LGBTQ+ History Month: Why It Matters

It’s October, which means it’s LGBTQ+ History Month! 🏳️‍🌈

And no, you don’t need to memorize every LGBTQ+ historical figure for a pop quiz. There will be no scantron sheet. Probably.

But we do need to remember the people who came before us—the activists, artists, writers, parents, teachers, and ordinary people who stood up, spoke out, survived, created, loved, and helped change the world.

Why does it matter?

Because LGBTQ+ people have always been part of history.

We celebrate the victories that came from years of courage and activism. We remember the struggles so we don't forget what people endured. And we share these stories so young LGBTQ+ people can see that people like them have always existed.

History also helps fight erasure.

Because if we don't tell our stories, someone might decide we're just a footnote.

And let's be honest—we're much too fabulous to be a footnote.

LGBTQ+ history isn't separate from history.

It's American history.
It's family history.
It's community history.
It's human history.

And here's the really important part: we're still making history.

So this October, learn a name you don't know. Share a story. Listen to an LGBTQ+ person. Celebrate the people who helped make the road a little easier for those coming behind them.

And maybe bring snacks. History is always better with snacks.

🏳️‍🌈 Happy LGBTQ+ History Month!

Our stories matter. Our history matters. We belong in the story.

Hello My Name Is Declan

 

A Name Is More Than Just a Name

Let's talk about names.

Not the name of your Wi-Fi, your favorite houseplant, or the sourdough starter you've somehow become emotionally attached to. I'm talking about your name the one that belongs to you.

For many transgender people, choosing a name that reflects who they are can be an important part of living authentically.

And research tells us that it can make a real difference.

Studies have found that transgender people particularly transgender youth experience lower rates of depression and suicidal behavior when their chosen names are respected across the different parts of their lives.

That's pretty powerful for something as simple as saying someone's name.

A Name Says, "I See You"

Using someone's chosen name communicates something deeply human:

I hear you.
I respect you.
I see you.

For LGBTQIA+ people, that kind of recognition can be especially meaningful after years of being told, directly or indirectly, that who they are is somehow wrong.

For Christians, there's an especially beautiful connection here: love sees people as they are.

We don't have to understand every detail of someone's journey to treat them with dignity.

And we certainly don't need a 47-slide PowerPoint presentation before we can learn someone's name.

Mistakes Happen

Let's be honest. We are human.

You may accidentally use the wrong name or pronoun.

When that happens, you don't need to deliver an acceptance speech worthy of the Oscars.

Just say:

“Sorry. I meant Declan.”

Then keep going.

The goal isn't perfection.

The goal is love.

Names Matter

A chosen name can help someone feel more comfortable in their own skin. It can affirm identity, build confidence, and help people move through the world without constantly having to explain themselves.

And sometimes, a name is simply the name that finally feels like home.

So when someone tells you their name, listen.

Use it.

Respect it.

Because love doesn't always require grand gestures.

Sometimes love looks like something as simple as saying:

“I hear you. I see you. And I will call you by the name that is yours.”

Because where true love is, there is room for all of us to be fully, wonderfully, authentically ourselves.

Who Met Dolly at the Pearly Gates?

 

If we imagine heaven through a lens of love, inclusion, and queer joy, I can picture Dolly being greeted by a joyful crowd of LGBTQIA+ people and allies whose lives she touched. And those whose lives represent the values she has championed.

A few people I could imagine near the front of that line:

