If I never knew you

If I never felt this love

I would have no inkling of

How precious life can be

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And if I never held you

I would never have a clue

How at last I'd find in you

The missing part of me

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In this world so full of fear

Full of rage and lies

I can see the truth so clear

In your eyes, so dry your eyes

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And I'm so grateful to you

I'd have lived my whole life through

Lost forever

If I never knew you

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I'm not trying to sound poetic, I'm just lost for words of my own. But this song from Pocahontas really speaks for me. It captures exactly what I have longed for ever since I was old enough to desire a romantic relationship. The great stories, the ones that moved me most deeply, taught me that this kind of love made all the difference between truly living and merely existing. And I believed that with all my heart. I only had to look at those who were in romantic relationships to see that it was so. I mean, they were just glowing. Their happiness seemed almost otherworldly. But most importantly, it was real. Yes, the stories were just tales, but the promises in them were true. They pointed to something very precious that could actually be found. And I wanted to find it more than anything. I wanted to have it and enjoy it, just like everybody else.

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But for me, there was a problem. All my life, from as early as I can remember, I've seen this treasure in other guys. Not once in girls. Ever. The reason I'm calling this a problem is that being gay in the time and place of my youth (and especially others finding out about it) was basically equivalent to a social death sentence: total rejection and endless ridicule guaranteed. A teenage boy's worst nightmare. It was certainly mine, at least. So "no one can know" became the most basic and most essential rule of my life. And I kept it flawlessly until I was 28. That is when I came out to my best friend and closest companion – my sister. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. But my story starts much earlier than that, and thankfully, with a lot less pain. Let me go back a couple of decades and tell you how it all began.

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Memories

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My first memory that I can now associate with my same-sex attraction is a face. A stunningly beautiful face. I was about 8 or 9 years old at the time, and the face belonged to a boy at my school. I don't remember much about him after so many years, but strangely enough, his name has somehow remained with me to this day. My "attraction" to him, if you can call it that at such a young age, was based on the way I felt every time I looked at him. It was a completely new but very pleasant feeling. I could have just kept on looking at his face for ages he was so beautiful. But having found someone so captivating, I wanted more than just watching him from a distance. I wanted to be closer to him. I wanted to be his friend. That was all I desired. But it was never fulfilled. I didn't even know him. We never even talked.

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He was not the only boy I found particularly beautiful around that age, but he was the one I specifically remember awakening something in me for the first time that I can now identify as the precursor to my romantic and sexual attraction to guys years later.

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As I grew older, my feelings got stronger. But they were still innocent – nothing more than a deep appreciation (and I would even say admiration) of the beauty of certain boys. Only more powerful and more conscious than before. I did find all of this a bit weird (feeling this crazy good just by looking at another boy's face was quite confusing), but I chose to ignore the possibility that something could actually be wrong with me. Although it did cross my mind a few times, I didn't really think about it. On those rare occasions when the idea kept bothering me for too long, I made a conscious effort to banish the thought from my mind and think about something else. I was a kid after all, 11 or 12 at the time, surrounded by great friends and lots of fun, so I decided not to worry too much about something I didn't even understand, no matter how strange it seemed to be.

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Denial

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Some measure of understanding came in my early to mid-teens when my peers started to take an interest in the opposite sex. The way they talked about girls and acted around them was both familiar and foreign to me at the same time. It was familiar because I knew the feeling very well. But it was also foreign because I didn't have it for girls. I had it for boys. I think it was in large part my friends' openly expressed attraction to girls that made sense of my puzzling feelings for boys: they were actually romantic feelings. Of the same kind as theirs, but in my case, for the same sex.

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Even now, if I had to make a list of the worst things that could ever happen to a teenage boy in my culture, being gay would be near the top for sure. The way I experienced it then, it was definitely at the very top. There was nothing more shameful than that. I remember thinking in utter despair, "Oh no, please don't. Anything but this. Anything at all."

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To this day I don't fully understand why I reacted to this shock the way I did. Perhaps the full weight of the knowledge of my homosexuality, especially at such a young and vulnerable age, would have crushed me to insanity or even to death. But that's not what happened. Sort of like a mental defence mechanism, activated instinctively rather than consciously, I chose denial, and convinced myself that I wasn't really gay. I thought to myself, "This is just a phase. It has to be. There's no way I'm gay. It must be my hormones messing with me or something. I'm going through puberty after all. This is probably normal for some boys. But it won't last. Surely it will go away as I get older."

