The Closet Professor

A Pounding Head and Peculiar Dreams

2026-10-29T06:00:00.000-04:00

I woke up this morning with a migraine, and if I didn’t have a class to teach this morning, I’d probably call in sick. It was hard enough getting out of bed as it was. I didn’t sleep particularly well last night. I had a very active night of dreaming, some of which was quite nice, while other dreams were just plain weird and left me wondering why in the world I’d dreamed about such things. I woke up several times throughout the night, and a few times I had trouble falling back to sleep. Unfortunately, every time I woke up, regardless of the reason, my head was pounding.

Of course, I had absolutely no trouble going back to bed after getting up to feed Isabella this morning, nor did I have any difficulty hitting the snooze button when my alarm went off. I would have been perfectly happy to stay in bed for a few more hours, preferably without the migraine.

I’m hoping my head will get better as the morning goes on. If it doesn’t, I plan to teach my class, return the objects I’m using to storage, and head home. Some days, you just have to do what absolutely needs to be done and leave the rest for another day. Today is shaping up to be one of those days.

Pic of the Day

2026-10-28T18:00:00.000-04:00

Running on Empty

2026-10-28T06:00:00.000-04:00

I really did not want to get out of bed this morning. If I didn’t have a meeting this morning and a class to prepare for tomorrow, I might have been tempted to call in sick and spend the day in bed.

I’m not entirely sure why I’m so tired. I went to bed early last night, and after getting up to feed Isabella this morning, I crawled right back into bed for a little more sleep. It’s not as if this week has been particularly exhausting or stressful. In fact, it’s been relatively quiet compared to the past few weeks. Nevertheless, I just can’t seem to shake this fatigue.

Hopefully, the coffee will work its magic soon, and I’ll find a little more energy and enthusiasm for the day ahead. Right now, though, I’d much rather be back under the covers. Some mornings are just like that, I suppose.

Pic of the Day

2026-10-27T18:00:00.000-04:00

A Little Raven Humor

2026-10-27T12:00:00.000-04:00

The Raven

2026-10-27T06:00:00.000-04:00

The Raven

By Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849)

First published in 1845

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door—
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore.’”

But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

About the Poem

With Halloween just a few days away, I could hardly resist choosing one of my favorite poems, Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven.” Of course, I love nearly all of Poe’s poetry. There is something hauntingly beautiful about his writing, the way he can take grief, loneliness, fear, and longing and transform them into something almost musical. His poetry is dark, certainly, but it is also extraordinarily beautiful.

Whenever I read “The Raven,” I always hear it in the unmistakable voice of Vincent Price. Price made a famous recording of the poem, and I suspect many people of my generation remember a teacher pulling that record from its sleeve, carefully placing it on the classroom record player, and lowering the needle. Then came that wonderfully theatrical voice, deep, resonant, and just sinister enough to send a chill down your spine. Price had a remarkable ability to make even the simplest words sound deliciously ominous, and his reading of “The Raven” was unforgettable. I can still hear him uttering “Quoth the Raven ‘Nevermore’” with just the right mixture of melancholy and menace. For me, Poe’s poetry and Vincent Price’s voice will forever be connected.

Incidentally, I came across the job posting for Curator of Educational Programs at the Vincent Price Art Museum in Los Angeles just this morning. As much as I admire Vincent Price and love the idea of working at a museum bearing his name, I have absolutely no desire to live in Los Angeles. Still, I couldn’t help smiling at the coincidence.

What I find most compelling about “The Raven” is that, beneath its Gothic atmosphere and supernatural suggestions, it is really a poem about grief. The raven itself may be nothing more than an ordinary bird that has learned a single word, but the narrator gives that word increasingly terrible meaning. He asks questions to which he desperately wants comforting answers, even as he seems to know what the raven will say. His torment comes not necessarily from the bird, but from his own inability to escape his sorrow.

Perhaps that is what makes the poem so frightening. There is no monster lurking in the darkness, no ghost rising from the grave, and no murderer waiting behind the door. Instead, the horror comes from within, from the memories and regrets that haunt us long after someone we love is gone. The raven becomes a symbol of a grief that refuses to leave, and its repeated “Nevermore” is the terrible finality of loss.

And yet, even with all its sorrow, I find “The Raven” magnificent. Poe’s language, rhythm, and imagery make it a poem that demands to be read aloud, preferably on a dark and stormy night. If you can manage to hear Vincent Price narrating it, so much the better.

First published on January 29, 1845, in the New York Evening Mirror, “The Raven” became an immediate sensation and established Edgar Allan Poe as one of America’s most recognizable literary figures. Its popularity was extraordinary, and readers were captivated by its hypnotic rhythm, intricate rhymes, and mysterious atmosphere.

The poem follows an unnamed narrator mourning the death of his beloved Lenore. Alone in his chamber on a bleak December night, he hears a tapping at his door and then at his window. When he opens the shutter, a raven enters and settles upon a bust of Pallas Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom. The bird speaks only one word, “Nevermore,” but the narrator gradually interprets that word as a series of increasingly devastating answers to his questions about grief, hope, and the possibility of reunion with Lenore in the afterlife.

Poe was a master of poetic sound. “The Raven” employs trochaic octameter, internal rhyme, alliteration, and repetition to create its distinctive, almost hypnotic musicality. The recurring “Nevermore” serves as a refrain, becoming more ominous with each appearance. What begins as a curious encounter gradually develops into a psychological nightmare.

In his 1846 essay “The Philosophy of Composition,” Poe described his approach to writing “The Raven,” explaining his deliberate choices of subject, atmosphere, and poetic structure. He argued that the death of a beautiful woman was among the most melancholy subjects in poetry and that a raven, with its dark appearance and capacity to imitate human speech, was an ideal messenger for the poem’s refrain.

