<p><span style="font-size: var(--bs-body-font-size); font-weight: var(--bs-body-font-weight); text-align: var(--bs-body-text-align);">For most of my life, I knew something about myself was different, but admitting it—especially out loud—was another journey entirely. Two years ago, I came out to myself as gay, and about a year later, I shared this truth with my family and friends. It was the kind of revelation that changed everything and nothing at the same time. I’d always known deep down, but I spent years hoping, even praying, that I could somehow change or hide this part of myself. I hoped that one day God might make me “normal,” so I could marry a woman, have a family, and somehow, in the process, escape the ache of loneliness that sat heavy in my heart.</span></p><p>Accepting that I am gay was a turning point. I came to realize that my sexuality is an intrinsic part of who I am—a person designed by God with intentionality. With that understanding, I knew I had to stop ignoring this aspect of myself and start embracing it with honesty. However, this self-acceptance wasn’t straightforward or easy; it came with challenges, grief, and a lot of unlearning. At the time, I was also serving in full-time ministry and struggling with emotional burnout.</p><p>I sought out every resource I could find. I read books from a wide range of perspectives: Side Y, Side B, Side A—books by Christopher Yuan, Wesley Hill, Karen Keen, Justin Lee, Matthew Vines, and others. I listened to teachings and podcasts, joined online communities, and connected with people who shared my faith and were also wrestling with their sexuality. Meeting other Christians who were also gay was eye-opening. For the first time, I realized I wasn’t alone; there were countless others asking the same questions, struggling through similar experiences, and searching for answers.</p><p><b style="font-size: var(--bs-body-font-size); text-align: var(--bs-body-text-align);">The Toll of Purity Culture and the Question of Celibacy</b></p><p>One of the deepest struggles I faced was reconciling my faith with purity culture and the idea that celibacy was my only option as a gay Christian. For so long, I was convinced that “mandatory celibacy” was the path I was expected to walk. Yet, over time, I came to see the immense weight of this expectation and the personal toll it had taken on me.</p><p>In my pursuit of purity, I found myself in a dark place—emotionally depleted, spiritually burnt out, and sometimes feeling as though life had lost its meaning. Celibacy, as I understood it then, felt like a sentence to lifelong isolation and loneliness. When I took a step back to see the bigger picture, I realized there were millions of Christians like me, all wrestling with similar questions. How could mandatory celibacy be God’s plan for every single one of us?</p><p>As I reflected on Jesus and Paul’s teachings, I noticed that neither suggested celibacy was meant for everyone. Paul speaks about celibacy as a gift, but also acknowledges it’s not something everyone can or should pursue. Accepting this truth gave me a new perspective. It was freeing to understand that mandatory celibacy was not necessarily a one-size-fits-all answer, and I wasn’t bound to it simply because of my orientation.</p><p><span style="font-size: var(--bs-body-font-size); text-align: var(--bs-body-text-align);"><b>The Journey from Traditional Views to Affirmation</b></span></p><p>Shifting from a traditional view of marriage to an affirming one was neither fast nor easy. Since childhood, I’d been taught to see marriage as solely between a man and a woman, and those beliefs were deeply ingrained. I wrestled, dug deep, and questioned everything I thought I knew, spending nearly eighteen months on this intense journey. I devoured books, teachings, and resources to find out if Scripture truly condemned me for being gay or for seeking a loving, committed relationship with another man.</p><p>There was no single “aha” moment where everything fell into place; it was a gradual process. Each step brought me closer to understanding that God’s love for me was unchanged, that there was room for me to live authentically and still honor my faith. It was difficult to let go of long-held beliefs, but as I came to terms with these new understandings, the sense of freedom was profound.</p><p><span style="font-size: var(--bs-body-font-size); text-align: var(--bs-body-text-align);"><b>Navigating Church, Identity, and the Struggle for Belonging</b></span></p><p>Growing up in a conservative church and later attending a Pentecostal Bible college shaped my perspective on faith and life. I dedicated myself to missions work and ministry training, traveling to amazing places, like Russia, India, the USA, Mongolia and many others, to be part of building God’s Kingdom. Yet, as I accepted my sexuality, I found myself at odds with the same purity culture and teachings that had once provided me direction.