"My Fears Are Not Your Fears."

We're friends. And you know me as well as anyone does. We have done it all together. We have laughed, partied, cried, fought, and loved. We are as close as two people can be. Right?

Not quite.

Yes, we're friends. We're as close as any two brothers. But we are not the same. Our worlds are not the same. And my fears are not your fears.

When you and your wife are together in public, you reach for each other without a thought. You take her hand in yours and you stroll together through the mall, or downtown, or walking into a bar or club. Your physical connection is automatic and obvious.

When I walk in public with my husband, though, it's a very different scenario. Yes, I want to reach for him. And yes, to us, it feels just as natural and obvious and comfortable.

But we're a gay couple. And that means that before I can take his hand, I have to scan my environment for potential threats. I have to do a risk assessment to decide if it's safe for two men to walk arm-in-arm.

"Who cares what people think?"

That's a good question, and in a perfect world, I wouldn't care about the opinions of random strangers.

But this isn't a perfect world. This is a world where passers-by on the street accost gay men. This is a world where a gay couple minding their own business walking home can be savagely beaten by otherwise normal looking people.

When you go out, you don't worry that some guy will notice you are heterosexual and decide to attack you for that. You don't have to evaluate your surroundings before reaching over to kiss your loved one. You don't have to fear inciting an attack from someone just because you held your loved one's hand.

You fear being robbed. Or raped. So do I. But I also worry that someone will be enraged just because I exist and have the nerve to acknowledge my husband.

That's why my fears are not your fears. Because you don't live in a world where showing affection to your husband or wife could mean being attacked and beaten.

You are a straight ally and I love and appreciate you for that. You are amazing. But please understand that being an ally does not mean the same fall-out as me being gay.  There is a difference, and I would greatly appreciate it if you could understand that.

An Open Letter To People Writing Open Letters

They're out there. Open Letters. Directed at everyone from frazzled mothers to weary police officers to loathsome subway manspreaders. And each of the writers of these letters needs to hear one thing loudly and clearly:

Thank you.

Yes, I said "thank you." And I mean it. 

In the hustle and bustle of the everyday world, most of us are too busy to keep up with every current event and worthy cause. It's not that we don't care, we just don't have the time. 

That's why these Open Letters are important. For reasons only they may know, someone took the time to put pen to paper (ok, more like fingers to keyboard) and speak so passionately and eloquently about an issue that the rest of us took notice. 

We wept with the father whose daughter was killed by a drunk driver. We brushed back happy tears when the kind passenger on the plane helped a frazzled mother. And we laughed and sympathized with the not-at-all crafty teacher who had to admit defeat at the hands of Pinterest.

Not all of these Open Letters accomplish what the authors hope. Some are so clueless, so tone deaf, that they actually undermine and sabotage those they intended to support.

No matter. The occasional missed shot doesn't negate the value of these public posts. Good or bad, they all help direct attention to a single subject long enough that the apathetic and/or uninformed amongst us finally learns something about it. And that's a good thing.

So, thank you, Open Letter writers. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.

Lucky No. 7, or "Long Miles, Many Tears"

It's been three days now since the end of my Rock 'n' Roll Marathon weekend, and I'm still walking around on sore legs and blistered feet. There's much to tell, so here goes...

Friday afternoon, I headed down to the Expo to pick up my race packages. It felt a bit odd, honestly, being at such a big event by myself. It was yet another reminder that I need to make more of an effort to find local running buddies. But that's a post for another day. This is all about this past weekend.

After finally getting to sleep after midnight, I woke at 4am and headed out for my 5K. I found parking right at the start line and settled in for a quick nap before the race. Soon enough, I was at the start line ready to go. Weather conditions were overcast and cool and perfect for the run.

The run was nice, a little time in my own head as I enjoyed the scenery. But it got way better towards the end when I ran into a new friend that I had just met earlier at a screening of our documentary, From Fat To Finish. I ran into the finish line with her and her friend, and then we took the mandatory finish line photo sporting our new bling.

After that, it was a lazy day of napping, snacking, and counting down the hours until the full marathon.
_________________________

And then, it was Sunday morning. I parked in the same place as the day before, took the same nap, and was ready to go again. I got a text from a high school friend who was running the relay with her husband, so I hurried to the start line to get a picture together. It was great to see her (Hi, Brenda!) and I'm proud of her for running the relay.

