by Phil Hobizal
I was raised in a small town outside of Portland, Oregon. Although our family was religious, I had no personal knowledge of God.
Dad was always working to support our family of five children. Unfortunately, his constant worries about money left him short-tempered and critical. He had little time to spend with us and as I grew older, I began to resent him. My mother, on the other hand, was loving and supportive. Because I rejected my father, she became my role model. I enjoyed the same things she did: art, music and cooking.
When I was seven, my brother’s friend spent the night. He introduced me to sexual experimentation, and we kissed and hugged for hours. Because of my own need for love and acceptance, it felt good to be close and share this kind of intimacy.
Years went by. I didn’t like the competition of sports, and always felt different from the other boys. Music became an escape, a way of proving myself. Then junior high school brought on a whole new set of pressures. My body began to change and I was viewed by the other students as a sissy.
I was very frightened and thoughts of suicide became more frequent. But one day my science teacher made the remark, “Anyone who kills himself is a sissy. “Oh no–not that, I thought. That would be the worst thing people could think of me. My only way of escape wasn’t an option after all.
In my town, there were two types of students: jocks and stoners. Not being sports-minded, I wasn’t much of a jock. So being a stoner was my option, which meant being part of the drug scene.
There was no limit to what I’d try. I became totally rebellious. Inside I resented my mother, blaming her for the way I was. And I hated my Dad for his neglect. Drugs became my escape from the pain inside.
My first sexual encounter occurred with my best friend in high school. We were drunk and I took advantage of him. He wasn’t homosexual and there was no mention of the incident afterward.
This began a pattern for me with other guys. I would make sexual advances to them; later, they would say nothing. Fantasy and masturbation were also a frequent release for my sexual tension, but it was all very unfulfilling. To others, I appeared to be a normal kid. Outwardly I was friendly and happy, but inwardly I was wasting away. I didn’t want to be gay, but there seemed to be no other choice.
Finally I broke down in tears and told my parents the dark secret that had plagued my life for so many years. It came as no surprise; they had suspected for some time, but didn’t know what to do about it.
“Why don’t you become a priest?” was my dad’s response. I realized that was no answer, merely another escape. My parents agreed to pay for counseling, but I only went twice. The psychiatrist wanted me to accept my situation. That wasn’t the solution I needed.
My personal search for other answers began. But the more psychology books I read, the more confused I got. I knew that I was too undisciplined and insecure to change myself, so I began to study other possibilities, such as Eastern religions and hypnosis. Still no answers. Maybe there’s no way out, I thought. I’ll just have to accept it.
About this time I started a new job, and one of the guys at work became my friend. Jim had a peace in his life that I wanted. He always talked about Jesus; because I also had a religious background, we’d talk about God. But it soon became apparent that I didn’t know Him the way Jim did. To me, God was distant and harsh, not a loving Father.
At the same time, the pull to dive headlong into active homosexuality was getting intense. A gay man at work was coming on to me. I had to make a choice: to follow my feelings, or to try this “Jesus” about whom I was hearing so many good things.
One night in October 1978, I prayed, “God, if You’re real, please reveal Yourself to me.” As I slept, He spoke to me in a vivid dream, letting me know that He had a place for me to eat at His table (see Revelation 3:20). The next day I woke up with such peace and joy that I wept. Somehow I knew God was real, that He was the answer for which I’d been searching so long.
I knew God could change my sexual orientation, but little did I know the pain and upheaval still ahead. Satan wasn’t letting go of me that easy.
Jim and his friends gave me much-needed love and attention. At first, they knew nothing of my homosexual struggles. I wanted so much to be accepted that I wouldn’t risk being vulnerable with them. Jim suggested a church; I went to visit, but sat at the back of the church alone. When the service was over, I quickly left.
I kept going back to church; gradually I began hanging around afterward a little longer. The leadership eventually asked me to be an usher, and I became active in different aspects of church life. This kept me busy and helped me avoid too much focus on my homosexual feelings.
I destroyed anything in my house related to homosexuality, and devoted myself to prayer and reading God’s Word. I didn’t hang around with my old friends. To them, I had become a “Jesus freak.” I prayed for new friends and as I became more involved in church life, I began to establish lasting friendships. The key was being willing to be vulnerable, to feel awkward at times, but still persevere.
Within months of my conversion, my father developed a problem that required a serious operation. We were told that he had a 50/50 chance of living. For the first time, I began to experience feelings of love toward my dad and I wept at the thought of losing him. I forgave him for all he had done to me. The healing process had begun.
After about a year, I knew that I needed the support of my church to gain more victory over my past. Then came an anonymous phone call one night from someone threatening to beat me up because I was a “queer.” I went and told my pastor about my background. He was very supportive, and asked me to share my testimony the next Sunday in church!
I was scared to death, but God gave me courage. If I’m really going to be a part of this church, I thought, they need to know me for who I am. The church responded very positively; their acceptance helped me to forgive myself. God’s healing was continuing.
But two years into my Christian walk, I fell into homosexuality again. I had secretly been holding onto desires for some homosexual activities I’d never experienced. I began to isolate myself and then a gay neighbor invited me over for dinner. After some wine, my pent-up desires came rushing to the surface. But the experience was totally unfulfilling, and I ended up repenting on the spot. I apologized to the guy and left.
I was able to confess to a dear friend and he helped in restoring me. I knew I had opened the door to much spiritual attack, but I also learned more about the grace and mercy of the Lord. I have never fallen back into sex with another man since that day.
About five years after coming out of homosexuality, I joined an ex-gay support group here in Portland. I found out that I could encourage others because of what God had taken me through. It felt good to help them experience God’s love and healing.
The Lord was also faithful to provide a lovely woman to be my wife. I first met Patty when we were both working on a Christian musical. Our relationship began as friends with a common goal. We soon grew close and it became evident to everyone that God was bringing us together in marriage. Our courtship was one of the happiest times of my life.
The restoration of the years of despair have been great. God, in His love and mercy, has given me so much for which I am grateful.
For years, I looked for an escape from my unhappiness and sexual struggles. But I’ve found the way out. His Name is Jesus.
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