What’s In A Name?

At the age of 36, still reeling in the midst of an identity crisis as an evangelical Christian coming out as a lesbian, separated with an impending divorce after 12 years of marriage, my mother informed me my middle name, Colleen, had changed. It is now in reference to a different Colleen—a dear friend of Mom's who recently past away, rather than the one whom she lost contact with many years ago. 

Fast-forward a few years later.  I'm 40 and hoping I've better solidified myself in a “know thyself” sort of way. But Mom reminds me not only does my middle name now have a different relationship for her, it is pronounced kah-Leen, as her friend's name was, and the way it "should have been" (vs. Co'-leen, the way it’s always been pronounced). 

What Mom doesn’t know is that within these last few years I've grown tired of coping with other people’s ideas about how I "should" identify, or what my identity is or isn't. Additionally hanging over me was knowing my ex-husband wanted his name back that I've had for at least thirteen years. With so much shifting so quickly, identifying as Emiko Colleen (pr. Co-leen) Hall was one of the few things that grounded me. 

And now another year’s gone by. For practical purposes, I’ve begun to chew on reneging to my maiden name, Iwata, but with the same unenthusiastic sentiment I’ve always had. 

Iwata--“pebbly rice paddy." Maybe it's the Western equivalent to “rocky field.” But what strong association Rockfield might have Pebblepad just doesn’t.

Emiko Iwata... 

Growing up, when people tried to enunciate my name correctly, either out loud or in their heads, I would readily endorse their difficulty--“It’s too Japanese for me. I’m only half.” 

I recently learned the term for thinking about myself in this way--the pre-encounter stage of identity development. Typically reserved for racial minorities in a predominantly White world, the identity stage explains those who disconnect from their ethnicity to primarily associate with the majority’s sphere. While I could easily associate the notion with my gay identity in a predominantly straight world, the desire to strongly associate with the ethnic majority I put on my father.

Somewhere along being born in an Arizona Japanese internment camp in 1943, then later raised in the heart of Los Angeles, Dad grew up distancing himself from his Japanese heritage. In fact, he embraced White America to the point of marrying a White woman. Looking like Mr. Miyagi from "The Karate Kid", he entertained us in playful grunts and mimicked words, just like the movie. But Dad never spoke Japanese. Aside from a few food items—"hashi" (chopsticks), "gohan" (rice), and "shoyu" (soy sauce), he admitted having forgotten most of the rest. So, while his “hafu” children grew up nearly ignorant of 50% of their race identity, at least he remembered how to make a few types of sushi and teach us how to eat with chopsticks. That said, we always did have a pot of rice with dinner, even Thanksgiving. 

Dad told us how people would stare at him on the bus, some gaining the gumption to approach and ask if he was Pat Morita, (aka Mr. Miyagi). He'd chuckle telling us how surprised most people were to hear him speak in perfect English, then compliment him on how good it was.* 

Much to my hafu siblings’ disappointment, I was the only one with a Japanese first name. This meant between my sister and me, if either of us married, I'd retain my half-Japanese identity in name whereas she would lose it in a traditional undertaking. Should either of us find ourselves divorced? She would happily recollect her half-Japanese identity by going back to her maiden name while I would receive a full Japanese identity once again, shamefully disappointing other’s notion that I, like my father, should speak it.

As it is with ideas associated with words or names, there is much more than the surface, two-dimensional identity on paper, Google, or even Facebook. In “Facing the Music”, Jennifer Knapp, two-time Dove Award, and Grammy-nominated Christian music artist describes her despair in writing her name out, or even seeing it. After her overwhelming experience in the Christian music industry, then later watching it careen after coming out as a lesbian, she questioned how to separate the painful past entangled within her featured, real name. 

Contrarily, being a Hall conveys some of the best years of my life and isn’t something I’m easily ready to drop. In extracting my married name, it somehow feels dismissive of the most significant twelve years of my life. Removing it feels like I'm showing a black hole of nothingness to the world while the dark gravity pulls on me. 

In disquieting times throughout my life in relation to my identity, I wondered at the day I could be completely recognized and embraced within a name. I would ask my Maker, "How do you see me?" I wanted to believe I was imploring in the familiar, red-letter language of Jesus when he asked, “Who do you say I am?”  This instilled a deep sense that at least the Omniscient can fully comprehend the culmination of all my perspective angles. While waiting for a reply, I beseeched the Internet gods and Googled Emiko Iwata.

