Half in the Closet. Half in the Church.

Half in the Closet. Half in the Church.

By Annette Camp 

October 16, 2025 

When the pastor says, "The truth will set you free,"
My chest tightens-

not from doubt,

but from knowing what freedom would cost.

As I sit alone in the pew,

I hide my secret inside.

My heart beats in Morse code:

Don't see me. Please don't see me.

I ask a God who already knows-

if love can ever be

the reason I'm cast out

of the house I've always called holy.

Each prayer feels like

walking a tightrope

over a silence that

could swallow me whole.

Noone asks who I love.

I am both home and hiding.

Half in the closet.

Half in the church.

The Tenderness of Honesty

The Tenderness of Honesty

By Annette Camp 

September 10, 2025 

I said too much,

too soon, and the 

word love slipped 

out of me like breath 

I couldn’t hold.

You left it unanswered,

a weight pressed 

against my chest,

the simple expression 

of good night cut deep.

I erased the text,

as if deletion could 

rewrite the moment,

as if feelings vanish

when pulled back 

into the shadow.

But they don’t.

They live, they ache,

they insist on being heard.

And then came your 

apology for the silence.

It was enough to remind 

me that we are trying,

fumbling forward,

learning how to stand in 

the tenderness of honesty.

It makes my heart sing

when we step into this

open communication 

together, laying down 

what is fragile, even 

when it’s uncomfortable

or painful. It is real.

I love that about us,

the pause to reflect 

what that means for 

ourselves, as well as 

in the dynamic of us.

Here, between the words,

is where we build something

strong and steady —

the pause before response,

the owning of what stings,

the reaching for forgiveness.

I hope in the warmth of 

your presence, we can 

carry this understanding 

into the space beyond screens, 

where silence is a moment 

meant for gathering what 

is true before we place it 

in each other’s hands.

Answering Fear, Not Fleeing

Answering Fear, Not Fleeing

By Annette Camp 

September 6, 2025

Fear rises,

a familiar pull at the 

edges of my heart.

It whispers to retreat, 

to protect, to run before 

I feel the weight of loss again.

But this time, I pause.

I notice the tremor, the 

instinct to escape,

and instead of yielding,

I let the fear speak.

I listen.

I see what it carries—

memories, pain, patterns,

and I respond with 

awareness, not avoidance.

You lay out your truths 

like letters in a box,

folded carefully, honored

but not ruling the present.

I honor mine,

acknowledge the past,

and choose presence.

Together we step slowly,

with patience as our guide,

with words bridging 

uncertainty, with care 

that builds rather than divides.

This lesson is not about 

perfection, but about 

choosing to stay,

to answer fear with 

attention, to turn 

toward connection,

and let trust grow

quietly in its place.

Whispers and Welcome

Whispers and Welcome

By Annette Camp 

September 1, 2025

Coming home to Alabama,

there's no need to explain my accent.

I don’t have to bike the whole neighborhood,

paddle a river, or climb a mountain

to feel that I belong.

In Colorado, the mountains and rivers welcome me,

their vastness and light carrying a quiet joy,

neighborhoods stretching wide and still,

inviting me to wander, to breathe, to discover.

Here, Alabama greets me differently.

Pink blossoms nod in the afternoon breeze,

light showers scatter across the yard,

and birds chirp to awaken the day.

Family surrounds me, my best friend nearby,

and the air itself lets me simply be.

The door creaks open for me,

bringing to mind all that I love -

the people, laughter, hugs, warmth -

and I settle into the rhythm of my dad's home.

Returning, old streets whisper memories,

and the possibility of staying longer than a moment

stirs quietly inside me.

I look toward the future with curiosity,

wondering which places, which people,

which rhythms and spaces,

will hold me, shape me,

and finally make me feel at home.