Someone once said that time heals all wounds; maybe. I can only speak from my own experience and my owned grief. What time has allowed me is plot and perspective to ponder what my life has been about. What my life could have been about, and what my life should have been about.
Like rings that record a tree’s lifespan, my moments of heartache and happiness mark my life’s seasons; rain shine and sunshine. Sometimes the suffering we experience is so deep that our heart memorializes that ache throughout our life. An ache so great, that it becomes part of you and your story.
With the exception of love lost or at least momentarily separated, my life’s most acute ache occurred when I lived in Pittsburgh to attend grad school. Days and nights that felt like I was walking through the darkest of valleys. Wrestling with a deep depression in an unfamiliar urban where I had no friends or family.
Before I came to appreciate and accept God’s love for me, I believed God could never love someone like me. A man wired differently, a man exclusively interested in other men; gay. A secret buried within my heart since I was twelve. A secret that would tempt me with suicidal thoughts at twenty-two.
I naively believed that living in isolation from the people who loved me (even if I wasn’t being honest with them about my life), I could finally deal with the “gay stuff” on my own. Stubbornly independent I believed real men don’t ask for help or directions. In hindsight, I was a man being hammered in a sea of hopelessness with a hurricane on the horizon.
My one year in Pittsburgh would act as hinge on my life’s door. Freeing me from my past shame and secrecy because of who God created while ultimately rejecting the wisdom, grace and love that God offers me and you. As I moved further into my twenties, even as I finished my master’s in theology, this child of God would begin a thirty-year expedition of retracing the same time worn steps of every Prodigal son and daughter.
This horrible and heavy hit to my heart happened because I chose to make my time in Pittsburgh far worse than it needed to be. God had, as God always does, offers all His children gifts of love. Gifts I spurned because I lived in fear of my secret. Gifts I scorned because I believed I didn’t deserve grace. Gifts I snubbed because I believed I wasn’t worthy of God’s love. The most anti-love lies that anyone can believe, I came to believe. God is love; period.
Before I had even moved to Pittsburgh, one of my new roommate’s reached out to let me know he was gay. Making sure I wasn’t going to be uncomfortable with my new housing situation. I was.
Actually, I was shell shocked after our phone call. I had never met any gay person who was honest and unapologetic about themselves. My encounters with gay people to date were only about sex, certainly not about love, intimacy, or friendship.
Like every human whose ultimate allegiance is to fear, I promptly panicked and later lied. A recognizable routine that leaked life from my soul and leached love from my heart. God given gifts of life and love rejected because I valued reputation and repute.
Within days of our conversation, I would find a new housing situation with straight strangers. None of whom would become genuine friends because I lived in fear of my secret and feared their reaction. Dishonestly is never a foundation for any relationship, particularly with those we profess as friends.
Forty years later, I’m absolutely certain that God had given me this gift of having a gay roommate. Giving me an opportunity to build a relationship with another gay person who could have helped me on my journey and vice-versa. At a bare minimum, I would’ve had a “home” where I didn’t have to keep secrets. Home should always be a habit of honesty for all its inhabitants.
My rejection to having a gay roommate only fanned my feelings of isolation, despair, and heartache. Feelings that led me down a very dark path. A road I had the opportunity to avoid but one I chose out of fear.
Mercifully God still offered me gifts of love in Pittsburgh and throughout my life, even as I rejected His many offerings. Gifts that comforted and consoled me as I wrestled with the intensity and inclusiveness of life. Gifts that God offers to all people. Gifts that became recognizable with a humbled heart and life lived in love.
Peace. God loves you.
If you want to learn more about how my spiritual awakening came to be, you can read about it in Finding God in Vegas: A Gen X Spiritual Awakening; available on Amazon and across all platforms in print or electronic or audio.