About a Friend

essaysbysean.blogspot.com

I think I was always able to love... in my uptight real man way. Perhaps you know what it's like to try to dance without being too graceful, or to try to be affectionate without showing too much natural feeling. (It's easier to banter and put someone down.) It takes a lot of energy to be uptight; it took a lot of love to get me free.

I met a woman who was genuine. By her love I blossomed and grew staight towards the sun as God intended. In a zillion ways she showed me how to love. (Guys take note: when your lover touches you or suddenly snuggles with you, it does not always mean you have to rush to "do it." Ask her yourself.)

Can you believe in a woman who will say the L-word to more than one person under heaven? One who will say "I love you" without premarital sex? How I rejoiced in her fun and laughter. I like to imagine her skipping down the ramp at church, or leading the Sunday school kids in a lively game.

But it will never be.

One day, scared and trembling, my friend who loved me said she was gay... gay! She waited for my response, pale, breathless, all her color and sparkle gone, and I felt in my heart a mighty anger. I wanted to bellow, "Who did this to you?" My friend looked like she had seen a specter. That specter was society. "Who hurt you so badly?"

How could anyone ever tell you that you were anything less than beautiful?

We held each other tightly and the sun came out again. But now there was a small cloud, and there always would be. Somewhere out there are people who hate my friend.

How dare they?

Sean Crawford

in a bible belt city,

north of enemy territory,

February 2009