The raven’s perch upon the bust of Pallas Athena is also significant. Athena represents wisdom and reason, yet the narrator increasingly abandons rational thought as his grief overwhelms him. The bird’s position above the door suggests an inescapable presence, while its final shadow becomes a powerful symbol of the narrator’s despair.

Although “The Raven” is frequently associated with Halloween, its enduring appeal goes far beyond its Gothic imagery. It explores the universal human experience of mourning and the painful realization that some losses cannot be undone.

About the Poet

Edgar Allan Poe (January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849) was an American poet, short-story writer, literary critic, and editor whose work helped shape Gothic literature, psychological horror, and the modern detective story. His influence extends far beyond American literature into film, music, and popular culture.

Born in Boston, Massachusetts, Poe experienced tragedy early in life. His father abandoned the family, and his mother died when he was only two years old. He was taken in by John and Frances Allan of Richmond, Virginia, though he was never formally adopted. His relationship with John Allan was often strained, particularly over financial matters.

Poe attended the University of Virginia briefly and later enlisted in the United States Army. He also entered the United States Military Academy at West Point but was dismissed in 1831. He eventually pursued a career in writing and editing, working for several literary publications while struggling with financial insecurity.

In 1836, Poe married his cousin Virginia Clemm, who was thirteen at the time. Their marriage lasted until her death from tuberculosis in 1847. Virginia’s illness and death profoundly affected Poe, and themes of lost love, mortality, and mourning appear repeatedly throughout his poetry and fiction.

Among his best-known poems are “Annabel Lee,” “The Bells,” “Ulalume,” and “A Dream Within a Dream.” His short stories, including “The Tell-Tale Heart,” “The Fall of the House of Usher,” “The Black Cat,” and “The Masque of the Red Death,” remain classics of Gothic horror. His 1841 story “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” is widely regarded as a foundational work of modern detective fiction.

Poe died in Baltimore on October 7, 1849, at the age of forty. The circumstances surrounding his death remain uncertain, adding one final mystery to a life that has become almost as legendary as his writing.

Although Poe struggled to achieve financial stability during his lifetime, his literary legacy has proved extraordinary. His ability to explore the darkest corners of the human imagination while maintaining a remarkable sense of beauty and musicality continues to captivate readers nearly two centuries later.

Perhaps that is why Poe remains such a perfect poet for Halloween. His writing reminds us that the most haunting things are not always the supernatural horrors that lurk in the shadows, but the very human emotions that remain with us long after the darkness has passed.

And as the raven would remind us, some things stay with us forevermore.

Pic of the Day

2026-10-26T18:00:00.000-04:00

Easing Into the Week

2026-10-26T06:00:00.000-04:00

It’s Monday morning, and we’ve reached the last week of October. I’ll pretty much have the museum to myself today, except for a few meetings with professors and the classes I’ll be teaching. There’s plenty to keep me busy, but I can worry about all of that later. Right now, I’m going to enjoy my coffee, watch the news, and ease into the morning before getting ready for work. There’s no need to rush into Monday any faster than necessary.

Have a great day, everyone!

Pic of the Day

2026-10-25T18:00:00.000-04:00

The Desires of Our Hearts

2026-10-25T06:00:00.000-04:00

“Take delight in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart.”

— Psalm 37:4

We all have desires that we carry deep within our hearts. We long for love, companionship, healing, happiness, and peace. We ask God to ease our burdens, mend our broken hearts, and guide us toward a better life. Sometimes our prayers are answered in ways that seem almost miraculous. Other times, we pray for months or even years, only to find that nothing changes. When that happens, we may begin to wonder whether God is listening. After all, Psalm 37:4 tells us that if we delight ourselves in the Lord, God will give us the desires of our hearts. So why do so many of our prayers seem to go unanswered?

Perhaps the answer lies in understanding what it truly means to delight ourselves in the Lord. This verse is not a promise that God will grant our every wish. Faith is not a transaction in which we offer God our devotion in exchange for the things we want. Rather, delighting in the Lord means finding joy in God’s presence, trusting in God’s love, and allowing that love to shape the way we live. Sometimes the desires we believe will bring us happiness are not the desires that will ultimately bring us peace. Sometimes what we ask God to change is something God never intended us to change at all.

Love, too, is never transactional. Love is not something we earn by meeting someone else’s conditions, nor is it something that should be withdrawn when we fail to satisfy another person’s expectations. Yet many of us are told that if we are LGBTQ+, our families will withdraw their love. We may hear that we will no longer be welcome, that we have disappointed the people who raised us, or that we must change before we can be accepted again. Those messages can wound us deeply, especially when they come from the people whose love we have trusted most.

But that is not how love works. Love does not say, “I will love you if you become someone else.” Love does not make belonging dependent upon conformity. Love does not demand that we deny our identity, hide our relationships, or surrender the truth of who we are in order to remain worthy of care. When affection is offered only as a reward for obedience, it becomes conditional approval, not the self-giving love God calls us to embody.

For many LGBTQ+ Christians, this is an especially painful truth. I suspect that nearly every gay Christian who grew up believing homosexuality was sinful has, at some point, prayed not to be gay. We prayed to be straight, to be “normal,” to become the people our families, churches, and communities expected us to be. Some of us begged God night after night to take away our attraction to the same sex. We promised to be better Christians, to pray harder, to live more faithfully, if only God would grant us that one request. We believed that if we could change, we might finally be worthy of God’s love and acceptance.

But those prayers went unanswered.

