Your Story Matters

My friend Sally has written a book. I read it Saturday, and I can't stop thinking about it.

Sally tells her story beautifully and with characteristic humor. There are several places where I can picture her eyes twinkling and her lips twitching as she tries to hold back her signature grin. I can just hear her understated drawl saying some of the lines in such a way that you don't at first realize just how funny that was. Sally has not lost one bit of her wit. But she's quite serious  about her message.

She talks about growing up in a Christian home with secrets. She talks about the lies she believed about herself, her family, men, and even about God.

Sally believed the lies because of the secrets.

I don't like secrets. I grew up with them, too. There is much that we just don't talk about in my family.

I'll confess that I don't naturally keep secrets well. I had to learn the hard way that someone else's story is just that -- their story. They have the right to tell it. I do not. The "share" button in social media is more tempting than any drug to me. I recently wanted to share a picture I had received via text of a newborn baby. A friend said, "Shouldn't you let the parents share it first?" Of course I should. And I did. But I sure didn't think of that on my own!

I love people's stories - happy, sad, tragic, or heroic. I love to share them - especially when I think they will encourage someone, delight someone, or even serve as a cautionary tale. I have finally learned to ask before telling. I've learned a lot about confidentiality.

That's why I'm glad that Sally has written a book. Because her story is published. That means I can share it!

A lot of people will miss out on Sally's story because of the title of the book. They won't think they need to read it. Or they might be embarrassed to be seen reading it. I don't think it's all that uncommon a story -- I just think it's largely an untold story. It is usually shrouded in secrecy -- especially in the church.

And it's a shame. Not the story. The not telling of it.

That's why I'm so proud of my friend Sally. She tells her story with great courage but no pride. There is not a smidgen of self-pity or recrimination in it. At least not that I can find. I'm also proud of Sally's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Gary (that's how I know them). They have fully supported her in the telling. I cried when I reached the picture of the three of them in the book and again when her dad "liked" my comment about the book on Sally's facebook page. What a man! It couldn't have been easy for him or for Sally's mom to have this story told. But I think maybe they see what I see. The shame is in the not telling of the story, not in the story itself.

I read Sally's story closely -- in part because I was looking for myself in it. I was there in the class of 1979. I voted for Sally for Class Clown, and was not surprised when she won it. I experienced the Gary hospitality. I ate her mother's cooking, felt the family's love, and I'm pretty sure that once or twice I may have gotten the you-hurt-my-baby's-feelings-snub that Sally mentions in the book. I loved that house, and every moment we had there. The one party I didn't enjoy was the one that I was on my way to when I totaled my car. But that is a story for another day.

My favorite Sally Gary party was the cast party for the senior play that never was. It's a long story, but a tornado blew away our school auditorium and half of our town. The play had been cast, and we'd had a couple of rehearsals, and we were more than a little disappointed that it had to be cancelled. Sally found a way to make even that fun. We partied Sally style -- and Steve Fairfield even got to say, "There is an insufficiency of chairs!"

I digress into all of that, because I want you to realize that Sally was a star to me. She shone brightly. She was so confident. So funny. Everyone loved her. I loved her -- and in many ways, I envied her. She was just so comfortable in who she was, and she didn't seem to need any of us. Whereas I always thought I had to go to everything because I felt like I'd be outside the loop if I missed anything, Sally always had the confidence to say "no" and stay home. At least that's what I, in my limited teenage perception, always thought.

I believed the lie because of the secrets. I know that now -- because Sally is telling her story.

Sally was hurting and no one knew it. She felt alone. She felt unworthy. She felt unloved. And the whole time, she was hiding behind the funny, confident, quirky girl that we thought we knew.

Does any of this sound familiar? Is there a part of you that resonates with anything that I'm saying about my friend? Then I would like to encourage you to do two things.

(1) Read Sally's book.

Read it in spite of the title. Or read it because of the title. I don't care. Just read it. I really don't think you'll regret it.

I'm guessing that the courage to write this book came from the work and the ministry God has called Sally to. She founded and heads up CenterPeace, a "place to belong" which has a two-fold mission: to provide a safe place for people who experience same sex attraction and to help churches, schools and families have conversations about homosexuality.

If you or anyone you love struggles with same-sex attraction, you should definitely read this book.

If you or anyone you love struggles with who God created you to be, or who you are in Jesus Christ, or how you were shaped by your family dynamics, or simply with believing that you are loved -- you should definitely read this book.

Spoiler Alert: Sally is very clear and to the point about sharing that she is not "fixed." Her story is one of redemption and forgiveness, but she does not provide a definitive answer on the right or wrong of homosexuality. She neither defends nor condemns. She simply and humbly takes out her heart and shares it. She cares enough about the rest of us that she was willing to take that risk.

(2) Share your story.

I won't pretend to you that it will be easy. But there is someone out there who is going through what you are going through -- or something that is similar. That someone needs to know that he or she is not alone. Someone shared with me just the other day that he had shared his story publicly for the first time.  He was surprised at how quickly he learned of someone who was moved, comforted, and glad to realize that not everyone around her had it all together. I think he will share his story again.

Do be careful and prayerful about sharing. Not everyone will receive your story gladly. Jesus warned us about this.

Right after he preached about removing the log from your own eye before trying to deal with the speck in your brothers, he gave this counsel, "Do not give dogs what is holy, and do not throw your pearls before pigs, lest they trample them underfoot and turn to attack you" (Mt 7:6). There is something sacred about my friend Sally's story, as if she has invited us into a holy moment between herself and her Creator. I hope and pray that the dogs and pigs stay far away from this book, because I would hate to see Sally's pearls -- her treasure, her story -- trampled on. I pray the same thing about your story. You and Sally and I and our stories are simply too valuable for that.

By the way, the book is Loves God, Likes Girls. The author is Sally Gary. I bought my copy on Amazon.com. I'd loan it to you, but I already have a waiting list.

Click here to buy Sally's book on Amazon.com