My Story

While I was in Mexico with Midtown, the 25 of us all took turns sharing our story of how God has rescued us and how He continues working in our lives. I had never shared it orally with a group of people before, but it was something that I prayed about and I knew I needed to do it. After all, I shouldn't be ashamed of who I am/was, as it only gives me an opportunity to show how amazing God is and how He has always been there, shaping me to be more like Him. So, here is more or less what I shared with them. I hope as you read that you can get a glimpse of what God has done in my life, and what He can do for you. And yes, it's long. But that's par for the course for me.

So, I grew up with Christian parents who each came from Christian families. My parents both worked in the church, and as such, I was always at church. We went to First Baptist Church in Honea Path, a small town in Upstate South Carolina. As such, we knew everybody, and everybody knew us.

When I was a child, I heard all that I was told about Jesus and sin, and I knew that becoming a Christian was something that I needed to do. I'm not sure if I really, honestly desired it...but I knew I should. I prayed in my bed one night, asking God if I could be a Christian. I repeated that prayer for several nights, making sure God heard me, so that I would be sure to have become a Christian. (Oh, the inner workings of a child's mind. :P For those of y'all who haven't grown up around Christianity, asking multiple times is completely superfluous.)

So, I mean, I guess you could say I've been a Christian since then. I was eight or nine. My father baptized my brother and me on Christmas Day, 1994, when I was nine. But making a public profession of faith and being baptized are only the beginning. Yes, I could have died then and known that I was going to heaven...but I am, in fact, still alive. God's still working on me, shaping me more like Him. So, my story continues.

My biggest struggle (and I know I'm not alone in this) is my pride. I always strive to be the best. I have to at least look good on the outside. No mistakes. People need to know who I am. Growing up a minister's kid in a small town, I had to be perfect. I was top of my class. There was no stumbling for me. (Please note that all of this was my own doing. My parents NEVER pushed me to be like this. It's just always something I've subjected myself to.)

I mean, imagine how devastated I was when I got stopped for speeding coming home from work when I was a senior in high school. I just knew my parents would disown me (even though they had always told me that no matter what, they'd still love me...this brain of mine can be fairly convincing sometimes). I never told my mother, and I only told my father because I needed to see if he thought I should go to court or just pay the ticket. You know how I told him? I left a note in his mailbox for him to find later and call me. (My parents were divorced by this point and he was living in the next town over.)

But no matter how hard I played the part of the perfect little Christian boy, I always had my struggles under the surface. My pride always got in the way of actually admitting to those struggles, though. I was always "fine." Nothing wrong. I hadn't yet discovered the liberating feeling that confession brings. Let me describe a little bit of what was going on in my mind.

I'm pretty sure all that little boys want to do is grow up to be men. Unfortunately, somehow I had convinced myself that the whole idea of being a man was strictly limited to what was on the outside, the physical self. A man was someone who could have a five o'clock shadow, had big pecs, and had a nice tan. Well, if you don't know me, I'm pasty white, I finally shaved my entire face my last day of being a freshman in college, and I have the boniest shoulders ever. I was always the youngest person in my grade, and I was a late bloomer at that. So, I was discouraged when I started seeing body/facial hair on other guys at my high school and compared it to my body.

My observing other guys' bodies led to a curiosity of the male image, and it eventually manifested itself in lust. My mom had gotten a computer for us at home (this was probably about 1998 or 1999...I remember we were one of the first people around to have Windows 98!). I soon discovered pornography. As a slight computer nerd, I knew all the tricks to make sure nobody found out. I'm not sure if I always only looked at the all-male sites, but that turned out to be my addiction. I later discovered masturbation, and before I knew it, I was drowning in a heap of sexual sin.

I fought--alone--throughout high school and college. Remember my overarching battle with pride? There was no way I would've confessed any of this to anyone. I convinced myself that I was alone, that nobody else could possibly be dealing with this. I mean, once I got into college, I heard of other people who maybe had struggled with pornography...but never homosexuality. During this whole time, I knew I still had God with me, but this was just the thorn in my side that I solely dealt with privately...wondering why in the world He 1) put it there and 2) wouldn't take it out.

I started wondering what God's point of view on my whole situation was. I knew from the Bible that confession was good, but I just couldn't bring myself to doing that. I read Every Man's Battle, which was good...but it still dealt with men who were struggling with lust for women. But what about me? Was there hope for me? I was involved in a reality TV message board at the time, and I did bring myself to confess to one of the Christians on there (as it was about as anonymous as it could be)...but his response sent me further into despair, as it basically said, "Whoa...that's pretty bizarre...this sort of stuff could only be cured with some serious prayer and fasting and intense counseling," among other things. Not the loving response I wanted. (And besides, that involved my actually doing something about it. I wanted a pill to take or something.)