While I was waiting for the start, I found myself standing behind this guy in the bathroom line. I have no idea what his story was or where his journey started, but these words written on his back were an inspiration for me and, I'm sure, so many others on the course later.

(If you have never run in a large event, make it happen. There are so many amazing people with inspiring stories and smart, clever, funny, powerful messages. It's incredible.)

I started in Corral 14, so it took me about 30 minutes to actually get started on the course. I wasn't sure how I was going to hold up over the 26.2 miles, so in the back of my mind I was already considering making a course-change to the half marathon. But that wasn't until mile 8.1, anyway, so I had time to decide.

The first few miles were fun. I saw this sign on the course by mile 1 and I tried to remember this as I ran. This marathon wasn't going to be a PR and it was going to be tough, so I knew I needed to find something all along the way to motivate me. Celebrating every moment kept my mind busy and my heart happy.

For me, running a full marathon in San Diego was a bit like an episode of "This Is Your Life." It started in Balboa Park, where so many of my training runs have been done. I ran by the old 6th and Penn Theater, were a play I wrote with a director friend was produced. I ran all through Hillcrest, past many local watering holes where I have enjoyed countless laughs and good times.

For those who don't know, Hillcrest is the "gayborhood" of San Diego. The folks here are truly amazing. And on race day, they did not disappoint. I even stopped to make sure I got a picture with my tribe.

Later, crossing the 5K mark, I started the run into my own neighborhood. I know every mile of these roads, since they are the same roads I run on all the time. I didn't even need to look at my GPS watch, as I knew the distances from corner to corner and street to street. It felt a bit odd running here with 30,000 running buddies out on the road with me. Fortunately, the North Park and Normal Heights communities were out in force, cheering and encouraging all of the runners along. My neighbors made sure that everyone felt welcome, and that made me even more proud to be one of them.

Past mile 5, though, I came across something that I wasn't expecting. It's known as the Blue Mile, and it's a section of the course dedicated to the memories of our fallen military men and women. Placed alongside the road are individual signs that each feature a photo along with the name, age, and date that the hero was lost to us. I first saw this memorial when I ran the Marine Corps Marathon in 2013, but I had no idea it was going to be part of the Rock 'n' Roll Marathon.

I made it a point to walk through this part of the course, choosing to slow down and see each and every one of these servicemen and women. I wanted to read their names, look at their faces, and truly see them. They deserved at least that. Afterwards, past the signs, there was a long line of American Flags, all held high and waved proudly by the Wear Blue: Run To Remember organization members.

By this point, tears were steady streaming down my face. I made no attempt to hide them, and I was hardly the only person on the course reacting the same way. It was a solemn moment for all of us, and I believe we all felt grateful to be part of such a beautiful tribute. It was truly an honor. Little did I know that the Blue Mile wasn't quite done with me, yet.

Me on Adams Ave, mile 6.5

After passing the relay exchange area, I made my way towards mile 7.71. It was my favorite spot on the whole course... my own home. My husband was there cheering on the other runners in front of our house, and seeing him really lifted my spirits. I dashed in to use the bathroom, change running shoes, and meet up with my friend, Tammy, who had agreed to pace me for several miles along the course.

Tammy wasn't running the event, and she made it a point to NOT take any of the water or other runner support along the course. She was there to keep me company and I was so glad to have her with me. She was such a highlight of the day. The next six miles went by so much faster with the company, and before I knew it we were crossing the halfway point up in Presidio Park.

On the way down the hill from the park, we struck up a conversation with another runner. Her name was Sheri, and we found out that she was running the marathon in honor her son, the late Corporal Adrien Vaughn Lenk, USMC. She had never run any event... ever... but she felt called to this marathon and just decided that she was going to do it.

Me, Sheri, and Tammy at Mile 15

The three of us continued to chat as we made our way through the next couple of miles, and then Tammy was done and left Sheri and I to finish the marathon. We paused for one last moment to capture a photo of all of us together.

(Thanks again, Tammy, for being my running buddy for those important miles. Being out there alone would have really, really sucked. You made it that much easier for me to actually finish this thing.)





As Sheri and I ran on, we had a lot of time to talk. I had noticed that her son's name was on the back of her shirt, and I let her know that I recognized that name from one of the signs on the Blue Mile. She knew I was telling the truth when I described the picture of him on the sign.

