Finding new life in Baghdad by the Bay

Lemon Bar Philosophy

I brought a pan of lemon bars to work today.  Four years ago one of the women who lived below me brought her famous recipe to a potluck dinner.  With a single bite I fell head over heals in love with their lemony goodness.  When I moved to Iowa in June of '05, her parting gift was an e-mail containing the recipe. 

For some reason I never got around to actually making them - until last night.  (thank-you Gmail search function!)  Sometimes first times can be a disaster, but this time around I hit the ball out of the park on my first swing.  Ooohs and ahhs were plentiful as the 13 x 9 pan was quickly reduced to a pile of crumbs.  My manager half-jokingly commented that she wondered if I was in the wrong business.

Last fall I realized that cooking - and baking in particular - was a real passion.  Mixing, kneading, and stirring were my way of expressing both a desire to create and be creative in a way that is easily shared with others.  Honestly there are times I wonder if I'm in the wrong business; but then again I'm good at finance as well, and would really be bummed if work ruined my favorite hobby.

I've been thinking quite a bit lately about the person I was and who I am today.  The two images are so different.  I am so far from who I want to be at times I'm not sure whether I should laugh or cry - selfish, apathetic, resentful, self-righteous, filled with lust and thoughts of immorality - and yet with Jesus by my side I can also see how God has brought undeniable transformation in each of those areas. 

As each day passes I feel more comfortable in my skin.  Perhaps the most annoying issue is the way society now handles the issue of sexuality - black or white, either one or the other.  You must be gay or you must be straight, so take your choice (or we'll make it for you!).  I still get the question - "Are you gay or straight now?"  Can I answer, "None of the above"? 

Well, I just did.  Even in my gayest of gay moments I always found it hard to swallow that my sexual feelings created an entirely separate class of being.  How about - I'm Ryan.  I'm a man.  Sometimes I find myself sexually attracted to women, but the majority of the time to men.  However, those feelings of attractions to men almost always vanish as soon as the person is gone from my sight.  Right now I have no romantic feelings or attachments to anyone of either gender.  I haven't had a single romantic "crush" on a guy since becoming a Christian over four years ago.  I enjoy fellowship with mature Christian men probably more than anything; my favorite thing to do is strap on my backpack and head out into the wilderness with one or more of my brothers in Christ to share in nature, communion, and adventure.

I've struggled to develop a solid core of male fellowship here in Seattle, but that's getting better.  Each new setting God places me in seems to have it's own unique set of challenges.  The Lord would have it no other way - if life were always easy, we'd never learn anything!  The painfully slow process of establishing friendships here has pointed me back to my most important relationship - Jesus Christ.  I must be satisfied in him first before I will ever find contentment with others.

Paul learned how to be content with much and with little.  I'm a tough nut to crack, but God is a patient teacher.  Maybe the biggest lesson I've learned is that transformation does not equal cessation of struggle.  Rather, through faith God supernaturally changes our heart and enables our will to obey him.  I  may not be able to rid my life of temptation, but through the blood of Jesus I can overcome and be victorious.  That is real change! 

Humbly Loved

A month or two ago I was having dinner with a couple who are part of my home church fellowship.  I love gathering people together for just about any reason, and as we made small talk mentioned how fun I thought it would be to get our community and friends together for a big night of games.  The whole idea kind of vanished until a week or so ago, when suddenly e-mails started flying and the wish became reality.  It would be a birthday party of sorts for me, but since almost a week and a half had passed since that day, I really didn't think much of it.  I figured in the grand tradition of elementary school I would bring treats for everyone - carrot cake and freshly-baked peanut butter cookies.

The night's activities were scheduled to begin at 6:30pm.  Looking at the clock yesterday afternoon, I knew I'd be late.  Of course, silly me forgot that everyone was on West Coast time - meaning nothing would get started until at least 7:30pm.  Our of breath, I rushed through the door at 6:40pm to discover I was only the second person to arrive.

In the bag with Settlers of Catan and a box of dominoes was a nicely chilled batch of peanut butter cookie dough.  Placing it in the refrigerator, I let it stay cool while I gathered the needed supplies (cereal bowl, white sugar, small spoon, fork, cookie sheet) to complete the final step of baking my treats.

Then - I don't remember when - Deana smiled, said a BIG "Happy birthday!," and put two items in my hands.  The first - a delectable bar of organic mint-flavored chocolate.  The second - a complete mystery.  In my right hand was a long, somewhat squishy tube wrapped in blue and white gift paper.  What in the world was this?  I laugh now, but seriously my first thought was that Deana had wrapped tightly rolled t-shirt (?!?). 

