It didn’t begin with “Sup” or “Into?” like most of the messages I receive on Grindr.
In fact, it didn’t even begin on Grindr. Maybe that’s what made it so magical. It wasn’t contrived. Instead, it felt divinely orchestrated.
“I’ll have a black iced coffee.” I told the French barista. This café rests on the edge of Park Bois de Boulogne, a short walk to the Eiffel Tower – my final destination on my last full day in Paris. I was traveling alone through Europe for two weeks. Making my way to Barcelona for a friend’s wedding.
My black iced coffee was ready. The café was empty with the exception of one other person sitting alone. I roosted in the corner of the café facing the door. Planning to stay only for an hour to read the book I brought with me, Velvet Rage. A few pages into the book, I looked up and caught the gaze of a dark blonde French man.
I Played Coy
He was tall, walked confidently and smiled at the barista. A regular perhaps? “Puis, j’ais une café au lait, s’il vous plait?” He asked the barista. A polite French man. I was intrigued. At this point, my glance evolved into staring, intensely. He must have felt my stare because I caught his eye. He smiled gently at me while looking directly into my eyes. I smiled back and quickly broke the gaze. I felt flushed.
I acted as if I was occupied with my book but my mind was consumed entirely now by his presence. As I acted to be lost in reading, I could see him in my peripheral vision look away then back at me. He was inviting my stare once again. I knew my time was limited as he waited for his café au lait. Testing the water, I casually looked around. I acted interested in the art on the wall. As beautiful as the art was, it wasn’t going to deliver what I knew the man at the counter could. And, frankly, what I hoped he too desired. I played coy. Hoping to capture his gaze again and secretly hoping it would lead to more than just a gentle smile in return.
Will He Notice My Charm?
Our eyes met again. This time I smiled. I meant to give him a soft, casual “sup” kind of smile but what came out was a full smile with teeth. I couldn’t mask my intrigue. “I’m not good at this game.” I thought to myself. He picked up his coffee, turned towards the door, but, before he exited he looked my way again and shook his head with a smile. As if to playfully say, “You’re right. You’re not good at this game but you’re charming.”
I didn’t waste a second. I closed my book, took out my headphones and decided to follow his lead.
He was about 30 feet ahead of me. I put my headphones back in. I didn’t want to appear too available. He looks back and sees me. We smile at each other again. He knows and so do I. We continued this for a few more blocks as if to see who would attempt to elevate the interaction first.
Are You Visiting?
I made the first move. I sat down on an empty park bench. I could see the Eiffel Tower beyond the trees from there. He kept on walking until he noticed I wasn’t trailing behind him anymore. He pivoted his body towards mine. He gave a smile and head tilt as if to say, “You’re really making me come to you?” I felt that sense of satisfaction you get when you catch a fish and begin to reel it in. He began making his way towards me.
With a French accent he introduced himself, “My name is Gabriel. Are you visiting?”
“Yeah, I’ve been here for a few days.” I’m not interested in wasting time, “Do you live around here?”
“I’m on my way to work now.” he replied. He points to a four-story stone building that doesn’t look the two centuries old I learned it to be, rather, it appears to hold two centuries worth of untold stories. I was certain we were about to make a new one. “That’s where I work.” he added. The doorway rested in the center of beautiful, intricate stone work. Each floor was exposed with floor-to-ceiling windows as if to leave no room for secrets, except ours. He was going in for a few hours to catch up on a few things. It was a Sunday so no one else would be in the office he shared.
May I, Please?
I asked him to show me the space. I love exploring the architecture of historical buildings, but, more than that, I was curious to explore where this would go. Fueled with confidence and feeling the exchange of high vibrations between us, I knew I had his permission to elevate our encounter.
The fresh smell of a floral body wash wafted off his smooth, olive-toned skin. He wore a fitted button up but I could still see his bulging arms. His dark blue pants rounded out his butt nicely. As we walked up the stairs to his second floor office, his heavy steps made the hollowness of the stair case echo off the walls. With each step and stride he was communicating a strong sexual and dominate energy. It was so potent I was ready to receive it there on the winding stair case but I withheld. The office space was large. The wood floors creaked beneath my feet. From one end of the office to the other, the antique warehouse pendant lights hung perfectly aligned from the rafter ceiling. As I took in the view of Paris from the windows, he turned on some music and made his way over to where I was standing. The song playing brought me back from daydreaming out the window and back into the room. I turned to him and asked, “What song is this?” He went back to his phone to check, “It’s called Will He by an artist named Joji.” I smirked and thought of how appropriate the title and vibe of the song was for this moment. Gabriel was now taking the driver seat and elevating the experience.
He invited me to join him in the middle of the office. I walked towards him. The excitement of this moment was quickly moving south of my stomach. Gabriel grabbed my hips and brought me in close. Our pelvises touched. I rested my head on his shoulder and we swayed to the rhythm of the song. “No one can see us if we’re in the middle of the room.” He admitted. I didn’t care if they did.
