I hear yelling and laughter down the hall – they're out again. Our dorm's nudists don't have a shower party every night, but they seem to occur more and more frequently now. If I wait long enough, maybe they'll be done before I need to use the bathroom. I work on some backup plans; worst case scenario, I can take my stuff to another bathroom. It’s a little more inconvenient, but I'd rather walk a little further than wade through a mob of exposed genitalia.

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 want to talk about rape – specifically, my childhood rape. I want to tell this difficult story for two reasons: healing for myself, and more importantly healing for anyone else reading. Please read at your own discretion.

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.

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."

The other person thinks it's an accidental-turned-whimsical exchange, when in fact it's quite deliberate and nefarious. This Last Week Tonight episode details people who were scammed financially because they thought they were building a legitimate, longer-term relationship with this conversational or otherwise caring person on the other line. It's tragic how susceptible people can be to potential love. I know I am.

I learned that it wasn't safe for me to talk about or process through any of this struggle. Not at this church. And that is just what I did for the rest of high school. I didn't talk about my sexuality with anyone at that church again.

Do I fast because I truly desire to hear from Him more clearly, walk with Him more closely, and feel less spiritually cloudy? Or do I fast because, well, it's comfortable to be uncomfortable? Because it almost feels good to deprive, if not punish my body – particularly after I sin?

It's no secret that the LGBT+ community has a complicated history with the Christian church. This culture war has bled into the church for decades, resulting in those who experience same-sex attraction in their congregations to feel uncared for, unloved, and at worst, excommunicated from the church community. These experiences create soul wounds.

If you're at all familiar with YOB, you're probably aware that little sparrows have infiltrated nearly every corner of our community. They're in the banner of our website, the centerpiece of our logo, and even the tagline of our podcast: "Even the sparrow finds a home," which comes from Psalm 84. But did you know that sparrows are really, really small?

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."

How does this "normal boy" turned "normal man" feel about his naked body? His penis? I'm still unsure of many of the answers to these questions. From the inside out, I've struggled to feel normal (comfortable) in my own skin. This masculine body. Starting with that particular appendage.

I always feel this nervousness attached to holding hands in public. If I want to hold hands with a friend, what will others think of me? What will they think of us? Will they assume we are a couple? Will they say something? Will they be aggressive, or will they ignore us?

How was this past Christmas reinvigorated for me? Well, this song helped clarify the good parts of my sexuality related to human touch, deeply rooted in the natural instinct common to all humans since birth. I was born with a longing to be comforted, to be held, to be swaddled, to be cuddled. As I've aged, those same good touch instincts were partially absorbed by my sexuality, and now they're muddled.

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.

Going into this retreat, your boy was stressed. Stressed just from day-to-day existing. Looking back and evaluating my spiritual condition at the time, I could not slow down long enough to have one simple conversation with God. Long enough for my brain and my heart to catch up to each other.

This complicated relationship with masculinity has followed me throughout my life, especially as I've gradually come to terms with what it means to be a gay man following Jesus. Even now, I struggle to use the word "man" to describe myself. I can come to terms with the word "gay" or the word "Christian," but "man" doesn't feel like something I am.