Overwhelmed

I’m a bit overwhelmed right now, like emotions are bubbling over. So much so that I bailed out on going home to just be alone at a coffee shop and write. So here’s a bunch of verbal vomit. It’s probably going to go everywhere.

I feel like I don’t want to be gay. Like I don’t want to be dating Joey. First off, there’s the element that I honestly don’t see how Joey and I work out. He’s absolutely phenomenal, but I just don’t see it because we’re so fundamentally different. I think for a while that I tried to paint him as a bad guy because I felt like I was required to let him go. But now, I can’t ignore how good he really is, how well he loves me. Regardless of what happens, I can’t vilify him for the sake of justifying my actions. If I were to break up with him, I would have to know that I would still love him, that I value who he is, and that he’s not evil. He’s honestly pretty great. I just don’t see how we match at all.

Beyond that, I just honestly don’t know if I want to be with a guy. Or I’m scared to be with a guy. Or I’m scared to be with a woman.

Okay, here are the elements:

  1. Emotionally, a man has been great. I have never felt the things like I’ve felt with any of my girlfriends.
  2. It doesn’t seem fair to ask a girl to date me/potentially be my wife. All my girlfriends have said how they never felt like they were enough, that physical touch meant more from a man than them. And it’s true. I look around and I could imagine laughing with women or having a relationship. But I can’t imagine being intimate with them.
  3. I hate gay sex. There’s this uncertainty as to who will play what “position”. There’s cleanliness. There are beliefs that we were never meant to have anal sex. I feel dirty after. There are gender roles that freak me out. And, I just straight up don’t like it all that much.
  4. I want my own kids, but that’s impossible with a man.
  5. I just don’t want to be gay. Statistics show they’re more depressed, there’s the whole Bible thing, I don’t get kids, a wedding, acceptance, and a family. Instead, I get depression, damnation, and isolation. That’s what the trade feels like in my head and heart, get a boyfriend at the cost of…
  6. I truly want a woman… I think. Or all that comes with it. All that’s promised with it: kids, normalcy, acceptance, a nucleus family, the end of this emotional/moral division in my chest.

A piece of me believes that the tension will release once I dump Joey. That the skies will open, all will be well, I’ll get “back on track”, that I’ll have purpose and vision, that it’ll all work together. A piece of me believes that this is how it’s going to go down. That it was destined for this and I’ve only been living on borrowed time, that the expiration of this relationship passed long ago. A piece of me believes that gay relationships will leave me lacking. It’s like being deaf. I didn’t choose this. But I have to live this life in spite of it. So do I learn to read lips and pass as hearing? Or do I try treatment and therapy, trying to fix my deafness with a colloquial implant? Or, do I live with deafness and learn a language that only the deaf have adopted to survive in this hearing world, in this straight world.

Most days I don’t even feel gay… I don’t know what to do about that. So I’ve adopted the phrase, “I’m human” from an old friend. Because that’s what I am, ultimately… human. I’m Landon Affleck. Period. Here I am.

And then I hear Him say, “Slow down, take time. Breathe in. We don’t need to figure this out today. We don’t need answers today. We don’t need this tension resolved. Breathe in. I’m here. I’m right here. Your destiny is not destroyed. Your purpose has not ben forfeited.  I’m redeeming every breath.”

And I need to hold onto that. It’s when I don’t that I panic and freak out. I have to trust the Divine Hand, and that I’m okay. I’m safe, regardless of what happens.

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Islands Unto Ourselves

“It’s a wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in everyone of them encloses it’s own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this. No more can I turn the leaves of this dear book that I loved, and vainly hope in time to read it all. No more can I look into the depths of this unfathomable water, wherein, as momentary lights glanced into it, I have glimpses of buried treasure and other things submerged. It was appointed that the book should shut with a spring, for ever and for ever, when I had read but a page. It was appointed that the water should be locked in an eternal frost, when the light was playing on its surface, and I stood on ignorance on the shore.” -Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

“It’s a wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.  A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in everyone of them encloses it’s own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!  Something of the awfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this.  No more can I turn the leaves of this dear book that I loved, and vainly hope in time to read it all.  No more can I look into the depths of this unfathomable water, wherein, as momentary lights glanced into it, I have glimpses of buried treasure and other things submerged.  It was appointed that the book should shut with a spring, for ever and for ever, when I had read but a page.  It was appointed that the water should be locked in an eternal frost, when the light was playing on its surface, and I stood on ignorance on the shore.” -Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

 

I recently finished reading A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens for two reasons:

1. I love great literature.

2. I aspire to write well.

A Tale of Two Cities is the world-wide #1 best selling, excluding books of faith, such as the Bible or Koran.  With my two reasons in mind, I figured this classic book would be a good read, and I was right, but I’m not going to talk about the book.  This isn’t a book blog; it’s a processing one, and I wish to process this quote in reference.

