It's no secret that I have written extensively on the joys and blessings of SSA, gay, or Side B friendships. Indeed, these particular friendships have been incredible and moving experiences that I would not trade for anything in the world. But at the same time, let me be clear: maintaining Side B friendships with other guys can be HARD.
I wasn't sure what to say. I couldn't get a feel for how my friend felt. Was he upset, angry, weirded out, touched, happy, confused? Henry gave no clue to his thoughts. Only one emotion registered in my own gut: fear. Months prior . . . The first few weeks after Henry left our church were actually harder than I expected. Entering the office each day, I caught myself instinctually looking at his desk to say hello. I found myself wanting to turn around to chat with him about the latest blog I'd just read. I began to feel an ache around the time each day when we used to go away from our desks to read the Bible together and check in with each other. I wanted to fill Henry's absence -- but my options were nonexistent. For one, I was now the only guy in my office suite....
When I was a kid, my dream was to grow up and get a wife and kids. A lot of kids. My family and church taught me to pray for my future spouse. So, I did. Everyday for years. I prayed for the girl I'd one day marry, that God would protect her and care for her, whoever she was.
This is the continuing story of my midlife crisis which started when a deep sense of dissatisfaction drove me to make big changes and start a new life. Waking up from a dream, I intuitively knew that I should devote as much time and energy as possible to pointing the younger generation to Jesus Christ!
I hated being the awkward, quiet introvert; I wanted to be like the energetic, chatty, extroverted kids. They always seemed to make a bajillion friends and were always the life of the party who people laughed at and enjoyed. I hated myself for not having charisma or speaking when it mattered. I thought something was wrong with me.
Call it a "new direction" or a clearer translation of what YOB has been from the start: a community desperate for Jesus. My 31-year Jesus journey leads me here. Wherever "here" is. Broken on the floor. Echoes of the past ringing in my ears. Doubts for the future always shadowing my vision no matter how many tears I blink away.
How does a middle-aged, single, Christian guy dealing with same-sex attraction (SSA) embark upon and survive a midlife crisis? It was clear that I was selfishly living an easy life that didn't help anyone else and did little or no eternal good.
These men, their stories showed me the courage to love. The courage to love family and friends, whether they understand, accept us, or not. The courage to love and trust God even in the midst of confusion and lies. The courage to love myself.
Eryk had no spouse, no children, no parents, and only a distant half-sister. Eryk became dangerously depressed, and no one was close enough to effectively do anything about it. I can certainly put myself in Eryk's place and understand how he could become depressed. But I didn't take the time and effort to notice and take action.
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.