rainbow sheep

darnold1975

Dear Allies: The Gays Salute You With Both Hands And A Fan Snap

“I’m not saying I’m dramatic. But if God wanted me to stay calm, he wouldn’t have given me this much personality and this many conservative relatives.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Today we’re gathering around the communal table to honor a sacred, undercelebrated, and deeply cherished group of humans. Our allies. The real ones. Not the “I posted a rainbow square once in 2020” crowd. Not the “I love you but don’t tell my pastor” crowd. Not the “thoughts and prayers for your eternal soul” crowd who clutch their prayer list so hard they leave dents.

I’m talking about the folks who show up when nobody’s watching. The ones who defend us without needing applause, cameras, or a political campaign ad with soft piano music and a bald eagle crying in the background. The ones who embody actual Christianity. The kind Jesus practiced before it got franchised. Monetized. And turned into a small‑town HOA with a pulpit.

Piper has already hopped on the counter and declared, “Finally. A blog about the humans who actually act right.” Tinkerbell is nodding solemnly like a tiny furry deacon. Coco is passing out imaginary communion wafers made of Temptations treats.

And me? I’m over here emotional because these allies, the everyday saints, remind us that our souls aren’t one color. Our souls are a rainbow quilt that is stitched together with joy, grief, glitter, and generational resilience. Humanity was always meant to be fabulous. Some folks just missed the memo while they were too busy policing everyone else’s salvation.

To our allies who stand up for us in grocery store aisles, family dinners, church parking lots, and in group chats where the bigots get bold. And we see you. You don’t do it for credit. You don’t do it for clout. You don’t do it because it’s trendy. You do it because your moral compass isn’t powered by fear, shame, or whatever Fox News is microwaving that day. You do it because you know love is supposed to be lived. Not legislated.

You do it because you understand that Jesus wasn’t white, wealthy, or sponsored by the pulpit politics committee. You do it because you know that if Jesus showed up today, half these conservative Christians would call the cops on him for wearing sandals and hanging out with marginalized people. You do it because you know the difference between performative faith and actual compassion. And the difference is louder than a praise band with a broken sound system.

Meanwhile, some conservative Christians are out here condemning queer folks by day and conducting their secret lives in the dark night of shadows like they’re auditioning for a low‑budget soap opera. Piper said, “Mama, the hypocrisy is giving mildew.” Tinkerbell added, “It’s giving spiritual swamp water.” And  Coco simply hissed and walked away. Honestly, they’re honesty felt like Scripture.

Tinkerbell (the eldest emotionally, the judge, the one who has seen things): “First of all, thank you to the allies who defend my mama like she’s the last biscuit at a Baptist potluck. Y’all are the reason she walks around this house with her shoulders back and her spirit moisturized. I watch everything from the top of the fridge. And trust me. The world needs more of you and fewer people who weaponize Scripture like it’s a coupon they clipped wrong.”

Piper (chaotic, believes she is a pastor): “I would like to personally thank the allies who understand that Jesus hung out with the marginalized. And not the HOA board of conservative Christianity. If Jesus came back today, half these folks would call the police because he looks ‘suspicious.’ And the other half would ask him to sign their Bible like it’s a meet‑and‑greet. But you allies would offer him a seat, a snack, and a safe place to rest. That’s ministry.”

Coco (the one who knocks things over for emphasis): “Thank you for clapping back at bigots with the precision of a cat swatting a glass off a counter. Thank you for knowing that love is louder than hypocrisy. And that closets are for coats, not people. Also, I knocked over that decorative cross because the energy felt off. You’re welcome.”

Piper (interrupting): “And let’s be clear. The allies who show up quietly and don’t need applause, y’all are the real disciples. Meanwhile, some folks out here preaching purity while living double lives that smell like unwashed secrets and expired communion juice.”

Tinkerbell (fanning herself with an imaginary church program): “It’s always the loudest ones who have the most to hide. But our allies? They’re out here living the gospel without needing to weaponize it. They’re out here loving people like Jesus actually instructed. They’re out here doing the work while others are doing theatrics.”

