Change is inevitable, and within this span of time there have been numerous transitions. We’ve changed sports- gone are the days of volleyball. We’ve adjusted to varying locations- Princeton Theological Seminary in New Jersey, St. Charles Seminary in Philadelphia, and our current home- Neumann University, in Aston, PA. But the one thing that hasn’t changed after all these years is the fellowship, camaraderie, and brotherhood that brings participants, coaches, and priest chaplains returning year after year. As one participant of this year’s Sports Camp stated – “this is the most comfortable I’ve ever felt in my own skin in a group of men.”

Our 25th anniversary yielded fierce competition. Our first game, football, was won by the Dolphins. Despite being drenched after a sudden downpour, the Lions, however, proved victorious later that day in our softball game.

The next day began with soccer. The Dolphins believed they were the underdogs with several strong soccer players on the Lions team, but after serious hustle the Dolphins took the lead.

Pushing through our soreness, we finished our set of sports with basketball. The Lions, knowing a victory could lead to a tiebreaker, came together and proved triumphant. As is the case for many Sports Camps prior- a free throw shoot out was required to determine which team would receive the coveted Harvey Cup. Each team, in a single-file line, takes turns sending a team member to attempt a free throw basket, followed by a member of the opposing team- no pressure there! By just one basket, the Lions earned the title as champions of Sports Camp XXV.

After working up a serious appetite, the festivities of the evening did not disappoint- including a reception/happy hour with catered hors d’oeuvres followed by a buffet-style dinner.

Participants were offered a heartfelt and humorous talk about the origins of Sports Camp from one of its founders. Current and former directors of Sports Camp shared their own stories and memories with the group. In addition, former Executive Director of Courage, Fr. Paul Check, contributed an inspiring video message congratulating Sports Camp on its 25th Anniversary. The night ended with a celebration of our time together with a formal party. Complete with karaoke, it was this time our vocal chords, not our muscles, that were put to work!

While team mates certainly played hard, they also prayed hard. Daily Mass, morning and evening prayer, and Confessions were offered throughout the weekend to foster bonding with the true VIP- Jesus Christ.

For each game in Sports Camp, coaches present medals to each member of the winning team saying, “through your perseverance, you are victorious.” Let’s pray for each other- members, chaplains, and friends of the Courage/Encourage Apostolate, that we may keep fighting the good fight and hear these same words by our Heavenly Father. Here’s to 25 years of Sports Camp, and God-willing, 25 more!

*    *    *

Brian R. is a 36 year old in the Washington, DC area who works as a hospice nurse. He has been involved with Courage since 2018 and is active in the Baltimore, Washington, and Arlington chapters. He loves outdoor activities with friends, coffee and a good book, and quiet time in front of the Blessed Sacrament.

The opinions and experiences expressed in each blog entry in “The Upper Room” belong solely to the original authors and do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of Courage International, Inc. Some entries have been edited for length and clarity.

The post A Silver Jubilee – 25 Years of Sports Camp appeared first on Courage International, Inc..

Keep Calm and Carry On

When I was a young mother, I distinctly remember thinking about how difficult it would be to have a child come to you and declare they were gay or lesbian and my heart was repulsed at the image. I thought, ‘Please God, not that. Anything but that! I just wouldn’t know what to do!’ And the immediate response in my mind was, ‘Actually, it’s precisely that you will have to face. One day.’ I pushed that thought far back in my mind. Until now.

I am told to go to St. Monica. And I do. I am told to have Faith. And Hope. And that it’s not too late as long as my daughter is alive. And I do, and I know, and I agree. However, what I have come to realize is that God’s timeline is not mine. It doesn’t matter how many times someone says to me – and I have to say, usually a well-meaning soul who has young children – “It will be okay. She’ll come back” there is the very real possibility that I may never see it. None of us may. It may end up being just between her and God and I may not even be in this life to see it. God didn’t give me that guarantee, to witness her return to her faith, to her family, to her very self. No. I realize more and more that he is asking me to be faithful. Simple. And difficult. Extremely difficult. Because no matter how many novenas I do or extra rosaries or votive masses, there’s a touch of pride, even there! Of course I want my daughter to come back to her faith and be fulfilled by the only One who can truly fill her heart; but I want this wound to be gone! I want to not hurt any longer. And that’s my pride. Ego is everywhere! Moreover, if I am to believe that God is all-loving, that he knows what is best for me and those that I love and have committed to him, that he will only do what is best for all of us, then aren’t I supposed to accept this wound? Not only that, but aren’t I supposed to will this wound?

