I have been asking myself this question for longer than I’ve even realized. Where do I fit in the fight for justice? How do I step into action instead of watching from the sidelines? This question first paralyzed me in seminary as I sat through classes on prophetic leadership and liberation theology. I was riveted by the stories of liberation theologians—those who stood up in the face of oppression, many in Mexico and Latin America, risking everything for justice. Gustavo Gutiérrez and Archbishop Óscar Romero of El Salvador were two figures who deeply inspired me, showing me what it means to fight for the dignity and rights of the marginalized. I’ve always been amazed by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., by Jesus, by those who refuse to be silent. But where do I fit?

As a pastor, I had a platform, a pulpit. And yet, I was afraid. I avoided talking about LGBTQ+ issues as the United Methodist Church was going through its schism. I didn’t want to create upset. I wanted to be liked, accepted.

And now, I see the rights of my kid being stripped away daily. I see LGBTQ+ books being banned under sweeping policies that classify them as inappropriate or harmful, part of a broader effort to erase LGBTQ+ representation in schools and public spaces. I see women’s rights rolling backwards. And I ask myself again: Where is my place? Where is our place?

Yesterday, I felt compelled to go to the march downtown. I didn’t know exactly what it would accomplish, but I knew I needed to be there. I am tired of waiting for someone else to stand up. Tired of waiting for someone to say the thing I’ve been thinking. No one is coming. We have to be the change we wish to see.

So I drove my Vespa to the Capitol by myself. Was I scared? Hell yes. Did I know what it would lead to? No. Did I worry that all the media, the cameras, the footage might put a target on me and my family? Yes. And I still went. Because it mattered. Because protesting, disagreeing, speaking up and out—this is how change begins.

I can see that my part in this is to get off of Meta, to place my money, energy, and time in places that align with my values. My part is to talk about my fear, my concerns, my unknowing. To seek out real news—not just passive headlines that reinforce fear, but actual information that keeps me informed without paralyzing me. No one is coming. I am who I have been waiting for. You are who you have been waiting for.

What is the thing you’ve been waiting to be different? Go do that thing. Take one small step.

By showing up yesterday, I heard stories. I heard trans stories. I heard a Native American story. I heard stories of kids experiencing gun violence in their schools. I heard them. I saw them. And now, these issues have faces. This is what showing up does.

We need stories. We need to humanize the fight, to put faces to the issues. When we see each other, when we hear each other, change becomes possible.

Across the country yesterday, people marched, protested, stood up. People showed up in their own ways—in rallies, in courtrooms, in their own communities. Some wrote letters, some made phone calls, some simply refused to stay silent.

The next step? Keep going. Find your place in the fight. Your voice matters, your presence matters, your action matters. Whether it’s showing up in person, writing, voting, donating, amplifying stories—there is space for you.

This is the moment. No one is coming to fix it. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.