What Makes Me Beautiful - By Emily Heiser

This post is from a "guest blogger," my very beautiful daughter, Emily.

 

 

What Makes Me Beautiful

By Emily Heiser

At 24 years old, I’ve been exposed to many different ideas of what beauty is, what it means, and why it’s important.  In my quest for beauty, I’ve tried lots of diets, every type of fashion, and have been every shade of blonde and brunette a person can be.  I continue to be dissatisfied with my hips, my thighs are slightly thicker than I’d like them to be, and no matter how many sit-ups I do my stomach still has a little “pouch” that just won’t disappear.  However, I had one part of me that I loved; my eyes.  I always received compliments on them and they were always the one thing I felt comfortable “flaunting.”  In 2008, I was in a car accident that could have left me blind.  Instead, it left me with a scar on my right eye and eyelid. The scars are the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I look at before I go to bed at night.  I’ve struggled the past several years knowing that the one part of me that I believed was perfect is damaged, forever.  I try to be an advocate for positive body image and yet, I have never quite reconciled my own positive body image with what I see in the mirror. During my most recent confrontation with what I saw in the mirror, it occurred to me that I spend a considerable amount of time focusing on all the parts of me that are ugly but very little on what is beautiful about me. So, I got to thinking. What makes me beautiful?

 

I decided to begin my journey to self-acceptance by thinking about the times that I did feel beautiful.  It didn’t include a pair of heels, my favorite jeans, or even a form fitting dress.  None of those really make me feel beautiful as my insecurities inevitably surface the minute I step out the door.  I went horseback riding yesterday, as I do every Wednesday, as I’ve done since I was 9 years old, and as I was showering afterwards it struck me almost like lightening.  I feel most beautiful when I’m horseback riding.  It doesn’t really make sense does it?  I don’t have makeup on, I’ve got helmet hair that is wet from sweat, chances are I have horse saliva on my shirt because Samson was convinced I was withholding delicious carrots from him, and there is mud and horse poop stuck to the bottom of my shoes. Not your typical beauty standards.  But when I’m riding I feel beautiful, even perfect.  I feel beautiful because I feel happy.  A horse, whether it’s the very first horse I ever rode, a small paint named M&M at L&G stables in New Orleans, or my horse in high school named Bella, or a horse at John Shaw Equestrian Center in Urmston, Manchester.  Not one of those horses has ever cared what I look like.  M&M didn’t care that I had braces and an awkward haircut; Bella didn’t care if my hands weren’t freshly manicured; and Samson is not bothered that I ate that extra slice of pizza.  Similarly, I didn’t care that M&M was barely 14 hands high; he had the heart of a racehorse.  Bella was a bit clumsy over jumps, but she was a best friend who loved me unconditionally during trying times my high school years; and Samson is not always the gentleman he has a reputation for being, but he makes it his duty to make sure I have a safe ride.  These imperfections are what make these horses absolutely beautiful.

It’s funny what animals can teach you about yourself.  These horses have shown me that it is not about what I don’t have but what I do have; my so-called “imperfections” are actually what make me beautiful.  My hips that I think are too big are just the right size for carrying a saddle.  Even though my thighs are thick, they are perfect for jumping horses over fences.  My nails aren’t always freshly manicured, but are on hands perfect for feeding a fresh apple to a horse after a long ride.

 
My journey is to self-acceptance is just beginning; I have a long way to go and it won’t always be easy.  But, I am finally realizing my so-called flaws are what make me who I am; my flaws are my story, my unique and beautiful story.

Just sayin'.

Laurie 

Angels We Have Heard on High

Emily attends graduate school in England and arrived home for a holiday visit this weekend.  She hasn’t lived at home for 5 years so I am used to not seeing her on a regular basis.  And the past 3 months went by pretty quickly; time has a way of doing that.  Usually when she flies home I just pick her up at the curb by baggage claim.  But this time, Gary and I both went to the airport, parked and waited inside.   At first we sat in the row of chairs by the baggage carousel where her luggage was scheduled to arrive.  Then we found ourselves standing at the bottom of the escalator area where she would emerge from the arrivals terminal.    She didn’t really understand my overwhelming tears when I saw her. 

