I stand here, a paradox,
A tapestry woven with threads of faith and pride.
The church doors once loomed like gates,
Heavy with whispers,
Stained glass splintered by misinterpretation,
And yet, here I am.
They say oil and water don’t mix,
That queer and Christian cannot coexist—
But tell me,
What is the rainbow if not both light and storm?
What is the cross if not both agony and redemption?
They tried to rewrite me,
As if my love was a typo in God’s manuscript,
As if the breath of the Spirit
Skipped me like a stone over water.
But I know—
My name is written in holy ink,
Etched on palms pierced with compassion.
I have wrestled with scripture,
Like Jacob in the night,
Demanding a blessing from ancient pages
That held both condemnation and liberation.
I found it in the margins,
In the footnotes they never preached—
Jesus, walking with the outcasts,
Dining with the despised,
Revealing that holiness was never meant
To be hoarded.
They call me unnatural,
But what is more natural
Than the Creator sculpting my soul,
Than God’s fingerprints on my heart?
I am fearfully and wonderfully made,
Crafted in love by a divine artisan
Who doesn’t make mistakes.
I am the stone the builders rejected,
Becoming the cornerstone of my own salvation.
I am Lazarus, stepping out of the tomb,
The grave clothes of shame left behind.
I am the woman at the well,
Offering living water
To a world thirsty for justice.
So I will sing—
A hymn that cracks open the heavens,
A psalm that defies the silence.
Because my faith is not a closet
Where truth goes to hide;
It is a sanctuary,
A table where all are welcome.
To be queer and Christian
Is to live in resurrection,
To rise every day
Despite the stones they hurl,
To carry the cross of love
And declare it holy.
Let them try to erase me—
I am a rainbow after the flood.
I am a spark in the darkness.
I am a child of the Great I Am,
And I refuse to apologize
For the way I reflect the light.
