One of the most convincing earmarks of Christianity is the belief that God can redeem the failure and loss of human experience and turn them into rich resources for kingdom work. My life has become an example of this redemption principle, but only recently have I felt free (or had the opportunity) to share my experience of God's grace with more than a handful of friends and family members.
At the outset, I want to agree with the Apostle Paul, who said, "'My [God's] grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me" (2 Cor. 12:9).
Much of my life I have known my own weakness all too well but could not seem to grasp the sufficiency of God's grace and power. I grew up in a Christian family and experienced the accumulated advantages of generations of faith. I attended a Christian college, where I was shaped in my Christian thought and values and enjoyed deeper friendships than I had ever known. Later I went on to a graduate school of theology. There I met my future wife, then an undergrad student, and we were married a year later.
My life seemed to be working out quite well, but beneath the surface were feelings that I only vaguely perceived--feelings too disturbing to face. They were in obvious contradiction to the person I had set out to be, so I continued to deny them. I was on a life track that I had accepted as fulfilling, and besides, I sensed that others respected me for sticking to it.
The ignored feelings and unmet needs I acknowledged only occasionally in college became more persistent in graduate school. I struggled increasingly with depression and lacked the discipline to complete assignments. During the second term I missed so many classes that I was forced to drop out of school. I would spend whole days in my apartment watching endless hours of television and taking naps. I was so filled with shame and bewilderment that I couldn’t admit this failure to anyone, not even my fiancée.
That pattern of enrolling in graduate school and dropping out happened a few more times, in different cities, each time with predictable shame and concealment. During the last episode, the dean of the graduate school recommended that I enter a period of counseling and provided me with an appropriate referral.
During one of the sessions where my wife and I were both present, the counselor probed around the issue of homosexuality. For the first time I acknowledged that I had been dealing with same-sex attractions and that I had occasionally "acted out" my homosexual fantasies in secret encounters with other men.
During the long trip home, which was characterized by deafening silence, my wife finally blurted through tears, "Paul, if you ever do that again I don't want to know about it." She was so deeply hurt and angered by what had been disclosed that we avoided discussing the matter until years later. Unfortunately I twisted her admonition to form a convenient excuse for my failure to divulge later liaisons with other men.
Since all hope of finishing graduate school was past, I found a full-time job, and we settled into the routine rhythms of family life. We now had a young son, and completed our family with two daughters within the next several years. We purchased a house in the area where we had been living and began to put down some roots.
Within a few years we began attending the local Christian Reformed Church, which was just a mile or so away. During this period I worked the night shift and my wife worked evenings part time so that one of us could always be home with our children. Our days were consumed with after-school sports, music lessons, weekend trips, and all the other things that make family life memorable.
One Sunday, shortly after our third child was born, we joined our church by affirmation of faith, since we had grown up in a different denomination. Our children were all baptized that day, and that milestone remains a fond memory.
Year followed year. Birthdays were celebrated, as were many other special days and seasons. Our lives still looked pretty enviable on the outside; after all, we had had years to polish our public image. If we were not always happy, we consoled ourselves with continuing the family traditions and providing a nurturing environment for our children. Since I worked nights I was rarely well rested, and my family viewed that as the reason for my less-than-sunny disposition at times.
During this time I experienced periods of white-knuckled sexual sobriety followed by days of "cruising" in nearby parks every chance I could get out of the house. When life was measured out in even doses I was usually OK, but when stress or fatigue set in, I acted out. There were times when I felt like a junkie prowling for a fix. (I still shudder as I recall the strength of those feelings.)
Naturally this had a profound effect on my relationship with my wife. As I slid into addiction we grew further apart, and she sometimes suffered bouts of depression. The times of intimacy between us, sexual and otherwise, decreased from year to year, but incredibly, we remained good friends and never really considered divorce an option.
I honestly believe that I would not be alive today if this pattern of living had continued unchecked. However, almost 12 years ago something changed the direction of my life and, ultimately, that of my family.