 At the beginning of the holiday season I made a vow to myself and to Gary that I would not let “must do” holiday chores overwhelm or stress me.  I promised that I would enjoy the true meaning of the Christmas season, and would only honor the traditions that were meaningful to us and our immediate family.  The past few years I’ve decorated Christmas trees and every other corner of our house before the kids have come home for Christmas, with the notion that they would walk into a “winter wonderland” after a long school semester.  This year we have just one Christmas tree – ordinary and traditional – and I saved the tree trimming until yesterday, so Emily and I could do it together, something we haven’t done for years.  She hung only her favorite ornaments – we didn’t have to put every single one on the tree – perched the angel on top and declared it finished.  I believe it is the most beautiful tree we’ve ever had.  I’m so glad I waited until she was home so we could decorate the tree together.  I will forever cherish the memory of us doing so.

I have never touched a gun (literally, never touched a gun).  I don’t know what the gun laws are in Minnesota or Connecticut or Delaware or Louisiana or anywhere else.   What I do know is that there are far too many mass shootings and deaths by gun violence.  I’ve heard it said “Guns don’t kill; people do.”  I think that’s a cop-out statement.  It’s about time we the people hold our elected officials accountable to the people.  The government regulates all sorts of things.  You can’t open a checking account without providing significant documentation; there are laws against texting and driving (as there should be); some states require helmets for motorcycle riders; the government now even regulates excessively loud television commercials (Commercial Advertisement Loudness Mitigation Act).  How is it that just about anyone can have access to a military style assault weapon?    And I know what the second amendment says.  Our founding fathers are rolling over in their graves.  The dialogue must begin, action must happen

 My tears of joy at the airport Saturday night that my daughter made it home were mixed with tears of sorrow for the parents whose children did not come home from school last Friday.  My 2012 Christmas tree trimming memory is in honor of all of the Sandy Hook victims who won’t be able to help their families decorate the tree this year.   My faith tends to be quiet and personal, but it is strong.  I will pray that God’s grace, mercy, and healing love be with the families of the Sandy Hook victims, the survivors, and the residents of Newtown.

 One enduring Christmas tradition in our home is Emily playing Christmas carols on the piano. As I was baking some cookies yesterday she was playing and asked me my favorite Christmas song.  I just love “Angels We Have Heard on High.”  The song’s most memorable feature is its chorus:   Glo-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-O-ri-a in Ex-cel-sis De-o (Latin for Glory to God in the highest).  The vowel sound "o" of "Gloria" is sung fluidly and sustained through a lengthy rising and falling melodic sequence.  This beautiful Christmas song commemorates the story of the birth of Jesus Christ found in the Gospel of Luke, in which shepherds outside Bethlehem encounter a multitude of angels singing and praising the newborn child.  I keep thinking about those angels.  This Christmas carol will forever be a more meaningful Christmas tradition for me.

 Just sayin’.

 Laurie

Back to School

Kids all over the country are preparing to go back to school.  Many of my co-workers are on vacation this week, spending the last week of summer with their kids.  The parking lot at the elementary school in my neighborhood has been filled all week.  I suspect the teachers are already back to school preparing for the student’s return.  And last night I saw lots of parents and little ones in and out of the building, it looked like it might have been an orientation night for the first graders.

My son Kyle is back at Tulane, a sophomore, although he only had one day of classes before Isaac hit New Orleans.  He’s now on “hurrication” until Tuesday of next week. 

Our neighbors took their daughter to college in Wisconsin today.  Their oldest son has graduated from college and is out of the house, but Mom is still a little nervous.  This is their daughter, and the last child to leave the house.  Daughter of course could hardly wait to leave!

I remember when I was a little girl; the anticipation of a new school year was so exciting!  Seeing friends again after being apart during the summer; new school clothes; would I like my teacher?

When I was in elementary school we lived in a small town.  The elementary school was a three story brick building (where my parents had attended high school) and each grade had two teachers.  At the end of the summer the local newspaper would publish the student classroom assignments.  My mom would take me to the local dime store as soon as the paper was available to learn who my teacher would be the coming school year.  Every year all I wanted was to be in the same class as my best friend Lori.  And except for our kindergarten year, I was disappointed every year.  Our grandmothers were best friends, and our mothers were – and still are - best friends.  It never occurred to me back then that maybe in this small town somebody knew the strong connections between our families and intentionally made sure that Laurie and Lori who spent so much time together outside of the classroom probably shouldn’t have the same teacher!

