For me personally, the first person I had to come out to was myself, and then I had to come out to Jesus. It was that process that began to heal those wounds and some of that shame. That's not to say that I don't need that same healing and reminder regularly. Even this past week, I found myself doubting whether or not I should be pursuing ministry because of my sexuality. But it has been through prayer that I have experienced the most healing in my shame.

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.