Being Where You're Supposed to Be

At my co-worker's invitation, the lady sat down and joined us at our table in the workplace lunchroom.

I'm new to the company for which I'm working and so every day provides an opportunity to make a new acquaintance and hear a fresh human story.

In this case, the lady originally was from Ohio, just like me, and so I used that as a starting point for conversation.

"What brought you down here to eastern Kentucky?" I asked politely.

"Oh, it was my brother's death," she said, explaining that he was killed in a truck accident.

I figured she meant she came for his funeral and decided to stay. She said that was not the case --- he actually was killed in Texas, and that was a sign she needed to make a change in her life.

Confused, I said so.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I said. "But I don't get how it brought you to Kentucky."

She explained, in a rambling fashion, that his death triggered a religious reawakening in her and somehow that led her to Appalachia, one Kentucky county away from the Tennessee-Virginia border. She then, in a pleasant way, started to describe how the Lord was doing good things in her life these days and she felt like she was on the right track.

Now, I have to admit, that I am wary of anyone that just comes up and discusses their religious beliefs with strangers. To me, it's a social faux pas, akin to bad-mouthing a local politician before first finding out if you're talking to one of his relatives.

But on the other hand, the lady seemed pleasant enough, and I thought, "What the hell," --- which, looking back, was perhaps not entirely in keeping with her line of thought --- and decided to pick up on her thread.

"Well, I agree, that sometimes if you just follow your instincts, you might just end up where God wants you to be," I said. "I think that's what happened to me."

She beamed.

"Oh, what brought YOU to Kentucky?" she asked eagerly, no doubt expecting a story about a similar tragedy involving a deceased relative.

"Well, it was romance," I said. "I met someone online from this area and within six months I had moved down here. That was a year and a half ago and we're still together and very happy."

Although it was not the tale of gore she seemed to be hoping for, she still smiled.

"And you two are planning to get married?" she asked.

I hesitated for one of those moments in which one has to decide whether it's better to end the conversation with a simple "yes" or "no," or use the moment to do some diversity education. I decided I had the energy to elaborate and said, "No, we can't get married."

Her brow furrowed.

"Why not?"

"Well, it's because he and I aren't allowed to in this state."

All the happy energy drained from her body and her eyes glazed over. Uh-huh, I thought.

"It's not that we're against the institution of marriage," I said, feeling the little gay horns trying to force their way out of my shaved head. "Between us, we've been married and divorced from three different women. When we met each other, I guess we finally figured out what we were doing wrong."

She laughed, despite herself, but then got all serious again. I saw her eyes dart around the lunchroom, looking for someone else she knew so she could get away.

"But just the same," I continued. "I know exactly what you mean about God leading you in a particular direction. Why every morning, when my man and I wake up in each other's arms, we know that God is blessing us. It would be nice to have a ceremony to celebrate that blessing, but it would primarily be for others and not us. We already know God loves us."

I smiled sweetly and then helped her out by saying, "Well, break's over. Better get back to work. See you around."

The relief in her eyes was evident.

And as I walked back to work, I knew what it's like to be a Jack-in-the-Box and not on the receiving end of the surprise.