Shopping for new school clothes was an annual tradition.  New pants, new shirts, new school shoes, new sneakers for gym class, new shoes for Sunday School, a new winter coat for play and a new dress winter coat were standard.  Thinking back on it, my parents must have budgeted carefully for this, as my mother didn’t work when my sister, brother and I were young.   I also got a new dress for Christmas each year, and one for Easter, and those were usually sewn by my grandmother, but I have no other memory of shopping for new clothes except at the beginning of the school year.  There were no malls back then, no Target, Wal-Mart, Abercrombie, Hollister, American Eagle or Aeropostale.  It was JCPenney or Sears, in Woodbury, New Jersey, and later at Prices Corner, in Wilmington, Delaware.

I didn’t carry a back pack when I was in school, but my lunch box was very important.  In kindergarten, when Lori and I were in the same classroom, our moms went shopping for our first lunchboxes together.  Lori’s mom, my dear Aunt Anita, selected a black vinyl box for Lori, with Barbie motif.  It was beautiful.   For me, my mom chose a colorful tin box with Charlie Brown and Snoopy and friends.  I liked my first lunch box, but oh, how I coveted Lori’s lunch box!  By first grade, my Mom redeemed herself - I was rockin’ a Brady Bunch lunchbox!

Even today I can remember what would be packed in that lunch box.  My ham and cheese with mayo on white bread would be wrapped in tin foil.  Herr’s potato chips in a baggie tied with a twisty (no ziplock tops back then) and either chocolate frosted or peanut butter Tastycakes.  The thermos, which was held in place by a metal arm, was meant to keep its liquid contents cold but the milk never stayed quite cold enough.  Sometimes, though, the thermos would have Hi-C grape juice, my all-time favorite drink.

Beginning in kindergarten and throughout elementary school I walked to school.  Moms didn’t load up the kids and drive them to school back then – most of us were a one car family, and dad took the car to work.  We walked when it was very hot in the beginning and the end of the school year, when it rained, and when it was cold and snowy.  My mom’s other dear friend, my Aunt Connie (I have lots of Aunts!) lived “down the hill by the lake” and had her own car.  Once in a while she would drive kids to school when the weather was bad, and I remember catching a ride with her.  More often than not, though, my friends and I laced up our boots, zipped up our hoods, lifted our umbrellas, and away we went.

School shopping for Emily when she was little was different.  She attended Catholic school so there was no shopping for clothes, just a trip to the uniform store.  She never carried a lunch box, but selecting a back pack was a big deal.   When she started school she favored the Disney princesses, and around the 2^nd or 3^rd grade graduated to the LL Bean canvas back pack monogrammed with her initials.  I drove her to school every morning, inching my way through the car pool drop off line.  Fortunately, she did have the experience of walking home from school throughout her elementary school years, and she walked to and from school throughout middle school.  In high school, riding a school bus was so uncool that she convinced me to drive her to school every morning, and she would find a ride home, or walk.  If you’ve had a teenage daughter you know how moody and temperamental they can be.  One smart comment too many and she lost her morning ride to school and had to begin taking the bus!  Best punishment I ever came up with!  It wasn’t long after that she got her driver’s license, and then her own car, and she was able to drive herself to and from school,

One week from today Emily is moving to Manchester, England, for graduate studies.  So last night we did some school shopping.  Here’s what we bought:  2 bags of Snyder’s pretzels; 3 cans of Delmonte green beans; 2 jars of Hidden Valley Ranch salad dressing; 3 boxes of Kraft macaroni and cheese; 1 box of instant mashed potatoes (I forget the brand); 1 box of Kellogg’s cereal bars; 1 box each of Zatarain’s jambalaya mix, red beans and rice mix, and black beans and rice mix.  From her study abroad experience, these are food items that she knows she can’t buy in England, and that she must have.  She felt  this would be enough to get her started, and wants me to send her care packages of food every month or so to keep her kitchen stocked.  Those of you who know me know I will do this.

School shopping with my mom to Catholic school girl uniforms; Brady Bunch tin lunch boxes to Disney princess backpacks; walking to school to car pool lines; ham and cheese sandwiches to mailing care packages abroad.

What I wouldn’t give to turn back the clock, just a little bit, even for a little while.

Just sayin.’

Laurie

Four Letter Words

What Congressman AKIN said about RAPE was JUNK.  He’s a DOPE.