Coco (dramatically rolling onto her back): “Thank you for loving my mama in ways that make her laugh. Breathe easier. And feel safe. Thank you for being the humans she trusts. Thank you for being the reason she doesn’t hiss at the world like I do.”

And before this blog sashays off the stage in a cloud of glitter and righteous truth. My cats insisted, loudly, dramatically, and with the authority of three tiny elders, that they get the final word.

Piper (tail flicking like a church lady’s fan): “Thank you, allies. Without you, Mama wouldn’t have had the courage to build the life she has now. And without that life, we wouldn’t have our brothers. The chaotic, beloved, biscuit‑stealing boys who complete this household circus.”

Tinkerbell (paws folded like she’s about to deliver a sermon): “Y’all didn’t just stand up for Mama. You stood beside her. And because of that, this rainbow‑stitched, Southern‑chaotic, cat‑ruled family, exists exactly as it should. Our brothers are here because you helped create a world where love could breathe.”

Coco (rolling dramatically onto her back again for emphasis): “Thank you for giving Mama the safety and strength to choose love boldly. And because of you, we have brothers to wrestle, cuddle, judge, and occasionally blame for things we definitely did.”

To every ally who shows up without needing a spotlight, thank you. Thank you for representing the Jesus who loved without conditions, fear, or a PR team. Thank you for knowing that our souls shimmer in every color ever created. Thank you for standing in the gap when the world gets loud, cruel, or hypocritical.

And to the conservative Christians who are more performative than biblical? Your secret life is showing. And it’s not giving Beatitudes. Our allies are out here living the gospel without needing to weaponize it. They’re out here loving us in ways that heal generational wounds. And they’re out here proving that humanity, at its best, is a rainbow. 

All three, in a furry chorus of gratitude, “Thank you for helping build the home we nap in. The love we live in. And the family we purr in.” And with that, the cats have spoken. The rainbow has shimmered. The truth has been told. The gays salute you with both hands. A fan snap. And three very grateful cats. Piper has closed her laptop. Tinkerbell has said “Amen.” Coco has knocked over another decorative cross for emphasis.

And me? I’m ending this with a fan snap. A grateful heart. And a truth that cannot be dimmed. Real allies don’t just stand with us. They help us rise. Spirit moisturized. Rainbow restored. Thanks for reading! And Happy Pride Everyone Especially Our Allies! 

Affirmation: Today, I walk in my truth, glitter, and my God‑given audacity. I am loved. Protected. And too fabulous to be bothered by anyone who still thinks ‘rainbow’ is a political statement.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Glitter, Grace, Gay Rage, and the Feelings Police

“If catching gay were possible, I’d have turned half this town by now just by standing near the produce section.”

-Unknown

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the glitter. Negative energy go away. It’s Pride 2026! And I just got a text from my red hat relative that said, “Praying for you during this difficult season of rainbow confusion.” Ma’am, the only confusion here is why you think Jesus would skip the parade. My neighbor just taped a sign to my mailbox that says, “We don’t hate you. We just hate your lifestyle.” Ma’am, the only lifestyle I’m living is hydrated, moisturized, and unbothered. Something your church potluck potato salad could never relate to.

Welcome back to This Puzzled Life, where the cats are dramatic. The snacks are questionable. And the Pride decorations mysteriously disappeared after my neighbor’s Bible study group “accidentally” parked in my yard. This year’s Pride theme? “Glitter, Grace, and Gay Rage.” And yes, the cats have thoughts.

Meanwhile, my cats are already in the living room holding a strategy meeting about which Pride float they plan to hijack. The engines roared. The asphalt trembled. And the red‑hat brigade clutched their pearls like they were auditioning for a Victorian fainting couch.

Tinkerbell: “That sound is freedom, Brenda.”

Piper: “I tried to hop on a Harley. They said no. I said ‘cowards.’”

Coco: “They look like they could fix a carburetor and my self-esteem.”

