It’s no secret that the holidays are often a difficult time for queer people. Disproportionately estranged from family means we often must create our own family. While these chosen families can be tremendously life-giving, it’s tough not to long for our families of origin during Christmas time.
When I was in high school, I secretly believed that the idea of God being ‘born’ was simply outrageous.
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.
I’m a strong believer in the value of a journey. Whether it be literal (like a road trip), figurative (like learning a skill), or emotional (like overcoming trauma), a journey gives us a chance to move towards something, prepare for what comes next, and anticipate a new world for ourselves.
The Christmas season is a difficult time of year for me.
I am always bothered by our culture's egregious forms of commercialism—and its either lack of or its anemic recognition of other forms for religious holidays like Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Ramadan, and the celebration of the winter solstice during this season.
My brother has been with his girlfriend for 6 months, and she’s spending Christmas with my family this year. My first thought was, Whoa. What the hell?! It’s not that I don’t like her. I do!
When I decided at the beginning of the year to finally return to the Catholic Church, I had no idea what a momentous year it would be—not only for myself, but for all Catholics. I had been working for Believe Out Loud for a year and realized it was not only important for me to "believe out loud" at work, but in my own personal life as well.
It’s only days until Christmas, and I, like many LGBT people, spent much of the day alternately dodging and engaging yet another "gays vs. Christians" media firestorm.
Even if you’ve never heard of him before, by now you’ve probably heard about Phil Robertson.
Each Thanksgiving and Christmas during college, I returned to the home of my childhood, the stable-turned-summer-cottage where my parents had begun their family together. My first chore on arriving would be to empty the Tupperware of refrigerated fuzz and discard the rolled oats webbed with meal moth larvae.