I hadn't wanted orientation change out of a desire to please God. I'd wanted to be straight because I simply wanted to be normal. I had been scared. I was internally homophobic, hating myself and especially other gay men.
The guilt was overwhelming. How would I tell anybody what I had done? What would they think of me? Beyond other people, how would these events impact my faith? Where was Jesus during all of this?
I don't wonder to myself: Have I, as an adult, ever embraced another man shirtless like this before? This isn't that kind of intimacy.
As I drove down the base of the mountain after listening to a sermon and enjoying some prayer, the thought once more popped into my head: "You like Annie!" I wanted to swipe away the thought again, but this time I actually considered it. Maybe I could like a girl?
My dad believed he needed to leave me free to live my own life. I had certainly been willing to be his full-time caregiver, but now that I knew his wishes, apparently God had other plans for me.
It felt good to be close to another man. And yet, was it right (healthy, faithful, acceptable) to like this? Is this what acceptance in a physical sense felt like?
My daughter had been injured by an accident — something that had no one to blame or fault. And in that time, I needed to know that it was all going to be all right. I needed to know that it would work out. I needed hope. And I needed to restore my faith in that hope.
I didn't want to lose my best friend to this soon-to-be relationship. I already knew what it felt like to be left alone, tossed away like an old rag doll by a straight relationship, forgotten. I don't know how many times this had happened to me, and I wasn't ready to go through it again. Especially by someone I thought would be my best friend for a long time.
I recently returned from a men's retreat in which I came face-to-face with my biggest struggle: not anything regarding my sexuality or sexual addictions. But simply feeling like a man. Like a man among men, assembled on an equal playing field rather than somewhere on another field's sidelines.
After I had lived in Seattle for a few months, some things out of my control started happening that threatened my ability to continue living in my newfound home. In addition to money troubles, a friend of my elderly father called from Florida to tell me that his health was declining and that he was not thinking clearly anymore. I decided right then I had to leave and take care of my father.