To My Dear Mother

My mom’s birthday was February 15th. I haven’t known what to say to her but I guess this is it.

To My Dear Mother,

I am so very tired all the time. Struggling to exist in a world that deems you invisible can be exhausting. Sometimes I want to be ignored because that means at least you’re leaving me alone. I prefer to be unbothered but sometimes all I ever wanted was to be loved without conditions. 

You taught me how to make the most of being poor. I grew up eating Campbell’s chicken noodle soup and pudding cups because I was a picky eater. And because it was all you could get me to eat. And because it was cheap. Hey, at least I was eating. I remember going to Burger King, Or McDonalds, Or Chickfila occasionally and that was always a special treat. Going out to eat was a luxury. 

Sometimes all you wanted to do was just go to the grocery store without three small children in tow but most of the time you didn’t have a choice. You would drag us along with you. We would help select groceries and you would bribe us with candy if we behaved and listened well. This was our ritual. We didn’t know we were poor. 

You somehow managed to keep that a secret. With WIC and coupons as much as possible. Cooking meals at home and begging your picky eaters to eat what you cooked. By picky eaters I mostly mean me and I’m sorry for that. You took care of our basic needs as best you could even though your life didn’t prepare you for motherhood in the ways it should have. 

You created a life that was better for us than it was for you. But dear mother, you could only work with the tools you were given. Dear mother, you were abused too. You had a father and mother who fought. A father who was controlling and angry all the time. A mother who was scared all the time. And you grew up way too fast. So did I. You looked to me for guidance in your parenting. Were you too harsh on my sisters and I when I misbehaved, you asked? Were you doing a good job? Constantly looking for affirmation from your oldest child when you needed that from your husband who, while kinder than your father, was still that authority in your life. 

I am sorry for any grief I have caused you in this life. I have only wanted to be myself and escape a miserable life that was waiting for me if I stayed where you were. You could only work with the tools that you were given but what if you had new ones? What if you could escape too. What if you could be yourself without judgment or control? I wonder who you would be then. My dear mother, I love you and I’m thankful for you. You have done the best you could with the tools you were given and you have loved your family well. 

You taught me to love Jesus and I still do. That will never change. Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Jesus loves me as I am and I hope that one day you will come to accept and love me as I am too. Until then just know that I love you very much.



Wholly Holy Metamorphosis



Tomorrow I’m beginning a low dose of T and I have a lot of feelings. Mostly there’s a sense of relief that I’m on the right path. I know this is not a magical solution but it does feel like magic. And maybe that’s ok. I embody the magic that is becoming more myself. The magic is good and I am good. And I am enough. 

This all seems scary but also exciting all at once. I am so excited to the point of tears at the realization that this is real. I am ready to be Real. Is that too much to ask? I just want to be Real and feel Real. Ready to let T work its magic and perhaps provide some clarity as to the next steps ahead. I am ready.

*breathes* Now if I can let go of how others may react. Do I even share this publicly? Do I need to? Maybe not quite yet. We’ll see how it goes and how I feel first. How about that? Meanwhile, I’m still writing way more for the book than I am for school but I think this is the opposite of a problem. 

I am ready to be a trans non binary flower boi. That is what I’m ready for. That balance between feeling feminine and masculine and also neither and everywhere in between. 


Wholly Holy

What does it mean to be whole? 

What does it mean to be wholly who you are? 

What is it like to live in a body that feels like home and doesn’t cause distress? 

My birth name is Holly. Which according to the baby name book my mother got for me means something related to the holly tree. Then, she found another definition: holy one. 

Like I’m some sort of angelic being who is supposed to be like God. I could never live up to that. That level of perfection that was expected of me.

What does it mean to be whole? I could never be holy. But I do want to be one. One with myself and this world I’m living in. 

My name now consists of two letters: H and L. No more or less. But it’s simple and it’s me. 

I do not want to be holy. But I do want to be home. I long for perfection that is a name to call my own, a body that feels like me, and a soul that dwells in perfect harmony with itself. 