</p><p>At one point, I considered marriage to a woman as a solution, but I’m grateful I didn’t go through with it. I realized that no relationship would be fulfilling if I couldn’t show up fully as myself. Purity culture’s emphasis on things like saving your first kiss for marriage once felt like a rule I could follow easily—simply because I had no interest in that intimacy with a woman. But looking back, I see how this framework pressured me to conform to an ideal that was never meant for me.</p><p>After returning to South Africa, I longed to find an affirming church community. While some churches advertised themselves as inclusive, many lacked the theological depth I sought. Ultimately, I joined a church that was not affirming but claimed to welcome everyone. So far, I’ve felt somewhat at home, though I still hold my breath to see if their welcome extends to LGBTQ+ individuals like myself. Only a few people there know I am gay, and I remain cautious about revealing more. I know firsthand that not all churches that claim to be inclusive fully live up to that promise.</p><p><span style="font-size: var(--bs-body-font-size); text-align: var(--bs-body-text-align);"><b>Embracing Authenticity: The Gift of Living as Myself</b></span></p><p>Looking back on the years I spent pretending to be something I wasn’t—identifying as a cisgender heterosexual man—I now see how it drained me emotionally and spiritually. Denying my identity to “fit in” within the church world led to intense loneliness and burnout. Imagine the impact if we lived in a world where people were accepted for who they are without the pressure to conform. If people felt free to be their true selves without fear of rejection, I believe we would see a church filled with deeper compassion, love, and authenticity.</p><p>I am currently in a relationship with a man who shares my faith, and the joy of having someone to walk alongside has been such a gift. We love Jesus, enjoy each other’s company, and are excited about where this journey will take us.</p><p><span style="font-size: var(--bs-body-font-size); text-align: var(--bs-body-text-align);"><b>The Harm of Denial and the Importance of Community</b></span></p><p>For so long, I believed that being gay wasn’t the issue; “acting on it” was. I thought that “practicing homosexuality” was sinful, as though it were something I could just switch off. But in reality, being gay isn’t an activity—it’s part of who I am. The notion of denying that part of myself became absurd. Denial didn’t make me less gay, and in fact, it only deepened the internal conflict I carried.</p><p>Pursuing celibacy, in my case, felt like a slow erosion of my soul. I tried to live out a calling I wasn’t meant to follow, and it nearly broke me. Connecting with the Side B community—people who value celibacy as a calling while acknowledging the difficulty it brings—provided comfort for a time. But ultimately, I had to acknowledge my desire for companionship, for a partner to share life with. I related deeply to Adam’s longing for a suitable partner. Denying that desire led to anguish, not spiritual growth.</p><p><span style="font-size: var(--bs-body-font-size); text-align: var(--bs-body-text-align);"><b>Moving Forward with Hope and Self-Compassion</b></span></p><p>In sharing this journey, I hope to offer a glimmer of hope to others who feel they’re walking a lonely path. Whether you’re struggling with acceptance, navigating faith and sexuality, or simply yearning for a sense of belonging, know that you’re not alone. God sees you fully, as you are, and loves you wholly.</p><p>Life, faith, and identity are often complex and challenging. But I’m learning that living authentically, with courage and self-compassion, opens the door to deeper faith and joy. Embracing who I am has been a healing process, one that’s allowed me to rebuild my life on a foundation of truth and acceptance. As I move forward, I hold onto hope, trusting that my journey—flawed, complicated, and real—will continue to unfold with purpose and grace.</p><p>To anyone else on this path, I hope my story encourages you to keep going. Authenticity is not just liberating; it’s life-giving. Seek out people and places that affirm your worth. Build your life in a way that honors the truth of who you are. You are worthy of love, belonging, and the freedom to be fully you.</p><div><br></div>
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