school.  I was taught that if I continued on my pathway of being a birthday party magician I was doomed to an eternal life of fire.  I also discovered that dinosaurs never existed, and one of my teachers was reprimanded for speaking in tongues during Bible class.  While watching Gone with the Wind in history class one day, the teacher scrambled from his desk to the film projector to protect our ears from hearing something horrific.  All I know to this day is “So frankly my dear, I don’t give a…warble, warble, click, click, click.”

 

So many little tidbits of information began to flood my mind.  Since I was not afraid to ask questions, and I mean a lot of questions, I began to ask them.  I got an assortment of answers.  Maybe more answers than I could comprehend.

 

“It’s ok to do party magic.”  “It’s not ok to do party magic, you will eventually end up practicing black magic.”  “Whoever told you that party magic is a sin is ridiculous.”  “You know, whoever told you party magic is a sin may be right.”

 

“Dinosaurs do not exist.”, “Ok, you see, Dinosaurs existed along-side of Adam and Eve.”  “Dinosaurs did exist after a big bang , but there was never an Adam and/or an Eve.” “Adam and Eve are just a parable, a story, after all the Bible had to start somewhere.”  “Dinosaur exhibits are all man made.”

 

“Speaking in tongues is a gift.”, “Speaking in tongues is fake.”, “Speaking in tongues is a real thing, but Baptists just don’t do it.”

 

While attending a Baptist University, it became very clear that I could not dance on campus, but dancing off campus was not a problem.  I learned that if I didn’t go to church on Sunday morning, I had better dress up in my Sunday best if I expected to eat free of judgement in the school cafeteria after church.  Although many of the rules I learned were quite humorous at the time, the most important lesson I learned in college was that being gay is not ok.

 

Following college, I watched as groups of faithful followers held up homemade signs outside of gay pride festivals.  The signs were not only hateful, but explicit in nature.  The children of the protesters were shouting horrible banter with words like wicked and filthy at those waiting in line to get into the festival.  I saw my grandmother’s favorite preachers fall from grace through scandal after scandal and then finding themselves unforgiven and excommunicated from the church forever.  I read signs on church doors that said “Everyone is Welcome, come as you are,” but then a newspaper article would unfortunately tell a different story. I listened as self-proclaimed Christians made comments that AIDS was sent by God to destroy the evil people.  I watched as friends passed away from the horrible disease.

 

I had a hard time trying to navigate life.  I came to the conclusion that it was best to keep my thoughts and fears inside.  My mouth, shut.  I lied to others.  I lied to myself.  I told everyone I was a Christian.  I would proudly say, “I am praying for you” when someone was asked for prayer.  But these words had become second nature, like “hello”, “I’m sorry” or “oops, my bad.”

 

From what I have been told, I looked happy, successful and of course, I was always the life of the party.  I had a career, a partner, friends, nice things and of course that pesky little addiction.  I watched myself from the inside out become a different person.  I was living a life in my own movie.  I scripted each moment, on the fly day by day as it unfolded.  I will have to admit, I had some blockbuster moments, but in the end, it became an epic flop.  The lies I had been living and the emotions I had been suppressing eventually came crashing through my scripted life like a wrecking ball.  It wreaked havoc on my life and the lives of my loved ones.  All I remember, at this point the final scene came quickly and my movie faded to black.

 

 On the Other Side

As I emerged from a thirty-day stint in Rehab, I remember asking myself two questions.  Where had my life gone over the past twenty years, and who the heck are the Kardashian’s?

 

One day while standing in line at a hardware store an elderly man standing in line behind me asked if I had been baptized.  Freeze, I thought to myself.  Yes, I froze in hopes that I would disappear.  Is this another Christian that thinks he is better than me? I thought to myself, is he going to start spewing verses from the Bible and shouting preacher like judgements and words of repentance?  I was trying my best to be kind to the gentleman I answered with the usual, “why, yes, yes I have.”  This response usually got me off the hook from another too much information session on religion.  Unfortunately, this time it didn’t work.  He proceeded to tell me, “I am flying today, as if my feet are not touching the ground.”  Inside I thought oh brother, but I reluctantly welcomed further explanation with, “Well how about that, what happened?”  He answered, “Jesus came into my life today.”  My next thought was good for him, but please mister don’t tell me anymore.  He asked, “Do you still have Jesus in your life?”  My mouth said, “of course” but my mind said, “do I really?”  I’m not sure how it ended because all I could think about was his last question.  He then disappeared like an angel.  Just kidding he walked out of the store and I was left standing there with a hammer, a coveted tub of Clorox Wipes in a place with a helpful hardware man.  But seriously, I was in a deep quandary.

 

I had always been the kid with all the questions, but deep inside I thought I knew all of the answers.  I began to ask myself, where and when did I turn my back on my faith?  Why did I believe this man in the hardware store was so naïve to think Jesus had entered his life?  When did I walk away from God?  What was it that made me hide from the God that had blessed me so greatly?

