My first semester in college, I had the bad habit of running myself ragged over the course of the week. This left me in a state where I could do little more than get out of bed and stare at the wall on my weekends, attempting to recharge from the slog of the week. So when I was invited by a friend to a Halloweekend party at a respectable enough fraternity, I couldn’t refuse; it’s not like I had anything else going on. So I pulled myself up and got ready for what I thought would be polite but shallow interactions until I could excuse myself to wake up for church the next day.

Initially, things went as planned. I chatted with a couple interesting individuals, played wingman for my roommate, and tended the fire. As I was about to leave, I saw someone alone at the edge of the group and elected to check in on them. And just as no good deed goes unpunished, this decision made me stay longer than I had planned.

The person I met was an interesting young man with whom I shared a few things in common. We were both engineering majors, both at the party more or less against our will, and both men of faith. So we talked for a bit. He introduced me to his friends, and we took a little time to walk around the block while they finished up their partying, discussing this, that, and the other thing. We were both relatively introverted people, but I don’t think the other’s presence taxed either of us.

Afterward, he invited us to watch a movie at his place. Despite knowing I had to get up around 8 a.m. for church the next day, I went, but I made my excuses to leave around 2 a.m., about halfway through the movie. It was my way of exiting when no one could really challenge me—I hadn’t wanted to leave, but I didn’t know what to do.

Getting to church the next day wasn’t all that bad. I was used to little sleep, and I had a buddy whom I’ll refer to as Rowan to drive me there and back. We typically sat together at church. The service went as usual until the sermon, which focused on the sins Christians choose to ignore.

I’m sure it was an excellent sermon overall, but what I fixated on was the sins showcased as examples: alcoholism and homosexuality. I had never wanted to be a heavy drinker more in my life, and I started to cry less than five minutes into the sermon. I felt like I’d failed somehow, thinking about last night. Like the conversation I had enjoyed in those moments had confirmed that I was infinitely far away from God—that the words spoken cemented me in hell, and that I could never truly believe because of this piece of me, which was sinful, but I couldn’t get rid of. I was composed enough that I did not make any noise as I cried, but not enough for Rowan not to notice–or for my pastor not to notice when I went up to communion with tear stains on my face. I washed up after communion before too many other church members noticed.

It didn’t take much convincing on my part to get Rowan to leave quite swiftly after the service ended. We drove back to campus in silence. I felt filthy. Because in a very real way, I just sat through a sermon that told me the closeness I felt yesterday was wrong. It made me feel distant from everything. Like I was looking through my eyes like windows, but not seeing anything with them. Eventually, we were parked on campus. Rowan asked if I needed to talk. I told him I didn’t know how I would keep going. I told him I met someone who made the world feel so much lighter. I told Rowan how I wanted to be closer to that person. I told him how close I wanted to be. I told him I didn’t know how I could live, able to feel something like that, want something like that, without being able to express it.

He listened for two hours, and I spoke and cried and mumbled, thinking he’d hate me, that any moment he’d interject and tell me exactly how I had failed my faith and would be forsaken forever. I told him how the answer seemed so clear: if the question was whether to die with faith or fall into this sin, was there even a question about what I should do? This wasn’t the first time in my life I had considered suicide; it was not the last, either, but it was when the option to do so seemed most viable. At the time, the assumption I had was that all gay people leave the church, live a debauched life, and eventually go to hell. I didn’t want to leave, which was the twisted justification for my desire to “die with faith.”

I’d like to take a moment to speak candidly with anyone considering committing suicide. Don’t. Even if the world feels like it hates you and you don’t belong in it, understand that your God loves you. Understand that there are people who love you. I remember being a kid sitting shotgun, figuring out exactly how I’d do it. But remember that God loves us so much that He has died for us, forgiving us our sins. There is nothing you will do that can change that. I also know that this feels like the hardest decision in your life. I pray for you.

While I was muttering through tears about what I wanted to do, he interrupted me. He interrupted my spiraling monologue with a simple statement: “I’m going to hug you now.” A simple human interaction that pulled me back into myself. Not like some specter drifting through the cold world, but a person cared for by others. Letting go, he reminded me that I was loved by our God—something that I had come to question. He told me that he’d ensure I got help and that I got back to my other friends safely.
Later that week, after Bible study, my pastor took me aside and asked what was on my heart. He’d seen my tears, my guilt on Sunday; he chose to help. That is when I came out to my pastor. When I told him everything about myself, he didn’t flinch as I had expected. He too pointed me to scripture about the life I would be having to live. How I would be living alone, single in the eyes of the world, but loved in the eyes of God.

“Now to the unmarried and the widows I say: It is good for them to stay unmarried, as I do.” 1 Corinthians 7:8 (NIV)

Until this passage was shared with me, I hadn’t really understood what single life could look like or that it was even a viable path for a Christian. Most people growing up in the church are raised with the idea that marriage is the only viable plan, so the relief from that burden was noticeable. It reminded me that being single was not a sin. He sent me to that verse of the Bible because he could tell I had already felt the sting of the Law. Hence, he sent me to the healing words of the Gospel.

The message was that I wasn’t a monster. I wasn’t forsaken. I wasn’t less than. Now, when I say “healing” here, I do not mean that my attractions are magically fixed. I mean that the scriptures granted me the strength to carry on accepting this truth about myself. Living in denial corrodes your mind, body, and soul. Acceptance doesn’t mean I’ll ever pursue a male partner, but it does mean that I can tell those in my life who can handle it. It does mean I reached out to made. known. and Reclamation to build the support structures necessary to endure. It does mean that I can take a moment to breathe and know that my God loves me despite it all.

Since then, I’ve grappled with the troubles my sexuality has placed in my life. I haven’t magically turned off my heart. But I know where to look when it begins to wander: not inward, where the sin festers, but to the Bible, where truth lies waiting for me. I never know when I will be tested, but I do know that I am to prepare every moment until it arrives. And whenever I feel overwhelmed by the fear of damnation due to my fallen nature and discouraged by what the future might hold, I wear the following words:

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9b

These words remind me that even when I walk alone in this world, even when the darkness of sin seems to eclipse the only light in my life, God is with me. God is greater than my sin and has plans for every day of my future. Remembering that promise is largely how I can make it through my day.