Maybe my question should not be: “What does it mean to be whole?” But “What does it mean to come home to yourself?” 

I feel like a wandering spirit trying to find peace in a desolate land. Every she/her and “ma’am” feels like a warning that something isn’t quite right. Every “he/him” and every “sir” feels like a beckoning in a different direction. But that’s not quite right either.

Robert Frost wrote about “two roads diverged in a yellow wood.” And all I’ve ever wanted was to create my own path. I do not care that it has never been travelled; I only care that it is my own. “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…” and I blazed my own trail because I wanted to go where only I could journey. 


Now my body is changing. Evolving. Rearranging hormones. It feels like being in a chrysalis. Actually, I think I’m at the hungry caterpillar stage but that could be the testosterone talking. 

My body is coming home to itself. Everything feels stable. Balanced. And yet ever fluid. My gender is a hungry caterpillar taking in everything and seeing where that takes me. What does it mean to come home to yourself? I do not know, but I am creating my own path to find out.

What does it mean to come home to yourself? I do not know, but when I find out, I will tell you.

What We Owe to Each Other


I ended up preaching a sermon on consent, which is definitely something I’d love to hear other pastors do. But definitely not the kind of sermon I grew up hearing.

Jubilee Baptist Church, February 18, 2020

What We Owe to Each Other

Matthew 5:21-37

This passage is…a lot. So, I’m just going to take a moment and breathe before I start. 

This portion of the sermon on the mount has never been my favorite. It’s not “blessed are the poor for they shall see God” which lends itself much better to a nice, poetic sermon than these verses do. But this part of the sermon on the mount is incredibly practical for our relationships. This part of the Sermon on the Mount is often referred to as the Antitheses.

Amy-Jill Levine notes in the Women’s Bible Commentary, “The so-called ‘antitheses’ that follow are not opposing biblical Law (Torah). On the contrary, Jesus insists that Torah be kept, and a few of the antitheses are not found in Torah…” WBC, 469)

Ultimately what I think Jesus is talking about here is how human beings interact in community with one another. How do we have relationships with one another and how do we love each other well? Jesus specifically ties these interactions to sections of the Torah–his interpretation of the Jewish law. While Christians are not Jesus’ audience here, we can learn much from his words. This is a very ADULT LANGUAGE passage so I will be using some language that may not be as appropriate for children in the audience. 

It’s also important to note that Jesus is speaking to a particular audience–predominantly a jewish one–so we have to do some interpretation work here for those of us reading it in the 21st century.  I would also argue that Jesus is interpreting Torah for his context and we interpret the words of Jesus for our context while acknowledging that these words weren’t specifically meant for us.  

Also, the Bible is not a weapon *holds bible up* 

We must interrogate how this passage and others like it have been interpreted throughout church history.

If you grew up with a literal interpretation of the Bible, this passage is particularly troubling. Jesus is really good at using literary devices called metaphors. I feel a little bit like Drax in Guardians of the Galaxy right now. METAPHOR. I think he’s using one here. As in, how dare you objectify another person and not see them as fully human. It would be better for you to cut your own eyes out so that you can’t degrade another person. It would be better for you to cut your own hand off if it causes you to abuse another person in this way.

 Immanuel Kant, a German philosopher you’ve probably heard of would say it’s wrong to use a person “as a mere means” or a means to an end. He also has this concept of “a universal declaration of human rights.” I don’t agree with a lot of what Kant says, but this concept reminds me that we are to treat each other with dignity and respect. Things are to be used but people are to be loved.

Like, if your anger turns towards murderous intent instead of reconciliation, that’s a problem. And you should like, get therapy. Anger when channeled properly and used productively is great. But, if it leads you to hate someone to the point of murdering them. Well, Jesus says that’s bad. And yet, we’ve probably all definitely hated someone. The issue isn’t that anger is wrong but the potential anger has to cause harm instead of good. 

If we are not seeing each other as human beings–if we are not caring for each other well, then we need to examine how we interact with one another. 

Who gets to be angry? How is anger used to hold power and cause destruction instead of to help and heal? What is Jesus doing with the power dynamics that exist at this time?

