Coming Full Circle

As a teenager, I attended an anti-gay “traditional marriage” rally in my state’s capital. I listened to the speakers and cheered along with the crowd. After the rally was over, I spoke with press, explaining my opposition to same-sex marriage. At the time, I had never met a gay person, or, at least, I had never met a person I knew was gay. I believed a lot of lies about the “gay lifestyle” and was convinced that gay people were secretly miserable inside.

I would never have believed that, a decade later, I would find myself sitting at a reception celebrating the marriage of two men, both dear friends.

Not long after attending the aforementioned “traditional marriage” rally, I moved into a college dorm. I had chosen a secular college out of a desire to evangelize—at this point in my life I had yet to be around people who were “unsaved”—but I found the mission field far different than I had imagined it. I met people who identified with all different stripes of religion and found that facts like kindness and happiness did not seem to correlate with any specific religious belief.

I made a lot of good friends during my years living in a dorm, but at the moment, one stands out in particular. We’ll call him Jared. Jared was the most friendly, kind, helpful guy you can imagine. If someone was having a bad day, he was there with a hug. If someone was having trouble with their family, he was there expressing sympathy. He was always ready to listen, always ready to cheer someone up. Jared was the heart and soul of our dorm community.

Jared typically camped out in the dorm’s common area. He was always there studying, lending a hand, playing music on an old piano, and welcoming anyone and everyone.

Then, sometime during my sophomore year, Jared came out of the closet. This shook my world. My parents had taught me that homosexuality was an abomination. I believed that gay people lived a disordered, selfish, hedonistic lifestyle. More than that, I believed that gay people were empty inside, miserable, looking for something—anything—to fill the Jesus-shaped hole in side of them. All of this I believed—that is, until Jared came out.

When Jared came out, I was forced to reevaluate everything I had been taught about “homosexuals.” Jared was the most loving, kind, caring person I knew, and yet he was gay. How could this be, and what did it mean? In a single stroke, Jared toppled everything I had been taught about “homosexuals” for the past upteen years.

That reception I mentioned attending? That reception was Jared’s.

At Jared’s reception, when attendees were asked to come to the microphone and share how they met Jared or his new husband, I stood and walked to the front. I explained how I had known Jared, and what it had meant to me when Jared came out. I had never told Jared this before. And as I stood there, microphone in hand, I broke down. I hadn’t intended to cry, but I couldn’t help it, the tears just came.

When it was time to leave, I came up to Jared for a goodbye hug. As he embraced me, he thanked me for speaking. I thanked him for existing—for being there in my life—and he squeezed me tighter.

It shouldn’t have taken someone like Jared for me to recognize the fellow humanity of LGBT individuals. I was wrong to believe what I was taught by my parents and my church without taking the time to verify it. I was wrong to believe what I was taught by my parents and church when it meant depriving others of rights, regardless of verification. But I can’t change what is past, and I will be forever grateful to Jared for shaking me out of my bigotry.

In a way, some things in my life have come full circle. Jared was the first openly gay person I knew—the person who forced me to completely rethink my views on homosexuality—and now I have seen him happily married. I campaigned against marriage equality in high school, and now I have celebrated both Obergefell but the also the marriage of a good friend. Today, I am content.