• Freddie Mercury — would probably greet her with a huge smile, saying, “Well, darling, we’ve been waiting for you!”
• Betty White - Because Betty and Dolly had a lot of love in their lives and could compare earthly notes.
• Judy Garland — because honestly, Dolly and Judy greeting each other feels almost inevitable. 
• George Michael — another extraordinary musician whose life and identity resonated deeply with LGBTQIA+ people. He would be singing and dancing when he saw her.
• Harvey Milk — welcoming her with a warm embrace and perhaps reminding her how many people found courage to live authentically.
• Marsha P. Johnson — bringing that unmistakable joy, activism, and fierce spirit.
• Jesus - He would make her some heavenly tasting cornbread and tell her how proud he was of how she loved everyone. 
• Matthew Shepard — He would greet her with youthful exuberance and be there representing the countless young people whose lives were cut short because they were LGBTQIA+ telling her how many lives she saved by being her.
• Alan Turing — perhaps standing quietly gratefuly greeting her to thank her for a world that she helped make a little kinder.
• Sylvia Rivera — would be absolutely making sure Dolly knew that the most marginalized members of the community were included in the celebration.
• And then, perhaps, an enormous crowd of ordinary LGBTQIA+ people and allies—teachers, parents, artists, pastors, activists, children, grandparents, and everyone who ever found a little more courage because Dolly reminded them that they mattered.

And I have a feeling Dolly wouldn't be standing there receiving all the attention. She'd probably look at the crowd, laugh that beautiful laugh, and say something like:

"Well, look at all of you! I thought I was coming to heaven, but it looks like heaven came to greet me." 

 

 Dormant, Not Dead

John 12:24–26

“Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.”

I am going to intermix seeds and acorns  because I like squirrels.

What Does Jesus Mean by “Die”?

In church I've heard these words as a call to sacrifice.

Today I hear Jesus saying something different.

I hear Jesus talking about transformation.

I hear the Divine lover of my being talking about the mystery of becoming.

 

LET'S TALK SEEDS

A seed can look completely lifeless.

You can hold it in your hand and see no evidence of life.

But inside that tiny seed is an embryo—a beginning of a plant.

It contains what it needs to begin again.

Give it the right conditions

It wakes up.

The seed begins to germinate.

The shell cracks.

Roots begin reaching downward.

A stem begins reaching upward.

Eventually, something that looked dead becomes something unmistakably alive.

• The seed carries possibility within itself.
• The breaking of the shell is not the destruction of the seed. It is the beginning of its becoming.

Seeds are miracles of creation with shells. 

Sound familiar?

LGBTQIA+ & 

those who are othered by society

know about shells/closets

Hiding becomes a skill

Being fully yourself can be uncomfortable or dangerous.

So we build protective shells.

We learn what parts of ourselves are safe to reveal and what parts need to remain hidden.

We learn to hide -

Our gender.

Our sexuality.

Our relationships.

Our dreams.

Our truth.

• Hiding doesn't mean weakness
• Sometimes protection is necessary.

But here's the problem:

Survival is not the same thing as living.

Shells 

There comes a time when the shell begins to crack.

Maybe it happens when you come out.

Maybe when you transition.

Maybe when you finally tell someone a truth.

Maybe when you look in the mirror and say:

“I am allowed to be this person.”

That can feel scary.

Because when the shell cracks- change happens

The identity you constructed to survive begins to change.

The expectations of other people begin to lose their power.

The version of you that everyone else knew may begin disappearing.

And sometimes we mistake that transformation for death.

But perhaps what is dying is not you.

Perhaps what is dying is the shell.

The shame.

The fear.

The uncomfortable -  comfort zone

The lie that you had to become for someone else to feel loved.

Speaking points:

• What is ending?
• Is it really me—or is it the shell?
• Is God taking something away or making room for something new?
• What if becoming yourself feels like dying because you have lived so long as someone else?

GROWTH POTENTIAL 

Seeds don't grow everywhere.

They need an environment where blossoming is possible.

Like us.

Some environments help us grow.

Others keep us buried.

Ask yourself:

• Where do I feel safe enough to be myself?
• Who allows me to tell the truth?
• Where am I nourished?
• Where am I constantly made to feel inadequate?
• What relationships give me life?
• What relationships make me shrink?

Maybe your soil is a community.

Maybe it is simply one person who says:

“I see you. I believe you. You don't have to hide from me.” 

THANK YOU BELOVED

 Squirrels carrying their acorns remind me of the seeds in today's passage.

Because I watch squirrels out my office window and have named them SOOO here come the acorns. Yes, ricky, barnaby and freddy are my front yard squirrels.

Now, you may be wondering why I put squirrels in a sermon about seeds.