RAPE and sexual assault are not about sex, pregnancy, or abortion.  They are violent crimes of power and control.  We must acknowledge the reality of sexual violence: rapist choose to rape and under no circumstances do victims choose to be victimized.

Here are some the statistics, according to RAINN, the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network, the nation’s largest anti-sexual violence organization:

·         44% of sexual violence victims are under the age of 18; 80% are under the age of 30.

·         Every 2 minutes someone in the U.S. is sexually assaulted.  Each year there about 207,754 victims of sexual abuse.

·         54% of sexual assaults are not reported to police, and 97% of rapists never spend a day in jail.

·         Approximately 2/3 of sexual assaults are committed by someone known to the victim; and 38% of rapists are a friend or acquaintance.

What I remember most is bathing her, something I hadn’t done in 20 years, since she was a little girl.   Her hair was stringy and matted from sweat, and covered much of her face because her head was nodded forward.  Her arms hung loosely at her sides, her hands in the bath water.  Her legs were straight in front of her, her pedicured toes peeking out from the top of the water.   Her whole body was limp with exhaustion.  And those pretty blue eyes – that just a day ago had been sparkling with excitement about what lie ahead – they were dark and empty now.   Even the tears had dried. 

She had just completed her study abroad experience.  Many of us were concerned that she wouldn’t do well far away from the familiar surroundings of home and family.  She proved us all wrong.  She made new friends and traveled throughout Europe.  She came home more self-confident than ever before, excited about her final semester of college and the bright future ahead.   She had only been back in town for one day when she met friends for dinner at a popular Mexican restaurant.  She remembers a friendly waiter; and ordering a margarita and a quesadilla. (The restaurant receipt confirms this is all she had at the restaurant).  She was told she had a glass of wine after dinner, but her memories are vague.

Our dearest friends took her to the hospital.  After spending several hours stabilizing her at one hospital, she had to go to another hospital for the rape kit.  In many cities not all hospitals accept rape victims because they do not have rape kits.  I do not understand this.  At the second hospital a rape kit was administered.  There was no victim’s advocate available, just an overworked nurse who told her to administer portions of the rape kit herself.  She felt humiliated.

As I kneeled beside the tub I knew I needed to be strong for her.  And then I saw the black and blue marks on her chest and thigh.  My throat swelled and I couldn’t catch my breath.  The pain I felt for my daughter literally seared every inch of my body.  The rage I felt for her rapist was like an inferno in my gut.   I lifted her out of the tub, carefully dried her, and dressed her in pajamas.  This brought about a sense of calmness for both of us.  Even thought it had been decades since I had done these things for her, it felt familiar.  She lay on the bed and curled up.  And she stayed there for two days.

TALK doesn’t come easy for some victims.  Well-meaning friends and family ask questions:  How are you doing?  Will you be ok?  Did you go to the police?  Can you put it behind you and move on?  Victims feel shame and they self-blame.  She was overwhelmed by the questions and shut down.

She told me later she kept wishing she had not gone out to dinner, and she was angry at herself for mixing one margarita and one glass of wine.  She kept asking herself if her shorts were too short or her shirt too low cut.  She kept replaying in her mind as much of the night as she could, questioning what she should have done differently.  She talked to the police, but didn’t press charges because she couldn’t remember much about what happened.  Rape is too often a crime where victims have to prove their innocence.

VOTE and JAIL are four letter words we must all remember.  VOTE for candidates who are intelligent, informed, and represent the interest of all people.  JAIL is where rapists belong, period.    

HEAL.  This is an important four letter word.   There is no particular time table for a victim to heal; it’s a process, sometimes a long one, although other victims have said healing does happen.  She took a big step towards healing this summer, participating in a walk to raise awareness about sexual violence.  We walked with her, to show our support for her and other victims.  Em, we’ll continue to walk with you.  Every step of the way.

 Just sayin'.

Laurie

How About a Thank You, Please?

This past week I received two thank you notes.  The first was from a young girl who has “worked” for me the past few years.   She helps me around the house, particularly when we go out of town.  She’s heading off to college in a few weeks, so her job with me ended earlier this month.  She wrote me the nicest note, thanking me for giving her what she said was the best job she had in high school.  The second note was from our nephew’s new wife, thanking us for a wedding gift and for making time to travel to their summer wedding.   She wrote a lovely note, personalizing it just perfectly.   Both notes made me feel so good.  I really appreciated that these young women took the time to express their gratitude. 

