by Christine Sneeringer

"Coach, she's cussing in the outfield," Tammy complained. "This is supposed to be a Christian team. Aren't you going to do something?"  The coach looked at her, then pointed in my direction. "You see that girl? You pray for that girl." I strolled in from the outfield oblivious the conversation was about me, the prodigal softball player.  Though I played on my friend's church team, Christianity was the farthest thing from my mind. That was obvious as I used profanity to show my disapproval when one of my teammates made a costly error. Even though the name of their church was sprawled across the front of my jersey, I forgot who I was playing for when I was in the outfield. All I thought about was winning.  In the year and a half that I played for this Baptist women's softball team, the coach never once scolded me for my unchristian sportsmanship. If he had, I probably wouldn't have stuck around so long. I was there for one reason only--to play ball. But God had other ideas.  I was drawn by the love that my fellow teammates had for each other and for me. It seemed so pure and so right. The other women knew I was not a Christian and they were praying for me all along. However, they did not know I was a lesbian.  Growing up, my alcoholic father had a violent temper and would often hit my mother. Because my mom was a victim, I rejected anything to do with femininity and wanted no part of being a girl. Instead I looked up to my older brother and wanted to be just like him.  As early as I can remember, I preferred sports over playing with dolls like my younger sister. I was accepted as one of the guys because I was strong and tough. I walked like a boy, talked like a boy, and even played shirtless like a boy. It's no wonder that people often called me "son" or "young man." I also hated my feminine name, Christine, and went by the more generic "Chris." 

My parents divorced when I was 12 and sent me away to live with relatives, where I was molested by an older cousin. Like most children who have been sexually abused, somehow I thought I was to blame. If only men wouldn't find me attractive, then things like this wouldn't happen to me, I reasoned. From then on I wanted to conceal whatever shred of femininity I had left. 

There were other incidences where men took advantage of me, reinforcing my theory time and again. I never felt safe as a girl with all the seemingly sex-crazed men around me. Even my dad fit the bill with stacks of pornographic magazines under his bed when I was growing up. 

Then, as a high school freshman, I learned that my best friend, Kim, was in love with me. Though I looked the part of a lesbian, I had never been involved with a girl. I was confused about what to do, so I looked in the Bible for answers and found a verse on love. I knew I loved Kim, so I concluded that nothing could be wrong between two people if they loved each other. 

This freed me from my inhibitions and we became lovers. It was very exciting that someone cared so deeply and wanted to know all about me. Kim and I always checked with each other before we made any plans with other friends. I felt I would die if she withdrew from the relationship, even slightly. Our lives revolved around each other in a consuming sort of way. These qualities, I learned later, were all characteristics of an emotionally-dependent relationship. 

My relationship with Kim lasted a year and a half, until my mom found out after discovering a love note I had written to Kim. 

My mom demanded that the relationship stop, embarrassed to have a gay daughter. She also called Kim's mom, and together they plotted to end our love affair. Eventually they were successful. 

Afterwards, at 17, I began to experiment with guys sexually to find out if I was really gay or not. Each time I felt used and degraded because the guys didn't care about me at all--they only wanted sex. As a result I knew I preferred being with a woman. I found it very gratifying, and it felt natural to me. 

In college I continued in homosexuality. Once again, I enjoyed being the center of another woman's world. It also filled a void in my life as I deeply longed to be loved. My last girlfriend, who was seven years older, was a Christian and she struggled with guilt because she was brought up believing homosexuality was a sin. I struggled with guilt because she was married. Her husband worked 70-80 hours a week, leaving her emotionally needy and susceptible to looking outside her marriage to meet her needs. 

While we were lovers, she stayed involved in her church throughout our 18-month relationship and her divorce. One day I expressed my interest in joining her church softball team. She told me I'd have to join the church and I told her no way. But for some reason the coach let me play. 

I never anticipated the impact this softball team would have on me. My teammates were so loving and accepting. They knew I was different, but they never treated me like an outsider. I wanted to know more, and I wanted to experience what they had so I started going to church regularly. 

I never dreamed that after all I'd done, God could still love me or that He would even want me. Here I was, a lesbian and a home-wrecker. Though I felt disqualified, God still accepted me. I became a Christian in November 1989. 

My girlfriend and I wanted to do the right thing, but our physical relationship continued for many weeks. Eventually I broke off the friendship with my lover, but continued to suffer in silence with my homosexual desires. I was even angry at God for making me gay, not understanding that He doesn't make anybody homosexual. Like many lesbians, I chose this path because I had been trying to protect against further hurt from a man and I was looking for my mother's love that I didn't receive when I was a girl. 

Then I heard the president of Exodus International on the radio. I marveled at the wisdom of this man, Sy Rogers, who obviously understood the struggle I was in as he counseled people on a call-in show. When he announced the date of a seminar in Orlando, just two hours from my hometown of Tampa, I made plans to attend. 

That seminar changed my life as I heard Sy share his own story of overcoming a lifetime of homosexuality, and I was filled with hope that I could, too. I found out about an Exodus ministry in Tampa, and began attending weekly support group meetings where I learned about the roots of my homosexual struggles. 

I also attended the annual Exodus conference that year in San Antonio. There I participated in a "make-over" session which had a deep impact on me. For the first time since I had been sexually abused, I wanted to be pretty, just like other women at church. As I walked back to my dorm room after the makeover, a thought hit me and stopped me in my tracks. 

"Do you remember those girls back home at church that you envied because they were beautiful?" God seemed to be asking me. "You're no different. You are beautiful--just like them." 

Stunned, I continued down the path to my dorm as tears stained my cheeks. All my life I struggled with intense feelings of inadequacy about being a girl and suddenly I saw myself as just like them. 

When I returned to my church in Tampa, I asked all my friends to start calling me "Christine." Though it felt odd at first because I had always been "Chris," I wanted to embrace my femininity. In the church I met godly, strong women who helped me to see that being female wasn't a liability. 

I also saw men in a different light. They were true friends, and they were interested in me, not sex. For the first time, I felt safe as a woman. 

The key to my healing was developing healthy same-sex friendships. I also saw a counselor to help me deal with the sexual abuse and dysfunctional family issues while continuing my involvement in church and Exodus. With God's help and the support of caring people, homosexuality no longer casts a shadow on my life. 

This summer my Dad and I attended the Exodus conference together, where I taught a workshop. I never dreamed that the man who first inspired me to believe that being a woman wasn't good or safe would one day accompany me as I went to tell others it's a lie. 

Additional Information:
This testimony first appeared in the September 1999 issue of Charisma & Christian Life magazine. Christine is the director of Worthy Creations, an Exodus ministry, and can be contacted at Worthy Creations, PO Box 550637, Fort Lauderdale, FL 33355.