Cpl Adrien Lenk, USMC

Cpl Lenk's sign on the course

The conversations we had were private, but she has given me permission to share that her son was not killed in combat. He took his own life in January 2015. His war wounds weren't physical, they were emotional, and he was every bit a casualty of war as if he had died in combat. Sheri is currently working on developing a non-profit dedicated to helping save other military servicemen and women from the pain that took her son away from her.

The next miles were difficult, but running with Sheri was a constant reminder that others have endured far more than sore legs and blistered feet. She and I laughed (a lot), bitched (a little), and helped each other keep putting one foot in front of the other. By mile 22, the blisters had completely taken over my feet and each step was so painful. But I was too far in to stop, and we just kept going.

The long, slow trek up Highway 163 towards Hillcrest was the worst of the course, and we were both so happy to top that hill and finally get to the downhill stretch. We walked - ambled, more accurately - but we kept moving.

Soon enough, we were into downtown. As we turned north onto 5th Street for the very last two blocks of uphill, we were met by several members of Sheri's Wear Blue: Run To Remember family. After a brief chat as we walked, one of the ladies told me that they wanted to send me a Wear Blue shirt of my own, with Adrien's name on the back, in appreciation for my doing so much to help Sheri through her marathon. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was fighting back tears as I gratefully accepted that offer.

Funny thing, though. Sheri later referred to me as her Marathon Mentor. She really has no idea how much she helped me. Had I been alone, I would have likely quit any of the several times I felt beat down. But with her by my side, I knew that there was no way I would quit. If she could do 26.2 miles for her son, I could certainly stand by her and be her Marine in his absence.

At the finish line, I got a chance to meet her other son, Julian. I didn't know it at the time, but I had already run right by him earlier on the course. He was a flag bearer back on the course at the Blue Mile.

Adrien wasn't there with us physically as we ran those miles, but he was there in spirit. And I know that he would have been so proud of his mother and her determination to finish this marathon. She said that he was her inspiration, but really, she and the other Wear Blue family and friends were all inspirations to the rest of us.

Corporal Adrien Vaughn Lenk, U.S. Marine Corps

Dedicated to preventing soldier/veteran suicide, homelessness and providing information for successful transition from military to civilian life.

I finished my seventh marathon on Sunday, but I feel like I gained more than miles and medals. I was given the opportunity to honor a fellow Marine. I had the privilege of escorting her through thirteen miles of heat, sweat, and pain, all so she could stand up at the end and say, "This was for you, Adrien."

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Running continues to bring so much to my life. And just when I'm down and thinking that I've had enough, it allows me to cross paths with an amazing woman on a powerfully important mission.

Sheri, thank you. Thank you for the company. Thank you for the motivation. And mostly, thank you for sharing your son with me out on that course. And whatever I can do to assist you as you take the next steps to honor Adrien, know that I will be there.

Running makes things happen. Trust me, I know.

A Letter To My 30-Year-Old Self

Dear John,

Tomorrow, May 7, 1997, is going to be a very big day for you. I know you already think it will be, given you have scheduled the day off of work so you can find a new apartment. But that isn’t going to happen. You won’t spend a moment even looking for a place.

Don’t believe me? That’s okay. I understand the confusion. I mean, we both know you need to get the hell out of that toxic living situation. And you think finding a place of your own is the only way to make that happen.

Ha. Not even close.

Okay, okay. Enough toying with you. Let me give you some of the facts. Yes, you will be moving out of that townhouse on 4th Avenue. In fact, tonight is the very last night you’ll sleep there. Tomorrow night, you will be miles away starting a whole new life.

Remember that guy from the Top Of The Park? The Christmas ornament guy, Ric Sanchez? He’s going to message you tomorrow morning and ask you to join him and some other friends out in Palm Springs over Memorial Day. You’re going to tell him that you and whats-his-name have broken up, and he will ask you again even more insistently.

Did you know he already has a crush on you? He’s been trying to get closer to you for months, ever since that first night he met you at the rooftop bar. He has “bumped into you” a few times, always scheming to get you alone somehow but never quite making it work.

Tomorrow, he tries again. He’ll join you and your friends Phil and Karen for breakfast. He’ll listen as you three plan your day of apartment hunting. Then he’ll chime in with an offer you won’t believe. He’ll say, “stay with me at my house until you find your own place.”

