As much as I think I crave sameness, nothing about the life God has given us grows in immobility. Scripture compares believers to growing things, seeds, vines, and trees; our lives are described as walks and journeys.

My therapist recently said to me, “you deeply respect the journey others have gone on in reconciling their queerness and faith, but do you have that same respect for yourself?” And I haven’t. Even stepping into Side B spaces for the first time, I felt myself shrinking back, not because I feel like I didn’t need the space, but because I felt like I didn’t have the same claim that others had to that space.

I'll be honest; I like complaining.

Don't get me wrong; I love helping others. I just… sometimes want it to be known that it's costing me something.

I've heard this is typical of those of us who struggle to say "no," we sign up for what we never wanted to in the first place and piously serve with a grumbling heart.

I discovered this song just before my second Christmas estranged from [biological] family. I was walking down a dark street alone in a different city after attending a large Christian conference, and I felt numb. I’d been a leader at this conference, but frankly, I felt like a fraud: I hadn’t prayed for a long time, and I recoiled at the idea of reading the Bible on my own because it felt more like a weapon wielded against me than the voice of a friend. I even questioned my faith—do real Christians feel this way? That’s when the Holy Spirit worked through the Spotify algorithm. This song started playing out of nowhere and God showed me that he doesn’t need my ‘best’.

I don't know about you… but I get tired. I get tired of the weird, sometimes invasive questions. I get tired of finding words that make sense to me and maybe will make sense to the person I'm talking to. I get tired of not being believed when I somehow manage to find those words and be perfectly clear.

In this post, though, I want to talk to our straight friends (hi there!). See, having talked to so many of our heterosexual siblings, I’ve heard time and again your side of this experience. You’ve asked well-intentioned questions, and been surprised at the response. You’ve reached out to a friend for a conversation, only to be caught off guard by their anger.

Indeed, I often feel more like the ancient Israelites than the apostle Paul. I feel weighed down by discouragement. I feel betrayed by friends who turn out to be silent allies, if not outright enemies. I feel lonely.

Long-distance friendship is a staple of our community. We just had our 6th Revoice conference, and I was moved to watch so many of us reuniting with our friends. More than once, I felt my heart leap with joy as I saw a friend from California, Washington, or Florida - those dear to me whom I could never tire of seeing.

For queer Christians (specifically, those who hold to a traditional view of sex and marriage), the month of June comes with complicated feelings. We, yet again, find ourselves in the middle of cultural debates and conversations that we are ironically rarely allowed a voice in. Too often, the dialogue is about us but not from us. We are again in the middle.

It’s that time of year again. Pride month. I can feel so many readers recoiling at the thought even as I write this. But what if I told you, it’s not what you think it is?

Who am I, that you would call me friend?” I heard that question in the middle of a song (Jesus What A Friend, by Tasha Cobbs Leonard) while I was making my morning smoothie and it immediately brought me to a pause. As the song continued to wash over me, I began to think about the magnitude of that question.

As a kid, I was a big fan of the Power Rangers, as all children should be. I couldn't possibly calculate the hours of my childhood I spent watching this show - I mean, it had everything.

When the trail levels, my uphill panting calms

so I can hear again the drips of

leftover rain on leaves, light and soft

and sweetened with sunlight,

like the language of birds.

Recently, an incident triggered some very big, hard emotions in my life. I had offered to do something kind for a friend, and I was rejected, it was hard, awkward, and uncomfortable. In theory, I could have just shrugged it off. After all, I know the truth about me, my character, and the situation. Why should it bother me any further than a simple, random misunderstanding with someone who doesn't even know me that well? But, alas, that is not how the heart works sometimes.

I’ve been a stranger in a foreign land for as long as I can remember. I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older about the experience of other “Third Culture Kids,” who grow up in a home separate from the culture they live in.

This myth of love that romantic or erotic love is somehow better than Friendship is just that– a myth. They are different, and one is not inherently better than the other. Romantic love isn't a "level up" from Friendship. Contrary to what When Harry Met Sally taught a generation, people can be "just" friends, even if romantic or sexual attraction might be present.

Though all Christians need the grace and strength of Jesus to live faithfully, there are some unique tensions faced by sexual minorities that we want to establish a foundation for. In particular, we’ll be talking about sexual integrity, hopeful longing, and living lives of dignity and service.

If you’ve found that the cultural concepts of family around you have failed you, I want to invite you to sit with our great Father and dream.