I was sitting on my couch with a maestro the other night. Talk veered off the path and we ended up on the front steps of Hillsong after some wayward comment from me.
Maestro was sharing his teenage story of moving from Tasmania and the steps of wanting to be cured of his unexplored sexuality within the confines of a happy singing club.
鈥淚 guess it鈥檚 no different from being married and having two sons.鈥� I peeled the label off my beer. 鈥淚 thought being married would 鈥榗ure鈥� me.鈥�
It was curious conversation for a Monday night, but then when is a good night to talk about Hillsong?
I was thinking of the word 鈥榗ure鈥�. Restore to health. In our cases it would have been pre-emptive restoration. How do you cure before you confirm it?
Some of us were lucky with parents and friends, local communities even, who were open-minded about a person鈥檚 preference. I wasn鈥檛 so privileged, nor was my friend on the couch. I slid the folded label into the bottle.
I thought about the kids dancing to Dannii Minogue with Rosanna on Saturday night just gone. There was 鈥榬unning man鈥�, there was hands in the air, there was raucous laughter and ridiculousness at every chorus. Now I was sitting on the couch that was nearly moved by midgets to get a bigger dancefloor.
Maestro was quietly thinking about his journey. He looked slightly bewildered he鈥檇 admitted as much.
鈥淭hank you for listening,鈥� he looked over at me.
鈥淭hank you for sharing,鈥� I smiled back.
I imagined the scene in my mind again, the house moving with laughter and music. How very different that could have been if I鈥檇 been 鈥榗ured鈥�.
Perhaps it鈥檚 the other meaning of cure that I should be investigating. To preserve. Sure, it鈥檚 in relation to curing meat (tongue planted firmly in cheek) but it speaks to me about preserving who you are. Ensuring you are authentically you.
Perhaps that is indeed what happened to the two of us on the couch. Perhaps we preserved our rightful selves, it just took us a little longer and via a few extra paths.
