Break.

I'm on fall break, ya'll, which means a much-needed week back home in the mountains. This part of the country was created specifically for this time of year. Thursday promises a mess of fried chicken, fried vegetables, biscuits, and apple butter. Friday will feature a hike to the most perfect and beautiful spot in southern Appalachia (just ask me...I'll share), and Saturday will be spent watching college football in one of the biggest and loudest stadiums in the country.

Right now? I'm sitting in my favorite coffee shop...my old haunt and former "office"...sipping the best pumpkin-spice latte I've ever tasted. (Confession: I've tasted a lot.) It's one of those cozy gems that's hidden behind a crumbling brick exterior, in one of those tragically beautiful neighborhoods where there are as many couples taking engagement photos as there are people asking you for money. As I sink back into my chair in the corner (and I do mean my chair), I remember sitting in this very spot less than a year ago when I started this blog. Many of my favorite posts have been written right here in this spot.

This is appropriate...because I think it's time to take a break.

I'm running out of things to write as "the Mask." I'm certainly not running out of things to say, but I named this blog after the mask I'd worn my whole life--the mask that hides the fact I'm mainly attracted to members of my own sex. When I started writing in January, that mask was still firmly attached. Now...it's largely a formality. I guess I'm still wearing it (loosely), but too many people know it's me to actually call it a disguise. My story now is less about my mask and more about learning to live without it. 

Basically...I'm ready to write as me. This blog has been a great outlet for me, and I've enjoyed writing it. Writing is very therapeutic for me, and often, I'm in a much better place when I finish a post than when I started. It's also been a great avenue for meeting many of you...many of you who I probably would have never met otherwise. It's also how I met one of my new "real-life" best friends. (Here's lookin' at you, @EleisonBlog).

But this puppy's run its course.

I'll certainly leave this blog online, but over the next couple months, I'll start transitioning to a new blog...my blog. There are still just a few loose ends I need to tie up, a few more conversations and a whole lot more prayer, before I start blogging as me. If you want to know when that transition happens, follow me on twitter at @themaskblog1. You can also get in touch with me on the "contact" page above, and I'd be more than happy to let you know.

Until then, thanks so much to those of you who have read, and especially to those of you who have faithfully encouraged and prayed for me...even though you don't even know my name. I deeply appreciate it, and I look forward to hopefully connecting with many of you in the future...as real people...and soon.

God is good, friends. He's not just good when I'm hiking in the mountains on a beautiful fall day with a group of friends. He's also good when I'm sitting on my couch in the dark...lonely, depressed, and discouraged. You and me? We change with the slightest breeze. Our love and affections often come and go depending on how much love we're feeling ourselves, but His love never changes. It never fails. It pursues us, embraces us, kisses us, and ultimately...it transforms us. Radically.

God will be good if I marry a woman and start a family. God will be good if I remain single. God is good...and He will not, can not cease to be good. Because He is good, I know He will provide, no matter the circumstances.

May your hearts be gripped by the magnificent grace of our Savior, and may you experience His peace that passes all understanding.

Signing off, for now...

Your Brother Behind the Mask.

Light of Life.

I'm a mess.

Okay, yeah, I am an emotional mess at times, but I'm also quite messy in a very literal sense. My room is in a constant cycle of clean, cluttered, choas, "Hoarders" film crew, clean, cluttered, choas, etc. ad infinitum. Sometimes I have to fight with my laundry for space on my bed. Forget monsters hiding in the closet, there are some dust bunnies lurking in there that could devour my friend's chihuahua (which wouldn't ruin my day).

Note: Not actually a picture of my room.

But here's the beautiful thing about my room...it has a door. My room has a door, and I can close that door (most of the time...sometimes I have to move some boxes first.) 

"Hey man, can I run upstairs and grab that DVD?"

"Errr...hold on. I'll get it."

"No it's okay, I can get it. Just tell me where it is."

"Trust me. I'll get it. Something might fall on you."

Yes, that door stays closed 24/7, because you never know when an unsuspecting guest might wander in...and nobody has time for a lawsuit. Ha, but seriously, as long as nobody else ever sees my room, what difference does it make? Right?

