Back to School Blues and Blessings

I admit it. I kind of get the blues towards the end of each summer. I don't get  much time off (by choice) because I teach workshops for extra money, and that is one of my favorite aspects of my job. I tend to think too much about what I didn't accomplish and how fast the time has flown.

This year seemed a little tougher. I had a couple of disappointments that I won't go into, but I was really excited about some prospects that didn't turn out like I'd hoped.

Every day there seemed to me more horrible news, both locally, throughout the nation, and around the world. My worrisome, over-thinking brain does not handle all the disturbing news so well.

I also go through a "freak out" phase as my birthday nears each year. This year 39 (yes -- THIRTY!NINE!) is staring me in the face like some ridiculous stranger. I still feel like I'm in my twenties, for crying out loud! I have accomplished a great deal in my (almost) 39 years professionally, and developed numerous profound, life-affirming friendships, but there are many areas in my life where I feel like I haven't "arrived" just yet. I haven't met THE ONE and don't know if that's even in the cards (I'm really OK with this). I don't own a condo or a house like I thought I would at this age. I have been ridiculously irresponsible and careless with managing money (I'm working on this and making great strides).

I think it is safe to say that at the end of this summer 2014, I had the blues. One might even say I was dealing with a bit of depression. I knew it would pass, but I just felt that weight that presses down like a darkening, unmoving cloud.

Then I heard the news that Robin Williams committed suicide. That news shattered me a bit. It basically gave me a panic attack. I broke into a complete sweat. My shirt was literally soaked and stuck to my body. I was on my way to meet a huge portion of my family for my aunt's birthday dinner party , and I ended up turning around and going home. I just couldn't bear the thought of being around people. I was embarrassed.

If you've ever known someone personally that has committed suicide (I have known someone), you know it is something you never truly overcome. The message I received about Robin Williams reminded me of that feeling of loss. It also reminded me of being depressed as a kid. I remember what it feels like to be painted into a corner by the darkness that is depression. I mentioned that in last month's blog. I'm sure many of you have felt that weight before, too.

It just breaks my heart that there are people who are painted into those dark corners permanently and cannot find a way out.

A friend posted a status on Facebook after Robin Williams' death, and there was a comment on his status that really resonated with me. It just said #stayhere.

Stay here please. The world needs you.

We may not always realize it, but we are all pieces in this puzzle of a world, and when you take a piece of that puzzle out prematurely, the world is just stunted. We are all a part of that crazy, beautiful puzzle. We are necessary. We are each loved dearly by something Divine. You are loved and necessary. Please stay here.

We make a difference in the world. Our words, our actions, and our kindnesses change the topography of Earth's heart. One of my favorite quotes of all time is from Ram Dass: "We are all just walking each other home." That pretty much says it all.

I am back at work now and getting in the swing of things. Life is grand. I even had the privilege of teaching writing strategies to 75 awesome teachers today! The 35th season of Turtle Creek Chorale is upon us! I get to sing with my turtle brothers. I'm even getting excited about my birthday! Why the heck not?!?!

Most of my favorite novels share similar themes. They have a strong resilient main character who survives the blows of life to end up thriving and experiencing those little victories and joys that life has to offer. Those moments, possibilities, and PEOPLE make life more than worth surviving the dark corners.

A couple of days ago, a friend and colleague (thank you Jennifer Hammett!) sent me a song because she knows me and knew I would love it. She nailed it!

I wasn't going to share this piece of writing because I didn't want it to seem too dark and negative (I promise you there is a FUNNY blog post in the works!). But that song gave it the positive spin it needed. And you know what? Darkness is a part of life. I just hope we can ALL pull together and hold on in spite of the darkness. Please stay here. Let's be a light for one another and a light in the world. It takes a village to keep this messy puzzle together.

"To be humble, to be kind. It is the giving of the peace in your mind. To a stranger, to a friend, to give in such a way that has no end...Heroes don't look like they used to; they look like you do. … We are loved. We are one. We are how we treat each other when the day is done." -- The Alternate Routes

Listen here. It's a life-changer :-)  The Alternate Routes -- Nothing More

Pride, Prejudice, and Bravery

     It was a church service to celebrate the 4^th of July. I was reluctant to go, but my mom thought I would enjoy the music. Every now and again it seems fitting to attend church with your mother, so I relented and even looked forward to hearing the pianist. 

