AIDS and "A Miracle of Love"

Some time ago I posted an email from a Minister Anthony J. Cox, in which he reveals that he contracted HIV and now has full blown AIDS. The letter has since spread like wildfire across the net.

I have searched for more information about the minister, but so far, I haven't found anything. I don't know if the man is real or made up. I don't know if the letter reveals truth or myth. But it's a cautionary tale for our times, so true or not, I made the decision to post on this blog. Given my focus on abstinence, I thought it was worth the space, and I still do.

Ironically, years ago I came across a story (one that I can vouch for) about another minister who contracted AIDS. My mother's pastor, JoAnn Long of New Covenant Life Church in Chicago, openly shares the sad tale of her husband contracting and dying of the disease. It's such an amazing story of love, forgiveness, and believe it or not, happy endings, that I just had to include it in my book, Black-Eyed Peas for the Soul. It's one of the most popular stories in the book.

So as I attempt to locate the elusive Minister Anthony J. Cox, I'd like to share an excerpt of Pastor Long's story, "A Miracle of Love." For the complete story and other great inspirational tales, buy a copy of Black-Eyed Peas for the Soul at Amazon.com!

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A Miracle of Love
JoAnn Long

It was the 1980s and the AIDS virus discovery and exposure were yet new in our community and I was walking through my valley of the shadow of death and fearing the evil. Truthfully speaking, I felt more like I was crawling through it. Nevertheless, I was moving, determined to get through.

My husband, Tracy, was in the hospital fighting for his life and the doctor's report of his condition was resounding over and over again in my mind. It was not good: HIV positive and its possible/likely fatal outcome -- the statistics! The specialists in his field could not offer us any hope and expressed grave concern for me.

Hurting and angry, I questioned how I could be confronted with such a monumental situation which was bigger than life, an intrusion, an invasion of my private world, my home, marriage, and family. I thought, surely not my husband -- not me! Why me?

I was filled with shock and grief. I waited for something more to be said -- some explanation, perhaps. Something! It did not come. I was not really prepared for this, I thought. Then, as if someone had pushed a video replay button, I began to hear words of advice that had been spoken to my parents approximately 20 years ago as I was coming of age. It was a different time, a different setting, but those words began to replay in my mind even louder than the hopelessness of the doctor's words and the fear of the situation -- what I was feeling.

This is the wise counsel of that individual. She said that as my parents let go, I would develop and mature as a beautiful woman. She perceived that even as a child, I flourished under pressure best when I was not petted, pampered, or smothered with needless pity or sympathy. Through difficulties, I would draw from my own resources and make it.

As I remembered these words, I not only drew strength from within, but I discovered I had the courage to embrace my destiny. What I encountered, experienced, and lived through leaves me awestruck even to this day.

November 1986, Tracy LaMar Allen died. After his death, I experienced loneliness such as one could never even imagine. Our courtship and marriage was a sum total of twenty-five years filled with joys and trials; struggles and successes, good days and bad (so many of the bad days toward the end). He had chosen to live part of his life anonymously as a bisexual (functioning as both and with both: male and female). The confirmed news of this, as well as the consequences thereof was devastating to him, our families, and me.

My husband was a minister -- double jeopardy! After discovering the truth, learning of his life of anonymity during his illness, I acquiesced to his request not to share what was happening with family and others for the sake of the children and the church, and to avoid further embarrassment and ridicule. I loved him. I respected his individuality and privacy. He made a futile attempt to protect me and our children by choosing to die incognito, but the news got out and I was accused of not turning state's evidence and supporting him in a lifestyle that constituted double standards. I lost much physically, socially, materially. And, oh, the pain!

During that time of aloneness and loneliness, once again the video replay button was pushed and I remembered during meditation that prior to all of this happening, I had been given the assurances of marriage -- a good marriage. A whole marriage was part of my great destiny.

I was back and I was ready to make a comeback. The only way I knew to make a comeback was to go on. Slowly but surely, I began to accept speaking engagements, seminars, workshops, etc.