The queens rolled by on a float shaped like a giant glitter‑encrusted Bible with a banner that read, “JESUS SAID LOVE EVERYBODY. Y’ALL JUST CAN’T READ.” My red hat wearing uncle gasped so hard he almost inhaled a sequin.

Coco: “Finally, someone with the confidence I deserve.”

Piper: “I asked one queen to adopt me. She said she already had three cats. I said ‘same.’”

And right as a queen in a rhinestone robe blew a kiss to a group of teenagers, one of the red‑hat ladies muttered, “This is how they turn kids gay.”

Me: “Sweetheart, if you could catch gay from a drag queen reading a book, half the South would’ve come out during library story hour.”

Piper: “Honestly, that would’ve solved a lot of problems.”

Coco: “Imagine thinking literacy is contagious but kindness isn’t. And calling other people “woke” while your leader is basically a tangerine influencer with two boyfriends.”

Tinkerbell: “Bless her heart. And by bless, I mean educate.”

Next, were the beautiful furries that lighten the mood. A neon wolf handed me a sticker that said, “You’re valid, babe.” A sparkly fox tried to pet Piper. Piper hissed. The fox hissed back. Mutual respect was achieved.

Tinkerbell: “They are kind, gentle creatures. Unlike the family values feelings police.”

Then came the leather community walking in polished boots, harnesses, vests, and enough confidence to power the entire parade without electricity. The conservative Christian red‑hat brigade froze like someone had unplugged their programming. One leather daddy walked past holding a sign that said, “CONSENT IS HOLY.”

Coco: “I like them. They mind their business and moisturize.”

Piper: “One of them winked at me. I don’t know what it meant. But I felt powerful.”

Tinkerbell: “They have better manners than half the people at your family reunion.”

Meanwhile, one red‑hat lady whispered, “This is inappropriate for children.” Ma’am, your child just watched a wolf hand out emotional support stickers. They’re fine. One of the red hats approached me and said, “We’re here to defend traditional families.”

Me: “Sweetheart, my family includes three cats, a vape pen, and a group chat called ‘Queer & Petty.’ We’re thriving.”

Coco: “She asked if I was saved. I said I was spayed.”

Piper: “I offered her a rainbow sticker. She recoiled like I was handing her a tax increase.”

Tinkerbell: “She tried to quote Leviticus. I countered with RuPaul. She had no defense.”

And then the girls decided about the importance of being happy in life. Here are their responses.

Piper: “I want lasers, snacks, and a fog machine that smells like lavender.”

Coco: “I want a float that plays Beyoncé and throws shade.”

Tinkerbell: “I want a float that offers hydration, affirmation, and a safe space for questioning squirrels.”

Just when the parade felt like it couldn’t get any more radiant, the Trans Joy Float rolled in. It was a shimmering, sky‑blue and cotton‑candy‑pink cloud of pure euphoria. The float glowed like someone had bottled sunrise and set it loose on wheels. Silk flags rippled in the air. Bubbles drifted like blessings. And a banner stretched across the top reading, “TRANS IS BEAUTIFUL. TRANS IS HOLY. TRANS IS HOME.”

The crowd erupted. They shouted cheers, tears, and hands over hearts. And our trans community seems to be the personal scapegoat of the red hat leader in our country this year. Even the furries paused their chaotic frolicking to clap.

Piper: “I want to live on that float. They have snacks and good lighting.”

Coco: “Those outfits are immaculate. I respect a community that commits to a color palette.”

Tinkerbell: “This is what liberation looks like. It’s soft, fierce, and unapologetically alive.”

A group of trans elders stood at the front, waving like royalty. Behind them, trans teens danced with the kind of joy that makes the air feel lighter. And in the very back, a trans man in a sparkly binder held a sign that said, “I survived. I’m thriving. Keep up.”

The red‑hat brigade tried to look away, but the float was too bright, beautiful, and full of life to ignore. One of them muttered, “This is confusing.”

Me: “Sweetheart, compassion isn’t confusing. You just haven’t tried it yet.”

Tinkerbell: “Bless her heart. And by bless, I mean educate.”