He had me take one step away from him, “Lift up your arms.” he commanded. He grabbed the bottom of my shirt and slid it off over my head. Feeling vulnerable, I maintained my gaze on his face. Forty minutes ago we were mere strangers exchanging glances in a café. The back of his right hand caressed my face and slowly made it’s way down my neck then my chest until it reached the top of my pants. He began to unbutton then unzip. I pulled them off along with my underwear and tossed both off to the side. He grabbed my hips and pulled me into him once more. In sync we swayed our hips. My head rested on his shoulder. As our pelvises met again, I could feel him throbbing against me. Everything became silent except for the lyrics of the song…
Will your tongue still remember the taste of my lips?
Will your shadow remember the swing of my hips?
Will your lover caress you the way, that I did?
Will you notice my charm, if he slips up one bit?
I wanted him.
I moved my hands to unbutton his pants. He quickly placed his hands over mine and moved them away. Gabriel took a step back. As I stood there naked, I wasn’t sure if I was about to be rejected and asked to leave. Our eyes were locked and we were silent.
The song continued…
‘Cause I don’t need to know
I just wanna make sure you’re okay
I don’t need to know
I just wanna make sure you’re all safe
Gabriel began to undress himself while maintaining his gaze towards me. Our eyes locked, I went to my knees. Undressed, he walked his naked body towards mine until he could feel the warmth of my breath on his skin and I could feel the warmth of his cock against my face.
As he towered over me, I took him in and he whispered with his baritone voice, “Ensemble, enfin.”
On Finding Home we will explore the many stories and ways our guests lost but then found their way home. Not home in a physical or geographical sense. I’m talking about the home within. The place we are at peace with our self within our self. The place where we no longer struggle, suffer, strive or pretend to show up as anyone than who we are. The place where deep connections thrive and intimacy is not feared. That’s home. These stories on this podcast are meant to serve as a road map for when we feel lost. Join us and let’s find home, together.
If you’re lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender (LGBT) you’ve probably received an email like this one:
I’ve received emails like this one since I’ve come out. I’ve received them from old friends, strangers and in this case from past fellow church members. People who are reaching out to me in hopes for me to “see the light” and come out of this “lifestyle”—for me to deny my identity.
There was a time when I would have been really hurt by an email like the one from Connie. People don’t realize that we aren’t talking about an abstract theological concept. When you talk about homosexuality—or really same-sex sex—you’re talking about a piece of me. I didn’t choose this anymore than you choose to be straight. This is my road to walk and you can critique from the sidelines on how I should live all you like, it still is my shoes making the journey.
Above anything, I just wish Connie could know the Jesus I know. The one that delivers us from fear, breaks the bondage of ignorance, the one that loves and affirms all people; regardless of their sexual orientation.
I’m not hurt by Connie’s email because I know she means well. She has reached out to me time and time again, she truly cares and wants the best for me. However, Connie is confusing her best with God’s best. Connie has done what countless others have done and continue to do; they have made God nothing more than a mere reflection of themselves.
Faith is a journey, it’s a personal journey. When you stop traveling in your faith, you stop growing and you stop learning. I believe the Divine is knocking on the church’s door and asking, “Will you love my LGBT children as I love them? As I affirm them? Will you choose to know them as I know them?”
To all the Connies out there, here are three important lessons to learn…
– First, When you tell me my life would be better as x,y,z; you’re minimizing my relationship with Christ. I have a different interpretation of a couple verses in the Bible. I have reconciled my faith and sexual orientation. There has to be respect for my personal journey with God.
– Next, ask yourself have you actually done your research on what the bible says or doesn’t say in regards to homosexuality as we understand it today? My friend Eliel Cruz says, “You’ve read six Bible verses, listened to a 45-minute sermon and have deemed yourself well-versed on the multifaceted subject of homosexuality. How quickly you have become an expert on the lives of thousands. An expert on my life.” (Watch Eliel’s moving video with his spoken word, “Where Were You?” HERE) There are many, many interpretations out there from different theological perspectives. A great book is “Bible, Gender, Sexuality” by James Brownson. Wrestle with your beliefs, I have.
– Lastly, just get to know me. Come into genuine fellowship with me. I’d love to have a mutually respectful dialogue about this subject. It is only through genuine fellowship that we can both truly see each other, learn from each other and grow in our faith together.
Remember, this is a journey and it’s not over.
(co-authored by Eliel Cruz)
Samantha emailed me from the Trinity Broadcasting Network (TBN), “Paul Sr. told him to pull your show from the air immediately.” Everything I dreamt of doing since I was a kid was coming to a forced end. Not by just anyone either. It was from Paul Crouch Sr. himself. Someone I grew up watching on TV and idolizing. Most evenings, after dinner, our family would tune in together and watch TBN’s flagship show, Praise The Lord! Hosted by the founders of TBN, Paul and Jan Crouch.
