“The Circle of Life” (Elton John)

By Jan Radclyffe

The first person I ever truly fell in love with was a Catholic woman, whom I met in college; Kari was a freshman when I was a senior. After she graduated and finished her internship, we got an apartment together. I was 23 when we had our first sexual experience, which just seemed to happen naturally in the course of the intimate friendship we had developed. We lived together for five years, but internalized homophobia from our religious upbringings wouldn’t allow us to accept our sexuality. Although we were lovers in every sense of the word, we denied—even to ourselves—that we were lesbians. We told ourselves we were simply two people who fell in love with each other—and both just happened to be female! (It was easier to admit that I loved “a woman,” than to admit that I loved “women”—or that I loved her because she was a woman.) We told other people we were roommates and best friends, which were both true. We lived far enough away from both of our jobs that no one really had a clue about our private life. We weren’t living as “out” lesbians—we didn’t go to bars (straight or gay) or even find a support group. We just worked, attended concerts, flew kites, took trips together, and totally enjoyed being in love with each other. She often attended church with me on Sabbath mornings, and I sometimes attended mass with her on Sunday mornings.

Three and a half years later, Kari’s co-worker arranged a small dinner party to introduce Kari to one of her husband’s friends. Keith was really nice, and Kari quickly fell in love with him. It was kind of painful when she would go out with him and then come home and tell me all the intimate details, but at least she was still sharing intimacy with me. Later on, he began spending weekends at our apartment, and I got to listen to them making love in the room next to mine—ouch! They were married two years after their first meeting. People are expected to cry at weddings, so no one suspected that the tears in the maid of honor’s eyes were a mixture of “happy for my friend” tears and “my heart is broken” tears.

I had to reassure myself that the same thing could happen to me. Before they were married, Keith had set up a blind date for me with one of his friends. Joel and I dated for over two years and had a lot of fun. I admired him for having high moral standards; even though we were in our late twenties, he never tried to be sexually intimate with me. (That’s probably why I went out with him for so long.) When he was sent to the Philippines for a year, he told me not to sit around waiting for him. He said he had a lot of “personal issues”—such as his religion—that he had to resolve within himself, before he’d be ready for a serious relationship with anyone. So we parted as friends. (We ran into each other at a gay Halloween celebration more than ten years later and came out to each other!)

After Joel left, I met a nice Adventist man at an Adventist Singles retreat. Ed had just gotten a new job in another state, so we “dated” by letter and by phone and saw each other once every six months—which made the relationship always seem new and exciting. He was attracted to me, so I told myself that this might be my last chance to get married and let God change me. I guess I allowed myself to fall in love with the idea that he loved and cared for me. We both knew that intercourse was a “no-no” before marriage, but that didn’t stop us from doing everything short of it. And since the things we did felt good to me, I was convinced that this was God’s answer to my prayers. When Ed asked me to marry him, I was 32 years old and figured and that marriage would be my salvation from being attracted to women. (After all, we were taught that if we asked God to take away “unnatural desires,” S/He would do so.)

What a let-down my wedding night was. Even though we “became one flesh,” the feeling of emotional fulfillment—the incredible sense of oneness—I had experienced with Kari was totally absent. After Ed rolled over and began snoring, I cried myself to sleep. I had just left a great job and lifelong friends that I loved, and I had committed to moving across the country to a place where I had no friends. But the most empty feeling came from knowing I had promised myself to this man for the rest of our lives—in a marriage that should never have taken place.

During the seven years of our marriage, I gave God every chance to strike me straight make me feel fulfilled in my marriage, but it didn’t happen. I was extremely lonely and had a lot of time on my hands, because Ed worked overtime, took night classes, and went away on frequent business trips. We bought a VCR, and I rented a lot of movies. It was when I watched Personal Best that a light went on inside my head and forced me to admit to myself that I was still attracted to women. The movie is about two female athletes training for the Olympics, who fall in love and begin a long-term relationship. Of course, filmmakers thought they could only make a movie about lesbians if one becomes straight or kills herself at the end, so in Personal Best one of them falls in love with a guy. (I could really identify with the other one’s feelings!) At the end of the movie, the two of them are on the victory stand together, and the boyfriend is standing nearby, cheering. His girlfriend whispers to her former lover, to ask what she thinks of him. When Tory whispers back, “He’s kinda cute—for a guy!”, I realized she didn’t automatically assume that she, too, now had to find a guy. I knew I’d been aroused by watching the love scene and all the female athletes’ bodies, but it was that closing scene which helped me realize that even though Ed was “kinda cute—for a guy,” I needed a deep emotional bond with a woman to make me happy.

For the first time, at age 38, I admitted to myself that I’m a lesbian. That felt both liberating and terrifying at the same time. It felt good to finally admit the truth to myself, after all those years of living in denial. But I also felt like it would cost me my salvation, as well as my marriage, if I acted upon my newfound identity. I was convinced that I would have to live a life of suppressing my true nature and honor the marriage vows that I had made before God and family. But I got curious and browse the “Gay & Lesbian Studies” section in a big bookstore downtown. Through a listing in Yellow Pages and a classified ad in MS. magazine, I learned of the existence of Kinship. I rented a P.O. box and began receiving their materials. It was a great relief to learn that nowhere in the Bible or the Spirit of Prophecy is there a mention—let alone a condemnation—of homosexuality as one’s natural orientation.

After a lot of prayer and soul-searching, I realized it wasn’t fair to Ed, or to myself, to continue in the marriage—and that God would forgive me for breaking a promise I had made under a false assumption. When I left him, I told Ed he deserved someone who could love him in return, as much as he loved her. I never told him—or anyone in the church—that I was gay. Going through a divorce was a heart-wrenching experience for both of us, and I felt like a failure to my family.

The Adventist church where Ed was still a member refused to transfer my membership to the church where I moved. They said the Holy Spirit impressed them I was no longer a member in good and regular standing, and my name was removed from the church books. To someone who had: attended Sabbath School from birth, gone to Adventist schools from first grade through college, taught in church schools for twelve years, and led the Primary Sabbath School division for three years, that was like having the rug pulled right out from under me. I was left flat on my back, gasping for breath like Charlie Brown when Lucy moves the football before he can kick it. I got the message that to begin my new identity as a lesbian, I had to give up my old identity as an Adventist.

Fortunately, God didn’t abandon me, even though the SDA church did. Thanks to Kinship, I learned the truth that God accepts and loves me as I am—and that I was never meant to live the lie of heterosexual marriage. On the surface, it’s possible to fool people into thinking, “What a perfect couple,” because they can’t see the emptiness in your soul. But no one should have to live like that. I’ve come to be very thankful that God will be the only judge of who will and who won’t be in heaven. Despite the church’s official opinion, there are two things I’ve always been—and always will be: a Seventh-day Adventist and a lesbian! Through Kinship, I’ve formed lifelong friendships and met my life partner. Only God knows what Her/His plan is for the rest of my life. I’ve learned to say, “Thy will be done” and accept it—one day at a time!

Jan Radclyffe is a closeted, partnered Seventh-day Adventist lesbian who has been married to a man, but has come full circle back to loving a woman.