I was born as a surprise in the summer of 1979 in central California.

Within six months of my birth, both of my grandmas were left grieving widows at the death of each of my grandpas. They were godly women and my birth became solace to them. One grandma in particular, took my mom, sister and I to church and inspired faith in me. A few days after turning 13, I was baptized. Four days later, my grandma who faithfully took me to church, died.

In high school, I became involved in the forensics club. As a senior, I spent a lot of time training freshmen debaters in the club. I grew very close to them. I considered them the younger brothers I had always wanted but never had. None of them had their biological fathers in their lives and many smoked pot. I tried to look after them. 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 jealous of them spending time with other friends. My perception was that they were rejecting me when they were hanging around other friends. My emotional dependence on them sabotaged the very relationships that I craved.

In college, I filled my time working two jobs, participated in a couple 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 I would become lonely.

I would try to fill up my time by driving to different destinations in my county. On one particular weekend when I was 19, my city was hosting 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 had sold out of his magazine; others no doubt wanted to get his autograph too. An idea popped in my mind though. 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. But I didn’t know exactly how to get there. When I approached Santa Monica Boulevard I didn’t know which way to go, left or right. I decided to go left. I did not find the bookstore that night. Instead I found a gay community called West Hollywood. It was the first night that I saw two men holding hands. My first reaction was to laugh. But my second response was to stop at the market and get out of my truck. I began walking past the bars, clubs, restaurants and other types of bookstores. I remember vividly men trying to talk to me. I nervously walked by, returned to the grocery store parking lot, got back into my truck and drove home.

The next week my mind was racing. 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 this city it was so easy to have someone talk to you. I recall seeing a teenager up against a wall just hanging out. I wanted to go back 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. I returned the next week. It was Halloween.

Thousands of people were there all dressed up in elaborate costumes. There were so many people that they blocked off the street to make room for people to walk around. Suffice to say, it was unlikely that I would find that teenager 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 so nervous, it was flattering to me since I had not received such affirmation from men to any great extent.

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 up in a private school girl’s dress. I assumed that he was a prostitute and that no one was picking him up. I decided to ask him why he was the way he was, that is why he was gay. I quickly found out that 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 that we could talk more later about my questions.

I did call him. I found out that he was ten years older than me and he was a substitute teacher living with his mom at the time. I shared with him my curiosities. Although he initially discouraged us doing anything physical, 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 as soon as it started, it seemed unnatural and awkward. I was thinking this isn’t working and it isn’t even satisfying. For the previous two years, I had decided that I was never going to cry because men don’t do that. The next morning when I gave him a hug and we said good-bye I immediately began to cry as I turned away. I sobbed all the way on the trip back to my home. I knew that I was responsible for losing something precious, my innocence.

Prior to my making the decision to do this, I had told the mother of a girl that was my friend what I was about to do. She advised me that I would regret it. So after I came back to my hometown, 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. I began to think that since I was 11 years old, I had had attractions and strange feelings for the same-sex. I had fantasized and lusted. Now having experienced what I did, I learned that it was all an illusion. It was not satisfying and it was not for me. I was angry at being deceived the past several years.

My friend suggested that I go to church on Wednesday night with her. Spiritually by this point, I was in the midst of reading a divergent of religious views and was considering whether all perspectives had an element of truth to them. I was reading many religious books like Confucius’s 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. But it was difficult for me to pronounce. But, this invitation to go to a midweek church meeting seemed like a good idea since that was what committed Christians did. Beginning to go to church more often was a good start to trying to fill the void in my life, but I quickly found out I needed more support. When the weekends would hit I was growing lonely again. The danger and temptation was that I now knew of a place that I could go to in order to get the attention, affirmation and affection that I desperately needed. Although I learned that homosexual behavior wasn’t a match for addressing my needs, I was feeling that some attention was better than none at all. A week before Christmas I returned to the streets of this gay community. I met different men my age and older that paid attention to me. Although I had the intentions to not allow my times to become sexual, it inevitably did. Things got worse. I remember on one occasion I was staying in an expensive house in the Hollywood Hills. One morning, I couldn’t leave the room we were in until the filming of gay pornography in the outside pool had wrapped up. I was asked if I would ever participate if someone paid me. I said no, but who knows how more weak-willed I would become down the road. On another occasion I smoked homegrown marijuana. It had become evident to me that my standards and ability to say no were low because it was not much earlier that I helped my friends in high school stop smoking pot.

Life was going from bad to worse and I was getting myself in precarious situations all without the knowledge of my parents. But God had a plan. He was faithful to not allow me to be tempted without providing a way out. Although I was leading a double-life, I was trying to maintain doing the good things I was involved in back home, including going to church. But some Sundays I would just weep during service. Some of my extended family members no doubt thought I was losing it.

One of the things that I did faithfully since I was 17 was to donate blood. By this point I was one pint from giving a gallon. 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 the recipient with a disease. One of the questions specifically asked of male donors was if they had had sex with a man even once since 1977. The concern was HIV/AIDS. I told the nurse that I had questions about the form and she then referred me to the head nurse. The head nurse emphasized that they were most concerned with the question about men having sex with men. She wanted an answer from me. Although I hesitated, I did tell her yes that I had. The nurse told me that I couldn’t give blood then. I told her, “But I have so many 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 up against the door. I remember the bell hanging from the door ringing and me falling back up against the chairs in the lobby. They told me that 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 encircled around me wondering how much blood they took from me (although they had only pricked my thumb). I was crying and we went into another room to talk. Two things happened by this point. First, it had become very clear to me how out of control my life had become. Second, the head nurse’s heart began to soften toward me. It turned out that she was a Christian and she told me some of the sweetest words you can tell someone in my situation, “I will try to help you.” She didn’t know how to help me, but 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. At this point I felt hopeless. I often contemplated moving to Hollywood thinking things were not ever going to be any different. But she called me one more time. This time I called the ministry and spoke to the pastor. Christ had helped him overcome homosexuality 15 years earlier. I agreed to begin meeting and praying with him. He gave me godly and sensible responses to the questions that I had. I began to put my faith in God that He too could heal me of my wounds so that I wouldn’t fall back into past behavior.

Although over the next couple months I stumbled and fell during times of loneliness, God sustained me and gave me grace not to give up. He believed in a much better life for me. He knew that with Him there is nothing too difficult for me to do. In fact, I now believe that God delights in doing that which man considers impossible.