As I walked through the labyrinth, weaving toward the center and back out, I prayed for forgiveness. I prayed for the Lord to take back control of my relationships – the time I’ve spent wandering, wanting to be wooed by everything and everyone around me.

As I entered the labyrinth, I tried focusing only on my thoughts and walking; inevitably, however, I compared my walk with others, noting my slower, struggling pace. The way was narrow, and due to my cerebral palsy my gait is naturally broader than most people’s. I tried not to look “odd.”

Leading up to this fall’s YOB retreat, I had a lot of anxiety. Who would be placed in my tribe? What if my tribe members asked me questions I couldn’t answer? What if strong disagreements between tribe members happened that I couldn’t peacefully stop? I felt unqualified for such a leadership task as this!

I realize that this labyrinth is a metaphor for how I tend to view my life back home: stuck in a place all alone that was never meant for me. A place designed by the other broken humans around me to leech off me until nothing remains. But I can’t judge. I’m just as bad of a gardener as the other broken men in this desert around me.

With straight guys at the gym, I’m witnessing a world in which I can’t partake; whereas in YOB I’m witnessing a world in which I already take part, and I’m very happy to step back and see other guys enjoying our world.

There’s a special tension for a married guy who isn’t straight hanging out with a bunch of mostly unmarried guys who also aren’t straight for an entire weekend. Questions swirl over how to demonstrate faithfulness to my wife and our kids – would it even be worth it for me to attend a YOB retreat?

The air felt thick with something heavy as I rolled up to this year’s YOB retreat – nothing like the old days when I’d show up buzzing with excitement, counting down the moments to new insights or good laughs with the crew. I'm just gonna be real with you: the start of this story might feel dark, but stick with me.

Our YOB retreats are always wonderful present-day reminders, and perhaps even pointers, toward such future refuge. A chance to immerse ourselves in brotherly love each year: face to face, shoulder to shoulder, chest to chest, eye to eye, soul to soul.

This missionary gentleman asked if I'd consider participating in a Bible study he'd be leading. After some thought and prayer, I agreed. The first step of joining this group required each participant to share his or her testimony. I knew this upon agreeing to attend, and I had time to prepare. Of course, part of my testimony is being a gay, celibate Christian. I knew I'd have to share this detail; why wouldn't I be completely transparent in my testimony?

It would be easy to write a few paragraphs about how virtuous all these wonderful men were; how they showed me the (gender-neutral) love of Jesus; how bravely they pursued vulnerability with one another. But I want to do something stupider. I want to write about a vibe, an aesthetic, a rumor of masculinity which I seemed to detect at my first YOBBERS Retreat.

It's easier to remain in the cage even when you can leave, because it's familiar. It's normal. It's hard to ask others for help. It's hard to just...be. Alone. In your own skin.

So much of YOB life (and, indeed, Side B life in general) is in the unofficial "meetings"; by this, I mean all the conversations to/from retreats and conferences. It's in the downtime chats and interactions that spontaneously happen. This was driven home especially this year as I wrote and read affirmation notes to and from my fellow YOBBERS, a new component of this year's retreat. Small things can be so impactful.

My time leading up to this year's YOBBERS Retreat came with mixed emotions. I knew a few familiar YOBBERS wouldn't be returning, but I also knew I'd recognize many other guys attending. Anxiety lingered. Had I really built the kind of connections that would help me feel at home this year?

I found myself constantly dealing with doubt, low self-esteem, loneliness, and feeling unloved. As I sat there looking around, I saw so many guys, including the newbies, hanging out with one another, playing games, laughing, and hugging. I felt like I was being avoided because of my stuttering.

I continually wrestle with this dynamic in leadership of Your Other Brothers: where do I keep proper distance in the name of boundaries and self-care, and where do I let someone else enter my birdcage? Can I do both well? Can I lead and participate well?

Once upon a time I wrote about five times I've felt like a man. As we wind down the theme of "Love Month" at YOB, I started thinking about some instances when my heart has swelled, or exploded, or some other symphonic verb meant to translate the depths of safety, care, and affection I've experienced with other men. This isn't a "top 5" or hardly exhaustive list, but these are five stories that come to mind...

I joined Your Other Brothers back in 2017. I experienced the first and second camp retreats in good ole North Carolina, but then I took a break from YOB the next two years. Why? Because I was tired of it.

I entered my first YOBBERS retreat hoping for renewal out of this weekend. But would I really get that renewal? Would I see a refresh of strength – mentally, physically, spiritually?

On the one hand, I wanted the opportunity to meet and engage with a community whom I've deeply desired connection, and this retreat would also occur over my fall break; on the other hand, I was deeply anxious and afraid of going and then feeling isolated and alone.

My biggest takeaway from this year's retreat was simply continuing to do this Side B life with other believers. One of the central themes of that Mary of Bethany message was "Jesus is the vision." I love that statement so much. It's probably going to be written numerous times in my journal, and I imagine it will find its way into future blogs. I'm so grateful for brothers also pursuing this same vision of Jesus.