I am reminded that in this suffering, I am following in Our Lord’s path. I am learning that I may carry this ache my entire life. There is no guarantee it will be healed before I die. God never said He would heal all our suffering in this life. He does ask us however to persevere. That’s all. To keep marching. Fidelity. And if I believe that He is an all-loving God, then somehow, I must bend my will to desire what He desires. Not grudgingly so, but joyfully. I must be joyful to suffer in this way. For my daughter. For my other children. For my husband, and family, my mother and father, the Church. Whatever He wants. I just live out this faith. Not check boxes and expect a ribbon at the finish line. Christ didn’t check boxes. I pray I can be Mary to others. To be compassion to my brothers and sisters in Christ when they walk the road of suffering.

Jesus asked, ‘Who do you say I am?’ If we say He is the Son of the Living God, he simply responds:

‘Then pick up your cross. Follow me.’

The post A Mother’s Heart – Part 5 appeared first on Courage International, Inc..

A Marian Response

A good priest friend of ours (Ah yes…another one of those good priest friends. Thankfully.) reminded me that a judgmental response, a response to suffering and sin that is critical, in fact a “checklist” response, is NOT a Marian response.

A Marian response is one of compassion.

Let that word just sit with you for a moment. Compassion. Com – passion. With…suffering. Indeed, to suffer with. What did Mary do as she watched her son ridiculed, derided, misunderstood, tortured? Did she lash out, point fingers, place blame? No. She suffered with him. She didn’t say a thing, at least not that we know of. Her action was her loudest statement. She walked with him in an attitude of humility and docility. She accompanied him. She took his suffering and his wounds to herself. And I believe this is how we as Christians should respond to the suffering of our fellow pew-mates. With compassion. Please God, let me be Mary to others.

It struck me, sometime about a year ago, that Christ asks each of us as individuals the same question he asked the disciples: Who do YOU say that I am? And he asks each one of us, our children included. Perhaps this is a little like the classic Protestant evangelizing question, “Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?” Well, that’s not completely wrong. Because we won’t be saved as a family. Or as a parish. Or as a community. Jesus came into intimate contact, face to face, with many people during his life on earth. How many individual people left him? Ignored him? Walked on by? Were unmoved? In the case of my daughter, her defiant response to ‘Who do you say that I am?’ is ‘Who are YOU to say who I am?’

Do we honestly think we can guarantee sainthood for ourselves or our children simply by following a formula? If we had a sure-fire formula, I’m pretty sure we would have all been following it for a long time now! But our faith is not formulaic. It is beautiful and awesome and grand. It is alive and involves others. It is not a checklist. It is not guaranteed even. There is one option though as a community that I think is the best response to families with children who have fallen away and fallen away big time. And it’s one that hits at our pride. That is precisely the way of Mary. The way of compassion.

Why do I say that compassion hits at our pride? Because we can’t stand apart from the one doing the sinning if we are suffering with those involved: in this case the family and the child. We can’t play the Pharisee if we are walking with those who are suffering. Sin does not like to be seen. It hides itself, much as our daughter slipped away from us. She hid herself so well, I didn’t even realize what happened until she was gone. But when you suffer with someone, you do truly see them. You are present to them. You behold them. Isn’t it interesting that the word “behold” has the verb hold in it? It’s a much stronger verb than to merely “see”. When we look at an individual who has left the faith and place them outside of “us” and begin to see them as “those”, we are not truly beholding a person. As a mother, I tell you, that person is someone’s daughter. Someone’s sister or brother or son. As followers of Christ, striving to walk in Mary’s steps, we need to behold one another. We need to compassion one another into our very hearts. To see and hold and be present. Not to categorize, judge and check our own boxes.

Read Part 5

The post A Mother’s Heart – Part 4 appeared first on Courage International, Inc..