I ripped one layer.  Then another. ("What, did she ask my mom how to wrap gifts?" I thought to myself)  After a minute or so enough of the paper had been torn away to allow me to feel the soft, pliant material.  What in the world?  Tearing a bit more, the realization of what I was holding finally hit, and I laughed out loud with joy and excitement.  "No way!" I exclaimed.  "A silicon pastry sheet!  Oh my word, this is SO AWESOME!!!"

Not one word was exaggeration or hyperbole.  I was completely blown away.  Once upon a time during a conversation at Brian and Deana's home I mentioned my love for the baking of all things sweet and tasty.  Somehow it came out that one of my "wish list" kitchen items was a silicon pastry mat.  At the time I'm not sure I even had a steady job, so the mat seemed like a pipe-dream.

Now I know the gift was "only" a piece of silicon, but in my mind it might as well have been a bar of gold bullion.  Yes - I thought the gift was absolutely fantastic, but what touched me more was that Deana (and probably others in my community as well) knew me well enough to get something that complemented one of my giftings and passions.  It was an awesome moment, understanding that I was "known" by my community.

The pastry mat was immediately put to use, serving as an excellent cooling rack for the peanut butter cookies emerging piping hot from the oven, and the rest of the night was a blast too (even though I lost at Settlers).  Deana put candles on the carrot cake, and everyone sang a jubilant round of "Happy Birthday."  I was deeply moved and humbled at the same time, realizing the depth of this group of people's love for me, a man whose name was unknown just eight months before. 

Sheltered by the Father

The world is changing, faster perhaps than possibly any of us can imagine.  Science seems to give us new answers to any myriad of life's mysteries on an almost daily basis.  We aren't just gaining knowledge, but embracing whole new concepts of truth, reality, and knowledge itself. 

For the past few weeks I've been thinking a great deal about sex, sexuality, and the profound effects our views on these topics have had on society over the past 40 years or so.  Namely, I can't help but feel that we have robbed children of their innocence by bombarding - no, perhaps assaulting is a better word - them with sexuality.  What affect this ultimately has on how a child develops I can't really know, but I can say this with a great deal of certainty - why do so many people find themselves in such terrible bondage to something that is supposed to express their freedom?  How is it something that is merely one facet of our God-inspired humanity can become the central focal point of a person's very identity? 

As a child I was fascinated by the differences between my body and those of girls; however I didn't associate anything sexual with this.  I had no concept of sex - and at the age of 5 or 6, why should have I?!?  My parents were wise in actively trying to protect my brothers and I from open displays of sexuality in the media of that day.  Then, around the age of 8 or 9, I saw my first Playboy magazine (Obtained, of course, from one of the good Christian fathers of my friends).  Everything changed.  Not long after that a boy in the neighborhood would teach me about masturbation (at the age of 10!), and sexual activity would soon follow.   Something was switched on that couldn't be turned off, save for the amazing transforming power of God.   

Many years later, I found myself in the midst of a community with little in the way of sexual boundaries.  We were free to draw whatever lines would "make us happy."  One popular concept was recreational sex vs. "committed sex."  There were times when you had sex just for fun or pleasure, and then there were times when you had deep, meaningful, emotionally involved sex with your partner.  Perhaps some people were really able to pull it off.  I never could.  I sure acted like I did though!  Inside, I was a confused mess.  I had several long-term relationships, but never stopped messing around on the side - only for "fun" of course.  Trouble was, my heart kept getting in the way.  I could walk into a bathhouse and have sex with a complete stranger, and somehow walk out and feel like I'd fallen in love! 

As I was thinking about our concepts of sex, I thought back to a story Corrie Ten Boom told in her book "The Hiding Place."  She tells the story of a pointed question she put to her father while riding a train:

Oftentimes I would use the trip home to bring up things that were troubling me, since anything I asked at home was promptly answered by the aunts.  Once - I must have been ten or eleven - I asked Father about a poem we had read at school the winter before.  One line had described "a young man whose face was not shadowed by sexsin."  I had been far too shy to ask the teacher what it meant, and Mama had blushed scarlet when I consulted her.  In those days just after the turn of the century sex was never discussed, even at home.

So the line had stuck in my head.  "Sex," I was pretty sure, meant that you were a boy or a girl, and "sin" made Tante Jans very angry, but what the two together meant I could not imagine.  And so, seated next to Father in the train compartment, I suddenly asked, "Father, what is sexsin?"

