Wednesday, June 22, 2016

Love Again, More... (remembering PULSE Orlando)

"Nothing helped until the day she took a tablet and pencil into the basement and moved the event out of her and onto paper, where it was reshaped into a kind of simple equation: loss equaled the need to love again, more. With this, she was given peace." from home safe by Elizabeth Berg

Monday evening, June 13, I started a new book.  I gasped when I read this last paragraph in the prologue and knew I had to write about Orlando, even if it was a selfish act.

Saturday night, June 11,  I sang with the Turtle Creek Chorale at the Dallas City Performance Hall in the Arts District. It was the third performance in our "Heartstrings" series, our final concert of the season. I joined several friends to celebrate the birthday of our friend Matthew at The Mitchell downtown after the show. It was an amazing weekend and a beautiful evening with friends and family.

Sunday morning, June 12, I woke up to news that there had been a shooting at a gay dance club called PULSE in Orlando -- at least 20 people were dead. Later that day I would learn that 40 people were dead and countless injured.

I felt physically sick and emotionally numb. It could have been me.

The first gay establishment I ever went to was The Village Station on Cedar Springs in Dallas, Texas, and I went frequently in my twenties. I was probably 19 the first time I went (over 20 years ago...I know) with a group of friends, on an 18-and-up night. That first time was one of the scariest, most liberating experiences of my life. I was still wary of "coming out" at this point, and I was surrounded by so many diverse people, but we were the same, and there was no judgment, no pressure to conform or force ourselves to be something we weren't. At that time, complete, unconditional acceptance was something I hadn't found, and to be honest, I was fearful of it. I had been so conditioned (by my church and society as a whole, never by my family) to think something was wrong with me, and I should continue to pray and seek to change to become a whole, "normal" person.

The church, society, and I were wrong, and going to The Village, in addition to meeting several friends who loved me unconditionally in college, was one of the first steps to understanding and loving myself.

During those Village Station hay days, I can remember that euphoric feeling of dancing to my favorite songs, like the latest Madonna, Britney, Whitney, Toni, and so on. I vividly remember one night when my friends and I were standing out on the patio, and the pounding heavily-bassed intro of Whitney Houston's "It's Not Right, but It's OK" ignited the air, and I must have broken a record making it to the dance floor. I felt so alive and free.

It could have been me.

I hope and pray that everyone one of those precious lives that were lost at PULSE that night were filled with a sense of liberation, belonging, and joy until the moment their lives were stolen. I hope they heard their favorite songs that night and spent it with some of their favorite people.

The weekend before this atrocity, my dear friend Dustin and I went to Station 4 (formerly The Village Station...yes, it's still there!) to a benefit concert with Debbie Gibson and Tiffany. It was an absolute blast. The place was packed, and everyone was excited and overjoyed.

It could have been us.

I avoided the news as much as possible that Sunday after the massacre in Orlando. We had our TCC awards banquet that night, and I helped my friend Doug with the Year-In-Review as Marge Williams. It was a blessing to make people laugh. That night when I got in bed, I read an article about the aftermath in the PULSE nightclub -- when responders were walking around identifying the bodies early Sunday morning -- cell phones were ringing, chiming, and buzzing with unanswered calls and texts. I was haunted by that never ending space between those lost and their loved ones that could never be filled -- at least not physically with "I love you's" or embraces.

Tuesday, June 14, I had the honor of singing with my Turtle Creek Chorale brothers at my church, the Cathedral of Hope, in a healing concert for Orlando and for those hurting in the community. We raised over $15,000 for the victims and their families. There were over 2,000 people in attendance, and almost 30,000 online attendees.

When we (the Turtle Creek Chorale chorus) walked into the main building of the Cathedral of Hope to perform, it was physically and emotionally overwhelming. There was standing room only and dozens of police officers were in attendance. It immediately brought tears to my eyes. I was so grateful for those officers that night.

The first song we sang was a mash-up of "I Love You/What a Wonderful World." When I looked out at the multitudes in the audience, their misty eyes and body language, said, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much." And I felt the same way. The grief, gratitude, and emotion permeated the air in the room. It was a heartbreaking, yet profoundly beautiful expression of humanity.

I held my emotions in check until Camerata, one of our small groups, sang "MLK" by U2. The lyrics had never been so moving: "Sleep, sleep tonight, and may your dreams be realized..."

That night as I went to bed, I was still angry, sad, and scared for our world and community, but I felt a little more peaceful, and I finally slept.

When massacres like this happen, I get angry, sad, and doubtful. I get angry at the shooter, and angry at God. I cannot and will not believe that "everything happens for a reason" and "God let this happen" and all that. I even had one of my pastors pray with me last Wednesday night at church because I was so filled with anger and doubt.

I refuse, however, to lose all hope and faith. And since I feel the need to do something, I will continue to love others and share light in the world. I will not combat hate with hate. I will temper hate and darkness with love and light. There is no other way I can see through it.

Monday, when I was frantically working out (finally), I had my phone on shuffle. "Afterlife" by Ingrid Michaelson came on, and I immediately thought of those angels who lost their lives at PULSE in Orlando:

     "When the world is breaking down around you
     Taking everything you know
     What you didn't know
     Is that we can go forever if we want to
     We can live inside of a moment
     The one that we own

     You and me we got this
     You and me we're beautiful, beautiful

     We all, we all, we're gonna be alright
     We got, we got, we always got the fight in us
     We all, we all, we're gonna live tonight
     Like there's no tomorrow 'cause we're the afterlife..."

You can watch the video here which is SO relevant and worth viewing and listening:

AFTERLIFE by Ingrid Michaelson


It's ok to be afraid, but I will not live in fear, and I will not dim my light. I hope you will do the same. Live, love, and share light, and don't let anyone or anything cover you in darkness.

I'll close with this. Sunday, there was a vigil in Orlando for those lives that were lost that horrific night. There was a rainbow in the sky that afternoon/evening. It's imperative that we understand (whether it's a metaphor or your reality) that God put a rainbow in this vast, complex sky for every single one of us. End of story. Or, perhaps, that's just the beginning.

                                     I took this photo at the Interfaith Peace Chapel June 14, 2016