When I look into William’s deep brown eyes, I see a window to our souls. William is only a week old. He lives next door. The moment I spot him, I want to tussle his curly black hair and poke his pudgy brown cheeks. He’s beautiful.
Like most babies his age, he sleeps and eats and burps and potties and then repeats the cycle. What separates William from some of his fellow infants is that he is a brown baby adopted by white parents. And both of his parents are mommies.
As I cradle him in my arms, I stare deeply into his eyes, praying and hoping that just maybe the world will be different for him.
Maybe when William grows up, his mommies will have their union recognized by the state of Indiana.
Maybe when William grows up, The United Methodist church will openly affirm people who are gay and lesbian instead of declaring their lifestyle to be incompatible with Christian teaching.
Maybe when Williams grows up, I will be able to perform marriage and commitment ceremonies for my friends in same-sex relationships.
Maybe when Williams grows up, my clergy colleague who is a lesbian will believe she has a future in The United Methodist Church.
Maybe when William grows up, I will no longer counsel parents and children who are haunted by their sexual identity because all people will be accepted just as God created them to be.
William will be grown up before we know it. As I gaze into his eyes, I’m certain that we are the only ones who can change his world.