Same-sex attraction is not the only thing. It's not the only struggle. And I can't tell you the freedom I experienced when I realized homosexuality was actually not even close to the top of my human struggle pyramid.
I would be coming out to my family over dinner. I told them that I wasn't planning on changing the course of my faith. I explained that I was telling them because I planned to tell even more people. I told them that if I wanted to talk about it again I’d be the one to bring it up, and I stood up and left.
He wanted me to be a man, to be tough, emotionally disciplined and not giving in to my grief. After all, we should consider ourselves like soldiers in battle who can't afford to stop and grieve when someone dies. I couldn't fully process everything at the time, but you can imagine how I felt as a sensitive guy.
He was never physically affectionate; we’d never even hugged. I wanted to touch him not out of a sexual desire but from a longing to connect with him as love with a brother. I dreamed of a day when we could embrace and confess our brotherly love for each other. I put my hand on his shoulder once. He brushed it off.
Back in high school, I lived a double life. I enjoyed spending time with my friends and the youth group at my church. But I also spent time looking at porn, questioning how I fit in with guys, and lacking any strong sense of masculinity. The summer after my junior year, I decided to volunteer at a nearby camp. Having never attended this camp -- or any camp – as a camper, I had only vague expectations for my first week. It was a Christian camp so what could be bad about it, right? Driving down that gravel road, though, all the fears and insecurities came rushing at me.
As I entered into ministry, I knew my SSA could end it all in one swift move. I hoped that instead of being rejected I would be loved. I hoped that people would notice their prejudice and change once they met me. I spent much time in prayer -- but also smoking.
My second greatest "love language" is quality time. I communicate and receive love simply by being physically present with someone. We can be silent for hours -- but if we are "intentionally" together, then I perceive it as a sign of care and love. I wasn't here for him; I was here for me.
What would it look like for my distant tribe to be gathered together? Didn't God long to change our shame into praise and renown? "Gather us," I prayed. I prayed that my scattered and lost tribe would be drawn together, our fortunes restored before our eyes. It was a prayer for my own benefit, but also for all of us.
All these ups and downs often caused me emotional pain. I had to take risks rather than stay safe and comfortable. My SSA made me feel weak and ineffective around all these straight guys. These painful things tested my friendship with James, too.
I'd transition to being a woman. I'd find a man to love me for who I was, and I'd become his wife. I'd run away with him and find freedom to be the woman I was supposed to be. This is not what happened, of course. Some would call it a mercy; others, a tragedy. I call it taking ownership of my gender identity.