by Dawn Killion

I looked around the crowded courtroom. I knew I was guilty of a pretty serious crime. Six months before, two other women and myself had set fire to a naval building in Jacksonville, Florida. The structure was totally destroyed.

Now the case was over, and I was about to be sentenced. I held my breath as the judge looked down at me. “Young lady, you are guilty of willful destruction of federal property. I sentence you to seven years in prison.”

I suddenly felt winded, like someone had punched me in the stomach. Seven years in prison! I couldn’t believe it. How had I gotten myself into such a mess?

Actually, it wasn’t much of a surprise to any of my family that my life had come to this. I was only 23, but I’d been going down the wrong path for years.

Even before puberty, I felt very different from other girls. I really wanted to be a boy and dressed up in my Dad’s clothes, dreaming I was a handsome man that all the women just adored. I fell in love with all my girlfriends, and fed my thriving fantasy life with Playboy magazines stolen from my brother.

My first sexual encounter happened with my best girlfriend in sixth grade. We pretended that I was the boy. From that time on, my desire to be with women increased. At the same time, I felt guilty and confused. Drinking and using drugs helped me escape from my feelings.

My older brother, one younger sister and I had all been adopted. The doctors had told my mother she’d never have children of her own. Then she got pregnant with my youngest sister. Everyone was totally surprised.

Even though my parents tried to love all their children the same, I never felt they really cared about me. My drinking and drug use helped ease the pain I felt inside, and also gave me the approval from my peers that I craved.

Mom and I fought all the time. When I was only 13, she confronted me: “Dawn, I think I know what could be your problem. You’re a lesbian.” That remark really stung. Of course, I denied her accusation.

Another time, she said to me, “I know I have to love you, but I sure don’t like you. You’ll never be anything but a failure.” By then, my grades at school were terrible. I’d already run away from home several times. Finally, at 16, I left for good and moved to the San Francisco Bay area.

Almost right away, I met some hippies and got involved in taking more drugs. LSD trips became a frequent pastime. I also lost my virginity and went to bed with every guy I met. A year later, I almost died of a drug overdose.

At age 18, I joined the army. I’d heard they had a lot of lesbians. “That’s what I am, so it’s time to start living like one,” I told myself.

I began basic training and soon had my first lover. However, my army days lasted a grand total of eight months. I was more interested in my new lifestyle than in pursuing a military career. I had fallen in love with the bar life: drinking, dancing and spending as much time as possible with other gay women.

When my lover left me for another woman, it was devastating. I began going from one relationship to another, looking for the perfect lover to spend the rest of my life with. None of the relationships lasted very long.

Although I’d believed in Jesus since I was a little girl, I didn’t know much about the Bible, except for stories I’d heard in Sunday School. But I tried to live by those stories, being kind, forgiving and generous.

I’d heard it was wrong to be gay. I even read it once in the Bible and it scared me. I don’t want to go to hell, I thought. But I was born gay, so there’s no way to change. I drank even more to numb the guilt.

Then I joined the navy when I was 21 and ended up in Jacksonville, Fla., working on a tug boat. Drinking took over my life. I went through several alcohol rehabilitation programs. Finally the navy diagnosed me as a “hopeless, chronic alcoholic.” In September, 1979, I was discharged. Because of my work record, I received an honorable discharge, despite my problems with alcohol.

Just after getting out of the navy, I found a new lover. She helped me to stop drinking and get my life back together. I got more involved in gay rights. My lover and I traveled to Washington, D.C. to participate in the first National Gay and Lesbian March in October, 1979. Homosexuals from all over the world gathered near the Washington Monument to hold a three day protest for gay rights. I was charged up as never before in my life. I felt my calling was to fight for the rights of “my people” and to become politically active.

Two weeks later, a close friend in the navy tried to kill herself. She was being discharged for being gay. When her lover called me at 3 a.m., I had been drinking and dropping acid. In my drug-induced state, I decided to retaliate against the navy by throwing a Molotov cocktail at the NIS [Naval Investigative Service] building on base. Two friends and I put some kerosene in a bottle filled with rags. The fire we started was a lot bigger than we expected. The whole building burned down and we were eventually caught and sentenced.

In prison, I began to sober up. I couldn’t drink as much as before, and I began seeking God. I knew He’d been watching over me because I was still alive. God must have a purpose for my life, I thought. I want to find out what it is. People everywhere were praying for me, although I didn’t know it then.

Then one day, I noticed a group of women prisoners gathering outside under some trees to pray. I knew one of them. She had recently become a Christian and given up being gay. “Dawn, can we pray for your knee?” she asked me. She knew I was going in for surgery, due to an injury. “I believe God can heal you.”

I agreed. Besides asking the Lord to heal my knee, some of them quietly began rebuking evil spirits in my life. As they prayed, I felt increasingly light and joyful, like 1,000 pounds was being lifted from my shoulders.

About two weeks later, I opened my Bible. The words just leapt off the page. I had a deep assurance that the Bible was true, and that homosexuality was not God’s will for me. I got down beside my bed and asked Jesus to take over my life. “Jesus, I’m sorry for my sins,” I prayed. “I know it’s wrong to be gay. I’m willing to give that up to You. Please help me to change.”

