Diamonds Are Sexy

To answer this question completely, I need to go back at least 20 years, if not more. I can’t distinctly recall that there was a “moment” when I started to realize that I was gay. I can remember as far back as fifth or sixth grade and finding other guys attractive in a way that was distinctly different from the way I looked at girls. I was certainly different from most of the other guys I knew: I had no competitive drive when it came to sports, and had no interest at all in contact sports. While the rest of the guys were playing kickball, I spent my playground time with my girlfriends, chatting about things, pretending, etc. I had a flair for acting, music, drawing, and writing, and I had a strong compulsion to be accepted and liked by my parents and my teachers. In the eyes of many of my peers (who were raised in a distinctly rural, distinctly “good ol’ boy,” distinctly how-old-were-you-when-you-got-your-first-rifle sort of area), I was a sissy.

I didn’t feel like a sissy, though. I was smart and creative, fun to be around, a deep thinker… in some respects I might have been considered a snob, I suppose. Still, I was extremely intimidated by anything that required athletic prowess, and I immediately became a target for name-calling and ostracism. To be quite frank, junior high was hell.

My parents were as loving and supportive as they knew how to be, but they also come from a background of traditional Christian values. Recognizing the potential signs of a coming-of-age sexual identity crisis in one of their sons, let alone assisting and nurturing him along the way would have never occurred to them. When, after a horribly demeaning experience on a class trip, I came home and told mom what happened, her reaction was, from my perspective, outrage that anyone would dare call me gay! It was totally untrue, and therefore slanderous! Many conversations with the principal and parents of a few of the offending students ensued which, in the long run, probably made the situation worse. All the while, my heart was breaking. I wanted so desperately to be able to say, “but I think I am gay, Mom.” I fantasized about the guys in the locker room all the time, I actually dreamt of sexual encounters with other guys, and I had a HUGE crush on my best friend.

Quite naturally, I turned inward. I began to pray constantly for God to take away the desires I had. It was my only option, since I so obviously didn’t fit the jock (and therefore, my perception of masculine) stereotype. God, however, never did take my desires away. Conversely, they strengthened. I struggled for years with the shame and fear of the truth ever being discovered. My worst fears were realized when my dad confronted me one evening after he found a gay novel in my bedroom. It was the first of many times afterward that I began to actually deny my identity. To be fair, my dad was very compassionate. He offered to get me professional help if I wanted it. There was no “how could yous” or “you’re a disgrace to us” at any point. But I knew, deep down, that by admitting that I was gay I would be disappointing my parents – and that was something I could never intentionally do.

Not surprisingly, by the end of my freshman year in college, I was an emotional wreck. Severely depressed, with suicidal tendencies (though I never once actually attempted suicide), I was rendered completely incapable of day-to-day life. It took every bit of energy just to pull myself out of bed in the mornings, and I would lay awake for hours at night, praying for rest or death… I didn’t care which. Out of desperation, I finally turned to the university counseling center, where my therapist recommended anti-depressants, and we began working together on my self-esteem issues and my damaged (or, to be more P.C., my constrictive) notions of what it meant to be a Christian.

The following summer (after my sophomore year), I was blessed with the opportunity to work as a boys’ counselor at a Christian camp. Here, in the middle of nowhere, and among a group of peers who didn’t know anything about me or my past, I was able to test my ability to change. I made a full pendulum swing in regard to my personality. I was loud and opinionated, outspoken and energetic. It was one of the most empowering times of my life. The trouble with places like that is that you eventually have to return home and, once I was back in school, I found that the person I had become didn’t fit the person everyone knew. It was time to make some permanent changes, so I transferred to a different college. I was still struggling with my identity, but the struggle had changed: the new question was not whether or not I was gay, but whether or not I could be gay and still be Christian.

I poured myself into research. Conservative authors said one thing, liberal authors said another. But the more I read, the more convinced I became that what my heart was telling me had to be true: God lovingly created me, and who God created was a gay man. After more months of searching and after a good friend of mine declared that he just didn’t care anymore – he was gay, and it didn’t matter if God liked it – I made a decision to attend an on-campus seminar about being gay. I was terrified that my Christian friends would see me enter that meeting room, but I went anyway. I don’t recall anything that was said at that meeting, nor do I recall by name the people who were there. What I do remember distinctly was seeing a room full of normal people! People just like me! It was the most wonderful feeling in the world… I wasn’t a freak! On that day, October 11, 1993, I embraced my identity as a gay man loved by God, and for the first time in a decade, I was truly free.