Well, stay with me.

Squirrels bury things.

Sometimes they bury food because they are preparing for the future.

And sometimes they forget where they put it. (ME AT 65-keys, spouse)

Which means that somewhere beneath the ground in my yard, there may be something waiting to be discovered. Hopefully not my keys.

And I wonder if we do the same thing.

We bury 

I think God works thru encounters 

An encouraging person

A sermon

A conversation or question

A moment of grace.

And suddenly something we buried begins to emerge.

Ask Yourself;

• What dream did I put away?
• What joy did I decide I wasn't allowed to have?
• What truth have I buried because someone told me it was unacceptable?

Maybe it isn't dead.

Maybe it's dormant.

Jesus says the seed falls into the earth.

It enters darkness.

It disappears from view.

There are seasons in our lives when we feel buried.

Buried by grief.

shame.

rejection.

uncertainty.

Buried by other people's expectations.

Buried by our own fear.

But being buried doesn't necessarily mean being forgotten.

The seed is buried in the same soil where others might think it has been lost.

And perhaps that is where faith comes in.

Because God knows the difference between a grave and a garden. And I believe we do too. 

Whether we understand resurrection literally, spiritually, metaphorically—or some combination of all three—there is something powerful in the message.

Jesus believed that buried things could bloom.

that people could awaken.

 that love was stronger than fear shame or rejection

Stronger than the tombs we build around ourselves.

So perhaps there is something in your life right now that feels dead.

Perhaps you have stopped dreaming.

Perhaps you have stopped believing.

Perhaps you have buried a part of yourself.

Perhaps someone convinced you that you were too much.

Or not enough.

Or wrong.

Or unworthy.

Or outside God's love.

But hear this:

Don't mistake dormancy for death.

The seed may simply be waiting.

Waiting for water.

Waiting for warmth.

Waiting for light.

Waiting for the right soil.

Waiting for time.

Waiting for the courage to crack open.

And sometimes what we need isn't to become someone new.

“What looks like an ending may be an awakening.”

“What looks like burial may be planting.”

“What looks like death may be dormancy.”

Sometimes we need the freedom to become more fully who we already are.

Close

Perhaps the invitation of resurrection IS - 

Not to become someone else.

But to awaken.

.

Carl Jung wrote:

“The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.”

AND

“The world will ask you who you are, and if you don't know, the world will tell you.”

Listen to that quiet voice that says:

“There is more life in you.”

“You are not finished.”

“You are not dead.”

“You are dormant.”

And when the warmth of grace reaches you...

When the rain of acceptance comes...

When the soil becomes safe...

When the shell finally cracks...

GROW

Reach toward the light.

Become who you were created to be.

A Return Ticket To A Moment

"A photograph is the pause button of life."

Pictures are a return ticket to a moment that is otherwise gone. Those moments may still be tucked away in the deepest recesses of our minds. Some memories we try to forget, yet they remain a part of us. Being a transgender man pictures from my past can bring up a perplexity of emotions and thoughts.

This photo recently resurfaced in my Facebook memories. My beloved knew me when it was taken. She shared her thoughts about it and then asked for mine. Her question sent me into a period of introspection.

These are my thoughts.

The person in the picture above feels like a stranger. I lived that life. I remember the moment the photograph was taken. Yet it is a profoundly strange experience to look at yourself and at the same time not recognize yourself.

I see someone who was doing the best they could to be a person they were never meant to be. Someone existing in a state of not truly being. They survived, they smiled, they kept going—but they were disconnected from their authentic self.

Imagine looking at a photograph of someone and being told, "That's you," while every part of you insists it isn't. The memories belong to me, but the person in the picture no longer feels like me. It is a disorienting experience, one that is difficult to explain unless you've lived it.

Today, that image reminds me not only of who I was expected to be, but of the long journey toward becoming who I have always been.

This is me now with my Beloved. 

I feel more me than I ever have in my entire life.

I am Declan. I am a transgender man. I am loved. I am becoming.

I will leave you with this quote to ponder. 

