Oh.

This past Monday, I ordered food delivered to my office. My car and I had a fateful half hour on Saturday, so it was at the dealership. The joy of living in a world where people will bring me things I want to wherever I am is great. But I digress. This isn't about the wonders of delivery service--at least not mostly.

The delivery driver, not surprisingly, got lost. Somehow the directions I put into GrubHub didn't make it to him. He called, so I knew when he pulled into the parking lot and I walked out to get my food to save him from walking inside. That plan didn't work.

Instead, he grabbed his bags and followed me in, chatting the whole way. I, left to my own devices, am not a chatter. At about 3 minutes, I'm done. But this guy clearly wanted to chat. About pretty much anything. So as I was searching for a pen to sign the receipt and wondering how on earth I'd get rid of him, he kept chatting.

Then, he looked around my office. I'm rather enamored with my office décor. Far fewer people than I'd like read the poem about Deborah and want to have a conversation about that. I'm guessing most of them don't know the story. Again, I digress. My pizza delivery guy was looking at the signs behind my desk. They're all pro-LGBT in one way or another. He honed in on the one that reads, "We believe Arizona is read for the freedom to marry."

The people who made those signs got the reality of a conservative state. Talking about freedoms might get you places human rights appeals never would. It's the same way we talk about revenue rather than taxes. Some things just work better than others. It's also entirely possible that pizza delivery guy would think Why Marriage Matters Arizona, the organization that made the signs, is a conservative organization.

So he asked, "Freedom to marry?"

And I answered, far more focused on wanting my food than thinking about anything else, "Oh, that was from before same-sex marriage was legal."

Then time slowed down in a different way. I realized I had just said something that, well, could have all sorts of results. I was suddenly glad the secretary was there, too. Eventually, I saw my response register on his face. "Oh," he said, and quickly left the building.

There have been very few times in my life when I felt someone's disgust in response to me. On Monday afternoon, though, I did.

I live in a world where I forget that's possible. I forget that being fully who you are isn't always ok. I forget that my straight, cisgender voice matters for changing that. I forget people can be made to feel uncomfortable or unsafe in their own spaces. I forget the weight of everything that "Oh" implied.

Because, for me, you what happened?  I already told you almost everything. After pizza delivery guy left, I thought about it for a couple minutes, had an "Oh!"  of my own, and then sat down and ate my salad and cheesy bread.

So I am reminded we are not done with welcoming all God's children, with raising our voice for all God's children, with using our privilege for those who do not have it. Here's hoping for the Reign in which "Oh" carries little weight.