Vers
For the boys/young men/men who are searching for God in the verses of their queerness. (A revised graduate school personal statement from 2015)
The first Bible verse Chip and I ever read together was Psalms 139:14: "I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvelous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well." Although I understood the concept of God’s love/self-love I still didn’t understand how it pertained to me. That one insignificant verse would later mean more than I had known. I would visit Chip for the Christmas of 2014, go to church for the first time in about two years for New Year’s and return home the next year in love. I had Chip's love. In my mind God's love seemed secondary, non-existent and something I wasn’t worthy to experience.
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One summer before college I’d thought I’d prayed the gay away. I trained myself to suppress my inclination to memorize the moves of Rihanna’s “SOS” video or find the random Black, bearded man on the train from Elizabeth, NJ to New York Penn Station attractive. I’d masturbate to women and feel like I had accomplished something great after I’d climax. Even in those moments God was with me. He’d known I was different. I had his love then too.
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Traveling to work one day a man with a full fledge sermon inside of him decided to exclaim "Know that God is walking with you," for everyone to hear. Forced to listen, I stiffened in my seat as the words escaped his mouth and he proceeded to walk down the pews of seats on the B39 bus going toward Newark Penn Station. The man’s words had power. His words made my heart throb harder in my chest. I sat quiet, seemingly unbothered. I prayed no one noticed the jolt of energy that pumped more blood into my heart or made me stiffen in the first place. The man continued preaching for another minute or so. Once the sermon was completed another man behind me shouted, "Amen." I remained quiet.
Two weeks ago while ironing my clothes TD Jakes blared from my grandmother's TV. I acted unaffected by Jakes’ words then too. Earlier that morning I texted Chip - at this this time he was only my potential boyfriend. I don’t recall the complete sermon, but it had something to do with homosexuality, the church, love, and those things together not being able to co-exist. The focus I placed into doing my best to ignore the sermon appeared to make ironing my shirt that much more interesting. The shirt’s neatly placed buttons, the way each stitch intertwined with one another all seemed like an exquisite work of art created by Basquiat or the way I felt since I was a little boy when I heard Billie Holiday sing. After burying my guilt and uneasiness deep somewhere in my throat I quickly finished ironing, ran to the bathroom, brushed my hair and kissed my grandma goodbye. She sent me off into the world with her usual assurance, saying: "Know that you're covered under the blood of Jesus." I thanked her uncomfortably, proceeded to the front door, grabbed my bag and wondered if I was really covered in Jesus’ blood.
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A woman got on the bus and the preacher man who professed God's love got up to offer her his seat. He stood right over me. It felt as though Jesus himself stood over me; watching my every move. "Grandma must know that His blood really covers me", I thought. Afraid my spirit might have prompted another impromptu confession of God's grace, I put my ear buds in my ear. I was determined to drown out the thumping of my heart and keep my eyes straight ahead. I couldn't afford the spirit catching hold of me and me running though the pews of the bus with the Holy Ghost. The lady sitting next to me decided it was time to leave the "service." She made her way to exit the bus. I stood from my seat to let her exit. I slid closer to the window, resuming my stiff position. The preacher man himself took the seat next to me. I moved closer to the window as not to touch his jacket. The bus plopped at a stop sign for what seemed like forever. By this point I was one block away from Newark Penn Station. Preacher man was quiet. The silence caused me to hesitantly glance in his direction (my heart still pounding). "Does God believe I'm ignoring him," I think to myself. Hoping not even God could hear my thoughts. The red light turned green. The bus zoomed and simultaneously my boyfriend, Chip texted me. I got affirmation that Jesus saw all of this.
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Four months after going to church with Chip for the first time in two years God seemed to have kept his watchful eye on me, guiding me to make one of the most hurtful decisions of my life. Chip didn’t take the break-up well, but neither did I. I wanted to experience the fullness of the meaning of Psalms 139:14. A casualty of me finding myself was Chip.