Then it happened! One Saturday afternoon in 1989 while speaking to the Midwest Clergy Association, I met the man I was to marry -- my future husband, though I did not know it at the time. He had observed and admired me, asking for an introduction. From our first meeting, which was so coincidental to me, and during the occasional times of our being together, I found myself filled with a whole succession of emotions -- amazement (more at myself than him), excitement, fear, joy, love.

We were married June 1990, and one of the most endearing gifts that John gave to me at our wedding ceremony was tears. His impassioned, genuine tears flowed unabashedly from his eyes and down his face as I walked down the aisle and into his arms at the altar as his bride. Later, in our honeymoon suite, he told me that his heart was overwhelmed with love and joy to find such a virtuous woman, that I was so beautiful as his bride, and how much he loved me.

Often I hear, "How did you meet him?" "You are married to such a good man." "Where did he come from?"

In the Gospel according to St. John, chapter one, verse six, you will read these words: "There was a man sent from God, whose name was John."

Sex toys at the club

Friends, I went out on a date last Friday, and for a woman practicing celibacy, it was quite an experience, let me tell you.

The guy was decent. He wasn't the problem. It was the culture of the club.

It's been a long time since I went to a club, much less to hear some comedy. I was actually looking forward to it.

While we were waiting for the show to begin, I noticed that on the table next to us, a vendor was selling her wares. So to kill time, I went over to look. Guess what...

Sex toys. Uh huh.

I had to laugh, but I was so embarrassed. My date said something like, "See anything over there you want?" I looked at him like he was crazy.

Then the comedy show began. Oh Lord. From the first comic to the last, it was all about sex. There was even a special needs guy with MS or MD or something. Anyway, he disclosed way too much information about bodily functions while in the bed with "normal" women. (Although the bit about inviting women to date him because he gets disability checks was funny in a sad way.)

I actually like a good sex joke, but it's got to have some intelligence to it. There's got to be more than just, well, sex. There's got to be some deep (but funny) philosophical insights about the way men and women relate.

The next day, my date called and asked what I thought. I was honest. I told him I had expected more from African American comics. I wanted Dave Chappelle or DL Hughley or Chris Rock. People are hurting from the economic mess. I wanted to laugh about that.

I need comics to help me put the bad stuff into perspective. In fact, I love a man with a good sense of humor, someone who can be deep and philosophical but crazy, too. Hey, that's going on my wish list. Is that too much to ask?

Celibacy brings freedom

My last post was about the power of celibacy. Today I feel compelled to write about freedom.

When I was younger, I'm not going to lie, I was a low self-esteem mess. I didn't believe in myself at all, and I surely didn't think I was lovable.

Well today I crossed a threshold, and I must credit my belief in God and my practice in celibacy for having the courage to do so.

There was a time when, if I didn't have a man, I felt completely ashamed. I grew up just when the minds of women where changing. Let's say, we were in transition. We were saying things like, "I'm an independent woman," but deep inside we were terrified to be caught at a restaurant or movie alone.

That fear caused us to make really bad decisions about our love lives. Word to the wise: never make a decision when you're feeling desperate. More accidental sex has occurred during moments of fear and desperation.

Anyway, I must be honest and admit to some residue angst about being alone. I think that residue motivated me to keep a certain man around. Or maybe it was because I needed my feminine ego to be stroked from time to time.

Whatever the reason, something snapped within me today. After just one too many attempts to seduce me despite my consistent declines, I'd had it. I forced him into a deeper conversation about the whole thing. I was rational. I didn't get too emotional. In fact, he was the one who got emotional.

Long story short, he hung up the phone on me. Now he'll probably say, "You know how cell phones are," but I won't believe that bull for a minute. He hung up on me.

And I'm so glad he did.

It's like we always tell our daughters. If the guy really loves you, he'll honor your decision to abstain from sex. I didn't take that advice. I kept trying to have rational discussions with the man about why I chose to abstain, but he'd keep trying to get me into bed. I think I felt flattered.

But not today. Enough was enough.

One day I'll say yes, but this guy wasn't the one.