Pic of the Day

Taxiing Toward Christmas

When this posts, I should be on an airplane—either taxiing down the runway or climbing to cruising altitude (around 35,000 feet, give or take)—on my way to Charlotte, North Carolina. I’ll have a three-and-a-half-hour layover there before continuing on to Montgomery.

Being on one of the first flights out of Burlington should mean we’re on time (knock on wood). But even if we aren’t, I’ve built in plenty of cushion in Charlotte—hopefully enough time to grab breakfast at the airport. A little after noon, I’ll be back in Alabama… God help me.

At least we should be going somewhere nice for lunch. I never quite know what my parents have planned, but since I’ll be getting in right around lunchtime, I’m hopeful. One thing Montgomery does well is food. There are a lot of great places to eat, even if the quality seems to slip just a little more each time I’m there.

Still, three full days with my family should be just fine. Honestly, what I’m most looking forward to is my family seeing how much weight I’ve lost. Knowing my luck, they either won’t notice at all or will assume I’ve lost weight because I’m sick or something equally dramatic. I’m fairly certain it’s noticeable enough.

Last Thursday, I ran into the former president of the university as I was heading out for a dentist appointment. He loves the museum and was on campus for someone’s retirement, wandering around the galleries. He asked how I was doing, and I said, “I’m doing good.” He smiled and replied, “And thin!”

He started asking me about my weight loss, but I couldn’t linger—I was already running late for the dentist. Still, I’ll take it. If he noticed, surely my family will too… right?

However your week is unfolding, I hope it’s a gentle and joyful one. Wishing you all a very merry Christmas week—full of warmth, good food, and moments of peace wherever you find them. 🎄✨

rogeriolourenco · George Gershwin - Rhapsody In Blue

Pic of the Day

By Another Road

“Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.”

— Matthew 2:2

The story of the Magi is a story about travel—but not the easy kind.

They journey far from home, crossing borders and expectations, following a light only they seem willing to trust. They do not fully know where the road will lead. They only know that something sacred is calling them forward, and that staying where they are is no longer an option.

For many LGBTQ+ Christians, the days leading up to Christmas involve a similar kind of journey. We pack our bags and return to places we know well—homes filled with memory, affection, history, and love—but also with silence. With rules about what can be said, what must be edited, and which parts of ourselves are expected to remain unseen. We love our families, and yet the cost of that love can feel heavy when it requires us to step back into the closet, even temporarily.

The Magi understand something about that cost.

They arrive in Jerusalem first, assuming—reasonably—that a king would be found in a palace. Instead, they encounter confusion, fear, and hostility. Herod is threatened, not curious. What begins as a holy quest is suddenly shadowed by danger. Still, the Magi continue on, guided again by the star, which leads them not to power, but to vulnerability—a child, held by his mother, in an unremarkable house.

Matthew tells us that when they see the child, they are “overwhelmed with joy.” Not because everything is safe or resolved, but because they have found what they were seeking. They kneel. They offer gifts. They honor what is holy, even when it does not look the way the world expects holiness to look.

There is something deeply comforting in what happens next. Warned in a dream, the Magi return home “by another road.” They do not retrace their steps through Herod’s court. They do not place themselves back in harm’s way. Encountering Christ changes not only their destination, but their path.

For those of us traveling home this Christmas—especially to places where our fullness is not yet welcomed—this matters. Faith does not require us to be reckless with our hearts. Love does not demand that we erase ourselves entirely. Even Jesus later tells his followers to be wise as serpents and gentle as doves. There is holiness in discernment.

The Christmas story reminds us that God is present not only in moments of joyful arrival, but also in the quiet strength it takes to endure difficult visits with grace. The child the Magi worship is Emmanuel—God with us—not only in affirming spaces, but in living rooms where words are chosen carefully, and truths are held gently, sometimes painfully, in reserve.

If this season requires you to navigate family dynamics that are loving yet limiting, know this: your journey matters. Your star still shines. You are not betraying God by surviving with wisdom, nor are you failing in faith by protecting yourself. The Magi teach us that sometimes devotion looks like perseverance—and sometimes it looks like choosing a safer road home.

As you travel this Christmas, may you be guided by the quiet assurance that Christ meets you on every part of the journey. May you carry within you the knowledge that you are already seen, already known, already beloved—no matter how much or how little you are able to say aloud.

And when the time comes to return, may you do so changed, strengthened, and still following the light.