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Hiding

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Despite the fact that I spent the better part of my teenage years in denial about the permanence of my same-sex attraction, my "temporary" feelings for boys still made me very self-conscious about the way I dressed, talked and behaved, including the songs I listened to, the movies I watched, the activities I participated in, and the people I associated with. This heightened sense of self-awareness caused me to monitor and control every aspect of my life in order to project a socially acceptable (i.e., masculine and heterosexual) image of myself to those around me. That was absolutely exhausting. It's not that I naturally gravitated towards femininity, that wasn't the case at all. But to have my guard up all the time, to be constantly paying attention not to "look gay" in anything I said or did, not even for a moment, that wore me out a lot.

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I didn't realise it then, but I was in the process of making and perfecting a mask that I would be wearing for many more years to come. A mask for the public (including my own family) that said, "I'm tough. I'm confident. I'm happy. And I like girls of course."

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None of those things were true. Underneath, I was fragile, insecure, and deeply unhappy. Yet there I was, pretending to be "just fine". I loved and hated the mask, because it kept me safe from shame and humiliation, but it also made me lonely and isolated. I had no doubt that keeping it on was infinitely preferable to putting it off, but deep down, I wanted to be known and loved for who I really was. And that's exactly what a romantic relationship promised me. But my fear of public humiliation in case the news got out was so crippling that it kept me from seriously considering the possibility of a secret boyfriend. Not to mention that part of me still believed, even towards the end of my teens, that my attraction to the same sex was just a phase, destined to pass away and fade into the unpleasant memories of a confused teenager.

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Meltdown

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Things were beginning to change when I turned 19. Not my feelings for guys though. At least not in the direction I had hoped for. If anything, they only got stronger and even reached the point where denial wasn't working anymore. My same-sex attraction wasn't temporary, and by this time, I was old enough to know it. I had no choice but to face the fact that I was actually gay. Permanently, for-the-rest-of-my-life kind of gay. Although I came to this realisation somewhat gradually, the news was no less devastating because of that. Pain of the known and fear of the unknown overwhelmed me as I contemplated the life I had been given yet never wanted. All sorts of questions flooded my mind: What now? What about all my plans? What about marriage? What about family? How long can I keep this a secret? Will I ever come out of the closet? What will people say? Will I ever have a boyfriend? Will I ever be truly happy?

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My future seemed dark and uncertain at best, and an absolute disaster at worst, as if my whole world had been shaken up and torn apart. Meanwhile, owing to several years of experience and practice, my mask stayed on and convinced everybody that all was well with me. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I was a total mess inside. But at least I was done with high school and all its social pressures, and I was about to taste the freedom of university life in a new city where nobody knew me. That was a bit scary, but also quite liberating and exciting. Although I still felt light-years away from telling anyone about my same-sex attraction, in this new place and under these new circumstances, I was slowly beginning to warm up to the idea of a secret relationship. But there was something holding me back even from that.

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Conflict

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I haven't mentioned this before, but I grew up in a religious family. We were Catholics. I probably don't need to explain why that was a problem. You can't be gay and Catholic. That just doesn't work. "Homosexuality is a sin. It's wrong, it's immoral, it's an abomination in the sight of God." I had heard it all my life. And while I can't say I genuinely believed those words, they had left a deep and permanent mark on my conscience nonetheless. This teaching had become such an influential part of my moral compass that it managed to keep me from actively looking for a boyfriend, but it wasn't strong enough to keep me from passively waiting for one. My eyes were always open and watching, just in case someone seemed to be interested in me. My conscience didn't allow me to take the initiative, but if the right guy had come along, I would have said yes to a secret relationship.

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I can see it now that this makes little sense in terms of taking the prohibition against homosexuality seriously, but back then, this is what my religion did to me. Or maybe I should say that's all my religion could do for me. It had enough power to force me into the cage of someone else's morality, but it was completely powerless against the desires of my heart. That's because the sinfulness of homosexuality was their teaching, not my conviction. My conviction was the exact opposite: "This is not sinful. This is not immoral. This is the most beautiful thing I've ever felt. It's no more lustful and no less loving than a heterosexual relationship. It's the same thing, but for the same sex. That's it. And if anybody doesn't understand that, they don't have the slightest idea of how I feel. This is so real, so genuine, so authentic, and it feels so true and right and good that it can't possibly be sinful. My own personal experience contradicts those who claim that it is, so good luck invalidating that."

