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.