I suddenly realized that Easter is a religious holiday. At the tender age of seventeen I became a born-again Christian. What a glorious reason to rejoice—freedom, grace, and salvation through the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Unfortunately, the true celebration of Easter never seemed to penetrate my heart. Grace and salvation in my mind were dependent upon my strict obedience to God’s unattainable standard. Freedom became a thin veil of denial while I buried my past wounds and current struggles with persistent prayers that no one would ever discover my black, shameful mess.

But the outside looked good. This had always been an important rule to live by, and my family was very good at upholding suburban perfection: a set of parents, two kids, a god, a fish and a well-manicured lawn. I understand now, years later, my parents did the best they could with what they had, but things were missing on a deeper level. It didn’t have so much to do with what we did to each other, but what we didn’t do. How we never talked. How we never knew each other.

I began struggling with some confusion about my gender as early as age five. I was attracted to things that were traditionally and culturally feminine, and I was already being set apart from my peers with the labels "sissy" and "fag." My younger brother had a list as long as his arm of the sports in which he excelled. My parents were always busy and involved with his games while I struggled to find my place in band or Cub Scouts. I continued to feel "different" and "out of place" and slowly began detaching from everyone, withdrawing and becoming a loner.

Being a spectator of life rather than a participant offered several opportunities to observe the world around me, and I didn’t like much of what I saw. I began viewing men with fear and contempt. The role models from television and movies influenced my beliefs that men were emotionless, insensitive, easily manipulated, arrogant, thinking with their genitals rather than their minds. I made a silent vow never to become that, and yet, at the same time, I longed just to "fit in" somewhere.

Then puberty hit! An awkward and baffling time for anybody, but for me came the emergence of homosexual feelings, and to add to the pain, my awareness that homosexuality was not cool in the world in which I lived. My conflict drove me deeper into confusion, silence and isolation. I had no one to talk to about feeling attracted to men. At age fourteen, with limited understanding, I started making choices. I entered a sexual relationship with a male friend who was my age. Little did I know that this decision would cost me his friendship. Whatever kind of real intimacy we shared was lost; it was all about sex.

I registered for high school a very depleted person, pushing everyone safely away. Then a lifeline was thrown out. I became a Christian, and my heart was opened up to the person of Jesus Christ. I believe that I really loved Him then, but it soon was overshadowed by worse messages about homosexuality that included an eternity in hell. In fear, shame and condemnation I hid my feelings and, as usual, wore the successful smile of a victorious abundant life. Over the years, this mask grew very heavy.

Upon receiving the new found freedom of a high school diploma, I once again detached from everyone, including God, and went off in search of my "new life."

Now for the first time, I thought my life could finally start, and I pursued it passionately. When I entered a gay bar on my 21st birthday, I actually felt like kissing the ground. I was home! Twenty-one long years of silence and isolation were over. My whole body sighed in relief; I was around people like myself. I could talk about my feelings and act upon them. I had high hopes, but the nuisance of reality kept rearing its ugly head. Years of dreams slowly ebbed away … the home, the dog, the fish, the well-manicured lawn, and the longing for someone to come home to every evening … the detachment that I experienced all my life now was at its height, as I turned from one abusive relationship to another.

Heterosexuals were the enemy. The only people I associated with were a small circle of gay friends and those who owned gay businesses. I began feeling bitter and angry. I wondered why everyone around me seemed to be taking care of their lives. How had mine become so unmanageable? I knew I needed help badly and thought of counseling.

Through a series of events, I struck up a friendship with a Christian man. This was the first time I considered telling my secret to someone who was a Christian. How would he react? Would I be rejected? I pondered this risk with a lot of fear. In my life, friendships were rare and I didn’t want to lose his. When the subject of my homosexuality came up, he very honestly admitted that he didn’t agree with my lifestyle, but wanted to continue being my friend. This reaction surprised me. Could I now be in relationship with someone who didn’t accept my sexuality? Thankfully, the focus of our conversations was not about my sexuality but about the person of Jesus Christ.

I had to make a choice. Do I detach from this guy and the uncomfortable feelings, or do I face Jesus again? I threw up a sincere prayer: "I did this once before, Lord, and bombed out really bad. I don’t want to do that again. I don’t understand why my sexuality is such an issue. I have felt like this for a long time, but if you will show me, I think I’m ready to listen."

The Lord honored that prayer. About a month later I came in contact with "Where Grace Abounds," a ministry to men and women who are in conflict with their homosexuality.

That was eight years ago, and what has happened since could fill the pages of a novel. My black, shameful mess has been brought out into the Light. I am in a very different environment—one that holds God’s truth and God’s grace in tension. I came to "Where Grace Abounds" with a lot of garbage: a ton of broken relationships, a poisoned belief system that included God, men, women, myself, a lot of fears, and on and on. What I did find was His Grace. I was accepted at that point, no questions asked. Together, in His timing, we continue to address these painful issues, and I am loved regardless.

I would like to say that there is no longer the need for a "happy mask" these days, as I understand and experience that freedom is to be found in the admission of our true poverty. With that confession of our need for Him, we are swept up by God and stand on the brink of inheriting heaven.

Scott Kingry is an active member of Corona Presbyterian Church, Denver, Colorado, and a leader in the Where Grace Abounds ministry.