I said that prayer seven years ago, and God heard my heart’s cry. I was released from prison after two and a half years. I got involved in a good church, leading Bible studies and doing prison evangelism. All I wanted to do was tell others about Christ and serve Him in whatever way I could.

Then, several years later, I met some gay people at work. All the old feelings began to surface again, and I became discouraged and confused. Soon I was back to drinking and going to gay bars. “Jesus, help me!” I cried in misery. “I can’t fight these feelings any more.” I needed help desperately, but nobody at my church really seemed to understand what I was going through.

Then a woman at Bible study heard about my background. “There’s a ministry in San Rafael,” she told me. “It’s for people coming out of homosexuality. You should phone them.” Satan tried to tell me it was hopeless, but I finally called Love In Action and talked to Anita Worthen. She invited me to one of the Friday night open meetings for women. During the meeting, I was so excited. Here were other women just like me, who loved the Lord with all their hearts, but who also struggled with homosexual feelings. Shortly after that, Anita invited me to move into one of the live-in houses, and I jumped at the chance.

That was a year ago, and the Lord has done so much healing in me since then. I feel like a totally different person. The program has helped me understand what led me into lesbianism in the first place. I’m learning how to gain victory over emotions gone astray.

It hasn’t been easy. Many times I’ve wanted to run, but the LIA leaders have stuck with me, loving me and offering encouragement that God is doing a deep work of healing in my life. The program has also provided me with a safe and nurturing environment, a sense of family and support that I’ve really needed.

Today, I know that my homosexuality was just the outward manifestation of a deeply wounded little girl who never felt loved. But God has done a wonderful healing with my parents. Now I know they always loved me, and I love them. Most important, I know Jesus has always loved me, too.

God is setting me free, one step at a time. In fact, my journey to freedom began when I gave Him my life while still in prison. Even though I was still locked up behind a barbed wire fence, I found release inside.

Now I know that freedom isn’t a matter of location; it’s a matter of the heart. In Christ, I’m truly free. I’m out of prison for good.

by Patricia Allen Lawrence

From an early age, I sensed the hand of God on my life. Living in Guyana, South America, with my missionary parents, I remember accepting Jesus into my heart as a five-year-old. That experience was very real to me.
Unfortunately, another memory from my early life is not so pleasant. One day in a grocery store, a man came up and began molesting me. I ran outside and told my father, who dashed in to find the man. His search was unsuccessful; when he came out, he was very angry.

On the drive home, my father didn’t explain that he was angry at the other man–not at me. That must have been really wrong, I thought. I must have displeased Daddy. I think from that day on, I began rejecting men.

Another time, I overheard my father talking to Mom. “I have a hard time loving Patty. I see all my bad qualities in her.” Although I knew my father loved me, I never felt as much loved as my two younger sisters.

By the time I reached adolescence, my family had moved back to Canada. I’d long since forgotten about the molestation when I was six. Then an older cousin raped me. During the whole episode, he told me, “You’re ugly and fat. No man would ever want you.”

Afterwards, his wife held me in her arms. “I feel close to you,” she said soothingly, “and I love you. I think you’re very beautiful.”

This bizarre event began to draw me into the lesbian mind- set. I started to masturbate and, though I’d try to repent, it kept happening.

I’m not repentant, I thought, so I’d better stop talking to God. He doesn’t love me anymore. My prayer life soon dried up.

I went to see my pastor. “How are you doing, Patty?” he asked.

“Do you really want to know?” I asked, then exploded. “I’m doing awful. I hate this church…and everything about it!”

Rather than finding out what was wrong, he gave me a lecture. “You should be ashamed of yourself! You have good parents and a church that teaches you the Bible….”

After a few minutes, I’d heard enough. “I know all that,” I retorted, and stood up to leave.“Good-bye. I’m not coming back.”

I went home and told my dad I was walking away from God. Rather than being shocked, he said, “Patty, may I pray with you?” Then he asked God to take everything I did and turn it to ashes until I made Him Lord of my life.

Soon after, I quit high school and found my first job. I became sexually promiscuous with men, but didn’t know why. It all seemed so empty.

Then Karen, a friend from work, took me to a gay bar. When I walked in, my first words were, “Now I know where I belong.” It felt like home. I was only 17 years old.

Karen and I became lovers, and I was with her for the next five years. Initially, I tried to copy the loving relationship I’d seen in my parents’ marriage.

“Karen, I love you,” I told her one night. In response, she slapped my face. I said it again, and once more she hit me. She couldn’t receive my love. It was a foretaste of what lay ahead in our relationship.

I soon discovered our commitment didn’t stop Karen from fooling around with other women. To survive, I learned how to play the games.

“If I act jealous, she’ll be gone,” I reasoned, so pretended just the opposite. At the bar, I’d ignore her and flirt with other women. She’d hang around me all evening, to make sure nothing happened. I had her right where I wanted.

I was a heavy drinker and gained quite a reputation as a street fighter, although I never fought other women–only men. Some bars had a lot of straight men coming in “to have fun.” All it took was a guy asking me to dance, and I’d attack with full fury. I hated men.

Karen and I broke up three times during the time I knew her. After the second time, I moved back home. One evening, I tried to commit suicide.

My parents had left at six o’clock to go out for the evening. I swallowed some pills and went to bed. The next morning, my mother found the empty pill bottle in the garbage and ran to my room. She and Dad rushed me to the hospital.

