Walking with Jesus through Same-Sex Attraction, Loneliness, and the Longing for Home

I used to think that clarity would come with time. That eventually, all the questions about identity and desire and faith would just settle down into something simple—tidy, resolved, easily explained in a testimony video with some strings playing behind it.

But instead, the longer I’ve walked with Jesus, the more I’ve discovered that faith is less about having every answer, and more about trusting Him in the tension.

I’m a Christian. I’m single. I experience same-sex attraction. And I believe that God’s design for sex and marriage is between a man and a woman. That’s not a throwaway line for me—it’s a belief that’s been forged in tears, late-night wrestling, years of loneliness, and the slow, steady transformation that only comes from walking closely with Jesus.

There was a time I tried to “pray the gay away.” I thought that holiness meant heterosexuality. I measured my maturity by how little I felt my desires. I called it obedience, but it was often shame dressed up in theological language.

What I didn’t know then is that Jesus never asked me to stop feeling—He asked me to trust Him with my longings. He wasn’t trying to turn me into someone else. He was trying to make me whole.

I’ve learned to sit with desire without being ruled by it. I’ve learned that chastity isn’t repression—it’s resistance, yes, but it’s also hope. It’s a declaration that my body has a future in God’s Kingdom, even if I never say “I do.”

And I’ve found that following Jesus doesn’t always make the ache go away—but it does give it meaning.

I grieve what I might never have: a romantic partner, a wedding day, a lifelong covenant. I won’t lie about that grief. It’s real. But I grieve as someone who has hope. Because my life isn’t on pause. It’s hidden with Christ in God.

This story isn’t about how I “conquered” anything. It’s about how Jesus keeps conquering me—with mercy, with truth, with His presence in the quietest corners of my soul. It’s about a God who meets me not once I’ve got it all together, but precisely where I’m most undone.

So if you’re carrying your own longings today—whether for intimacy, for clarity, for a love that doesn’t feel out of reach—know this: You are not forgotten. You are not defective. And the cost you feel? It matters. Jesus sees it. He honors it. And He promises that those who lose their life for His sake will find it.

Even when the cost is real—it’s still worth it.