After God showed me so clearly that I can be a lesbian and still be loved, cherished and fully accepted by Him, I was so overwhelmed with happiness, I spent a long time trying to get everything else right.
Not just right in a general sense — but exactly right. The right doctrine. The right interpretation. The right understanding of God. The right way to live. I was brought up in a strict Baptist, very right-wing evangelical environment where belief mattered deeply — and not just belief, but correct belief.
And to be clear, I’m not knocking theology. People have spent years — lifetimes — studying, writing, thinking, wrestling with Scripture, trying to understand God more deeply.
But somewhere along the way, for me, it became exhausting.
Recently, I found myself constantly reading, constantly searching, constantly trying to find answers. Moving from one perspective to another, one argument to the next — trying to figure out what was right, what was true, what I was supposed to believe.
And if I’m honest, I wasn’t finding peace. I was just getting more and more tired.
I kept chasing answers — and never getting anywhere. I thought if I could just read one more article, understand one more viewpoint, settle one more question, then I’d finally arrive somewhere solid.
But I never did.
The one weekend, something shifted. Not in a loud or dramatic way — but in a quiet moment. It felt as if God cut through the noise and said:
What are you doing?
Not harsh. Not condemning. Just honest.
You’re looking at everything else. Just look at me.
And that stopped me. Because it was true.
I had been looking at everything about God — ideas, doctrines, debates — but I hadn’t really been looking at God. I hadn’t been resting in Him. I hadn’t been living in the simplicity of what Jesus actually showed.
And in that moment, what came to mind wasn’t a system or an argument. It was simple.
I love you. I am with you.
That was it. No conditions. No footnotes. No need to get everything right first.
Just His presence. Just His love. And then it became clear again — how Jesus actually lived, and what He kept coming back to.
Love God. Love others. That’s it.
Not endless debate. Not intellectual perfection. Not anxiety over getting every detail right.
Love.
At some point, I made faith more complicated than Jesus ever did. I turned it into something to be solved instead of something to be lived.
Without realising it, I started believing that if I didn’t understand everything properly, I was failing. That I needed to have it all worked out before I could rest.
But that’s not what Jesus said. He said, “Follow me.” He said, “If you love me, keep my commandments.” And His commandments aren’t abstract.
Forgive. Show mercy. Care for people. Be honest. Love your neighbour as yourself.
None of that is easy — but it is simple. There’s a difference.
Simple doesn’t mean shallow. It means clear. And I lost that for a while. I was chasing clarity through complexity, when Jesus had already made things clear by how He lived.
Theology is not the centre. Jesus is. But when theology becomes the centre, it can pull us away from the very thing it’s meant to point to. That’s what happened to me.
Not because theology is wrong — but because I leaned on it in a way I was never meant to. I was trying to build certainty by understanding everything, instead of trusting the One who already understands me.
And that’s exhausting. Because there will always be more to learn. More perspectives. More interpretations. More questions.
You never reach the end of that road. But you can come back to Jesus. Back to something steady. Something real. Something grounded in love instead of constant analysis.
That weekend felt like a reset. Not throwing everything away — but putting things back in the right place.
A reminder that I don’t need to have everything figured out to walk with God. A reminder that I don’t need to live in a constant state of searching to be faithful. A reminder that freedom in Christ actually means something.
It means I can stop striving to understand everything and start living what I already know is true. That I am loved. That God is with me. That Jesus has already shown me how to live.
And maybe that’s where freedom really begins. Not in having all the answers. But in letting go of the need to. In trusting that following Jesus is enough. In choosing to live a life shaped by love, even when everything else feels uncertain.
It sounds simple. But I think that’s the point. I complicated things that were never meant to be complicated. I added layers where Jesus gave clarity.
I needed God to stop me. I needed to look at Him — and remember what matters:
And what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice and to love kindness
and to walk humbly with your God? (Micah 6:8)
It is such a relief to feel that peace and joy and simplicity once more.
Based in France, Liz Queyrel reports on LGBTQ+ Christian life across France and greater Europe.