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Misery

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This went on for about 5 years. What I'm going to say now perplexes me every time I think about it. With regard to that secret relationship I so desired, nothing ever happened. And when I say nothing, I mean it literally. I never even held another guy's hand. Things never even progressed to the point of mutual interest. Why? I've asked myself that question so many times. I had plenty of time, and I didn't live in a cave somewhere far away from civilisation. There were lots of guys around me, surely both gay and straight, and I found quite a few of them rather attractive. So the problem wasn't my lack of interest in them. Was it my personality then? Or my looks? Is that why no one seemed to like me that way? I'm not sure, but I don't think so.

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Was it just bad luck? As in really, really bad luck? To be honest, it felt like that sometimes. But the more I think about it now, the more convinced I become that it wasn't by chance but by design. I believe that God had been actively involved in my life way before He actually saved me. In retrospect, I can see so many evidences of His guidance and protection, but back then, I just felt constantly unwanted. And you know, when no one you like wants to be intimate with you, well, it's hard to describe how awful that is. It makes you feel utterly miserable and worthless. I can say without exaggeration that these were some of the most difficult years of my life.

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Fear

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When I was 24 years old and so lonely and unhappy that I was beginning to take matters into my own hands and look for a boyfriend online, something happened that had set my life on a completely different path. I didn't know where it came from at the time, but now I understand that it was the work of the Holy Spirit. I think the simplest and most honest way I can describe it is this: I started to develop a great fear of divine judgment.

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Up to this point, my so-called faith in God wasn't much more than a blind acceptance of what I had been told my entire life, which I would have walked away from for sure if I had found what I really wanted. But just when I finally plucked up the courage to go against the religion of my youth and actually do something about my miserable existence, this terrible fear came over me and totally messed up my plans. It made me think, if God really exists and homosexuality really is sinful, but I enter into a same-sex relationship anyway, then no matter how good it feels now, I'm going to be in big trouble on judgment day.

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I started to feel the weight of eternal punishment, and the thought of suffering in hell forever filled me with such horror that I had never felt before (or ever since). Although I had no certainty at this stage, even the possibility of an end like that was enough to keep my mind continually disturbed. I tried to ignore it for a while, but eventually there came a point when I said to myself, "I can't take this anymore. I have to know the truth. And I have to know for sure. My eternity depends on it." That is when I set out on a long, painful, but ultimately blessed journey to find answers to two of the most important questions I've ever asked: Does God really exist? And if so, what does He say about homosexuality?

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Searching

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Believe it or not, the first question was easier. I don't want to go into detail here (that could be a whole other story), but after devoting a significant amount of my time and energy to studying philosophy and a number of different religions, I became genuinely convinced that God really exists, and He has revealed Himself and His will in the Bible. Now, I realise this may not look like a big change for a Catholic, but I can assure you, it was for me. For the first time in my life, I no longer believed what I believed because that's what I had been told, but I had the freedom and the confidence to say "This is true and this is why." That was a massive step forward and provided me with a solid foundation to build on.

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The second question was a lot more complicated. I mean, the Bible just didn't seem to be clear enough about same-sex relationships. I looked up the topic online and found detailed and well-thought-out arguments on both sides. All of them used Scripture of course as a basis for their observations and conclusions, which made it very difficult for someone as new to this debate as I was to discern which camp got the Bible truly on their side. I quickly realised how controversial this whole "gay Christian" business was. Caught in the middle of it and overwhelmed by the amount of material already produced, I was very confused, but I was not in the least impartial.

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Fighting

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Every time I heard an argument for same-sex relationships, I thought, "I guess that makes sense," but whenever someone referred to a Bible passage that seemed to condemn homosexuality, I said to myself, "I wonder if this applies to me." My bias was so strong that it contaminated my understanding of every relevant article and my interpretation of every relevant Scripture. I desperately wanted God to approve of same-sex relationships. It felt like my happiness depended on it. I thought, "If I can't have this, then what's the point? Who wants a life so miserable and pathetic as being single for the rest of it? If that's the case, it's better not to be." So, in a real sense, my desire to find the "right" answer was inseparable from my will to live. To truly live. That's why I tried so hard – I think mostly unconsciously – to justify what I wanted to be true.

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But somehow (and again, I believe this was the work of the Holy Spirit) a part of me that I could not silence seemed to be aware of what I was doing, because I always had this nagging thought at the back of my mind, saying, "You're playing with fire. Literally." Eventually, the same fear that had set me on this journey in the first place caused me to come to my senses again: I said to myself, "This is wrong. This is not what I set out to do. I wanted to find the truth, yet here I am now, playing a very dangerous game. No more of this. I need to see the truth for myself, directly from God's word, apart from anybody else's interpretation, no matter what it is."