Twelve hours after I’d taken the pills, the concentration of drugs in my body was still above the lethal level. “It’s only a miracle that you’re alive,” the doctor told me later. Miracle or not, I wasn’t happy.

“God, I just want to die,” I screamed. “You won’t even let me do that!”

I was soon back to my old ways, living with Karen, hanging around lesbian bars and taking acid. No one understands what I’m going through, I thought. If anyone does, they’re as stoned as I am and don’t care.

One night Karen and I were drinking at the bar. Somehow I got in a fight and she found me unconscious in my car, covered with glass. When we got home, Karen confronted me: “Listen. If you don’t shape up, you can just ship out of here.”

I glared at her. “You’ve said that one too many times. You’ve kicked me out before, then asked me back. This time, I’m leaving for good.”

I went to stay with Pat, a straight girlfriend who was separated from her husband. She was very understanding; we were both grieving over our broken relationships. One evening, we talked about God’s unconditional love. Pat was a new Christian, and she encouraged me to talk to God about my messed-up life.

I took her advice. “Lord,” I prayed later that night, “I haven’t walked with You for the last seven years. People are telling me to clean up my act and love You, but I don’t know how. If You want me, You can have me. But you’re going to have to take me as I am.”

Then I told Him: “But if you take me, I don’t want to be a Christian who just keeps a pew warm. I want to make a difference in my world.”

Then God gave me a picture in my mind of my situation. I was down in a pit, with chains and filth all over me. And Jesus was there. But He wasn’t standing over the pit, saying,“Come on, I’ll help you up.” I would not have had the energy to hold onto His hand. Instead, He was standing right beside me in that pit. He threw His arms around me and said, “Patty, all I’ve ever wanted was you. I love you for who you are.” That was 16 years ago, and my life has never been the same.

I didn’t change overnight, though. For the next six months, I still went out on dates with Karen. Then my friend Pat went back to her husband, and I moved home with my parents.

About six months later, I was sitting on our couch at home. It was New Year’s Eve. I’d sat there every day for a week, looking out the window and trembling all over. “Pat, what on earth is wrong with you?” Mom finally asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said, “All I know is that God and Satan are fighting in me. My body is the battleground and I don’t know who’s going to win.” Unknown to Mom, Karen had asked me to move back with her.

“God,” I screamed inside, “I need a miracle!” I’m not sure what I expected in response, but nothing happened. So I gave in to the enemy and went over to Karen’s apartment.

“Hi,” I said to her, walking in the front door. “I’ve come back.” To my amazement, my atheist lover scowled at me. “You love your God too much. Get out of here!” I instantly knew that God had answered my prayer.

I went back home. The phone rang, and it was my pastor returning an earlier call I’d made to the church. “Pat, you asked if you could sing at church tomorrow? Yes, that would be fine. We’ll look forward to seeing you then.”

I hung up and the phone rang again. It was Karen. “I’m sorry, Pat. Please come back.” But I’d already made a new commitment to go back to church, back to God. “It’s too late now,”I told her, “Our relationship is finished.”

My New Year began the next day with my solo in church about God’s wonderful grace. That day–January 1, 1980–was a fresh start in my life.

Through the previous six months of battling with Karen, I’d lost my job. Then I heard about an opening at the Toronto office of InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, an outreach to students. I went to interview, and got the job.

After working for several months, I took my boss out for lunch. Karen was beginning to phone me at work, and I wanted him to know about my background.

“Pat,” he said, “when I interviewed you, I knew there was something you weren’t telling me, but God stopped me from asking.” He said they would stand beside me in dealing with Karen.

Working at InterVarsity was a time of healing, as I learned to relate to other Christians, basking in their friendship and acceptance. Even in the midst of my fears, I prayed that I would love God enough to risk loving other people.

Eventually I went to Ontario Bible College. After graduating in 1985, I was approached by three missions to go overseas, but I only had one burden: ministry to homosexuals.

I threw out a fleece: “Lord, if you want me to stay in Toronto, bring one person into my life who is gay.” The next week, my sister told me someone in ex-gay ministry had preached in her church. I called him up, and he invited me to the group. Ten days after my prayer, I was sitting in a room surrounded by twelve people coming out of homosexuality.

The leader was planning on going overseas, and I soon took over the group. I directed that ministry–New Directions for Life–for the next ten years before returning to seminary to pursue my master’s degree.

During my involvement with New Directions, I also became involved in Exodus, serving on the North American board for many years. Now I am coordinator of the Exodus International (worldwide) board.

My current involvement with Exodus has brought me full circle back to the international scene, where I am involved in assisting the formation and development of ministries throughout the world–Europe, Latin and North America, South Pacific and Asia.

The cross-cultural experience of my formative years in Guyana, my involvement in the church and in homosexuality, and my experience of laying the structural foundation for the Toronto ministry, have all been a part of God’s plan and preparation for my present ministry. It is awesome the way God has brought all these things together in His sovereign way.

My responsibility has been to be obedient before the Lord, to do my best. God has done the rest. Whatever the future brings, it’s reassuring to know I’m in His hand. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.

by Anne Paulk

“Here’s a set of keys to my car,” Sara said, tossing her blond, mid-length hair. “Anne, you can drive it anytime.”