     The service went well at first. The patriotic music ceremony included a moving tribute to veterans. As promised, the pianist played beautifully.
     Then it came time for the pastor to preach his sermon. He walked up to the pulpit and began. I can’t remember exactly what he said, to be honest, but I certainly remember how it made me feel. He was complaining about President Obama’s calling a lesbian couple to congratulate them on their marriage.  It wasn’t even what he said that disturbed me so; it was the tone of utter disgust in his voice.  There was also a disdaining, self-righteous rumble from some of the congregation. 

     I sat stunned and mortified.
     I used to live in fear that this would happen. As a timid, shy, gay child growing up in a southern baptist church, I shouldered intolerance time and again. And I shouldered it alone. I kept myself locked in the closet, but it was anything but secure. Honestly, I can only remember a few times homosexuality was directly mentioned in sermons or sunday school or youth assemblies, but they occurred. There were plenty of jokes and slurs (not directed at me, but they hit, anyway) throughout my growing up in church, as there were everywhere back then. I can remember, specifically, one summer I was home from college, and I went to a college group sunday school class, and the speaker talked specifically about how everyone, including the church, was becoming TOO tolerant of "the gays."
     Regardless, I associated church with shame, guilt, and unworthiness. Sometimes worship services made me literally nauseous. I enjoyed the hymns, but there was something sad and weighted about the praise and worship songs. I remember thinking to myself, "This doesn't apply to me. I'm gay. I'm bad." I was a very sad little boy, and church was a huge source of that sadness. No child should ever have to feel that way. Especially not in church.
     I went through several phases of "praying the gay away" and bargaining with God growing up. I always knew I was gay even before I knew what it was. I can't explain it, but I knew. I thought when I became a Christian at eight-years-old, it would go away. It did not. I thought if I "surrendered my life to Christian ministry and service" (at a ridiculously and amusingly young age), it would go away. It did not. I can even remember having suicidal thoughts and how scary that was, even though I never would have acted on those thoughts. I resorted to rededicating my life several times. I remember once at a Disciple Now, I was so filled with shame I convinced myself that I hadn't REALLY become a Christian the first time since I was so obviously still gay as a tinseled Christmas tree. It all seems so preposterous now, but I was so scared and convinced at the time that I was bound for hell; it all seemed only natural.
     I would even go out to Lake Brownwood during my first year of college (of course I went to Howard Payne University -- baptist) to pray -- no -- beg God to make me "normal" and straight.
     I'm so glad He didn't. It never went away. God, instead, convinced me that She loved me as is. I am a whole human being. I am a compassionate, funny, quirky, musical, literary, gay person, and that is absolutely fantastic. I wonder how my childhood, adolescence, and even adulthood would be different if I had realized that decades ago.
     I should emphasize that there are many people in that church who were angels through all the years I went there. My family could not have survived and thrived after my father's death if it wasn't for our church family. I especially remember Joe Browder taking me aside at church camp when I was little. He saw that I was in turmoil. I will never forget his looking me straight in the eye and telling me that Jesus loved me, Rusty Weeks, no matter what. NO. MATTER. WHAT. I believe that now more than ever. I believe that God loves every last one of us equally and wonderfully. Why would there be a God otherwise?

     As soon as I realized the topic of this pastor's rant, I shut down and stopped listening. This was the same man who had shaken my hand and welcomed me to this church numerous times. This was the man who stood at the altar and proclaimed to the congregation once before that "all are welcomed and loved here!" I looked over at my mother, who looked like she'd been slapped as she mouthed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You should go.” How could she have known? I know she wanted to get up and leave with me. 