The feeling didn’t last, however. I began to torment myself over the fact that I was now living two lives: the one I knew to be true, and the one my friends and family saw. It wasn’t a matter of behavior for me… I wasn’t sleeping around or anything like that. It was a matter of principal, identity, and spirit. My perspective was finally correct, as though I had been wearing corrective lenses my whole life only to discover that I had 20/20 vision and had removed the glasses. I wanted the whole world to know and to share in my newfound joy and freedom, and I couldn’t. Every time I went home, I became keenly aware of the generalized statements made by my loved ones that showed how ignorant they were about homosexuals. Once again, I realized that by speaking the truth as I understood it, I would be creating disharmony and disappointment.

The following is an excerpt from a journal entry on the morning I came out to my parents:

I woke up about 5 a.m. this morning, troubled about telling Mom and Dad. I knew this was “the day,” but I couldn’t force away the fears, or maybe more the pressure, that loomed inside my brain. I wanted so much to be straight so Mom and Dad wouldn’t be hurt. Why does being gay have to be so bad? I finally got out of bed around 7:00 a.m. and started watching Hamlet where Steven and I had left off the morning before. Daddy was already up. “What’re you doing up so early?”"Couldn’t sleep.” “Anything wrong?”

SILENCE… “Not really.”

Later, Mom came by where I was sitting and rested her hand on my head. “Just let it go, Chris. I love you.”

They left for church. I had worked up an arrangement of “Create In Me A Clean Heart” for offertory the night before. It’s a beautiful arrangement; it allows for lots of interpretation and expression. When I was practicing it last night, Vanessa commented on how sad it sounded. I’d felt pretty sad as I played it. After Mom and Dad left this morning I thought about what Mom had said about letting go. I reflected back to the words of the psalm*; how many times the promise of a clean heart and a pure spirit had uplifted me. As I played at church later that morning, I could feel God’s joy spread inside me, and offertory was was beautiful and uplifing.

I went through the afternoon waiting for a good time — it never came. After the evening service I thought the family could spend some quality time together, but our teenager [(my sister, "Sis")] “… didn’t feel like it,” so Mom, Dad and I just sat down in the living room. I felt very awkward, and I kept trying out opening lines in my head as Mom and Dad talked about something else. Then the phone rang. It was ”Bro” [(my brother)]. Everything seemed fine until he said, “Sis tells me you’ve chosen an alternative lifestyle.”

I calmly told him that I’d chosen nothing. He told me I was wrong, that God had not helped to decide anything, etc. I told him that I was sorry he’d found out that way, but I didn’t want to talk about it over the phone. (All this time, Mom and Dad are in the living room hearing all of my side of the conversation.) He did redeem himself by telling me that he loved me, and that means everything to me. He told me he wouldn’t tell Mom or Dad, and then he spoke with Mom for a minute. I sat back down and began devouring my nails. Dad asked what Bro and I were talking about, and I said, “Something that Sis told him.” I guess, because of how things are with Sis, that that was a sufficient answer because he didn’t press for anything further.

I then proceeded, voice and hands shaking, to bring up a topic our pastor has addressed recently (and frequently) about how the Church should receive all people, disregarding sex, race, status, etc., and I said that I had been dealing with what the Christian’s role should be in dealing with the gay community. Mom started praying immediately (at least that is how I perceived it). She looked down, inward really, and was silent as Daddy and I talked about what the Bible says (neither one with our Bible in hand). The conversation didn’t go far until we were both up, searching for our Bibles. (Mom continued to pray.) I came back with my NIV and my copy of Is the Homosexual My Neighbor? [by Letha Dawson Scanzoni and Virginia Ramey Mollenkott.] It wasn’t long before it all came out.

Once we disqualified the Israeli Holiness Code in Leviticus, we discussed Paul’s discussion in Romans of “natural v. unnatural.” It boiled down slowly to my belief that some people naturally have desires for the same sex and I know because I’m one of those people.

