I honestly don't know the meaning behind dreams – whether they're because of the subconscious, or for something God wants to tell us, like He did for people in the Bible. Are dreams, in part, resulting from what's happened to us, things that we need to relive, or are they something altogether different?

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?

Here's one vocabulary term I've taken away from therapy: euphoric recall. I'd never heard that phrase until last year, and it gives language to this nebulous internal struggle I've faced since my first bout with pornography at 19.

Don't get me wrong, I am completely and utterly attracted to men. I've never been attracted to a woman in my life. And yet my attraction to the same sex doesn't go quite as far as many others' do. Ultimately, I just have no desire for sex with other men even though I'm attracted to them.

I've pretty much always been attracted to guys in one manner or another. Some times more obsessively and explicitly than others. Some times more emotionally than physically. And for whatever reason, never sexually.

This Lent, I'm giving up masturbation. And I realize that might sound really wrong or off or like I clearly didn't grow up in a liturgical tradition and have no idea how this Lent thing even works. But regardless. I'm doing it. I'm not masturbating for the next few weeks. It may not quite be a "fast" by technical, theological terms. But it's a necessary refocusing.

God and I are going to have some time alone together at the beginning of the next life. For the wounds to heal, for the scars to fade, and for the tears to become mere memory. I used to think healing would happen in an instant, but I'm not sure that's how healing works anymore.

My daughter had been injured by an accident — something that had no one to blame or fault. And in that time, I needed to know that it was all going to be all right. I needed to know that it would work out. I needed hope. And I needed to restore my faith in that hope.

When I was a kid, my dream was to grow up and get a wife and kids. A lot of kids. My family and church taught me to pray for my future spouse. So, I did. Everyday for years. I prayed for the girl I'd one day marry, that God would protect her and care for her, whoever she was.

Call it a "new direction" or a clearer translation of what YOB has been from the start: a community desperate for Jesus. My 31-year Jesus journey leads me here. Wherever "here" is. Broken on the floor. Echoes of the past ringing in my ears. Doubts for the future always shadowing my vision no matter how many tears I blink away.

I have a fetish, and I've had one for about as long as I can remember. I have a "thing" that, in itself, isn't quite sexual in nature. But I fetishize that thing. I idolize it a lot, fantasizing for this thing, turning what was never meant to be sexualized on a dial that was never meant to be dialed.

God has promised to never leave me or forsake me. He promised that my hope in Him will never put me to shame. I am fully known and fully loved.

The shame over my SSA made me feel that I was something evil, repulsive, and unlovable. My loneliness and lack of friends seemed to prove it.

We decided to go to a nudist resort. My first trip to a nudist resort! Maybe I'd form a good, close friendship with the guy I was about to meet?

I've written before about having never been kissed. But that doesn't mean someone's never tried to kiss me.

He's an attractive cashier but he's more than just an attractive cashier. This attractive cashier personifies much of my struggle for the past 20 years.

"Straight-baiting" has always fascinated me: the act of tricking a heterosexual individual to engage in homosexual activities.

I don't want sex with another man like I don't want sex with a woman. And most days I just need someone to tell me that's okay.

I lost my sexual sobriety because I went in search of shortcuts to intimacy with other men. I knew it wouldn't satisfy. Just like all the other times.

100 days later, my sexual sobriety still very much feels like a fantastical concept. But it’s easier now, I guess.