It was Saturday night on Valentine's Day weekend, and my wife and I were watching the late news. Our daughter Tess walked into the room, handed us a note, and walked away.
The note said, "I am gay. I am happy this way. And if you really love me, you won't try to change me, and you will not try to talk with me about this."
Tess was 16, a junior in high school. The dreams we had for her life changed dramatically that night. Our lives did too.
She never chose to be a pastor's kid, but she was one. And she had experienced some significant struggles. Now, with one bold stroke, she let us know that whatever choices we had made in life so far, she was making her own choices from here on out.
That night was harder for me than the nights when either of my parents died. Something truly died within me that night. And yet something new was born.
After reading the note, tears flowed. Cheryl and I looked at each other and knew we had to respond. No matter what the note said, we had to reach out to our daughter. We had to communicate what was most important. Each of us went separately to Tess's room to say what needed to be said.
"Tess, we're not going to try to talk you out of this, but we'd like to talk." She let each of us us in the room. We both hugged her and said, "We are so proud of you for telling us. We know this was a hard thing for you to do. You are our daughter and we have always loved you and we always will."
We told her that we would respect her wishes and not try to talk her out of this. Those were the right words to say. Did we really understand what was happening to our family right at that moment? I don't fully know.
I cried more that night than at any other time of my life. I feared for Tess's future. She'd had serious struggles over the last few years and had talked about suicide. Would this path only be more dangerous for her? She'd told us many times she wasn't sure she wanted God in her life, and I suspected that her announcement was her way of telling us that she was walking away from God, though I hoped it wasn't.
That night I shook with a trembling that I could not control. It felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. My wife and I prayed because it was all we could do. We prayed because there was no where else to go. We didn't know how this was going to turn out, but we both knew that our world had suddenly changed.
Day one of our new reality
When morning came, I got up and headed to the church. Work had always been my solace, but not this day. Despite the complete absence of sleep, it was Sunday and I still had to stand in front of our church, open God's word, and speak to 500 people who wanted to hear what God had to say through me.
Somehow I got through two services. But instead of being energized by worship, I was emotionally and physically exhausted.
After the service, I responded to some paperwork on my desk, and I was the last one out of the building. A good escape, I thought.
Another fear was what would happen when someone from our church found out?
But as I headed to my car, another vehicle was in the lot, and the driver got out and headed directly toward me. "Coach" is a retired school counselor who had coached football and baseball a few towns over from where I grew up. He had supported me in the difficult ministry years as our church plant got off the ground, and he has continued to serve as one of my most trusted advisors ever since. He took one look at me and said, "What's wrong?"
I couldn't believe it. What gave me away? My wife and I had promised that we would just get through this day. We wouldn't tell anyone. Then we would figure out our next steps. But Coach cut through all of that with two words.
I blurted out the truth. I told him that Tess had announced last night that she was gay. With these words, I faced another of my fears: What would happen when someone else, someone from our church, found out?
Coach just nodded. Instead of rejection, I found encouragement, support, friendship. He told me that this was the beginning of a long road for us, but that God would lead us on this new road. How could he have known how true those words would become?
Three years have passed since that weekend. We're still in the same town, the same home, the same church. Our faith has been tested, and we are stronger. Our love for our daughter has not lessened; it has grown. Our love for the Lord has not lessened; it has grown too. Our love for God's word has not lessened. In fact, our theology has not changed. But we have learned lessons we never entertained before.
I've been surprised by some of the things that have happened.
1. My gay child's declaration has been good for our marriage.
Facing our daughter's struggle together has been good for our marriage. Cheryl and I are more deliberate about praying together, not so much out of desperation, but from a determination to be faithful as long as it takes. We know that we are on this new journey together, wherever it leads.
For a long time, we told no one other than Coach. We weren't sure who we could tell, who we trusted, so we were in this together, and we were in this alone. After knocking us to our knees, our daughter's same-sex struggles pulled us together. We looked forward to taking long walks together. We couldn't talk about our thoughts openly at home when she was there, but we could talk as we walked together. We held hands a lot more. We were careful about how each other was feeling. I listened more carefully.