But here’s the punchline. You never do find another place. You move in with him. A year later, you two buy a home together. A year after that, he’ll follow you halfway across the country as your professional career takes you to Dallas. (Seriously. Dallas. But not for long, don’t worry.)

There’s so much more to tell you, but I don’t want to ruin any of the surprises. I will say this, though. Over the next nineteen years, you are going to have the greatest and the worst moments of your entire life. You will gain and lose loved ones, be cheered and jeered, and reach great heights and fall to horrible depths.

But one thing will be forever constant. That same guy, that Ric Sanchez, the one who sweet talks you into moving into his home… that man will love you more than you ever dared imagine you would be loved.

Oh, be a cynic. Tell yourself that the fears you have right now will never go away. Keep on believing that you are truly unlovable. Tell yourself that your sad little life will never get better. Tell yourself that each day will be as painful as the ones you are battling right this very minute.

But I know better. I know that tomorrow morning, over breakfast, you will look across the table and see a handsome, kind, beautiful man looking back at you. And you may not see it, but those eyes of his are already full of love for you.

Get ready, John of 1997. You’re about to come face-to-face with the man who will make you believe in love. The man who will help you become the very best version of yourself that you will ever be. The man who will give you strength and confidence and more love than your heart can hold.

Get ready for Ric Sanchez. He’s proof that you have been right all along to still secretly believe in love.

All The Best,

John of 2016


P.S.:  Skip the biscuits and gravy. The restaurant has biscuits from a can and the gravy is thin. Try the banana pancake, instead. You’re welcome.

See? I told you. You won't believe how happy you are going to be!

My Depression Looks Like This.

Depression isn't always a sad person sitting quietly in a corner. It's more than Cure tunes playing while someone cries alone.

Depression can be that, sure. But it's so much more. It's sadness and loneliness and bouts of high-energy and "let's hang out" then "no, I'd rather not but please don't be mad at me."

I'm writing about this because it isn't always easy to see my own depression. My days go along like normal and nothing seems out of the ordinary. But then I catch a glimpse of myself, of my actions, and I'm suddenly aware of what is happening.

And right now, this is what my depression looks like:

I'm surrounded by friends at a relay race having a great time. Then I'm in my home, pretending to enjoy the solitude but actually desperately lonely and afraid to reach out to anyone.

I'm crazy active, energetically racking up the steps and joining others outside for a run. Then I'm laying in bed at 10:00am, unable to nap but not feeling like I even have the energy to get up.

And it sucks not knowing which me I'm going to be on any given day. I fake it more often than I want to admit, going through the expected motions but feeling like a complete fraud.

This, friends, is what my depression looks like today. And I'm telling you because I don't have the energy to hide it, anymore. 

How To Create A Text Shortcut

If there are things you type repeatedly, like an email address or a set of hashtags, setting up text replacement shortcuts can save you a significant amount of time. And they're easy to set up. 

(Note: These instructions are for an Apple iOS device. I'm not familiar with Android products and don't know how to access similar functionality.)

First, choose "Settings"

Scroll down to "Keyboard"

Select "Text Replacement"

Select "+" to create new shortcut

In my example, I wanted to create a shortcut that I could use to quickly add hashtags for a Ragnar Relay race. I added the text in the "Phrase" box and then created a three character shortcut (ras).

Here it is, in action. 

And that's it. It's that simple. Enjoy!

"Religious Freedom - What it means and what it doesn’t."

Religious freedom means you have the right to believe (or not) in a higher power. You have the right to worship (or not) as you choose. And you have the right to live your life in a way that reflects those beliefs.

Religious freedom does not mean other people must believe as you do. It does not mean other people must act as you do. And it does not mean that you have the right to deny others care, goods, or services in the public sector because you do not approve of their lawful behavior.

Legislation that claims to defend religious freedom sounds good, until you realize that other people have religious beliefs, too, and they may differ greatly from your own.

Are we okay with a county clerk refusing to issue a marriage license to a divorced woman, claiming that “... anyone who divorces his wife, except for sexual immorality, makes her the victim of adultery, and anyone who marries a divorced woman commits adultery. [Matthew 5:32]”

Are we okay with a clerk refusing to issue a hunting license because harming animals for sport violate her Wiccan beliefs that all life is sacred?