Growing up, I was taught that anger was an emotion you should keep in check but I also grew up with an angry God. God was allowed to be angry, and men were allowed to be angry, but if you weren’t God or a man, your anger was wrong. Which was really inconvenient for me since I was angry about a lot of things. In a culture where only the powerful get to be angry, it matters that we can be angry about injustice and harness anger for good instead of abusing it. 

 Jesus is in such a patriarchal society (much like we still are today) that he has to call out his audience (particularly his male audience) for abusing and harassing women. Like. Cat calling? NOT OK. Objectifying women (or anyone of any gender)? NOT OK. 

Assuming that other human beings belong to you to use as you wish? NOT. OK. Jesus calls out these dudes and holds them accountable. That’s the part of this passage we can take literally. That we hold one another accountable for how we treat each other–especially in our more intimate relationships. yes means yes and no means no. At any point if you change your mind from yes to no, No Still Means No.  And there should not only be consent but enthusiastic consent. Ok? Ok. Moving on.

I do not think we are literally to cut off parts of our body just to keep ourselves from sinning. But then again, if we’re running with this metaphor…

We owe it to each other to live in community as fully ourselves.

BUT pastors wanna scare people half to death and say IF YOU HAVE LUST IN YOUR HEART YOU SHOULD TEAR YOUR EYES OUT. While I do think we should take objectification of other humans very seriously by holding one another accountable, I do not think it is necessary to shame people. 

When Jesus said to “love your neighbor,” he meant it. And I don’t think when Jesus said to love each other that he was talking about this superficial, hearts and rainbows kind of love. Jesus isn’t all like, “love one another! Heart emoji…” No. Jesus talks about this care for one another that involves radical inclusion and consent in all our relationships. It means we don’t use each other. It means we listen to each other and meet one another’s needs as a community. It means we owe one another consideration and care.

 I know the portions on lust and adultery have been used to shame folks instead of focus positively on our relationships with one another. That one section on divorce has caused more harm to people than we care to admit. Stop shaming folks for doing what is best for them in their relationships when they need to. 

Amy-Jill Levine adds, “In the broader Greek-speaking society, ‘adultery’ connoted illicit intercourse with ‘respectable women’ and thus indicated a violation of their honor…The Extension of the law against adultery to include lust suggests that no one should be regarded as a sex object. The burden is placed on the man: women are not held responsible for enticing men into sexual misadventures, but nor are they seen as active initiators of divorce.” (Women’s Bible Commentary, 469-470) 

 A lot of this seems like ethics–or, our conduct with one another. How do we see each other as human beings worthy of dignity and respect? How do we honor each other in all our relationships even if that means the end of a relationship for the good of all involved. 

(Some spoilers ahead for the good place)

In the show The Good Place, Eleanor Shellstrop (played by Kristen Bell) wants to know why it matters that she treats the other characters with consideration. The show loosely follows T.M. Scanlon’s ethical work entitled What We Owe to Each Other.

When Eleanor first gets to “the good place,” she can’t believe it! She’s lived a life that is selfish and has learned not to care about anyone but herself. But then she realizes, this is a case of mistaken identity. She’s in the wrong place! She might be a terrible person and maybe it matters how we treat each other. She goes to her friend (and soul mate) Chidi Anagonye, an ethics professor for help. Chidi teaches her and others on the show why it matters that we strive to be good people…because how we treat others matters in the here and now and not just in the afterlife.

 While we may not be trying to be good for “points” so we make it to “The Good place,” it does matter if we treat each other well. “You have heard it said…” is not a list of dos and don’ts. “What we owe to each other”–In the here and now–this kindom of God is where we get to show up and build community with one another.

In the words of the great philosopher, Chidi Anagonye, “ So why do it then? Why choose to be good every day, if there is no guaranteed reward we can count on now or in the afterlife? I argue that we choose to be good because of our bonds with other people and our innate desire to treat them with dignity. Simply put, we are not in this alone.” ~ The Good Place


Blood Thicker Than Water


So…I’m writing a book. I’ve been trying to find the perfect way to announce writing a book. I don’t know of any other perfect way than to share some of my writings recently. 

