[yotlyolqualli]

I was so very far in denial that I refused to believe it myself. There was a man, on my father's side of the family; a distant cousin, his name was Wendell. It was a known fact that Wendell was gay and it was not spoken highly of. In fact, it was made light of and while I can't say anyone was ever cruel to him, not even cruel when they spoke so lightly of him, but I knew, even as a child, that being "that way" was not approved of, nor thought highly of.

Add into that, the factor that I was raised in such a conservative faith, I was never, ever, in any doubt that the feelings I was experiencing were NOT normal and indeed were sinful in their very nature. I contributed that to what I now see as the perfect storm, if you will.

I was abused as a child, by two men, not of my family or church family. Women, sadly, within that culture, the conservative ones, were taught to believe (although the Mennonite church is moving away from this idealism) that men simply could not control themselves. This was why women dressed so modestly and did not call attention to themselves. I'm not suggesting that the church convinced me that I was to blame for being molested, but the culture laid that foundation and once those feelings get a foot hold into the mind of an impressionable child, who already feels guilty, it creates the perfect storm.

So I believed what I was feeling was sinful and that I was sinful. My mind, the turmoil I had been through, the guilt that I felt, ate at me, until I believed that I was already something sinful and ugly to God, without redeemable qualities. When I allowed myself to actually feel anything towards any sex, it automatically registered in me, as being horribly sinful and wrong.

My first inkling that something wasn't quite "right" to me, was shortly after I hit puberty, at age nine. I was spending Sunday afternoon with my best friend and her family, between morning and even church services, which we would often do. Twila and I were playing "house" which, trust me, was something that girls were encouraged to do. So, Twila was the "Dad" and I was the "Mom" and we were in the hay loft, acting as though we were going to bed. Twila, bless her heart, leaned down and kissed me. A simple peck on the lips that lasted maybe 3 seconds tops, but that kiss sent a shock through me, a very very physically pleasurable shock, but a shock none the less.

It scared me. I never spent another sunday afternoon with her again. Not because I was afraid of her, but because I was afraid that I would somehow "taint" her, because I was so sinful and dirty.

It wasn't until years later that the idea that I could be gay, actually formed in my mind and I spent the next 20 years trying to hide it, to supress it, to not acknowledge it, indeed to PROVE that I was wrong. When I met my first g/f, which was basically an experimental fling, I realized that I was gay. I realized that I could no longer deny it, or control it nor did I want too. But even then, the years of faith, the Bible college, the year spent in the mission field, the years spent as a sunday/bible school teacher, as a worship leader as head of committees and various roles within the church, kept me from believing that I was anything but sinful.

So, admitting that I was gay, to myself, was not a moment of "that's why I felt that way" but rather a moment of "OK! That's it! I can't deny myself anymore, I give up!" It took me a year, living with a woman who was NOT nice, to say the least, to finally allow my faith and my sexuality, begin to merge. It was when I truly felt, deep within my soul, that I was God's creation and God doesn't make mistakes, that I could allow myself to see myself as not only normal, not only NOT sinful or an abomination, but as a Christian, who also happened to be a lesbian.

When I stopped labeling myself as something bad, allowed myself to acknowledge my still deep and abiding faith, and embraced who I was, fully and completely (lots of therapy to get over the abuse... then lots of therapy to get over the not nice woman), that's when I began to emmerge out of my shell.

As for dressing as a Mennonite? For me, that was all that I knew. It was normal for me. I felt most comfortable in a dress, with the prayer cap. In fact, it allowed me to escape into a semblance of normalcy. When I came out to myself, then to my family and then to my church, even before I "left" the church, I stopped wearing the prayer cap and I stopped wearing the ultra conservative dresses. However, I still preferred dresses. It was what I was most comfortable in.

As for leaving the church. Mennonites practice shunning. That's where an elder is sent to "confront" a sinning member of the church, and try to councel that person into compliance with the church's teaching. If that doesn't work, then the entire board of elders will approach the sinning member (with wives if said member is a woman) and if that doesn't bring the menber into compliance, they are shunned. Sometimes to the extreme. When a person is shunned, not even the parents or siblings, or even children and spouses are permitted to eat with that person or talk to that person or pray with that person. Even in the most loving fashion (and most shunnings are done in love) they are harsh and very very strict in their view of what compliance is. The point of them is scripturally based, they are done to "lovingly shame" that member into coming back into compliance with the teachings of the church.

That was where I used the brain God gave me. Most of the people I went to church with, were siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins. In order for me to continue to go to church, if I chose too, and in order for my family to be able to relate to me without the overshadowing of the shunning, I simply withdrew my membership from the church, but not the congreghation.

I probably just answered more than what you wanted to know..., but there it is. As far as anyone else feeling that way? Not that I know of and Twila is now married with a little girl, a good husband and is happy, genuinely happy, so I know that kiss didn't mean anything to her or do anything "for" her.

One more thing, being Mennonite isn't just a religious experience, it is a culture, a beautiful culture, steeped in tradition and a very simplistic way of life. Even as a lesbian, I want to be the "wife", the role I truly believe God has called me to. A wife in the Mennonite traditional sense of the word. Someone who see's her "husband" as head of the family of the relationship and even as head of the spiritual health of the relationship. Most Mennonite women are submissive to their spouses. I am no different, my ideal spouse just happens to be another woman, a butch woman who feels the need to BE that head of the family.

I like it here, it has a very nice feel to it and I thank you rustedrims, for your interest and your welcome... *S