Why I Stay

UPDATE: FEBRUARY 26, 2019
After General Conference in 2012, I wrote a blog post, below, about why I was staying in the United Methodist Church despite its discriminatory stance against LGBTQ people. In 2016, I didn't bother to write a post, but my feelings were more or less the same.

In 2019, I'm leaving. 

This is not an easy decision, nor is it vindictive. 

The folks at the local church that holds my membership are pointing out that I haven't attended in more than a year. They won't notice that I'm gone. And that's why I have to formally remove my name from their rolls immediately. 

Because if I was still an active member, if I could find divinity in any Christian congregation, I would be there. I would be there every Sunday, supporting the people who are doing the hard work of changing the institutional church. 

But, as much as I want to see that divinity, as much as I want to maintain membership in the faith community of my ancestors, I don't see it and I can't stay. I'm not saying that divinity doesn't exist in my local church in particular or the denomination in general, just that it hasn't shown itself to me.  

And as I write this, literally right now, LGBTQ protesters are being arrested at General Conference in St. Louis. Our denomination is arresting its own people. 

I can't find the divinity in my church and so I can't be there to fight with them, and so I have to remove my name from its rolls. 

I'm not sure what my identity is if I'm not a United Methodist. I suddenly feel like an orphan.   


Thursday, May 3, was a hard day. It was the day that the United Methodist General Conference considered the language in our Discipline related to homosexuality. Candace Chellew-Hodge does her usual excellent job of explaining what happened here.

I am nowhere near Tampa, Florida, where General Conference is taking place. All I had to do was check in on Twitter and the GC blog periodically, but my stomach was in knots most of the morning. I can't imagine how difficult it must have been to be in that room. Nor am I gay. I can't imagine what it must've been like to be a gay person, a person who has faith that our church is ultimately a place of love, and to be told yet again that her life is intrinsically wrong. I won't pretend to understand how that feels.

To be clear, the church's official position, the position reaffirmed Thursday morning by a vote of 368 to 572,  is that homosexuality is "incompatible with Christian teaching." In other words, the official position of my denomination is that it is a sin to be gay or to engage in homosexual relationships.

My denomination is wrong. Being gay is not a sin.

I keep having to remind myself of my reasons for re-joining the United Methodist denomination. I actually have a list of reasons for joining a Christian denomination in general and the United Methodist denomination and my particular congregation in particular, none of which I'll bore you with. Today, the pertinent question is why I stay. I have zero interest in participating in a group that institutionalizes discrimination and bigotry. So why do I continue to contribute "my time, my talents, my gifts, and my service" to an organization that espouses an understanding of human experience that is so completely opposed to my own?

Part of the reason is stubbornness. It would be a hell of a lot easier to run off and join some other denomination that has already dealt with or is well on its way to dealing with equality, or even to be one of those "spiritual-but-not-religious" people who get to sleep in on Sunday mornings and never have to go to committee meetings. But I am a fifth-generation Methodist, a United Methodist born and bred. Not surprisingly, there are some specific elements of the United Methodist interpretation of Christianity that speak to me louder than any other denomination.

And I flat out refuse to cede my denomination to the bullies and the bigots.  

(I was amused and horrified to read the comments on an article headed by a photo of a woman pressing the ends of her rainbow stole to her eyes as she sobbed; one of the commentors was downright gleeful that the LGBT activist "bullies" didn't get their way. For the record, bullies aren't usually the ones who end up crying.)

The other part of the reason I stay is because I have to--have to--stand with the gay and lesbian members in my denomination and my particular congregation. If they can stick it out, I can. If they can see value in our Wesleyan traditions significant enough to outweigh the evil that our denomination perpetrates on them, then so can I. If they're willing to stay and fight until we finally fix this, if they have trust that we will fix this, then so do I. If they're willing to bring their children into our denomination, then I have to honor the promise that we all make at our children's baptisms to help raise them in love. And if they feel that they need to move to a different denomination where they don't have to fight quite so hard for acceptance, then I will understand. I will be sad to lose you but I will understand, and I will keep working until you can come back.

I'm not trying to say anything wise here, and I don't expect to sway anyone with this post. I have written this only because it is important for me to say it out loud, again and again:

My denomination is wrong. Being gay is not a sin. General Conference may be almost over for this quadrennium, but we're nowhere near done yet.

Thunderflies? Butterstorms?

A good way to kill time while waiting to see whether Stormageddon(tm) is going to crush you is to learn Jeny's Surprisingly Stretchy Bindoff. It helps if you have a tabby cat to supervise.

Then when the sun comes out the next day you'll have a lovely new pair of socks to wear while you're basking in the beautiful sunlight.

