I would have loved it as a kid to have a church that encouraged us to listen to our heartfelt yearning of self.

I wasn’t really “born this way.” I grew this way.

Coming out is vulnerable, intimate, and holy.

Happy kids are safer kids, because happy kids have adults they can ask for help.

Spirit of Life who dwells before and between and beyond all words… we open ourselves to you.

A new disease, without any cure, is pushing us apart. And, yet, we cannot escape one another. We need one another. Whether I acknowledge it or not, the guarantee of safety does not exist.

The first time I was told that I was too queer to be a congregation's minister, they asked, "What will the neighbors think?,” as if it were the most natural question in the world. It was then that I understood how grace works: it’s costly. It requires us to be uncomfortable, to get outside...

Coming out to my family was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. I realized that my choice was one of life and death, and I needed to let my secret out in order to continue living, and to do so authentically.

The road not taken is not a fork. That’s too simple a thought, flipping some coin. Either/or. Nope. It’s not this or that. No or yes. It’s nor/ neither and all of the above and more. The road taken goes every way at once. There. There. They. Them. Go. Now. Live.

On a holy night In 1969, In an Inn, also known as a bar, Called the Stonewall Inn, A basement— which had no running running water, Nor safe fire exits— Queer people, of many colors and kinds, Danced together, For it was the only place Where they were allowed to dance, At least, permitted to, by...