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Hey Guys and gals

I have been wanting to write a story about a man who is ex-gay (yeah I know, went there myself, and there is no such thing) in a Charismatic Christian church. I come from that background myself and went through the whole thing. Much of what I would write about I actually experienced but It's no autobiographical. It is steeped in christian terminology and so may be a turn-off for some, but because my own life is still solidly based in at least a stream of Christianity, I wanted it to be real because I believe there are many, many people who would love to express their relationship with a Christian God in a positive light, that need to see that it is possible. First of all, is there anybody who wants to comment on that? I realize that to some it may be completely incomprehensible ... but here goes

 

Secondly, here is about half of the first chapter. It's called Rivers of Living Water

 

* * *

 

The young blonde twenty-something-year-old man stood in front me with his head bowed.  His eyes were closed and the lids fluttered, the glistening drops of his tears framing his long, black lashes in liquid crystal. A slight flush painted his cheeks and a frown came and went as unnamed emotions coursed through his chest as the Holy Spirit touched him deeply.

 

The gentle keyboard music in the background, with the worship leader gently singing "Come, Lord Jesus, come," provided the emotional cushion for his obvious distress. My voice murmured as I spoke in tongues, paused, gently feeling inside myself for the words the Christ was whispering to the distraught man.

 

“I sense you may be feeling shame, a deep sense of shame, and Jesus wants you to know that there is no condemnation in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 8.1)

 

I was watching the expressions cross his attractive face and the muscular arms hands that he held out before him were shaking slightly as he responded to the accuracy of my discernment. I absently noted the glistening golden hairs on his forearms that stuck out of the rolled up sleeves of his shirt. The tears that had previously only rimmed his lashes brimmed over and started to trickle down his cheeks, trailing silvery paths of heartache and desperation.

 

I ignored the discomfort in my pants as I laid my hand on the back of his neck, feeling that the Father wanted him to know how deeply he was loved; wanted so secure him as His son.

 

I spoke those words to this prodigal.

 

“The Father says to you: ‘My son, I see you exactly as you are, and I love you. I have made you, and you are my passion, my desire. Receive my love…! See, I wait with my arms wide open if you wish to return to me.’”

 

His body started to shake as the import of the words began to take effect. As is often the case when I minister to young men, a deep sense of fatherlessness often characterized their condition in a society where men were not taught how to secure their sons, their own fathers normally being sadly lacking in that department.

 

His short, bristly hair rubbed against my palm that was resting on his muscular young neck, and once again I was dimply aware of the erection in my pants. This often happened to me when I prayed for young guys, as I had explained to my pastors, who knew that I had been in the gay lifestyle before. But that was behind me, a legacy of a different era, and as I stilled my mind to discern the voice of Jesus for this young guy, I though I felt that he needed a hug.

 

“Do you mind of I hug you?” I asked, and he shook his head and leaned into me, his head on my chest, his arms between us as pulled him to myself, my left arm around his broad young back and my right hand still on the back of his head, I whispered into his ears. “Jesus says: ‘My blood washes you clean of all sin, cleanses you of all shame. What was crimson will be wool; what was scarlet will be snow.’” (Isaiah 1.18)

 

His body started to shake with sobs and as I put my cheek against his head his short blonde hair smelled of hair gel, but I ignored the pleasant fragrance and carried on ministering God’s love to him. I stood with my pelvis well clear of him as my body betrayed my calling, since I was determined not to dignify it with my attention in such a Holy Moment such as this. Just then a young woman called Irene, also in the ministry team, came up to us and joined in the ministry. She leaned in to my ear and said that the pastor, John, wanted me to come and pray with him for another young woman who was manifesting a demon.

 

I reluctantly released the young man in my arms with a “bless you man, God love you so much,” and left him in the capable hands of Irene.

 

* * *

 

Later, when the service was over and everybody was having coffee, I was approached by the young guy I had prayed for. He had a mug in his one hand and a rusk in the other and he sheepishly smiled at me. His eyes were still red and he looked adorable. My heart melted for him, as I instinctively knew that he was deeply troubled.