He turned to look at me, as he always did when answering a question, but to my surprise he said nothing.  At last he stood up, lifted his traveling case from the rack over our heads, and set it on the floor.

"Will you carry it off the train, Corrie?"  he said.

I stood up and tugged at it.  It was crammed with the watches and spare parts he had purchased that morning.

"It's too heavy," I said.

"Yes," he said.  "And it would be a pretty poor father who would ask his little girl to carry such a load.  It's the same way, Corrie, with knowledge.  Some knowledge is too heavy for children.  When you are older and stronger you can bear it.  For now you must trust me to carry it for you."

And I was satisfied.  More than satisfied - wonderfully at peace.  There were answers to this and all my hard questions - for now I was content to leave them in my father's keeping.

We are in such a rush to know everything.  Looking back, I wish I'd known a whole lot less as a child.  We used to poke fun of the goody-two-shoes parents who tried to shelter their kids - and yes, some of them probably did go totally overboard.  On the flip side, I've talked to a number of friends from my youth (my brothers included), and we all lament the price we paid for the things we "knew" at such a young age. 

Explaining Women

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.  (Prov 13:12)

Last night marked my final Living Waters meeting.  What felt like 28 very long weeks at times is now a memory.  Did it really go by so quickly?  We all had a wonderful evening, talking like old friends (I discovered my small group leader has an encyclopedic knowledge of off-the-beaten-path hiking trails in Washington - woo hoo!), then sharing our journey over the past seven months.  Many common themes emerged - pain, struggle, revelation, healing - but the one I enjoyed most also happened to be the one the Lord put on my heart - Hope.  I've come away from the program with a renewed conviction that God really can do anything.

Many of my faithful readers have sent some inquisitive e-mails regarding my recent comments about women - namely the "women are emotional leeches who want to attach then suck the life out of you" bit.  Some explanation is in order.

There's no question that father issues had a huge impact on the lives of many men who struggle with same-sex attraction.  What isn't so obvious is that mom can sometimes play an equally key role as well.  Now I have very fond memories of my mom growing up.  She was the one who would actually sit and play Atari games with me, go to Hardees to pick up a bag of french fries, and massage my very sore legs when I went through a massive growth spurt around age 13.  Dad was distant, but mom was always close.

Unfortunately, by the time I was a teenager things were probably a bit too close.  My mom started to share some of the deep issues and disappointments she had with my dad.  Already quite ambivalent towards him, her flood of anger and hurt only served to deepen my growing sense of angst.  At the age of 14, standing at my Grandfather's grave, I made a vow to never be like either him or my dad.  My mother's words served to make that vow even stronger - one that eventually transitioned into "men are bad and women are good."  My mom may have had legitimate beefs with dad, but her teenage son was not the appropriate person with whom to share those issues. 

This was layered on top of a serious case of insecurity in my ability to relate to women as a man.  In my youth, I was the boy girls ran from instead of chased.  In seventh grade, I got up the courage to "ask out" a girl in my class, who to my delight said yes!  Then, the next day, the bad news came - she had to "break up" with me.  Why?  One of her friends - who happened to be the most popular girl in our class - had decided I wasn't up to snuff.  I was crushed, and furious to boot. 

In high school, I had one "serious" relationship that began sometime during my junior year and lasted for about nine months.  By now I had stopped all same-sex activity, but was definitely struggling with my own sexual identity.  However, I genuinely liked this girl, and whenever we did something I had a blast.  More to the point, when we kissed it felt like fireworks were exploding all over my body.  I spent the summer of 1990 overseas - and when I returned, eventually found out she had cheated on me.  On the outside I shrugged it off, but inside was devastated.  I'll never forget driving to Des Moines by myself one afternoon, crying most of the way. 

My last dating disaster started sometime after Christmas during my senior year of high school.  Through an InterVarsity prayer group at the local college, I met a young woman who seemed quite interested in me.  Unfortunately she was carrying some deep wounds - a pre-seminary student at the college had been engaged to her - three times!  She was harboring some massive insecurities and self-esteem issues, and as my Living Waters group leader put it, I got hit head-on by the "Tsunami of need."  Already reeling from the "coming out" of my best friend and my own identity issues, I found her neediness repulsive.  After a few short months I broke off the relationship and wanted nothing more than to get as far away from women as I possibly could.

Hopefully now my comments make a little more sense.  When I say "women are emotional leeches," I state that as a shameful confession of my own brokenness.  While I know it is most certainly true in some cases, in reality it represents a sinful generalization that distorts the beauty and necessity of women as part of God's purposeful creation.  This is more an issue about me, and the areas in my life where I know further healing needs to occur.  That's the reason I included Proverbs 13:12 at the beginning of this post.  God has helped me form healthy relationships with other men; now I look to future with hope as I work through my issues with women, knowing that whether I am single or married, something far better is in store.