Chapter 3 of Book 2 speaks of this phenomenon of humans being eternal puzzles, mysteries to be discovered, but never fully known.  Regardless of how long or how intimate you know someone, you’ll never know them fully.  Two people could be married for 50 years, divulging themselves to each other continuously, and there will still be mysteries locked up in the depths of that person.  One can NEVER be fully known.

In another book by Donald Miller, called A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, Donald speaks to a friend who recently married. The friend shares how marriage is the oddest of things.  You find yourself waking up to someone you care so much about, yet you will never fully know.

The author coins the phrase “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years” in regards to life, and angels driving you through the universe to bring you to where you always belonged–but it doesn’t make the journey any less easy in the moment.

Although the phrase isn’t mine, I’d like to think about it in a completely different light.  No matter how far you travel into someone’s soul or how long your foot has been pushing down on the gas, even if it’s a million miles or a thousand years, you will NEVER discover all their landscapes.

To some, this may be discouraging.  What’s the point of knowing someone?

But it is of the exact opposite nature that this author has been affected by this strain of thought.  I have been encouraged, like never before, to know people intimately, to discover their depths, to explore their shores, knowing full I will never be able to map an atlas of their soul with complete detail.  But isn’t that the joy?  The people around you are infinity.  No matter how long or intensely you dive into their being, there will always be more.

The fathoms stretch before you, there is an eternal horizon, that will never come nearer.

Do we abandon ship, counting our losses, understanding this voyage is doomed never reach conclusion?  Or does that inspire us to let loose the sails, caught up by the winds of destiny and dive headlong into the eternal leagues before us?

These thoughts will forever haunt those fixated on the destination, but in the words of my granola, hiker friends, attempting to comfort me as I heave and moan from the ascent, “It’s not about the destination, but the journey.”

|The journey|

Life.  People.  A hike.  It’s all about the journey.  Stop and smell the roses.

The Holy Within the Sin

I recently had a conversation with my younger brother. We were discussing how he feels distant from God as a result of distraction or being caught up in sin.

“I wish I could just be dead, that way I can stop worrying about the cares of this world and have God be with me constantly.”

How many times have we had these thoughts?
“Oh there’s just too many things stealing my attention from the One that matters.” “I’m overwhelmed with sin.” “Once I get myself together I’ll come to Jesus.” “I’m just too busy for God.” “I wish I could just sneak away to be with Him.”

A song comes to mind. “Look at all the pretty things, that keep me far away.” A movie quote comes also. “My grandmother used to always tell me, ‘Take Jesus wherever you go, and if you can’t take Him there, don’t go.'”

The song insinuates that there are “shiny things of the soul,” which gravitate our ADD “third eye.” We’ll drift away; we’ll loose sight, and although those thoughts speak of intimacy with a person as if loosing eye-contact, we must not take a that wavelength a step further–these things pull me away from God.

The movie insinuates another thing–there are places God won’t go with you. The quote could read, “Take God with you everywhere. Just don’t go to the bar or club. Don’t sin. He can’t go there because He’s holy.”

“Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol (Hell), you are there! If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me. If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night,” even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you.” (Psalm 139:7-12 ESV)

What does this say about our classic cliches? What does it do to our theology when this verse is truly applied to life?

As my brother continued his monologue of “I just wish I could be near to God now,” I responded with. “Invite Him into everything, especially the sin.”

My brother’s response was much like any “normal” Christian. “Oh, I can’t do that. He’s holy. Darkness and light do not mingle. He’s clean and that’s just filth.”

Our Christian phrases that have made oh so much sense, are not even Biblical. The last time I checked, Jesus was God coming to a sin ridden fest pool. He already got in the mud; he already stepped into the darkness, for it’s as light to Him. The vail was torn with the words, “It is finished.”

