Anticipation was running high. This would be my first retreat since joining the YOB community last year. A poorly timed illness prevented me from attending previously, so my heart was more than ready for a weekend away with my other brothers. And God provided.
As I left, one of these guys thanked me for showing the group what a mother-son relationship should look like. That was definitely food for thought on my long drive home! So many thoughts ran through my head and heart.
I believe that if I hadn't come to this retreat, I wouldn't have found this perspective shift – especially with my brother's encouragement. Perhaps I did need to have my hope renewed. My time with my brothers that weekend would facilitate this renewal, refocusing our eyes on the source of our hope, our Lord Jesus Christ.
I'd be spending the weekend with an entire group of gay/SSA/bi/queer men. Something I’d never done before. But, you know, YOLO. I'd told one of my friends from church, "It will probably be a lot like a typical Christian men's retreat." "Except with more hugging," he replied. But, really, why was I going?
Despite all the incredible people in our online community, I've recognized my need for more men in my city on whom I can depend. This has been a sobering searching process because YOB has become such a pillar of my identity. If I'm no longer close or as intentional with a large lot of our YOB community, who even am I?
When I finally acknowledged my sexuality as something God could use for His glory and my good, it became something that endeared me to others rather than only alienate me from them. Sexuality was no longer just a source of shame; it became a catalyst for connection.
I was just about to graduate and launch out into the world, and I couldn't hide from the truth any longer. I'm homosexual. That was the only language I had for it at the time. There was no way I could have used the word gay, because I sure wasn't happy; quite the opposite, in fact. I was devastated.
I found myself getting sucked into a world of fantasy. Porn was way better than watching some blockbuster: I could still be with guys without actually being with them. After all, I never cared about those guys anyway. It was all about me and getting off. The more I watched porn, the more I was hooked.
Ah, body image. I suspect nearly all of us wrestle with it in some form or another, and in different ways – whether we’re gay/same-sex attracted or straight. These days for me, that wrestling with body image is around aging.
Perhaps it was the touch of melancholy in me that many other "Side B" Christians also feel, or simply being a disabled man, or maybe even a combination of the two – the fact that I have often felt both a physical and mental peace listening to classical music. Whatever it was, my soul felt ministered to in a previously unknown way.