           

In the midst of pages of random Japanese women and girls, I saw my Iwata family—my adorable nieces and nephews (some of which still inside the round bellies of my beautiful sister-n-laws), my handsome brothers and my gorgeous sister—each image pressing into my heart. While those years as a Hall is drifting, there they all are embracing me as one of them.

But there was something else, something a little misplaced in the Google images under Emiko Iwata… a picture of Jennifer Knapp. 

I had forgotten it took me a year after coming out to look for help among others I could identify with—those willing to live in the tension and not disown either aspect of their gay or Christian identity. At the time, I knew of Jennifer Knapp’s coming out and found she became a spokesperson for an online gay Christian community called “Believe Out Loud.” I clicked on the link beside her pic and saw my comment on one of her posts.

"Your courage is inspiring. We need more warriors to blaze the trail between the culture wars so others can eventually walk an easier path. I hope to stand as one of them with you. Peace."

Emiko Iwata Hall.

That was the only time I can recall signing with Iwata since I was married in 1999.

Today, I'm reminded that sometimes solidification thwarts life's fluidity and maybe best reserved for corpses. Perhaps there's something more for the graced with beauty, brightly smiling little girl who's come from rocky places while finding her way through the halls of life and known as Emiko Colleen (pr. Co'-leen) Iwata again.

*What is a racial micro-aggression?

Focus on the Family's LGBTQ Descendants: Executive's Gay Daughter Speaks Out

Originally published on Huffington Post

CHATTRAWUTT VIA GETTY IMAGES

While skirting the pit of murky over-generalizations, I think about the thirty-two LGBTQ young Mormons who took their lives just since November 2015; a significant upsurge only a few months after the Churches reiteration of unsupportive stances on gay issues. I think of the many others affected by similar actions over the years -- the devastation of dividing lines over distinctions of sin. I think about dysfunctional relationships perpetuated by dated "expertise" broadcasted to the unknowing. I think about psychology and the Bible, science and faith and about my frustration and responsibility as a counselor who happens to be gay and Christian. I think about the tension as an advocate and objective analyst, how to balance being ok with anger without holding resentment and maintaining an open posture. I think about primary and secondary feelings, safe people, forgiveness and reconciliation...

Still, when attempting to talk about the history and influence of the conservative evangelical organization, Focus on the Family, it's particularly difficult not to plunge head first into the dark waters of "Us vs. Them" as one its LGBTQ descendants. However, Amber Cantorna, a Focus executive's daughter, inspires us to try.

They can't find a way to agree to disagree... It's unfortunate, it doesn't have to be so divisive.

Her words echo those wounded by the responses from their Christian families and communities. That's why she's prepared to share her growing up and coming out experience as a Focus Family daughter. With an aim for change as well as aiding support through resonating stories, Amber describes her family as very close-knit, shielded within a sphere of like-minded people. She was homeschooled k-12, graduating from college at the young age of 18, all the while wearing her purity ring after signing a sanctity covenant. Although she had her church community and homeschooled groups, she waited on God to bring the right person for her future spouse, just as she was encouraged to do within the conservative evangelical world. Finally, around her early mid-20's, Amber began falling for someone -- her female roommate. After years believing God was simply protecting her from unnecessary romance troubles, it started to make sense as to why she had little interest in boys. She explains how she lacked the terminology to grant what was happening at the time due to the absence of diversity in her life. But in 2012, this concert pianist and sign language interpreter eventually found the words to tell her parents, "I'm gay."

After her parents responded by walking out, short, distant exchanges followed. She remembers their talks along the lines of wanting her to go to therapy but not wanting her to tell anyone, saying, "It might ruin your reputation." She nods as she recalls those wearisome conversations, "They meant it would really ruin their reputation."

Also in 2012, Jim Daley, current president of FOTF, shares a similar experience. In his book ReFocus: Living a Life that Reflects God's Heart, he describes a coffee meeting with a prominent "homosexual advocate," as one of the "most beautiful moments" in his twenty-plus years of ministry; yet, he's immediately probed back at the Focus office by someone admonishing him on how embarrassing it might be if word got out he was associating with a gay person. Daly's response?

