he/him • North Carolina Religion and I haven't always seen eye to eye. I was born into an evangelical household and Christianity played a massive part in my childhood. In my early years, I was homeschooled with the help of Jesus workbooks. We went to a megachurch in the city, 45 minutes away from our hometown. The children's program was full of fun activities, and if my parents said church was good, who was I to question them. In third grade I was old enough to go to church sleepaway summer camp. I couldn’t wait for a week of swimming, ziplining, and worshiping God. Unfortunately, camp happened upon the same year gay marriage was legalized in Indiana. My pastor, whom I had revered at the time, held a sermon about it. “Homosexuality is a weapon of the devil,” she claimed. “My niece became a lesbian. I want all of you to pray for her, otherwise she’ll go to hell.” When my parents learned of this sermon, we immediately stopped going to the church. Several of my parents’ friends were gay, and they didn’t want to raise us in hate. My mother said God created all of us in his image, and to be like Christ was to love everyone equally. Soon, I stopped caring about Christianity. If the church was wrong about homosexuality, what else were they wrong about? I would still go to church, but never enjoyed it. When I was old enough to stay home, I stopped going. At thirteen, I came out as transgender, so religion was the farthest thing from my mind. I had bigger battles, like dysphoria, anorexia, and self harm. If someone asked a fifteen-year-old me if he believed in God, he would call them an idiot. What God would put me in a body that causes so much pain? Eventually my bitterness subsided. I started testosterone, dropped my self-destructive habits, and became a happy, well-adjusted teenager. Then, my house burned down. I never knew a person could feel so much despair. The happy person I became disappeared. I cried myself to sleep every night and relapsed into my worst habits. Every day was a fight to keep my head above the sea of depression. I had to do something, or else I’d drown. Soon after, I found the Religious Society of Friends, otherwise known as Quakers. I’ve known about Quakers for a few years, and always admired them for their commitment to social justice. My local Quaker meeting had a booth at my city’s pride festival. I was desperate for community, so I decided, “Why not?” Quakerism, at least the liberal sect, is different from other Christian groups. There’s no pastor. Quakers believe in experiencing God directly through the light found in everyone. Everyone has a different relationship to God – some are agnostics while others are firm believers. Being in a spiritual space where nobody tells me what to believe is freeing. In meetings, everyone sits in a silent circle. Anyone who feels called to speak may do so. Sometimes a dozen people give a sermon, sometimes the entire hour is silent. The first time I attended a meeting was life-changing, I had never felt so spiritual before. I’ve gone every Sunday ever since. The Quakers are kind and empathetic, and they love me for my differences. I’ve found my spiritual home. I’ve never needed to hide being transgender, in fact, I’m not the only trans person there! While I started attending due to tragedy, I will continue to attend because of love. I can’t wait to see how my relationship with God grows.