For years, many of us interpreted that silence as a failure on our part. Perhaps we weren’t praying hard enough. Perhaps our faith wasn’t strong enough. Perhaps God was testing us, or worse, perhaps God had turned away from us. We carried shame and guilt for something we could not change, convinced that our inability to become straight meant we were somehow disappointing God.

Some of us also feared that our families would stop loving us if we told the truth about who we were. We may have believed that love could be taken away as punishment for being LGBTQ+. We may have tried to earn acceptance by hiding, apologizing, or promising to change. But our identity was never a moral failure, and our families’ love should never have been made conditional upon our ability to conform. We were not asking to be granted permission to exist. We were asking to be loved as the people we already were.

But what if we misunderstood God’s answer all along? What if God wasn’t refusing to listen, but was instead refusing to make us into someone we were never meant to be? What if the very thing we begged God to take away was part of the person God had lovingly created?

Psalm 139:14 reminds us, “I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Those words are not reserved for heterosexual Christians. They belong to all of God’s children. We are not mistakes that need correcting. We are not defective creations waiting to be repaired. We are human beings created in God’s image, capable of extraordinary love, compassion, kindness, and faith. Our sexuality does not diminish our worth in God’s eyes, nor does it place us beyond the reach of God’s grace.

When we begin to accept that truth, our understanding of unanswered prayers can change. Perhaps God did not make us straight because becoming someone we are not would never have brought us the joy we imagined. It might have satisfied the expectations of others, but at what cost to our own hearts and souls? A life spent denying who we are, hiding our capacity for love, and constantly fearing that God disapproves of us is hardly the abundant life Jesus spoke of in John 10:10.

That does not mean accepting ourselves guarantees a life of happiness without hardship. Living openly and authentically can bring rejection, discrimination, loneliness, and heartbreak. Some LGBTQ+ Christians lose the support of their families or the churches they once called home. Others struggle for years to overcome the shame they were taught to feel. Yet there is a profound difference between suffering because the world refuses to accept us and suffering because we have been taught to refuse to accept ourselves. We cannot always control how others treat us, but we can learn to stop believing that their condemnation speaks for God.

And when families withdraw their support, we should be honest about what has happened: the failure is not in the LGBTQ+ person who told the truth. The failure is in the belief that love can be used as leverage. A parent may feel confused, afraid, or unprepared, but those feelings do not justify withholding love. Family love should not be a prize awarded for heterosexuality, gender conformity, or religious agreement. It should be a commitment to remain present, to listen, to learn, and to honor the person who has always been part of the family.

Jesus taught that the greatest commandments are to love God with all our hearts and to love our neighbors as ourselves (Matthew 22:37–39). Notice that Jesus did not tell us to love only those who look like us, believe exactly as we do, or conform to society’s expectations. Jesus commanded us to love. And that love includes recognizing our own worth as children of God. If we cannot see ourselves as worthy of love, how can we fully embrace the love God offers us or share it freely with others?

Love of neighbor also means refusing to make another person’s belonging conditional. We cannot claim to love someone while demanding that they erase themselves to remain welcome. We cannot tell LGBTQ+ people that they are loved and then withdraw family, community, or spiritual support when they live honestly. Love may require patience, growth, and difficult conversations, but it does not require rejection. Love can be truthful without being cruel, and it can hold convictions without withholding compassion.

Delighting ourselves in the Lord means more than attending church, reading Scripture, or saying our prayers. It means allowing God’s love to transform our hearts and guide our actions. It means showing compassion instead of judgment, offering kindness instead of condemnation, and recognizing the dignity of every human being. It means living a Christian life defined not by fear of punishment or the expectation of rewards, but by love itself.

And perhaps, as we grow in faith, the desires of our hearts begin to change. Instead of praying, “God, please make me someone else,” we may come to say, “God, help me become the person You created me to be.” Instead of begging God to take away our capacity to love, we may ask for the courage to love more deeply, more generously, and more faithfully. Instead of seeking the approval of those who condemn us, we may find peace in knowing that God’s grace has never depended upon their acceptance.

We may also begin to recognize the difference between love and approval. Not everyone will understand us, and not everyone will affirm our choices or identity. But no one has the right to make our basic worth dependent upon their approval. God’s love is not a contract that can be canceled when we disappoint someone. It is not a reward for performing correctly. It is a gift that reveals our worth before we have done anything to earn it.

Of course, unanswered prayers are not limited to our struggles with sexuality. We pray for loved ones who are ill, for relationships that have ended, for financial burdens to be lifted, and for suffering to cease. Sometimes the healing never comes, the relationship is never restored, or the circumstances never improve. We may never understand why. Faith does not require us to pretend that disappointment doesn’t hurt or that every tragedy is somehow a blessing in disguise. We can grieve, question, and even cry out to God in frustration while continuing to trust in God’s love.

When family relationships are broken, we may grieve the love we hoped to receive. We may mourn the parent, sibling, or relative who chose rejection over relationship. That grief is real, and we do not have to minimize it by pretending that everything is fine. At the same time, we can remember that another person’s refusal to love us well does not prove that we are unlovable. Sometimes the family we need is the family we find: friends, partners, affirming congregations, mentors, and communities that welcome us without demanding that we disappear.

Ultimately, our Christian hope extends beyond the circumstances of this earthly life. The greatest promise God has given us is not that we will receive everything we desire here on earth, but that through God’s grace we may share in eternal life with God. Revelation 21:4 offers a beautiful vision of that promise: “God will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the former things have passed away.”

What a glorious promise that is. A day when there will be no more rejection, no more shame, no more loneliness, and no more suffering. A day when we will no longer question whether we are worthy of God’s love because we will dwell forever in its fullness.