Checking Boxes

Let’s admit it, we have ALL looked askance at our neighbor and said in our heart of hearts, ‘I’m glad I’m not like that person.’ Sound familiar? It should. I believe there was a Pharisee who said about the exact same thing while praying in the temple in the gospel of Luke. Going a step further, I bet we have all scanned the heads of our fellow parishioners in the pews and taken mental note of the hair not quite right, the untucked shirt, the skirt too short, the sleeves a bit too revealing or, Lord forbid, the piercings and the blue hair. (No, she never came to church with blue hair.) I know you have done it. Because I have too. I recall as a young mother, with that ‘the buck stops here with me’ attitude, certain that my child would never do such and such. My husband and I would never have allowed our child to do thus and so. Because we were going to do things Right. Without realizing it, I had fallen into a checklist mentality for living out my faith. And this is a mentality that is a trap for faithful Catholics, indeed, for anyone striving to live a holy Christian life after the pattern of Our Lord.

What do I mean by a “checklist mentality?” By this, I mean a mentality that searches for the perfect recipe for living out our vocation, in my case, of raising children, of living out a vocation to the family life in the role of wife and mother. It’s a mode of living that is concerned with checking the boxes that will guarantee a successful outcome. The outcome being, children who will never leave the faith (indeed, not even deviate one iota or question or step out of line), become saints even, and where we as parents can stand back and admire what?…OUR work. Self-satisfied and content.

But I am telling you, this does not always work. I’m sharing with you the pain of my mother’s heart so you realize that this is not always the case. I think young families, understandably so, look for the role model family to pattern their lives after. ‘If only my kids could be like their kids. Their kids are so respectful, so studious, so obedient, so reverent…’ etc. etc. And so, they plant their flag there. Only to find that, perhaps, sin visits them as well as the next person. Sin, the lot we are ALL born into, that we cannot escape, that cuts across ALL families. I’m here with my mother’s aching heart to warn you, be careful how you judge…lest you too be judged. (ref: Matt. 7:1)

“What did I do wrong?”

When a child goes astray the tendency as a parent is to ask ‘What did I do wrong? Where did I fail? As a mother, as a father?’ As valid as this self-reflection is for a conscientious parent, it also belies a bit of pride, does it not? As if my child’s salvation and walk with Christ is entirely dependent upon me! We parents all appreciate hearing the phrase ‘You should be so proud. Your son/daughter is such a credit to you.’ Only in the past several years have I come to distrust that phrase. As much as I’d like to relish that compliment, my first thought now is ‘You want to see my other child? You may not be saying we’re so perfect.’ So, if I can’t take the blame for one child who goes astray, can I really take the credit for those who don’t? No, not really. In the case of our daughter saying she is now “trans” the anguish we have experienced as parents, while grappling with confusion, anger and loss, is compounded when the greater Christian community asks the same question. What did they do wrong? To which parent can we trace the sin? ‘Well, it’s all because the mother did….’ fill in the blank. ‘If the father had only been more…’ you finish the phrase. I know people think this, because at some point in time in my life, I have thought it about others myself.

I carry this wound to my mother’s heart. We ask God to let us participate in his suffering…but as long as it’s an acceptable suffering. What I mean by that is, as long as it is a suffering that appears noble, or that elevates the piety of the one doing the suffering. We may not realize it but often, when we desire to suffer “for Christ”, we are thinking of suffering that entails loss, or pain, illness, persecution for the faith. But this suffering of mine is, well, embarrassing. This causes side-glances and misunderstanding. This suffering is confusing to parents and siblings alike. Unfortunately, I think society has become complacent about certain sins. We “accept” certain youthful transgressions as we like to call them. “She’s living with her boyfriend…I know, it’s not ideal, but…” Or, “He’s just going through his rebellious drinking-in-college phase. I know, it’s not what we want for him, but…” But isn’t all sin a turning away from God? Isn’t it always a refusal to become who God intends for us to become?

I don’t intend to go into the nuances of what leads a person to choose a trans lifestyle. I have my theories about that that come from observation and experience. But they are certainly not the world’s view. My view is that the trans lifestyle is one that is in complete opposition to the Christian way of life. Which makes it, the trans lifestyle, so tyrannical. It is a whole package. The chooser can’t possibly keep the same relationships they had with family members and friends of their “past.” That earlier person simply doesn’t exist, so they say. The whole idea of being in a family as a certain member, having been given a title, a role, a relationship, is rejected. The world would say we are being unkind. Narrow minded. Un-charitable. And this type of suffering of the parents and family members is not one most people want to share in. This is the suffering from wounds to a parent’s heart when an adult child leaves the faith, indeed runs to the far country, and is all but dead to the family who’s left to grieve.

