I went to church all my life. Grandfather was a preacher. I didn't read children's books as a small child. He read to me out of the BIBLE instead. Church choir, president of the youth fellowship, went to Christian college, went to divinity school to become a minister, worked as a part of a church staff for three years, agree with the free will concept that God set it all in motion here we are to do with it as we can.
Father was dying slowly for the 20 years that I knew him...quadraplegic for 12 of those years, abused me for the 8 years he wasn't quadraplegic.
Father was a lay leader in the church...never cursed...never drank...just had sex with his son.
Father threw me on the floor when I was four and told me how awful and pitiful I was. Believed him.
Was made musical, soft, gay in a small town where football was the only thing.
Very fat as a child.
Probably raped in summer camp by a counselor at the age of 13.
Discovered being gay after had a family so stepped into the closet for 33 years.
Mother died...came bursting out of the closet, started having memories of SA, diagnosed as bi-polar.
In-laws fundamental Christians, say that I can still get into heaven because the reason I am gay is that I am possessed by a demon and that the demon is making all of my decisions.
I'm still a Christian. I still believe. I had a religious experience that I will never forget, can never give up.
Have laid on the floor at the front of the church and cried.
A part of me is angry, and it's a part of me that I cannot reason with. That part of me would love to walk into my church and look up at the altar and yell and scream at God for all of this. I know it's unreasonable. I know other people on earth have had a much tougher life than I have. I know it makes no sense. But there it is. In some way I connect God and my father. To yell at God is to rage at my father at the same time. I may actually do it one day just to get it all out of my system.
I'm healing now, and I wasn't sure I would.