So, sprinkle the glitter. And tell your neighbor that Jesus fed people without asking for a lifestyle audit. Pride isn’t a phase, a parade, or a “difficult season of rainbow confusion.” It’s a declaration. A reclamation. It’s a glitter‑coated refusal to shrink that fills in the cracks of oppression. It’s Dykes on Bikes shaking the pavement. Drag queens blessing the crowd like queer clergy. Furries handing out emotional support stickers. The leather community teaching consent. And that’s better than half the churches in this zip code. And, finally, it’s the red‑hat feelings police losing theological debates to a cat in rainbow sunglasses. It’s my family that is chosen, furry, chaotic, and unbothered.

Piper: “If they don’t like it, they can look away. I’m queer, chaotic, and emotionally unavailable. Happy Pride.”

Coco: “Piper you are not gay. I’m not either. But I am petty. And that counts. But if they look away, I’ll make them look back.”

Tinkerbell: “Child, Pride is holy. Act like you know.”

And me? I’m hydrated. I’m moisturized. I’m queerly fortified. And I’m done explaining myself to people who think glitter is a threat. This is Pride 2026. This is my life. This is my family. And it’s me standing here in full queer glory. And watching people scream about “wokeness”, while their own orange‑tinted leader wears a full face of makeup. Which reportedly, he swoons over someone named Bubba. And keeps a communist‑flavored second daddy on speed dial. But somehow I’m the one who threatens traditional values. And if that offends you? Take it up with Jesus. He’s at the parade. Thanks for reading! Happy Pride!

Affirmation: I am unbothered. Uncloseted. And untouchable. I’m too hydrated for hate. And too holy for homophobia.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Truth Over Tradition: My Exit From Comfortable Dysfunction

“The truth didn’t break my family. The pretending did.”

-Unknown

Here’s the bigger picture. I didn’t grow up in a family that heals. Problems don’t get solved. They get buried alive. And then resurrected during holidays like emotional zombies. Now that me and my sister are adults, childhood resentments still pop up like whack‑a‑mole. And nobody wants to pick up a mallet. Let’s all smile in public so we don’t “defame the family.” Which honestly, does a fantastic job defaming itself.

And my family isn’t special. Dysfunction is everywhere. I have enough mental health education in my background to recognize the patterns. But they’ll swear I’m the problem. If you look past the church smiles, the whole system is sick. I would genuinely rather be hit by a car than attend “family time.” And because my kids were born into a lesbian family, they get treated like they came with a moral recall notice.

You can’t throw money at children and then take no active part in their lives the rest of the time. Especially, when you do the opposite with the other children in the family. The kids notice. I’ve tried talking about it for 17 years. And the truth is this. They just don’t care.

I have a master’s degree in counseling psychology. Yet somehow I’m the ignorant one. They don’t want insight. They don’t want help. They want silence. And mine has officially expired. I defend myself and my kids however I see fit. Respectfully? No. Effectively? Absolutely.

They want healing without effort. They’re emotional pillow princesses that want the benefits of growth while doing absolutely nothing but blinking dramatically. And when truth bruises their egos, accountability never shows up. Meanwhile, my dad plays messenger pigeon flying information back and forth between me and the rest of the family so that the dysfunction stays perfectly preserved.

Here’s the part they’ll never admit. Family therapy requires guts and transparency. And those two things they treat like forbidden sins. Instead, they’ve built a giant sand pile where they can bury their heads. And pretend nothing is wrong. That’s their comfort zone. Not truth. Not healing. Just sand. Neck‑deep and breathing through a straw of selective memory.

My favorite quote says it best, “If nothing changes, then nothing changes.” And I refuse to be silenced because their comfort depends on my suffering.

Our family lives in what I call comfortable dysfunction. It’s the emotional recliner they refuse to replace even though the springs are broken. And the fabric smells like denial. It’s easier than accountability. Easier than honesty. Easier than saying, “Maybe the gay daughter isn’t the downfall of civilization.”

