I have entered the season of Lent. We observe Lent in many different ways within the YOB community, depending on our observances to the liturgical calendar and whether our denominations are liturgically focused. Whether you are or aren't Lent-observant, this season presents an opportunity to deepen our relationships with God and others, especially family and those close to us.
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 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? I entered this fourth camp retreat in perhaps my most unhealthy headspace of the four. I felt rushed in the preparation, behind on all the decor and planning which led to a lot of sacrificed self-care, too. Because how can I sleep or eat or exercise or socialize at the same capacity with such a mammoth task at hand?!
Does nice equal good? Does strong equal toxic? Commiseration is a drink that intoxicates quickly, yet we must weep with those who weep. Am I a man? Am I strong? What am I, and where is my place? What is the nature of masculine strength?
When they hear I'm attracted to men but married to a woman, straight people, particularly Christians, sometimes ask if I expect my attractions to "change" in this life. For the longest time, I prayed for God to change my attractions. To make me straight. I do still pray about my sexuality, but I don't pray that God would change my attractions to heterosexual.
As that final morning sped by, I found myself wishing I had been more present that weekend. I don't cry easily or often. Yet tears flowed multiple times during our YOBBERS retreat weekend. And now a few more times since.
My daughter had been injured by an accident — something that had no one to blame or fault. And in that time, I needed to know that it was all going to be all right. I needed to know that it would work out. I needed hope. And I needed to restore my faith in that hope.
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.
Why would I — someone who claims to believe in an omnipotent God who cares for me — wait to go to that God only until after I had tried everything else? When I began to sort out what my sexuality and gender identity meant to me as a follower of Christ, I didn't have to do it all by myself. I could take it all to God.
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.