On this show they would showcase the biggest names within the Charismatic Christian movement – Benny Hinn, Karen Wheaton, Jesse
Duplantis and John Hagee were some of the biggest crowd pleasers. Benny Hinn and Karen Wheaton were my personal favorites. My sisters and I even played a game we called, “Benny Hinn”. The rules were simple – if you’re Benny Hinn you get to make the other person fall over by waving your hand over their head. We played as if we possessed the same powers we believed God granted to Benny Hinn. When you live in the middle-of-nowhere and you’re a devote Pentecostal family, these are the games you come up with. Everything else is too worldly.
A separate email from another friend I had at TBN read, “They edited you out of the episode you starred on.” I was a guest on one of JCTV’s original productions called, Cruise With A Cause. This was a reality show that was taped onboard of a one-week Christian cruise to the Bahamas. I was the emcee for the cruise and was also onboard filming for my own show that week. This reality show was as dry as the Christian cruise. It was painfully vanilla. Being edited out of it should have come as a relief.
It didn’t hit me how much the news from that email would hurt until I saw the newly edited episode myself. This wasn’t just a horribly vanilla Christian reality show. For me, it was directly connected to the faith community I grew up believing in and loving. A community I desperately sought acceptance from.
About two years after coming out, I was back living in Indiana. It was the Spring of 2010 and I had just moved into my then boyfriend’s apartment in downtown Indianapolis. I finished setting up my TV in the living room, plugged in the antenna then turned on the TV. As I flipped through the over-the-air channels, JCTV flashed on my screen. I’m not sure if I believe in coincidences. Looking back now, this definitely was not one. Not only was that horrible reality show Cruise With A Cause streaming on my TV that very moment, so was my episode. The episode I was edited out of. My immediate thought was, “No way.” Stunned by this happenstance or perhaps Divine appointment, I decided to make myself comfortable. I sat back into the couch and watched to see if they really did edit me out.
On this episode, they were setting up one of JCTV’s staple on-air female personalities on blind dates with some of the other Christian entertainers on the cruise. I was one of her four blind dates for the episode. Sure enough, they edited me completely out of the entire episode. They wanted to erase my existence from their network. That was painful for me to accept. The leaders of the world I grew up believing in and loving intentionally chose to forget I ever existed since I revealed I am gay.
This wasn’t the last time something I loved tried to erase me. It’s something that has been happening to me since I was a kid who liked playing with Barbie dolls and putting on my sister’s dresses. For me, it was fun to play pretend, but, to the adults around me, it was a threat. A threat to their social status. A threat to their hard earned position in heaven. A threat if anyone else found out this child is queer.
I know I’m not alone in this.
There are countless other stories, like mine, about LGBTQ people who have been erased from the memories and archives of their faith communities. The deletion of our queer existence doesn’t occur only after we leave our beloved faith communities. It happens while we’re there. It starts with trying to get us to forget who we are. This is done through ex-gay counseling like I went through. It’s also done through what seems like normal correction. For example, I was physically and verbally disciplined every time my dad caught me playing with my sister’s dolls. Playing with my sister’s dolls became an act of defiance and great courage.
From a young age I was taught through physical, emotional and spiritual abuse to hide the most honest and genuine parts of myself. The unhealthy habits this created in my life are still unfolding and I’m learning to identify them. However, as the unhealthy habits reveal themselves through these stories I’m sharing and the book I’m writing, one question keeps emerging: Can you see me now?
Have you ever wanted to hear directly from God? Have you ever asked to receive a sign form above? We’ve all been there. That’s where I was in the Fall of 2017. As I started the process of writing my memoir I began to understand if I wanted to speak my truth, I would have to make life changing decisions. Lacking confidence in the choices I had to make, I often found myself asking my higher power to “just give me a sign.” I think I received my sign on Veteran’s Day weekend in 2017 at The Range in Slab City, California.
In 2008 I saw the film Into the Wild. It immediately became one of my favorite movies and it still is. It’s based on the true life story of Christopher McCandless who was also on a journey to find happiness and answers to his big life questions. Towards the end of the film, there’s a scene when Christopher visits a place called “Salvation Mountain” which vibrates with a curious beauty at the entrance of Slab City. In this scene, Chris meets the creator of Salvation Mountain, Leonard Knight. There’s a moment in the movie when the actor playing Chris asked Leonard what the real life Chris probably hoped to be true. Chris asked, “You really believe in love?” Leonard replied with a sincerity and absolute certainty that exuded through the screen and into my heart, “Totally.”
It was because of that scene I put Salvation Mountain on my bucket list. I had to go there and experience this place for myself. Last November, I drove five hours into the desert to experience it and cross Salvation Mountain off my bucket list.
Slab City is commonly referred to as “the last free place in America” because there is no government presence other than the occasional Border Patrol truck that passes through. The residents of Slab City are made up of veterans, hippies, artists, nomads and drug addicts. People arrive in their RVs, tents or nothing at all to live off the land and be free.
