God and I are going to have some time alone together at the beginning of the next life. For the wounds to heal, for the scars to fade, and for the tears to become mere memory. I used to think healing would happen in an instant, but I'm not sure that's how healing works anymore.
Here at Your Other Brothers, we've shared advice for coming out, but what if someone comes out to you? I've compiled a non-exhaustive list of pointers and things to keep in mind when someone comes out to you.
I remember being envious of the other boys who seemed so free in their bodies, so free with their bodies. I remember being envious of their slenderness, and later on, their muscles. I remember lying in bed wishing so hard that I could wake up and be miraculously thin. I remember knowing that I shouldn't hate my body but having no idea how to stop.
When we give our hearts to people we are changed, even if they never give us their hearts in return. These effects aren't scars — they don't begin as wounds — and I wouldn't call them baggage. They're like paint splashes on our canvas hearts or imprints on our soft, clay souls.
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.
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.