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.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it might look like to share my last days with another man. Sharing my life with him in a way that’s pure, platonic, and rooted in Christ — a lifelong companionship without crossing lines that my faith tells me are off-limits. This same-sex longing didn’t come out of nowhere. It started building a couple years ago, around another lonely Valentine’s Day.

As I entered adulthood, I faced pressure from my dad to get hitched. My parents thought that I “used to” struggle with same-sex attraction after a most complicated religious experience. I could likely write an entire post on that experience alone, but to put it succinctly: I encountered grace in such a way that made me know and love God more and caused lust to lie low for years.

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?

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?

The other day, while digging through some years-ago writings, I came across a letter I wrote in 2012. It was raw and honest, meant for a guy I’d had a crush on for two years. Reading it again, I felt nostalgia – not for him, but for the version of myself who poured his heart onto that page.

When I started meeting guys who also experienced same-sex attraction, some did start to receive my aggressive style of hugs. However, like my kids, some weren't quite ready for them. As I navigated who I could tackle-hug next, one guy invited me to hold his hand. I rolled my eyes a little internally but took him up on the offer, not expecting much: a simple gesture that would soon be forgotten. That is, until I noticed how much pressure I exerted on his hand as we sat together – and how gently he touched mine back.

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'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.

Together, we are still invited to the same calling in marriage: to bear the image of God and represent Christ and the Church in our love for one another. Why would I share this part of our married life, my sexuality, which some may see as so private so as only to be known to one's priest or pastor?

I understand some people have to portray themselves in certain ways for cultural reasons, or because they don't want to hurt their families. But how many more mornings are we willing to wear this mask around people just to cry into our pillows at night?

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."

It was so fulfilling to feel James' love and trust in a very solid friendship. A friendship that has been forged in the fires of pain and difficulty, but even more so in the joys and triumphs of accomplishing some of God's purposes for our lives. I know I wouldn't be the man I am today without James' influence. He has helped me change the way I live, from being a victim to becoming a victor.

How many of us have decided not to come out to our fathers because we knew it wouldn't go well? How many have been wrestling with the idea of telling our fathers for fear of the unknown? And how many of us have already come out to our fathers, a topic never again spoken about?

While I do not want to ignore the subject of temptation and what to do with it, I think it would be more relevant to talk about the positives of this weekend retreat spent with my brothers in Christ. A better question to ask and answer about our YOBBERS retreat would be: "Why do you gather together?" And also the question: "What is the fruit of such a gathering?" Perhaps by looking at something more culturally familiar, we can draw a parallel to our experience as gay/SSA "Side B" Christians.

I am attracted to other men. At this point, you might be shocked, scared, angry, or confused. Please allow me to affirm a few truths before I continue. I love Jesus, I believe in a traditional/biblical sexual ethic, and I am pursuing holiness before the Lord in my sexuality. I love you and want to walk well with you. I want you to know this about me so you can see me, love me, and walk well with me, and so I am not holding back pieces of my life from you.

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.

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.

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 feel my Christian community lacking and also the LGBTQ+ community lacking. What is one supposed to do? I think we Christians who are LGBTQ+/SSA can and must push a more compelling narrative – one rooted in the Bible. The church is for all who are repentant, not just the straight ones who are repentant.