And as if being the rainbow sheep wasn’t enough. I’m also the green sheep of the family because I’m a medical cannabis patient. And the family’s translation is that I’m “druggin’ and thuggin’.” The “bad influence.” And the “one who needs prayer.” But that’s not even the real issue.

The problem is my refusal to sit quietly in the pew of generational silence. The issue is that I no longer participate in the family’s favorite pastime of pretending. I’m done shrinking myself so other people can stay cozy in their outdated beliefs. I’m done letting conservative Christian values be weaponized against me and my children.

They can keep their selective morality. The kind where my sister thinks being gay is “wrong and evil.” But somehow premarital sex is just the Olympic sport of “being human.” Funny how sin gets flexible when it’s their behavior on the table. 

“My family says I’m ‘living in sin.’ Which is wild coming from some of them who wave a red hat like it’s the state flower. They preach about morality and still treat premarital sex, drinking, and hypocrisy like they’re covered under the ‘Jesus forgives me’ warranty.”And trust me. They act like I graffitied the Ten Commandments in rainbow glitter.

Being gay automatically made me the family’s “problem child.” Even though the real problems have nothing to do with what gender I love. And everything to do with the fact that I refuse to pretend. My sister can have premarital sex. Drink like she’s hydrating for the Olympics and drive afterward. And micromanage her child like she’s running a dictatorship. But somehow I’m the moral crisis.

Meanwhile, my sister’s shot glasses stays full. Her judgment stays loud. And her hypocrisy stays undefeated. Funny how cannabis for medical reasons is “dangerous.” But alcohol with a side of denial is “just being human.” I’m the rainbow sheep because I live authentically. I’m the green sheep because I choose a legal, doctor‑recommended treatment. And I’m the scapegoat because I refuse to shrink so other people can stay comfortable in their dysfunction. If being myself makes me the rainbow‑green hybrid sheep of the family, then so be it. At least I’m not grazing in the pasture of hypocrisy.

So no, I’m not stepping back into the box they built for me. I’m not dimming myself, so their comfort stays intact. I’m not carrying the weight of a family that refuses to lift a finger for its own healing. They can keep their comfortable dysfunction. They can keep their silence. They can keep their outdated beliefs wrapped in Bible verses that only apply to me.

Today I honor my inner rainbow‑green sheep. I’m fabulously queer. I’m medically lifted. And completely unbothered by the opinions of people who confuse hypocrisy with holiness.”

I’m choosing truth over tradition. I’m choosing growth over guilt. I’m choosing my children, my peace, and my sanity. And if my existence shakes the foundation of their worldview. Then the foundation was weak to begin with. Thanks for reading! Do you and let the others do them.

Affirmation: I bless my rainbow‑green sheep soul today queer, medicated, and thriving. While certain relatives clutch their red hats and pearls at my existence. But don’t blink twice at their own chaos, contradictions, or alcohol fueled commandments.

***Don’t forget the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

He Is Risen. And So Is My Blood Pressure Watching Christians Misquote Scripture Again

“If Jesus didn’t need help rising from the dead, He definitely doesn’t need help judging His children.”

-This Puzzled Life

 Let the ancestors lean in. And the nonsense scatter like roaches when the kitchen light flips on. I’m clearing the air. Clearing my spirit. And clearing out anybody who came in here with judgmental energy, weaponized scripture, or a Facebook theology degree. Today we’re telling the truth with love, humor, and just enough Southern heat to make the devil fan himself.

Every year, Easter rolls around and suddenly half the conservative Christians in the South start acting like they’ve been personally hired by Jesus HR to conduct performance reviews on the entire population. They show up to church in pastel outfits so loud they could blind a deacon armed with judgment, casserole, and a Bible verse they skimmed once during Vacation Bible School in 1994.

Meanwhile, Jesus is over here like, “I rose from the dead to bring hope and liberation. Not to watch y’all turn my message into a neighborhood watch program for people who don’t look, love, or live like you.” But bless their hearts. They really believe Easter is about policing everyone else’s salvation. Like Jesus outsourced His job to a committee of pearl‑clutchers with Wi‑Fi.