I told him I was surprised that a fellow believer would think that showing Jesus' love to someone would somehow compromise or thwart God's ultimate plan.

Amber stayed in Colorado Springs (home of FOTF) a while longer, but with the constant anxiety she describes as "always looking over my shoulder." While surrounded in the unavoidable fishbowl within her well-known family in a familiar community, she was also accompanied by depression, seclusion and eventually thoughts of suicide. However, Amber's resilience helped her find the support she needed to endure and eventually join Highlands Church in Denver, Colorado, where she also met her wife, Clara.

Unfortunately, communication is currently stymied between Amber and her parents, particularly after they specified that while Amber would always be welcomed (whilst her house keys were asked for) Clara would not. She wishes her family would allow the opportunity to meet her wife, saying, "If they looked at the list of qualities they always prayed for in my future spouse, they would realize Clara meets every one of them."

Though devastated by her Focus Family's reaction, she also regards their investment of values she carries today. Indeed, Amber illustrates the poise she learned. In a compelling speech, she articulates how her parents are unable to see her past her gayness. But instead of seeing them so narrowly in return, Amber withholds sharing her father's name admitting they instilled a lot of good in her too. Although not hidden, she's not willing to drop their names under the proverbial bus.

Contrast this with Focus on the Family's retired patriarch, Dr. James Dobson, who continues to consider the LGBTQ as unwelcomed threats in churches and homes, despite stating once he has "no interest in promoting hatred toward homosexuals..." I say this after listening to not one, but three of Dobson's newscasts since 2015 still referring to the LGBTQ community as foes to our nation rather than family members and friends.

Dobson, once a licensed psychologist in the state of California, was also an associate clinical professor of pediatrics at the University of Southern California (i.e. child psychologist). His credentials were an incredible service to him for establishing FOTF. And, while not an ordained minister or having a theology degree, somewhere along the way, Dobson took on the role of cleric over psychologist.

In 2005, two years after leaving FOTF, The New York Times referred to Dobson as "the nation's most influential evangelical leader," particularly in the political arena. Undeniably, his influence persists today as many still follow his lead. Daly graciously explains their different leadership style and direction as the difference between a prophet and an evangelist, Dobson being the former and he the later. However, Amber's Focus Family story is a perfect example of the contrast in their guidance and their followers.

I know underneath anger (secondary feeling) is hurt (primary feeling). The ego/self/Id, what have you, wants acknowledgment and acceptance as an individual. The spirit/soul/psyche wants justice for self and others when our distinctions are separated and stigmatized. For those in the mental health and helping fields, such awareness, concern and respect for diversity through continuing education, or CE, is a mark of ethical responsibility embraced in professional acumen. In fact, it is required for licensure.

I don't believe Dobson's forgotten his many years hedged in principles underscored in every health association's Code of Ethics: autonomy (the right to choose and act on their own); beneficence (actively attempt to benefit another in a positive manner); nonmaleficence (avoid causing harm); justice (all receive equal treatment); and fidelity (be loyal and uphold truth). But frankly, it is disconcerting how someone with such training disregards the numerous reports of LGBTQ suicide, particularly among families with rejecting behaviors.

As well, throughout ministry, family therapy and conflict resolution, consideration for the "other" is a significant element (e.g. love thy enemy; do unto others; place yourself in their shoes), whether or not an agreement's attained. Moreover, in ministry, as is in the secular world, it's fairly understood that peace with God, higher being or self often comes after you have made, or at least attempted to make peace with your brother, sister, neighbor, fellowman, etc. Conversely, peace rarely comes by way of avoidance or denial -- not interpersonally or intrapersonally.

Therefore, I stand firmly with Amber beyond the edge of the categorically simplify sinkhole deeming this not as "Us vs. Them," a war on conservative evangelicals or Focus on the Family, or even on Dobson overall. This is a call for accountability on behalf of a single issue requiring what Daly proposes: a critical refocus.

Additionally in 2012, Alan Chambers, president of the international ex-gay ministry, Exodus, came out once again, this time apologizing for the distress their ministry caused to the majority of its people who had not changed. One year later, and five years after Focus on the Family sold its ex-gay ministry (Love Won Out (aka True Story) to Exodus International, Exodus closed its doors recanting.

