I’ve been living in a liminal space for awhile now. Between the used-to-be and the not yet. Truth is, I’ve been pretty comfortable in the in-between land because it’s been the motherland for most of my life.
See, Longing and I go way back. As a missionary kid / pastor’s daughter, so many seasons in the church and liturgical calendar are built around Longing; waiting for help, waiting for a baby to be born and usher in Christmas, for a savior to come and end the season of Lent, for the Spirit to come and give us answers in a new language, for heaven and healing.
I’m well versed in waiting. More than two decades ago I married a good guy, also a preacher’s kid, hoping he would heal me, fix me, out, out that damn spot of what I thought was an unforgivable blight – I was gay. Long before I had language to it, before I could even admit it to myself, much less anyone else, I carried a deep knowing that home would feel like my hand pressed palm to palm with the hand of another woman.
But I am no quitter. To the point of illness, even self inflicted, I will take my commitments all the way to the edge of a cliff and if need be, I will jump off. See: “Christian counseling” turned conversion-therapy. See: me almost dying of Rhabdo. (I’ll tell you sometime. It’s a hoot). See: the story of my sobriety. I’ve taken it all to the final step, then laid in a gooey mess of my own sick in a hospital bed before admitting something has to change.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Drawing Attention with Ashley Story to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.