In the beginning,
There was love.
Not the kind that fits into the neat corners
Of man-made boxes,
But the wild, sprawling expanse
Of a divine spark
That knows no limit, no end.

I stand here,
A pastor in a pulpit,
A husband in a home,
A queer soul in a body
That’s never fit the mold—
Yet here I am, whole.
Love has made me so.

They told me,
In words sharp as swords,
I was broken,
That my love was a sin,
But I know the voice of my Maker,
And it does not speak in shame,
But in the soft, sacred syllables
Of affirmation.

In my beloved’s eyes,
I see the reflection of God
Who celebrates our every quirk,
Our every nuance,
A God who whispered into our bones,
“You are wonderfully made.”

Our love is a prayer,
Not in the quiet, clasped hands kind,
But in the loud, laughter-filled kind,
That echoes through the chambers
Of our home,
Of our hearts,
Of this church.

It is a love that resists,
That persists
Against the tide of those who would drown us
In doctrines of fear.
But we rise—
Oh, we rise,
Love lifts us higher.

In the beginning,
There was love.
And it didn’t care for the rules.
For the boundaries of skin, or gender, or mind,
It just was,
And is,
And will always be.

So here I am,
A pastor, a husband, a queer, neurodivergent soul,
And I preach with my life,
With my love,
That there is no shame in being
Exactly who God created me to be.

For in our love,
We find the face of God—
Not in some distant heaven,
But here, in this kiss,
In this touch,
In this shared breath.

Love is boundless,
Love is holy,
Love is ours,
And it is enough.