My story is one of figuring out where I belong, what family means, and where I fit into this crazy, vast world. This story is not a linear one. I am not even sure I want to start at the beginning of this story because my past has haunted me for most of my life. But every story has to start somewhere. 

This story is for anyone who has ever felt left out, orphaned, rejected, misunderstood. This story is for the queer kid still in the closet who is afraid to be themselves. Because blood is thicker than water and sometimes, we make our own family when the conventional, biological family rejects us simply for being who we are. This is a story for you. And I want to share mine with you in hopes that perhaps my voice and my story has something to offer this world. We learn through stories. And sometimes those stories save us. Someone else’s story saved me. So many stories have saved me. 

Maybe now it’s my chance to give back.

Chosen Family – Only the Good Die Young

The first thing I did when my parents approached me and said, “We need to talk to you about something later today,” I immediately messaged my handful of queer friends I had at the time–most of whom I knew from Twitter. My newfound queer community was predominantly online because I was still closeted and living in a small town. And because my only friends otherwise were from the fundamentalist cult or the fundamentalist college I went to.

 “Ah Fuck,” one of them responded and said to keep them updated in case I needed anything even though they were several states away. After the conversation where my parents told me someone at church saw that I posted on Facebook that I was gay. I went over to the only friends’ house nearby where I could be myself. I think we watched Doctor Who and made breakfast food for dinner. I almost left my parents’ house that night with nowhere else to go. But I knew that I at least had a few people in my corner.

Later, I would end up living in the same city as many of those same queer friends and invited several of them to my wedding despite having only met them online beforehand. And you know what, they still show up when it counts. Instead of Thanksgiving with my conservative right wing family this year where I knew my wife wouldn’t be invited, we had Friendsgiving with some of those same queer friends from 2016. It was the most relaxing Thanksgiving I’d ever had and it felt more like home than all those years growing up around biological family members who never really knew me as me. 

Family means spending a wild Saturday night curled up next to my wife and dog on the couch watching The Fast and the Furious, or being with my inclusive church community with my fellow queers as we sing hymns and hear sermons on social justice. Family means being part of a Dnd group where Carly Rae Jepsen is a goddess of the queers and you know you are safe and loved. Family means going to seminary with other supportive ministry queers who are wanting to spread healing and love right alongside you in churches that used to tell them they didn’t belong.

 Family means being able to show up as yourself on your wedding day in a suit and a bowtie as you pledge your love to your wife in your backyard because you can’t get married in the church you’re attending at the time. Because they don’t endorse “same sex marriage” yet. 

Family means a lot of things I didn’t used to know it could mean. And I am so grateful for my chosen queer family who holds me close in the best and worst of times.

There’s something so holy about queer people loving one another well. I’ve never felt more at home than with queer folks who take care of each other (and we’re really good at it.). I have one friend who loves to cook and always has food ready when a group of us hang out. I have another who checks in every so often just to make sure I am emotionally doing ok. I usually get a  “No really, how are you?” if I don’t answer honestly the first time. One friend is always recommending good books to help others in need, and the other constantly reminds us online to “stay hydrated, bitches.” 

