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?
You know, after fifteen years of blogging about gay things and masculine things and all the other intermingled, messy faith things, I often feel like I've run out of stories to tell here. Gay kisses, wet dreams, fetishes – what on earth is there left to say?? Ah, but then I wake up one day and suddenly remember that time another "Side B" guy from a Facebook group asked if he could do something to my genitals. Ah, yes – a new story to tell. Glory be.
I spent most of my twenties trying my best to be straight. I dated women and watched ESPN and prayed and prayed for the gay to go away. I don't suppose there was anything wrong with all that. But at some point I had to acknowledge the reality that God doesn't always remove challenges. He always works through them, though.
She had recently broken up with her boyfriend, and she was about to move for a job opportunity in a couple of weeks. We were good friends, and we'd hung out a few times, both by ourselves and within groups. But there was just never a good time to talk about how I felt about her. If I didn't get to talk to her this morning, then I might never have another chance!
Vulnerability is uncomfortable, even scary, so why do we value it so highly in our community? Sharing our story, including our sexuality, may have once felt like the most daunting or impossible task. And yet what would have been the cost to our lives had we not been vulnerable? What if we had stayed silent, closeted, cut off from such a significant aspect of ourselves with ourselves, God, and other people? Indeed, what if vulnerability that feels like weakness is actually strength – especially when practiced in a community?
Sometimes the scariest question in the world is: How are you doing? That question comes like a longed-for drink of water at the end of a grueling race. It comes like a lover, surprising and enticing in all its warmth and inquiry. It means someone cares. And yet...
I board my first plane with another YOBBER, North Carolina-bound from Houston. I know exactly where I’m going, yet it is a new adventure all the same. Perhaps I should say, "I know what to expect where I’m going." Memories of the previous year’s YOB camp retreat replay in my head -- more static around the details than there used to be, though the feelings surrounding them remain unchanged. Chaotic. Flabbergasted. Humbled. Healed. I have to pull myself back to the present and prepare my heart for what may be a whole new set of feelings this year. I have to prepare my heart for growth.
"New growth" was the theme of this, my first YOB retreat; slightly ironic as fall was slowly putting the world to sleep. The sun felt defiantly hot that first day, beating down on tall trees that simultaneously clung to summer green while shedding autumn red and gold. I was exhausted from a stressful week and travel delays. Now I faced a weekend of interacting with virtual strangers. Literally. Aside from a handful whom I had met in person, my fellow YOBBERS were tiny faces on a screen. I had discovered YOB some months prior. I was desperate, starving for some kind of connection with other men who understood my journey.
Leaving for the YOBBERS retreat late on a Thursday night was an escape. I wanted to get away from the chaos and stress that had defined my life. I wanted to find rest, but not the kind that satisfies in the moment. No, it was much more than that. I wanted to find the rest that God provides, such that defies all logic and understanding. If it took flying all the way across the country to seek where the Lord would teach me about that kind of rest, I would gladly do it again in a heartbeat.
I guess we're really doing this again, I thought, this whole retreat thing. Is this officially an annual event now? Can I handle that? Goodness, can I really put on a retreat every year for the rest of my life? Or need I only focus on this year's retreat, letting tomorrow's retreat worry for itself?