During our inaugural YOBBERS retreat, all attendees were assigned to one of five small groups ("tribes") whose weekend discussions would focus on each of our five YOB values: hope, humility, brotherhood, courage, and vulnerability. Three of our authors were assigned to the Hope Tribe, along with seven other men. What follows is a conversation sharing some of what we learned that weekend: hope in relationships and hope in Jesus.
The vast majority of "Queer Eye" is not even addressing sex; it is addressing prejudice, shame, and loneliness. I have experienced shame, the idea that I am simply unlovable. I even believed for many years that God hated me, that God himself couldn’t even love me.
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.
The slog of waking up to my drab mundane life takes a sharp turn for the better, and I am suddenly filled with hope and optimism. The world is not so scary anymore. How on earth did I live without this hope before? I attended this year's YOBBERS retreat, and my mind is spinning over what I just saw and experienced.
My biggest fear was that my best friend was going to force our friendship to end all because of this girl, pushing me away from his life. It was the fear that whatever friendship we'd built in the past he was willing to tear down, trample to the ground, and pretend that I never existed at all.
The LGBT community depended upon each other when they had no one else. And now they stick together closely, fighting alongside each other. The LGBT community isn't perfect. However, the LGBT community still finds a way to come together for a common purpose. And, honestly, this is attractive to me.
He was never physically affectionate; we’d never even hugged. I wanted to touch him not out of a sexual desire but from a longing to connect with him as love with a brother. I dreamed of a day when we could embrace and confess our brotherly love for each other. I put my hand on his shoulder once. He brushed it off.
As I entered into ministry, I knew my SSA could end it all in one swift move. I hoped that instead of being rejected I would be loved. I hoped that people would notice their prejudice and change once they met me. I spent much time in prayer -- but also smoking.
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.
I have a fetish, and I've had one for about as long as I can remember. I have a "thing" that, in itself, isn't quite sexual in nature. But I fetishize that thing. I idolize it a lot, fantasizing for this thing, turning what was never meant to be sexualized on a dial that was never meant to be dialed.