Not Bitter

I wonder if all the Obama-bots out there will take heed of what their messianic candidate actually thinks.

His recent remarks in San Francisco came as no surprise to me.   When I gave my life to Christ back in January of 2004, I was making plenty of money.  I owned no guns.  I came to faith because the Lord convicted my heart of sin, and I knew the only answer was Jesus Christ. 

Honestly, I'm not offended by what Obama said, nor am I angry.  The only thing I can think of to do is shrug and laugh; I mean I used to hear stuff like this all the time when "Bahdad by the Bay" was my home.  What I do think it reveals is how this candidate is quite insincere when he talks about faith, and only does it in hopes of pandering to an electorate he (and much of his party) quietly holds in contempt.  His comments sound downright Marxist (religion is the opiate of the masses) if anything.

It's only April.  Is anyone else ready for this election to be over?

T-Shirt Weather

Saying the weather in Seattle is awful is about like saying a certain member of my family gets really bad gas when they eat split pea soup.  In other words, painfully obvious.

When the weather is nice, it is really nice.  This past Saturday was perhaps my favorite day since moving to Seattle.  I joined a co-worker and two of his friends for a trip up to Stevens Pass for a day of skiiing and snowboarding.  In the afternoon I took off my jacket and just wore a t-shirt and my shell pants - the first time I've done that since 1998!  The feeling was absolutely wonderful.

Here are a couple of great pictures:

The Real Price of Inflation

I have a confession to make - I can't stand whiny people, especially here in America.  All the boo-hooing over the current recession and financial crisis (that quite frankly people created for themselves out of greed and stupidity - buy real estate the value can only go up!) makes me want to vomit. 

The decline of the dollar has done a lot more than make Europe more expensive for Americans who already have more money than they know what to do with.  It has also helped drive up commodity prices on basic food items that people around the world need to survive.  Inflation is hitting 100% over the past year for basics like rice.

Perhaps an illustration from my time in Cambodia will help make the crisis easier to understand.  From time to time I would purchase a bag of rice on the street for 500 riel - or about 12 to 15 cents.  This bag was enough to supplement my teammates and I's (usually three to four of us) healthy dinner with meat, vegetables, and fruit.  Imagine you are a poor Cambodian day laborer, who makes maybe 3000 riel a day.  The bag of rice that cost 500 riel for one meal now costs 1000 riel.  You have a wife and two children.  If you eat rice twice a day and nothing else (and you know how healthy that is), two thirds of your income are already gone. 

When I left Cambodia last March, there were already reports in the newspapers of potential for mass starvation in the provinces due to poverty and a poor rice harvest.  Imagine today what the situation must be like when prices have doubled!

So what do we do?  What can we do?

(On a related note, here's a good article from the Seattle Times today about how hometown bank Washington Mutual went so wrong)

One Flesh (The coolest wedding ever)

The LORD God said, "It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him."  (Gen 2:18)

For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh.  (Gen 2:24)

I'll never forget the first time I met Tessa.  It's hard to imagine anyone could forget someone with a rainbow mohawk and dolphin tattooed on the side of their head - in church no less!  Mentioning to someone a desire to perhaps someday live at the Jesus People USA community (JPUSA) in Chicago, I was immediately connected with Tessa, who had spent three years living in community there.  We bonded immediately as she was the first person I'd met who actually knew (and loved) the classic Jesus People / Glenn Kaiser worship songs like "You Are the Source" and "Surrender." 

Sometime last year I received the big news (I think via MySpace) - Tessa was engaged!  Wow - I was excited.  Back in 2004 I hung out with her on occasion, and we talked in depth about my struggles with same-sex attraction.  While she had personally never struggled with homosexuality, she had grappled with gender-identity issues in a big way.  Let's just say most down-to-earth Midwestern folks don't find piercings, tattoos, spiky hair, and big leather boots very "feminine." 

She included one of her journal entries as part of the wedding program.  On Sunday, May 2, 2004, she wrote:

"Lord, some of my sadness in talking with Nate is fear of letting my walls down, fear of putting down the fight, fear of changing, fear of losing myself.  But there's something else too - I think it has to do with the fear of giving in, the fear of hoping, and the fear that he could actually be the right partner/comrade/help I've been waiting for.  Then what?  Uncharted territory."