But we need not wait until heaven to begin experiencing the joy of that love. We can find it here, in the kindness we show others, in the relationships we nurture, in the compassion we extend to those who are hurting, and in the freedom of living truthfully as the people God created us to be. We can practice a love that does not keep score, demand repayment, or disappear when someone becomes difficult to understand. We can create families and communities where belonging is not conditional and where every person is treated as a beloved child of God.

Perhaps that is one of the greatest lessons of Psalm 37:4. God does not always give us what we ask for, and we may never understand every unanswered prayer. But when we delight ourselves in the Lord, when we open our hearts to God’s grace and allow God’s love to guide our lives, we may discover that some of the things we once begged God to change were never wrong in the first place.

We may spend years asking God to make us different, only to discover that the answer we needed was God’s invitation to love and accept the person we have always been. We may spend years fearing that our families will withdraw their love, only to learn that love worthy of the name does not depend upon our conformity. And as we journey through this imperfect world, loving God and loving one another, we can rest in the promise that the greatest joy of all still awaits us: an eternity in the presence of the One whose love has never failed us.

May we carry that love into the world. May we reject the shame and fear that tell people they must become someone else to be worthy of God’s grace. May we refuse to use love as a reward or belonging as a bargaining tool. May we honor the dignity of every person, welcome those who have been pushed aside, and help create families and communities where LGBTQ+ people can live truthfully, love faithfully, and know that they belong. And when we face unanswered prayers, may we remember that silence is not proof of abandonment, that rejection is not proof of unworthiness, and that our worth has never depended on becoming anyone other than the person God created us to be.

Pic of the Day

2026-10-24T18:00:00.000-04:00

Moment of Zen: Motorcycles

2026-10-24T06:00:00.000-04:00

Years ago, when I was in graduate school and living in Mississippi, I remember stopping at a CVS and spotting a shirtless guy sitting on a motorcycle across the street. I’ve never been particularly interested in motorcycles, but damn, that man had a body that could stop traffic! He was perched on what we used to call a “crotch rocket,” a sleek, racing-style motorcycle that has the rider leaning forward over the handlebars. Now, I know riding without a helmet or protective clothing is dangerous, but at that moment, motorcycle safety was not exactly what was on my mind. Let’s just say that while his crotch rocket was parked, he had my motor purring—and the rocket in my own crotch was more than ready for liftoff! It’s been probably twenty years, and I still remember that glorious sight. Apparently, some things have a way of staying in your head long after they’ve left your rearview mirror.

Pic of the Day

2026-10-23T18:00:00.000-04:00

Fridays, Fantasies, Football, Food

2026-10-23T06:00:00.000-04:00

Have you ever woken up from a dream and thought, “Damn, that only happens in porn!”? I had one of those dreams last night, and while it was wild and deliciously indecent, I certainly seemed to be having a good time. I won’t go into the details because, quite frankly, they’re a little much for a public blog post. Let’s just say my subconscious apparently has quite the dirty little imagination.

At least I slept well, and I’m ready for the day. Thank goodness it’s Friday! I’m more than ready for the weekend. After having only a one-day weekend last week, I could really use two full days of rest and relaxation.

Tomorrow is going to be a football day. I have games I want to watch beginning at noon, another at 3:30 p.m., and the last one starting at 5 p.m. I think this might be the first Saturday this season when all three of my teams are playing at different times, though the afternoon games may overlap a little. Every other weekend, either one of my teams had a bye week or two of them were playing at the same time. It’ll be nice to watch all three without having to constantly switch back and forth between games.

With the weather getting colder here in Vermont, I’m also planning to make a pot of Zuppa Toscana. I might even try a new recipe I came across the other day for Spinach Artichoke Chicken. Since I’ll already be buying kale for the soup, I’m thinking of substituting kale for the spinach in the chicken recipe. I’ve always preferred kale to spinach anyway. I think it’s a texture thing.

That’s probably the same reason I prefer collard greens to turnip greens. When I make a pot of greens, I almost always use collards. My mother used to say that turnip greens were slimy, though I don’t think that’s quite the right word. Boiled okra is slimy. Turnip greens just cook down to a much softer texture, almost like spinach, whereas collards hold their texture a little better. I suppose I just prefer greens with a little more substance to them.

And somehow, I’ve gone from talking about a particularly indecent dream to discussing the texture of leafy green vegetables. That’s quite a transition, even for me!

Anyway, I think that’s enough rambling for one post. It’s shaping up to be an f-ing good weekend! Have a great Friday and a wonderful weekend, everyone!

Pic of the Day

2026-10-22T18:00:00.000-04:00

Something to Look Forward To

2026-10-22T06:00:00.000-04:00

I realized this morning that I had almost forgotten to write a blog post for today. However, I do have a little bit of good news to share.

I’ve booked a five-night trip to Montreal for my birthday next month! I’ve been wanting to get back to Montreal for a while, and I decided that my birthday was as good an excuse as any.

I’m already looking forward to getting away for a few days, enjoying some good food, doing a little shopping, and hopefully having a wonderful birthday. I’m also hoping to find a nice winter coat while I’m there. I figure Canadians ought to know a thing or two about dressing for cold weather.

Sometimes, it’s nice just to have something to look forward to. I certainly do!

Pic of the Day

2026-10-21T18:00:00.000-04:00

Happy Hump Day!

2026-10-21T06:00:00.000-04:00

We’ve made it to the middle of the week, and I’ve been sitting here staring at my screen, trying to figure out what I want to write about this morning. Unfortunately, inspiration seems to have decided to sleep in today. I can’t say I blame it. I wish I could have done the same.

So, rather than ramble on about absolutely nothing, I’ll simply wish y’all a wonderful Wednesday. Have a great day!