The Oxford Trinity Choir · We Three Kings

Pic of the Day

Moment of Zen: Christmas Morning

Coffee optional. Clothes apparently not required. This is exactly what I want Christmas morning to look like—and I can’t wait to unwtap these presents. 

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays. 🎄

Peggy Lee · Happy Holiday

Mustaches aren’t usually my thing—but every rule deserves at least one very good exception. Some guys make it undeniably hot. I’m not sure it’s the mustache that’s winning me over—but I’m not complaining.

The following aren’t Christmas pics, per se. They just say Christmas in all the right ways. No ornaments, no lights needed—just something that feels unmistakably seasonal.

There’s nothing remotely Christmas about this—no red, no green, not a single decoration. But Santa… please put him under my tree anyway. I promise I’ll enjoy unwrapping him Christmas morning.

Pic of the Day

When Dreams Drop Hints

I woke up this morning from a dream, or maybe it was two dreams, that stayed with me in a way dreams rarely do. I don’t usually remember them, and I almost never remember erotic ones—but lately? Apparently my subconscious has decided to be more generous and is saying I need to get laid. Whatever my subconscious is trying to tell me, it’s been kind of nice.

The first felt like memory filtered through imagination. I’d had a conversation the night before about first experiences and how complicated those early awakenings can be—how we often don’t yet have the language for what we’re feeling. In the dream, I was in a locker room, nearly empty, except for one other guy, quiet in that strange, echoing way such places get once everyone else has gone. Wood lockers. Warm air. That sense of being just a little out of time.

The other guy was handsome, relaxed, completely at ease in his own skin. At one point he was sitting above me, and when I looked up, I realized how close he was. I was looking at his dick sticking out of his boxers. Instead of looking away, neither of us did. The moment stretched—charged, unhurried. I remember being completely mesmerized, struck not just by how beautiful he was, but by the realization that I wanted to keep looking. As I looked, he started getting hard, until he was at full mast. Long pink perfection right in front of my eyes.

He asked, gently, if I wanted to suck him. I hesitated, that old reflex rising up—I’m not gay—the words coming out the way they once did, automatically. He just smiled and cupped my face, steady and kind, and said it was okay if I was, and it would stay between us. With hesitation, and a total lack of knowing how to do this, I took him in my mouth.

Naturally, that’s when Isabella chose to intervene, planting herself squarely on my chest to remind me that breakfast waits for no man.

I fed her, and when I fell back asleep, the dream shifted.

This time I was older—maybe in my 30s or early 40s—and walking hand in hand with a handsome man through Montréal’s Gay Village, down Rue Sainte-Catherine. It was clearly a date: romantic, unhurried, that delicious feeling of being chosen and choosing right back. The city buzzed around us, but we were wrapped up in our own little world.

As dreams tend to do, it skipped ahead—to a hotel room, to kissing, laughter, undressing, and then he was one top of me. I don’t think what happened next needs to be spelled out. Let’s just say it was a happy ending.

I woke again to a black cat sprawled on my chest, staring down at me with the firm belief that if I was awake, I should stay that way—preferably while she found a warm spot and went back to sleep.

Dreams are strange things. Sometimes they’re nonsense. Sometimes they’re memories rearranged. And sometimes—especially when they’ve been getting a little more frequent and a little more erotic—they might just be your subconscious tapping you on the shoulder and saying, Hey… you might want to do something about this.

I hope your weekend brings rest, good company, and maybe even a nice dream or two of your own.

Pic of the Day

One Thing at a Time

Everything seemed to go fine yesterday. I spent most of the day sleeping, which was probably exactly what my body needed. The endoscopy showed no esophageal varices, which was a huge relief. The doctor did take a few biopsies of some discoloration in my throat, but that was purely precautionary and nothing to worry about—most likely just irritation from acid reflux. Today I’m left with a sore throat, but that’s a small price to pay for peace of mind.

This afternoon I head to the dentist to get the permanent crown for the tooth I had worked on last month. After that, I’m officially away from the office until January 5. I’ll work from home tomorrow, but otherwise things are slowing down a bit.

The weekend will be spent packing and getting ready for my trip to Alabama. My plane leaves at the painfully early hour of 5:30 a.m. Monday morning, so Sunday night will be an early one. For now, I’m just taking things one step at a time and grateful that yesterday brought mostly good news.

I hope your week is treating you gently.