Are we okay with a grocery store checker refusing to sell wine to a customer because doing so would violate her belief as a Mormon that alcohol is sinful?

Are we okay with an employee of the driver’s license bureau refusing to issue a license to a woman? An interracial couple denied a hotel room? A single mother turned away from an apartment complex? Because some religious teachings claim that women should not drive, races should not mix, and out-of-wedlock births are a sin.

It’s easy to hide behind “religious freedom” when the religion in question aligns with yours. It’s only difficult when others seek the same “freedom” to discriminate against you.

This is America. And here, all people are equal in the eyes of the law. That still means something to me. No amount of fear-mongering or bigotry is going to change that.

How Do I Pack For A Relay Race?

So, you've been asked to join a relay race and now you're freaking out because you have no idea what to pack.

No problem. Here is your easy how-to-pack guide.

A few assumptions:

1. There is limited space in the van and you are sharing it with several other runners
2. You want to compact everything you can into as little a bundle as possible
3. You want to be able to find what you need without removing everything from your bag
4. You will want most of your stuff packed away but will need ready access to a few personal things (phone, wallet, snacks, water, etc.)

The solution? Plastic bags. Lots and lots of clear plastic bags. I use the gallon size freezer bags because they are stronger and won't tear. Grab those, a black sharpie, and get organized.

And it all looks like this.

These gallon sized bags are for the running clothes you will wear each leg. 

These bags are for other items I will explain below.

Same, more items you will need.

This is what I will wear for my first leg. When I finish running and change clothes, I will put these sweaty clothes back into this bag and seal it up. That helps keep the van smelling clean and fresh instead of like an old locker room.

This is what I will wear on leg 2. That is typically a night run, so I want to make sure I am as visible as possible.
 

This is what I will wear on my third leg.

And here they are, all packed tightly in plastic bags and ready to go. I can easily find each bag and be ready to go without looking for my shorts, shirt, or socks.

This is one of the cold weather bags. It has my sweatpants and a long-sleeve tech shirt. I don't expect to need this to run, but I want to have it just in case the weather changes and I need to be warmer.

This is my second cold weather bag. I have a light-weight hoodie and a beanie in here. I wouldn't run in this, but I will probably want to put it on when I am out supporting my other teammates on their night legs.

This is all the gear I will need at night. I have a safety vest, headlamps, and rear blinky lights so I will be as visible as possible to other runners, team vans, and cars just passing by.

The towel and washcloth (in its own smaller bag) so I can wash up after each leg.

This is my run gear. It's my Road ID, my Halo headband, safety pins for my big, snacks in case I am hungry before I go out, and a safety vest custom-altered by my husband for my iPhone 6. I wear it every single leg, even during the day. It makes me more visible to drivers and it's super convenient to just pin my race bib on one time and wear the same vest all three times.

Here's the same run gear packed tightly into the bag. I also pack an extra pair of earbuds in this bag so I am not scrambling around to find them when it comes time to run. 

And here's everything packed into my gym bag and ready to go. My running shoes fit in here, too. Packing the bags tightly means I can get away with a smaller bag.

My First-Aid kit. Don't leave home without it.

These items are for my personal bag. I have my phone charger, extra reading glasses, sunglasses, a ball cap, and an extra headlamp. That comes in handy when I am trying to read a map or the Relay Guidebook at night and don't want to blind the driver with the overhead light. 

This is my refillable water bottle. We carry a 5-gallon bottle with a pump on top, so we can all use personal bottles instead of buying cases of disposable water bottles. Plus, it's easy to see at a glance which bottle is which since they all look a little different.

I also pack a small toiletry bag with just the basics. No one wants to ride next to a stinky runner.

Here's the personal bag, packed and ready. Because it's small, I can keep this bag near me in the van and have all that I need. My other bigger bag can go in the back of the van or underneath the seats and be out of everyone's way.

This is it. All I need to run a relay race.

And with that, I'm ready to go!

"Different Christians, Different Baskets."

I'll preface this by saying that I am no longer a Christian. Like most people I know, I was born into a Christian household and those beliefs were passed down to me. My mother was a twice-yearly visitor to church while my grandparents made more of an effort to get us Sunday Mass more often. We all believed in "the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit" because it was all we ever knew.