We were determined not to allow this to pull us apart.
2. My gay child's condition has clarified our goals.
We want our home to be a place where our daughter sees the love and grace of God in action, not reactionary judgment. Clear goals give us the ability to focus on what we want our home to exemplify.
Because of Tess's specific condition, the first goal was the clearest of all: to get our daughter through high school alive.
We don't know how it started, but she showed signs of depression early on. We sought counseling for her and for us as parents. When same-sex attraction was added to her load, she battled suicidal thoughts. These thoughts were constant companions through her high school years.
One attempt was thwarted when my wife found a stash of pills that she had been saving up from her prescription anti-depressant medications for her escape plan. Much later, we learned that her entire freshman year of college was marked by a daily struggle with suicidal thoughts.
Today I admire her determination to fight through those urges.
When your goal is that clear, choices become simpler. For years, I had avoided bringing political concerns into the pulpit. Yet when our state became one of the first to embrace gay marriage, I felt compelled to address the biblical definition of marriage. I knew that I was on solid biblical ground and that our staff and elders were behind me on this.
One Sunday I invited the president of our regional family and marriage organization to speak. I interviewed him, asking a series of tough questions at both services. Many people enjoyed this intellectual approach to this issue. But we also paid a price for doing this when a small number of people left our fellowship.
They told me it wasn't that they disagreed on the merits of the issue. Most had a gay friend or a gay family member, and they said they now felt that our church was no longer a safe place to bring their family member to consider the gospel of Christ. I hadn't fully understood their position. But now I did.
Our daughter's announcement stripped away any thought of being involved in an effort like that again. Some of my staff members didn't understand my decision, but I knew that I could live with myself if I dropped out of that debate and let someone else step forward. I would not be able to live with myself if my biblical and political crusading heightened my daughter's suicidal tendencies. That would be someone else's fight, not mine from now on.
3. My gay child's unbelief helps me understand God's heart.
Like most pastors, I have preached my share of Prodigal Son sermons. I remember hearing Tim Keller talk about embracing "the Third Way," the way of the Father, instead of being limited to either the way of the prodigal or the way of the older brother.
My daughter's confession and gay identity led her to deny that God exists. She moved from being the kid who clearly explained why she wanted to be baptized at the age of nine, to defiantly declaring that she no longer believes in God and she's happier that way.
I tried telling her that it's okay to have your own journey to faith. "This isn't a journey to faith," she said angrily. "I have no faith and I'm not seeking any. I don't want what you have!"
That's hard for a father, pastor or not, to hear. I know that there are moments when she misses the Christian songs she grew up with and the sense of shared faith that strongly connects our extended family. She respects us as parents, but she wants no part of our faith.
At first, her rejection of God hurt me deeply. What kind of pastor was I if I couldn't reach my own child? Let alone being a pastor of a seeker-friendly church who loves talking about faith and engaging in personal evangelism with others?
Eventually I realized that this is exactly the kind of dilemma Jesus had in mind when he described the Father who longs for his wayward son. I had taught this before, but never felt it as I do now.
If anyone understands my frustration and hurt over my daughter's personal and spiritual situation, God does. It is certainly like God to meet me in my hurt and discouragement. Yet who would have thought that my daughter's spiritual defiance would draw me closer to the Father and clarify my pastoral perspectives?
Once more, God shows me that in all things he's working for the good of those who love him.
4. The Lord met our needs in unexpected ways.
Shortly before my daughter told us that she was gay, a friend had sent me some information about Lead Them Home, a ministry that equips church leaders and the wider evangelical community to cultivate a faith identity among people with non-heterosexual orientations and gender identities. I had considered having Bill Henson, the founder of Lead Them Home, meet with our church leaders to help us better understand how to minister to people with same-sex orientations and how to reach out to their families. Now I needed to talk with Bill about my family.
Cheryl and I met with Bill. He listened to our story and understood that we didn't know what to do next. We were afraid of doing or saying things that would cause further harm. He coached us in practical ways. All faith discussions were put on a back burner as we worked to establish a new kind of trust with our daughter. She needed to know that we would truly love her unconditionally and not try to "change" her. We realized any change would have to be God's doing; it wasn't something we could force. Bill coached us about what to say and what not to say. He provided us a roadmap on this bewildering new journey.
