As incredibly difficult as 2020 was and as much as I still feel inept with many of the fruits (looking at you, gentleness and self-control), I have grown more in 2020 than any year before. Now, as we have entered 2021, life is still taking twists and turns like never before. This coming year will hold new adventures, new hurts, and new lessons yet to unfold. However, one place I will not be continuing these adventures, for now, is here. On Your Other Brothers.

My issues with self-control go well beyond the typical desires of hunger, attraction, sleep, and so on. It goes into my struggle to pause before acting – at anything.

For many years gentleness was a foreign concept to me. Even after actually coming to know Christ in college, I still didn't get gentleness. Jesus turned over tables in the temple – aren't we supposed to do the same?

Faithfulness is being beaten to a bloody, messy pulp and still saying, "God, I trust you." Faithfulness is f–ing hard s–. And it has hurt me deeply this year – deeper than I ever imagined possible.

I am fallen. Identity in Christ aside, I am still in a body of sin and death, as Paul said. I fight a fallen flesh every single day. How can I be good? How can goodness be a fruit of mine?

What if kindness as a fruit of the Spirit simply meant your unconscious approach to others – and even to yourself – was to help instead of judge? What if kindness manifested itself in the simple idea that when you see someone in need or hurting or broken, you desire to care for them before you desire to know how it happened?

I desire so greatly to be in heaven in the presence of my God and Savior. Yet I still wait. And wait. Every day with a reminder of my imperfections through a fallen world, broken relationships, and a scarred gender identity. Every day I long for Christ's return. Is this how I live out patience as a queer man?

Being LGBT+ means that I am often in a turbulent place. Either I am around other Christians who don't understand my identity, or I am around other LGBT+ individuals who don't understand my convictions, or I am around people who cannot grasp either thing.

I don't feel like having peace. Peace won't give my family income. Peace won't solve the financial burdens of two massive ministries. Peace won't cure the coronavirus or bring back canceled jobs or put food on the table or anything. Peace won't do anything I want it to do right now. So, what good is it?

With most of the U.S. and much of the world in quarantine or shelter-in-place due to COVID-19, we gathered our featured authors for a conversation on the challenges and calls to growth through these strange times. We hope you feel a little less alone in joining our conversation.

I've heard it said that joy is a contentment or cheeriness not based on circumstances. Wouldn't a foundation of Christ motivate me to love and edify others? And wouldn't this same foundation also keep me from both self-hate and egotism? Ultimately, how can I express joy in my queerness that doesn't glorify sin yet also expresses humility?

As a queer man, why would a loving God permit me to desire that from which I should abstain? Why allow me as a young boy to be so abused as to feel unsafe as a boy and retreat to dreaming of being a girl? How could God, in infinite and perfect love, let my will so rebel against His holiness? And how on earth do I demonstrate that love?

My queerness is a part of me. And my desire is to submit my whole self to Christ. Thus, why would I not hold up my sexuality to the fruit of the Spirit to test it? Perhaps I may see where my sexuality rails against the Spirit. Or perhaps I may see where the Spirit shines its attributes through my queer identity.