Alexander Carpenter
How did you first meet, and what drew you to each other in the beginning?
Kendra and Roxan
Well, surprisingly, and ironically we met at seminary.
But our love story wasn’t a clean simple journey that people often imagine when they think of two people falling in love. Maybe it’s just us, but I suspect a lot of queer couples, especially those raised in more conservative religious spaces, understand that reality. Seminary was the last place anyone would expect queer love to happen.
Our lives hold a lot of beauty now, but that’s not necessarily how it started.
I sometimes wish our journey began the way love stories are “supposed” to start, the ways we see in movies or portrayed in social media. You like each other, you go on dates, your friends are excited for you, your families are supportive, everyone celebrates it. But when you are living inside a tight-knit religious community, people often feel deeply invested in your life choices, especially if they feel you are “walking in sin,” and partaking in actions that will lead to your eternal destruction. Believing our budding relationship was something we needed to “repent” of, doesn’t exactly create the cinematic portrayal of romance.
For me, the beginning of our romantic relationship meant the collapse of my relationship with Adventism.
When we met, we were both in seminary trying to understand ourselves, God, and what we were meant to do with our lives. Seminary was a spiritual journey for me, completely existential. For women to go to an Adventist seminary at all, means something else is driving her than the hope to one day be an ordained pastor. We enter school knowing that ordination is not possible for us, but we go anyway hoping that some church will recognize our intelligence and ability to lead, and invite us alongside them in “the work.”
We met in a class where a professor described having excommunicated a woman from his church some years ago because 10 years after she divorced her physically abusive husband, she wanted to remarry. She had been single for 10 years, but this professor believed scripture meant she no longer had the right to marry again. I remember another student, a young man, actually, getting so upset that he walked out of class entirely.
And I remember thinking: Something is very wrong here. Where is the common sense? The compassion, the humanity, the shame. I looked around seeing so many heads nodding in agreement or in silent acquiescence. Roxan did not nod along or fear confrontation. Much like me she had a righteous stubbornness.
It was sad to see the scarcity of those willing to openly challenge what felt so obviously oppressive. For some it was ignorance. For others, cowardice. For Roxan, it was neither.
That was our first real connection.
We would spend hours at the coffee shop after class debriefing on the absurdity and hurtfulness of the myriad of beliefs that continued to deny the validity of our experience and value as women. We admitted to each other and ourselves, all the ways we could no longer force ourselves to carry a yoke of beliefs that were crushing us.
The beginning of our love story felt biblical. Like the Exodus. “You have broken the yoke that burdens them, the bar across their shoulders,” (Isaiah 9:4, author paraphrased).
How did you first meet, and what drew you to each other in the beginning?
Kendra and Roxan
Well, surprisingly, and ironically we met at seminary.
But our love story wasn’t a clean simple journey that people often imagine when they think of two people falling in love. Maybe it’s just us, but I suspect a lot of queer couples, especially those raised in more conservative religious spaces, understand that reality. Seminary was the last place anyone would expect queer love to happen.
Our lives hold a lot of beauty now, but that’s not necessarily how it started.
I sometimes wish our journey began the way love stories are “supposed” to start, the ways we see in movies or portrayed in social media. You like each other, you go on dates, your friends are excited for you, your families are supportive, everyone celebrates it. But when you are living inside a tight-knit religious community, people often feel deeply invested in your life choices, especially if they feel you are “walking in sin,” and partaking in actions that will lead to your eternal destruction. Believing our budding relationship was something we needed to “repent” of, doesn’t exactly create the cinematic portrayal of romance.
For me, the beginning of our romantic relationship meant the collapse of my relationship with Adventism.
When we met, we were both in seminary trying to understand ourselves, God, and what we were meant to do with our lives. Seminary was a spiritual journey for me, completely existential. For women to go to an Adventist seminary at all, means something else is driving her than the hope to one day be an ordained pastor. We enter school knowing that ordination is not possible for us, but we go anyway hoping that some church will recognize our intelligence and ability to lead, and invite us alongside them in “the work.”
We met in a class where a professor described having excommunicated a woman from his church some years ago because 10 years after she divorced her physically abusive husband, she wanted to remarry. She had been single for 10 years, but this professor believed scripture meant she no longer had the right to marry again. I remember another student, a young man, actually, getting so upset that he walked out of class entirely.
And I remember thinking: Something is very wrong here. Where is the common sense? The compassion, the humanity, the shame. I looked around seeing so many heads nodding in agreement or in silent acquiescence. Roxan did not nod along or fear confrontation. Much like me she had a righteous stubbornness.
It was sad to see the scarcity of those willing to openly challenge what felt so obviously oppressive. For some it was ignorance. For others, cowardice. For Roxan, it was neither.
That was our first real connection.
We would spend hours at the coffee shop after class debriefing on the absurdity and hurtfulness of the myriad of beliefs that continued to deny the validity of our experience and value as women. We admitted to each other and ourselves, all the ways we could no longer force ourselves to carry a yoke of beliefs that were crushing us.