 

I have many friends reach out to me and ask me about AA.  Nine out of ten times they say that they would go to AA, but they will not go because of the religious aspect of the organization.  They want help, but they won’t go to an organization that provides an “out” from the disease of addiction because of Step Number Three.  It simply states, “(We) Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood him.”  This always baffled me.  I too was scared to release my own control over to God even though my life had completely spun out of control.  Many of the guys in recovery would use door knobs or animals or even themselves as their higher power because they just couldn’t go to God.  I thought to myself, why am I so scared to turn my life over to God?  Why have I lost all trust in Christianity?  Why do I believe that Christians look down upon me and think they are better than me?

 

My quest to find out the answers to all of my new questions began with a simple letter to a friend who had become a missionary.  I knew it was something I had to do if I wanted to start getting answers.  In my email I told him that I felt that God was present in my life, but I was afraid.  I wrote that I was scared of being filled with incorrect information, because truthfully, besides a couple of the well-known stories, I knew nothing about the Bible.  I told him that when I opened my heart to learning more, darkness was still present and often times the darkness would keep me from continuing further.  He wrote me back the most beautiful email.  He wrote so many wonderful things, and many of his important points were things that I really didn’t want to hear.  He had so much insight.  Some of his words frightened me, but oddly, others brought me an inner peace.  I learned so much from his letter, but what I believe I was supposed to hear foremost was the following phrase. He wrote, “Jesus is the door, the key, the path. Any other way will only lead to heartache and pain. He is so much more gentle, loving and compassionate than we know.”

 

I respectfully thought, “Run Forest Run!”  So, I did.  But I didn’t run away this time; I drove to a local trail and began to run.  I had to clear my head.  I had to understand what he meant.  I kept saying to myself, “The key, the key?” My head usually begins to clear about mile two.  It was here that I decided the key he is speaking of may be the key to the door that I had created in my mind.  The door that was keeping me from my faith.  The door that was so tightly sealed with the verse Leviticus 20:13 safely locked away.  Unfortunately, this was the most prevalent verse that I knew in the Bible.  This was the verse that was shouted in the streets at festivals.  The verse that was used against my friends that were dying.  The verse shouted from St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City as the gay marchers passed by.  This was the very verse that was used by men, women and children to let an entire community know they were wicked, an abomination and would spend an eternity in darkness.  Somehow, I came to a realization that maybe it was the hate that was associated with this one verse that made me run and hide from God, but I wasn’t sure.

 

Floods of Light

I had a repeating thought in my mind when people would tell me that they gave all of their problems to God, or that Jesus had freed them to live a life in peace and joy forever more.  The thought that came to mind was “bless their heart.”  I couldn’t begin to understand what they were talking about.  For a lifetime, I’ve heard people talking about coming into light from the dark.  From Donahue to Ricky Lake and Geraldo to Maury, I’ve heard guests talking about seeing the light, finding the light, walking into the light, blah, blah, blah, etc., etc., etc.  At that time in my life, I thought I had everything I wanted so I believed I was living in the light.  Dang, at that time in my life, I thought I owned the light!

 

It was during these times though that I was scared I wouldn’t get that loan, or fearful that I was going to get caught up in another lie.  I was anxious about the future and regretted so many decisions of my past.  I felt lonely, even though I had a good family, a partner, a house and dogs.  I felt angry when things didn’t go according to my preconceived notion or plans.  I was trapped in my day-to-day life.  I got my courage and confidence from an addiction.  “And Frankly my dear, I didn’t give a”…warble, warble, click, click, click!  I was told, “one day it will all come crashing down.”  I laughed and laughed, until it did.  It was then that I realized I had been living in the dark all along, but before I knew it, I was in complete darkness and had nowhere to turn.

 

Fresh out of rehab I was told that I would feel like I was “in a pink cloud.”  This was so true.  I felt a new spirit and a feeling of accomplishment.  I built myself up.  I went to AA meetings once per day.  I followed all of the rules I had learned in my recovery classes.  I didn’t feel quite as lonely.  I wasn’t as angry.  I felt more in control.  I was praying to my higher power.  I repeatedly recited; Philippians 4:13, I can do all things in Christ who strengthens me.  I felt great. I felt for a brief moment in time that I had finally emerged into the light!  I felt refreshed and renewed.  I was healed!  I was exhausted.

 

I couldn’t understand why I was still battling all of my temptations.  Why was the darkness I had once known, but thought I had conquered, continuing to creep its way back into my light?  I had created a light through self-love and all of my positive posts on social media; shouldn’t I be able to out shine these thoughts and negativities?  I should be able to wash them away with my newfound light.  I quickly discovered keeping my own light lit as the source to guide my new life was unsustainable.  Some days were great, while others left me wondering what’s next?  I knew I couldn’t battle this alone anymore, but I also knew I couldn’t turn back to my old ways.  I knew I couldn’t ask a friend or a loved one; I thought they wouldn’t understand.  I knew I was in trouble if I didn’t find a new source of light to keep me from the dark ways of my past.  I knew the church wouldn’t be there.  I simply “knew” too much once again and I felt discouraged and empty.

