Every year, I try my damnedest to get excited for the holidays. I really do. I listen to holiday music for .5 seconds, consider buying the packaged eggnog at the local grocery, and panic about the gifts I haven't bought—usually to no avail.
The season of Advent guides us on a journey from darkness to light, from recognizing our great need for God to finding God’s love born in a manger.
Hi, my name is Izek, and I identify as a bi-racial queer transman (FTM). Most importantly, I identify as a Christian.
I have had positive and negative experiences coming out as transgender. Luckily, I already had supportive friends, family, and church community.
Since I was about seven or eight years old, I knew that I was not like other boys; I couldn’t throw “like a boy,” I cried easily; I wasn’t competitive. I knew deep down that I didn’t fit the “boy” pattern no matter how much I tried. Much as I wanted to please my dad, I couldn’t see well enough to catch a ball, much less hit one tossed by a pitcher.
When I was 15, my parents took me to the basement of a church in my western hometown for “therapy.”
The Lakota creation story has the People springing forth from a hole in the ground somewhere in the Black Hills. That idea resonates with me, perhaps because there are many holes in what I know about my heritage. A hole in the ground is as good a place as any; I am very rooted to the Earth, and connected to the animals, the rocks, and the forests.
As Transgender Awareness Week comes to a close, we pause today to honor the journeys of transgender and gender non-conforming people of faith by sharing the 10 journey stories below. These blogs are all written by transgender people of faith, a majority of whom identify as Christian.
Today is Transgender Day of Remembrance / Resilience. Today we honor gender non-conforming and transgender people who have been killed in acts of racist, transphobic violence.
A few days ago, I got a letter from my archbishop.
I couldn't even wait to get up the stairs to my apartment. The envelope was torn long before I keyed myself into the door and I even scrambled to take a picture of the fact—wind-tossed hair, lacking makeup, it didn't matter to me. I had heard back.
A few summers back, I was surrounded by butterflies.
They were everywhere. On the windshield when we got into the car, hovering in front of the door to the house, filling the park every day I went—I entered a shimmering haze of them and they even began landing on me to rest.