I arrived Saturday evening, just in time for the weekly open-mic night at Builder Bill’s living room known as “The Range”. I called the Slab City Hostel ahead of time and made arrangements to stay with a hippie named, Whitehorse Bob. He goes by Whitehorse for short and has been living in Slab City for a few years now. If there was ever to be a Dumbledore doppelganger, Whitehorse is it. He recently took over the Slab City Hostel which features open-sky rooms and a semi-private outdoor shower. With no ceiling above your head, you’re free to gaze and rediscover the awe of the night sky as you sleep or shower. With the Milky Way clearly visible, you’re able to see every star and constellation twinkling in and all around the Milk Way. It’s absolutely stunning and capable of filling even the most ungrateful person with gratitude.
As I arrived and drove past The Range to settle in at the hostel, I squealed with excitement. I could feel the energy of this special place as much as I could feel the shirt on my back. I knew this was going to be a magical experience. I just didn’t know to what extent.
Under the twinkling stars, The Range stage was sandwiched between two antique blue buses. Christmas lights were strung above our heads giving us the only light to see. To the left of the stage was a food stand. On the menu: hamburgers or hotdogs for $3 each. The chef was a woman in her mid to late 50s. Her cheek bones were accentuated by her sunken in cheeks. You could tell who lived there and who didn’t. I clearly didn’t. Compared to the crowd, I looked like the white, privileged, yuppie gay male that I am.
In front of the food stand was a man in his early thirties, unbathed and sporting a long brown beard with a floral patterned dress on. He calmly watched the talent on stage with a subtle smile on his face as if he was experiencing one of the most content moments in his life. Across the way — a girl with a large cat mask covering her face danced eccentrically to the live music. The crowd looked like they were composed of hipsters from Silverlake, bikers and homeless drug addicts. Probably because that’s exactly who was there.
I took a seat on the second row of wooden benches to enjoy the music. Some of the performers were truly amazing. Everyone was limited to three songs. However, one guy did an amazing blues/rock set that had the crowd shouting for an encore. So, he gave them one. This is a place that respects boundaries not rules. Anything goes at Slab City until it disrespects someone else’s boundary.
It was during that encore I met Bobby.
A stranger to me but an obvious resident of Slab City. He told me he had been living there for about a month now.
Unbathed, wild hair and wrapped in a blanket with the print of a lion’s head, Bobby sat down next to me and introduced himself, “Hey there, I’m Bobby. Well, I go by Bobby but my name is Robert. However, my real name is Ishmael. I’m part of a Messianic Christian group here.” Robert came off not only as a Slab City resident but a drug addict too. I was feeling cautious and uneasy with this encounter.
“Hey, my name is Azariah.” I replied.
“That’s a great name. What does it mean?”
I always get that question. I have several ways in which I answer the question but I wanted to keep it short and sweet with this odd fellow, “Whom God helps.”
“What’d you say?” He asked me to repeat myself due to the loud music.
“It means, whom God helps.” I said louder.
“Oh, wow. You’re definitely getting it tonight. Yeah, someone is watching out for you tonight.”
Bobby’s comment grew my curiosity. It confirmed what I sensed earlier, I am probably not the most welcomed person here. Slab City is a place for nomads, wanderers, gypsies, hippies — not a gay yuppie like me. I remember as Bobby and I were talking, one of the lyrics sung from the stage stood out to me, “He should have left earlier but he stayed. He didn’t notice the audience changed.” Later that evening one of the performers even went as far as calling out the yuppies (me) in the crowd. I was feeling insecure and a little unsafe but I stayed.
That’s when my conversation with Bobby shifted to where we were from. By doing so, it turned my attention away from observations that were stoking my fears and making me feel uncomfortable. Bobby started the conversation by asking, “Are you Jewish?”
“My mom’s side of the family was Jewish but I wasn’t raised Jewish.” I replied.
He continued, “Where are you from?”
“I grew up in Indiana.”
“I used to go to church in Indiana when I was a kid.” he shared.
Now intrigued, I asked, “Where at?”
He tried recalling, “It was in the Northwestern part. It was called Harvest Kids or something like that.”
Now, I was almost certain it was the same place I frequented as a kid, “Was it in South Bend?”
He replied in an uncertain tone, “I think so, maybe. They spoke in tongues, right?”
Was it possible that Bobby and I went to the same church when we were kids? Were we together in the same room in South Bend, Indiana nearly 25 years ago and now we’re together again but in the middle of the California desert? This wouldn’t have been the first time this happened to me. One month after I moved to Las Vegas in 2013, I discovered one of my co-workers also went to the same church in South Bend. Growing more curious and excited to discover this possible shared experience, I confirmed, “Yeah, they spoke in tongues.” Then I asked, “Was it Lester Sumrall’s church? They would do a puppet show for the kids in the gymnasium. Do you remember that?”