In case learning the Surprisingly Stretchy Bindoff and finishing a pair of socks doesn't fill the whole storm, you could move on to another toe-up sock. Bonus points if it's a sock designed by a real live human you've actually met, who apparently is on his way to becoming a famous designer. 

The theme of these socks is butterflies, created by the ingenious and charming lace pattern that will become apparent after another pattern repeat or two. But given the context, I think I'm going to call my version "Butterstorms."

Chez Furry Pants hopes you and everyone you love are safe today. Don't forget to roll in something good.

Second Childhood

This morning the dogs were sitting together on the bed while I was getting myself together. When I turned around and looked at them--saw them with "fresh eyes," as it were--I had a sudden and distressing realization.

When I was a little girl, we had two dogs. One was a cocker spaniel-poodle mix named Saucy. She had curly black fur, and was a bit wild.

No, this isn't her. This is Brewster, a dog with black, curly fur who is a bit wild.

The other dog we had when I was kid was a Shetland sheepdog named Lady. Lady's fur was straight and brown down her back with a white collar, ruff, and feet. She liked to have a good time, but she was more restrained than Saucy.  

Not Lady, either. This is Bertie Sue, a dog with sheltie-like markings who enjoys a good game of Chase, but thinks Brewster overdoes it with the barking.

The moment I had this realization, I called my mother. Her only comfort was, "Well, Lady and Saucy were bigger." Can anyone recommend a good therapist?

I'm So Busy I Don't Even Have Time to Write This!

I had lunch with my sister this week, and even though I've been so busy I barely have time for basic chores, I couldn't remember what any of it was so I could tell her about it. (OK, I just don't want to do chores. It's almost the same thing as not having time for them.)

So I've been trying to remember what it is I've been up to for the last few weeks. I know about 70% of it had to do with these two:

The Equal Opportunity Neighborhood Watch (i.e., evil boogeymen had better look out--and so should neighbors walking around in their own driveways and minding their own business)




The family bonding could not possibly be going any better. We've had a few snippy moments, but nothing at all concerning. In fact, I'm completely charmed by the gentle, restrained growling from both dogs that is so different than the all-out "I'm gonna rip your face off!" snarling that I'm used to when Brewster faces a stranger. The puppy gate came down on their third day together--because they took it down. When I tried to leave the next day with the gate in place, I sat in my car in the garage with the car door closed and motor running, and I could still hear howls of such heartrending sadness that I couldn't stand it. The gates came down for good. They've both done an excellent job of setting their limits and then forgiving each other when they're crossed. They don't love each other yet, but they are becoming friends. Bert has a bad habit of shoving Brewster out of the way when she wants something he has, and Brew has a bad habit of trying to hump Bert that seems to be fading as he gets used to her presence and as Bertie gets further and further past her recent pregnancy and spay. Families just have to overcome these little character flaws.

We have taken walks, we have worked on "Sit," and Bertie is trying really hard to teach Brewster how to play "Chase." Brew is usually a pretty quick learner, but "Chase" seems completely beyond him. I have faith, though. Bertie is persistent and Brewster is curious, so sooner or later, he'll figure it out.

In between all the doggy goodness, I'm working on two copyediting projects and keeping up with the Southwestern faculty orientation class. That class is no joke, but worth every minute. When I realized how much effort that class was going to require, I was indignant. After all, I've been teaching on and off for about seven years, now. But sometime during the first week, I remembered that I like being a student. And there is a lot of new software to learn, so despite the imposition, I'm glad they're actually taking the time to show us this material in depth. Every other teaching job I've ever had has basically consisted of being handed a room number and class meeting time. These folks actually want to help me do a good job. What a novel concept.

And of course there has been knitting. But it's all gift knitting and none of has been seen by the recipients yet, so I can't post that yet. And I've decided that this year, I'm going to keep up with the The Morning News Tournament of Books. I might as well, since it doesn't seem like KU's going to make it very far in their tournament. Instead of NCAA tournament socks, I can knit book tournament socks. So far I've added The Tiger's Wife and State of Wonder to my reading list. That's as soon as I get Bleak House out of the way. So I'm going to go get on that.

I'll leave you with one last shot of Miss Alberta Sue, who is turning out to be annoyingly camera shy, but does occasionally oblige with the perfect pose:

Look out, World. Bert has her eye on you.

Chez Furry Pants: No Vacancy

Bertie Sue has been with us about a day now, so it's long past time that I start annoying you with photos!

First, Bertie's bio: She's about 3 years old, weighs 12 pounds, and, no, I have no idea what breeds she is. The most reasonable theory is probably some kind of pug/border terrier mix. What I do know is that she is a Pure-Bred Awesome. (And possibly part mountain goat.) Update: Someone on Facebook says she's a Brussels Griffon. I still say Mountain Goat.