“Gosh, thanks!” I answered, wondering again why Sara had chosen me to be her best friend. From the time we first met in college, Sara had shared her deepest thoughts and secrets with me. And she remained committed to our friendship–in contrast to the men she casually tossed aside every few weeks.

Sara was rich, beautiful, and had gorgeous men clamoring after her. She seemed like the all-American beauty queen, confident and secure in her femininity. I felt exactly the opposite. I had grown up as a real “tomboy,” mostly playing cowboys and Indians or cops and robbers.

When I was about 4 years old, an event had happened which profoundly shook my inner security. A teen-age boy approached me sexually, then warned me not to tell my parents. I never said a word, fearful that we’d both get into big trouble. The silence left me to reap a lot of self-inflicted pain, and the whole incident only reinforced my tomboy image. I didn’t feel protected or valued as a girl.

I also craved special affirmation as a girl from my dad, but couldn’t tell him why. And for years, I believed lies about myself, God, and men. The sexual experience also kept me from embracing femininity which, to me, meant being weak and vulnerable.

Then I found myself having crushes on some of my girlfriends. I was talented at athletics, so I joined the softball team in high school, but continued to avoid most feminine activities. I didn’t feel pretty or lovable.

During high school, I began receiving attention from an attractive girlfriend, and I felt a strong sexual pull toward her. But I had just read about Sodom and Gomorrah in my Bible, and felt convicted that it would be wrong to act on those feelings.

At church, the youth group seemed shallow. I felt disappointed that everyone behaved just like the non- Christian kids at school, and I became disillusioned. Soon I discarded church altogether, and began getting into wild behavior: drinking, dating three boys at one time, and eventually exploring homosexual relationships.

Then I went to college and met Sara. She seemed so confident and strong as a woman. Men adored Sara–but they only seemed to ridicule and use me. It was then, in early 1982, I realized my feelings for Sara were sexual, just the way I imagined that men desired women. So I decided to look up an old boy- friend to “test” my orientation. Although he was a nice guy, I felt no attraction for him. After that, I decided to pursue my attractions for women. At the suggestion of a gay counselor, I even joined the college gay/lesbian rap group.

But during one of those meetings, I had a piercing thought: There really is something wrong with this lifestyle. I was heartbroken by the words that shattered my dreams of finding happiness with a female life-partner. After the meeting, I went home and cried. “God,” I prayed, “please show me who You are, and fill the void in my heart.”

After that prayer, I began experiencing a new hunger to know Jesus. Within six months, I made a firm decision to forsake homosexuality and follow Jesus Christ.

Unfortunately, none of the Christian leaders on campus or at church knew how to give me hope that my sexual attraction for women would change. And, at a 1984 missions convention, I heard a speaker give a message about sexual purity. In one comment, she excluded those struggling with homosexuality from ever being married. Am I doomed to a celibate and lonely life? I wondered in despair.

Later, I found a book at the local Christian bookstore, written by a former lesbian about her life story. But, by the final chapter, she seemed to have made little progress, resigned to a life of continual lesbian temptations. I felt depressed at the thought of following in her footsteps.

But my commitment to Jesus Christ enabled me to persevere in the face of these discouragements. I immersed myself in Christian activity, although the homosexual attractions never went away.

In 1986, God disciplined me by separating me from my best friend, with whom I had an emotionally unhealthy relationship for three years. I was crushed. “How can You do this to me, Lord?” I cried in frustration. “You don’t know how much she means to me.”

I was mad at God for a whole year, which led to a sexual relationship with Laura, another Christian girlfriend who struggled with lesbianism. Both Laura and I looked to each other for emotional fulfillment. At first, it seemed like many of my childhood dreams were being fulfilled through our relationship. But along with some satisfaction came conviction, deception, and emotional instability.

Laura became my top priority over work, my parents, and other friends. Other areas in our lives suffered as a result. Laura even battled with suicidal thoughts. Once I thought she was going to kill herself. I was terrified.

Laura and I even tried to remain friends, but stop the sexual part of our relationship. Of course, it never worked because we never addressed the underlying issues.

Finally, after three months of resisting God’s conviction, I said a very honest prayer: “Lord, You know that I really enjoy this sin, but I want You to be my first love. I need Your help. I need You to change my heart. I can’t fight this alone.” It was the summer of 1987, and a major turning point had come in my life.

Shortly after my prayer, Laura talked me into having dinner in San Rafael with a Christian woman who was a former lesbian. Patty Wells listened to our questions, then gently shared the truth with us. After dinner, we took Patty back to her house where there was a support group meeting for Love In Action. I was really impressed with the understanding and wisdom of the leaders.

About two weeks later, my Christian leaders found out about my lesbian relationship with Laura. Even in the midst of being disciplined, I knew that my leaders really cared about Laura and me. They acted in love and I respected them. Laura and I agreed to give our relationship to God and avoid all contact with each other.

But I was still frustrated and angry about the whole thing. “Lord, why do You always take away what is most valuable to me?” I fumed. “I only feel loved by one person, and that’s Laura. Now I’m all alone again.” Soon I was sobbing with overwhelming feelings of loss.

To fill the gap in my life, I shared what was happening with members of my Bible study group. I also returned to the Love In Action meetings, and went every week for the next 18 months.