Read Part 4

The post A Mother’s Heart – Part 3 appeared first on Courage International, Inc..

“Got any tips for being a saint?”

When my daughter was little, back when we only had half of the number of children we have now, she was a sparkly-eyed, enthusiastic, outgoing girl. She read early. Was very verbal. Had a flair for the dramatic. Loved people. All people. She was beautiful. From the beginning of our courtship, my husband and I have been undeservedly blessed with the friendships of many good, strong and faithful priests. I don’t know why we are so blessed to call so many good men of God ‘friends’. (I always joke that it’s because God must know we need the extra help!) It was during a visit of one of these dear priest friends that she, unsolicited and in all sincerity asked him “Father…do you have any tips for becoming a saint?” She was about 6. Tips. I still smile and shake my head when I think of her innocence and clear-eyed openness that moved her to genuinely ask such a question.

I recall in about 8th grade, she would wake early to come share in our quiet prayer time before her day began. She loved ballet and art and I thought, being a sister in this family. I suppose I felt like we were doing our job well, all was working as planned in our child-rearing endeavors. I never would have foreseen the person she has become now.

“I’m living a queer lifestyle.”

Which brings to mind that wound.

I recently listened to a friend recount his time in a college class he is currently taking as an adult learner. To be sure, being surrounded by today’s average undergraduate student would make anyone 40 or older feel a bit alien. But when he commented with no lack of derision on his younger classmates, “those people, tattooed and pierced, the ones with blue hair…” I immediately thought…’you mean my daughter?’ Yes, she is now one of “those” people. She’s in “that” camp.

There’s that wound again.

Not only is she not practicing her faith now, zero desire for knowing any “tips” about achieving sainthood, but she is now grouped with “those” people. Those others who…and now you fill in the blank. No, I’ll fill it in for you. She is living the trans life. She has left her beautiful name we gave her, chucked it out, for a gender neutral one. She speaks the name ‘mother’ and ‘father’ with scorn. She doesn’t call herself ‘sister’, but rather ‘sibling’. She wouldn’t like me calling her “she”. And it has left a gaping, jagged hole in my mother’s heart. Not only for me, but for the chaos her choice is causing for her brothers and sisters. It’s a double wound then, and one I feel I must carry for my children’s sakes. I watch. And I feel helpless.

What is it about sin – this sin in particular – that has left me paralyzed? I’m caught flat-footed. I can’t act; indeed, I’m not sure I really could act. She is an adult. If she were a teen, it would be different. But she seemed to slip away from me so quickly and quietly that I feel caught unawares. She has gone away from me in such a profound way. She is dead in a deep sense. And I don’t have a body to bury.

Read Part 3

The post A Mother’s Heart – Part 2 appeared first on Courage International, Inc..

Let me begin selfishly…by talking about me.

I am an only child. My parents divorced when I was 7. I lived with my mother throughout my childhood and watched both my mother and father marry and divorce multiple times, searching for happiness and fulfillment in another person. According to whichever study you care to follow, my path through adulthood should have followed a similar trajectory of failed relationships and familial brokenness. My father was not a figure in my life, but when he died three years ago, I was able to honestly forgive him for his negligence and mistakes and hurts he had carelessly or unknowingly inflicted on me over the years. With God’s grace – and it was a miraculous instance when it occurred, I assure you – I was able to. I could pick up those grievances no longer. I tried, but I just couldn’t. God had removed the burden from me. Those childhood wounds were healed. Scars remain to be sure, but they are not painful to the touch or to probing. They just…are. The Great Physician can heal in a deeper way than we can ever heal ourselves.

But today, I carry a different wound. Not one from childhood, but from adulthood. Indeed, it is one that has come precisely because of my vocation to married life and to motherhood.