Bobby grew excited and replied, “Yeah! And they had the bunk beds built into the walls of the nursery room.”
I remembered all of it and so did he. Memories in that church rushed back into my mind. The coincidence of this moment was too much. Bobby closed his eyes, threw his head back and gave a long, inaudible laugh. I laughed so hard I began to cry.
As our laughter calmed, we continued to watch the performer on the stage. I wiped the tears from my eyes and Bobby began speaking again, “You think you can do everything on your own because you think you’re self-sufficient.”
It felt like Bobby transformed into someone else in that moment. Maybe he did. It felt as if someone or something else was speaking through him. The energy had shifted and it didn’t feel like the Bobby who first sat down next to me. I thought to myself, What did he just say to me? Did I hear him right?
The truth hit me like a ton of bricks.
It’s the truth of what I do — I rely on myself and never ask for help. But why is this homeless, drug addict looking dude telling me this? What does he know about me? How could he know that? Am I that easy to read?
I couldn’t help but ask, “What do you mean by that?” He peaked my curiosity.
“What?” he replied. The loud music was drowning out my voice.
Longing for clarification, I repeated and expanded my questioning, “What did you mean by that? What did you just say?”
“I was just saying, God is all sufficient.”
I looked at Bobby differently now. Who is this person? Why does it feel like he just broke through every wall I put up and saw me? I didn’t know what else to say to him, so, we sat there quietly. A few minutes later, I offered him some of my snack food. Many of the people living in Slab City rely on what people bring so they can eat. Bobby sat next to me for a few more minutes until he got up to play the congas with the band on stage.
I was left with a surreal experience. Was Bobby an angel or a manifestation of the Divine? Was my higher power using this nomad to send me a message? Is the answer I was subconsciously looking for found in what Bobby shared with me?
I spent part of my morning the next day calling that church in South Bend. I was trying to find out the name of the children’s ministry. I wanted to confirm if it was the same one Bobby said it was. A different church and pastor has since taken over, no one there could recall the former children’s ministry name. I was transferred to three different people. All of them were very kind but no one knew. I then text messaged my co-worker who grew up going to that church but she couldn’t recall the name either. Everyone I spoke to agreed “Harvest Kids” sounded like the correct answer.
While I’m extremely skeptical of stories claiming supernatural encounters, I have no other way to explain what happened. What I know is this – much like Christopher McCandless, I showed up to Slab City with a heart full of curiosity and a head full of questions about what the next right step was for my life and God answered with, “You think you can do everything on your own because you think you’re self-sufficient.” When I asked for clarification because I struggled to believe what I heard, the message was shortened and more direct, “God is all sufficient.” I’m still learning exactly what this means and how I can apply it to my life.
It’s almost been a year since I had that experience and I’ve made some major life decisions since. I ended a year long relationship, relocated to Los Angeles and I quit my cushy job of 4.5 years. As I made the jump not knowing what was next, I’ve relied on what Bobby said to me, “Don’t rely on yourself. God is all sufficient.” This has become my life’s mantra.
It hasn’t been a smooth ride this past year as I’ve deconstructed my life. Yet in the midst of my numerous fallouts and anxiety about the future — I keep returning to the answer I got from my angel in the desert — God is all sufficient.
Dreaming Of A Bigger World
I dreamt of the day I would get to ride the school bus. I was still in pre-school as I watched my three older sisters get picked up and dropped off every week day. I wanted to speed time up so I could ride the big yellow bus with them. I was incredibly curious about the world they were experiencing. I wondered if they were learning how to draw a turkey by tracing their hand too or if they got scratch and sniff stickers at the end of their day. I had so many questions.
I was so excited about riding the school bus that I would have dress rehearsal for it. I would put my backpack on, walk to the end of the driveway and wait. I stood there knowing one day my bus will come and all my questions will be answered.
My first day of kindergarten, I was ecstatic. I was FINALLY going to experience the world I was incredibly curious about with my sisters.
The bus doors opened, I stretched my little right leg up to reach the first tall step. As I hiked my way to the third and final step, I heard the radio sweeper for “Thuuuunder Country 105.5” echo through the yellow, hollow, metal tube – bus number 24. It was the only radio station we were allowed to listen to. I sat in the seat directly behind the bus driver – next to the person who would become my childhood best friend, Craig.
The bus doors slammed shut and our forty minute journey to school, through the backroads of rural Indiana, began.
It felt like there should have been a band playing a celebratory song in our driveway as the bus drove off, along with my mom and dad waving enthusiastically. But there was no band and my mom and dad weren’t there to give me an enthusiastic send off. My dad worked third shift as a forklift driver and my mom worked first shift in a welding factory. So, by this time, dad was in the shower getting ready for bed and mom had already been at work for about an hour.