[Learn more about Amber's efforts here or find her on Facebook.]

1Wilcoxon, S.A., Remley, T.P., & Gladding, S.T. (2012). Ethical, Legal, and Professional Issues in the Practice of Marriage and Family Therapy. (5th Ed). Boston: Pearson.

Follow E.C. Iwata on Twitter: www.twitter.com/ECIwata

Gay Conversion Therapy Needs to Stop, Like Yesterday.

"Members Of Congress Urge Ban On Gay Conversion Therapy"

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/congress-ftc-gay-conversion-therapy_us_56bb6402e4b0c3c5504f9574

My response to the above article:

It's 2016, four years after Exodus, the infamous ex-gay Christian organization, apologized for the harm they had caused and closed their doors.

I was also just reading about the promoter of ex-gay therapy, experimental psychologist, George Rekers. Rekers was the co-founder of The Family Council Research and partner with Focus on the Family's promotion of reparative therapy. Rekers resigned after found going on holiday with a rent boy in 2010.

Understandably, the question remains: "But what if someone really wants to change?" 

I will grant putting aside the biblical theology of the six verses, the main source of hindrance, as annoying in its seeming dismissiveness. Those six verses are viewed weighty enough to tip the scales for self-hatred and isolation. And I would love to speak to those in a different post, because people are dying. Reparative therapy only adds to the despair. That's why the American Psychological Association, the American Counseling Association, and the American Association of Marriage and Family Therapy do not support conversion therapy. Numerous reports show not only its lack of success but also harm. And the truth needs to be shared.

Truly helping those who want to change is to understand the reasoning for wanting to change, taking into account their age as well as culture. Empathize with the disparity of the tension they feel they live in. Join them in acknowledging the difficulty of accepting life without definitive answers to the questions they seek, and that none of us would survive without some acceptance of that fact. Refrain from giving advise that suggests embracing one aspect of their identity over the other. Rather, think of the world as a beautiful place with its dynamic and complex contrasts and dichotomies. When we look with a "both/and" vs. "either/or" mindset, the question of how is this even possible? allows for a sense of awe and wonder rather than despair.

This is not to say people's sexual orientation absolutely does not or cannot change, which is a different discussion on romantic relationships and sexuality. But such changes have little to no link to conversion therapy, which is based on both bogus theories and flawed approaches, at best. Here is a list of reparative/conversion approaches, many of which are still attempted today in America and around the world:

• Aversion therapy (e.g. electroconvulsive (shock) therapy)
• Asceticism
• Genital mutilation
• Feminizing/Masculizing 
• Prostitution
• Physical abuse
• Rape
• Pornography
• Overdosing on gay sex
• Heterosexual marriage
• Exorcism
• Praying
• Isolation/abandonment/threat of relational cut-off

Stories of Solidarity at the Gay/Christian Intersection

Published on Huffpost

"I didn't even know this was a thing that I could do--gay and Christian. From my own mother, I was told to hide it... Yesterday, one of the moms come up to me in the hallway saying, 'You look lost, can I help you?' and embraced me as I fell apart."

"My biggest fear in coming out was not that God wouldn't love me, but that I might have been alone."

"I affirmed my gender and transitioned my faith."

These are the snippets of stories heard at the 2016 Gay Christian Network Conferenceon a chilly, January weekend in Houston, Texas. The first time I heard similar ones was in Portland, OR last year. While I came out a few years previously, I still sat feebly overwhelmed by both liberation and grief as I recalled the many years I condemned the notion--gay and Christian. How dare anyone justify such contradiction? Like so many other devout, I considered my exasperation justified, even as I battled with my solemn secret. Today, I have the privilege of advocating for those suppressed by fear of condemnation, ostracization, and the unknown.

"My mother told me she'd rather have cancer than for me to be gay."

"We're so used to being isolated, we get use to thinking we can do it on our own."

"Nobody's afraid to touch me like I thought they would be."

The boldly out at GCN pave the way to support their LGBTQ brothers and sisters whose families, or even co-workers, don't know where they were this weekend. The red and blue lanyards speak to how many still find it unsafe to be seen and for all of us to mind their difficulty when taking pictures to post on social media.

