I haven’t checked on my friend Kevin Garcia in at least two weeks. His prediction was right. We’ve moved on. We had never done anything to reach the gay community before the Pulse shooting, but suddenly we seemed to care. We wept and wailed and mourned on social media. And now? We’re done. It’s no longer in the news cycle. Last week was Dallas and in a few days, the vigils will be over and we’ll be writing about the next tragedy that sweeps our broken-as-f*ck nation.
The stories throughout the book are absolutely wonderful. This is a father/son duo who obviously adore one another, even if they completely disagree on the issue of homosexuality. They prove Drew’s point that you can disagree without being homophobic.
I couldn’t tell you exactly how many weddings I’ve attended, but I can tell you how many have actually meant something to me. The answer is four. Four weddings where I was in full emotional and spiritual support of the couple coming together before God and their dearest loved ones. The most recent was this wedding that I had the privilege of officiating. I opened up the moment with these words: “I’m pretty sure that by law I have to ask if anyone opposes this wedding… but the real question is, ‘who is wildly excited about this moment?’”
After the brides and I wiped tears from our eyes, we moved forward in the most emotional, supportive, and spiritual wedding I’ve ever been part of. When the only people present are core relationships, you cannot help but be moved.
This is a story about a dear friend. He was kicked out of Bible College for smoking cigarettes…at least, that’s what they told him.
We have created a culture of Christianity so obsessed with cleanliness that no real person – with real struggles and real pain and real mess – ever seems to enter our sanitized sanctuaries, lay down their burdens, and rest.
But rest is what we all need. Rest. Love. Mercy for our travels. Friendship. Acceptance. Most of all, acceptance. We aren’t necessarily even looking for answers. Just a place to take off our shoes, bow our heads, and breathe in the peace no one can explain away.
I am a straight white male from Alabama. I have zero personal connection to any victim of the Orlando shooting, but these are still my people. They are Americans. Deeper than that, they are humans! People who assumed they were safe in a place with their friends. But they weren’t safe, and now I am grieving the tremendous loss, along with so many others.
Many of my straight friends have texted or called me, asking what they can do for me and how they can be there for other queer people who are suffering. The answer is very simple:
Mourn with us. Sit with us. Hold us when we need holding. Be the shoulder for us to cry on. Listen to us process what we are feeling. Pray with us and for us. But, most importantly, don’t make it about you.
At least 50 people are dead and at least 53 others are injured. Fifty something families are wondering if their loved ones will survive a merciless gunshot wound and 50 other families are walking into unnecessary and unexpected grief. Because of fear, mothers and fathers will be burying daughters and sons who were out with friends…and now are dead.