Introducing a new video!
Instead of a traditional blog post, I have decided to share some of my story and experiences with you in the spoken word format. Check out my video from our YOBTube channel for an honest confession of my hurts, frustrations, and needs as a same-sex attracted believer.
Hopefully you resonate with it on some level. Enjoy, brothers.
What confessions do you have for the Church as a believer with same-sex attractions?
Just give me a moment and hear my name.
I’m not looking for money or power or fame.
I’ll tell you my story and dig up my dirt.
I’ll show you my scars and reveal all my hurt.
You see . . . I want a man.
I want a man to hold me tight.
To tell this little boy inside, “It’ll be alright.”
To let me rest my head upon his chest.
Take me under his wing and build me a nest.
Every man who passes me by
I look at him longingly deep in his eyes.
I pray that he will see me, even though I hide
and bury my heart so deep inside.
Will he see this small boy under my aging skin?
Will he call him forth and welcome him in?
Give him a home or teach him to fish?
Not leave him alone to simply exist!
I’m coming clean.
If you know what I mean.
I’m not sure how to say what’s next . . .
All I know is I’m attracted to my same-sex.
Now with disbelief in your eyes,
you question what you just heard.
Frantically flipping through pages in your old holy word.
You say, “Jesus still loves me, he’s my heavenly dad.
He will hold me and love me when I’m feeling sad.
And I don’t have to worry ’cause he never gets mad.”
But then you walk away without even a hug.
The strings of my heart they tug and they tug.
I sink to a puddle upon the floor.
Couldn’t you have done something more?
For this crippled young man wounded by war.
But now, somehow, he’s labeled a whore.
Are you afraid to touch the poor?
Like a leper covered in sores?
With a contagious disease I’m unclean, unclean, unclean.
Don’t tell me to be warm and stay well fed,
While holding back blankets and baskets of bread.
You have hands and arms and lips — you’re not yet dead.
Couldn’t you hold me or hug me or kiss my forehead?
Your Jesus can’t hold me or touch me like you.
Last time I checked he gave you a mission to do.
He said, you are the body. The light to the world.
You are the hands and feet.
The needs of this world are your job to meet!
So take a second glance. Just look.
And then try to give back just as much as you took.
I’m like a classic case in a psychology textbook.
So you want to be a missionary to those in need
but you shy away from people like me?
Nah . . .
I don’t want to idolize simulated romance between digital guys.
Yearning after them with lustful eyes.
Don’t think that I want to watch all of this porn.
Can you even imagine how weary and worn
my heart has grown,
hoping for home?
Searching and seeking for years at a time,
aching and longing for love to be mine.
Night after night, searching the web,
tangled like flies, lured and led
to other desperate men all alone in their beds.
The chemicals unbalanced inside of my head.
Without a sober thought I ran
to the nearest available, vulnerable man.
One willing to be intimate with me.
Stripped down, we fooled around.
My heart raced to the sound
of this new thrill I had found.
But just as quickly I started to see,
this man was just a broken boy like me.
Hidden in the shadows of naked shame,
I didn’t even know this other man’s first name.
My heart broke for him.
But alas, I am broken just the same,
for I, too, was a man with no name.
The sex became a bore.
I ached. Ached for something deeper,
something truer, something infinitely more.
To love and be loved to my very core!
I crave deep connection, mutual introspection,
guidance and direction, emotional protection.
Instead of all this endless rejection.
These demons taunt me with endless self-hate.
To numb their voices, I self-medicate.
I’m just a hungry boy looking for food.
I can’t help these massive swings of my mood.
To the man who is starving what’s bitter tastes sweet.
He devours garbage from the sides of the street.
But it’s just his legitimate needs that he’s trying to meet.
Before you dismiss him for his obvious sins,
take a moment to look at him deep within.
Ask yourself what’s going on inside of his heart.
Putting yourself in his shoes is a better place to start.
If you don’t want me to pursue my sin,
then offer a better alternative.
It is this wounded heart that bleeds
just trying to meet its genuine needs.
But with nowhere else to go on its own flesh it then feeds.
I’m sorry I’m so needy and that I need more than most.
That I’ve been haunting for life like a fleshless ghost.
You see my tank has a leak, it was cracked, it broke!
So my love drains out fast and my engine needs work.
Like a train off the tracks or a ship with no mast, I’m stuck.
Can’t move forward without repair.
Mechanic’s hands, a doctor’s care.
You say, “Go to God for he’s your healer.
Take your car back to the dealer.”
But God lives within you, or so you say.
His spirit is alive in his people who pray.
God’s spirit is the blood, the life that moves,
that pumps through his body. His body — that’s you!
I feel like I’m playing a game of charades.
Trying to get you to guess what I’m trying to say.
You won’t even let me use honest words
to describe what I need or to make me feel heard.
So I write out my thoughts alone in the night.
In a tattered old book I will ink down my life.
Praying for God to just set all things right.
And to give me the strength to not give up this fight.