The insights I gained through LIA were incredibly valuable. Finally, I was seeing underlying issues in my life that were so relevant to my struggle against homosexuality, such as forgiving my parents, grieving the loss of former lovers, and learning about emotional dependency.

I also saw the lives of women in the live-in program change almost before my eyes. These women were wrestling with tough areas in their lives, but I saw victory and healing. I decided to apply for the next program.

One night during the fall of 1988, as I anticipated being part of the 1989 live-in program, I heard a quiet voice: “I will heal you, Anne.” At first I thought I was day-dreaming, but then I realized it was the Lord speaking to me. His voice was not dramatic, but the words were spoken with quiet authority.

The 1989 program was quite a challenge! A full year is a lot of time to invest, and I entered the program with high expectations of new spiritual growth. And I was not disappointed. Living with five other people amidst dis- agreements, misunderstandings, and different irritating habits is enough to make anyone grow!

The teachings shared during group meetings were helpful, but the Lord used our relationships to really teach us new life lessons and godly patterns of communication.

For example, when the program began, I struggled with attractions to one of the other women. But I became accountable to my house-leaders and soon the wrong desires faded. I learned how to look for patterns in my same-sex attractions, so I could understand the underlying needs which sparked the temptations in the first place.

After the program, my growth continued. At one point, I found myself seeking emotional comfort from one of my roommates. Eventually we almost fell into sexual sin. After that, I spent a lot of time with God, feeling very remorseful about my close call. I mourned inside for several months until finally the Lord broke through with His love. One day at work, my manager forgave me for a mistake I’d made, and suddenly I realized that God had also forgiven me for my other failings. I went to the bathroom and cried tears of relief for a long time.

The following months were filled with joyful intimacy with God. Something had changed deep inside of me. I realized that the Lord had truly changed my sexual identity from ex-gay to godly woman. I was learning that God loved me with a gentle delight, especially when I relied on His strength.

During this time, I found myself having a new interest in men, and began spending time with them in group situations. Then, in mid-1991, I began dating John, a man in my church. At first, we were so different that our friends said, “John and you dating? What?!” But after seeing us together over time, everyone fully endorsed our relationship. As our friendship deepened, we also met with our senior pastor for counseling.

On December 31, 1991, John presented me with a ring and asked me to marry him. After I said yes, I kept looking happily at the ring, thinking, Wow! Me married! It was a very special moment. Our wedding the following July was a great celebration. I was filled with joy as God established something so beautiful and holy in our lives.

Since then, God has used John to comfort me and to confront areas of distrust in my life. This has been difficult, but the Lord has been faithful to fulfill His promise to heal me, even when the process is uncomfortable.

John and I spoil each other with cards, flowers, and daily calls to each other at work. Some of my co-workers affectionately tease me, making kissing noises in the background when he calls! But they enjoy seeing our genuine love for one another.

I am so glad that my Father took the time to unearth the hurts that held me back from growing into godly femininity. Now I don’t need to compare myself to other women and seek to gain femininity from them through emotional dependency or homosexual relationships. My identity is secure as a woman in Christ.

by Dottie Ludwig

I was three-and-a-half years old when my mother died. I remember the day. I was sitting in the wood box, looking into the bedroom where I could see the bed.

The doctor and my father came out of the room together. After the doctor had gone, my father went to the table where three of my four sisters were sitting. I watched him pick up each one and comfort them. I was sitting there crying, but I was left alone, unnoticed by my dad. It doesn’t do any good to feel, I decided. Nobody cares anyway. And so very early I learned to stuff my feelings.

In the following years, I lived with several different families. Part of the time I had one or two of my sisters with me; sometimes, it was just me. In these families, I perceived the mother figures to be distant and unloving. Father figures were drunk, emotionally distant, or molesting me. My only contact with my father was a monthly 30-minute visit (if that).

Often, I felt unwanted and useless. Life is unfair, I would think. Why doesn’t somebody love me? I was given smaller food portions than the rest of the family, so often I was hungry. Sometimes I ate dog food; at other times, my foster father would lure me into the barn, enticing me with a candy bar. But he’d withhold it until I satisfied him sexually.

I survived those years by withdrawing into a fantasy world where I was a “superman” figure saving the world. But I never dreamed of rescuing myself. I didn’t count.

During childhood, I was forced to attend church, where I heard about a God who would punish me if I did wrong. However, I also remember learning the hymn, “What A Friend We Have in Jesus” Somehow I knew there was a God who loved me.

Then, during sixth grade, I was unwillingly dragged to the church altar during a service. After that, I did everything I could to avoid church.

My first memory of hungering for love from another woman dates back to high school. We had a neighbor who would wave to me from her kitchen window and invite me into her antique shop to see her treasures. I loved to be with her, and wished that she could be my mother.

I finished high school in 1953 and entered nurse’s training in Portland, Maine. Back then, homosexuality was rarely mentioned. But when I read about the subject in my psychiatric textbook, I had a fleeting thought: Maybe that’s what I am.

My first involvement in lesbianism occurred after graduation when I became friends with another nurse. One night, while staying overnight at her house, she reached out to me in a sexual way. I responded positively to her advances and we began a four-year lesbian relationship. I had six relationships over the next 12 years. These women temporarily satisfied my need for love and acceptance. However, after a time, each relationship would cool down and we would drift apart.

