Well well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?

I’ll admit, a big part of me taking a whole year off of updating this website is because I’ve lacked inspiration. This past Christmas, I lost my childhood best friend to cancer. We’d planned on starting a ministry together and reaching into communities who are often looked down upon and neglected. She had such a heart for Christ and for people, and her death damn near killed any faith I had left in God. I was about to give up and stop calling myself a Christian altogether. What kind of loving deity would ruthlessly steal away of a young mother and community leader in the prime of her life? I knew in my heart she wouldn’t want me to give up my faith over her, but it pained me every day seeing notifications for the Instagram we started and reliving memories of our innocent youths together.

Something bizarre happened the other day, though, that made me reconsider everything. It’s important to realize that when it comes to the church I grew up in, The Church That Shall Not Be Named, the one thing they did right was music. The youth group worship team were essentially celebrities, and being a young musician myself, I admired the members as if they were rock stars. They were hugely influential to me, both musically and spiritually. Even after I left the wildly problematic TCTSNBN, I could never bring myself to talk bad about the music and musicians there.

Then, I saw something on my Facebook feed that made my jaw practically unhinge itself and drop to the floor.

You see, a few days ago, the lead singer and worship leader of that band came out as a trans woman and opened up about how she’d been forced to hide that part of herself.

I was floored. And even more surprisingly, people were so amazingly supportive of her.

The thing is, I don’t know all the details, and I won’t pretend to know them all, but her coming out led to a chain reaction of people who’d left TCTSNBN also opening up about how they’d been hurt by the church and forced to hide who they were, myself included. We all banded together and shared our pain and our triumphs since leaving. And it made me realize something.

There is a large group of Christians — many of whom are queer — who have been excluded from the church. And we shouldn’t be silenced any longer.

I foresee a schism happening, where LGBTQ+ Christians and their allies break off and start their own movement. And I want to be a part of that. Christianity needs a revolution. It’s been co-opted by rich, straight, cis, white men who have no interest in serving anyone but themselves. But Jesus didn’t come for the people in power. He came for the oppressed, for the folks who had been beaten down and ostracized by society. He came for women, for queer folks, for black and brown people, for the poor and needy. It’s absolutely shameful how some “Christians” use their power to oppress others in the name of God, when we should be breaking chains in His name instead.

Chelsea wouldn’t have stood for it, and neither will I. The best thing I can do in her memory is to keep fighting the good fight, to keep posting and sharing my story and the stories of people like me.

We won’t be silenced.

This is a corner couch.

If you’re like most people, you probably call them sectional sofas. You’ve probably seen one before. You may have one in your living room. You might even be sitting on one right now.

For years, having one of these was a symbol of true adulthood. The corner couch was a measure of success.

The first time I recall seeing one, I was still in high school, visiting a recently graduated, recently married friend of mine whom I looked up to. From there, I just kept noticing them, usually at the homes of people who were farther along in life than me. My association between corner couches and sophistication and maturity grew. I could imagine myself as an up-and-coming writer, lounging adultishly with a laptop in a stylish studio apartment in New York. It was a silly goal, but it was a goal.

I recently started going back to school for psychology, my master’s to be precise. It’s all part of a larger plan to become a researcher and eventually, a professor, specializing in music therapy in particular. Because I’m still battling the monsoon of debt from my bachelor’s degrees, I decided to try to pay for all or most of my classes out-of-pocket, which required a bit of sacrifice.

Namely, my stupid freaking corner couch.

I’d been building up my savings for a long while, with the intention of at least part of the money going toward my comfy, angular sofa. In the end, almost every dime I’d amassed ended up going toward my first graduate class.

And I was completely okay with it.

As ridiculous as it sounds, the corner couch became to me what the green light was to Jay Gatsby, this futile pipe dream, an arbitrary symbol of something that never really mattered anyways. Maturity isn’t something you attain; it’s something you become. Part of that necessary growth is letting go of trivial nonsense and realizing what’s actually important.

Which is rarely, if ever, a piece of furniture.