Dear Bro, What is coming out? Telling someone that I am different from the norm. Most people look at someone and immediately determine if they are female or male. If I am in a winter coat with one of my baseball caps on, I get
Dear Bro, I should write home more often, but can’t seem to do it. Then today, I watched a movie and realized I could relate to it way too much. You may not have seen “Love, Simon” — but it was on HBO recently, and
I’m sometimes asked if my house is haunted. My father died there, my mother died homesick for it and, years earlier, she claimed to have been visited there by my grandmother’s ghost. The place is over 60 years old, and it certainly does contain its
Dear Bro, One of the hardest things I have done, was to come out to myself — and admit I was gay. Once you figure it out for yourself comes the hard task of telling others — to your friends and your family. It is
This will be a regular column here at Whosoever. The title of it is “Letters to Home.” I will be writing letters to home that talk about me and what it is about living as an out and proud lesbian. I want to introduce myself.
God is not a Christian, God is not a Jew, or a Muslim, or a Hindu, or a Buddhist. All of those are human systems which human beings have created to try to help us walk into the mystery of God. I honor my tradition,
One of the first people I told about my plan to launch an Internet magazine for LGBTQ+ Christians back in 1995 (the magazine would launch a year later) was a Georgia State University business professor I had befriended after taking his class. He hated the
Thank you for your magazine. You’re so courageous to do it. Those words were spoken to me by a young man who emerged from a crowd of people at the first gay and lesbian Christian conference I ever attended — the Witness Our Welcome conference
I woke up in a Memphis, Tenn., economy hotel with nothing but my wallet, a pack of Marlboros, and some clothes that were tossed carelessly over a chair. The morning sun peeked through the crack in the curtain and specks of dust hovered in the
As a gay activist and son, I finally, openly reflect on my mother’s inability, after 15 years, to escape her homophobic religious surroundings in which my father, her husband who is a lay-pastor, dominates her life, manipulating her landscape through the grid of his own