This was about the time that more people in popular culture were coming out as gay, and several denominations of Christian churches were deciding that openly gay men could serve in the church. I desperately tried searching the Scriptures to see what was there... Should I give in? Is it okay? Should I still fight though I keep failing? Am I destined for hell because I struggle with this? I would try anything to try and keep myself from failing again, including keeping a written log of when I stumbled in the hopes that that would motivate me to not do things. (I later decided that that was a dumb idea, and so I stopped.)

Growing up in a Christian household and being constantly surrounded by God's truth at church, though, ultimately helped to protect me. In my darkest moments, I somehow never forgot that God was there with me, and that my giving in to homosexuality was not the answer, that God had a better plan for me. I'm sure I prayed many times for God to "make me straight," but just a year or two ago, a dear friend of mine shared in his own story what he had learned...that exchanging homosexual lust for heterosexual lust was in the end still lust. Both are equally sin. My prayers through this whole time should have been that God make me more holy, and that, assuming He had a wife out there for me, He develop in me a holy attraction for her. (I'm not saying that if I had prayed that starting years ago that things would have gotten better, faster...I'm just saying that when my friend told me that, it really stayed with me, and I'm glad God used him to teach it to me.)

Now let's go to 2005. I'm about to work at the a Christian youth camp for the first time. (This is where I met the girl who would eventually become my beautiful bride.) I beautifully painted my application to be a counselor, answering all the questions like they wanted me to and using great Bible verses to back up everything. I just never happened to mention the personal struggles I was dealing with, because I knew that I wouldn't be accepted otherwise...and besides, I told myself, I was doing a good job of keeping my sin to myself, that it wasn't affecting anyone else...so I really didn't need to admit to it. (Ha.)

In the staff training retreat the spring before we worked, we were all sitting around in a circle once, and we agreed to all share some deep, personal struggles. This way, if a kid came up to us during the summer, we would know who to send the kid to so s/he could talk to someone with similar experiences. There I was, in that room full of people I grew up considering "Super Christians" since they were camp counselors. I was now in the same ranks as them. I sat there and listened as these "Super Christians" confessed struggles with porn, drugs, alcohol, and other things. I was floored. "Really?" I thought, "These people actually go through some serious stuff, too?" As the weekend progressed, I found myself *not* judging these people for their baggage. It was one of my first experiences in true Christian community. The thought began formulating in my mind that maybe, just maybe, I could admit to my struggles and that people wouldn't judge me as much as I thought.

So, the first step in solving a problem is admitting that you have a problem, right? I went home after that weekend, and I sent an e-mail to the staff, apologizing for not sharing during that time, but stating that one of the things I most struggled with was admitting what I struggled with (see: my constant battle with pride). Around this time I blogged to my blogging audience (of about seven) that I had been struggling with some things (still keeping things good and vague). From that point, I began feeling a wave of emotion from other people saying "It's okay. We'll still love you. We're praying for you through whatever it is you're going through." It was comforting...but I still knew that I had to come clean.

At some point late in 2005, I decided I had had enough, and that I had to just get it out. As it seems writing is the easiest form of communication for me to express the inner me, I wrote a blog post (which I still have if you're interested) that explained my struggles with porn and homosexuality. I wrote this late at night, praying that it was the right thing to do. I hit "Publish Post" and went to sleep terrified.

The next morning. Open inbox. Expect nasty e-mails full of disgust, hatred, and judgment. ... Find nothing of the sorts. When I got up and found the amount of love that had been shown to me by my friends, I was so relieved. A giant burden off of my back. Finally, the joys of liberation through confession.

And remember my fears of being alone in my struggle? I had always read the verse in 1 Corinthians that no temptation is unique to you, that it's all common to man...but I never believed that until I found out that one of my closest friends at the time was dealing with the *exact* same thing as me. To talk with her and hear her struggles was mutually encouraging I believe. We both realized that, yes, we have junk, but we have each other to help us through it all. My confession also led to some great talks with some of my other really good friends. I recognize that confession might not always turn out quite so pretty, but I thank God for the experiences He allowed me to go through following my coming clean.

I wish that were the end of the story, but confessing doesn't mean the end of the sin. After all, we won't experience total victory until we're with Him in Glory. Yes, I found myself an accountability partner, and we talked for a few months, but that fizzled out. I still succumbed to temptation after this. But at least I had a new perspective.

