...you may have been rolling your eyes, or clicking the roof of your mouth, or drafting familiar Scriptures to send me, or praying for me to repent, or preparing to Unfriend me, or writing me off as a sinful, evil, Hell-bound heretic… but with as much gentleness and understanding as I can muster; I really couldn’t care less. This isn’t about you. This is a whole lot bigger than you. You’re not the one I waited on breathlessly for nine months. You’re not the one I wept with joy for when you were born. You’re not the one I bathed, and fed, and rocked to sleep through a hundred intimate, midnight snuggle sessions. You’re not the one I taught to ride a bike, and whose scraped knee I kissed, and whose tiny, trembling hand I held, while getting stitches. You’re not the one whose head I love to smell, and whose face lights-up when I come home at night, and whose laughter is like music to my weary soul. You’re not the one who gives my days meaning and purpose, and who I adore more than I ever thought I could adore anything. And you’re not the one who I’ll hopefully be with, when I take my last precious breaths on this planet; gratefully looking back on a lifetime of shared treasures, and resting in the knowledge that I loved you well. - johnpavlovitz/2014/09/17/if-i-have-gay-children-four-promises-from-a-christian-pastorparent/
Posted on: Tue, 23 Sep 2014 21:23:20 +0000