Real

I’m trying to write to you without sugarcoating. I’ll get there soon enough.

My wife reads what I write here. I thought of not letting her know so I can write more freely, but I’m already conscious of the fact that my sons will someday grow up to read what I write here. I think about my friends who will find me here.

As much as I will try not to censor, I’m going to always choose my words carefully.

In the years I’ve thought of writing about myself, I wanted to tell all its ups and downs, like reading a novel about not knowing where it’s going to end up. I’m not here to tell you the end of the story, you’re arriving at the middle of it as much as I am.

I’m having a difficult few days. These difficult days come once every month or so, probably more frequently recently than it has in past seasons of my life, where it had been about once a quarter. If you are a skeptic, this is the moment where you say, “See, he hasn’t changed at all! He’s living a lie!”

So we might as well get this out of the way. I haven’t changed.

When I walk down the street, my eyes are drawn to the men. If I’m tired, lonely, stressed and especially not aware, and I happen to be alone at home, I may start poking around the internet for pictures of men of a certain appearance. If I’m especially careless I’ll look for outright porn. Sometimes these binges lead to masturbation, and I sometimes keep awkward secrets from my wife until I come back to my senses.

Like what happened yesterday.

I actually wrote up this post a full month ago, and totally chickened out on posting it.

I’m a hypocrite. I said it so you won’t have to. This is also my way of dealing with the fear of being called one.

So if I haven’t changed, so what should I do now? Should I divorce my wife? Should I break the vow I made, leave the one I love, leave the one who loves me so sacrificially and so completely? Should I leave my sons? Should I leave my flesh and blood, so wonderfully made after my own image, whom I wish I will never grow beyond my “fuzzy kisses?”

Should I abandon the journey, forget experiencing my “second adolescence,” and discovery of growing up as a man with a deeper wholeness I never knew I could have? Should I consider all the amazing confluences and orchestrations from my Creator—nudging me each step towards healing, with the added surprise of falling in love for my wife—merely cosmic accidents? Shall I believe that these experiences to be incongruent with a God that merely wants me to merely “embrace the way he made me?” Should I abandon his sweet voice, that today gently tells me “don’t” to seawater and points me towards a true refreshing drink?

I have nothing to gain from walking away from this path. I would truly then be living a lie, denying everything that has proven true in my life.

I have changed. I amaze myself at how much more I love my wife than I did even on the day we got married. She just grabs my attention even when she’s trying to be by herself doing her own thing. I love the way she fills me up and builds me up. I love pursuing her. I love serving her.

But, change—changing to heterosexuality—is not the goal. Growing in a healthy, whole identity of manhood is. Growing closer into an intimate, dare I say, sexual oneness with Jesus is. Google the Jewish uses of the verb “to know.” Becoming more and more like Jesus, that’s the change I’m looking for. Remembering of the true form of my desires—desire for affirmation as a man from my father, desire for belonging in the fellowship of men, experiencing unconditional, sacrificial love—compel me to pursue these good things. But I forget.

Often, I have to say out loud, “I remember.”

Yesterday, I was poking around for new scans from a particular Japanese comic artist, a subject I will (gasp) write about. My affinity in recent years, whenever my hunger turns in unhealthy ways, has been for this: I fall for stories of authentic belonging, desire, and affection. I now quickly tire of graphic visuals of men in action—it strikes me as empty and juvenile, and I get distracted by all the pain, disappointment, and emptiness I see written all over their faces.

I remember. I remember who I am. I remember who God is. I remember what He’s done, and where He’s taking me.