Rarely do I attempt to convince someone of the existence of God; plenty are the times my behavior cannot be explained but from the radicalness of his resurrection.
Because of it, I am alive, and not dead by my own hand.
Because of it, I no longer hate anything related to having non-normative gender and sexual orientation.
Because of it, I am out, and not dying in some godforsaken closet.
Because of it, I fight the world for even a shred of the glittering hope which allows me to love unfailingly, give unendingly, live faithfully, and die sacrificially.
For as much as I speak against the injustices committed by the Western Church, I love it as if it were my own body, however infected it is with the disease of Western philosophy.
Never will anyone hear me speak against the real Jesus–not the warped product the Western Church attempts to sell to people so they can control them–because in my hours of complete destruction and blind, self-directed rage, aside from him, no one was there.