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A month before I broke up with Chip I sought counsel in a tarot card reader. My co-worker suggested I visit the Lower East Side to get clarity. I left work and got on the F train determined to find answers and peace. For about two months previous I had apprehension about whether Chip and I belonged together. This was my one chance to get answers to the questions I asked of God. I figured God’s phone must have been off and I had no time to wait. Getting off of the train and walking down three blocks to a place that seemed so separate from the rest of the world felt weird. I got to the front of the store not sure I should walk in or turn around. The place felt warm inside. Candles filled the walls. Soft music played in the background. I greeted the two women who sat in foldable chairs near the cash register. I stated my purpose and the younger of the two women went to a small room in the back. Eager to get my answers I followed her until she warned me “Not yet.” Made a u-turn and sat in the empty foldable chair. Looking around the place felt like home, but I was still afraid of my fate. After about 5 minutes the young woman came to grab me. I can’t remember her name, but I do remember that after my reading I hated her. I walked into the small room nervous as all hell, but still eager to find the truth. She sat me down and dangled this bell like object. I didn’t feel as anxious anymore. Next she began stacking cards like you would when playing solitaire. I watched her stack the cards both amazed and ready to hear what each of the cards meant. There were a set of cards red and green with what looked like wooden clubs. She told me this meant that good luck happens to me then gets trumped with bad luck. Next there was a card with a pair of clubs (green and red) with a gold spear of light surrounding it. Then she asked if I was in a relationship. I hesitantly replied: “Yes.” She continues: “It looks like someone will come in to both of you guys’ life from that person’s past. That person will capture your mate’s attention. There are things you can do to sweeten them to you.” I’m shocked. I ask: “Are you sure it’s not me? I cheated in the past. Maybe you’re picking up my energy.” She nodded “No.” I have no words at this point. “You’re not meant to be together.” At first I don’t believe. I think about God. Maybe I should’ve waited for God, I think. “Are there any other questions you had,?” she probes. “No,” I say. I open the door. Walk out hesitantly toward the register, pay her about $22, slouch out of the front door and sadly back toward the F train. Approximately four days later I text Chip asking if we could talk, but he was busy. I opt instead to text him and tell him that I don’t want to be with him; that I’d like to find myself and test to see if our love is as radical as I once believed. The thought of another person breaking us up rattled me. I also basically just wanted to find out more about myself. I contemplated: “Does God love who I am?”
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In April of 2014 I hit up an old friend on Facebook. For about seven years I separated myself from him. He was by society’s definition a flamboyantly gay man. My immature 18 year-old self didn’t want anything to do with him, until we studied together. He visited my room for a study session. Before his arrival I strategically placed heterosexual porn on my desk in my room. I wanted him to get the picture clearly that I was too hetero. He arrived with his book bag, ready to study; uninterested in doing anything sexual. My fear caused me to think he wanted to do more than to study. After much bantet he got up from sitting on my floor, towering over me in my desk chair. I looked up to him standing slowly. “What’s up?” I ask. He mushed me. We struggled a bit. Mostly me struggling to get a good punch in. We were rough housing. He finally picked me up and smashed me onto my bed. We’re both still for a beat. I looked at him and suddenly this weird feeling came over me. I wanted to kiss him. I immediately uppercut my feelings and told him to get off of me. We continued studying until I eventually fell asleep on my floor, telling him that he can have my bed if it got too late. He accepted my offer and slept on the bed. I think we went for about a year without talking. We go about four years before we speak again. The next time we speak he's on the other end of the phone reading verses like Psalms 139:41 of the Bible with me. Moments like this I felt like the years we didn’t communicate were completely worth it.
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These days the texts from Chip are non-existent. I cherish the times we did actually communicate. When grandma speaks of Jesus' blood covering me I doubt its power less, however, I’m still searching to love myself more. Maybe one day the relationship between Chip and I will come to some sort of resolution. Until then I’m on the path toward inner peace.
So beautifully written.