What I Prayed Most as a Side B Christian (Which God Answered)

When I decided to commit myself to celibacy as a gay Christian, one personal prayer became the focus of my prayer life. For years and years, I returned to this request in my conversations with God — sometimes sobbing and begging, sometimes more in reminding the Lord that, yes, this was still my number one prayer request. I’m so happy, so grateful, that God eventually answered this prayer with a yes.

It just might not be the prayer you’re expecting.

We’ve all heard of “pray the gay away.” Perhaps we know some people who have asked to be attracted to the opposite sex and have found God answer that prayer — whether with an attraction to one individual person, or a complete switch in sexuality. We also know that’s statistically not most people’s experience — and this wasn’t what I prayed.

Very early into my Side B experience, God spoke quite clearly about my sexuality remaining unchanged. I was, and I am, quite thankful for that clarity. I imagine it’s spared me years of heartache that others have had to endure, and perhaps are still experiencing. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t have heartache of my own.

Not having a boyfriend or a husband? That was difficult, but it didn’t cut to the heart of how I envisaged my life.

But not having children? That was the real thorn in my flesh.

I must acknowledge that single gay people can legally adopt in the UK, where I live. That wasn’t true when I first chose to be celibate, but it came into law in December 2005. I didn’t know if I could ever put myself through the process of seeking to be an adopter — and what my Side B stance would mean in those conversations.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could be a single parent. But I knew I wanted to be a dad.

I was only 17 when I essentially chose to be Side B (though I wouldn’t learn this term for quite a few more years). I didn’t want to have kids any time soon, but family has always been so important to me. I’ve loved my nuclear family, enjoying an uncomplicatedly happy relationship with my mum, dad, and twin brother.

I struggled to envision a future where I wouldn’t be able to hold my newborn, see their first steps, hear their first words, read them bedtime stories, and help them with their homework.

Sure, the stereotypical dad vision is kicking a football with them — or throwing a baseball, perhaps, for my American cousins — but that was never on the agenda. Sorry, hypothetical child! Any sporting endeavours would have to be undertaken without my unlikely-to-be-very-helpful assistance.

I recognise the inconsistency. How was I picturing this baby boy or baby girl without a partner?

Well, the heart isn’t always logical, is it? All I knew was that giving up sex and romance and marriage was doable — while giving up fatherhood felt impossible.

I couldn’t really picture being a great boyfriend or husband to someone, or that anybody would find me attractive enough to want that, even if I weren’t celibate.

But I believed — I really hoped — that I could be a good dad. I know I’d have tried really hard to be one.

As I went through university and into my twenties, I kept returning to this pain of lost fatherhood. Hardly any of my friends had kids at this stage. One or two did, and it was pretty hard to hold their little ones, knowing that I would never be the guy in that position. I’m sure my vision of being a dad was a fanciful one that didn’t take into account any of the anxieties, sleep deprivation, or other tricky realities of fatherhood.

But I couldn’t get away from it.

Any time I was on my own, it was likely to rear its head: this picture of a future I wouldn’t have. The little hand of a son or daughter that I wouldn’t hold.

So, what was my primary prayer then?

Please, God. Please make me not want children so much.

I returned to this prayer, over and over again, pleading with God to take away my longing. I knew I wouldn’t be a dad, and I wanted a life that wasn’t characterised by disappointment. I wanted a life of contentedness with childlessness.

I wanted to live each stage of my life in the way that Jesus promised — because He said that He came to give life to the full. That doesn’t mean that all of our wishes come true, but it does mean that a relationship with Him is bigger and better than the sacrifices it might cost.

God heard my prayer. He heard it every single time, of course, and for most of those years the answer wasn’t forthcoming. There wasn’t a No and there wasn’t a Yes.

But there was always His presence, His care, and His loving arm around mine when I was weeping with the fear that I would never get beyond my sadness of this life I wouldn’t lead.

I can’t pinpoint when my prayer was answered. I didn’t suddenly switch from broodiness to indifference — but, praise God, somehow He changed me.

It took about a decade of faithful prayer. The only specific thing I’ve prayed for that long; the biggest, most personal thing I prayed. The prayer that meant the most.

And He answered it.

Today, I can honestly say that I don’t want to have children of my own, even if it were in the cards. I’m much, much more content with my life.

It’s been about another decade since that prayer was answered — I lived ten years with that disappointment, and ten years more without it. Around the age my friends considered starting their own families, I stopped longing to start my own.

The timing was perfect.

I’ve been able to watch many of my dearest friends bear children without any resentment or sorrow — and I’m proud to say that I’m now a godfather five times over. Being asked to be a godfather is such a privilege and the loveliest gift that my friends could offer, and I hope I’ll be in those families’ lives for the rest of mine.

That doesn’t mean I have no sorrow or pain, of course. Recently, a friend (who knows I’m celibate) said that God spoke to him the word “father” about me, and I broke down crying — tears of both pain and joy, mingled into one. I was so touched that God saw me that way, and yet there were still years of emotion tangled up with that word.

Clearly, He hasn’t quite finished the work with me there. I don’t know what that process will look like — becoming more of a spiritual father (a term I find very hard to claim for myself), or further developing as a godfather, perhaps. But whatever happens from here, He has shown extraordinary kindness in answering the prayer I most fervently prayed.

What’s the takeaway? My thanks to God, first and foremost. But it’s also a lesson that we shouldn’t assume every Side B Christian is petitioning God with the same request, and also that years and years of praying can’t end in a Yes.

My years of prayer did, and I’ll always be thankful to my Father for that.

Do you long to be a father? What bold prayers do you – or don’t you – pray?