Plus, I can then devote that time and energy to making sure the rest of the house is presentable. Not spotless, of course, but presentable. My kitchen is actually pretty clean. (Girls have told me this. I have witnesses.) Odds and ends occasionally start to accumulate in the living room, but before long, that pile gets gathered up and dumped behind the closed door of my room. It's the rug I sweep everything under...the mask for my mess.

Aha! Do you smell that? I think it's a metaphor! 

Unfortunately, like my room, it's easy for me to get lost and bogged down in my metaphors, so... Wait, we're doing meta-metaphor now? This must stop. 

Apologies.

As I've written before, life inside the closet of same-sex attraction gets less and less comfortable as I spend more and more time outside its confines. The more people with whom I share this part of my story, the harder it is to keep up the charade with everyone else. It's like coming home after a long hike...you don't realize how tired and sore your feet really were until you take off your boots. You've been wearing them all day without really noticing, but now that they're off, the last thing you want to do is put them right back on. 

Just like my bedroom door, my "closet" door hides a whole lot of crap that I don't really want people to see. I've been in ministry for the past few years, and I'm currently training for future ministry. One day, Lord willing, I will be a pastor. I've had and will have people coming to me for spiritual guidance. They can't know what's behind this door. They just can't. If they did, they wouldn't listen to a word I said. Right? 

Pastors are supposed to minister to people with same-sex attraction, not actually struggle with it themselves. Sure, it helps for pastors to be open about their own weakness, but not this open...not this weak. Right? 

Hopefully this is sounding ridiculous. It certainly feels ridiculous as I type it out, but this is what runs through my head. This is what's lodged in my heart. This is what keeps my closet door closed.

I've recently moved to a new city, and I'm starting a new life chapter. There are a lot of exciting things happening, and I'm seeing God at work, leading me down this path. For the first time, I'm fully convinced that my anonymity is temporary. I don't know just long or short the road will be, but I'm on the road to full openness and honesty about my story. Sure, that scares the heck out of me, but I just can't see any other alternative.

A life lived in a closet is a life lived in darkness. All kinds of nasty things thrive in the darkness. It's there, in the darkness, that they remain hidden, under the radar. I remember the old gymnasium where my middle school basketball team used to play. Some of us would show up early to help the coach set things up. There was an old maintenance closet where they kept the big dust mops, and none of us wanted that job. You'd reach in, flick on the lights, and... [shudder]

Roaches. Everywhere. Skittering. Scattering. Scuttling...

For a few moments, there was panic. There was terror. Revulsion. Occasionally a disoriented little monster would come charging toward us, in which case there was also embarrassment.

But then they were gone. With that forsaken closet flooded in dim yellow fluorescence, the roaches didn't dare show their disgusting little carcasses. If they did, they were immediately dispatched. The problem was that we always had to leave. We had to turn the light back off and close the door. The roaches could return to their revolting celebration.

But what if we didn't have to turn off the light? What if we didn't have to close the door? What if we didn't even need a door? What if we could put in a window and let in some fresh air and sunshine? What if we could start unpacking some of the boxes of crap and odds and ends that had been piled and left in there for who-knows-how-many years? What if we could let more people in?

John writes in 1 John 1:7 that "if we walk in the light, as [God] is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin."

When light pierces through darkness, when the curtain is torn away, the mess has nowhere to hide. It must flee or be dealt with.

When we walk in the light, when we live our lives outside the darkness of our cozy little closets, there is nowhere to hide. There is nowhere to nurture our secret sins and self-pity. When we walk in the light, people see us. They see our lives, they see our stories, and they see our mess...but they also see Jesus.

When we walk in the light, we welcome others to do the same. When we walk together in the light, then we have fellowship.

We're no longer trying to relate to each other's masks and affectations. We're relating to each other. We invite each other into our stories, and we challenge and encourage each other on the road to godliness. We give and experience grace, reflecting the matchless grace of our Savior.

Darkness is the enemy of fellowship. It's the enemy of grace and the enemy of peace. Darkness keeps us isolated. It keeps us isolated from God, from each other, and even from ourselves.

I think it's time to start opening this closet door wider, and the time may soon come when I'll step out once and for all. He has given me a story, and He's given me a voice. Most importantly, He's given me His grace. I'm beginning to realize that these weren't intended to sit under a bushel or behind the mask of an anonymous blog. He's also given me a name, and He's given me a face. It's the face of a redeemed child of God, washed clean by the blood of His Son. It's a face that will soon be attached to this story, a story that is similar to so many others.