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Losing

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The more I studied the Bible, the more my conviction seemed to form and crystallise. I started to realise that the passages supposedly condemning homosexuality were quite clear, and the ones typically quoted to justify same-sex relationships had to be twisted out of shape to make them mean what they clearly did not mean. Eventually, by the grace of God and by the grace of God alone (because I tried every trick in the book to come to the opposite conclusion), I gave up and acknowledged the last thing I wanted to be true: the Bible unanimously and unequivocally condemns same-sex relationships and homosexual activity of any kind. Honestly, that was about the worst news I could possibly hear. It hurt me so much that I won't even attempt to describe how I felt. God's word cut me so deep that to this day I'm not fully healed from it. Perhaps on this side of heaven, I never will be.

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Gospel

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Interesting, Jacob wrestled with God and came away with a dislocated hip and a blessing. I wrestled with the word of God and came away with a deep cut. But I also received a blessing. As I was searching the Scriptures and engaging with other biblical resources to learn about God in general and to discern His will about homosexuality in particular, something happened that eventually changed my life in the most profound way possible: I understood the good news of Christianity. I understood the gospel of Jesus Christ. For the first time, something I had never grasped as a Catholic – or even heard, at least not with sufficient clarity and detail – was right there in front of me.

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That God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son for the redemption and salvation of wicked men. That on that cross two thousand years ago, Jesus, who had no sin of His own, bore our sins in His body and was crushed in our place under His own Father's punishment. He died for us. He was buried, and three days after His crucifixion, the most amazing event in history took place: Jesus rose from the dead. He is alive today and offers forgiveness and eternal life as a free gift to all who repent and trust in Him.

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When this message landed on me, even before I actually put my faith in Jesus, I knew I had found something of inconceivable value. But I also realised that the gospel demanded a response from me. And there were really only two possibilities: believe it and obey it, or dismiss it and walk away.

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Struggle

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I wish I could say that in my boundless joy I received Christ in a heartbeat, but that's not what happened. Although the gospel had a genuine impact on my heart, God's prohibition against homosexuality made me very hesitant about following Jesus. I realised that saying yes to Him also meant saying no to romantic love, marriage, sex, and a family. Not just for a season, but for the rest of my life. I could hardly even comprehend such a reality. What kind of life would that be? Miserable? Meaningless? Not worth living? No life at all? In my troubled thoughts I said to God, "You're asking too much. Way too much. And You're asking something of me that You're not asking of others. Why can't I have a normal life just like everybody else? Why do I have to choose between salvation and romantic fulfilment? That's not fair. That's not fair at all."

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Yet at the same time, the love of Christ was so compelling, His sacrifice so glorious, His promise of eternal life so precious, and my need for Him so obvious that my soul was slowly beginning to wrap itself around this magnificent Person. But the beauty of Christ, although it was real, wasn't the only force pulling me towards Him. Honestly, it wasn't even the main force. My fear of judgment was stronger still. The fear that moved me, first, to seek the truth, and second, to take the Bible seriously, stepped in for the third time and said: "If romantic fulfilment leads to condemnation, and in your case it does, then even if the road to final salvation costs you your life here, it's worth it." Now that was wisdom speaking to me. It was her voice that eventually drowned out the screams of my temporal desires, and turned my eyes to eternity. "This is it," I thought, with both heaviness and relief in my heart, "I give up."

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Surrender

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I turned to the Lord in defeat and desperation and said, "Jesus, I can't reject You. I just can't. I know I'm a sinner deserving of nothing but condemnation. And I can't get rid of my guilt and shame on my own. I'm lost. But I believe You can save me. I know what You did on Calvary and I'm looking to You for salvation. I have no other hope. But Lord, following You seems impossibly hard, and I don't know how I'm going to do it. I don't know how I'm going to live according to Your word. I really don't. Honestly, the future scares me a lot. But I know You are here and I trust You. For now, that's enough for me."

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With these kinds of words and with a trembling yet believing heart, I put my faith in Jesus as Saviour and committed my life to Him as Lord. I was 25.