 

So, I prayed.  Even though I thought my prayers were weak and meaningless, I prayed.  I really didn’t know what to say, but I just prayed.   Every time I set my “intention” in Yoga class; my intention was for God to rescue me.  I continued reciting the Lord’s Prayer and the well-known Bible verses of my youth.  I waited and waited for a change. I thought I was not being heard.  Patience, which was not my best skill was being tested, but never the less, I kept praying.

 

On That Day

Day by day, week by week and month by month things began to look a little brighter.  Yes, the world looked physically brighter.  All of those things I had “known” were beginning to change.  Somehow a flicker of light and clarity began to shine all on its own.  I found a little sense of peace.  I found joy in things I had never noticed before.  I began to realize that miracles in my life had taken place.

 

Then it happened.  It was unexpected.  I realized He was there.  No, I didn’t see Him.  And no, I didn’t audibly hear him.  It was more like being surrounded by a warmth I had never known.  I felt  a flutter behind my heart that I can only describe as a quiet feeling of anxiety, but not in a bad way, peculiarly, the feeling was peaceful and so comforting.  I felt safe.  I felt like I was enough.  I finally realized, who I was, is not who I am today.  He was definitely there and he was listening.  Come to find out, He let me know that He had been there all along.

 

Mindful Little Miracles

I expected miracles to be grand and dramatic and spread across the skies with standing ovations from the on-lookers below.  But a new clarity has proven to me that miracles are small and subtle, but powerful and life changing.

 

The first miracles I began to notice were changes in my emotions.  I began to notice that feelings of anger started to feel more like compassion.  Sadness?  It morphed into a new way of looking at difficult situations.  Jealousy was beginning to look like admiration and my disappointments were creating new and exciting places to explore on my journey.

 

I felt the need to let go of the judgements I had placed on others and Christianity.  The fear that life would be boring and I would have no friends vanished.  I am no longer ashamed or worry about being rejected for speaking about Jesus.  Forgiveness became more of a reality rather than just another Christian pop song on the radio.   I realized that the very men chosen by Jesus to be his disciples were broken, just like me.  The life I once expected to have was just a fog in the pathways that I had left behind.  Forging through complicated roads became a welcoming challenge rather than just another road block ahead.  My need for perfection dissipated and became an inner drive to adapt to the twists and turns of my new world.  The confusion of truth and lies on social media became less important.  The feeling that I had clawed my way out of my past became a realization that I had been graciously lifted from the darkness of my bad decisions.  I found the courage and a new desire to walk back into a church.  I discovered that life is less difficult by living with feelings of love and compassion rather than through guilt and shame.  I felt like I was no longer having to go it all alone.  Having less was more important than having more.  A since of wellbeing, comfort, peace, joy, compassion, gentleness and kindness was greater than the false perceptions and lies that I had created and wanted the world to believe.

 

I found some relief from the things I had battled for years.  My temptations continued to push their way into my life, but I found them to be more manageable.  I found that I wanted to know more about the Bible and it was an interesting place of learning, not a chore I felt I was supposed to finish.  The Bible stories that I read so many times before began to have a different, deeper meaning.  Everything I thought I knew in the past was forgotten.  Everything that I know in the present was changing day by day.  I realized that Leviticus 20:13, the verse that had haunted me for so many years, was actually the verse that encouraged me to dig deeper and answer many of the questions that had plagued my life.

 

Is That Your Final Answer?

That’s it.  That’s my final answer, Jesus.  My friend was right.  Jesus is the key, the path and the doorway to the light.  Not just to unlock my mind from the things I thought I knew so well, but the key to a new life after this pit stop in the crazy world in which I live.  The judgement of man, woman or child has no bearing upon me anymore.  I believe that God is missing out on an army of people to spread his word because of all of the conflicting beliefs and false information being shouted in the streets and on the internet.  By self-righteously ranking and creating a hierarchy of the sins of others, I was only creating a way to hide and diminish the courage to face my own sins.

 

While I have learned so much along the way, I am humbled by the fact that in reality I do not know even the opening word of the story that lies ahead.  I am an infant in my learning, but a willing student with a desire only to be who I was made to be.  I now find that even an hour of shame for falling into a temptation or an instant gratification is not worth interrupting the peace and wellbeing of my present life.

 

Because Jesus forgave the very men who crucified him and the friends that betrayed him, I know that he has found forgiveness for my trespasses and transgressions.  Religion did not lead me back to Jesus.  Jesus led me back to a church.  I don’t think I remember how to play Jesus Loves Me This I Know on a piano, but I do know that if I had just listened to my grandmother and her simple message, things would have been much easier.  Looking back at the path I have traveled is a miracle in itself.  I wouldn’t change a thing.  God’s creativity is endless and my comprehension of his ways I will never understand.  The journey that is behind me is now something that I will always cherish.  It was brutal at times, but I find comfort in knowing that it was exactly as it was supposed to be.  I know that I would have never understood the beauty of His light if I hadn’t seen the darkest of the dark.  He is  indeed forgiving, kind and compassionate.  He is the light that guides my life.  He has changed what I had always “known.”