It’s been over a month since I’ve written a post for my Gay and Christian series. I’ve been struggling to finish strong with the series, I think in part because so much happened in college that I’m not sure I could do it justice in one post. And as a good friend pointed out, I could turn this series into a book if I wanted, which is something to think about in the future. But for now I’ll attempt to do justice to the topic as a blog series. I had, in fact, already written a post about college, but decided it wasn’t on the same level as previous posts. It was too general, too much of an overview. I didn’t get into any of the nitty grittiness of my college years. So, I’ve shown up to write again and hope something of worth comes forward. Here’s to being a freshman in college and finding a way where there often seems to be no way.

As I look back upon those angsty freshman months that defined the start of my collegiate journey, I see a few moments, as if frozen in time, that I have turned over in my hands time and time again, looking for the keys to unlock the mystery of my story. I look for the how, the why, the where of things changing, turning, progressing. And I’ve come to find that there might be some defining moments, but in general, numerous things are colliding and working themselves into the fabric of my life at any given moment. To give you a linear progression of the events of freshman year would not do justice to the emotions, the knowledge, the faith, the absence of faith, the boy, the girl, the decisions, and the consequences. So, I’ll just have to give you the pieces and you can join me in the writing process in putting them together.

Second semester, I took an Intro to Christian Thought and Life class because I was at a small Christian, liberal arts school. I didn’t want to, but I soon found it was the strawberry jam of life; that is, it was spectacular. The professor who taught the class was wise beyond her years. Even though she wore her hair long and graying, her eyes said she knew the sacred space of questioning that some of us would soon be entering. And she made herself available to us, to our questions, to our doubts and to our seeing Christianity anew.

Growing up evangelical and conservative, my faith consisted of a personal relationship with Jesus. Wasn’t that what faith was all about? Believing that Jesus had died on the cross to save me from my sins. What a rote, easy way to enter into faith. But it came with unintended consequences. It told me that Christianity only cared about the state of my ‘heart,’ not that it cared about people being killed by violence, being locked up in prisons, those living without a home, those starving on the streets. Those people only mattered because our hearts were to be giving, not because Jesus gives preferential care to those most vulnerable and oppressed. This faith given to me from my parents and my church and the youth conferences I attended on a regular basis groomed me to believe that God only loved me because I felt something. (I don’t think this was intended, but, nevertheless, it was an outcome of that faith.) Mountain top experiences were to be brought into everyday life. We weren’t supposed to leave Jesus on the mountain of our good feelings. No, Jesus was to bring the good feelings and attitudes no matter where we were.

My professor introduced me to a Christianity that could be studied academically, that could be known instead of felt. I engaged my thoughts about God and the world. I was able to acknowledge that maybe God loved me even if I didn’t feel it. I could know God’s constancy instead of feeling God’s erratic behavior (i.e. relying on my emotions to tell me of God’s love). What little faith I had left was being transformed that semester, learning God and Christianity anew. And in the midst of this, I let go of my high school crush, as much as anyone can really be over a first crush, for they will always occupy heart space no matter how much you want to steal it back. I messaged him to apologize if I had made things awkward between us, this being my parting piece, my acknowledgment that I was choosing to move on.

I told a friend about moving on from my high school crush and we talked late into the night. This particular friend eventually let on that she thought about the two of us together, dating. That night and the next we talked the night away, exploring our thoughts and feelings, and eventually exploring an arm around the shoulder, hands around each other, and kissing. And as the ever-cautious, thinking after doing, mostly-closeted gay man that I was, I freaked out. I told her the next day that I couldn’t give dating a try. (Because if I went on a date with her, then I’d have to go out with her. And if I went out with her, I’d have to propose. And if I proposed, I’d have to marry her. And if I married her, I’d be stuck forever with someone just because I told them I might like them and went on a date with them.) I know, I didn’t have commitment issues at all, perfectly normal.

Through it all, though, I greatly damaged our friendship. It took a lot of time and an apology and choosing to mend our friendship, but we did eventually become friends again. A part of me wishes that I could go back in time and tell 18 year old me to not kiss her, to not even entertain the idea. But, if I wouldn’t have kissed her, I wouldn’t have an experience to compare kissing a boy to. I wouldn’t have gone through the confusion, the hurt, the realizing that I needed to be more careful. I learned from that experience that which I would not have learned otherwise.

Most of those things happened second semester. But, it was the first semester of building friendships, of working too much, or pulling four or five all-nighters to get homework done that brought me to the collision point. It was the love of God drawing me in all sorts of different ways, stretching me and molding me, guiding me in a way that would allow me the space to accept my sexuality. My first kiss was with a girl and it was good. But it was not the electricity that ignited in me when I kissed a boy for the first time just a year later. While I can’t say that our damaged friendship was God’s work, I do believe that God met both of us in our pain, our confusion, our hurt and helped us walk through it, to get to the better side of it all.  I’m thankful for that girl’s friendship, for her kindness before and her kindness in the years to come. I’m thankful for that professor, who I’m proud to call a friend now, and for her persistence in showing up and living a Gospel life that indeed inspired me to do likewise. My prayer for anyone going through the confusion of coming out, of accepting one’s own sexuality is that they may know they are deeply loved and that they have people and experiences that will help guide them to their own acceptance and knowledge of their belovedness.