Blueberry Muffins

I only this year realized I have two fully grown blueberry bushes in my backyard, after putting three more in my front yard. In my opinion, native NC blueberries have nothing on the wild Maine blueberries I grew up with. They are alright, but Maine blueberries are much sweeter. However, I needed to make something for a brunch I’m going to tomorrow so I have been saving up my blueberries that I’ve picked throughout the week from these new-to-me bushes. I love baking. I have done it since I was a child, constantly trying to perfect the “brownie-in-a-box” concoction. Then I realized it could be made homemade. There is a science to baking. Nikki discovered she was allergic to gluten after going on a paleo diet during a cross-fit phase. Now, I bake everything gluten free so she doesn’t feel left out. I mean, she keeps alcohol out of the house for me, so it doesn’t seem such a big deal for me to cook gluten free. I think often of my high school chemistry teacher, Mr. Sweetser who taught me about atoms and molecules and how they interacted with each other when I am in the kitchen baking. I remember measuring how hot a liquid had to be before it boiled and other sciency things from him.

  Chemistry was not my best subject- actually Mr. Sweetser went to the same church I grew up in and we both taught Sunday School to the 2 and 3 year olds. He was actually my assistant! It was a testament to his feminism (he has daughters and a lovely wife) that he let me be in charge on Sunday and then during the week, he was my teacher. When my pastor from that church found out I was dating my best girl friend, the pastor told me not to teach Sunday school anymore. He told me I was welcome to attend Sunday morning services and have private lessons with him to “pray the gay away”. 

I was still processing that I loved a girl, also knowing that I had been taught this meant I would go to Hell. I had tried for over a year to not have those feelings (this is a whole other story and I will not go down this rabbit hole. Maybe someday a publisher will find my blog and want to publish my book, but I digress). Anyways, I still had to face Mr. Sweetser everyday at school and I felt shame and embarrassment. I was afraid it would affect my grades and how he treated me in class. Instead, that Monday morning after everything had gone down at the church (I have learned later that many folx stood up for me when that decision was made), Mr. Sweetser asked me to stay after class. I was wicked nervous and felt that pit in my belly I would get with anxiety. He said directly to me, “Jen, I know what happened at church. I just want you to know that what I understand from the Bible is that we should love the sinner and hate the sin. And I still love you.”

Now this is VERY controversial because many queer people have had this same thing said to them and it has been extremely traumatic to them. For me, I had grown up with Mr. Sweetser, knew what he had been taught because I have been taught that too, and knew that he was doing the best he could with the information he had. He was not trying to shame me or ignore me, rather, he faced that uncomfortable conversation directly and showed me unconditional love. This is why I do not resent my religious childhood. I was taught what unconditional love felt like through him. He didn’t understand what I was going through or the feelings I had, but he accepted me for who I was. 

I made the muffins into a bundt cake too because I was lazy

I will always be “Little Jenny” to those folx at church and it brings me so much comfort every time I step into that sanctuary with the high arches, balcony, choir lofts and stained glass. These people watched me grow up, fed me when my single mother couldn’t afford to buy groceries for Christmas or Thanksgiving and encouraged my love of singing and performing. There is one woman there who is also a nurse and she always encouraged me to go into the profession and actually to do international nursing. Well, when I graduated high school, she bought me a 24-carat caduceus necklace with RN printed on it. I have worn that necklace to every job interview, every day of my trial during my lawsuit and every first day of work. It reminds me that there is a community back home in Maine that loves me for who I am. Even though they may not have come to terms with me being gay or queer, they never speak of it to me. They have welcomed every girlfriend I brought to church and are respectful and sweet to my wife now. Everyone has their own journey and experience. I cannot judge them for where they are on the path. I’m just so grateful for the community of Court Street Baptist Church in Auburn, Maine. They will always be my family.