One of my earliest memories on bus 24 was when Dolly Parton’s song, “I Will Always Love You” played over the radio. I absolutely loved that song. Every time it came on the radio I would come alive. I would sit up on my knees and belt the song out, “Aaaand IiiiiiiiiIIIIIIiiii wiiill always looooove youuuuu.” I would forget and not care where I was. I became enraptured with the song – every time. It felt natural to serenade the entire bus. What I realize now is that my queerness was showing and it made others uncomfortable.
It made Danny, in particular, uncomfortable.
I’ve only seen Danny’s house once. He was picked up before me every morning and dropped off after me on the days he made it to school or wasn’t suspended. The sense I got from Danny, even as a kid, was that he was from a family that was depleted in every way – emotionally, spiritually, financially.
Danny didn’t like my singing. He didn’t like anything about me. However, Danny and his brother, Seth, did like to pick on Craig and me. Craig was smart about it though. He kept to himself and Danny would end up leaving him alone. I was the opposite of Craig. I couldn’t stand how mean and abusive Danny was and I didn’t want him to get away with it. No matter how many times my mom told me, “Let the Lord fight your battles for you, Azariah.” I rarely missed an opportunity to stand up to him. When he would come for me, I would serve it right back to him. Often to the point that Danny would beat me up while reminding me I was nothing more than a faggot. The defiant queer in me was showing and that had to be beaten into submission. There’s nothing more threatening to the false masculinity he was learning at home than a naturally defiant queer like me.
Danny’s bullying slowly chipped away at me though. The last time I worked up the courage to be me, was the day I wore mascara to school. I loved how it accentuated my eyes. As I got out of my seat that morning to exit the bus and begin the school day, I started to feel overwhelmingly nervous. Fear ran wild with thoughts in my mind, “Everyone is going to notice. Danny’s going to beat you up again. Tell the bus driver you’re sick and you need to go home. If I talk to the bus driver, he’ll know I’m wearing mascara and tell my parents.” My blood felt cold. My heart beat was accelerating and the cold feeling was quickly making its way from the center of my chest to my arms and legs causing me to physically shiver in fear. I kept asking myself, “Why did I do this?” It was in that moment I accepted the lie that I had to butch it up and bottle up my queerness if I wanted to survive. I kept my head down as I exited the bus. Once I made it into the school, I quickly made my way to the least busy restroom and washed the mascara off the best I could. I was learning there was no place for my queerness in this world. I also learned mascara doesn’t wash off easily.
I found my closet and I had no plans of leaving any time soon.
In honor of National Coming Out Day, I would like to share a part of my coming out story I’ve never shared publicly. I will share this story in greater depth in my memoir.
The Night of the Betrayal
It was around 9:30PM on April 15, 2008 when I sent an instant message to my friend Hunter on AOL. I didn’t know it then but the conclusion from this conversation would change the course of my life
Azariahtn: I don’t think I can live like this anymore.
Hunter87: What do you mean?
Azariahtn: I think I’m ready to come out. I’m tired of living a double life. I have nothing to lose. The show hasn’t been renewed for another season. Also, Logan doesn’t talk to me anymore since I told him I “struggle” with my sexuality. Maybe that’s why they haven’t renewed the show?
Hunter87: What are you going to do?
Azariahtn: I think I’m going to come out. I know I’ll lose the show and some friends but I can’t live this lie any longer.
Hunter87: They were never your friends to begin with if they abandon you now. I support you.
Azariahtn: Thank you. 🙂
After my conversation with Hunter, I drafted a press release which I sent out the same night. “Christian TV Host Announces He’s Gay” was the headline for the release. I didn’t think anyone would care enough to publish the story. I was wrong.
When I woke up the next morning, I had one Google alert.
The Google alert was for Out & About Nashville. The largest LGBT publication in Tennessee carried the story on their website. I could feel the anxiety begin to flood my mind and body. I started to doubt my decision to make this announcement. I dismissed the growing lump in my throat by telling myself, “Not too many people will read this, so, I’m probably fine.”
But after seeing the story published, I knew my train to living honestly had arrived. I was no longer going to be able to run from this truth. I could taste the fear. The fear and reality that I was going to lose everything I dreamt of doing since I was a kid. I was booked to emcee Cruise With A Cause for the second year that Fall. I was guest starring on other Christian TV shows. I was being invited to emcee events for EMI records. I was starting to make a name for myself. Sending out the press release was easy but getting on board with the train of truth – and realizing that the faith community I grew up in and was building a career in didn’t have any space for an openly gay man – was my challenge.
Within two hours of the story being published, I received phone calls and emails from around the country congratulating me. The Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (GLAAD) called to help me form talking points for the media. CBS Morning show called and wanted to have me on the next day. A producer for Fox News called to book me on the Alan Colmes show. Larry King’s producers were interested having me on the show. A friend told me even Lance Bass was asking about me.
I was beside myself.
I was excited, overwhelmed, and nervous. Maybe this would open doors for me that I couldn’t have imagined?
