THE CHRISTMAS GIFT


My Sweet Sarah,

On our long train trip, I spent the first afternoon reading the Gift of Stories you presented us with Christmas, 2009.  When I say I read it, I mean I read every single word, caressing the emotions presented in each story and embracing your loving spirit as you shared heart-wrenching events.  I questioned when you questioned, I felt anger when you expressed anger, and I, too, asked Where is God?

As I finished your gift of stories, I understood so much more about you…and I know…I know you have the beautiful gift of writing…I know you are a strong person, as you persisted in your gathering…you’ve survived the raging waterfall…you’ve met God face to face…and you are His beloved.

So I ask myself, how is it that I was so blessed to have you as my precious moment?  I’d like to think I must have done something good and yet I know it has nothing to do with who I am and everything to do with who He is and yet, I feel so privileged to be a witness to your life—even though I have spent mine disengaged for so many poor reasons.

Nonetheless, as undeserving as I feel I am of your affirmation of me as a mother, I am so thankful for it and thank you for your loving spirit.  I am so proud of you and who you have become—even more so maybe because you found your way to who you are by being as aware and passionate as you are.   You found you as you engaged in a pilgrimage.   As a result, you are the most compassionate, kind, and most loving person I know and I am thrilled to call you my sunshine and my daughter.

~Mom

8-16-16

This is the letter I wrote to my daughter seven years after I found out she was gay.  I know, most parents can kind of "feel" these things or intuit the information, but not me...I was pretty much clueless.  Well, actually, I must have had some thoughts about it as I had asked my son, Scott,  during a joint Christmas shopping chore in 2008.  The conversation went something like this.

"Hey Bear (my nickname for him) can I ask you something?"  I asked from the passenger seat as he drove the winding Kentucky roads.

"Sure, mom," he said in his easy-going, confident style.

I took a deep breath.  "Is Sarah gay?"  

Scott and Sarah are only four months apart in age.  I gave birth to Sarah three weeks after Scotty arrived from South Korea to be our son.  He was 3 months and one week old when we picked him up at the O'Hare airport in Chicago, IL.  They have always been close from day one so  I figured if anyone would know, Scott would know.  

He looked at me and without hesitation replied, "Would it make any difference?  Would you love her less?  Besides, if she is, it is not my story to tell."

I was a little taken aback by his response and yet in that same moment I could not have been prouder of him.  

"It absolutely would NOT make a difference," I said, "I would always love her no matter what."  We did not talk about it for the rest of the day.

A year later, Sarah stepped into our home in Kentucky.  It was four days before Christmas.  She handed us a homemade notebook full of her writings from throughout her life.  

"Mom, dad," she said, "this is my Christmas gift to you this year.  No, don't read it right now. I am going to leave and I want you to take the time to read it together.  I am going to drive to see Ali for a few days and then I will be back for Christmas.  At that time I will answer any questions you have and we will celebrate Christmas.   

We agreed.  Hugged her hard and told her to be safe and that we would see her in a few days.

That night Michael and I laid on our bed together reading her notebook of writings.  Honest writings from a very young age and often throughout her life searching for answers to who she was and trying to reconcile that with her Christian upbringing.  She shared her pain and her struggles and her affirmations and joys.  She shared how others had helped her in her journey to acceptance and she shared her dreams.  As we read about her journey  in accepting her homosexuality, we cried.  I cried a lot.  Not because I was sad that she was gay.  That NEVER entered my heart.  I cried because I felt so honored that my sweet daughter was willing to share her deepest hurts and biggest dreams with us.  In a world where young people were killing themselves or hating themselves for their sexuality, my daughter honored us with honesty and openness.  I might have cried a bit for the pain and unacceptance she might encounter; however,  she was nothing but awesomeness wrapped in a beautiful package and I have always believed she could handle anything.  I was crying with pride that she was being true to herself and who she was.  She was embracing the beautiful person that she was without condemnation and I would embrace her too.  

A few days later, she and her college roommate, Ali, came for Christmas.  As we sat around the table, we talked honestly about the commitment they had made to each other.  At one point Sarah (a storyteller by nature) was telling about one of their adventures.  I could tell by the look in Ali's eyes that she had heard the story over and over.  Of course, with most partners, when a husband or wife retells a story over and over, the partner will often roll their eyes and groan with the retelling.  "Have you heard this story before, Ali?" I asked her.  Her beautiful gray eyes sparkled, she smiled, and said, "Yes, but it's a really good one!"  In that moment, I knew.  I knew that sarah had found the love of her life.  

As my mind thinks about Sarah, it drifts back to who Sarah was as a child...