"I've found a community that accepts me more than I accept myself."

"I came in here with my own internalized homophobia."

The straight, gay, transgendered and questioning are among the array of young and old, black, white, Russian, Australian, Croatian, Singaporean, German, Brits, Kiwi, Canadian and Coptic, to name a few. From teens to grandparents, gay parents and parents of gays, many emerge to foster understanding of the complexities of sexual identity as well as learn how to better support them.

"I just think it's amazing that my parents are here with me... While I'm the G in the LGBT, it's just as important that they're here too."

"My Dad's sitting right there in the front row... and I'm proud of him for jumping off the cliff with me arm in arm, and I know he's proud of me too."

"For so much of my life I've felt so alone and disposable. Yesterday, somebody's mom just reached over and hugged me..."

As well, Side A and Side B, physicians, teachers and lay people come to re-examine their position in light of their theology and what they see. Here, the mystified are acknowledging the burden of LGBTQ from conservative backgrounds and becoming more cognizant of their distress. Indeed, the testimony of tears speaks to the souls engrossed in hearing God's unwavering love in hopes of disarming shame and self-hatred.

"This time last year I was standing in my closet with a noose around my neck wondering what it would be like to just end it all. I didn't really have any hope... but coming and meeting people at GCN has changed my life."

"My number one question I've asked everyone in one way or another was if I was good enough. I asked God if I was straight, could I be good enough?"

For many, this is the only place they have to connect authentically in their individuality or as marginalized subsets, such as the asexuals or bisexuals in mixed oriented marriages. If nothing else, for a brief moment, a few days, we can embrace our full identity and worship freely without the internal or external restraints as a supposed walking dichotomy.

"I was overwhelmed by such grace that I was able to come out and show grace to myself."

The Gay Christian Network is built on stories and conversations, both alike and unique, revealing different aspects of similar journeys. Side A, Side B, or the churches of Third Way-ers run the gamut among the liturgical and the evangelical, yet, grace and tolerance surround the various views. Even in disagreement, dialogue is respectful. Such sides, while faithfully held, are offered with a grander appeal in mind--a safe space for everyone who might otherwise be invisible.

"This is my seventh GCN conference. I came out seven years ago.... the spectrum is even greater than the last time I've come."

"I don't have to be in a box to fit in here."

"I don't have to feel like a freak."

As Justin Lee, the executive director and founder of GCN, says, this "radical inclusion" is a unique quality, to be different and still come together harmoniously (unlike the protestors brandishing their signs outside). Rather than shame and disdain, experiencing acceptance amidst differences bids reconciliation, restoration and healing.

"Our church started the excommunication process because my son has come out transgendered. So, I have left that church. I joined the localPFLAG community, but they don't affirm my faith. When I come to GCN, I don't have to have my feet in two different worlds. This is my church family."

Of course, there is much fear about what is happening, what's being taught, embraced or advocated within these three days. But perhaps the fretful might breathe a little easier if they could witness those shattered on their knees in prayer or raising their hands in praise, as it may be the first time some of us have participated in corporate worship in years, or at least since the last GCN conference.

"I was a worship leader... It's been so long, I want to sing my heart out with the others but I'm choking back tears a couple verses in."

Could the skeptic perceive how freedom is offered as well as the autonomy to choose different ways to live based on one's personal conviction? Could the cynic feel the yearning for reinstating relationships? Might they see the longing for impartiality as Christ taught, or witness these people's cry for God in the pain while wondering how to hold onto their faith in spite of it?

"I've come up here to say 'I'm sorry', because as a pastor, I have not supported the way I should have."

"The only person I told was my husband... The hardest thing that I learned here was that I was part of the oppression... and I'm so sorry."

As it is, those unconvinced might discover Jesus in praxis at GCN rather than in heady debates over Scripture, not to say hermeneutics is irrelevant. But perhaps they may plainly see the evidence of Christ's message embodied in saving others through the simplicity of unconditional love.

"It reminds me of why we love the Church the way we do."

"God asked me, 'Are you done being angry at the ones who've hurt you, because I love them too.'" 

Hear more stories at the GCN website. Better yet, share yours with us next year at GCN2017 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

Follow E.C. Iwata on Twitter: www.twitter.com/ECIwata
Share this entry from Huffington Post