It'll be a process. This isn't something that happens overnight. There is a lot of prayer, a lot of thought, and many conversations with friends and loved ones that need to happen. But it's happening. I feel like I've been caught up in a current that's carrying me forward, a current I didn't mean to stumble into. I don't have much control over it, but I know Who does.

And I'm excited. There will be bumps. There will be times I'm anything but excited, but this is clearly the path God has laid out for me. The signs are unmistakable.

So no name and no face today. I'm not sure exactly when...but soon. I love the line at the top
of this blog from the hymn "I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say." (That's why I put it there.)

"I looked to Jesus and I found in Him my star, my sun. And in that light of life I'll walk 'til pilgrim days are done."

A pilgrim's journey is long, difficult, and sometimes dangerous. If he's travelling alone, it's also quite lonely. It's his purpose, his goal, his destination that keeps him going. If God is calling me to a life of faithful celibacy, then there are indeed some pilgrim days ahead. Even if that's not His plan, as I travel this road ahead, I need companions. I need community. I need friends who, like Samwise, will pick me up and carry me when I feel I can go no further. I also need friends who will need the same from me.

Most importantly, though...I need light. I need the light of life. I need the light of life that comes directly from the source, from Jesus, my star and my sun.

I'm excited and terrified all at once, but I have peace. I may not know the way I go, but oh, I know my Guide. His Love can never fail.

Grace & peace,

Your Brother who remains, for now, Behind the Mask

Cozy Closet.

My closet is cozy. It's safe, it's warm...it's familiar. 

Yeah, dude, looks like you're having a great time out there, but no thanks, I'm perfectly happy right here...in my closet. I like it in here. I do. I promise. Really.

If you've ever seen my bedroom, you of course realize I'm referring to my proverbial "closet." My real closet smells funny...and there may be animals in there. I don't know. Ignorance is bliss.

But no...my cozy closet is the one I've lived in my entire life; the doors that hide my sexual orientation from the world. For years, these doors have convinced all my loved ones that I'm straight--straighter than an arrow, in fact. I'm always a little proud of myself when a friend tells me, "wow...I had no idea" after I come out to them. You're darn right you had no idea. I got this closet business down to an art form.

The closet doors cracked open for the first time in college--late college. I told my pastor that I was attracted to guys. I was terrified, but he responded with grace and compassion. It was the first time I'd ever shared this burden with anyone, and it was incredibly liberating. I thought I was done. Okay, I told someone! Glad that's over with...

I had cracked the door. I let a sliver of light pierce the darkness. I had let someone peek inside, someone I trusted deeply. Now I could close the door back and go on with my life, right? I told my pastor over and over that I was a heterosexual guy who just so happened to struggle with same-sex attraction...like I had struggled with acne. This was just a little bump in the road--something to overcome on my quest to find my hot Christian wife and make adorable Christian babies.

As I finished college and moved on, I told a handful of other people...mostly other pastors or mentors. I was looking for accountability. Nothing else. I needed people who would ask me the hard questions, but I didn't want those people to get too close. If my family and closest friends knew, well...that could just change my life, couldn't it?

You see, as constricting as this mask can be at times, I love my life. Sometimes I forget I'm attracted to other guys. I forget how difficult the road ahead will be; I'm too busy playing my part. I love talking to friends about their relationships. I love talking to friends about my relationships--about the girls I've dated, the girls I want to date. I'm constantly referring to my future wife, my future kids. This is the future I've always dreamed of. It's comfortable. It's cozy. It makes everyone happy. It's not me.

While the world watches me talk of future wedded bliss, I'm silently coming to grips with the fact that wedding bells might never ring for me. I get pissed when friends assume I'm actively seeking a mate, and I forget that I've given them no reason to believe otherwise.

So what's the big deal? There's plenty of people who get married later in life. Some people never do. Why can't I just continue with the act? I've done it this long. Why can't I just tell a few people, a small inner-circle of trusted mentors, and go about my business? Why tell people this secret? Why share this burden? This closet is cozy. It's comfortable. People like me in here.