I do my best to remember special life events for extended family and friends like new homes or special birthdays with appropriate presents.  Because I’ve lived away from extended family my entire adult life, I don’t make it to very many bridal or baby showers, birthday or graduation parties; I’ve missed several weddings too.  (Conversely, extended family aren’t able make it to these events for me or my family either.)   For those events to which I do receive an invitation, as etiquette requires, I will send a gift. 

I am one of those people who genuinely like shopping for others.  I do my best to select a gift that I sincerely believe the recipient will enjoy and be able to use.  I’ll usually give a money gift for a wedding or graduation because I know that’s what young people appreciate the most.  But for bridal showers or a housewarming, etc. I’ll go to the store and search for just the right present which I will then gift wrap, find the right size mailing box, package the gift securely, and send the gift in time to arrive for the shower/party, etc.

And then sometimes I hear nothing.  No thank you note.  So I wonder: did the gift arrive?  I’ve started using UPS instead of the U.S. Post Office to send my gifts because I can track the shipping of a UPS package online.  It costs much more to send a package UPS vs. U.S. Mail, but at least I have the peace of mind of knowing if a gift reaches its destination. 

And I still often hear nothing from the recipient.

When Emily was a young girl, I would not let her play with a new toy, wear a new outfit, or cash a gift check until she had written a thank you note for the gift.  Before she could write on her own, I would have her draw a picture.   She even had to write notes to immediate family members.  Because we lived out of town, I told her that they went to extra trouble to send her gifts.  Some years we would spend Christmas with family, and she would thank her aunts and uncles in person, and I would let her off the hook for the thank you note those years.  But those were rare occasions.   She now understands the importance of writing a thank you note.  Just recently she received a late graduation gift card in the mail.  That gift card sat on the counter untouched – she knew she couldn’t use it until she wrote the thank you note.

Etiquette requires one to send a thank you note in the following situations:

·         Wedding Gifts

·         Bridal shower and baby shower gifts

·         Holiday, birthday, Bar/Bat mitzvah, graduation, and housewarming gifts

·         Sympathy letters, flowers, mass cards, or donations made in the deceased’s name

Thank-you notes are not necessarily required but are also a nice gesture in the following situations:

·         When a host has treated you to a cocktail party, dinner, or concert

·         After a job interview

·         Anytime you feel particularly indebted to someone

In these days of social networking, texting, and tweeting, etiquette rules can be bent from time to time, even by me!   Recently one of my best friends sent me a video thank you for a birthday gift I sent her, and a picture thank you from her little girl for a gift I sent to her.  Those were perfect.  The gifts were casual, we live far apart, and seeing the video and picture were a great way for us to connect.   Birthday gift giving in person doesn’t necessarily require a written thank you note.  But special, one time life events – when others go out of their way to share in a special day and to acknowledge the event with a special gift – gift recipients needs to sit down with a pen and a note card and write a thank you note.  A thank you note is an expression of gratitude for a thoughtful act or gift. Thoughtfulness should never be taken for granted and should always be acknowledged. Do unto others.
 

This past spring I attended a bridal shower for which I’ve received no thank you note; and two spring wedding gifts have not been acknowledged. One of those wedding gifts was a check, which was cashed, so I know the bridal couple received the gift. According to Weddingpaperdivas.com, bridal shower thank you notes should be sent within two weeks of the event and brides and grooms should wait no more than 6-8 weeks after the ceremony to send their wedding thank you cards. That time has long since passed. It really bothers me that my presence or my presents seemingly weren’t worthy of a personal thank you. I wish it didn’t bother me, but it does.

I won’t stop lamenting about those who don’t express their gratitude with a proper thank you note.  But keep sending me your invitations to your showers, weddings, and graduation parties because I will continue to enjoy the gift giving experience.   .

Just sayin.’

Laurie  

A View From the Top

Twice this weekend I had a reason to celebrate my view from the top.

On Friday evening I went to our neighborhood high school to observe the American Cancer Society Relay for Life luminaria bag lighting ceremony.  Earlier that evening I had dropped off several bags that Emily and I had decorated in honor and memory of friends and loved ones.  Our bags were placed around the track alongside hundreds of other bags honoring and commemorating those who have faced the awful disease of cancer.  The track was a circle of golden light from the candles in the luminaria bags.   Thunder and wind storms were imminent, but the night was still as the Relay for Life walkers took a silent lap around the track to remember those who lost their battle with cancer.