Easter is supposed to be the celebration of renewal, liberation, and radical compassion. He was a man who literally washed feet. Fed strangers. And hung out with the outcasts. And provided a message of hope for the poor, the hungry, the immigrant, the traumatized, the eccentric, the ethnically diverse, and the folks society shoved to the margins.

Jesus was the original “bring everybody to the table” host. He didn’t ask for dress codes, doctrinal purity, or a background check. He said, “Come as you are.” And meant it. Not “Come as you are, unless Brenda doesn’t approve of your haircut.”

Somewhere along the way, though, a whole crowd of folks decided Jesus needed personal judges. A volunteer morality police. A neighborhood watch for rainbow flags. A holiness HOA. A spiritual TSA checkpoint. And they signed up like it was a Black Friday sale.

They twist His words like balloon animals. Weaponize scripture like it’s a Nerf gun. And act like Jesus is running a multi‑level marketing scheme where the top sellers get a crown and a parking spot in heaven. They weaponize His teachings against LGBTQIA+ folks, immigrants, people of color, the poor, or anyone who doesn’t fit their “approved” mold.

And then they have the audacity, the sheer sanctified audacity, to say they’re doing it “in Jesus’ name.” Jesus didn’t ask for helpers. He didn’t post a job listing for “Assistant Judge. An unpaid internship where you must hate fun.” If anything, he said the opposite such as, “Sit down. Be humble. Love people. And stop acting like you’re the CEO of Heaven’s HR department.”

Let’s talk about the rainbow for a second. Conservative Christians love to act like the rainbow was stolen, borrowed, or misused by queer folks. Jesus made the rainbow. The gays just accessorized it better. And queer folks are honoring the original design with more creativity, joy, and community than the people who claim ownership of it. If Jesus didn’t want the rainbow to be a symbol of diversity, unity, and hope, he wouldn’t have made it look like the world’s happiest flag.

Jesus was pro‑poor, pro‑immigrant, pro‑outcast, pro‑community, pro‑healing, pro‑inclusion, and pro‑“stop being hateful and go feed somebody.” He was the original DEI ( Diversity, Equity, Inclusion) department. Long before corporate America slapped it on a PowerPoint slide. He didn’t need a committee. He didn’t need a board vote. He didn’t need a church newsletter. He just did the work.

Christians love to toss around the phrase “hate the sin, love the sinner” like it fell straight out of Jesus’ mouth and onto a Hobby Lobby wall sign. But it did not. That line is nowhere in the Bible. Not in Genesis. Not in Psalms. Not in Leviticus. And not even hidden in the fine print of Revelation. The idea is loosely connected to Christian teachings. Sure. The actual phrase traces back to St. Augustine of Hippo in 424 AD. And it didn’t get its modern glow‑up until Mahatma Gandhi repeated a version of it centuries later. So, if folks want to use it, fine. But let’s stop pretending it’s scripture when it’s clearly not. As one source puts it, the exact phrase simply isn’t in the Bible (Catholic.com, 2026). In other words, quit assigning Jesus quotes he never said. Especially when they’re being used as a permission slip for judgment.

This Easter, let’s remember what actually happened. A brown, Middle‑Eastern, homeless, anti‑authoritarian healer rose from the dead to liberate humanity. Not to give conservative Christians a seasonal excuse to cosplay as Heaven’s security guards. Easter is about resurrection. Not regulation. Liberation. Not legislation. Compassion. Not condemnation.

If Jesus wanted personal judges, he would’ve hired them. Instead, he told everybody to love their neighbor and mind their business. Let’s celebrate Easter the way Jesus intended. With open arms, hearts, tables, and absolutely no volunteer applications for Assistant Judge of the Universe. He’s got that job covered. And the rainbow says the gays are doing just fine. Thanks for reading! Stay spiritually focus instead of judgmental.

Affirmation: I walk in the kind of love, compassion, and radical inclusion Jesus actually taught. Not the edited, fear‑based version some folks try to pass off as scripture.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife