Tolerance
I just don't have it. Not for homosexuality.
(Please don't post negative comments here. This is my journal, one of the only places where I'm free to put my thoughts down without fearing controversy. I truly want to keep it that way.)
It's not that I don't know any people who prefer the same gender. I do. And each one that I know is such a very, very nice person. And I like them. I can't not like them. And I shouldn't not like them. So...it's not that I have no tolerance for the people; it's that I have no tolerance for what they do. I cannot begin to fathom it. Merely attempting to fathom it makes me feel phsyically ill.
James. The very gracious waiter who served my friends and I our tea at the cutest little tea room this afternoon. And he served us our food. And after awhile he sat down at our table and, for some reason, felt the desire to share with us the story of his African American ex-boyfriend. A cello player for some orchestra. Ooh. Yay. Gross. Sherri and Therese graciously participated in the conversation but I couldn't. I just absolutely could not. Maybe he noticed when my eyes glazed over and started darting around the room. It was the only way I could think of to remove myself from the conversation without having to get up from the table and embarrass all four of us.
It goes against everything I believe. It goes against my whole being. It is so foreign and disturbing. I wanted to run out of that little restaurant and never look back.
(Please don't post negative comments here. This is my journal, one of the only places where I'm free to put my thoughts down without fearing controversy. I truly want to keep it that way.)
It's not that I don't know any people who prefer the same gender. I do. And each one that I know is such a very, very nice person. And I like them. I can't not like them. And I shouldn't not like them. So...it's not that I have no tolerance for the people; it's that I have no tolerance for what they do. I cannot begin to fathom it. Merely attempting to fathom it makes me feel phsyically ill.
James. The very gracious waiter who served my friends and I our tea at the cutest little tea room this afternoon. And he served us our food. And after awhile he sat down at our table and, for some reason, felt the desire to share with us the story of his African American ex-boyfriend. A cello player for some orchestra. Ooh. Yay. Gross. Sherri and Therese graciously participated in the conversation but I couldn't. I just absolutely could not. Maybe he noticed when my eyes glazed over and started darting around the room. It was the only way I could think of to remove myself from the conversation without having to get up from the table and embarrass all four of us.
It goes against everything I believe. It goes against my whole being. It is so foreign and disturbing. I wanted to run out of that little restaurant and never look back.
posted by Wendy at 10:25 PM
2 Comments:
Hi. I found you from Brenda. She's part of my ARWA group. I was wondering if I could link your site on mine. I have some really good traffic for just starting to blog (over 400 hits since Monday) and I'm looking for some good Christian blogs to link on my site. If you would like to check the site out before saying yes, please drop on bye. God bless!
The same Scriptures that condemn homosexuality and premarital heterosexuality also tell us to accept those who are in violation of these ordinances. Jesus was more compassionate toward the woman caught in the very act of premarital intercouse (a capital offence in those days) then He was toward the hypocrites in the church. Scripture clearly states that "...man with man, and man with beast will never see Eternal Light." We need to pray for these people, they have made a choice, just like those that make a choice to kill, rape, fornicate on their spouse. Satan is alive and strong and we as a society allow and accept this behavior. The Bible does not.
Do not feel bad for your feelings. Mine are the same. Remember that waiter in your prayers, for salvation has come to the worst of sinners.
love,
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