When my husband and I married, both of us coming from broken families, we felt a true desire, a calling even, to stop the brokenness of our pasts. ‘NO!’ we said, ‘The buck stops here. With us. It will go no further.’ I suppose implying to ourselves that somehow, we would do better than our parents. We wouldn’t make those mistakes. Sure, we said, we knew we’d make our own, but in our blissful youth and ignorance, we figured they’d somehow be more acceptable, or golly, not half as bad as our parents’, right? I mean, we were turning out alright, so we could do even better and turn out terrific children, model adults who would love and cherish the faith, this faith we as converts chose. Our children could be saints even! We would just need to do things a certain way, and all would be well.

So why all this talk of woundedness and such? Sounds rather melodramatic indeed. I have come to realize though that I had not experienced heartache – true to the name heart-ache – as I have during the past three years. It is a wound that most of the time I prefer not to see, not to look at, to cover up and turn my eye from, to ignore so I can go about my daily business of caring for a home, teaching or being mother to my other children. It’s too painful. Too jagged and gaping. And no one wants to look long at that, for goodness’ sake. Today, at this moment, I am willing to uncover it, air it, probe its diameter and depth just a bit in order to share with you something that I have learned from it. And perhaps in the probing, there will be a bit of healing. For me as well as for you.

As a convert I realize more and more the less and less that I know about this audacious faith I am in. Daily I thank God for it. I have been told to look to St. Monica at this time of my life. And I am trying, honestly. I certainly made my choices as a young adult that led me far from Our Lord, and, with His Grace, made choices that brought me back to him. Much like the prodigal son. Only, daughter, in my case. Now, as a mother watching her child move further and further away from faith and family, experiencing the pain inflicted not only on my husband and I, but watching the ensuing pain brought on brothers and sisters who now also carry a secret sorrow, I can only say with the psalmist, ‘The waters have risen to my neck, and I have no foothold. Lord, save me from drowning.’ (ref: Psalm 69:1)

Read Part 2

The post A Mother’s Heart – Part 1 appeared first on Courage International, Inc..

He opened the door; we shook hands, and he led me into a small living room. Near the kitchen entrance was a small table with four chairs. On the kitchen counter was a picture of his wife and two children. I thought that perhaps that was one thing that he should not have brought: a relic from his previous life.

We sat down and caught up with each other’s lives while having corned beef sandwiches and coffee. A favourite of both of us. I was pleased to hear that things were going well for him. His smile and hopeful demeanour were a pleasant contrast to the person I found last time broken and nearly dead on a garbage strewn floor.

I told him how happy I was to see that he was on the mend. He thanked me and said, “I want to show you something. It’s a gift I bought for myself when I moved here.” He led me to his bedroom. I expected to see something pleasant and encouraging like exercise equipment or a big TV. What I saw made me stand still with some unease.

Depictions of the crucifixion that I favour are usually for the lack of a better word ‘artistic’. Jesus’ body is athletic, beautiful with some trace of the wounds He experienced. His face an expression of divine acceptance with thin streams of blood running down from the crown of thorns. These representations are just unpleasant enough to remind us of why we revere Him, to meditate as we adore Him. But that was not what I saw.

The cross was a strange shade of metallic grey and His body of carved wood.

Jesus looked all twisted and abused. His flesh marked from every lash and bruise. His torso strangely stuck out. His face looking upwards, with rivulets of tears, sweat and blood. His mouth open in agony. Even the cross that held him looked mangled and tortuous. This was not some romanticised, aesthetic rendition of the divine suffering of Our Lord. This was definitely something else. Something that seemed to me, obscene.

I wanted to look away like I did that night when I rushed to his former place with my friends. We saw him huddled on the floor slowly rocking back and forth. We tripped over empty bottles and garbage to get to him. The odour of his despair hit us as we gently picked him up and took him outside. I wanted to look away as we waited for the ambulance, but I couldn’t. To see someone fall so far was a stark reminder of what can happen to any of us. The only words that came to mind as I stared at that crucifix were misery, desolation, and pain.

“You don’t like it,” he said, his voice shaking me out of that memory.

“It looks…interesting,” I said trying not to sound disapproving.

“I bought it,” he said, “because it reminds me of His torment. How horrible it must have been taking on the misery of the whole world. When I look and think about it, mine pales in comparison. If he endured this for all our sakes and His Father rewarded Him, then that means there is hope for me.” Then he smiled.

“I think I understand,” I said to him, but the words were mainly to convince myself.