I don’t know about you, but some of the most profound moment where I KNOW I heard God was right before and in my sin. “Don’t do this. I love you. It won’t satisfy. This isn’t who you are.” A vast number of my spiritual epiphanies have occurred postdate my most sinful of moments. In the wake of my deathly decisions, I’ve heard the most sweetest of whispers. “You’re loved. You are not condemned. You no longer have to weep. Joy is coming.”

I recently had a conversation with a more liberal pastor whose suggestion to my homosexual tendencies was to masterbate to straight porn. Believe it or not, it’s a clinically proven fact that your hormones and tastes are trained. Though I want to get married, though I find women beautiful, but penis has been trained to jump to a boy. Your hormones are aroused by what you’ve ejaculated to. Guess what, if you masterbate to bridges, you’ll get hard on bridges.

With that in mind, there have been times where I’ve looked at gay porn over the course of the past few months. As stated in previous blogs, my sexuality has been a tumult to say the least. But instead of “feeling far from God,” because that’s all it is–a feeling, I welcome God into my sin. I hear Him whisper to my heart, “Landon, you can go there, but this is not who you are.”

My God stood by my side through the all ten minutes of perusing the profane, even up to the moment of “climax.” As I ejaculated, I heard God say, “Okay, let’s think of a woman and retrain that brain. Sex is about intimacy. It’s going to be beautiful, and you’re meant to share this with your sweetheart, while gazing into her eyes.” And so I imagine that. I imagine it with her, and it’s been transforming my sexuality. The idea of taking one in the ass now sound painful and gross, when a few blogs before I was talking about how I want that.

What is happening to me? Am I schizophrenic, or is something happening to my hear as I allow the love of an all-consuming God to enter into my darkest of places? Agape really is as powerful as He claims. Unconditional love does something to the deepest of scars. I’m a first-hand account of that truth.

Eternally in His love, even when I’m “not where He can go (hogwash).”

Stagnation | Progression

It’s a bogeling and trivial thing to meander over thoughts such as purpose destiny and longing , while your life seems to be in park. I’m not talking about that apathetic outlook, in which one chooses a standstill due to a lack of motivation, unable to overcome emotional inertia. Mine’s worse. I’m not in idling with the gear in “P.” I’ve been towed away and a yellow boot has been put on my wheel. I cannot go anywhere if I tried. I’mm stuck, broke and penniless.

I’m not quite sure if money truly makes the world go round. It could simply be an all-powerful being somewhere out there. But about a my cheezey metaphor for life, money definitely puts literal gasoline in my literal car, making it go literal places.
Being broke is a bitch.

However, here’s a thought–though I crave progression, longing for forward motion, though in another life I was a bohemian hippie nomad, there is something happening behind the bars of stagnation–simply being.

I’m one to be entirely wrapped up in the task and accomplishment at hand. I throw all I have at them. I’m currently producing an audio theatre piece. I’m contacting actors, rewriting the script, scheduling sessions, and the fact that I can’t reach my audio engineer is driving me to the brink of insanity. Why? Because I can’t stand lack of motion.

I’m also currently a “partner” at the famous “Green Lady.” Since my writing career, or lack there of, is nowhere near “taking off,” I have to pay the bills with latte and coffee brewing. I promise you, it’s not that interesting. However, as I’m trained int he way of Starbucks, I can’t help but mull over beverage routine and recipe cards.

It’s not healthy. Not healthy at all.

All this said, I’m someone obsessed with doing. I find purpose and identity in the happenings of life. No wonder I feel purposeless. I’m trying to conjure up destiny inside a crappy cappuccino.

But we’re more than what we do.

Me, being a male, has nothing to do with what I do. It has everything to do with whether or not I have a penis. While wandering through Europe and India this past year, busying myself with humanitarian efforts and works of faith, I lost myself. But on the State bound plane ride home, as the earth dropped further beneath me, a prompt was whispered in the depths of my heart.

“It’s time to be, not do.”

The sentiment has rung true. But the initial excitement has long since dissipated. It’s not fun finding yourself sitting on a stagnant sea. Who goes to the beach to watch a motionless body of water? No one.