Double, Double Toil and Trouble

2026-10-20T06:00:00.000-04:00

Double, Double Toil and Trouble

From

Macbeth, Act IV, Scene I

By William Shakespeare

The Three Witches, casting a spell

Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights hast thirty one
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark,
Liver of blaspheming Jew,
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse,
Nose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips,
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver’d by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

About the Poem

With Halloween just around the corner, I thought it would be appropriate to turn to one of the most famous scenes of witchcraft in English literature. Few lines from Shakespeare are as instantly recognizable as “Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble.” Even people who have never read or seen Macbeth probably know those words. They have become so closely associated with witches, bubbling cauldrons, and Halloween that it is sometimes easy to forget their rather sinister origins.

I used to love teaching Macbeth. Along with Twelfth Night and A Midsummer Night’s Dream, it remains one of my favorite Shakespeare plays. I have always been fascinated by the supernatural elements of Macbeth, but what makes the play truly compelling is that the greatest evil does not necessarily come from the witches. It comes from human ambition, greed, jealousy, and the willingness to commit terrible acts in pursuit of power. The witches may plant the seeds of ambition in Macbeth’s mind, but he is the one who chooses to act upon them.

When I was teaching, I was also in charge of the Drama Club, and I was always looking for ways to make Shakespeare more entertaining and accessible to my students. At one point, I even wrote a play of my own that incorporated scenes from several of Shakespeare’s works.

The play was set in a college dorm room, much like the one in today’s picture. It began with a student struggling to complete an assignment for a Shakespeare class. The professor had asked the students to choose what they considered the greatest scene Shakespeare ever wrote and explain why. Of course, anyone who loves Shakespeare knows what an impossible assignment that would be.

As the student considered various possibilities, the scenes would come to life onstage. The actors would perform a scene, and then the student would explain why, despite its brilliance, it wasn’t quite the right choice. Today’s scene from Macbeth, with the Three Witches chanting around their cauldron, was one of those possibilities.

The play continued through several of Shakespeare’s most memorable scenes, with the student considering each one before deciding that it wasn’t quite the right choice. For the final scene, I chose Puck’s closing speech from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, one of my favorite passages in all of Shakespeare:

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber’d here
While these visions did appear.

As Puck finished his speech, the student woke up, discovering that the entire ordeal had been nothing more than a dream. There was no impossible assignment, no need to choose the greatest scene Shakespeare ever wrote, and certainly no need to explain why all the other wonderful scenes weren’t quite good enough.

I thought it was a fitting ending. After all, A Midsummer Night’s Dream is itself a play about the strange boundary between dreams and reality. Having Puck assure the audience that everything they had witnessed might have been a dream, only for the student to awaken and discover that it actually was, seemed like the perfect way to bring the story full circle.

Whenever I taught Macbeth, I also liked to show students two very different film adaptations. The first was the 2010 production starring Patrick Stewart, which features some of the creepiest witches I have ever seen. Rather than the traditional old hags gathered around a cauldron, these witches appear as sinister nurses in a nightmarish world of violence and paranoia. Their unsettling appearance makes them all the more frightening.

The second was Scotland, PA (2001), a dark comedy that transports Shakespeare’s tragedy to a fast-food restaurant in 1970s Pennsylvania. Instead of three terrifying witches, we get three pot-smoking hippies, including one played by Andy Dick. They first appear on a Ferris wheel, offering their own rather unconventional version of supernatural wisdom. It’s a wonderfully absurd adaptation, but underneath the comedy, the familiar themes of ambition, murder, guilt, and fate remain.

One of the things I love most about Shakespeare is that his plays can be reimagined almost endlessly without losing their essential meaning. Whether the witches are terrifying supernatural creatures, sinister nurses, or three stoners on a Ferris wheel, their role remains much the same. They tempt Macbeth with the possibility of greatness while leaving him to make the choices that will ultimately destroy him.

Perhaps that is the most frightening thing about Macbeth. The witches do not have to force anyone to do evil. Sometimes all they have to do is tell us what we want to hear.

Commonly known as “The Witches’ Chant” or “Double, Double Toil and Trouble,” this passage comes from Act IV, Scene I of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, generally believed to have been written around 1606. The three witches, also known as the Weird Sisters, gather around a cauldron to prepare a magical potion before Macbeth arrives seeking further prophecies about his future.

The passage is remarkable for its rhythm, imagery, and theatricality. Unlike much of Shakespeare’s dramatic verse, which is written in iambic pentameter, the witches frequently speak in shorter, heavily accented rhyming lines. The repeated refrain creates an almost hypnotic rhythm, suggesting the chanting of a magical incantation. The grotesque ingredients, ranging from the eye of a newt to the finger of a murdered infant, heighten the sense of horror while giving the scene a darkly imaginative quality.

Some of the ingredients also reflect the prejudices and fears of Shakespeare’s time. References to Jews, Turks, and Tartars draw upon the religious and cultural hostility familiar to Elizabethan and Jacobean audiences. These lines remind us that literature can preserve not only the imagination of an earlier age but also its uglier assumptions.

The witches are especially interesting because of their connection to King James I. Before becoming king of England in 1603, James had ruled Scotland as James VI. He was deeply fascinated by witchcraft and believed witches posed a genuine threat to society. In 1597, he published Daemonologie, a treatise examining witchcraft, sorcery, and demonic activity.

Shakespeare’s Macbeth was probably written with James in mind. The king’s supposed ancestor, Banquo, appears in the play as a noble figure whose descendants are prophesied to become kings. Although modern historians generally regard Banquo as legendary rather than historical, the connection would have been particularly flattering to James.