The beginning of our love story felt biblical. Like the Exodus. “You have broken the yoke that burdens them, the bar across their shoulders,” (Isaiah 9:4, author paraphrased).
As our love story was beginning, my future in Adventism was ending. The revelation of my queer identity unraveled my entire career path, affected my social circles, and demoted my standing. It was a flogging meant to humiliate and teach others who were watching nearby what might happen to queer people who dared come out of the closet. I know many of my queer kinfolk people who have since gone back into the closet and have never resurfaced. If you’re reading this, there is life on the other side of the loss you dread. It’s okay to leave it all behind. There is beauty waiting for you on the other side of it all.
In the middle of my world collapsing, was a mustard seed that has since grown to great heights.
I had spent so many years training myself to let my mind govern my feelings that attraction itself almost felt irrelevant to the equation. I knew how to suppress it. I knew how to rationalize. I knew how to deny myself.
So our relationship was less like lightning and more like an unfolding.
We had to peel back layers to find ourselves, and in doing so, we found each other too.
What started under a very dark cloud eventually became something incredibly beautiful. Today, we have a life together that honestly feels like something we once only dreamed about: meaningful work, a home on the lake, a yacht in the Bay, adventures together, our cats, dog and birds all making up a little family, this deep sense of mutual support and safety.
But getting here required an exodus.
And I think that’s what drew us to each other in the first place: not just attraction, but recognition. Two people trying to survive the collapse of inherited worlds while still holding onto their humanity.
Of course, this is only my version of the story. I’m sure Roxan would tell parts of it differently. But from my perspective, that’s where it all began.
Alexander Carpenter
How long have you been together, and what has helped your relationship grow over time?
Kendra and Roxan
This October, we’ll have been together for six years.
In many ways, our love story was shaped by the COVID-19 pandemic. It was one of those moments in history where people either grew closer or realized they couldn’t stand each other. People joke that during COVID, couples either coupled up or got divorced. All of the accessories to life that might have distracted you from a dysfunctional relationship were no longer there. The question became, not about who you could fall in love with but who do you live your life with if there was no one else in the world you could be around.
In many ways, the pandemic took a difficult question and made it simple. If you had to be locked in a room and you could only take one person with you, who would you take?
When the floods came and swept through, it washed everything away. All that remained was the foundation of what family would look like for me.
I found the person who was willing to sit beside me outside of performance, outside of perfection, outside of presentation. The person who stayed in the room after the collapse.
And from that point forward, we started building our foundation.
We don’t really have the kind of extended support system some people are fortunate enough to rely on. My mother has passed away. I love my father, but we live far apart. I’m not especially close with my siblings. Roxan’s family is in Puerto Rico, and while she deeply loves them, there’s physical distance there too.
So we had to learn how to create a strong core family between us.
That shifted a lot of our priorities. We started asking practical questions like: Should we spend money performing milestones for other people, or should we invest in building actual stability for ourselves and our future? Should we pour resources into a wedding production, or into a home, our retirement, our peace of mind?
And over time, we learned to continue to prioritize la familia, and whatever that meant for us.
We’ve both had to mature a lot. We’ve had to work through personality differences, communication styles, stress, fear, financial constraints.
We officially registered as domestic partners in California in 2024, partly because it gave us flexibility if we ever decided we wanted a larger wedding someday. But honestly, we’ll probably continue choosing investments in our future over throwing a huge party. We’d rather build memories, travel, take beautiful photos, spend meaningful time with people we love, and continue building a life that feels authentic to us.
I think that’s how we’ve grown over time.
In the beginning, our relationship emerged during collapse. But over the years, it transformed into a deliberate act of building. Building safety, building trust, building home, building family. Being mindful of the ways our actions or words can tear down or build up and choosing the latter.
Ultimately we have learned that love is less about performance and more about choosing to care for each other in every sense of the word, despite and through the challenges of everyday life.
Alexander Carpenter
What kinds of work, creative projects, or passions are each of you involved in?
Kendra and Roxan
Honestly, a lot of our passions right now revolve around future-building. A huge part of that has been creating home together.
Buying our house was one of the biggest emotional and financial decisions we’ve ever made, and we’ve really poured ourselves into it. We love design, warmth, ambiance, renovations, little details that make a space feel alive and comforting. There’s something deeply meaningful to both of us about creating environments that feel peaceful, restorative, and full of personality.
Recently, we also bought a yacht, which sounds much more glamorous than it is. We didn’t buy it to become luxury influencers sailing the Pacific. We bought it because we both work in the San Francisco Bay Area while living far east of it, and the commute can become brutal, sometimes three and a half hours in traffic. So the boat became this strange but wonderful solution.
During the week, we can stay closer to work while still keeping the life we love back home on the lake. And honestly, the yacht itself has become a creative project too. She’s beautiful, full of character, and we’ve enjoyed making the space cozy and functional and uniquely ours.
We also love exploring hobbies that allow us to slow down and work with our hands. Roxan has gotten into leatherworking and other creative projects, and we both enjoy learning new skills just for the joy of learning them. Lately we’ve joked about possibly getting into Jeep off-roading and trail adventures next, which feels very on-brand for us somehow.