Bertie was picked up as a very-pregnant stray and taken to the Animal Shelter. She was going to be euthanized because of aggression, but PALS got her out and, lo and behold, she is really a very nice dog. If you were uncomfortably pregnant and stuck in a scary kennel, you'd be aggressive, too! She had her puppy a week after she left the shelter, spent 8 weeks nursing him and generally being an awesome momma, and then they went their separate ways. As far as I know, Bert's puppy, Little Guy, is still available for adoption as of this writing. He's about 11 weeks in this picture, but is now 13 weeks. Update: My grandpuppy, Little Guy, went to his forever home in late March! Yay, Little Guy! We send you all our love!

Why did I name her "Bertie Sue," you ask? Well, have you ever seen a mane of fur more likely to make Albert Einstein's hair stand on end? And "Sue" is an homage to Bertie's awesome Foster Momma, who has the habit of tacking "Sue," among other things, onto all of her dogs' names. For example, I look forward to one day meeting Chihuahua-Extraordinaire PeteySueBobElvis. And anyway, I figure, if the Sue fits, wear it. (Yep. I said it. Deal with it.) 

"Now, wait a minute," I hear you saying. "You just wrote a whole series of blog posts about how you had to take Brewster to a reactive dog class because he's so fearful. How can you bring another dog into the house?" It was because of that class that I had the confidence to adopt Bertie. Working with the trainers, and especially with the trainer's dog, Gracie, helped me learn how to introduce Brewster to a new dog slowly and carefully. Brewster and I met with Bertie (formerly Cricket) and her Foster Mom twice in a neutral location (a pet supply shop). They got to check each other out without a lot of pressure. When Foster Mom brought Bert for a home visit, they parked in a church parking lot two blocks from my house and Brewster and I walked up and met them. The dogs got to see each other again, then we all drove home and walked into the house together. Once he realized that Bertie was the same dog he'd met twice before, Brewster never once showed any aggression. In fact he "approved" the adoption by giving Bertie a play-bow, the international doggy symbol for "Let's play!" I had never seen Brewster do that before, and it was all I needed to see to know that he would love having a sister. In the 24 hours that Bertie has been here, Brew has yet to show her any aggression. That doesn't mean there won't be any spats whatsoever, and it will be several days or even weeks before I go off and leave them alone without a baby gate between them, but so far it's looking very, very good.

Does that answer all your questions? Then without further ado, Bertie's first day with us:

Far be it from me to anthropomorphize my dogs or force them into nonsensical gender roles. But Bert did recognize right away that the pink bed was meant for her. It brings out her eyes, no?

Bertie meets a Kong and is simultaneously confused and delighted.

Maddie came over to help us watch the KU-Mizzou game. To get into this club, you have to be a PALS dog. 

To make up for having to live with another dog, Edgar gets some of the good MommaLady luvies, which are widely recognized as the best of all the luvies. Kudra, on the other hand, is still downstairs. I expect we'll see her in about another 24 hours. (Why the look of bored disgust on the MommaLady's face? This photo was taken toward the end of the first half. She was more cheerful an hour later.)

That's it! As I assured my horrified neighbor, there are now four pets living in this house, and we are taking down the vacancy sign. It will be a long, long time before anymore four-legged people cross our threshold. Probably. 

Graduation Day

Brewster is a Reactive Dog Class Graduate!

During the last six weeks, Brewster has learned that, under certain circumstances, hot dog will rain from the sky. I have learned that I've been holding on too tight--literally. So Brewster learned "Touch" and "Spin," and I learned to loosen up on the leash.

"Hot dog? Chicken? Cheese?"

I've learned some tricks to help Brewster live a happier, more secure life, so the class has been well worth my time. And for Brewster . . . well, there was lots and lots of hot dog. And chicken. And cheese. Totally worth it.   


If you're a Sedgwick-area dog person, Brewster highly recommends the Basic Manners class at the Family Dog Training Center, and he figures that their other classes, like Therapy Dog Certification and Agility, are probably pretty cool, too. And if, like Brew, your pooch is maybe less than thrilled to meet other dogs or people, follow the Reactive Dog Class link to sign up for the Kansas Humane Society class with Kelly and Karla, two of the doggiest Dog People we've ever met. (That's a compliment.)

Brewster Shows His Jayhawk Spirit

Just a short post tonight because I had to watch KU trounce the Pussycats. (Guys? That OCTAGON OF DOOM thing? Makes you sound like a particularly unimaginative Bond villain who tries to use geometry as his secret weapon.)

Here is Brewster doing his thing at Dog Class:

In his KU crimson halter, of course.

 "His thing" mainly consists of hanging out on his favorite towel, letting strangers feed him treats. He seems to have finally figured out that there really are worse things in the world than being fed hot dogs by strangers. It's been fun to watch.