Proceed with Caution: this is a "Jesus" post

The following is an excerpt from a paper I wrote recently for one of my classes. I hesitate to post it because of its controversial nature. I don't want my blog to turn into place for angry debate. However, homosexuality has been a topic dear to me for a long time. Avoiding it because of potential conflict is arguably more destructive than risking hot tempers. And so, without further ado:

Before discussing anything controversial, one thing must be clarified, namely that the church, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is guilty of mistreating homosexuals. Assume for a minute, that homosexuality is wrong. Think murdering families wrong. This still does not give the church the right to discriminate against, shun or persecute the community. Jesus’ ministry is riddled with examples of loving the unlovable or showing kindness to the merciless. He stayed with Zacchaeus (Luke 19); He talked with a promiscuous Samaritan (John 4); He saved a prostitute from being stoned (John 8); even on the cross, Jesus prayed for His murderers to be forgiven (Luke 23:34). No one claiming to follow this same Jesus can justify treating another individual with hate or contempt. This means that Christians as individuals as churches as whole communities have sinned against the homosexual community through every unloving word spoken or violent act committed in the name (or not in the name) of Jesus. As Christians, we cannot say that we stand for loving our enemy (Luke 6:27) and our neighbor as ourselves (Matt 19:19) but build a list of those who doesn’t deserve to be loved. This is simply ungodly. Regardless of whether homosexuality is right or wrong, the church has wronged homosexuals. As a Christian, I am grieved by this reality, and I am ashamed of what my fellow brothers and sisters have done in the name of our Lord.

Nanny Tales: The World of Vaginas

In addition to recounting excerpts from my own life (but really, who wants to hear about that?), I would like to retell stories from my experience as a nanny and as a psudo-mother to my younger brother (if for no other reason than they are the memories that make me laugh at 3AM and prevent me from falling asleep). The latter, I’ll call Stephen Stories, but I’ll go into that later.

I was a nanny for all of the three years I spent living in Virginia. I worked with nearly 15 kids in four different homes. It was…the best of times and the worst of times. I treasure my memories of these kids and I love them all dearly. But I will not ever nanny again. Instead, I’ll write about our adventures.

I met Annabella when she was three years old. My first night as a nanny felt more like a spot babysitting job. I came in for a few hours on Saturday night so Mom and Dad could go out to dinner. Being three, Annabella was mostly potty trained but still required special bathroom attention. Before her parents left, Mom came over to the dining room table where we were eating to ask Bella if she needed to “use the potty” (a phrase I will NEVER use once I have my own kids). Annabella lifted up her dress and looked down at her otherwise naked body and said, “NO!” I looked at mom and said, “She doesn’t wear underwear?” Mom chuckled and said to me, “Welcome to the world of vaginas.” And thus was my introduction to nannying. I should have backed out then when it was still safe.