Well… It’s been journey… And still is…
Over two months ago I broke up with this guy I really like.
But then I hated that I broke up with him, couldn’t take it, ran back, only to run away again.
As stated before, this whole journey of being attracted to the same sex while loving Jesus is really hard, especially because everyone has such differing opinions.
People want me to be with a guy.
People want me to be with a girl.
People want me to be alone.
But at the end of the day, it’s my life, and my journey to attempt to navigate.
So where am I at now?
Trying to trust God.
And it’s freaking hard.
I know God told me this guy and I couldn’t be together romantically and definitely not sexually. But I doubt if I heard wrong at times. Did I just listen to what I was raised in? But I couldn’t shake it. And that’s why I left.
Now would God have left me if I continued dating this guy? Was that my fear? No and no. I may be uncertain about a lot, but I’m not uncertain of that. He wouldn’t have left me, and He never did.
God was with me every step of the way during those two confusing months of on and off dating this guy—wooing my heart, holding me when I needed to be held, allowing me to scream and run, only to chase me and calm my heart. Whether I was alone in my room crying, reading my Bible while drinking coffee, in a church service praising His name or in a bed with this guy, I felt Him. I heard Him.
I knew He was near.
But the number one thing that drove me away was not a booming voice, saying, “Break up with this man.” It was an unsettling. It was a nausea, growing in the pit of my stomach, and I couldn’t shake it.
He’d text me, and butterflies would rise in my chest, only to get swallowed up by a raging sea in my stomach.
So I attempted to trust Jesus and left. I came back because I didn’t trust Jesus. I left again because I felt played by this guy. But who’d blame him. He probably felt played by my emotional vertigo. But it still hurt, and I doubted I even mattered to him. So I left again. Yes, in attempts to trust Jesus, but also armed with hurt.
So the current status…
I feel pulled in three directions:
1. Try to make up with this guy again, even though I know it’s broken beyond repair.
2. Try to make it work with another guys.
3. Try to obey God, remaining open handed, trusting that He has my best interest at heart.
Option one is a dead end, because there’s no way this guy will take me back.
Option two just seems super exhausting, and if I left this guy for fear of dating men, I’m not gonna run to another man. That just seems pointless.
So I’m left with option three. And as terrible as that is to say, it does feel like a lot of times. Im left wth trusting God. Not so much picking it. Left with it as an option. To be quite frank, if God didn’t break option one, I don’t know if I would have picked God. I think I would have picked his guy. I tried to pick God with the first break up, but then I ran back to something that had broken, to leave it because of regret. My will was weak, and my faith unsure. I often wonder if God broke it because He knew I couldn’t handle it.
But here in this place is “left with option three,” I’m left with questions:
How will God fulfill my heart? What woman would take a risk on me? Is that fair to her? Is that fair to me?
What happens if I find a girl, marry her, and later down the road I ruin it? What happens if I can’t perform sexually? Will she fulfill my heart? Will I fulfill hers? Is this fair? Why? Why can’t I have a guy? More importantly, why can’t I have this guy?
It’s while assaulted by these endless questions, that I feel like Abraham.
“Leave everything you know, your comfort, your security, your inheritance, and go.”
“I’ll show you. Oh, and PS, I’m gonna make your descendants as numerous as the stars, and through you all the nations of the earth will be blessed.”
“But… I don’t have a kid… And you know how old I am, right? And my wife ain’t so hot either.”
“Yeah. I know. Just go. It’ll be fine. Chop chop. Come on. Let’s go.”
So Abraham moves to a land he doesn’t understand, trying to trust God. But then freaks out. He runs to Egypt and lies about his wife. God exposes Abraham, and he’s kicked out of Egypt. He does it again to the local Canaanites. God exposed him, and he’s kicked out. God had to keep him in the promised land by kicking him out of the rest, by breaking them. Then, after all that lack of trust, Abraham takes matters into his own hands and sleeps with his slave girl, finally having a child.
“Ha! I did it.”
“Yeah… Send him into the desert with his mom.”
“I’m gonna make this thing happen.”
“Are you though?”
Are you though, God?
I so feel like Abraham, and maybe when my hearts satisfied, He’ll have me slaughter it like Isaac. After all, He said He’s a jealous God. But something deep within me is trying to trust He’s not cruel, that He’s looking out for my good. But my trust is shaky. I’m moving forward, but my heart aches at times, looking at the last.
I’ll drive by the gym we’d workout at, or someone makes a voice inflection like him or anything that’s remotely close to him reminds me of him and it’s game over. A little nostalgia and I’m pulled under into the sea of regret.
At some point, daring to hope and trust gives me buoyancy, and I breach the surface. I attempt to ride the tide, resting in the current, trusting God, till another thought pulls me under like a rip curl.
I feel like I’m in mourning, and no one died.
Maybe I’m dying.
Maybe that’s good.
The Bible talks about resurrection and new life.
But will God give me this new life, and if He does, will I be okay with it?
Deep within me, beyond emotions (cause I got a ton of those), beyond human reasoning (cause I try to make sense of everything), I know this is right. I know God will catch me, even though it feels like I’ve been falling for ages.
Father, I’m falling with open hands. I’m not gonna try and manipulate or change my heart. It’s here. It’s before you, and I’m falling. My stomach’s in my chest, and I wonder when your hands will stop the descent.
You have me. You have my heart. I’m choosing to trust you.
Just don’t make me wait till 100 years old to see the promise. I ain’t no Abraham. I’m Brandon Flanery, and I’m not as patient.
With love and intrepid trust,