Even though people around the country were congratulating me, the news didn’t reach people within my immediate circle… yet.
Around six o’clock that evening, I received a phone call from a producer in Los Angeles. At the end of the call he said something I will never forget, “By the way, did you see yourself on the front page of Perez Hilton?”
That’s when I knew there was no going back.
Emails and text messages started to pour in by the hundreds. One text message read, “Father, I pray for Azariah. Be with him Lord and show him your will. Take away any confusion. Make yourself TRULY known to him Jesus. Amen.”
Then, after not speaking to me for nearly three months, I received a message from my best friend – Logan. His message simply read, “I just feel like you totally betrayed my trust. It’s making me sick.”
After reading his message I felt guilt begin to set in. Had I betrayed his trust? After all, he did ask me to let him know first if I was going to come out.
Logan was my best friend while I hosted my TV show. We became friends after I did some camera work for his show. The only reason I had a TV show was because of Logan and his dad, Jay Sekulow. Logan helped me create my pilot and his dad, Jay, got my show funded by the NRB Network.
Logan and I hung out almost everyday. That all stopped in January of 2008.
While I was visiting my parents for Christmas that year, Logan messaged me on AOL Instant Messenger…
Lunarpunk: When are you back in town?
Azariahtn: I get back at the end of this week. Why? What’s up?
Lunarpunk: I think we need to talk about something.
I immediately knew what he wanted to talk about. It wasn’t the first time someone wanted to have a scheduled and serious talk with me. My pastor wanted to have this same talk when I was 13-years-old. That talk with my pastor was immediately followed by weekly exorcisms to expel the demons of homosexuality out of me. Once again I believed my sexuality was an affliction that would haunt me for the rest of my life. I wasn’t capable of seeing it as a gift yet. I was accustomed to living life as if my queerness didn’t exist. My true self worth had not yet been realized.
My friend, Amanda, comforted me that night as I cried and confided in her about the conversation I knew Logan wanted to have with me.
When that week ended, I made the eight-hour drive from wintry Indiana back to Nashville. I drove straight to Logan’s office. I was nervous but hopeful that maybe this was my chance to come clean and God would finally fix me. The only thing that needed fixed was my ignorance to the depth of my own worth and value as a gay man.
Logan had his own TV show titled, The Logan Show. He was the Christian version of Jay Leno except he wasn’t funny. I don’t say that to be mean. I honestly didn’t think his show was funny. I don’t think my show was good either but I digress. Logan had a large budget for his show. Somehow his dad was able take some of the $14 million he receives annually in donations to his Christian law firm, American Center for Law and Justice (ACLJ) and funnel a fraction of it to Logan for his TV show. Logan’s budget allowed him to have his own TV set at NorthStar Studios and a beautiful, large office suite in the very wealthy town of Franklin.
After eight hours of driving, I parked my small, white Suzuki car in front of his two-story office building. When I opened the door to his building, I could still smell that newness of the building. I made my way up the stairs. A total of twenty steps. Logan’s office was in the very back.
He was already prepared for our meeting. I walked into his office and he was sitting behind his desk. On the wall behind him hung a painting of Alfred Hitchcock – one of Logan’s favorite filmmakers.
After a few minutes of small talk, Logan stated that an anonymous source told him I was seen going to some of the gay bars in Nashville. He then asked the question I was dreading but knew was coming, “Azariah, it’s okay if you are but I need to know. Are you gay?”
Isn’t that how it’s usually prefaced, “It’s okay if you are.” The truth is, it wasn’t okay and I was about to get exiled from his world.
My mind quickly raced for an answer. An answer that would allow me to keep my friend and my TV show. This is the reality we queer people often face – lie and deny who you are to keep your seemingly good world intact or tell the truth and lose everything. At the time, I didn’t value myself enough to tell the truth and live it out, so, I told him as much of the truth I could bear to tell, “It’s something I struggle with, yes.” I replied.
That’s when he gave me the ultimatum.
The young 20-something-year-old Logan continued, “If you choose to get help, you can keep the show. If not, you will need to go behind the scenes or we will have to find someone else to do the show. Since my name and my dad’s name are attached to your show, I need you to tell me first if you choose to come out.”
He didn’t want to be the first to know for my best interest or safety – it was for his. What Logan didn’t understand that night in his office – or the night I came out and he text messaged me his disappointment – is that this was never about him or his dad. My decision to come out had everything to do with redeeming the boy who was forced to forget how to express himself freely. Redeeming the little boy who loved to play with Barbie dolls, makeup and prance around in his sister’s dresses. There was no strategy to betray anyone. I just couldn’t betray myself – that little boy – anymore.
The truth train has come a few times in my life. That night in his office was one of those times. Although I missed it that night I did jump on it the next chance I had. I’m forever glad I did because owning my truth has been the greatest gift I’ve ever given myself.
What’s your truth? What will it cost you?
