My parents wrestled with the idea of me marrying my partner. The sanctuary was packed but my father didn't come. Dad was brought up in the Deep South and my husband looked like the people who had practiced the nauseating hatred of Jim Crow in my father's hometown.
News of the support of our union, and the tremendous standing ovation the congregation gave us, traveled back to my dad. The testimony of the ones he sent—my mom and my brothers—was that our love was beloved; this coupling, no matter our race, was a cause of rejoicing.