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.