Although I appeared normal, professional and successful on the outside, I lived with constant guilt and fear of being “found out.” When a relationship would end, I’d deny that I was gay and promise myself never to enter another lesbian relationship. But sooner or later, I would respond to a physical overture from someone, which would lead to sexual and emotional enmeshment.

No one knew of my lesbian involvement, and I struggled alone with my guilt and fears. While still involved in my last relationship, however, I told my friend, “This relationship is sin, and I can no longer be involved.” I believe God heard and honored that confession of my heart. I still did not know Him, but His grace was at work in me.

In 1974, I became friends with a Christian woman who told me about Jesus. Her whole Bible study group began praying for me. That fall, I became a “born-again” believer (see John 3) as God revealed Himself to me.

Finally I truly understood about sin, confessed my past immorality, and received God’s forgiveness. I permanently stopped my sexual involvement with other women. However, the deep need for love–the root issue of my lesbian longings–had yet to be resolved.

As a new Christian, I had a tremendous fear of letting anyone know I had been involved in lesbianism. The gay jokes I heard among professing Christians only reinforced my fears. If they know about my past, they will reject me, I thought.

Then I became friends with another nurse who was going through a rough time. I was ecstatic when we’d do things together and looked forward to the next time we’d be together. Most of our activities were church-related, and I believe God used her to help me grow spiritually. However, I became emotionally dependent on this woman (the feelings were one-sided). There was not a physical attraction, but the emotional enmeshment was just as destructive.

God used three things to begin dealing with the roots of lesbianism in my life. First, He arranged a confrontation with my friend about my past. “How come the topic of homosexuality seems to come up so often in conversations with you and others?” she asked me. I remained silent.

“Have you ever been a homosexual?” she shouted, and I admitted the truth.

She looked at me with fire in her eyes. “And I thought I could trust you. What a hypocrite! I’m not even sure you’re a Christian” She stormed out and drove off in her car as I cried to God for help.

I felt ashamed and abandoned once more. I seriously contemplated getting into my car and leaving forever. But at just the right time, my friend returned and we talked about my past. She apologized for her reaction. Later I learned that she was fearful of her own reputation since I was living with her and her children at this time. From then on, I resolved to be open about my past with any serious friendships.

Second, this friend began dating and doing other things without me. I found myself feeling jealous, hurt, possessive, and rejected. I felt abandoned and depressed. I knew of no one with whom I could share my struggles.

One day I was praying when the Lord brought to mind the words, “inordinate affection” (see Col. 3:5). I sensed that God was talking about the underlying dynamic of my relationship with my roommate, and that I needed to repent of it. Before this, I had only associated lesbianism with sexual involvement. Now I began to understand how my need for healthy same-sex love had become distorted. I asked the Lord to forgive me and help me have His love for my friend.

Another night I told the Lord, “I don’t care if I never have another friend in my life. You alone are enough!” I meant those words, and experienced a release from the emotional bondage I’d felt in my heart.

Third, God prevented me from helping others so He could show me my worth and value in Him. He showed me that I needed to learn how to receive. At the time I was physically helpless, emotionally drained, and very needy. It humbled me to learn that God and His people accepted me, even when I had nothing to give.

I knew that I had to start forming some other relationships and felt God urging me to attend a women’s Bible study at church. I went many times in sheer obedience, not hearing much of what was said, but simply receiving all the Lord was doing in me through His Word and His people. Gradually I began going for coffee afterward with some of the women. God used those times to show me I could have friends without all the emotional baggage that I’d had in the past. And He began filling my same-sex love deficit through several women–not just one. I even shared my lesbian past with the group, and was still accepted. Inner healing prayer and healing of memories were also a part of my recovery. I forgave those who had traumatized me in childhood, but the Lord alone did the healing; unfortunately, all the people had died, leaving no opportunity for restoration of any relationships.

I walked away from lesbianism 27 years ago, and God dealt with its roots over a seven-year period after I became a Christian. Since the early 1980s, I have noticed some major changes in my attitude toward men. I no longer fear them, and find myself attracted to them.

Instead of searching for love, I have learned to receive love from my Heavenly Father. In being able to receive, I have embraced an essential part of my femininity. God has filled my hunger for love–and I remain amazed at all He has done.

by Penny Dalton

I was three months old when my dad left for World War II, and three-and-a-half years old when he returned. At his homecoming, I stood at the top of the stairs–leaning over the railing as he entered the foyer below–and said, “Hi, Daddy! Are you my daddy?” This emotional distance existed between us most of my life.

Dad’s work took him out of the house for days on end, and when he was home on weekends we would all be afraid of him. He disciplined us heavily. He never hit us, but his verbal abuse sunk deep into our souls. And Dad drank a lot. He got ugly when he drank–slamming doors and verbally putting down my mom.

Our family didn’t know how to communicate our feelings. I could only talk with Mom, and we always tried to work out what was wrong with Dad. He was so “shut down” emotionally, and we blamed him for everything.

The most devastating times for me came during my early teens. The neighbor couple became my parents’ weekend “drinking buddies.” Dad started having an affair with the wife, and I felt betrayed and confused.