“Which of my photographs is my favorite? 

The one I’m going to take tomorrow.”
― Imogen Cunningham

 

Shifting Sands

 "Life is a desert of shifting sand dunes. Unpredictable, erratic. Harmony changes into dissonance, the immediate outlives the profound, the esoteric becomes cliched." Ella Leya

People change. We shift.

While many of our core personality traits remain relatively consistent, we all change over time. Life moves us.

The how and why of that change are often found in the defining moments of our lives. By moveable events, I mean the experiences that move us in one way or another—parenthood, illness, relocation, success, joy, grief, and hardship. Each can become a catalyst for growth. A shift.

Coming out as transgender wasn't a rejection of who I am. It was a shift in how I present myself and how others see me. You don't see less of me now—you see more.

Some might describe what has happened to me as "shapeshifting," but I see it differently. It's more like shifting sand shaped by the wind. The sand never stops being sand. It simply takes on a new form. Sometimes shifting sand creates something beautiful. Sometimes it changes the landscape in ways that make people uncomfortable. I won't get into the ecological benefits of sand dunes or the problems of beach erosion—that's above my pay grade. Instead, I'd rather talk about the beauty of metaphorical flexibility.

Just as shifting sand needs the wind to move it, I needed something to move me. For me, that was the weight of gender dysphoria and a deep desire to live authentically.

When I look back, I can see the moment that finally blew me out of my deeply rooted discomfort. It began when I met my beloved wife and started reading her writing—especially her book, Transfigured. If God could love me and create me as transgender, then why couldn't I embrace who They made me to be and tell the world the truth?

I also made a conscious choice to value growth and reality over the comfort of staying hidden. And I intentionally surrounded myself with people who nurtured truth instead of fear.

That brings me to my youngest and oldest children. They are both adults now, and from the very beginning they accepted me openly and wholeheartedly. That gift is greater than they may ever fully realize.

Do they have questions or private struggles? Perhaps. I don't know their inner thoughts, and they don't owe me that. What I do know is this: they use my correct name and pronouns. They respect me. They love me unconditionally. They have loved me for who I have always been.

My beloved, along with two of my children, have been the wind beneath my wings. Their acceptance and affirmation have given me the courage to weather the storms that so many transgender people face. They have helped me become more fully myself.

Love shifted me into the reality of the man God made me to be.

Beloved, Tanya, and Britt—your love has been the very breath of God in my life.

Ambivalence & April Dawn

It's my middle child's birthday this week. Her name is April Dawn. She's in the pictures below with the chosen men in her life: her boyfriend and the man she calls Dad.

It's both a happy and sad day for me because we haven't talked since I came out as a transgender man four years ago. This is nothing new for trans folx. Painful family rejection is a bitter pill to swallow, but today I find myself choking on it, and longing for understanding and hope.

Let me start at labor, which was difficult. April was rushed to the intensive care nursery but proved from the beginning there was a Mighty Mouse fighter inside her being.

April is a beautiful month, and I recognized my baby's beauty right away, so it seemed to fit. The beauty and newness of dawn has always appealed to my sense of mystical possibilities and wonder.  I also liked the way it sounded.

The birth certificate was signed, and the nameless baby became April Dawn. Would she like her name? Did it fit? A parent never really knows, we just choose it and hope for the best. But sometimes there is more.

With strength and beauty she exemplified the name as the years passed. 

Recently I realized the connection between the word April and new beginnings, renewal, and the blossoming of nature. Dawn is the time that marks the brightening dimness before sunrise. Together they celebrate the idea of having a new beginning everyday.

Shouldn't we all sit in a state of wonder each morning? Each moment? What will the new day hold? What pain might it restore?

Today I choose to sit before dawn anticipating the sun rising into the sky. Waiting with love and as much patience as I can. Hoping for and dreaming of a new day, when my beloved child can enter without fear into a new beginning. Forgiving me for whatever needs forgiving. Accepting in me whatever needs to be accepted. Entering into a new day.

A better day.

A day when our relationship can blossom into fullness.

An April Dawn.