My earliest memories are of wanting to be a girl. I often dressed in my sister's clothing, my mother's high-heels and tried to pass myself off as a girl to strangers. I desperately wanted to be a girl so I could do all of the things that others called feminine without the fear of being ridiculed. I hated sports and the rejection and name-calling that went with it.
I remember an older boy teasing me about the way I walked, ran, threw a ball or swung a bat. "That's just like a girl would do it," he'd say.
He was right. In fact, I used to sit at the dinner table and mimic my mother's eating style. When she took a bite, I took a bite; when she dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin, so did I. Femininity became "my other world."
I found comfort in my unreal world of make-believe and was always one thought away from being anyone or anything. All I had to do was close my eyes and dream. My dream world offered me something I desperately needed--acceptance.
No one accepted me, I thought, not even God. How could He? After all, I wasn't a typical boy. I felt flawed and didn't fit in. There were so many other people in the world that far exceeded my abilities. Who was I to the Almighty Creator?
I felt similarly with my family. The youngest of six children, I was sure my parents wondered why their youngest son wanted to be a girl. I had come from a long line of athletic brothers. What's wrong with him?, I often perceived. I longed for someone to accept me for who I was. I needed to be the most important the most loved.
At age nine I was sexually violated by a teenage boy who swore me to secrecy. I remember it being a warm afternoon that I was playing in my room. The older boy I had been playing with closed the door and locked it. I had no idea that his actions would drastically alter my life. My mind raced with fear and confusion as he disrobed me and began taking advantage of me. The experience was painful and I did not understand his actions. But because he said I let it happen, I felt it was my fault and I must keep quiet.
Yet, even with the shame and pain I felt afterwards, I remember wanting it to happen again. He chose me, I thought. For the first time I felt important and desirable to someone. It never happened again, but for a long time I cherished the memory of the touch of another male. My longing for love and acceptance now had a name--sex.
I had sexual experiences on a several occasions with two friends from my middle school, but never found the relationship I was hungering for until high school when I finally found a good friend. He became everything to me; everything I wanted to be. He possessed a masculine, charismatic personality. He was very involved in sports and extremely handsome. Best of all, he really liked me.
A couple of times that I spent the night at his house we wound up experimenting with sex. This was the ultimate. Not only was I just emotionally in love, the physical affection confirmed it. I thought I had found the missing piece to my life's puzzle through the sexual intimacy I experienced with this man.
However, my dream was shattered when he told his parents that he woke up one night to find that I had forced myself on him. I was too ashamed and too stunned to say otherwise. I alienated myself from everyone who knew. Just like being molested, I was the guilty one again. This event confirmed what I had felt for a long time, I couldn't trust anyone.
Several months after that experience with my friend, I attended a revival at my church. I had been raised in a Christian home, was a faithful church member and had made a commitment to Christ at an early age, but my struggles with sexuality and the shame that brought kept me from truly experiencing a deep relationship with God.
This revival was particularly life-changing. The man speaking related his own life story as a drug addict. He realized his life was full of pain which led him to use drugs. Like the speaker, I too realized my pain could continue leading me down negative paths, or I could give the pain and my struggles to God. That night I prayed that God would come into my life and change me.
I had complete confidence that my experience was real. I would no longer have to worry about temptation or homosexual thoughts again. As I drove home I sang loud, prayed and focused on a fresh start.
In a few days, however, the thoughts were back and the behaviors too. Wow, God sure didn't do what I believed He would, I thought soberly. He made me feel like I was home-free and then BAM, back to reality!
I tried harder; I began reading my Bible more often. I dated some. And I continued praying that familiar prayer I had recited night after night since age eleven, "God please heal me, change me, forgive me. Please Lord, I really want you to know that I don't want to go to Hell."
But my homosexual thoughts were so intense. I constantly gave into them, sometimes spending hours and hours dreaming about Mr. Right. I was sure that there was no way out. My pastor has been right all along, I thought, homosexuals really do go to Hell!
I finally quit trying. It seemed that the church with all the answers didn't have an answer for me. I felt like I had tried so hard and all I could do was fail. I couldn't tell anyone either. After all, homosexuals were the worst of all sinners, right? Telling anyone would be humiliating. I knew God must hate me. I was so angry with Him for giving me a need for something that He condemned. Part of me wanted to be gay. In fact, my actions stated that I already was.
