I was born as a surprise in central California in the summer of 1979. Within six months of my birth both of my grandpas died, which left my grandmas grieving widows. My grandmas were both godly women and my birth was a solace to them. One in particular, took my mom, sister and me to church, and inspired faith in me. A few days after turning thirteen, I was baptized. Four days later, my grandma who faithfully took me to church, died. At her funeral the preacher, who had just baptized me several days earlier, said that my baptism was the “last jewel on her crown.” God had honored her by allowing her to see the fruit of her ministry, my faith in Jesus Christ.

I spent a lot of my childhood in an imaginary world. Entering adolescence, I continued to spend it either alone or with girls my age. When my grandma died, I lost a spiritual mentor so my teenage years were characterized by spiritual decline and sporadic church attendance.

In high school, I became involved in the forensics club. In my final year, I trained the novice debaters. I grew very close to them, considering them the younger brothers I had always wanted but never had. None of them had biological fathers in their lives and many smoked pot. I tried to look after them, and they stopped doing drugs and excelled in their competitions. Although these friendships were mutually beneficial, they all ended within one year because I didn’t know how to maintain close relationships with guys. I was manipulative and became jealous when they spent time with their other friends. I perceived they were rejecting me when they would hang around other friends. My emotional dependence on them sabotaged the very relationships that I craved.

In college, I worked a couple jobs, joined two campus clubs and took a full-load of courses. I traded friendships for work. Although I enjoyed having so much responsibility, it was not fulfilling. On the weekends, I would have nothing to do and would become lonely.

On weekend nights, I filled my time driving to different places. On one particular weekend when I was nineteen, my city hosted a business conference. A presidential candidate was coming to attend the meeting and I wanted to get his autograph on a financial magazine that he published so that I could later auction it off for a club fundraiser that I organized. The local bookstore sold out of his magazine: Others no doubt wanted to get his autograph as well.

An idea popped in my mind. I could drive to Santa Monica (about 90 minutes away) where I could buy the magazine at what I thought was a 24-hour bookstore I had seen on an earlier trip. I decided that this trip would be how I would spend my Friday night. But this was my first trip driving to the Los Angeles area alone and when I approached Santa Monica Boulevard, I didn’t know which way to go, left or right. I decided to go left (the bookstore was to the right). Instead of finding the bookstore, I discovered a gay community called West Hollywood. That was the first night that I saw two men holding hands. My first reaction was to laugh. But I was also curious. I parked my truck at the nearby market parking lot. I began walking past bars, clubs, restaurants and other types of bookstores. I remember vividly men trying to talk to me. I nervously walked by them, returned to the grocery store parking area, got into my truck, and drove back home.

My mind was racing that week. I couldn’t believe how easy it was to get attention from men. Monday through Friday I would work and go to school without any male friends, but in West Hollywood it seemed so easy to have someone talk to you. I recalled seeing a teenager leaning up against a wall, hanging out. I decided to go back the following weekend and talk to him and ask him why he was there. I had a lot of questions about feelings and emotions that I had never shared with anyone before.

The next week I returned to West Hollywood. It was Halloween. I saw thousands of people dressed up in elaborate costumes. So many people were there that they blocked off the street. It was unlikely that I would find that teenager I had seen, or any particular person for that matter. This time I walked around more than I did previously. I remember specific compliments that the men said to me. Although I was anxious, it was flattering since I had never received much affirmation from men.

As it got later and later, I figured it was time to head back home. As I walked downhill to my truck I noticed a guy sitting alone dressed in a private school girl’s dress. I assumed he was a prostitute and no one was picking him up. I decided to ask him why he was gay. I quickly found out he was not a prostitute; he was just waiting for somebody. We couldn’t talk long because his friends came by to pick him up. He gave me his phone number so we could talk more about my questions later.

A couple days later I called him. I shared with him my curiosities and I learned how about him too. I found out he was ten years older than me, and he was a substitute teacher living with his mom at the time. Although he initially discouraged a physical relationship, we agreed to meet a couple weeks later at a Hollywood hotel. It was on Friday the thirteenth that I lost my virginity to him. I remember it being awkward. My first thoughts were, “This is isn’t working and it isn’t even satisfying.” For the previous two years, I had determined not to cry, because I thought, “men don’t do that.” But the next morning, after saying good-bye and giving him a hug, I turned away and immediately began to cry. I sobbed all the way back home. I knew I was responsible for losing something precious-my innocence.

Prior to my making the decision to meet him, I had told the mother of a friend what I was about to do. She told me that I would regret it. So after I returned home, I told her what I had done. She seemed indifferent, but maybe she was just disappointed. While my remorse was awful and heartbreaking, I did begin to feel some relief. Since I was 11 years old, I had experienced attractions and strange feelings for the same-sex. I had fantasized and lusted. Now having experienced it, I learned that it was all an illusion. I was angry at being deceived into thinking that I was homosexual the past several years. It was not satisfying and it was not for me, so that gave me hope.