We went back to the living room, and he picked up a gift bag and handed it to me. “This is my way of thanking you for saving me and happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” I said. He had been through so much and now he looked so content. He went through misery and found peace. Maybe that gift for himself was what he needed. I asked him if he wanted to come with me to my party, but he declined saying that he was not yet ready for those kinds of celebrations.

We shook hands and I left. When I got into the car, I opened the gift bag. There was a small box and inside it there was a little version of the cross he had in his bedroom.

I held it in my hand for a few moments as though it was the most precious thing in the world. This time instead of unease I felt a strange sense of calm. I have crucifixes in my home, a sign of my faith, but I will keep this one on my desk. A reminder that we must learn to shoulder our burdens and offer them as He did for all mankind. And if possible, teach others to lift their burdens as well so that we will all inch towards heaven and not careen towards disaster. I closed my hands around it and wished for my friend to always have peace. I started the car and went home to celebrate.

Author: Greg

The post A Gift for Himself appeared first on Courage International, Inc..

What? Why would God lead us into a snare? That sounds cruel! Not like the behavior of a supposedly loving, concerned Father.  I’m not sure I can love a God who would do such a thing. I need an explanation.  Please help me understand, Lord. 

A pack of wolves is out on their nightly hunt. A loud snap is heard, and a yelp. A member of the pack has stepped into a snare laid by their enemy. The wolf struggles to free himself as the pack flees and a light approaches. The wolf sees the light bearer is not the hunter but a hiker.    

The hiker has been trailing the pack as he is not only a hiker but also a biologist and lover of wildlife. He is filled with sympathy for the injured, scared animal as he approaches. The wolf does not know who this man is, but he knows from past experiences not to trust men. So as the man approaches to help free the wolf, he becomes increasingly aggressive. Some pack members who initially ran off come back to see what has come of their pack member.  

The hiker’s desire to help overwhelms his desire for personal safety and comfort, so he does not turn away despite snarling and snapping. The wolf is completely unsure of why he isn’t dead by now. Usually, once the snare is sprung, death by gunshot follows quickly. But not this time. Despite the difference in behavior between this man and others, the wolf still does not trust and has increasing levels of pain.   

The hiker finally gets in close enough to try to free the trapped foot of the wolf. As he leans in to try to release the snare, the pain in the wolf’s leg increases. The wolf reacts by snapping at and finally biting the man trying to rescue him. While this would deter most men, it doesn’t deter this one. Despite his injury from being bitten, he continues working to free the maimed leg.   

The rest of the pack has now returned to see this strange interaction between human and animal. They watch in amazement, the wolf form of amazement, as the human not only endures the growling and bites of their brother wolf but, after a few minutes, frees him from the snare. The freed wolf quickly darts off, as does the rest of the pack. The hiker takes off in pursuit. 

Were it not for the snare, the hiker and the wolf would have never met. The hiker would not have had the opportunity to save the wolf, and the wolf and his pack would have never encountered a human that wanted to help, not harm. The snare changed the lives of both for the better, though injury was caused for each. There was no other way for the changes the wolf and the hiker experienced to come about but through the pain of the snare and bites.  

This is why God leads us into snares. Because He knows what is necessary to bring about the most significant long-term benefit to us and the pack He loves. He is willing to endure our bites and snarls to bring us true freedom to run with His pack to the gates of Heaven.  

The post Into the Snare appeared first on Courage International, Inc..

He loves like a brother. 

His love requires self-denial; self-control. He strives to protect his own soul and the souls of all he encounters. He offers a generative love that helps others flourish and thrive. 

He loves like a father.  

In his longings and temptations, he loves with a submissive spirit. He offers his sufferings for the conversion of family and friends, the strengthening of marriages, the flourishing of vocations to the priesthood and religious life, the protection of the unborn, and that all souls may know the love and mercy of our gracious Father.  

He loves like Jesus.  

When he falls short, he runs right to the arms of his merciful Father in the sacrament of Reconciliation. He is given the grace, the encouragement, and the love to keep trying. He does not hate himself for his shortcomings, but gratefully receives the tender and forgiving gaze of our Lord.  

He is loved as the prodigal son.  

How different would our world look if men took more seriously the beautiful and noble call to chastity? How would the hearts of men change if they could see this virtue as a gift – both to themselves, and others?  