I could barely see the walkers because it was so dark, but I could see the blue light each was holding.  In the bleachers on the “visitors” side, bags were lovingly arranged to spell out “HOPE.”  Becuase everyone else was walking on the track, I was seated all alone, at the very top of the bleacher stands.  It was a gorgeous view, and this view from the top is one I will repeat each year at a Relay for Life event.

On Saturday, special friends joined us at a popular Minneapolis restaurant, where we had an early evening light dinner on the restaurant’s rooftop lounge, overlooking downtown Minneapolis.  We enjoyed cocktails, sushi, good conversation, and fun people watching.   Because we were outside on a rooftop, the drinks were served in plastic glasses, but everything else was sparkly and shiny, including the sun, which was shining at just the right angle – it wasn’t too hot, despite the cement floor and marble table tops.  Our view was of several Minneapolis high rise office buildings, including the one in which I work; hotels, and theatre marquees.  One such marquee was announcing the upcoming show of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young and our friends decided they would get tickets to that show.

I took a minute to stand at the railing of the rooftop and look down below at the streets I walk so frequently during the workday.  It was early on a Saturday evening, so there weren’t quite as many folks on the street as there are mid-day during the week, but there was still plenty to see from my view up above.  Lots of people riding bicycles (Minneapolis is a city known for its cyclists).  Cabs whizzing by.  Couples walking, perhaps to dinner, or to one of the many theatres (the Twin Cities is second only to New York City in live theatre per capita), or maybe they were just strolling to enjoy the cooler temps we had this weekend.

In some ways the past year and a half has been trying for me.   I don’t need to write about my challenges or heartache or traumas because I know that while the details are different, many of you have the same story.  But I recently made a promise to myself that from now on I’m going to enjoy the view from the top as often as possible.  I hope you will too.

Just sayin’.

Laurie

A Guest Blogger

Our daughter Emily is living with us this summer, before she begins graduate school in September.   Gary, Emily and I have had many conversations the past few weeks about diversity, inclusiveness and tolerance.  Gary and I are involved in diversity initiatives at our workplaces, and notwithstanding Chick-Fil-A, there is a lot of talk about same-sex marriage in Minnesota these days.  On the November ballot, Minnesotans will vote on a state constitutional amendment to ban marriage for same-sex couples.   Passage of  this amendment would benefit no family, create no job, defend no institution, nor welcome any person to Minnesota.  But it would hurt, disadvantage, and stigmatize tens of thousands of Minnesotans - loving, committed same-sex couples -  and their families.  Gary and I are opposed to this amendment and we have a sign and a rainbow flag in our yard indicating our opposition.  We are firmly committed to diversity and inclusiveness.  We are hopeful that the sign and flag will stir conversation among our neighbors, like it has around our dinner table.

I was admittedly disappointed that my Facebook post about our yard sign generated only  5 "likes" and no comments, yet Facebook and Twitter are blowing up over Chick-Fil-A.  I came home from work yesterday, and Emily presented me with the article below.  We always tease her that she's like a Snapple cap -- full of facts and information -  so I wasn't really surprised that she took it upon herself to do some research about homosexuality and the Bible.   Obviously she's ready to get back to school!

Just sayin'.

Laurie

  

Homosexuality and the Bible

By Emily Heiser

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the last several weeks, chances are you’ve heard about the CEO of Chick-fil-A, Dan Cathy, declaring in an interview that he has made significant donations to traditional pro-marriage organizations.  In the wake of yesterday’s “Chick-fil-A Appreciation Day,” I decided to do some research on what the Bible says about homosexuality.  Like many, I have strong opinions on same-sex relationships and gay marriage. But, as one of my Loyola University philosophy professors once said, “Opinions are merely assertions one makes. They hold no weight unless supported by scholarly evidence.”  So, I went to work researching homosexuality and the Bible.  

The Bible as we know it today has gone through hundreds of changes since its original manuscript (The Torah or Old Testament) was written, which scholars estimate was around 450 B.C.  The Bible’s original manuscripts were written in ancient Greek, Hebrew, and Aramaic.  The gospels of the New Testament were all written between 60-95 C.E.  It is generally accepted that Jesus died around 30 C.E., meaning that the very first manuscript of the New Testament, the Gospel of Matthew, was written nearly 30 years after the death of Christ. 