     I shrugged my shoulders and looked over at my 8 and 11-year-old nieces who were also there with us. “I have to leave; I’ll see you at lunch.” They just looked up at me blankly -- confused. Looking back on it, I wish I had asked them if they wanted to leave with me, but it all happened so fast. 
     I have felt blatantly marginalized for being gay, since I came out, a total of three times. The first time I was tutoring a group of students that weren't actually in my class. I went over to redirect a seventh grade girl who wasn't working. As I walked away from her desk, I heard her whisper, "gay motherfucker," under her breath. The second time I was at the House of Blues to hear Joshua Radin perform. There were some drunk girls behind my group, and we couldn't hear Josh over their inebriated rambling. I turned around and asked them to be quiet. A guy next to them said, "You fucking faggot." My friend Latoya heard him say it, too. As harmful as these instances were, they paled in comparison to the indignity I suffered that day last summer in church. 
     I was PISSED.
     The angry part of me wasn't angry for myself. I was angry for all of the little kids sitting in that church who were gay. I was angry for the ones who were questioning, too. I was angry that any child in that service was hearing it. And I was angry at the people in the congregation who were encouraging the hurt that spewed from the pulpit with their rumbling grunts. How could this be happening in 2013?! In a holiday service? I do not need anyone to feel sorry for me, but I am asking you to feel for those kids. 
     The church had stadium-like seating, and we were seated to the right side of the auditorium and just a few rows back. In order to make my most graceful exit of the auditorium (“sanctuary” doesn’t seem appropriate for me, here), I walked down the steps towards the pulpit and made my way around the corner. So when I rounded the corner, I was facing the entire congregation seated on the ground floor. This was a long, lonely, awkward, but empowering walk. I have no idea how a human being can feel completely annihilated and liberated at the same time, but I did. I walked proudly with my head held high out of that giant red room. I tried to look people in the eye as I was marching out, but no one seemed to return my gaze. I did not look back.
     I do not plan on going back unless I go to pay respects to someone who passes, like Joe Browder. That church is filled with Christ-like, wonderful people. I'm convinced of that. But how could I go back into that building with a shred of dignity and self-respect? I probably should have gone back one last time and given that pastor a piece of my mind or just sat down calmly and talked to him about my concerns regarding his sermon. I have no idea if he has a clue that his words hurt anyone.
     It's time to let this one go. Gay people aren't going anywhere. And some of us are getting married. Let go of the "Love the sinner, hate the gay sin" BS, too. I'm not even going to justify that with words and the justification of my disgust over it. I'm also fed up with people's assertions that their right to vote against a gay person's right to marry is religious freedom. That's my freedom you're trying to take away.
     So much going through my head as I kept walking out of that church and through the enormous, hot parking lot to my car. When I sat in my car, I put in a mix cd and played "All I Ever Have to Be" by Amy Grant (Written by Gary Chapman -- See YouTube link below), and the words meant more to me than ever. I wish I could have hugged every kid in that service and played them that song. It pretty much got me through childhood and adolescence.
     I also posted something on Facebook that still resonates with me and hopefully many of you, as well. "I'm glad my faith is stronger than the words and walls of man." Then I drove to the Chili's parking lot in Casa Linda and waited on my family and friends for lunch. When we were finally seated, my oldest niece sat down next to me and reached over and squeezed my hand.
     I have made it my life's mission to do my best to pour light on others and the world instead of casting shadows. My being gay has only given me even more lenses to see the world through and enabled me to shed and share more light. Peace to all.

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, they will forget what you did, but they will never forget how you made them feel." -- Maya Angelou

   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ohkdMXx_JlQ

When the weight of all my dreams
Is resting heavy on my head
And the thoughtful words of help and hope
Have all been nicely said
But I'm still hurting wondering if I'll ever be the one
I think I am -- I think I am

Then You gently re-remind me
That You've made me from the first
And the more I try to be the best
The more I get the worst
And I realized the good in me is only there because of who You are
Who You are…

And all I ever have to be is what You've made me
Any more or less would be a step out of your plan
As you daily re-create me help me always keep in mind
That I only have to do what I can find
And all I ever have to be
All I have to be
All I ever have to be is what You've made me.

Amy Grant Gary Chapman Copyright New Spring Publishing

   

Blessed Are the Peacemakers

When I was in high school , I read I KNOW WHY THE CAGED BIRD sings. It was so raw and disturbing, yet hopeful. I still remember the way it made me feel. So much power in that. 

I didn't realize when I sent this short paragraph in an e-mail to a dear friend today that it was so indicative of Dr. Maya Angelou herself. Her quote:

"People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

She did that. I had the option to choose an autobiography in a high school english class, and I chose Dr. Maya Angelou's I KNOW WHY THE CAGED BIRD SINGS. I must admit, I don't remember numerous details about the book. I do remember it was very raw and HONEST and disturbing, yet HOPEFUL. And it made me FEEL.

Maya Angelou survived a LOT. She survived abuse and many other horrors. She was mute for a time. BUT she lived and survived and wrote and spoke and thrived. These are things I remember about the book. It made me feel like I could survive whatever life brought my way, too. Not only could I survive, I could thrive. 