But it’s only when the sea stills, that a reflection becomes distinguishable. But more than a reflection, if that sea were to sit still just long enough, the dust settling, the water becoming crystal clear, you could stare past that mere reflection to the depths of the ocean floor, discovering the beauty of the coral beneath.

What will we find as the sea murk nestles below? What if the deepest parts of us are discovered, not by digging, but simply being?

My meanderings as of late.

Momentum

 

 

 

“An object is either remains at rest or moves at a constant velocity, unless an external force acts upon it.” -Newtons First Law of Physics

I’ve recently added a second book to my current reading list: “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years” by Donald Miller. Before departing from each other, my ex-girlfriend and I exchanged books, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years being one of them. I read “Blue Like Jazz,” Donal Miller’s #1 Best Seller a year ago, and it gave definition to emotions and questions I couldn’t articulate. I figured another book by the man who put words to my heart, wouldn’t be a bad bet. I was right.

The book speaks of living a good story. All good stories have basic elements–protagonists, antagonists, rising and falling actions, conflict and resolution. Don’s friend Jordan summarizes story in the simplest of terms, “A character who wants something and overcomes conflict to get it.”

How many of us are living good stories?

Don, at a specific point in his book says, (In regards to the massacre in Mumbai) When we watch the news, we grieve all of this, but when we go to the movies, we want more of it. Somehow we realize that great stories are told in conflict, but we are unwilling to embrace the potential greatness of the story we are actually in. We think God is unjust, rather than a master storyteller.”

We, as human beings, hate risk and love comfort. We flee fear and embrace the secure. We avoid conflict or change yet fight for homeostasis. And yet, the elements we love, cherish and embrace as humanity are the exact things contrary to a good story.

If we watch a story about a man who is raised in great home, had everything given to him, figured out life without risk, gets a career job, finds a beautiful wife, has 2.5 children and rescues a dog named Chewy from the humane society because his 2.5 kids begged and pleaded, we’d walk out of the theatre infuriated as the credits rolled. We want risk, triumph, failure, overcoming all odds to see the character we love succeed, regardless of costs. In fact, the higher the costs, the harsher the struggle, the more we love the story. But still we prod on for meaninglessness and security.

Don later discovers that all characters, whether in a fictitious novel or real life, don’t choose to move, don’t choose to embrace the story. They must be forced. An Inciting Incident.

An object at rest will remain at rest, unless and a object of equal or greater force acts upon it. It’s more than physics.

Since coming home from oversees, I haven’t dreamed; I haven’t soared. Why? For fear. Afraid to fail. Afraid to succeed. Afraid if there really is a God up there that gives a damn. Afraid I’ll let people down. Afraid of what I want. My dreams have been shipwreck on the coral reef of fear, and though everything in me screams, “ABANDON SHIP!!! SETTLE FOR A NORMAL LIFE!!! GET A DEGREE!!! FIND A CAREER!!! LIVE A NORMAL LIFE!!!” There is a hardwiring in my soul like that of a captain…

I’d rather drown aboard my sinking vessel which was born to set sail and see the sacred seas, than loose all hope and cast my anchor down.

The Inciting Incident… Or rather, Incidents (guess I needed a bigger push).

1. An Old Friend
I stood on a hill overlooking the city I grew up in, with a friend reunited hugging me from behind. “Where’s the Landon I knew? Where’s the Landon that believed God for crazy things and loved people so deeply? You say you’re happy, but I don’t believe you. I’ve seen you happy. You’re not happy.”

As Adam’s words continued to cascade over me, I was reminded of a Landon long lost. A Landon I loved being, but am not now. A Landon who I’ve been trying to find, but elusive and evasive. A Landon, whose name isn’t Landon.

I want to be him again.

2. An Unwanted Roller Coaster Ride
Last night I went to a Switchfoot concert. I’m not a diehard fan of Switchfoot or the concert scene for that matter. I’d rather listen to the perfectly crafted EP that I can pick whichever song pleases me or fits my mood. A concert doesn’t accomplish that. You join the band in the journey they desire, while we, the audience, simply get on the roller coaster, choosing to either lift our hands in excitement or blow our chunks in vertigo. Needless to say, I get motion sickness easily. But as I watched a film of how Switchfoot flew to the shores of Australia, New Zealand, Africa and Indonesia and listened to them sing, “I dare you to move,” I lifted my hands on their roller coaster of a concert.