Then Bill connected us to another ministry couple from a neighboring state whose son had come out a few years earlier. Bill had helped them and now he asked if they would meet with us. Over lunch they told us their story and they listened to our story. We laughed and cried together.
The time and warmth they extended to us that day had a healing effect. They shared lessons they had learned. As we drove away, we began to sense a kind of hope for the first time. Not the hope that everything would turn out the way we wanted it to. Hope that we would heal enough to one day help someone else.
Lead Them Home is an equipping ministry that trains church leaders through a couple different series of workshops. The "Posture Shift" seminar helps pastor and elder teams to care for LGBT people without compromising biblical orthodoxy. "Family Care" is a confidential gathering of parents and families of LGBT loved ones.
We attended a Family Care gathering at another church. We were told that we didn't have to share our story. As a pastor, I didn't think I could do that yet. But as we listened to two same-sex attracted people tell their faith stories and as we met with family members who were learning to cope and to express unconditional love, we found ourselves openly sharing our story too.
5. My gay child's decision has forced me to face my deepest fears.
Learning that your child is gay is hard for most Christians to deal with. And pastors face an additional set of fears. From that first night when our daughter told us she was gay, a whole range of questions ran through my mind. Who could I tell? Who must I tell? Does this disqualify me from leadership? Is my credibility now damaged? Do I need to step down from various leadership roles?
One conclusion guided much of my thought process: some of this is my daughter's story, not mine. I am not in the business of outing her or telling her story in a way that she would object to. I don't have the right to tell her story for her. That's one reason my name is not attached to this article.
Learning your child is gay isn't easy. and pastors face a unique set of added fears.
Facing my fears meant that we told a handful of friends who pray with us and support us. We have found common ground with other parents who are dealing with similar challenges. I find great comfort in Paul's declaration, "When I am weak, then I am strong." I am powerless to change this situation. The strength of Christ is our great hope.
My name and phone number was given to another pastor in our state whose son came out last year. He never called me. I will probably never know his name. Yet I know why he didn't call. He's afraid. He's afraid that someone else in the Christian community will know. He's afraid that his secret will get out, and that he will be judged or criticized in the larger Christian community.
Little by little we've learned to mourn with those who mourn. We've learned to sit with those who suffer in silence when fellow Christians make harsh comments about gays.
6. My gay child's struggle has made me less rigid.
Years ago, my wife and I joined a group of parents in working through principles centered on God's plan for raising kids. Several of the principles were sound and biblical. Yet an unintended result led some of us to assume that when kids didn't fall in line with biblical behavior patterns, that this was a result of bad parenting.
Many parents have shared their child-raising challenges with me over the years. I listened to them, I prayed with them, sometimes I counseled them. Today I am able to empathize with them in a way that I could not have done earlier.
We have found a new capacity for reaching out to other parents as we share their struggles with the complex issues that often affect their adult children. We are learning to do this in a prayerful, non-judgmental, and supportive environment.
Parents don't get to make decisions for their adult children. We cannot make them believe. I remember hearing about a pastor with a gay son several years ago. I never criticized him, but inwardly, I thought that he must have done something wrong as a parent. I don't assume that anymore.
7. My gay child led me to a renewed trust in God's sovereignty.
This is not the pathway I would have chosen for my child. Yet, trusting in the sovereignty of God, we will walk down this path, wherever it leads. I don't love my daughter any less. It is possible that I love her more.
Knowing that she is aware of what we believe and what we have taught her, my wife and I continually pray that the Lord will put someone in her path who will be able to model grace and truth in a way that she can hear.
I mull over Paul's great statement in 1 Corinthians 6:11, "And that is what some of you were." We are not the first set of parents to travel this road. Somehow the church in Corinth had founding members who had left their same-sex experiences behind in order to submit their whole lives to Jesus.
My hope and prayer is that our church today will become that kind of church, full of stories of life-changing grace. I hope I live long enough to see the day when Christ-followers love my daughter so greatly that she will again know that God is love and that God loves her.
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