"You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them." -- Maya Angelou 

I've been a fan of Dr. Angelou's since I read that book. I've admired and read her poetry throughout the years. I've been moved when she read things aloud…just the sound of her voice…so calming, smooth and slow. I've been amazed that she was revered by three very different American Presidents, G.W. Bush, Clinton, and Obama. She has been greatly celebrated by each of them and so many others. I, too, celebrate her. I've even been the guy who follows her on Facebook and shares her posts.

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." -- Maya Angelou

I celebrate her ability and her courage to tell her truth and to celebrate all our truths. She inspires me and encourages me to tell my story.

Something else I admire most about her life and legacy is that she didn't preach AT anyone. She talked to us and taught us with her words and her spirit. She was a spiritual, Christian person, but she didn't say, "I'm a spiritual, Christian person!" She just lived and loved and wrote and spoke her truth and shared what she believed could help others. 

I share the next part because it is part of my truth. A Facebook friend posted an amazing clip on Facebook today from Oprah's Super Soul Sunday show. In it, Maya Angelou was talking about how God loves her, and she was overcome with emotion. Oprah asked Dr. Angelou where she goes for comfort and solace. Dr. Angelou literally buckled forward in tears. Here is an excerpt from her response (google "Maya Angelou Oprah God Loves Me"…you need to hear her say it):

"God loves me! It still humbles me that this force which made leaves and fleas and stars and rivers and YOU…loves ME…Maya Angelou. It's AMAZING! I can do anything. And do it well! Any GOOD thing, I can do it. That's why I am who I am. YES! Because God loves me, and I'm amazed at it and grateful for it!"

Today, when I read the news of Maya Angelou's death, I was overcome with emotion. I decided to walk to the front of the school where my office is housed and check the mail. As I walked, I felt peace. I felt riveting, comforting chill bumps on my arms. I felt like I was witnessing the birth of an angel. And I was reminded of a phenomenal poem, and a particular passage sticks with me:

"A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
til the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky…" -- Maya Angelou

There she goes...

Snow

I have loved snow for as long as I can remember. Maybe love isn't the right word. I have revered it with a sacred obsession. I'm not sure why. I know there are parts of the world that encounter it daily as routine. I realize there are places that are devastated by it (especially this winter, and yes, I'm tired of the cold, dreary weather presently…how do people do this every winter?)

But for me and my experience, snow has always been a divine gift. I've revisited this topic far too many times, I'm sure.

As a little boy growing up in Mesquite, Texas, I can remember my mom waking me and leading me to the sliding glass door to see our back yard blanketed in white wonder. I could count on one hand these  moments. Snow made the world look different…softer and much more peaceful. As a little boy who worried too much about everything, peacefulness was always welcomed.

Each snow (or in some cases ice) connects concretely to profound memories over the years: I can remember building snowmen with my family and sliding on these plastic, circular "sleds" and being overwhelmed by all of the white. I remember making my sister take pictures of me in the snow as a teenager. I remember that feeling of realizing school was cancelled. As I grew older I remember having stolen days with roommates and friends and savoring each moment. Walking down the street or to the park was a magical adventure. I remember braving a drive to see RENT at the movies with a group of friends. The "snow" made it all the better, of course.

Last Thursday, as I drove to work, tiny crystal flurries began to fall onto my windshield. I grinned and recalled hubbubs about the flurries we might receive and didn't think much of it. The farther I drove, the bigger and bolder the snow became. I was absolutely struck by the way it moved across the pavement on the highway. I'd never seen it do that before. It looked like some potion was spilling out of the sky and gracefully dancing for us. 

When I got out of the car at work, the world had been transformed. Not visually, but the sound and feel of everything was different. It has always fascinated me that the "sound" of snowfall makes the rest of the world fall more silent. I could already feel the difference in the ground and anticipated the "thwa, thwa" sound of my shoes crunching the snow on the way to my car later. 

Throughout work/school that day, I found myself lingering by doors and windows repeatedly. I'm worse than the kids. At one point, I snuck into a friend's empty classroom at lunch and just stared out the window and watched it fall for a few minutes.

For the past year, I've been thinking about, reading about, and writing about a topic for my ABYDOS Literacy Writing Trainer Recertification. I started the project after a series of heartbreaking, devastating, and disturbing events took place in our nation and world. School and movie shootings, explosions, and bombings to name a few. The purpose of my topic is my belief that writing helps us cope and grow more brave in a very scary world. 

