Image Credit: Len Williams
I discovered I liked girls right before my second year: after I’d discovered I liked boys but before I figured out I wasn’t interested in sex. My friend was joking about how sapphic my writing was and something in me clicked. I told her her suspicions were true. She asked, “Would you ever sleep with a girl?” I said, “I’m a Christian, so probably not.” In hindsight, I should’ve phrased it better.
I talked about it with a different friend in my second year. “Do you think homosexuality is a sin?” I replied sincerely: “I’m not judging you. This is about my sexuality, not yours. What you do in bed is none of my business.” He frowned. “That wasn’t my question. If you think it’s a sin for you, then you think it’s a sin for everybody. That’s how sin works.” “I’m not sure if it is a sin. I don’t want to do anything till I’m sure.” He was angry with me. I wanted to be mad at him for that but I couldn’t.
When people ask me about God, I say: imagine being loved by the maker of the universe. He who hung the stars, paints the sunrises, and invented the sea. Think of all your ugliest thoughts and dirtiest secrets. Imagine a person who knew and saw everything, all the ways in which you could be unlovable. Imagine that person looking at you, smiling, and still loving you.
It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe in God, not when someone says you will never be loved like that. The one who made you saying he made you wrong. My friend was angry with me; he heard from me: God sees every part of you, and I’m not sure if he likes it.
My first friend said: “I feel sorry for you.” Why? “I love being queer, it’s a wonderful thing in my life and you’re denying yourself it, this beautiful part of you. It makes me sad.” “But it’s worth it. I’m not sure what it is I’m giving up here, or what I’ll have to give up, but it doesn’t matter. It’s worth it for what I get back.” She was speechless, probably thinking I meant heaven or some kind of cosmic tally. She thought I meant I wanted God to love me and he’d only do that if I did what he said, which was being straight.
“I’m a biromantic asexual woman, and God loves me. That’s what I believe.”
But what I really meant was that I’d probably never sleep with a woman because sometimes you did weird stuff to make the one you love happy. It made sense as long as everything balanced out: if the thing you gave up was smaller than the love you had, if the person you loved deserved it. God did. If I thought God would reject me for who I slept with, I’d let him. If I thought his love was conditional on me following his rules, I wouldn’t want it. If he asked me to give something up, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t love him enough to.
It was worth it because I was sure God would love me regardless. I could make out with a girl in the parking lot of my dad’s church, and he’d still welcome me inside. I’d give up everything for God because I knew he’d still look at me and think I was more gorgeous than the sun, even if I didn’t give up anything.
I’m sorry. For not explaining myself properly to my friend. Even though she’s not religious, I think she’d have liked to hear all this. What I meant was that people were wrong. God doesn’t hate gays. God doesn’t hate anybody. That’s the point.
This doesn’t solve everything. There is so much transphobia and homophobia that is supported by the religious right. I’d like to change that; I can’t. There’s not a lot I can do. All I have is this: I am a Christian, and I love God. I’m a biromantic asexual woman, and God loves me. That’s what I believe.