There is also a fascinating scholarly debate about the witches themselves. While they are generally considered an essential part of Shakespeare’s original play, some scholars believe that portions of their scenes were added or revised later, possibly by the playwright Thomas Middleton. In particular, the scenes involving Hecate, the goddess associated with witchcraft, have long been suspected of being later additions. Similar songs appear in Middleton’s play The Witch. Whether these changes were made to enhance the supernatural spectacle or to satisfy changing theatrical tastes remains a matter of debate.

Whatever their origins, the witches have become among the most memorable characters in Shakespeare’s works. Their chant has survived for more than four centuries, finding its way into films, television, literature, and countless Halloween celebrations.

About the Poet

William Shakespeare (1564–1616) was an English playwright, poet, and actor, widely regarded as one of the greatest writers in the English language. Born in Stratford-upon-Avon, he became a leading figure in London’s theatrical world during the reigns of Elizabeth I and James I.

Shakespeare wrote approximately 39 plays, 154 sonnets, and several longer narrative poems. His works include tragedies such as Hamlet, Othello, King Lear, and Macbeth; comedies such as Twelfth Night, Much Ado About Nothing, and A Midsummer Night’s Dream; and historical plays exploring the lives and reigns of English monarchs.

What makes Shakespeare so enduring is his extraordinary understanding of human nature. His characters struggle with love, jealousy, ambition, betrayal, grief, and the desire for power in ways that remain recognizable more than four hundred years later. His language can be beautiful, terrifying, humorous, or heartbreaking, sometimes within the same scene.

Macbeth is one of his shortest and darkest tragedies. Its exploration of ambition, guilt, fate, and moral corruption continues to resonate with audiences today. The witches may provide some of the play’s most memorable moments, but the true horror lies in Macbeth’s gradual destruction of his own humanity.

And perhaps that is why, centuries later, we are still captivated by three witches chanting around a bubbling cauldron.

Another Busy Week

2026-10-19T06:00:00.000-04:00

It’s Monday again, and while I wish I were still in bed, I’m actually looking forward to the class I’ll be teaching today. I had a terrible migraine yesterday, and between the headache and the medication, I spent much of the day sleeping. I could certainly use another day of rest, but unfortunately, Monday has arrived whether I’m ready for it or not.

Today’s class will focus on art analysis. I often teach students how to analyze historical objects, but today we’ll be looking at a pair of paintings instead. I think the students have enjoyed these classes so far, and since the class is made up entirely of guys, I’m particularly interested to see how they react to today’s paintings. I have a feeling it will lead to some interesting discussions.

Last Thursday, during Alumni Weekend, one of the university’s alumni joined us for class as we practiced object analysis. I’ll admit that I don’t usually enjoy having someone other than the professor and students in the classroom, but in this case, his presence turned out to be quite useful. He explained to the students, most of whom will eventually commission as military officers, how they may be called upon to conduct scene investigations during their military careers. He pointed out that the skills they were practicing in class—carefully observing details, interpreting evidence, and drawing conclusions—were much the same skills they would need during those investigations.

I think that gave the students a new perspective on what we were doing. Sometimes, all it takes is someone showing students how a classroom exercise relates to their future careers to make the subject more interesting and relevant. I always enjoy those moments when students begin to see the practical value of what they’re learning.

And for the record, despite what some people might think, I’m not always negative about Mondays. I’m actually looking forward to teaching today. I just wish I’d had a little more time to rest beforehand. Since I worked on Saturday, I only had a one-day weekend, and that simply wasn’t enough. I need those two days to recharge, especially after a busy week.

Unfortunately, my schedule is packed for both this week and next, so taking a day off really isn’t an option. I suppose I’ll just have to keep going, enjoy the parts of my job that I love, and look forward to the next opportunity to get some much-needed rest.

I hope everyone has a wonderful Monday and a great week ahead!

Pic of the Day

2026-10-18T18:00:00.000-04:00

Transformed, Not Conformed

2026-10-18T08:49:14.365-04:00

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.”
— Romans 12:2

For many LGBTQ+ Christians, these words from the Apostle Paul carry a particularly powerful meaning. We have spent so much of our lives trying to conform to what others believe we should be. We have been told how to act, how to dress, whom to love, and even how to worship God. We have been told how to hold our hands so they aren’t too expressive, how to walk without that telltale swish in our steps, how to sit properly, and how to change our voices to sound deeper and more masculine. We have been taught to watch every gesture, every word, and every movement, lest we reveal something about ourselves that others might find unacceptable.

We have been taught that acceptance, both from the world and sometimes even from our own families and churches, depends upon our willingness to deny some essential part of ourselves. Too often, we have believed those voices, even when doing so has caused us tremendous pain. There is a particular kind of suffering that comes from trying to squeeze ourselves into a mold that was never made for us. We twist ourselves into impossible shapes, suppress our feelings, question our worth, and convince ourselves that if we could just be different, we might finally be worthy of love.

When I was in graduate school, I read Passing, a novel by Nella Larsen, a Black woman who was part of the Harlem Renaissance. Published in 1929, the novel explores the lives of two Black women, one of whom conceals her racial identity and lives as white, even from her own husband. The novel examines the complicated relationship between identity, belonging, and the sacrifices people make to gain acceptance in a society that judges them for who they are. Although Larsen was writing about racial passing in a deeply segregated America, I found myself identifying with the emotional struggle of hiding one’s true identity.