In the Winter of 1989 the youth at my church traveled to a conference for teens. For two days I heard the speaker talk about the love of God and the concern He had for those of us in the audience. On the last evening the speaker mentioned that there might even be someone in the crowd struggling with homosexuality. He said that God knew everything yet loved that person in spite of their sin. I knew that he was talking to me. An altar call was all I needed; I went forward that night and shared my story with a counselor. He offered me three immortal words, "God loves you." Though I couldn't understand why, I knew he was right. The counselor referred me to a therapist in Orlando. I made many appointments only to end up canceling them. Finally, asking a receptionist at the counseling center if they knew anything about homosexuals, she referred me to Eleutheros, a Christian group helping men and women who don't want to be gay leave homosexuality.
I began attending support group in 1990. I desired to make it work, but there were times when I couldn't get past the fact that Mr. Right could be out there waiting for me. I still wanted to find him. So instead of choosing one over the other, I did both. I went to counseling and group three times a week and gay bars three times a week. I thought I would give them both an equal chance.
I was introduced to the bars by some Christians who were gay. Young and impressionable, I was quickly welcomed into a large circle of gay friends. Finally, I was accepted for being gay. The very thing that I had been ostracized for now made me popular. But no matter how hard I tried to reconcile my Christian faith with my newfound life-style, I still believed that homosexuality was wrong. I was reminded of the scripture that, paraphrased, says God's law was written on my heart. His handwriting would not go away.
Yet, still pursuing my search for a man, one day my searching paid off. I found a place where anonymous sexual encounters happened. The sex didn't involve relationship, but still it was something. I was desirable to someone, at least for ten minutes. Later I would learn the scripture, ...to the hungry, even what is bitter tastes sweet. For six months I went back to this spot again and again. I began to need it even when I didn't want it. I couldn't stop. I was addicted.
Soon it became apparent that even though I was having sex, I craved the relationship more. I was lonely, angry and hurting. No matter where I looked I wasn't happy. I realized I was happier the night I prayed for God to come into my life at the revival, happier than any sexual encounter had ever made me.
But I still had questions. Why can't a man meet my needs? Why isn't that kind of happiness possible for me? I'm not so bad, I thought. I could give someone so much if given the chance. All I wanted boiled down to one thing--commitment. No man had ever committed himself to me, good or bad. I needed a secure love that was tangible, accessible and committed.
I went to God that night with those questions and He answered me. He climbed down into that hole I had dug for myself. I had given so much of myself to the pursuit of gay life; months of my time and energy. I had less of myself than what I started with and lost my innocence in the process.
Yet, God pursued me. He told me that man was not created to meet my needs. Only He, my Heavenly Father, could do that. He told me that all the times I cried out to Him, He had been there with an answer. He showed me that, when I so desperately needed Him, He sent my Christian friends to help. They were Jesus in the flesh when I was too blind to see Jesus in the Spirit.
I wept remembering the way He had provided for me, even in my anger--especially in my anger. I began to understand as I learned to see with the eyes of my Heavenly Father. I had been wrong.
That night my prayer served as a catalyst for me to begin a journey. Since I was already involved in a support group, I decided to really be committed and give it a shot. As I focused my whole mind on God, I began to see progress. My will had been changed.
I began trusting God instead of trying His ways. I stopped going to the bars and stopped having sex to meet my needs for companionship. I learned that it was okay to hurt and to desire; that the need for love and acceptance from a man was not bad. Homosexuality was an illegitimate way to meet a legitimate need. God could meet some of those needs through Himself and through others. I could have healthy relationships with men who would love me. So I found healthy men who wanted to spend time with me.
I also opened up to my brother and his wife who invited me to their church. Many people reached out to me there, even knowing my past homosexual involvement. Feeling secure, I shared my past with more people who embraced me as a brother.
Another man I met at church was one of those "macho" men I wished I could be like and with. He befriended me and let me share my experiences. When he hugged me as I wept through hours of stories, I felt like God was hugging me through this man.
Gradually, God changed my desires. I didn't want or need sex. I had pure relationships with men that far exceeded any sexual encounter I'd ever had. And as I've put my faith, hope and trust in Jesus Christ, I've found the security I've always dreamed of.
My hurt was real and I needed healing and continue to find it. A struggle-free life isn't what I've found. But, rather freedom in the hope that after this short life is over He will make good on His promise to bring my healing to completion.
In 1998 the ultimate dream came true when I married my best friend. Leslie is the embodiment of all I consider to be Godly, pure and beautiful. She isn't my diploma for healing, nor is she proof that I have changed. She is, however, evidence of God's healing in my life. I am further along towards completion with her as my wife.
Alan Chambers serves as the Pastor of Specialized Youth Issues, at Calvary Assembly of God in Winter Park, FL. To book Alan & Leslie Chambers for a speaking engagement please contact: Calvary Assembly, 1199 Clay Street, Winter Park, FL 32789; 407/644-1199. AlanMedia@aol.com. Copyright" 1999 Distributed by Calvary Assembly of God.
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