My country, 'tis of thee

I do not celebrate this weekend, but mourn over the SCOTUS decision on marriage.  I was so grieved by it, in fact, that Friday night I had bad dreams all night long--dreaming that I was in a deep depression, that I was in a scary battle, that I was about to be cannibalized, and that my library books were overdue.


This decision is bad for heterosexuals, and it is bad for homosexuals.  We are telling ourselves a lie, fellow countrymen, that gender does not matter.


It does.


Each of us enters this world made gloriously as male or female.  We are different.  We are complimentary.  It is the way we have been made.


Our complimentary biology could not be any clearer about the natural order of family life.  Man and woman are made for each other, sexually, from whence springs the next generation, to be raised in all the fullness of humanity by a covenantally committed member of each gender.


To exclaim triumphantly (and politically-correctly) to our gay friends that their homosexual desires are good and honorable and healthy is doing them no service.  When I am running headlong into destructive behavior, I need no friends to cheer me on, but someone to gently say, "Mindy, you're wrong."


Indeed, denying homosexuals the ability to marry and pursue the same companionship and shared life that I enjoy as a married hetero is awfully harsh.  It is a terribly harsh reality that some people experience exclusively same-sex attraction and will therefore never know a complimentary marriage.  Shall we therefore replace harsh reality with a sweet lie--that we can indulge in that for which we were not made, and suffer not at all as a result?


I'm concerned about the many homosexuals who have grown into their orientation because of painful or even traumatic events in their young lives.  In a culture that celebrates gay pride, who is addressing these hurts?  Who is helping them sort out the damage to their spirits and regain personal strength?  Is anyone even asking them?


I am aware that many other homosexuals are oriented so all their lives, without any trauma.  They are "born that way."  You know how I was born?  I was born with an orientation toward selfishness, cold-heartedness, and a proclivity to use other people for my own personal ends.  People like me ought not relish that we were "born that way."  We ought to reject our natural but wrong inclinations and exercise self-denial.  No one sanctioning or celebrating my selfishness is doing me any favors.


I grieve this weekend for the country I love and the trajectory of error it is on.


And I grieve this weekend for my homosexual fellow Americans, to whom very few people are speaking the truth--and even fewer speaking it with compassion.


I am sorry, gay friends, that this country has failed you.  I am sorry that you have been the targets of hate.  I am sorry that many of your struggles have been ignored.  And I am sorry that this nation is telling you that the wrong you are doing is right, that the path of destruction you are on is fulfillment, and that there is no greater hope for you than to fully immerse yourself in your own natural inclinations.




For more reading with a similar perspective, here are some thoughtful articles written by homosexual men:

I'm Gay, And I Oppose Same-Sex Marriage

On dealing with the pain of not being able to have a family

A Christian reflection on living with same-sex orientation 


 

Blessed normalcy

It's so good to be home and feeling much more like myself.

I can do things, like walk.  And serve frozen dinners.  And take care of my children, which I sorely missed.

I declined to help Jason trim the tree in the backyard, since he had such an effective cleanup crew already.

I've been really enjoying just being with my kids.

I can even lift Caleb into his swing again!

...which also means now I can pick him up when he wants to hug.


We've gone to the park and the pool this week, and a preschool art class at the children's museum.

Let's hope this summer is much less interesting than the spring.

Getting better all the time

Two full weeks have passed since my last post, in which I commented that at last I had noticeable improvement.  Nana stayed for one last week to help get me firmly on my feet, and then...

We went to the beach!

Beach week with Jason's family is a definite highlight of the year, and I've been so relieved and grateful that I could even attend--if my diagnosis had come just two weeks later, I would've spent beach week lounging in a hospital infusion chair.


Nevertheless, several questions remained--how would I get from the house to the beach if I can't walk?  (We considered renting a beach wheelchair.)  Would I be able to use the bike I had already rented?  Could I swim or would I be at risk of drowning if the surf knocked me down?  Would I be able to get to my second-floor bedroom in the beach house?


I resolved to go, even if I had to spend the week sitting still, just grateful to be enjoying family and not in a hospital.


And lo!

I biked!  (I might also point out that I took this photo one-handed while biking, without catastrophe.)


I also walked to the beach, swam in the surf, successfully used my second-floor bedroom, and eluded hungry alligators.

It was marvelous!  I almost felt normal.


I experienced definite improvement even as the week went on.  The first day, the walk to the beach was onerous, but it got a little better every day.


Caleb somehow became obsessed with boats while we were there, so Jason and I took him to the marina on Thursday to see boats.

He brought his own boat along.

Pirate boat.

Little boats.

Then Caleb didn't want to leave without climbing the lighthouse.  I said, "Yes! That would be fun! I've never done that!" so Jason bought tickets.

I ascended about 3 steps before I remembered that I can't climb steps.

I think it's grossly unfair that Caleb, who bounded up all 114 steps while we called for him to slow down, got a sticker, and I, who was sweating and clinging to the handrail the whole time, did not receive a sticker.

But I hope Lyme disease felt that kick in the head, because I climbed, I persevered, and I [just barely] survived.


Without even getting a sticker.

Headed to the beach.

artsy embellishment done with Waterlogue

The turning of the tide

At last I have visible, noticeable improvement.


My 21 days are over (thank God).  I can walk (unsteadily).  I can use my arms.  I can take off my own socks.  I'm starting to think about what healthy life is like.


My hands and feet are still numb (boo).  But the doctor says my treatment is finished and all I need is time to recover--several months to get back to normal, but normal I will get!

Blessings

I'm so blessed with not only a calvary of volunteer helpers, but an army of people praying for me.  

How do you know how loved you are unless you get seriously ill?

Sadly but sweetly, they've gotten to know me at the hospital, and it was wonderful when I walked in on Jason's arm yesterday (first time not in a wheelchair) and saw my nurse's face light up!  She was thrilled to see me walking, and another patient who was in the middle of her infusion said, "Aren't you the lady I've seen in a wheelchair?  All right!" and gave me a thumbs-up.  

Also, my dear brother and sister-in-law sent me an Edible Arrangement!  Beautiful, delicious, and heart-warming.