I felt comforted. Assured. Confident. My pastor's hand on my shoulder gave me a shot of strength.
I'm always thankful for God leading my friends closer to Him; sometimes, though, I wish that didn't mean actually moving them.
"Maybe God brought me here just to meet you," my new friend, Henry, said plainly. "I mean, it's probably not just for that reason, but who knows?"
Henry and I had connected really well — or, so I thought. He hadn't told me he was moving before it became public knowledge.
If it's not permission to read our stories that my new friend needs, and the insight is still not enough to help him feel welcome, what else does he need?
I wanted to tell my new friend not to go. I wanted to tell him to stay at our church. To stay with me. I wanted to throw my arms around him and thank him.
"We want you to help us reach LGBT people," my pastor said. "It's our belief that this is your true calling. And we want to help you."
I definitely don't know some of my other brothers like I know my friends. I still consider them my brothers, though. We still fight alongside each other.
I realized something while mowing my lawn: I was the only one pitying myself. The only person doubting my masculinity was me.
My father's Father's Day text message sat on my phone the entire time, still waiting to be read. A message that could potentially ruin my Father's Day.