As I returned from work one afternoon, I stopped at a forest preserve that was on the way home. The details are too involved (and painful) to relate here, but in short, I was arrested by a preserve deputy, charged with public indecency, and taken to the county jail. I spent most of the evening there until my son came to bail me out with money he withdrew from his bank account. (I had lied to him about the circumstances of the arrest, of course.)
During that evening I was forced to view the fraud I'd become. I was totally stripped of the defense mechanisms I'd been using to protect myself from my own guilt and shame. The pain was excruciating, but I began to understand that God was using this terrible experience to show me that he had not given up on me, that he would do whatever was necessary to get my attention. Indeed, I had been arrested by God.
As I sat in the holding cell that evening, I told God that I was giving up, that I no longer had any confidence in my own ability to manage my life, much less to cultivate the sort of holiness that God required. I asked for no favors but simply asked God to redeem my life and show me how to follow in the future.
I still find it significant that, in the midst of the greatest uncertainly I have ever experienced, I knew God was still there. He was the one certainty I knew, and I clung to him for my very life.
So much has happened in the intervening years since that fateful day, so many good things I had never thought possible. God has been redeeming my life and my relationships with others.
He initially led me to a Christian psychologist who had written a book on sexual addiction. During my course of therapy this counselor recommended a support group for Christians who struggle with homosexuality. Though I was nearly as homophobic as the next guy, I eventually summoned the courage to give the group a try.
What I found in that group has gradually turned my life around and given me a stability I never knew before. I experienced a wonderful level of acceptance by people who knew the grittiest details of my life. That combination of honesty and love is one of the most powerful motivations for change that I know.
I have been a small-group leader for about nine years now and have often wished that I could experience the quality of fellowship at church that I have grown accustomed to in my support group.
My pastor was the first person I told about my struggles with homosexuality (outside the clinical setting). He and I were roommates at a weekend convention, and I vowed beforehand that I was going to tell him. On a Friday evening we talked together in the dorm room where we were staying. I was so nervous that I was trembling. We talked for almost an hour, and he assured me of his support. During the next few years he became one of my most enthusiastic supporters, and I visited him periodically to share the emotional and spiritual healing I was experiencing.
Some years later I was nominated for elder and was paralyzed by reservations about my past. He assured me that we all have regrettable behavior in the past but that our primary identity is what we're becoming, not what we've been.
My sharing with Pastor John eventually helped me to tell my wife, Carol. For several months I had told her that I was attending a men's Bible study group on Thursday evening (rather than a support group). She began to notice positive changes in me, subtle at first, and soon became curious about the source of this modification. (She later admitted that she had been praying for such changes for years.) I dreaded telling her about my struggle but eventually told God that I would do so if God made the right occasion perfectly clear to me.
One evening that opportunity came; I sensed it unmistakably in my spirit. I managed to utter the words that I knew would devastate her, but somehow we made it through the evening. That night I cradled my sobbing wife in my arms, knowing that I had caused her pain and wondering if sleep would ever come.
For the next week or two we talked for hours each day, desperately attempting to make some sense of the past we had shared, often as strangers. With the passage of time came healing for the breech of trust, which had become like a canyon. Since then we have experienced a renewal in our marriage relationship that we never imagined. We are deeply in love, and my wife is my best friend as well.
Similar transitions had to be faced as I revealed my story to my three children, who were then high school or college age. These were painful times for all of us, but I believe we are now stronger than ever because of the pain and sorrow we shared.
Today the story of God's grace to me and my family is known in our church and our extended family. There have been many opportunities for me to share this story with other individuals and groups. Doing so brings a sense of recovery for those years I lost.
I believe that change and healing are available for homosexuality and for many other issues that affect members of the body of Christ. Jesus is the friend of sinners. We all desperately need such a friend.
Additional Information:
This article originally appeared in The Banner, the denominational magazine of the Christian Reformed Church.
Copyright 2000 The Banner. All rights reserved. Used with permission.
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