When we talk about masculinity, we usually talk like it is something we need to become, instead of something we already are. I think we need to introduce a new masculine narrative: a new narrative that is actually an old one, formed by Scripture.

It's only human nature to ask these questions of nature vs. nurture. The seeming injustice and sheer unfairness of our sexualities can feel torturous. It seems cruel that we're so different in a way that society considers taboo and the church considers downright sinful.

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.

My teenage self saw a lot of me in Ed Wood. I may not have ever wanted to crossdress, but I still held my own big secret with homosexuality. I identified with this concept of struggling with a secret which society considers taboo.

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.

In both youth groups and camp ministry, I received the modesty talk on countless occasions. They all had the same basic outline. Our bodies are a temple; we need to keep the temple pure. Anything sexual outside of marriage will dirty the temple. Men are lustful and visual creatures. Women are not as visual and do not deal with lust. I accepted this teaching wholesale. I knew that I was visual, saw my sexuality as a dirty thing, and kept on trying to fight back lust. But I began to notice some problems with modesty talks.

We yearn for men. We yearn for specific men. We yearn for abstract, unspecified men. We yearn for men in general. We yearn for men to yearn for other men. Sometimes we yearn for men's bodies, sometimes for their hearts, sometimes for their souls. We yearn for brothers. We yearn for boyfriends or husbands. Some of us yearn for fathers, some of us yearn for sons. We yearn to encounter, to access, and to drink deeply of the raw, earthy-sweet, intoxicating, powerful substance of masculinity. To be welcomed into it, to be wanted into it.

Before visiting him, I can't remember our ever talking about what would happen at night. Cody had a bunkbed in his room, even though he lived alone. The top bunk was made for me when I arrived, but I didn't sleep in it once. It just sorta...happened.

As incredibly difficult as 2020 was and as much as I still feel inept with many of the fruits (looking at you, gentleness and self-control), I have grown more in 2020 than any year before. Now, as we have entered 2021, life is still taking twists and turns like never before. This coming year will hold new adventures, new hurts, and new lessons yet to unfold. However, one place I will not be continuing these adventures, for now, is here. On Your Other Brothers.

Physical touch isn't even one of my love languages, but it doesn't have to be. Humans are meant to have regular physical interaction with others. When the pandemic started, I became acutely aware that physical touch would be more rare than it already was in my life. I've experienced physical touch a total of seven times in almost a year.

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.

Whatever the reason, this is where I find myself: apathetic toward the Church, God, and disciplines like reading Scripture and prayer. I'm not angry at the Church -- just apathetic. And in that apathy I feel ordinarily strong convictions weaken.

For many years gentleness was a foreign concept to me. Even after actually coming to know Christ in college, I still didn't get gentleness. Jesus turned over tables in the temple – aren't we supposed to do the same?

Why didn't I have a friend like that to fulfill over two decades of touch-deprivation? Or was I even right to long for touch like that? Did that sort of touch between two men cross a line? Could two men cuddle without sinning or pushing boundaries?

In my years before finding Your Other Brothers, coming to terms with my sexuality was extremely difficult as it seemed there were only two options for my future. These two options reflected the polarized extremes embodying the culture war.

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.

If you were to ask me if I regret coming out in 2013, I'd answer a thousand times no. But for every thousand times no, I might also answer with one or two yesses. I don't miss the perpetual shadows of the closet. The secrecy. The shame. The constant playing along. But I do kinda miss the privacy. Like, whose business is it who I am or am not attracted to?

Twice within the span of a year, my passion and my future was taken from me. The future I strove for changed without my permission. The ways I influenced and encouraged others – stolen.