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New Life

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Although my conversion was an amazing miracle – I had been born again after all according to 2 Corinthians 5:17, it was not accompanied by any of the spectacular religious experiences that some circles usually attribute to the new birth. I didn't burst out in tongues, there was no exuberant joy, no tears, not even a warm feeling as far as I can remember. What I experienced was something quite simple. I would even say small – if you're looking for a humanly impressive sign of conversion, that is. It was a desire for the word of God. Later I realised that this was a completely natural and biblical result of the new birth – newborn babies in the faith are supposed to long for the pure milk of the word (1 Peter 2:2). So I began to immerse myself in the Scriptures and ended up reading through the whole Bible.

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I still considered myself a Catholic during this time and attended Mass every Sunday, but it wasn't long before I noticed the first difference between what God said in His word and what the Catholic Church taught. Then came the second, the third and the fourth. The list got quite long in the end. I don't want to go into detail here (that's another story again), but because of these important yet irreconcilable differences – essentially contradictions – between Catholicism and biblical Christianity, I couldn't associate with the Catholic Church any longer, so I decided to leave them after about two decades of regular attendance. Although this was a big change in my life, the separation wasn't particularly painful, to be honest. Actually, there is a real sense in which I was glad to go. There was just nothing there for me really, apart from a dead religion, when in reality, what I needed was the unadulterated, life-giving gospel of Jesus Christ lived out in the community of His followers.

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Eventually, the Lord led me to my first Protestant church, to a healthy and thriving group of believers, where the word of God was handled and taught accurately. That's exactly what I needed. Just like a newborn baby in a nourishing environment, I grew a lot in the first few years of my Christian life. I will be forever thankful to God for His fatherly care and protection when I was most vulnerable, and for the way He shaped me in my youngest and perhaps most formative years as a new believer.

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New Focus

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As I'm writing this, I'm nearly 31, so I have been a Christian for almost 6 years now. If you've read my brief introduction, you know that I'm still same-sex attracted. I believe that God can and sometimes does indeed change a person's sexual orientation. He hasn't changed mine, though, despite the fact that I have prayed for years for my homosexual desires to go away. To this day, I don't think there is anything inherently wrong with praying for a miracle like that.

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But as I grew in my understanding of the will of God and in my conformity to it, I realised that there is a better, more biblical, and more God-centred prayer than "Lord, please make me straight." But it's harder too. It's not easy to pray it with a genuine heart. Not for me, anyway. It goes something like this: "Father, if Your name can be glorified, Your kingdom can advance, and Your will can be done in a greater measure by making me straight, then please do it. I know You can do all things. But dear God, if Your name can be glorified, Your kingdom can advance, and Your will can be done in a greater measure by keeping me as I am, then please give me all that I need to honour and serve You in this way." So far, He has always answered the second part. I can't say that I pray this prayer a lot, but I still pray it sometimes.

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New Treasure

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I don't want to spend too much time talking about my experience as a same-sex-attracted Christian here, because I created this entire website for that purpose. But in a nutshell, my life is undeniably hard yet profoundly meaningful, from which I derive a deep sense of satisfaction, and yes, even joy. While it's true that I'm living a life I never wanted and certainly would never have asked for, it's also true that I'm not living the joyless, miserable life that I was so afraid of when I first put my faith in Jesus. I'm growing (painfully and shamefully slowly at times, but nonetheless growing) in my understanding and experience of something that 6 years ago was just a tiny seed of this great truth: Jesus is worth it.

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And I can only hope and pray that I will be able to use this website as a platform to unpack that brief yet weighty statement in such a way that Christ will be glorified, His people – especially those struggling with same-sex attraction – will be comforted and encouraged, and those who don't yet know Him will be drawn to His beauty, that they may experience for themselves the life He offers to all who come to Him in repentance and faith.

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I started my testimony with a song. A song about romantic love. The kind of love that – as the lyrics say – makes life precious and complete. I would be lying if I said that song no longer resonates with me. It still does. Sometimes more, sometimes less. But I would be equally lying if I said that's my all-consuming, ultimate pursuit still. It isn't. I've found something better in Someone greater. I've found Jesus and the life that is in Him. I've found that He is more than worth the sacrifice, and the life I now have is more than worth living.

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I'd like to close with another song, a prayer really, not only because it seems fitting, but also because it captures something so essential to my Christian life that I feel like my testimony would be incomplete without it. Not to mention that this song is deeply personal to me on another level as well. I will never forget when and where I first listened to it. And most importantly, with whom. This is the last bit of "Oceans" by Hillsong United:

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Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever You would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger

In the presence of my Saviour

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I will call upon Your Name

Keep my eyes above the waves

My soul will rest in Your embrace

I am Yours and You are mine