We often speak of friendships in processing our attractions toward guys. How to reclaim brotherly bonds amid tides of crushes. How we learn to venerate the image of God in men, letting our attractions capture beauty without claiming it as our own. But it gets all the more complicated when one of the guys to whom you’re attracted is yourself.

Our biggest culture war debates lately have been raging over transgender issues, including gender identity and gender norms. One side says that gender is just a social construct with purely subjective expressions, while another says this is the nihilistic death of traditional masculinity and femininity. Either way the debate rages, is there a line between proper “masculine” or “feminine” gender expression? Or should there even be a line?

Another thing we can easily do is carry delight for masculine beauty into lust. There’s a sense of claiming, entitlement, and ownership in lust that’s fraudulent, a lie to myself. The moment I do so, I start to make the beauty point to me.

Isn’t it a little like God is letting me in on a secret, being able to perceive beauty like this? It’s like he created this beauty in men, but like any artist, he couldn’t bear to keep it to himself; so, he gave some of us men the eyes to see it, in the masculine way his masculine aspect does.

Even if you did acknowledge a girl’s heart, it felt as though you also had to plot hotness and holiness on a grid, determining the benefits and pitfalls of dating a woman at, say, a “7 hotness, 6 holiness.” I suppose you could find this plotting helpful if your hotness detector is somewhere south of a Kinsey 6, but what should you do if it’s not and you want to get married by some act of God?

Picture this: a young, skinny, pale, little boy, dressed in baggy, light wash jeans and an oversized graphic t-shirt. This was the dress code of the 90s and early 2000s, and it was great for me as a kid: lots of fabric for comfort, as well as protection from scrapes and bruises, with the ability to hide much of my gangly awkwardness common to pre-pubescent boys.

I've been rereading "Unwanted" for therapy, and it continues to reveal my uncomfortable reflection – all of it, all of me. It often feels like fluorescent lights buzzing overhead at midnight. And yet Stringer's premise encourages me: sexual brokenness almost paradoxically revealing paths to healing.

I was stoked to hear about the 2022 movie, "Close." After watching the trailer, I was instantly sold. Two boys are shown to be close friends, even physically affectionate with one another to the point that their classmates assume them to be gay.

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.

To recognize Christ as fairer than the sons of men, maybe I must first recognize the fairness of men themselves. Not boil down and shy away from the patterns of fairness I behold in them, but simply say, "Hey, he is very beautiful."

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...

Even if all the sexual stuff with men is wrong in God's eyes, I still just want to be with a man physically from time to time. Is that wrong too? Does God really care if I share my bed with another guy, as long as there's no sex?

Looking back, I cringe at the sheer childishness of some of these entries. I may as well have been giggling and kicking my feet and drawing little hearts while writing them. There's no unifying "type" to these physically diverse male crushes beyond "he was nice to me for longer than 30 seconds and feels safe."

As I left, one of these guys thanked me for showing the group what a mother-son relationship should look like. That was definitely food for thought on my long drive home! So many thoughts ran through my head and heart.

Ah, body image. I suspect nearly all of us wrestle with it in some form or another, and in different ways – whether we’re gay/same-sex attracted or straight. These days for me, that wrestling with body image is around aging.

Perhaps it was the touch of melancholy in me that many other "Side B" Christians also feel, or simply being a disabled man, or maybe even a combination of the two – the fact that I have often felt both a physical and mental peace listening to classical music. Whatever it was, my soul felt ministered to in a previously unknown way.

I've thought a lot about writing a manifesto for Side B people. In fact, I've written multiple drafts of a manifesto for a few years now, but I've never been satisfied with the result. In the end, I figured I should get one of those drafts out there, so that people can imagine what Side B Gay people are advocating for. So, here it is...an incomplete rough draft of the Side B Manifesto.

YOB gave me hope, because even though I was 55 years old I had struggled accepting myself since my teen years. I had never seen myself as anything but subhuman, unworthy, and a complete reprobate because I had feelings and desires for other men.

"New growth" was the theme of this, my first YOB retreat; slightly ironic as fall was slowly putting the world to sleep. The sun felt defiantly hot that first day, beating down on tall trees that simultaneously clung to summer green while shedding autumn red and gold. I was exhausted from a stressful week and travel delays. Now I faced a weekend of interacting with virtual strangers. Literally. Aside from a handful whom I had met in person, my fellow YOBBERS were tiny faces on a screen. I had discovered YOB some months prior. I was desperate, starving for some kind of connection with other men who understood my journey.

I guess we're really doing this again, I thought, this whole retreat thing. Is this officially an annual event now? Can I handle that? Goodness, can I really put on a retreat every year for the rest of my life? Or need I only focus on this year's retreat, letting tomorrow's retreat worry for itself?