Father, direct my words.
Let me not share what is easy to share,
but instead, what is needed.
You've been faithful thus far and I trust You to continue.
May my words reflect Your holiness,
Your righteousness,
Your never-ending love,
Your grateful Spirit,
Your forgiveness.
Lord, allow me to share my heart,
fully open for all to see.
With a mind and heart fixed on You, Father,
may I share truth.
Amen
My senior year of high school marks the beginning of a long, haunting, hurtful and tiresome road. I remember every little detail, regardless of how important the situation or encounter was. Because I was engaging in something I had never obtained, my memory held great value of every occurrence.
While I was entering my senior year in the fall of 2010, I was expectant and full of anticipation. I was ready. I was ready for basketball. I was ready for FCA. I was ready for God to use me in such an impactful way at my high school. I was ready to be a leader. I was ready for friendships to strengthen and grow. I was ready to achieve my longing goals academically. I was ready.
Attending a small school was such an extraordinary thing--you feel so known and noticed by everyone. There are definitely pros and cons, but the small-town-atmosphere was exactly what I loved about my high school. The fist semester was almost exactly what I had anticipated. I enjoyed every minute of it. I felt important, like I was needed. I absorbed the attention whenever it was thrown my way. I felt like I somehow was part of the completion to whatever I was involved in.
But there is a feeling that one gets when one thinks he is authoritative and important, in control and powerful, better than others…
It's called pride.
Even when our hearts feel like we are doing the right thing, we can still be prideful. Boasting in anything other than Christ is a sin. This was something I had myself convinced I was NOT doing.
I had my life back on track.
I was in a promising relationship with an amazing Christian girl.
I was leading bible studies.
I led worship every Sunday.
I even did my own quiet time.
I was talented and showcasing my talent at school and church for God.
I. . .
I. . .
I. . .
Everything was about me. Even when I thought I was doing it for Christ, it resulted in increasing my self-worth. I needed humility.
God can speak through any situation, any circumstance. He can allow us to go through hardship for any amount of time until we finally realize we need Him.
We can't do it on our own.
I couldn't do it on my own.
I still cannot do it on my own.
The year was halfway over. Spring semester was approaching and I was beginning to catch something called senioritis. It was setting in hard -- my motivation for school and just about everything else was dying away.
Then suddenly I was rejuvenated with energy. I was more alert and focused. I was full of anticipation and excitement. But this was not because God suddenly filled me with stamina…
It was because I finally got what I wanted.
Over Christmas break, on New Year's Eve, I engaged in a conversation with someone I'd barely known, and honestly was not very fond of to begin with. We talked and talked and talked. Eventually, we became very close friends in a matter of weeks. We were texting every single day and talking on the phone just about anything and everything. We were best friends. We hadn't even met in person yet and I felt like we knew each other better than I had known half of my closest friends.
One typical night we were simply having casual conversation via texting. The next thing I knew we were in deep conversation telling some of our deepest secrets. I had never shared my struggle with anyone, and I wasn't about to do that on this night. I simply said, "Oh you know me, I'm an open book man." I received a simple response that read something like, "Well, I have a secret. But I wasn't going to tell you unless you had the same one." In all honesty, I was completely lost. My mind didn't go straight to what I should have known it meant. But instead, I pushed further and further to know more about this secret. It went on for hours -- my constantly sarcastic, nonchalant and "not-a-big-deal" statements that I threw around to try and discover whatever it might have been.
Then I put it all together.
What is one secret that no one would want to share unless someone else had the same secret… ?
The emotions I had were so counterclockwise that I was literally shaking and physically feeling sick. I'd never talked to or met anyone else who I knew had the same struggle as me. I remember sitting on the corner of my bed praying, God, what do I do? Help me. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do.
The fist thing I did was lie. I said I was sorry and that we'd always be friends, and maybe God could help heal him from it. I said I didn't struggle with it.
Except all of those things were exactly what I feared someone would say to me.
How awful of me? How could I have just sat there when I knew exactly what this person was going through and was brave enough to share with me, but completely lie about it as they felt the pain and neglect once more? I immediately started reading Scripture, trying to find the right verses to send to him. They were verses I'd read over and over:
1 Corinthians 6, 1 Timothy 1
There were so many places I would search in Scripture to try and find a reason or cure for this problem. But the thing is, it was not a problem.
It is a blessing.
The next couple of days were hard. We barely talked, and when we did, it didn't last. It wasn't enjoyable. It wasn't the same.
And I felt guilty.
Guilty of lying.
Guilty of shame.
Guilty of hurt.
When we finally talked about it again, I told what I like to call the "half-truth," which is basically just another lie. I said that I had struggled before, but I had really given it to God and asked Him to help me with it, and He had been faithful. I said I barely struggled with it anymore. I said God was blessing me with a heterosexual relationship that was helping me.
So many of those things were lies.
When I tried to "give it to God" I would just take it right back.
I still struggled. Every single day.
I was interested in someone, but that wasn't something she knew about me. I secretly hoped that the relationship would erase my fleshly desires.
It didn't.
Eventually, it all fell out in the open between us. He was such a smart person and knew that it wouldn't have simply "gone away."
He knew I still struggled.
He knew I still had the desire to act on it.
He knew my heart was aching.
He knew I wanted to give in.