Then Dad’s sexual advances began. No intercourse ever took place, but we did just about every other kind of sexual act. I was afraid of Dad, so I wouldn’t speak up against what he was doing. Meanwhile, I was angry at my mom. Where is she? Why can’t she figure out what Dad is doing to me? Who can help me? I felt so violated, both emotionally and physically, that I couldn’t stand looking at Dad or even being in the same room with him.

During adolescence, homosexual feelings surfaced in me. I was detached from Mom, hated Dad, and wanted to hurt them both. So I felt justified in doing whatever I wanted–including the pursuit of a lesbian relationship. The first one lasted nine years. In that time, I drank heavily and also took “recreational” drugs. I knew something was wrong, but my emotions were so buried that I couldn’t “feel” anything but emptiness.

Eventually I ended up in a psychiatric ward, diagnosed as severely schizophrenic. During that period, I experienced a terrible break-up with my lover, and got involved in a new relationship.

For a year-and-a-half we tried, but failed. We were both headstrong. I was afraid and scared, miserable and dead inside. The void within me was so vast, so black, that nothing seemed to fill it.

I tried reading the Bible, but couldn’t understand it. Then one day I heard a song about Jesus, and my “spiritual ears” were opened. A few weeks later I experienced the most frightening vision of black emptiness I’d ever known. But I also felt an overwhelming presence of peace and warmth which now I recognize as the Holy Spirit. I surrendered, and instantly knew my problem: I was separated from God.

Somehow I knew that I needed Jesus to connect me with God, so I asked Jesus to enter my life and make me into the person He wanted. I began to experience the inner peace I’d been looking for all my life.

Ironically, my lover accepted Christ as Savior approximately two weeks before I did. Neither one of us knew of the other’s conversion until we found each other reading the Bible. Changes started deep within each of us.

More than anything, I wanted to please God. As I grew, two things happened. First, the Lord began a divine division between my lover and me.

Eventually we stopped sleeping together. Second, the Holy Spirit swiftly convicted me of my need to honor my parents (Eph. 6:2-3). I knew that unless I forgave my parents, especially Dad, I would be stuck forever in bitterness and hatred.

I took God’s Word seriously. I wanted to experience peace in my parental relationships. I wanted to be free from the ugly memories. But my pain ran deep. Just thinking about my dad, I would almost throw up. Yet Jesus had forgiven me, so I knew I must also forgive Dad.

In the beginning, though, I didn’t understand forgiveness. I thought that if I forgave Dad, I’d be re-opening all the emotional areas that he had violated, that I’d be exposing myself again to his hurting me. Finally I realized that forgiveness doesn’t mean agreeing with what some person did to me. Nor does it mean that what they did doesn’t matter. No, forgiveness was simply choosing to release Dad from my vengeance. That enabled me to begin removing the hardness from my heart and clearing my communication with the Lord.

Then I pleaded with God to give me a new heart for my father. Even though I’d forgiven him, I kept seeing pictures in my mind of terrible events involving my father and me. God showed me that these “instant replays” were a ploy of Satan to challenge the Lord’s working in my life.

I took authority over those awful memories. Every time they tried to haunt me, I commanded them to leave in the name of Jesus. Also, I confessed out loud that I had forgiven my dad. It was a real battle, but eventually I felt a new freedom from the past.

Beside the whole issue of bad memories, the Lord gave me another clear choice. For years I had grumbled about my dad not meeting my needs. But I sensed God saying, “You had much higher expectations than your father was ever able to fulfill. Are you willing to accept the fact that your father will never be able to meet your needs?”

I was at a point of decision. One path was clinging to my “rights” to hold hatred toward him. Or I could let go of my dream of having a perfect father and allow God to bring healing.

I chose the latter, releasing all my expectations of the “perfect” father. God would be my Father–I could trust that He would never hurt me. At that instant, I felt as though fifty tons rolled off my back.

Then, in February 1982, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. Chemotherapy started immediately. My greatest fear was that Dad would die without Christ. Interestingly, that fear showed me the depth of forgiveness I had already experienced toward him.

Due to Dad’s illness, my sister came to know the Lord. I encouraged her to speak with him about her relationship with Christ. One day my sister was talking with him when I heard her call me.

“What is it?” I answered.

“Dad just doesn’t understand that he needs to ask Jesus into his life in order to get to heaven.” I knelt down in front of my father and looked him straight in the eyes–something I had never been able to do. “Pop, what is it you don’t understand?”

“I don’t believe in hell,” he said. We talked for several minutes about the Bible’s teaching that hell is a real place. “Your spirit will leave your body when you die,” I explained, “and you’ll be eternally separated from God.”

Leaning forward, I continued. “Pop, we’re a family. We’re going to heaven and we want you with us!” His face relaxed, and then he said the words I had prayed for years to hear: “What do I have to do?”

During the next few minutes, my sister and I had the glorious honor of leading our dad to the Lord. He prayed with us, asking for God’s forgiveness and accepting Christ as his Savior. In the coming months, I saw God working within him. My dad had been a very bitter, angry man. All that anger seemed to fall away as the Lord’s Spirit gave him a new calm and peace.

Another important event took place before Dad died the following June. He’d never spoken to me about my former lesbian involvement, but I knew he was ashamed of me. The cancer had gone to his brain and I wasn’t really sure he would understand what I was about to say. But it was so heavy on my heart that I had to tell him.