I want this.

I want to move. I don’t want to sit still and settle for the foreseen and senile. As much as I hate it, I want risk. As much as I loathe it, I want the highs and lows of life.

Last year I read a fantastic book named, “A Severe Mercy” by Sheldon Vanauken. In the beginning of his autobiography, he speaks of the highs and lows of life. He truly believes there is a choice as to whether we will live a flat line safe life, or an insecure on of highs and lows.
“So, if he wanted the heights of joy, he must have, if he could find it, a great love. But in the books again, great joy through love seemed always to go hand in hand with frightful pain. Still, he thought, looking out across the meadow, still the joy would be worth the pain-if, indeed, they went together. If there was a choice-and he suspected there was-a choice between, on one hand, the heights and depths and, on the other hand, some sort of safe, cautious middle way, he, for one, here and now chose the heights and the depths.”
-A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken

As I began to dream again, hearing the words, “I dare you to move; I dare you to move; I dare you to lift yourself up on off the floor,” I saw Latta Ditti, a prostitute dying of AIDS and tuberculosis. I saw Navid, a little Indian boy whose mom is locked up in a lifestyle of sex. I saw Jr Higher students ascending above me as they sing praises to their God.

What am I living for? What am I living for?

When my stories written, do I want it to be said I limped along, crippled by a porn addiction? Or do I want it read, he saw lives transformed as he lavished love from a God above? And I guess the question simplified is “Do I want to risk?”

Epiphanies in the Perverse

I’m sitting here in my car waiting for a friend outside Five Guys to grab a burger and to speak of friendship and hurt, and as I wait I’m thinking about thoughts I never really allowed myself to mull over. I saw an attractive guy in Whole Foods today. I couldn’t help but lock eyes with him here and there as he passed back and forth through my peripheral vision. Why am I attracted to him? And the answer came in the gentlest of whispers…

You want to be him.

As I analyze the mystery man, I realize how much of this is true. How he’s handsome. How he has a smile in every task he undertakes. He’s dripping with joy while sweeping up trash. How he’s engaging with people on a genuine level.

It’s how I know I can be and should, but why am I not?

The thoughts continued, but now twist and turn into something sexual. Initially, I pulled back, not allowing myself to lust, but then a thought came–let’s allow the thoughts, Landon; let’s analyze this and see what your heart is longing for below all the sex.

And thus began the thought process.

Would I be top or bottom?
Bottom.
Why?
Because I want to be led.
What sex position would I want?
Sitting on his lap facing him as he held me.
Why?
Because I want to feel secure and cherished while looking into his eyes.
What would you want to happen besides sex?
I would want him to hold me close to his chest, to smile at me in approval, to tell me what he thinks of me, to make promises of never leaving me.

What does this say? What’s the root of what I truly want?

I want love. Masculine love.
I want someone to show me the way and how to be a man, to lead me and never leave me, to hold me close and create a sense of security, to be delighted in all that I am, shortfalls and all.
Why? Why do I feel the need for this? Why do I want to be led by a strong masculine man? Why do I want someone to hug me and say they’re not going to leave me? Why is the approval of one person so important, and why does that one person’s opinion mean so much?

When I encounter Jake, my friend online, a phrase he kept saying that brought so much pleasure to my heart was, “You’re absolutely awesome.” He’d say it about my bod, my hair, my personality, my jokes, my deep thoughts. He thought it was all so great. I was intoxicated with his approval. But when I couldn’t reach him in the following days, I thought I would loose my mind.
I do this often–putting all my “eggs in one basket” with someone’s approval. As I look at my life, in every season there was someone who’s opinion meant everything. I could be loved by all I encounter, but if that one person didn’t approve I was a shipwrecked heart.

The speculation continues as I analyze roots and wounds.
I was abandoned by my best friends in my deepest hours of need. I thought there was something wrong with me to chase the away. Instead of being chased I had to do the chasing, and I’m tired of it.
My dad never showed me how to be a man. He never inspired me with masculinity, saying, “Follow me; I know the way.” He never believed in me and sent me out to conquer and succeed. As a result, I don’t feel like I can succeed as a man, and I need someone to show me the way.

I need someone to show me the way.

I process; I ponder. My mind wrestles and wanders. But ultimately I know the answer, and it’s a lot more simple than I care to imagine, and more cliché than an aspiring writing finds taste for.