God as my witness, there’s no family truer than the family you choose for yourself. My queer siblings and I may not share DNA but we look more like the early Church in the book of Acts than most Evangelical churches I’ve been in. We have all things common–mostly shared trauma–but we share all the good stuff too.

~~~ Water ~~~

2/9/2020 – Poetry, Learning to Swim, Drowning anyway

Wrabel “Poetry”  “I see poetry in your eyes. You’re the only reason we rhyme. Oh my my my, it’s a big big big world out there. And looking for something; I finally found it right here. Love makes the loudest sound the first time it comes around. Love makes the loudest sound the first time it comes around” 

I know I’ve neglected this space for the past week but I’m back and going to try to get on a better schedule. 

My mom had me go to swim lessons when I was four years old. Because she didn’t learn to swim until she was an adult as her mom was afraid of water even in a bathtub. She wanted to make sure my sisters and I could swim and not be afraid like she was growing up. 

My first lesson I was happily splashing in the water and got yelled at by the teacher because I guess I wasn’t taking it too seriously. Also, I accidentally splashed water in another kid’s eyes. Story of my life. The important thing is I eventually learned to swim. 

If only knowing how to swim was enough to feel comfortable in the water. When men start to sexualize your developing body at swimming pools and you feel disconnected from your body anyway, knowing how to swim isn’t enough. It felt like learning to swim and drowning anyway. In the words of Wrabel’s song “The Village,” There’s something wrong with the village, with the village.”  It was never my fault that I could swim but would drown anyway. My cousin once held me under the water just to prove a point and I came up gasping for breath. That’s how it always felt when I was around water. And yet, I was home there. 

One time when I was also around 4 or 5 our neighbors came over to have dinner with us and we had a really big kiddie pool in our backyard. Our neighbors had two boys, the oldest of which I looked up to very much and was in upper elementary school. He ran outside and threw off his shirt and jumped in the pool. I threw off my shirt too and tried to jump in the pool. My mother and his mother looked at me horrified and tried to explain why it was ok for him to take off his shirt and just have swim trunks but not for me, as a preschooler who was AFAB. I never forgot that moment and it was one of those reminders that something about my gender had to be presented differently than those categorized as “boys.” 

So I’m going to add this note from watching my wife train for a triathlon:


Having some thoughts about queer folx and black women teaching each other to swim. It’s kinda beautiful. The kingdom of god looks like this. I’ll have to develop this thought later but I just have this vision of a community of people who treat each other with equality and inclusion. And take care of one another well. That is the kingdom of God. And that is God’s kingdom come to earth right now. We don’t have to wait for it. The kingdom of God can be and is happening right now. 

Watching folx finally feel safe in the water and learning how to swim without judgment drowning them out is beautiful. Almost too beautiful for words, but I’ll keep trying. Feeling safe enough to swim is a skill I haven’t learned yet. I long for that moment. I long to feel safe in my own skin and safe in the water again. The water has always drawn me towards it as something that’s a part of me. I could stare at the ocean for hours. Maybe it’s because my sign is Cancer. Or because there’s something about a vast body of water that makes me feel connected to everything alive around me. Either way, I can’t wait to feel safe enough to swim and not drown. 

~~~ Blood ~~~


Today my parents have been married thirty four years. They actually got married on a Monday February 10, 1986. This was purely spur of the moment. They way they tell it, they were engaged but hadn’t decided when they wanted to get married. My dad called my mom that Monday morning and asked if she wanted to get married that day, she responded, much to his surprise, by answering yes! Let’s do it. 

They were married later that afternoon at a private ceremony at the church I grew up attending. Only family were present. 

It is not an accomplishment to be married thirty four years when it is your only option because divorce is considered sinful in 99.9 % of situations. It is not an accomplishment to be married thirty four years when the woman in the marriage has virtually no autonomy or agency. It is not an accomplishment to be married thirty four years if you believe you have no other choice. 

It is not an accomplishment to be married thirty four years. 

It is an accomplishment however negative to manage to acknowledge your other two children’s marriages to heterosexual norms and not acknowledge your oldest child’s marriage because they happen to be queer. So this year, I choose not to send my parents an anniversary card or gift. I don’t even remember if I sent one last year. Not that it matters. 

I share these two stories to say that the phrase “blood is thicker than water” is bullshit if it only refers to biological family. The family I was born into may be “blood” but they are certainly not the family I claim now. They certainly think they claim me by blood but do not treat me with full acceptance. 

“Blood is thicker than water” for me means that those who are meant to be my family regardless of what happens. My chosen family bonds are much stronger and have always been stronger than my biological ones. For this I am grateful beyond words. It is to this family that I write these stories. And it is to this family that I am accountable. 

This will be a story of queerness and love. It is a story of belonging to each other when we have been kicked out elsewhere. This is my story. But it is also yours.