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?

I just have a longing to be accepted, seen as a man among men. To feel like one of the guys. Yes, I've experienced those feelings with fellow "Side B" friends, but sometimes it only feels like one side of the coin.

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.

2019 started out with a vision for a cosy, snug year, bundling up in the warmth of other people's bosoms. For those summer months, I was blessed to see that vision fulfilled, experiencing and giving love just the way I wanted. As for the rest of the year, well, God sure taught me another side to loving people than what I'd considered.

While I often complain about a lack of community, I also keep people at a distance. Only during this socially distant time of coronavirus have I realized something: maybe my community felt lacking because I wanted it to solve all my problems. And finding a community that felt authentic, one where I could be vulnerable, couldn't exist because I wasn't connected with Jesus.

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?

I yearn to be held by a bigger, stronger man, to rest in his powerful arms, to lay my head on his chest. I ache for this; I dwell on this desire a lot. I suppose, given the nature of this website, my admission surprises approximately nobody. But it's hard to admit.

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?

To many Christians, I am a burden. I have strong faith convictions, and I try to live according to those convictions. I love studying the Bible and find joy in my faith. I also give up a lot. Living the celibate life is not easy at times. But all too often the burden of this celibate gay/SSA life is only increased by the church.

In the year of our Lord two thousand and nineteen, a fun idea came to mind. Instead of coming up with a new year's resolution that would require me to exert some striving effort or discipline, I thought of a fun goal for the year instead. I wrote something in my prayer journal; it's a prayer that became my goal for the year. But what did "To love more affectionately and not robotically" actually mean?

When they hear I'm attracted to men but married to a woman, straight people, particularly Christians, sometimes ask if I expect my attractions to "change" in this life. For the longest time, I prayed for God to change my attractions. To make me straight. I do still pray about my sexuality, but I don't pray that God would change my attractions to heterosexual.

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?

It often feels like a self-fulfilling cycle of a formula: that as soon as I praise God, when I repent and I'm again "right" with Him, I'm back on an inevitable trajectory toward porn and promiscuity and the dark desires of my heart.

Our community is like a family. These past few years I've grown such a huge family, far beyond my biological one. It's like I have cousins and, yes, brothers living in cities all over the world – family who would offer me a couch if ever I passed through town. That is an incredible feeling.

It was an unfamiliar city on the other side of the world, and not one soul knew who I was and what I was about. For the first time in my life I felt free, unrestricted to do anything and be anything I wanted to be. What will I do? Where will I go? Where will God take me? Who's God again?

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.

If there's one thing that stands out about me, it's intentional community. As a single Christian guy with same-sex attraction, I find that I fight against sexual temptations much more effectively when living with other guys. I am much happier, too! But how does living with other guys work with all the potential problems?

For the longest time I felt afraid about the locker room setting. Part of my fear and shame came from body-image issues, as I was the "fat kid" most of my life. Part of my fear also came from my same-sex attraction – the fear for potential arousal. I was curious how the other guys looked but also ashamed and scared to be around them or be seen in my nakedness.

I understand: this phrase could be my life's motto. God has given me great ability as an empath to feel what others feel, even when I completely disagree with them. I'm not sure who first said it but the phrase, your greatest strength can also be your greatest weakness, rings true here.

He was sitting there waiting for me, like usual. My pastor asked if I was okay, though he knew I wasn't. He could tell I was an emotional wreck, that I needed to get some stuff off my chest. I felt numb, this deep despair inside me, like all my energy had escaped me. I only had enough to meet with him on this particular day.