Without saying quite yet, I gave in. I hinted at the idea of something more happening. I allowed myself to be enticed by the actions of pursuit. My mind was so jumbled with confusion and the obscure ideas of right and wrong. Is this still wrong? Did God allow this to happen? Is it His plan? Does this mean that it's not wrong?
Questions I allowed myself to think, but not listen for the answers. Instead, I persisted on in the entanglement of my own flesh.
While I was entering my senior year in the fall of 2010, I was expectant and full of anticipation. I was ready. I was ready for basketball. I was ready for FCA. I was ready for God to use me in such an impactful way at my high school. I was ready to be a leader. I was ready for friendships to strengthen and grow. I was ready to achieve my longing goals academically. I was ready.
Attending a small school was such an extraordinary thing--you feel so known and noticed by everyone. There are definitely pros and cons, but the small-town-atmosphere was exactly what I loved about my high school. The fist semester was almost exactly what I had anticipated. I enjoyed every minute of it. I felt important, like I was needed. I absorbed the attention whenever it was thrown my way. I felt like I somehow was part of the completion to whatever I was involved in.
But there is a feeling that one gets when one thinks he is authoritative and important, in control and powerful, better than others…
It's called pride.
Even when our hearts feel like we are doing the right thing, we can still be prideful. Boasting in anything other than Christ is a sin. This was something I had myself convinced I was NOT doing.
I had my life back on track.
I was in a promising relationship with an amazing Christian girl.
I was leading bible studies.
I led worship every Sunday.
I even did my own quiet time.
I was talented and showcasing my talent at school and church for God.
I. . .
I. . .
I. . .
Everything was about me. Even when I thought I was doing it for Christ, it resulted in increasing my self-worth. I needed humility.
God can speak through any situation, any circumstance. He can allow us to go through hardship for any amount of time until we finally realize we need Him.
We can't do it on our own.
I couldn't do it on my own.
I still cannot do it on my own.
The year was halfway over. Spring semester was approaching and I was beginning to catch something called senioritis. It was setting in hard -- my motivation for school and just about everything else was dying away.
Then suddenly I was rejuvenated with energy. I was more alert and focused. I was full of anticipation and excitement. But this was not because God suddenly filled me with stamina…
It was because I finally got what I wanted.
Over Christmas break, on New Year's Eve, I engaged in a conversation with someone I'd barely known, and honestly was not very fond of to begin with. We talked and talked and talked. Eventually, we became very close friends in a matter of weeks. We were texting every single day and talking on the phone just about anything and everything. We were best friends. We hadn't even met in person yet and I felt like we knew each other better than I had known half of my closest friends.
One typical night we were simply having casual conversation via texting. The next thing I knew we were in deep conversation telling some of our deepest secrets. I had never shared my struggle with anyone, and I wasn't about to do that on this night. I simply said, "Oh you know me, I'm an open book man." I received a simple response that read something like, "Well, I have a secret. But I wasn't going to tell you unless you had the same one." In all honesty, I was completely lost. My mind didn't go straight to what I should have known it meant. But instead, I pushed further and further to know more about this secret. It went on for hours -- my constantly sarcastic, nonchalant and "not-a-big-deal" statements that I threw around to try and discover whatever it might have been.
Then I put it all together.
What is one secret that no one would want to share unless someone else had the same secret… ?
The emotions I had were so counterclockwise that I was literally shaking and physically feeling sick. I'd never talked to or met anyone else who I knew had the same struggle as me. I remember sitting on the corner of my bed praying, God, what do I do? Help me. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do.
The fist thing I did was lie. I said I was sorry and that we'd always be friends, and maybe God could help heal him from it. I said I didn't struggle with it.
Except all of those things were exactly what I feared someone would say to me.
How awful of me? How could I have just sat there when I knew exactly what this person was going through and was brave enough to share with me, but completely lie about it as they felt the pain and neglect once more? I immediately started reading Scripture, trying to find the right verses to send to him. They were verses I'd read over and over:
1 Corinthians 6, 1 Timothy 1
There were so many places I would search in Scripture to try and find a reason or cure for this problem. But the thing is, it was not a problem.
It is a blessing.
The next couple of days were hard. We barely talked, and when we did, it didn't last. It wasn't enjoyable. It wasn't the same.
And I felt guilty.
Guilty of lying.
Guilty of shame.
Guilty of hurt.
When we finally talked about it again, I told what I like to call the "half-truth," which is basically just another lie. I said that I had struggled before, but I had really given it to God and asked Him to help me with it, and He had been faithful. I said I barely struggled with it anymore. I said God was blessing me with a heterosexual relationship that was helping me.
So many of those things were lies.
When I tried to "give it to God" I would just take it right back.
I still struggled. Every single day.
I was interested in someone, but that wasn't something she knew about me. I secretly hoped that the relationship would erase my fleshly desires.
It didn't.
Eventually, it all fell out in the open between us. He was such a smart person and knew that it wouldn't have simply "gone away."
He knew I still struggled.
He knew I still had the desire to act on it.
He knew my heart was aching.
He knew I wanted to give in.
Without saying quite yet, I gave in. I hinted at the idea of something more happening. I allowed myself to be enticed by the actions of pursuit. My mind was so jumbled with confusion and the obscure ideas of right and wrong. Is this still wrong? Did God allow this to happen? Is it His plan? Does this mean that it's not wrong?
Questions I allowed myself to think, but not listen for the answers. Instead, I persisted on in the entanglement of my own flesh.
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