The love of God.

As I was driving to meet my friend, abraded with pilfering thought processes, the phrase “daddy’s boy,” came to mind, and it warmed my heart like hot chocolate. I’m daddy’s boy. Why does this mantra mean so much?
It’s interesting to note, that the three years of homosexual abstancy, we’re also the three years a potently powerful truth was swallowed into the depths of my being: you are God’s son, and He is your loving Father. This is also the number one way Jesus chose to relate to God: as His Father.

What if the the cure all was simply bathing in this knowledge?
The cure for homosexuality.
The cure for sexual promiscuity.
The cure for loneliness.
The cure for contempt.
The cure for pride.
The cure for every bereavement and curse of the soul.

Too simple? Maybe so. But it did work at one point in this author’s life. Maybe I’ve simply complicated things. Why don’t I just come back to that simple truth, and keep it just that—simple.

Country Roads

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Country Roads…

I’m currently in West Virginia–home of the “Wild and Wonderful” Appalachians, hillbillies, moonshine and this author’s wonderful girlfriend.

Wait.
Hold up.
This guy has a girlfriend?
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this hormonally confused guy does, in fact, have a girlfriend, and I’ll be with her and her family for a week come Thursday. This far, it’s been incredibly hard.

Just because a heterosexual life is the one I choose, doesn’t mean this is easy. The days have been roller coasters, full of ups and downs, moment by moment. In one moment, I’m so glad I’m here, gazing into her lovely green eyes. In the next, I want to wake up in my own bed. In yet another, I want to be engaging in sexual acts with another dude. In still another, I want to end this relationship to date another girl I can’t stop thinking about.

It’s a messy situation to say the least.

In the furious longings of God by Brennan Manning, he says, “The rest of Brennan Manning is a bundle of paradoxes and contradictions… I love and I hate. I feel better about feeling good. I feel guilty if I don’t feel guilty. I’m wide open, I’m locked in. I’m trusting and suspicious. I’m honest and I still play games. Aristotle said I’m a rational animal. But I’m not. That’s some of the rest of Brennan Manning.”

I’m right there with Brennan… A bundle of paradoxes and contradictions.

I love God, but I flirt with sin. I’m longing for a life with a woman, yet lust for men. I’m here in West Virginia, while my heart wanders to a girl in Nashville. I’m pure in His sight, yet soiled with “sin dirt.” I’m happy; I’m discontent. I’m real, and I’m fake.

…I’m confused.

If there is one defining term to envelop the rest, it simply comes down to that–confusion… about life as a whole.

Back when I was a young lad, I dreamed of romancing a girl, of sweeping her off of her feet and running into the sunset. You know, Disney stuff. Well, Disney lied, and I’m left reeling with feelings of devastated disillusionment. I’ve been conned… Or this is not how it should be.

On the drive back from Virginia, after witnessing a wedding with my girlfriend, we sat silently, and all I could think about was how this relationship needs to end. I need to talk to her. This needs to stop.

Why do I feel the need to leave?
Because I’m wrestling with homosexual thoughts.
Because I want to date another girl.
Because I feel broken and inadequate.
Because this is awkward, and we haven’t spoken for an hour!
Because I feel this relationship isn’t spiritual enough.
Because I simply want to run.
Because I’m afraid I’ll break her heart.

Why do I stay?
Because I’m scared.
Because I actually do like her.
Because of the way she laughs and the sparkle in her “bedazzled” eyes.
Because of how she loves and cares for every child of God she encounters.
Because I’m uncertain.
Because I simply want to stay.
Because I’m afraid I’ll break her heart.

What will I do?
I don’t know.
It changes minute by minute, because I’m a contradiction and a bundle of paradoxes.

The song “Country Roads,” sung by John Denver sings, “Country roads, take me home to the place I belong, West Virginia, Mountain Mama take me home, country roads.”

I think that’s ultimately it–I don’t feel at home with her, not yet anyway.

Should I wait this out, hoping the sense of home will arise? Or should I keep searching? Country roads, leading to the place I belong, to the home of the heart, where are you? Where is that rugged asphalt, and where does it begin, that I may traverse its winding road, leading me to its unknown destination. Country roads, lead me home! … wherever that is.