When our daughter Mackenzie came out to us, it happened in a small booth at a college bar. No script. No warning. Just a shaky voice, her brother’s hand on her arm, and then the truth she had carried alone for too long.

“I like girls and boys.”

I can still feel the air go still.
Not because we loved her any less.
But because our understanding of her life, her future, and even our own faith widened in one instant.

Sarah reached for her hand.
I sat there working through shock and love at the same time.

That was the day our family changed. Not because of who she is, but because of who we were being asked to become.

The First Grief

There is a kind of grief that happens in the quiet moments after your child comes out. It isn’t grief about them. It’s grief over the expectations you built without realizing it.

The future you pictured.
The traditions you assumed.
The story you thought you were all in together.

Parenting forces you to release the script you wrote in your head so you can embrace the life unfolding right in front of you.

When we got home that night, we sat in silence for a long time. Then we finally said it out loud.

“This is her life. She gets to be herself. Our job is to love her better.”

Something in both of us softened. A door opened that we didn’t know was locked.

When Some People Walk Away

Not everyone walked through that door with us.

Some church friends stepped back.
Texts slowed.
Invites disappeared.
The tone shifted.

There weren’t arguments or Bible verses thrown our way. Just distance. A quiet signal that our family had become something they no longer knew how to handle.

That hurt.
Not because we needed validation.
But because it showed how fragile some people’s love becomes when it’s tested.

It forced us to reevaluate who we trusted, what our faith meant, and what kind of community we wanted to build around our kids.

The Faith That Stayed

We didn’t lose our faith. We lost the small box we had kept it in.

Little by little, we began to see God less as a gatekeeper and more as a presence. Less concerned with categories and more concerned with the condition of a person’s heart.

We started asking real questions.
We started reading voices we used to avoid.
We started wondering if faith was bigger and more beautiful than we had allowed it to be.

And it was.

Mackenzie didn’t pull us away from faith.
She pulled us toward a better one.
A wider one.
A kinder one.

A Family That Became Closer

Something unexpected happened. Our family pulled in. Tighter than before. More honest. More direct. More grace. More listening. More laughter.

The kids talk to each other differently now.
They protect each other more.
They tell the truth sooner.

There is no pretending in our house anymore.
No fear of saying the wrong thing.
No shame hanging in the corners.

And Sarah and I grew closer too. This stretched us, but stretching isn’t breaking. It’s growth.

We had to ask hard questions.
We had to be honest about our fears.
We had to let go of assumptions about what parenting was supposed to look like.

There is a gentleness now. A patience we didn’t have before. A deeper understanding of what it means to love your kids in the full truth of who they are.

What We’re Learning

We are still learning, but this is what has stayed with us:

Your child is not changing. They are telling you the truth.
There is nothing wrong with your child. Nothing to fix. Nothing to correct.
Sometimes the thing that needs to grow is not your child, but you.
Education is the responsibility of the parent, not the burden of the kid.
Your “confusion” is not theirs to carry.
You cannot love your child well if you center your discomfort instead of their safety.
Faith can be bigger, wider, and more beautiful than the version you inherited.
Some people will walk away. Let them. Your child stays.
This is not a loss. It is an invitation to grow.
The family you build through honest love becomes stronger than the one built through fear.

What We Want Other Parents to Know

If this moment comes to your home, here is what we hope you keep close:

1. Don’t make your child carry your questions.
It’s not their job to explain theology, identity, or terminology to you. That’s your work. Read. Listen. Ask better questions. Let them breathe.

2. Your faith is not breaking. It is stretching.
What feels like uncertainty in the moment may actually be the beginning of a deeper, truer faith. One grounded in love, not fear. In presence, not rules. In seeing people as whole and beloved, not as categories.

3. There is nothing wrong with your child.
Not spiritually. Not emotionally. Not morally.
Their identity is not a problem. The real problems are shame, silence, and the idea that love must shrink to stay “safe.”

4. Love them out loud.
Say it clearly. Say it early. Say it again.
Your child will remember your first response for the rest of their life.

5. Move at their pace, not yours.
They have lived with their truth far longer than you have. They do not need you to catch up in one night. They need you to stay, listen, and keep choosing them.

6. Choose education over reaction.
There are resources, counselors, books, and communities dedicated to helping parents understand and support LGBTQ+ kids. Use them. Do the work. Take the weight off your child.

7. This moment can make your family stronger.
Honesty brings people closer. Vulnerability builds trust.
When you respond with love, you create a home where everyone can breathe.

8. Faith can grow with your child, not against them.
A faith rooted in love will never ask you to abandon your kid.
It will push you to see the fullness of who they are.
And it will stretch you in the best ways.

Your child is not the one who needs changing.
Your understanding, compassion, and imagination might.
And that is not a failure. That is growth.

Keep Running,
Justin and Sarah

#RunningAhrens #FamilyStories #ParentingWithLove #LGBTQFamily #FaithAndFamily #ParentingAdultKids #RealConversations #GrowingTogether #HonestParenting #LoveWithoutFear

When Your Child Comes Out and the World Shifts in Front of You