Knowing my struggle, my friend suggested that I go to church on Wednesday night with her. Spiritually, by this point, I was in the midst of reading diverse religious views and was considering whether all perspectives had an element of truth to them. I had read many religious books such as Confucius’ writings, the Koran, the satanic bible and I was most interested in learning about myself through astrology. A man in West Hollywood even introduced me to a Buddhist chant, which was difficult for me to pronounce. None of those teachings, or in the case of the chant, really helped me much. So when I got this invitation to go to a midweek church meeting, it seemed like a good idea since that was what committed Christians did. I thought I should try it as well. I made a good start by beginning to fill the void in my life with decent things, but I quickly found out I needed more support. When the weekends would come, I would feel lonely again. But the new danger was that I now knew a place I could go to get the attention, affirmation and affection I desperately needed. Although I knew homosexual behavior wasn’t fulfilling those needs, I believed that some attention was better than none at all. A week before Christmas I returned to the streets of West Hollywood. Again, I met different men my age and older that paid attention to me. Although my intentions were not to allow these encounters to become sexual, my remaining curiosities took over and they inevitably did.

Things got worse. I remember on one occasion I was staying in an expensive house in the Hollywood Hills. The next morning, we couldn’t leave the room until the filming of gay pornography in the outside pool had wrapped up. The guy I was staying with asked if I would ever participate in pornography if someone paid me. I said “no,” but who knows how much more weak-willed I might have become down the road. On another occasion, I smoked homegrown marijuana. My standards and ability to say 'no' were compromised considering it was not much earlier that I had helped my friends in high school stop smoking pot. I was getting myself in precarious situations, all without the knowledge of my parents. But God had a plan. He was faithful to provide a way out.

Although I was leading a double-life, I tried continuing to do good things, including going to church. But some Sundays I would just weep during service. No doubt, some of my extended family members thought I was losing it.

Another good practice I did was regularly donating blood. By this point, I had given several pints of blood. One day I asked a friend of mine to accompany me as I gave blood. She waited for me while I answered the preliminary questionnaire. This form asked many questions about my personal medical and sexual history. They wanted to know if my blood could potentially infect a recipient with a disease. One of the questions asked male donors if they had slept with a man even one time since 1977. The concern was HIV/AIDS. I told the attendant that I had questions about the form, and she referred me to the head nurse. The head nurse emphasized that they were most concerned with men having sex with men. She wanted to know if I had participated in homosexuality. Although I hesitated, I told her I had. The nurse then told me that I couldn’t give blood. After sharing that I had questions, she said that I would have to go to the health department, “We can’t help you here.” I was taken aback and I started walking toward the lobby, telling my friend that we must leave now. As I approached the glass door, I suddenly blacked out and banged my head against the door. I remember the bell, which was hanging from the door, began to ring and I fell back against the chairs in the lobby. My friend told me I woke up a couple minutes later.

I had never fainted before in my life. I awoke with the head nurse taking my blood pressure and people circled around me wondering how much blood they had taken from me (they had only pricked my thumb). I was crying and the head nurse and I went into another room to talk.

Two things happened by this point. First, it became clear to me how out of control my life had become. Sin had taken me much farther than I had wanted. Second, the head nurse’s heart began to soften. She told me she was a Christian, and she said some of the sweetest words you can tell someone in my situation: “I will try to help you.” She called her pastor and he told her about a local ministry in my hometown that disciples people who want to resolve the issues that lead them into homosexuality.

When she paged me with the information about the ministry, I didn’t call at first. I felt that I was hopeless because I had tried to change. I was seriously contemplating moving to Hollywood thinking things were not ever going to be any different. But the nurse called me one more time. This time I called the ministry and spoke to the pastor. The pastor that I began meeting with had committed his life to Christ when he was 35 (fifteen years earlier), and the Lord helped him turn from homosexuality. I agreed to begin meeting and praying with him. He gave me godly and sensible responses to the questions I asked. I began to put my faith in God that He too could heal my wounds so that I wouldn’t fall back into past behavior.

Over the next couple months, I stumbled and fell during times of loneliness, but God sustained me and extended grace to me so that I didn’t give up. God desired to give me a much better life. He also had a plan to bring a message out of my mess: God delights in doing that which man considers impossible!

I was fortunate that I was reached early and never embraced a gay identity. My life had become very pathetic, but gradually I began developing male friendships and becoming very comfortable around them. My desires began to change too. I no longer preferred involvement in same-sex sexual acts. I also grew closer to my family. I had so much anger toward my dad. But I forgave him and was totally released of all my animosity toward him. My family is not perfect, but my dad has really improved as a father and husband. We are closer today than any other time in my life and my parents are very supportive of me.

Although I became an adult under the care of three generations of female influence, it was in my twenties that I became comfortable being a man. I am eternally grateful that God redeemed me! My friends are almost exclusively male now and although insecurity and envy are a struggle at times, I am still growing.

While I was beginning to believe that God could restore my sexuality, God had something much better in store for me than just heterosexuality. He wanted to reveal Himself to me so that I might know and love Him. He valued a relationship with me more than making me straight. The God I put my childlike faith into as a boy, remained faithful to me even while I was faithless as an adult.

I have learned that my story is not just about a teenager struggling with his sexuality and resolving those issues step by step. In fact, my story really isn’t even about me. My testimony is of a loving Father that has been patient and gracious to continue what He started in me. God has set me apart and taught me many things. The Holy Spirit has empowered me and given me peace, joy and the ability to love deeply. I am just one more example of what the Lord Jesus Christ can make possible. Let me ask you: Is there anything too difficult for God?