First, I want to thank you for taking this journey with me over the past decade.
Today, I’m incredibly excited to announce an ambitious new project. Let me start by giving you a little background.
In January of 2007, I was pulled into an emergency meeting and given an ultimatum: You can go behind the scenes and keep your job, or you can remain on-camera by undergoing conversion therapy. The producers of my TV show, The Remix, discovered that I visited gay bars on the weekends. For those invested in my career – like Jay Sekulow, now a lawyer for President Donald Trump – the possibility of my coming out was viewed as a threat to their business interests.
I couldn’t deny the truth. I confessed that I “struggled” with being gay and agreed to undergo the fraudulent therapy. My desperate need for acceptance overrode common sense. In the end, I realized I couldn’t live a lie. I came out and faced an enormous public backlash
Shortly after, I was offered a book deal by a LGBT publishing house. I turned it down because I wasn’t ready. Now, I want to share the full behind-the-scenes story, along with the internal struggles I faced unlearning the self-hatred I was taught.
My hope is that struggling LGBT people in faith communities, especially young people, will see themselves in my story and feel less alone as they work to find strength.
I’ve partnered with journalist and author Chris Sosa to bring this project to life. Like me, Chris is a gay man who grew up in a repressive faith community. He understands my story, because we have a lifetime of shared experiences. We will be working hand-in-hand to deliver “My Gay Agenda”.
Over the past decade, I have stumbled and deeply struggled with my identity and direction in life. I am ready and able to write this book now because that struggle is over. I know who I am. I’ve always known. However, years of spiritual abuse and emotional manipulation taught me early on how to be everyone but Azariah.
With this book, I not only want to show you who I am, I want to remind you of the beauty, opportunity, and greatness which surrounds you and lives in you – every moment of every day.
I’m looking forward to introducing you to Azariah.
In a recent post titled, “I Love Jesus But I Follow Buddha”, I wrote about the experience which inspired me to write this poem at the most recent Wake Up retreat. I hope you enjoy. Feel free to share, if you’d like.
Yes, the source of my pain has a name.
I thought she saw something special in me.
I thought she saw me.
Thick green carpet lined your office.
I remember because all I could look at was the floor.
You showed me the flowers on your desk and said they were from someone like me.
“But now they’re free. Just follow my lead.”
So, I did.
You told me about a man you saw on the news.
He was a child molester.
You warned me I would become like him if I didn’t repent of my sin.
I thought you wanted to talk because you saw something special in me.
THIS is not in me.
Tears streamed down my face as I gasped for air.
“I’m gay!” I confessed for the first time in my life.
“There, there. Follow my lead if you wish to have a wife.”
Every Sunday we met.
One year passed.
You promised me freedom.
Two years passed.
You promised me freedom.
Three years passed.
You promised me freedom.
Four years passed.
You promised me freedom.
Five years passed.
Is this freedom?
I didn’t know how to love but I did know how to settle.
For any man.
Tell me, pastor, what’s it like to be sure of who you are?
What’s it like to be taught that the one who created the stars loves you for who you are?
What’s it like to know your family and friends won’t reject you because of who you are?
What’s it like to see your life reflected everywhere you go?
You see, while you were casting the “demons of homosexuality” out of me, at school, they were beating it out of me.
Tell me, pastor, what’s it like to know who you are is good?
My eyes began to open.
After all, a castle built on sand will not last. Right, pastor?
And the waves of truth are hitting fast.
Each wave carving room for truth, “God loves you for who you are!”
But, what about…
“God loves you for who you are!”
If a man lies with another man…
“God loves you for who you are!”
My sand castle fell.
Now I knew what is true, so, I summoned you.
I forgive you for all the pain, I said.
Your eyes were dead.
“God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.”, you replied.
Forget the cliches. What about me?
You still can’t acknowledge your evil deeds.
I ascended to the great hidden mountain.
Seeking healing from my pain.
There, I found a fountain.
The water pure.
I drank from their well.
Freely they gave, expecting nothing in return.
I felt thirteen again.
Scared but now scarred.
Can I trust you?
Are you another Rosene?
Fear aside, I showed them who I am.
They sat in silence listening to my suffering.
Then, from the silence, “Brother, may I heal your pain?”
This teacher has a name but she doesn’t seek fame.
“Not only does the one who created the stars love you for who you are. You are the stars. Nothing is far. It’s all in you.” She proclaimed.
That’s when the movie began to play in my head…
“Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!”
“Love the sinner, hate the sin!”
“Turn or burn!”
“Repent or perish!”
The movie screamed.
My sister touched the earth to heal our pain.
Rosene, that’s when I realized the freedom song you sang was all in vain.
Your violent words became mute.
The painful images faded to black and white.
That’s when I took flight.
For the first time in my life, I saw clearly who I am.
I am an unrepentant queer.
I am not afraid to love.
I am not afraid to explore my worth.
I am not afraid to say, I know that I know, who I am is good.