 

“HI there, my name is Danny, you prayed for me earlier.” As if I could already have forgotten the delicious joy of holding him to my heart and sharing God’s love with him. I shook his hand. He had a firm grip and I was tempted to hold on to it for a while but was content to feel the warm masculine contact transmitted through the brief touch. He was about 5ft 7 and quite muscular. Now that his eyes were open I could see that unexpectedly for a blonde, they were a startling amber colour. He had dense black eyebrows, which framed his beautiful eyes, which still looked at me with deference. I was pastor after all, and at least ten years his senior.

 

“Yes, I remember. I’m Doug. How are you feeling? Did anything I prayed for you make sense to you?”

 

He ducked his head and nodded silently. I could see that his heart was still quite tender, and I knew that when the Lord touched somebody, especially when he poured his love into them, they often struggled to come down from it straight away.

 

“It’s ok Danny. Whatever it is, God knows, and like He told you, He loves you anyway.”

 

When he looked up again, his lashes were rimmed with tears again.

 

“I’m sorry man, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not usually such a baby.” He gave an embarrassed chuckle as he looked around for somewhere to put his mug and rusk down. I helped out by taking them from him so he could reach for his hanky. As he wiped his eyes and blew his nose, I waited patiently, taking in the vision of this attractive young man before me. In a different setting he would look like a cocky, hunky young buck with the world, and no doubt a whole bunch of girls at his feet. But here he had the liberty to be a vulnerable young guy with his issues and problems, with no obligation to put on a front. That was one of the reasons I loved being on the pastoral team of our church. We could extend unconditional love to those that were the debris of the world that would, if it could, spit them out after chewing them up.

 

“Thanks,” he said as he retrieved his mug and rusk from me.

 

“The thing about the shame and stuff was just so spot on…” he said, trying to look me in the eye and not quite succeeding.

 

“It’s ok Danny, most of us have stuff that we feel ashamed about. That’s one of the reasons that Jesus died, so the Enemy wouldn’t have anything on us anymore. When he died, and you received Him as your Saviour, old Slufoot lost all his power of accusation against you.” The familiar words tumbled out of my mouth, and I could see that they were having the desired effect.

 

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. It’s just that I can’t help it. You prayed for me, all right, and I feel batter, forgiven and so on, but then, just when I least expect it, the feelings are right there again…” His face flushed dark red as he blushed with shame, realizing that he may have said too much and given away his secret.

 

I knew that it could only be one of a few: masturbation, lust or sex before marriage, and in the occasional case, unwanted same-sex attractions. I had seen it all and knew how to put his mind at ease.

 

“Listen to me Danny, you aren’t your sin. The voice that you hear that telling you’re worthless sinner isn’t God’s voice. Listen to what he told you when I was praying for you, and remember that feeling of freedom and safety. That’s the Truth. Nothing else matters!” I put my hand on his shoulder and my eyes looked into his.

 

“And when things get too hard for you to bear by yourself, he has give us brothers and sisters to help bear the load. Remember that. James 5.16 says that if we confess our sins to another and pray for one another, he wil be faithful to heal us. Nothing is to bad for God to understand and heal.”

 

He swallowed deeply, his eyes still held by mine and I again felt that familiar discomfort in my jeans. He turned around as a woman who was on tea duty relieved him of his empty cup and half-eaten rusk, and when she walked away, he literally flung himself into my arms.

 

“I’m just so scared that I’m going to be like this for the rest of my life! What if God doesn’t take these bad feelings away?”

 

It took all my willpower to release the sweet young guy from my arms and with a hand on each of his shoulders, I once again looked him in the eye.

 

“Danny, do you want to make an appointment with one of the pastors to discuss what’s troubling you? I mean it, you don’t have to go through this alone.”

 

“Are you willing to see me? I feel like I can trust you.”

 

“Sure Danny. Call the admin office tomorrow and they’ll set something up. I’d be glad to help."

 

“Thanks so much!” His eyes shone as turned. He looked over his shoulder. “I’ll definitely call.”

 

I was looking forward to it. A lot.

 

 

 

 

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  • 3 weeks later...

I'm really looking forward to you writing this story. It has the potential to break new ground and become a blockbuster. I believe that and I believe in you. You are a great writer and this little excerpt shows great potential.

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