As an adult, I made several attempts to settle into my faith, but it never really felt right. I always struggled with the inconsistencies, vague explanations, and self-serving interpretations. I couldn't reconcile the reality of what was happening in front of me with the never-ending rationalizations.

"Joe and Jane died in a car crash, but thankfully Jesus protected their little baby in the back seat." So why didn't Jesus just pump the brakes and save them all?

"We need to pray for Bobby to survive his battle with cancer."

You mean the cancer that God let him get?

"You need to tithe to the church."

I should give money to another mega-church instead to the homeless and hungry?

The final straw, though, was the disconnect between self-proclaimed Christians and their anything-but-Christ-like behavior towards those with different social, political, or personal values, beliefs, and opinions. It just seemed odd to have people claim an allegiance to the Prince of Peace and then act so hateful to anyone who believed differently. (Disclaimer: I am focusing on Christianity because that is how I was raised. In the bigger picture, though, my disbelief applies across all religions.)

So here I am today, nearly 50 years old and comfortable acknowledging that my life begins and ends in this world and that the only afterlife available to me is the legacy of kindness and service to others that they will, perhaps, continue to pass on after I am gone. And that's enough for me. I don't really spend my time arguing the existence (or lack thereof) with my friends who are believers. Doesn't seem like there is much point to that sort of behavior.

So why am I writing this on Easter Sunday, arguably the most important observed date in Christianity?

Because even though I don't personally believe, Christianity continues to be a source of frustration and anger for me. And I'm hoping that by taking the time to sit with my thoughts and work through them, I'll be able to identify and express exactly what is bothering me in all of this.

This is just my opinion, of course, but I think that Christians can be sorted into different categories based on their actions.

In Word Only

These are the folks who identify as Christian but really have no strong connection to their faith or any church. There's is much more a passive belief most likely ingrained from childhood. Ask them and they'll say they believe in God, but there faith means little more than that.

In Word, In Deed

These folks are absolutely more committed to their faith. They believe in God and they try to live their lives in a way that honors that belief. They are not perfect, but they are genuinely kind and loving people who work to make this world a better place as a way to honor and represent their God.

These folks are powerful and important and amazing. And to be honest, they were the ones that kept me coming back to religion, because their behavior and personal examples were compelling and inspiring. They were exactly what I always wanted religion to be but had long ago stopped hoping for.

There are too many to mention them all, and I consider myself fortunate to have that sort of "problem" in my life. But I'll publicly celebrate Lisa, Nancy, Colleen, Jenny and Jeff, Alicia and Brian, Sue and Tim, and Dani for showing all of us what it means to live your faith. You have my thanks and my respect.

Anything But

But then we have these people, the ones who claim to be Christian but act very differently. These are the people so willing to speak for God because they have all the answers. They scream and yell and threaten. They allow for no dissent. It's not enough for them to be free to worship as they please. They demand that their religious views be honored and accommodated no matter how it infringes upon others. They want prayer in school as long as it is the prayer that they believe. They want religion in control of the public square and the public purse.

These are the people who openly mock and insult those who believe differently. They jeer at City Council meetings when someone else offers a different prayer. They screech "Merry Christmas" as a challenge instead of a greeting. They expect non-believes to stand quietly and respectfully during Christian prayers at school events but protest Yoga in physical education classes because it promotes eastern religions. They expect to operate in the public market but want to be allowed to discriminate against anyone who doesn't share their view of Christianity.

In short, these people are assholes. They act as if this entire nation was created just for them and they expect the rest of us to fall in line with their beliefs. And they wouldn't know a Christian act if Jesus himself showed up and performed it in front of them.

Yes, I know that these people are a minority. They are but one type of Christian, and it's not fair to sort them into the same basket as the other two types I mentioned.

But it happens. I do it. I judge them all by the actions of the worst of them. I know it's wrong and I am working on it, but I do it.

For that, to my Christian friends who live their faith... I am sorry. I know that you do not deserve the scorn or ridicule that comes so easily to me these days. Your kindness does not deserve to be met with insults or judgment.

I will try to do right by you. And when I don't, I ask that you remind me of these words above. I'm not perfect, either. But I can certainly be better. I suppose we all can.

And to the others, the self-proclaimed Christians who seek to create a theocracy in this country, know this. I will continue to fight you and your bullshit every time, every place, at every opportunity. Because this country deserves better than you.