The word homosexual and the concept of homosexuality is a product of the modern-era, emerging in the 19th century when the study of human sexuality as a science began. There is no word or term for homosexual or homosexuality in ancient Greek, Hebrew, or Aramaic, the languages of the Bible’s original manuscripts.   Perhaps the most cited biblical verse in regards to the denunciation of homosexuality is Leviticus 18:22:  “Do not lie with a man as one lies with a woman; that is detestable.”  A word for word translation analysis of this passage by an Old Testament scholar at the University of Amsterdam showed that this passage does not prohibit all same-sex behavior.  Rather, it was meant to control where male-male intercourse was allowed.  It could not be performed in a woman’s bed, because that location was sacred.  Sexual activity between heterosexual couples would also be ritually unclean if performed in a woman’s bed.  Literally translated, this Leviticus passage would have read something like  “Two men must not engage in sexual activity on a woman’s bed; it is ritually unclean.”   There were other rituals that were also consider unclean, such as  getting too close to a dead body, eating shellfish, or combining meat and dairy.  None of these were considered sinful or condemned, however.   There are some Bible verses correctly translated from Hebrew that do condemn same-sex sexual behavior; however, it is behavior within contexts related to violence, idolatry, promiscuity, and exploitation that is condemned, not the same-sex sexual relationship.  The same condemnation is given to opposite sex sexual behavior that is violent, idolatrous, promiscuous or exploitative.

Dan Cathy stated, “We’re inviting God’s judgment on our nation when we shake our fist at Him and say we know better than you as to what constitutes a marriage.” How we consider and define marriage in the 21^st century is nowhere close to how marriage was defined, or practiced 2000 years ago.   In biblical times, if a woman was raped, she became married to her rapist.  If a woman was sold, she became married to her buyer.  If a slave’s master gave a female slave to a male slave for procreation, the enslaved “couple” were considered married.  A couple who lived together was also considered married.  Polygamy was widely practiced and accepted. In some cases, a man of wealth and means was allowed up to 18 wives.  Not so “traditional,” huh?

In my research I found no scholarly evidence denouncing consensual, loving homosexual relationships in the Bible.  In fact, there may be as many as three references in the Bible to committed homosexual relationships.  The story of Ruth and Naomi is one such relationship.  Ruth 1:14, referring to the relationship between Ruth and Naomi, reads, “Ruth clave onto her.”  The Hebrew word “clave” is identical to the word used in the description of a heterosexual marriage in Genesis 2:24: “Therefore shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall cleave unto his wife and they shall be one flesh.” 

The most famous reference in the Bible of homosexual love is the relationship between David and Jonathan.  Yes, King David of Israel, from whom Jesus is believed to be a direct descendent.  I’ll wait while you pick your jaw up off the floor….ok, ready? The bond between David and Jonathan is documented in the book of Samuel.  1 Samuel 18:1 reads, “The soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.  From that day, Saul [Jonathan’s father] kept David with him and did not let him return to his father’s house.”  This verse makes reference Genesis 2:24, in that David did not return to his parent’s home.  Further, a physical relation between David and Jonathan is apparent 1 Samuel 20:41, “David got up from the south side of the stone and bowed down before Jonathan…then they kissed each other and wept together, but David cried the most.”  In 2 Samuel, during their last moments together David tells Jonathan, “I grieve for you; you were very dear to me.  Your love for me was wonderful, more wonderful than that of a woman.”  In ancient Israel men and women were not allowed to be seen in public together, nor were they allowed platonic relationships.  It would not make sense in this verse to compare platonic love for a man with sexual love for a woman. Therefore, in its original form, David is referring to his sexual love for Jonathan.

What is happening today is not about chicken.  The real issue is that we have lost sight of what is important: love. “A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another as I have loved you. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples if ye have love one to another.”  John 13:34-35.   In my heart of hearts and as an advocate for equality, I believe that the Jesus I love and desire to emulate would never turn his back on any person for any reason.  Jesus made a habit of being in the company of social pariahs; he himself was considered one by many.

My limited research and this short blog article are not meant to be the final word on the subject of the bible and same-sex relationships.  Rather, I wanted to point out that the bible is full of ambiguities, and in truth, unless one knows ancient Greek, Hebrew, or Aramaic it is impossible to accurately translate the original manuscripts of the bible.