For generations, LGBTQ+ people have been taught to do our own kind of passing. We have pretended to be straight, suppressed our mannerisms, concealed our relationships, and sometimes even married people we could never truly love, all in the hope of being accepted by our families, our communities, and our churches. We have been told that if we could just pass as heterosexual Christians, we would somehow become better Christians. The historical experiences of racial passing and concealing one’s sexuality are not the same, but both can reveal the terrible emotional cost of being forced to hide who we are. The fault lies not with those who conceal their identities for safety or acceptance, but with the prejudice that makes such concealment necessary.

I was reminded of this recently during a conversation with a good friend who sent me a series of illustrations depicting the experiences of a young gay man growing up in a world that continually told him he needed to be someone else. The first illustration, which I’ve used at the beginning of this post, asks a question that many LGBTQ+ people have probably asked themselves at some point: “I’m sorry, who would choose this?”

My immediate response to my friend was that God knows I would never have chosen to be gay. Not because I believe there is anything wrong with being gay, but because I know the pain, loneliness, fear, and rejection that have accompanied it throughout much of my life. If I could have spared that frightened little boy the suffering he would endure, I would have wanted to.

But perhaps we have been asking the wrong question all along. Instead of asking why anyone would choose to be gay, perhaps we should ask why the world makes being gay so difficult that anyone would wish to be someone else.

The illustrations that follow tell that story, and in many ways, they tell my story as well.

We begin learning society’s expectations long before we understand what sexuality even means. Little boys are supposed to like trucks, sports, and rough-and-tumble games. Little girls are supposed to like dolls, dresses, and playing house. Those expectations are so deeply ingrained that a child who steps outside them can be made to feel that something is wrong.

The second illustration shows a little boy reaching toward a princess dress while his mother holds his hand. It is such a simple, innocent moment. He sees something beautiful that interests him. Yet we know how easily that innocent curiosity can become a source of embarrassment for the adults around him.

There is nothing inherently wrong with a boy who likes princess dresses or a girl who prefers toy trucks. Nor do childhood interests determine someone’s sexual orientation or gender identity. But society often treats these differences as warning signs that a child needs to be corrected.

The next illustration shows the same little boy reading a fairy tale in bed while a man, presumably his father, stands in the doorway holding a toy truck. There is something heartbreaking about that image. The child is perfectly content, absorbed in a story that brings him happiness, while the adult seems to represent the expectations that will eventually intrude upon that happiness.

It reminds me of my own childhood.

When I was in elementary school, I preferred playing with the girls at recess rather than joining the boys in flag football. My father was embarrassed by this. On the occasions when he picked me up from school, I knew I had to play flag football with the other boys. Thankfully, those occasions were rare. Recess came at the end of the school day, so I could usually enjoy myself without worrying about whether he would see me.

It seems like such a small thing now, doesn’t it? A little boy wanting to play with the children whose company he enjoyed. Yet even then, I was learning that being myself was something to be ashamed of.

As children grow older, the expectations become more rigid, and the consequences of being different can become more painful.

We learn that certain gestures are too feminine, certain interests are unacceptable, and certain ways of speaking or walking invite ridicule. Every movement, every word, every laugh becomes something to scrutinize. We are no longer simply living our lives. We are performing a version of ourselves designed to make other people comfortable.

And when we fail to perform convincingly enough, we are reminded of our supposed shortcomings.

Sometimes that ridicule becomes something much worse.

School was often a living hell for me because of the bullying I endured. Years later, when I finally told my mother how miserable I had been, she asked why I hadn’t told my parents at the time.

The answer was simple: I was embarrassed.

I already knew what I would likely hear. My father had told me often enough to quit being such a sissy.

How could I turn to the very people who were supposed to protect me when I feared they would simply reinforce what my tormentors were saying?

For many LGBTQ+ children, home is not always a refuge from the cruelty they encounter elsewhere. Sometimes the expectations at home are simply a quieter version of the same rejection they experience at school.

And the damage can last long after childhood has ended.

Eventually, the voices of others become the voices inside our own heads.

The next illustration shows the young man sitting alone on his bed, searching his phone for ways not to be gay. By this point, he has learned the lesson the world has been teaching him: if he could just change who he is, perhaps the suffering would stop.

But we cannot build a healthy life upon the belief that our very existence is a mistake.

This is where Paul’s words in Romans 12:2 become especially meaningful: “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds.”

For LGBTQ+ Christians, that can mean refusing to accept the world’s insistence that our sexuality or gender identity makes us less worthy of God’s love. It means recognizing that the prejudices of society, even when preached from a pulpit, are not necessarily the will of God.

The transformation Paul describes is not about changing our sexual orientation or gender identity. It is about renewing our minds and changing the way we understand ourselves, our relationship with God, and our place in His creation.

For some of us, the most difficult transformation God asks of us is not to change who we are, but to change what we have been taught to believe about ourselves.

Sometimes the people who hurt us do not even realize they are doing so.

The illustration of the boy crying in the car while his mother assures him that he will feel better once he gets out and plays soccer is particularly painful to me. It reminds me of those afternoons when I felt compelled to play flag football because my father might be watching.

Perhaps the mother in the illustration genuinely believes that joining the other boys will make her son happy. Perhaps she cannot understand why something that seems so ordinary to her causes him such distress.

But good intentions do not always prevent harm.

When we insist that children conform to our expectations rather than allowing them to discover who they are, we teach them that our approval is conditional. We teach them that love and acceptance must be earned by becoming someone else.

And for a child who already feels different, that can be devastating.

Those expectations do not disappear when we grow older.

The questions simply change. Have you got a girlfriend? When are you going to settle down? When are you going to get married?

For heterosexual people, these may seem like harmless questions. For someone struggling with their sexuality, they can be painful reminders that the life others expect of them is not the life they are meant to live.