I had the opportunity to speak in front of my church one Sunday. I based it around the Casting Crowns song "Stained Glass Masquerade," talking about how everyone likes to put a pretty face on at church and pretend nothing's wrong. I talked about how I myself struggled with things and that confession was amazing. My dad said he would come to church that day, which scared the mess out of me because this would mean he would hear that I had been struggling with something. So, I felt it only fair that I send him a copy of the blog I had written, explaining everything. There was no condemning from him upon reading it, only love. And while I know my mom would also show me nothing but love, too, I still have a hard time exposing who I am to my family. In fact, the first time my mom has heard any of this is right before I published this post I'm writing now.

In 2006, when I was filling out my application for a two year overseas missionary program, I didn't hide anything, deciding that was best. I told them my whole story. They had some questions for me, but I answered them honestly. I told myself that I would rather be rejected for being who I was than be accepted for pretending to be who I wasn't.

Some previous experiences had led me to believe that being a missionary for two years was where God was leading me, so when I received the e-mail letting me know that I had not been accepted, it was quite the blow. I guess it was my first real negative experience related to my being honest, and it really shocked me. They said that they felt I needed more time to wrestle with these sin issues, and that after more time, prayer, and counseling, that it might be such that I could reapply. (I've always been afraid of that "counseling" word, because that implies you have a problem...and as a prideful someone who likes to portray a perfect image, counseling meant that image couldn't exist. Still to this day, the only counseling I've had was premarital counseling with my wife.)

I was upset at the organization, and I have to admit that the wound still isn't fully healed. The guy who was my accountability partner also got denied acceptance into the program for some things he was dealing with. I was confused as to why God would lead both him and me to believe that this was where He was leading us, only to slam the door in our faces. But, it's in times like these that we just have to trust that He has thoughts and ways higher than our own.

My struggle with sexual sin continued, it's just I wasn't hiding much. I still needed a focus shift, though. I'll never forget something that our camp pastor, who ultimately preached at our wedding, said during a training for a leadership weekend retreat we were hosting. He asked basically how long we were going to keep the focus on how sinful we are instead of looking to the cross and how holy God is. You see, when the focus is on us and our sin, we're being very self-centered instead of God-centered. So, I stopped trying to get better, and instead began trying to preach the Gospel to myself and to remind myself to focus on the Love expressed on the cross.

By this point, my wife and I had started dating (and broken up and started dating again). We were actually dating during the time that I had the door shut on the missions opportunity, and she was always a very godly support to me during this time. She always knew about my struggles with sexual sin, but she never ran. (She is such an amazing woman of God.) In fact, let me pause for one brief second to tell you something that our pastor said during our wedding. He joked with me, saying that that day, I was marrying way up. (I believe that 100%.) He then went on to explain to us and to everyone there that when Jesus came to rescue us and gave His life on the cross, that He married way down. (I then began to cry (again).) He saw who we were, and despite our baggage, He stretched out His arms and professed His love to us on the cross. As such, we will one day get to share with Him in the Wedding Feast that will never end. (I am eventually going to transcribe his sermon, as I am convinced that's the best sermon I ever heard...and it was at our wedding!) :)

So, anyway, back to Tiffany. We dated and eventually got engaged on November 9, 2009. Though we often talked about Christ, talking about how God has worked in me through my struggles wasn't exactly the top of the list of things I wanted to talk about. I mean, she knew about it, so I didn't figure I needed to bring it up; however, when we started pre-marital counseling, the pastor who was doing it encouraged me to man up to the awkwardness and just air out a lot of the things that needed to be said. So, Tiff and I finally got our hands dirty and fully addressed these sins of mine. It was a very healthy conversation, and it helped us keep in perspective that we were both going into marriage as two sinners who are desperate for God's grace, and that we needed to fight for each other in our pursuit of holiness.

Wrapping up (finally), here I am. Married still. By the grace of God, we do have a beautiful relationship. There are times I have slipped a little, and I wish so hard that all of the temptation would go away, but Satan is relentless. (But God is more powerful.) Struggling with same-sex attraction and being in a heterosexual relationship is definitely challenging, but then again, struggling with anything and being in a heterosexual relationship is also challenging. Heck, just being in a heterosexual relationship is challenging enough! But, I am learning more and more to love myself, to love Tiff, and to love others as Christ has loved and still loves us.

Through it all, I have learned what I misinterpreted as a kid. I have learned what true, biblical masculinity is about. It's nothing about what's on the outside, but it's manning up to God's standard for us in His Word. I've also learned to truly believe David's words in Psalm 139, that though I sometimes have questioned why God made me the way I am, I can now say, "I praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are Your works; my soul knows it very well."

So, that's my story. I hope through it that you not see me at all, but that you rather see an amazing God who works mighty things through sinful creatures such as myself, and that He continues working in me. I'd love to talk with you if you have any questions or comments. I can't say I've enjoyed every step of my journey, but looking back and seeing the beautiful picture God has painted, I can do nothing else but worship Him and cry "Hallelujah."