Someone shared this quote with me not too long ago. It's from Timothy Keller, a pastor in Manhattan.

“To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear. But to be fully known and truly loved is, well, a lot like being loved by God. It is what we need more than anything.”

I think he's talking about marriage in this particular context, but what about those of us who are unmarried--those of us who might remain so for a very long time? Possibly forever? I identify deeply with his first statement. I'm loved by many, but known by so few. So many don't know this huge part of my story.

Their love is comforting, and they really do love me. But locked away in my closet, their love bounces right off the closed doors of my heart.

Recently, one of my best guy friends was asking me repeatedly if I was still pursuing a certain lady, the one I had seemed so sure about. I said no. He asked why not. I didn't know what to say. Did something go wrong? Was I not attracted to her? I tried to change the subject. I either had to clam up and act like a middle-school boy afraid to talk about his crush...or lie to one of my best friends. I hated it. I certainly didn't blame him. He was asking very valid questions to his friend...his friend who had very convincingly led him to believe they were valid questions. 

Now you're thinking: "Wait, you could still answer those questions honestly. Just tell him no, you weren't attracted to her. That's honest, right?" Yeah. Technically. But there's so much more to the story. So much more at play. Do you know how hard it is not to talk about something like this with your best friend? To have to choose your words so carefully and not actually share the enormous burden weighing on your heart? Could I so simply say, "Yeah, I guess she's just not the one" and leave it there? I wouldn't let my friends get away with nonsense like that...would you? 

This guy had been an incredible friend to me, but his love felt superficial. Not because it actually was superficial, but because I wouldn't let him in. Way deep down, I was afraid that if he really knew me, he wouldn't love me. Story of my life.

So yes. I finally told him. And it was very good. He is a very good friend.

This was just one conversation of a growing number. Over the last few months, I've been sharing my full story with more and more people. I have a list of "those who know," and that list currently has 13 names. The list of "those to tell" is quite a bit longer, and yes, my family is at the top of that list.

It's scary to open those doors. Once you tell someone, you can never un-tell him. You can't say "never mind" and run back inside. But that's friendship. Friendship isn't hiding...it's vulnerability. It's honesty. It's openness. It's loving someone in the middle of his brokenness. It's bringing all your shit to the table and letting him love you.

I've been blessed way beyond what I deserve. God has given me wonderful, supportive friends. That list of 13 names includes many dear brothers and sisters who have each listened to my story, sometimes in tears, always in love. Despite all their many words of encouragement, it's been their actions that have spoken the loudest, that have most pointed me to Jesus. They have continued to treat me as a friend, as a brother, as...me. They have embraced me. They have told me they loved me. They have wept with me, laughed with me, and walked with me.

I've been taught my whole life that Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. I've been taught that Jesus sees me to my core. He knows my deepest, darkest places, and he loves me...delights in me! All this I've been taught, and I've believed it. But what takes this knowledge from theological abstraction to tangible experience?

After my conversation with this good friend, as I rose to leave, he hugged me. He told me he loved me, and in that moment, I knew Jesus loved me too. The love of Christ was made tangible for me through the love of my brother in Christ. This has happened now time and again...from all these brothers and sisters who know my story...through embraces, conversations, emails, and even text messages.

My closet is very cozy, but every time I leave it, no matter how briefly, it's a little less comfortable when I return. It seems smaller, more cluttered, more...artificial. It smells a little worse (a little more like my real bedroom closet?) I curl back up on the floor, go back to my same patterns, my same lines. It feels so familiar, but yet so fake.

But right now, it's where I live...and for now, that's okay. It's a whole lot more bearable now that friends know where to find me.

When the closet door is open, my sin has nowhere to hide. Satan's lie (that no one really loves me, least of all Jesus) stops holding water. As I tell my story, I can also tell God's Story...the Story of Redemption.

It's scary. It really is. I don't know just how far these doors are going to open. Will I someday be locked out of my cozy little closet, unable to return? I have no idea, but I know Who does:

"I may not know the way I go, but oh, I know my Guide."

I'll trust my Guide with the future. Right now, I'll just keep inching that door open. The Light is hitting my face, and it feels glorious.



Grace & peace,

Your Brother Behind the Mask