“Gay Clay”

I believe there to be no coincidence that I am writing this on my 20^th anniversary of being in this country.

I moved to Edinburgh, Scotland on June 9^th 2005 from my hometown of Durham, North Caroline when I was 14 years old. A lot of people often ask me if it was difficult moving away from everything I knew into the unknown and whilst for a lot of folks this might have been the case, I must say, I was thrilled. I couldn’t wait.

I knew from a young age I didn’t fit in, and that I was “Different” from a lot of the other boys my age, and by my 14^th birthday, I already knew I was Gay and most likely subconsciously knew that the place I inhabited was not life giving.

20 years later… I have been changed and moulded time and time again. Like the clay mentioned in Isaiah, our lives are continually shaped and reshaped as we move our way forward through a path we cannot see.

When I was 16, my family moved from Scotland to London, and I had to figure out what I was going to study. I had been homeschooled my whole life till then, however I believe I had pushed my mother to the limits of murder. So for my sake and hers, we looked into colleges. I ended up studying Ceramics for a period of time and fell in love with the medium.

The Art form sat so naturally with the grooves of my soul. Any time a piece wasn’t going to plan with my unattainable perfectionism, I could simply slam is back down into submission and go again. Perhaps this is why I’ve always liked us being a metaphor for Clay in the bible.

It has always allowed me freedom to look past where I am and the things I wish I could change in my life to the possibility of something fresh… something better.

I was 17 years old when I bought my first pair of Heels. I had snuck out the house to go to a Barrets shoe store. Back then they use to cater to a “Larger woman,” and included sizes up to 11.

I preorder the shoes on the phone so I knew they would be there. I snuck into the store with my collar pulled up and sunglasses on like Inspector Clouseau making my way to the till to conduct the illicit exchanged.

“I am here to collect my mothers shoes,” I said in a voice that didn’t believe it’s on conviction.

The short saleswoman also wasn’t buying what I was selling. She handed over the shoes with a wink. Unfortunately I had to head straight from Barrets to my evangelical church for a prayer evening that night. And in hindsight, I am aware that there is nothing more camp than a 17 year old homosexual in a prayer meeting praying that gay away, whilst a pair of black patent stilettos lurk in his bag. Queer Joy really is a gift from our Mother God. If only I could go back and hug that 17 year old who felt his world was falling apart and that he was to blame for it.

We all carry shame with us. It’s an insidious little beast that constantly reorders peace and calm into anxiety and unsureness. (not a word, but you get my drift)

Queer folk tend to have a little more shame than the rest, and it often is specific brand of shame that, if untreated, can be life ending.

I have lost several friends to it.

At its crux, it’s a voice that says, “you are inherently wrong. You are doomed”

And It plays perfectly into a culture, that for a thousand years has ripped apart the lives of queer people and then blamed them for their own demise.

I often feel like I’m Sandra Bullock in the film Miss Congeniality, where she is asked in a beauty pageant, what’s the one thing she wishes to see changed in the world and she gives an answer a little too honest for the crowed to digest. “Just stick with world peace next time,” I tell myself rather than asking this world to be kinder to such sweet innocent queer kids who have the biggest, fullest hearts.

I’m sure you probably know about ‘Kintsugi’. But as a definition it is this: “The Japanese art of repairing broken ceramics with lacquered gold, highlighting the fractures rather than concealing them”

I think my next tattoo might just be “Kintsugi”.

So here we are in Pride month. And I would like to suggest the idea that whoever you are, Gay, Straight, Queer, non-binary, Transgender, non-conforming, Bisexual, Pride month offers you a chance. A chance to say yes. To lean into the hurt parts of ourselves where we dare not look in the mirror for what my face us. A chance to take all the scars and shame of our lives and paint the broken parts gold.

Maybe you’re not there yet. Perhaps the cracks are too fresh and raw. That’s ok.

Our Queer God waits, patiently with paintbrush in one hand and a pot of gold lacquer in the other.

Isaiah – “You are our Father; we are the clay, and you are the potter; we are all the work of your hands.”