One Fairly Common Experience Of Gifted Children Is Wishing For Pain. Wishing You Had Some Great Big Horrible

Been a while since I’ve posted! I’ve been SUPER busy working on some new products for 2020! (Plush coming SOON)

Match’s Menu 💚

got some new brushes on procreate so i tested them out on juniper and i kinda really love them?? aAAAAAAA

I’m an atheist. I used to be extremely religious, mostly because I was thoroughly brainwashed, conditioned and indoctrinated since before I could really talk to be terrified of my grandmother’s church’s hell and demons (whom I was told were responsible for everything from my childhood epilepsy to my birth parents abandoning me, usually because of some grievous sin I’d committed. At like, 4 years old.) This post isn’t about my incredibly traumatic history with organized religion so I’m not really going to get into that, but the point is that I have long since lost all ability to accept anything I can’t prove or see, touch and hear. And believe me, I MISS it - I miss the security and comfort of faith, the fulfillment of feeling like I’m part of something so much bigger than me, the warmth of love from a god I used to be absolutely sure existed. I miss the sense of purpose and mission, I miss the identity. I can never go back and find those things in religion again, but my friend Adrian has. 

He’s a Catholic priest now, officially, he finished seminary recently. We met when I was in college and he was part of an outreach program from his church to help mend relationships between the local church presence and my college’s LGBT support group. Adrian is one of the kindest, gentlest, most optimistic and compassionate people I’ve ever known. He’s shockingly (at least to me) progressive for a priest, and I fully admit to grilling him when we first met, trying to root out his hidden conservative shittiness that I was sure lurked under the surface of his patient smile. I would try to trick him into admitting that he secretly thought gays were going to hell, or black people didn’t belong in the priesthood, or even things like his opinions on American borders or healthcare reform. Adrian shamed me with how incredibly understanding and tolerant he was of my constant barrage of attempts to prove he was as awful as the people who raised me and saw me in church every Sunday.

Once, when I was doing just this, he laughed and said, “Teddy. Jesus was black, science is real, and god loves gay people. There really are those among the clergy who know this to be true, and I promise I’m one of them. I completely understand why you’re suspicious though.” The thing that gets me is, knowing him makes the loss of faith hurt more than it would otherwise I think. I might have become someone like Adrian, had I not been exposed to the horrors and lies slithering under the shiny surface of religion early on. I wish I could know Adrian’s religion, his faith that clearly brings him so much peace and serenity and love for the world and everyone in it, even the worst of us. 

Getting to know him has scraped that old wound raw, one I thought I’d healed by embracing only the proven and logical and dismissing anything that demanded blind faith. If god were real, I told myself, he or she or they or it wouldn’t need or want to demand blind faith. Nothing worth believing in requires you to close your eyes and stick your head in the sand and ignore rationale. The justifications always grated on me too, the easy and convenient defense that “well, if my prayers aren’t answered it’s because god had a different plan, and if they were then that was also god, hooray!” It smacked of deliberately tailored comfort, a defense mechanism to protect our fragile human brains against the vast meaninglessness of reality.

But sometimes Adrian will text me and ask if I want coffee, he’s always up early in the mornings because that’s who he is and I usually am because I sleep like shit and I often have early work shifts. And when I meet him, sometimes it’s cool and brisk and pearl-gray and we’re in knitted scarves and boots and his collar isn’t visible under his layers but it is, it radiates all around him like a halo of his own and he sips his dark roast and tips his head back to look up at the quiet dawn blooming like he knows something I don’t, something he’s aching for me to find on my own because it’s the only way I will. In those moments, I remember the stirrings of faith, how it felt to wonder if maybe the violent, furious, terrifying god of my grandmother’s was a complete misinterpretation of the kind of god who was really out there, sharing those dawns and that coffee and that peace with us. I used to look for that quiet god in between all the screaming and shrieking in tongues and judgment and hellfire and horror and hatred of my family’s church, but I could never find them and finally I gave up. I told Adrian about this today, on my day off during our early coffee run.

“Of course you did,” he said. “They didn’t just demand blind faith of you, they yanked a blindfold around your heart and made you stumble through all their hellfire desperately looking for the living god. They had no right, and no one can blame you for escaping as soon as you could. They were screaming in your ears so loudly you couldn’t hear the quiet god whispering, calling you. That’s the tragedy of it all, really. They took god from you and left you deaf and blind in the cold, lost and scarred. God doesn’t scream or swing fists. God whispers, and waits.”

at what point in history do you think americans stopped having british accents

RB if you hate being called Queer

I’m just curious <_<

Meow meow meow meow

meow.

hey man I found a piece of your soul stuck in the text messages of old friends you don’t speak to anymore. do you want it back

This incredible 95-year-old transwoman flight instructor found love late in life– only to be denied social security benefits by the government because she’s not cisgender

A beautiful interview with a woman who transitioned in 1976 shows how life for transgender people has changed over the years, although some terrible consequences remain the same.

Gifs: Lambda Legal

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Fruits and vegetables, before and after human intervention. 

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