Beyond that, a lot of our passions are really centered around health, wellness, adventure, and presence. Traveling when we can. Discovering new places. Spending time outdoors and finding new things to spend time on.
I think after going through so much upheaval earlier in our lives, we both became very intentional about joy. Not performative joy, but the kind that comes from taking genuine interest in our stories, eating someplace new, trying a different restaurant, taking a drive to Yosemite on a random afternoon, and sitting quietly by the water with someone who enjoys hearing your dream.
At the end of the day, I think our biggest shared passion is simply creating a life that feels deeply lived.
Alexander Carpenter
What do you most enjoy doing together in everyday life or during special moments?
Kendra and Roxan
Honestly, we work so much that a lot of our joy comes from simply getting to be together.
During the week, we work crazy schedules and pass each other like ships in the night. I’m remote on Mondays and Thursdays, while Roxan is remote Friday, so while we have round the clock care for our pets, we often miss each other during the week.
So weekends have become sacred to us.
And truthfully? We kind of just like to bed rot on the weekends.
We love finding a good tv series, stocking up on snacks, hiding from the world, and just existing together with zero pressure to be productive. Last weekend we were laughing together because we were too lazy to even grocery shop properly, so we DoorDashed what can only be described as the diet of two unsupervised teenagers. Ruffles, multiple flavors of ice cream, chips and guacamole, cookies, popcorn—absolutely no nutritional value whatsoever.
At one point I remember thinking: Whoever is shopping this order for us must think we are making really bad life choices. They’d be correct.
So weekends have become a bit of a mini staycation. Movie marathons, snacks everywhere, blankets, naps, sharing TikToks and the latest work gossip.
We live on a lake,—which I’ll probably say 100 times before the end because I still can’t believe it—and one of my favorite things in the world is putting a picnic blanket out on the lawn and just sitting there together while our cats roam around yard and my dog waits impatiently by the door for me to come back in.
Together we watch countless sunsets on the water as the cats stalk the ducks, chase the grasshoppers, stalk dragonflies, and find tiny child-like adventures within the microcosm of our backyard.
Just this weekend, I had a moment of meditative serenity as I looked up and noticed dozens of dragonflies suspended in the air, just shimmering above us. And watching the cats completely mesmerized by them with their eyes darting to and fro. I watched life dance around me and soaked in that magical scenery like a dry sponge over water.
I think that’s really what we enjoy most in life: creating space to actually experience it.
Our home feels like a sanctuary and an amusement park. Our life together in this space is what brings me the most joy. There’s truly no where I’d rather be than at home on the lake, with Roxan, our fur babies, good snacks, and absolutely nothing important to do.
Alexander Carpenter
What feels spiritually meaningful or grounding for you as individuals and as a couple?
Kendra and Roxan
For me, what feels spiritually grounding is the way we practice reflection.
We are constantly talking, processing, and unpacking. You know, the typical lesbian relationship. Honestly, I don’t know how some couples don’t talk to each other because Roxan and I talk about everything. Every random half-baked idea, every little annoyance, every existential spiral, every funny interaction at work, writing this very piece you are reading right now, it all gets processed.
I am an intense processor by nature. Reflection is how I make sense of the world. Sometimes I need to speak something aloud before I even fully understand what my intuition is saying. Words help the nuances unfold. Clarity appears. Roxan is there listening, sometimes challenging a stray emotion or asking questions to help identify a path toward feeling as though I have resolution. She provides an alternative perspective and sometimes lets me talk until emotions have run their course and I can re-approach my problems with perspective and compassion.
Roxan listens in a way that makes me feel fully seen. The way she practices relationship with me truly feels like a spiritual practice because it provides so much grounding.
There is something healing and grounding about the way Roxan “sees” me. It has been difficult for me to feel seen and known as a woman of color. But it is a spiritual experience to be known, to be seen as intelligent, as of value, as precious. It is like Hagar, fleeing in the hot desert sun from all of her persecutors and being able to find shade in the eyes of the one who saw her. It is an attribute of God to see, El-Roi, “you are the God who sees.”
Our relationship is a spiritual practice. To reflect selflessly, contribute meaningfully, engage energetically and to take interest in the interests of others.
With her, I don’t have to spend all my energy translating myself into something more digestible. I don’t have to constantly defend my inner world. I can simply exist inside it, and she meets me there willingly.
We practice our spirituality through presence, through being witnessed fully by another person while offering that same witness in return.
The closest thing I can compare it to is an exhale, a sigh of relief that feels like breathing. To be seen, witnessed, known and to know, is a sacred practice that keeps us grounded as we continue to drift upon the ebbs and flows of life’s unending churning.
Image credit: Kendra Arsenault and Roxan Del Valle
About the authors
Kendra Arsenault
More from Kendra Arsenault.
Roxan Del Valle
She is a Pediatric Spiritual Care Provider at Stanford Children’s Health. More from Roxan Del Valle.
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