Mom and Dad were wonderful listeners, and neither fought me in the least. Mother showed how much she loves me by talking about the dangers and the people who won’t understand — people whom I love. All her hurt was for me. She told me she believed in a God of miracles. I concurred, but answered by saying that I’d been praying for God to change me for years and that I did not believe that God was going to change this. “Sometimes,” she said, “when we come to a peace about something, God removes it.”

I am at peace. My family is praying for me, and I can feel those prayers changing me…

Within six months, I had abandoned my freedom and joy for a life of “obedience.” I had allowed myself to become convinced that my being a homosexual was not the design of my Creator (who, after all, had created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve — thank you very much, Mr. Falwell). I began my first year of teaching, and subsequently spiraled again into depression. After some medication changes, I began seeing a therapist who helped me work on more of my self-esteem issues, and encouraged me in my walk to know God more intimately. With an obedient heart, I began attending a Bible study and began to make some friends. I poured myself into work and church and for a short time I was successful in suppressing my desire to have a loving, romantic relationship with a man.

Eventually, I met a girl through a mutual friend, and we started dating. She was lively and fun, full of charisma, and beautiful. She was not a Christian, but she had a loving spirit, and I was intrigued by her energy. I truly felt as though she might be “the one.” We began dating. Within a month or so, we talked about my past – my homosexual experiences and “tendencies” – and how strongly we believed that God had healed me of that “affliction.” I believed God brought ”Sara” into my life to be my partner, and I was determined to be obedient.

I loved Sara. We got along amazingly well. She became a Christian while we were dating, and her love just blossomed. We had chemistry like no other couple around, but it was not sexual chemistry. We never kissed (beyond a quick peck) before we were married, and we certainly didn’t have sex. Cuddling wasn’t even something we did much of (if at all… I don’t remember). Yet, it didn’t occur to me that this was strange or unusual. I was being obedient, and God would reward me. We were married November 16, 1996.

The difficulties of our marriage can be detailed at another time, but after 5 years of a practically sexless marriage, Sara and I found ourselves miserably unhappy. Through a series of events, and with the help of one of my best friends, I was finally able to grab the bull by the horns and look it in the face: I’m gay, and I have no reason to be ashamed.

Sara and I spent the next three months struggling (an overwhelming theme in this story) over what we should do. I think the breaking point for me was a conversation we had in the office of our home. We were discussing the familiar passages in the Bible that are regularly used to condemn homosexuality. I was steadfast, and completely confident that these passages were irrelevant to what I, in my own experience knew to be true of both God and myself. Then the question came… “Can you honestly tell me that it’s God’s design for you to be gay?” With all sincerity, I contemplated the question personally and honestly. I considered my life, and the torment that has marked its passage. I considered my relationship with God; the intimate moments, the epiphanies, and the joys, but also the pleading, the unanswered prayers, the times of seeming utter abandonment. I then considered a God who designed me and created me – I, who had finally found peace and who had embraced as lovely this part of my character – with no promise of true love and fulfillment on this Earth, when that has been my greatest desire. It was that last contemplation… that of a God who would subject me to that sort of torment intentionally… which completely broke my heart. My response was weak, as my throat had tensed up, and tears welled up in my eyes. “If it’s not, then I may as well be dead.”

I remember holding my sobs back as I deliberately made my way, blinded by tears, down the hall to my bedroom. Once the door was shut, 20 years of anguish came rushing down with the force of a dam bursting. Nothing I could do would stop it, and I finally surrendered to the sorrow of my situation. All that I knew – my faith, my family, my wife, my intended profession, were all being washed away, pounded down to whatever foundation might lay beneath.

I’ve never talked to Sara about that moment. She came in to comfort me, but it was not the comfort of a loving wife that I needed. It was the comfort of a loving husband. I think we both realized it nearly at the same time, and she left. I’m sure she went somewhere and cried as well. Divorce is a horrible business.

Anyway, like a phoenix from the ashes, I now find myself strong and confident, whole and alive, and very certain that God’s design does include my being gay. I’ve met a wonderful man whom I have great hope may someday be more than a friend. But even if this gentleman is not the man God intends for me, I am thrilled for the life that lies ahead of me! Every day brings with it new challenges, successes, disappointments, etc. but, regardless of what may come, I can say with confidence that I deserve all the blessing and joy and fulfillment of any straight man on this planet! I told you Diamonds Are Sexy!

* The psalm referenced above:

Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me. Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free spirit. Psalm 51:10-12