Thanks be to God for the Courage Apostolate, which helps those of us with same-sex attractions to strive for this brotherly, fatherly, Christ-like love. And so too for the gift of helping us more fully realize our identity as beloved sons. Let’s hope that through our imperfect witness, we may play a small part in helping the world to better understand this often ignored but desperately needed virtue.  

*    *    *

Brian R. is a 33 year old in the Washington, DC area who works as a hospice nurse. He has been involved with Courage since 2018 and is active in the Baltimore, Washington, and Arlington chapters. He loves outdoor activities with friends, coffee and a good book, and quiet time in front of the Blessed Sacrament.

The opinions and experiences expressed in each blog entry in “The Upper Room” belong solely to the original authors and do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of Courage International, Inc. Some entries have been edited for length and clarity.

The post The Chaste Man Loves Differently appeared first on Courage International, Inc..

As a child, I was close with my dad, and I kept my hair short to be like my mother, and to differentiate myself from my identical twin sister; I was a ‘tom boy.’ In early grades I enjoyed telling my friends things I heard in Sunday school, yet I was teased in 7th grade for saying “If I was a boy I’d marry [insert name of my best friend].” Due to much rejection of myself, I came to believe the only way somebody may stay within your life is by marriage. My parents have a good long marriage and I wanted someone to pray with me and to hug me. In leaving high-school I went into a discipleship college as I had no clue what I would do – only that I would like to serve God, for He is the reason I am here. Perhaps I could be a pastor like my grandparents.

In seeing the many hurtful messages a friend faced by those claiming to follow Jesus, I wanted to help. I used my gift of writing to abuse the Scriptures, submitting an affirming sermon of homo-erotic relationships. Based on television choices in my life, my own desire for affection with friends, masturbation, and zero awareness of sexual attention to men, I began feeding the notion that I would become a man. I always wanted a brother, yet my dad never had a son, etc.; then I could have a wife, and maybe the church wouldn’t oppose it very much. I was tired of others falsely thinking I was male, accusing me of homosexual intentions when I had a close friend, and I was truly sick from lifelong wounds and convictions of sin that I kept unto myself, for I was told “It is only between you and God.” My life held more darkness upon leaving discipleship college because, out of many teachings, I chose one which felt easier. But I could no longer claim ignorance of the Truth; rather, I was unwilling to search for answers; to examine my own heart, and I continued to lead church events superficially. Hiding myself with lies and pretending to have the fruit of His Spirit which only He can gift took me further from my relationship with God.

I remembered one teaching about holiness from discipleship college and I reached out to that leader. I heard testimonies of God from those who said now they were truly disciples of Christ; however; they were all raised in ‘Christian’ contexts. I was so curious! They listened to me, they spoke truth to many lies I accepted: “that sin is disgusting” became “that is heartbreaking”, and I read Pope Saint John Paul II’s summary of Theology of the Body by Christopher West titled Our Bodies Tell God’s Story. Each time I was encouraged to ask Him. Once, I felt so down for entertaining a sinful thought after so much progress, I cut out distractions to spend more time in prayer. God said He wants to be my Father, my Brother and my Friend forever, showing me moments of my life where I first trusted the view of my dad, my sister, or my so-called friends more than Him. He stood there loving me, arms outstretched, but I did not care. It broke my heart and because each Person of God distinctively shared with me – I grew up with an emphasis on Christ alone – it encouraged me to look into Catholicism after my eldest sister joined the Church. Nervously, before I fully read those deuterocanonical books, I asked Him if I could trust them given how much heresy I had been told. Additionally, I grew my hair out and became vegetarian to help me remember I was seeking a new way of life.

Now, I am a candidate – I hastily got baptized independently upon seeing the changes God brought into my life as I chose to obey Him – with hopes to receive my Confirmation next year. Now, I am open to the gift of a husband, being a wife, and a mother – or not – for whichever plans God has for me have proven far better than the direction which I steered myself towards. Some Protestant leaders told me I must become a nun, yet God, who led me out of all my sins and restores my desires, also shows me I may have a husband, yet I can live a life without one and not be lonely. I had cut myself off from female friends – afraid I may be tempted – yet He encourages me to share Him unbiasedly with all His beloved sons and daughters whether they know and accept this identity yet or not.

Bethany

The post Little Miracle appeared first on Courage International, Inc..