I can be a bit of a romantic cheese ball, but I'm also a realist. I am very aware of the horrors we face in life, and I've experienced some personally.  BUT I don't believe those dark demons have to destroy us.

I've talked about this with some of my closest friends, but my favorite books and movies aren't action packed or fast-paced. Most of them have very similar themes. Life is hard, and we have to work daily to make our way in it, but there are these brilliant, profound, joy-filled moments that fall like a dusting of snow in our lives every now and then, and they can outweigh those dark times. They make it all worthwhile.

I was watching Downton Abbey recently (some of you smile; some of you roll your eyes… I know). Three of the central characters who had experienced raw, unimaginable grief were sitting in a room together talking. It was just a simple conversation where they each recalled a moment filled with vivid love and joy in their lives. Even though those moments had passed, they stayed with each of them. They still brought them joy and made it all worth it in the midst of great sorrow. 

I hope you find peace and joy. I hope there's something, for you, that makes the world softer and more than just bearable. I guess snow symbolizes that for me. And while I am BEYOND ready for some sunshine and warmer weather after this extraordinarily cold winter we've had in the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex, I'm sure I'll be waiting impatiently next winter if I haven't seen any snowfall by February.

January 5…30 Years Later

Disclaimer: ironically, this is a blog about resilience, faith, hope, and beauty in the world.

30 years ago today, my dad died of cancer. I cannot put into words how dizzyingly mind-boggling this fact is to my mom, my sister, and me. It's not fair that we've lived much more of our lives without him than we had with him (my sister gets credit for that thought). And the last two years we had with him he was battling the cancer.

I was eight years old when he died. I can still remember the physical discomfort of it… the feeling of weights pulling on my stomach and heart. That feeling stayed with me for years afterwards. I was pretty introverted as a child (even when I pretended not to be). I always felt different than other kids; I was different than most kids, and I was trying to come to terms with that throughout childhood and adolescence. My father's death was just another issue added to my already tumultuous growing pains. Some days were unbearably, nauseatingly dark.

I could have wallowed in those dark places. I could have let my situation be an excuse to give up and quit trying (and those thoughts crossed my mind many times).

But I didn't.

I kept trying. I kept getting up every day along with the sun (hehehe…later than the sun, but I got up) and giving it a go. Eventually, it got easier. It got better. Life was more than worth it. I decided to quit dwelling on the fact that my dad was gone. Of course it was unfair and horrible and unimaginable. But it WAS. God and/or the universe "allowed" my dad to die very young or however you want to label it or look at it. I'll be the first to admit that I spent too much time dwelling on it, but I quit. There were plenty of blessings in my world to keep dwelling on. My mom had the strength,  humor, and will of two parents. She never ceased to amaze me. My sister was as "big sister" as they come, but she was also my rock and my common sense compass (and still is). I have an extended family support system and friends that grow and astound me to this day.

Most importantly, I realized I had a lot to offer this world. I could sing and write. I could be kind and generous to a fault. I was FUNNY. I'm not a big talker, but when I say something, it's usually worth hearing.

I've been reminded of all of this over the past several days. A former coworker of mine lost her husband to cancer. They have two young daughters. My heart breaks for them. A friend of mine from college lost her father just this week unexpectedly, and I cannot imagine how that feels to have your world snatched from under you in an instant.

This world can be a devastatingly dark place. Life can knock you down and kick you repeatedly. In my lifetime, we have seen atrocities in our nation and beyond: tsunamis, bombings, shootings, and so on. We can chose to live in the shadow of those dark places, or we can live in the light. Light shines all around us. Even better, we can create the light and be the light. That remains my life's goal, and I plan to keep it that way until my last breath.

I still have sad moments, and I'm glad I do. That means I haven't forgotten my father, and he still matters to me. What I wouldn't give to have a cup of coffee with his 69-year old self. What I wouldn't give to know what he thinks of me and my life and my strengths and flaws. This year at my Turtle Creek Chorale Christmas concerts, we sold poinsettia ornaments to honor our memorialize loved ones. I bought one for my dad (his name was Roger Dale Weeks by the way). I wish he could have seen one of our shows. I'm sure he sees them in his own way, but that's another blog post.


The point I'm trying to make with all of my rambling is that it DOES get better. It gets much easier, and the joy of living returns. At least it has for me. 30 years later, and I'm a happy, thriving 38-year old man. Light is all around.

Sometimes you just have to crawl out of the shadows and find beauty in this world. Or create it yourself.