One of my favorite "Tessa memories" happened at church one Sunday, when various people were making announcements about upcoming programs, retreats, and ministry opportunities.  Tessa was a leader in the Living Waters program at Promised Land, and wanted to make sure everyone knew it - so she stood up and yelled at the top of her lungs, "INNER HEALING!  COME GET YOUR INNER HEALING!"

Fast forward to Saturday, February 23rd, 2008.  The setting - Portland, Oregon.  The place - The Satyricon, a nightclub in downtown Portland.  I walked in the door where to my delight I immediately ran into one of my former roommates from San Francisco and a bunch of Promised Land friends, some of whom I hadn't seen in almost 4 years!  Someone took my picture, and then I was given a glowing wristband to wear along with everyone else.  The wedding invitation said to wear your "Rock and Roll" best, and most people did.  I decided on the middle ground with jeans and a t-shirt - my old roommate had on a shirt and tie!

The ceremony began with a video of Nate and Tessa sharing the unlikely story of how God brought these two people together.  It was funny, brutally honest at times, and deeply moving - especially the part where Tessa talked about crying in Nate's presence.  I don't think they represented tears of sadness or pain; but rather tears of peace and safety, knowing she could be vulnerable with this man, where he in turn would cherish and protect her open heart.  It was beautiful, and at several points I had to fight back tears. 

Yes, that's right - I almost cried at a wedding.  Long-time readers of this blog will know my general ambivalence towards weddings.  Usually they turn into a big pity-party for one, and while everyone else is all smiles I feel like a giant knife is twisting in my back.  "Look closely Ryan, because this is a life you'll never have, and this is a world to which you'll never belong."

Well, for some reason I didn't feel that way at all on February 23rd.  In fact, it was quite the opposite - I loved every minute of the wedding.  The whole thing was magical, and made the wisdom and beauty of God's intended design for "one flesh" union really come to life.  It's not like Tessa wasn't a complete woman before, or Nate wasn't a whole man - but yet their coming together helped both of them become something they couldn't on their own.  Kind of like another "marriage" Paul talks about in the Bible - the one between Christ and the church.

I posted a photo album called "Nate & Tessa's Wedding."  The day was all theirs - 100% genuine, 100% Nate & Tessa.  I felt honored to be part of such a blessed occasion.  Hopefully you can understand (and see too!) why.

The Journal Project

Last summer I started a huge project that in the whirlwind of traveling to South Africa and moving to Seattle somehow got lost.  From 1990 to 2002 I journaled sporadically.  During some periods I write faithfully every day, then during others there is an almost 5 year gap (1996 through 2001, save for one sole entry in 1998).  It's too bad really - I wish more than anything I had a journal from 1997 when I moved to California, and especially from 1999, when one relationship ended, another began, and my battle with drugs began. 

I got the idea that perhaps it might be interesting to copy all the entries to my computer, then post them on a separate blog.  This week I re-started the process I began nearly 9 months ago.  In some instances I am reading these journals for the first time in over a decade.  I've tried before but just couldn't do it - the pain was still too raw.  Fortunately a great deal of healing has taken place around past memories, and I'm once again able to crack them open and remember. 

What a journey it's been so far.  When I get done with a section I'm exhausted emotionally. I'm just about finished with 1993, and it feels like I'm watching a loaded semi fly down I-80 between Reno and Sacramento with no brakes.  You know a horrible wreck is coming.  InterVarsity published a great little booklet called "Emotional Dependency;" I think someone there secretly used my journals to write it. 

I want to get 1993 published completely before I let everyone know the URL. 1994 and 1995 are going to be even more exhausting.  Many people have told me I need to write a book.  I figure this is a first good step if something like that is ever going to happen.  I don't trust my own memory.  Having these journals sure does help.

Slow Awakening

Back in December a friend of mine said, "Spring comes early in the northwest, but it comes REALLY slow - so slow you might not really notice."  She definitely wasn't kidding! 

Now in some ways it really does feel like spring has come - the flower beds in front of my house have erupted with yellow daffodils and purple hyacinths, and everywhere the trees are covered with white and pink blooms.  Yesterday I even noticed a few tulips making an appearance.  This I like.

However, the whole experience would be far more enjoyable if it weren't so unbearably cold!  There's something about the combination of cool, damp air with brisk winds that cuts through me like a knife.  I can now understand where the term "bone-chilling" comes from, because that's exactly how it feels!  Mid April feels a lot more like early March back in Iowa - one that never seems to end!

Alas, hope is on the way.  The forecast for Saturday calls for partly sunny skies, negligible chance of rain, and temperatures around 70 degrees.