Years ago a YOB post like this initially proved to me that this site had something new and interesting to offer the world. It made me feel seen and understood like almost nothing I had read before.

Does nice equal good? Does strong equal toxic? Commiseration is a drink that intoxicates quickly, yet we must weep with those who weep. Am I a man? Am I strong? What am I, and where is my place? What is the nature of masculine strength?

If we were gonna cuddle safely in the dark, why not just cuddle safely in the light? Open the veil, so to speak? We were lying down next to each other, my head on his chest, or his head on mine, I forget. Everything was quiet. Nobody else was in the room. But it would not stay that way.

While I have had many wonderful, supportive Christians in my life, I find many more who just do not want to meet me where I am with my sexuality. Instead of being a great cloud of witnesses encouraging me onward, some act as a voice of the enemy telling me I have no place at God's table.

Being gay has ruined large crowds for me. Something about being surrounded, seen but utterly unknown, twists my soul. And then add to that the layers of guilt I feel. All these couples I'm jealous of because they get to be here together. Or the number of attractive men I see, the number of times I don't control my lustful thoughts. Or worst of all: when I spot a gay couple somewhere out there, and I want to be them, and I wish I didn't.

Sometimes you just have to be honest with yourself about who you are. After another year and a half in Germany, I woke up one morning, walked down to my first sergeant's office, and told him I was gay – that I didn't want to be in the Army anymore. My colonel had to sign off on that paperwork; he refused. And I was arrested. The Army rushed the investigation, and I was court-martialed.

Many conservative Christians don't believe I've ever really tried to change. Those with this position assert that my goal must be to become heterosexual, that God wants nothing less than that for me – and from me. Thus, if I haven't received this orientation change yet, then my faith must not be strong enough, or I haven't ever truly wanted this change.

I had tasted all these new intense bursts of touch in recent years, perhaps some healthy and others not so much, and during one isolating season I was desperate to share the warmth of masculine flesh again. I was having trouble making friends with other men, though...so where did I turn? To an app.

Growing up, I had few friends; those I did have were not the greatest. I brought up one boy, Jack, who I'd considered my best friend from first through third grade. I hadn't talked to him since high school. "I'm not sure what's happened to him," I said to my friend. "He could be dead for all I know." On a whim I looked up my old best friend on Facebook, and...yep, sure enough, he was dead.

It seems one can find almost anything on the Internet nowadays, with the exception of a serious discussion about sexuality and disabilities; let me assure you, I have looked. It has been increasingly important to me (and certainly others in my plight) to find such information. I was born with cerebral palsy, along with the ability to ask questions apparently nobody is supposed to ask. Like most kids who grow up gay, I felt different on the inside; in my particular case, I was different on the outside too.

I'm not one to call out miraculous. And I didn't grow up thinking that miracles happen. I wondered how to handle this gift, this grace when my teammates were in the hospital and even needed surgery? The answer wasn't obvious then. The emotions and lack of understanding come back swiftly when I think back on that weekend.

Many of us with same-sex attractions have experienced that well-meaning friend or family member who feels the need to "love us well" by telling us, "God made you gay, so how could marrying someone of the same sex be wrong?" I appreciate not being cast out by said people because of my sexuality, but they also seem unwilling to believe that I've actually given my sexuality some thought.

It's now been three to four years since I've written those blogs on cuddling and nudity, and I've shared many cuddles since with guys I've met through YOB. But have any of my thoughts changed since I wrote those posts?

There is no one group that is "for" my existence as a celibate SSA Christian, nor is there a specific group "against" it. It can feel like I have no clear place to turn to in the Church, because every place is equally likely to attack some part of who I am or what I do. Meanwhile, all I strive to be is a sold out follower of Christ.

Something came crashing into my mind when Peter asked me to be a team leader at church: a stream of familiar feelings, similar to the ones I felt the first time I had to come out. They were feelings of inadequacy; the line of thinking that I was in a somewhat state of sinfulness that compelled me to confess.

Somewhere in the night, the role reversal from cuddling with Brandon completed itself. Lines got blurred and then definitively crossed. It wasn't sexual touch, but it was inappropriate touch. It wasn't welcomed or invited. Brett didn't ask; he just did. He took. Just as I took from Brandon, Brett took from me. And passive, conflict-avoidant me felt crippled to say a word against it.

What follows is a template to give you a potential starting point for conversation with anyone in your church leadership. I write this as one who has had both positive and negative experiences coming out to church leadership.

I pictured him crying in his bed when he woke up that morning, or even going to bed crying right after leaving me; knowing I'd hurt him, knowing I'd been the one to cross physical boundaries. It destroyed me, if I'm honest.

I'd spent a long time laboriously looking for a community to belong, and I'd finally found one. With this new community, though, came a growing fear – the fear of eventually being rejected. If they knew me, like really knew me, would they still want to be friends with me or even associate with me at all?

Well, 2020 happened. And in this "unprecedented" year, a more personal disease revealed itself in me. Like Nouwen wrote, despite my being around people during a pandemic, I faced loneliness. My tendency to isolate combined with an actual, physical inability to connect with others made me look deeper into the why of my loneliness.