Dear Queer Christian, 

I know you’ve carried a lot.
Some of it in silence.
Some of it in protest boots.
Some of it with glitter still stuck to your face from last night’s warehouse party and a soul that still whispers “yes” to God, even when the church said “not like that.”

You’ve kept going—when you had every reason to dip.
You’ve stayed quiet—when the group chat turned cold and the elders turned judgmental.
You’ve kept the faith—even when it felt more like ghosting than grace.

And babe, that matters.

Don’t let the lack of applause convince you your faith is basic.
Don’t let the silence from the pulpit make you second-guess what the Spirit whispered to you at 3AM after the tears dried.
Don’t let your exhaustion speak louder than your glow.

This is still faith.
This is still holy.
And showing up in full color when the world wants grayscale?
That’s sacred resistance.

You’re not invisible.
You’re not forgotten.
You’re not “doing too much.”

You’re faithful—even when you feel like you’re just winging it in eyeliner and hope.
And the Spirit is still moving in you.

With deep love for the days you don’t feel strong,

—Someone who sees quiet faith and calls it sacred, Paul

1 Thessalonians 1–3

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