My friend, who is considerably younger than I am, told me something during our conversation that I found both beautiful and heartbreaking. He said he had reached a point in his life where he would choose to be gay again in every lifetime.

I wish I could have said that when I was his age.

For much of my life, I felt that I faced an impossible choice: keep my family or be myself. I could not have both. My family has never fully accepted me for who I am, and that rejection leaves wounds that do not simply disappear with time.

My friend’s words represent a freedom that I wish I had known much earlier in life. But I also recognize that we come to self-acceptance through different experiences, at different times, and sometimes through extraordinary pain.

I think this illustration captures something that is often misunderstood about the LGBTQ+ experience.

When someone says they would never have chosen to be gay, they are not necessarily saying that being gay is wrong. Sometimes they are saying that the suffering imposed upon them has been so great that they cannot imagine willingly choosing to endure it.

But we must be careful not to confuse the source of that suffering.

The problem is not the child who prefers playing with girls, the boy who loves fairy tales, or the young man who dreams of loving another man. The problem is a world that teaches them to be ashamed of those things.

There is nothing inherently shameful about being LGBTQ+. The shame comes from the judgments others impose upon us and the judgments we eventually learn to impose upon ourselves.

And unlearning those judgments can be one of the most difficult journeys we ever undertake.

The final illustration shows the young man kneeling beside his bed, his hands clasped in prayer.

I wonder how many LGBTQ+ Christians have knelt beside their beds and begged God to make them different. How many have prayed for their feelings to disappear, for their desires to change, or for the strength to become the person their families and churches expected them to be?

How many have interpreted God’s silence as evidence that they were unworthy of His love?

But what if we have been praying for the wrong kind of transformation?

What if God does not want us to become someone else? What if He wants us to learn to love the person He created?

Paul tells us that through the renewing of our minds, we “may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.”

For me, that renewal begins with recognizing that I can be both authentically gay and faithfully Christian. These are not competing identities. I do not have to choose between loving God and accepting myself.

But I also know that reaching that understanding is not as simple as deciding one morning to think differently.

For those of us who have spent years, sometimes decades, being told that something fundamental about us is wrong, learning to love ourselves can be extraordinarily difficult. The voices of condemnation do not simply disappear because we have decided to stop listening.

And I would never suggest that a change in attitude, a stronger faith, or a renewed commitment to God can magically solve every problem. The damage caused by years of rejection, shame, and fear can be profound. Depression, anxiety, and trauma are not signs of spiritual weakness, nor are they evidence that we have failed to trust God.

Sometimes healing requires therapy. Sometimes it requires medication. Sometimes it requires both, along with the love and support of people who accept us exactly as we are. There is no shame in seeking professional help, and doing so does not demonstrate a lack of faith.

Faith and medical treatment are not opposing forces. They can work together to help us become healthier, happier, and more fully ourselves.

The important thing is to begin.

Begin by questioning the voices that have told you that you are unworthy. Begin by recognizing that your identity is not something for which you must apologize. Begin by treating yourself with the same compassion you would offer someone else who was struggling. Begin by understanding that loving yourself is not selfish, and accepting yourself is not sinful.

Most importantly, begin by recognizing that you can be both authentically LGBTQ+ and faithfully Christian.

When we stop exhausting ourselves trying to satisfy everyone else’s expectations, we create room for something extraordinary. We begin to discover who we really are, what we believe, and how we can use the gifts God has given us.

And perhaps that is when we can begin to discern God’s will for our lives more clearly.

Perhaps our experiences of rejection will make us more compassionate toward others who suffer. Perhaps our struggles will give us the courage to stand against injustice. Perhaps the love we once believed we were unworthy of receiving will become the very love we offer to someone else who desperately needs it.

And perhaps, simply by living openly and faithfully, we can help another LGBTQ+ person understand that they, too, have a place in God’s kingdom.

I think about that little boy who was afraid to be seen playing with the girls at recess. I wish I could go back and tell him that there was nothing wrong with him. That he didn’t need to change the way he walked, talked, or held his hands. That he didn’t need to pretend to enjoy things he disliked simply to prove that he was masculine enough.

Most of all, I wish I could tell him that God loved him exactly as he was.

None of this means that life will suddenly become easy. There will still be people who reject us, churches that exclude us, and days when old insecurities return. Transformation is rarely a straight path, and healing does not mean that every wound disappears.

But we do not have to be perfect to begin living freely. We do not have to have all the answers before we can love ourselves. And we certainly do not have to become someone else to be worthy of God’s grace.

We can love ourselves, embrace who we are, and devote our hearts and spirits to God. These are not separate journeys, but parts of the same transformation.

And as our minds are renewed, we may discover that the freedom we have been searching for does not come from finally becoming what others wanted us to be. It comes from accepting who we have always been, recognizing God’s love within us, and allowing that love to shape the way we live.

For when we are no longer consumed by the struggle to deny ourselves, we are free to devote our energy to something far greater: loving God, loving our neighbors, and making a difference in a world that desperately needs more compassion, understanding, and grace.

God does not call us to conform to someone else’s idea of who we should be. He calls us to be transformed by His love, so that we can become more fully the people He created us to be.

Later

2026-10-18T05:52:40.219-04:00

I woke up with a headache this morning, so I’m going to sleep a little later than usual and hope it helps. I’ll post my Sunday devotional later this morning. Thanks for your patience, and I hope everyone has a wonderful Sunday!

Pic of the Day

2026-10-17T18:00:00.000-04:00

Moment of Zen: A Room with a View

2026-10-17T06:00:00.000-04:00

I’ve always loved balconies and the views they offer. Of course, a beautiful view is even better when enjoyed in the nude, with a little sunshine and a gentle breeze on your bare skin.