I leaned over him and talked quietly. “Pop, I never really was the daughter you expected me to be. I’m so sorry about that. Please forgive me.”

Dad gave no visible response, but I continued on. “You weren’t the father I expected either. But I’ve forgiven you. And God’s given me such a love for you.” My tears flowed as I kissed his forehead. “I’m so glad we’ll be together forever with Him.”

The whole time I talked, Dad said nothing. Whether or not he comprehended me, I have such joy in knowing from his heavenly vantage-point now he sees all the work God has done and is doing in my life. And I know he must be very pleased.

In the years since Dad died, God has done such a marvelous work in my life. As He released me from hatred, unforgiveness and bitterness, my bondage to homosexuality was broken. And He has given me true love and forgiveness toward my precious parents. How I thank Him, for now I love them the way He always intended.

by Starla Allen

When I was 13 years of age, I was forcefully raped by a family friend. I was too afraid to tell anyone, especially my dad. He always said, “If anyone ever hurts my little girl, I’ll kill him.” He was a big man, and I was afraid he’d do just that. So I “stuffed” down the fear and anger for the next 15 years. Bitterness brewed inside. In fact, my real self, my femininity was buried by it, although I didn’t realize that for years.

My upbringing had been strict, but I knew my parents loved one another. In fact, my mother spoiled my father rotten, and they both loved it. My parents were married for 32 years, until my mother passed away in 1981.

Back when I was four years old, another significant event happened. My family was visiting my grandparents. Amid all the talking and chit-chat, my grandfather started teasing me, and he hurt my feelings. I started crying. My father didn’t know how to respond. He took me into a bedroom and told me to stay there until I could pull myself together.

I won’t show that kind of emotion again to Dad, I promised myself. I felt like I was being punished for doing something bad. I started protecting my emotions from that point on.

My parents warned my younger sister and I about the dangers of men, especially strangers. The message I heard was, “Don’t trust men. You’ll only get hurt.” The rape incident when I was 13 confirmed those feelings. I knew better than to let a man get close to me after that.

I had an older woman friend who headed a girls’ group to which I belonged. One day, I told her about my rape. She was a Christian, and began praying for me. As time went on, she shared with me the changes God was bringing in her life. I was interested, but I wasn’t yet ready to invite Him into my own heart.

During high school and college, I didn’t have much time for men. I’d pretty much decided marriage wasn’t for me.

Then, in my third year of college, I met a woman who gave me unconditional love, just what I’d been seeking for years. Our relationship became close and emotional, then physical. We lived together al most five years.

The first couple of years were marvelous–there was romance everywhere. But our mutual neediness began taking its toll. I either felt smothered or neglected. Toward the end of our relationship, my lover started dating guys and sleeping with them. That killed me; I couldn’t stand it. One day, I confronted her.

“You can either learn to handle it, or we’re through,” she snapped. I knew I didn’t have too many options. I figured it was either make the relationship work, or I’d end up alone.

The relationship between my lover and I continued to crumble, and I drank to numb the pain. Finally, in desperation, I started dating a young man. We even had a short-lived sexual relationship. He knew my situation, and was determined to help me out of lesbianism.

But there was no foundation for a friendship. We only had three things in common: we liked sunsets, Chinese food and sex. I knew it wasn’t the type of relationship that I really wanted. And I was still not letting go of my emotions; those were carefully protected. I didn’t want to get hurt again.

My life seemed totally empty. I started seriously thinking about suicide, and even picked out the method I’d use. As I surveyed the wreckage of my life, I suddenly thought about my older friend who had witnessed to me.

Mom Nelson said that Jesus could really change lives, I thought. Well, I’ve tried everything else. I might as well give Him a chance.

“God, if you’re up there,” I prayed, “I’m giving you three days. Here is my life; see what you can do.” I decided if nothing happened after three days, I’d go ahead and commit suicide.

On the third day, I ran into Mom Nelson. “I’ve done something that you might be interested in,” I said, and told her what I’d done. She was thrilled, and immediately sat me down with a little booklet on becoming a Christian. She wanted to make sure I was really saved! Then she plugged me into a church and a Bible study.

I knew I couldn’t go back to my lover. My lesbianism just didn’t fit in with my new relationship with God. So I moved to another apartment by myself. During my first year as a Christian, I had no problem at all on a sexual level. It was like a great honeymoon period. I’d go home from work and soak up the Word. Finally I had found Someone who would give me all the love I could stand.

One lady in my church was very helpful. I could go over to her house any time of the day or night. We’d read the Scriptures together and talk about what was happening in our lives. She was a major contributor towards my healing. At first, though, I was deathly afraid to tell her about my past lesbianism. One night, I was sitting on her sofa, agonizing over whether or not to tell her. I cried for about half an hour, while she just sat and waited. When I finally told her, she said, “Well, I never would have guessed.” It was then I realized that God was already working great changes in my life. It encouraged me to keep on going.

After several years as a Christian, I felt the Lord asking me to go back to the lesbian community with His message. “Absolutely no way!” I said to myself. I agonized over that answer for a few weeks.

Then God asked me, “Are you willing to come with Me and deliver My message?” Knowing He’d be with me was just the reassurance I needed, and I said yes.

It was another three years before He got me in contact with ex-gay ministry. A friend who knew my past gave me a newspaper ad which mentioned Love In Action, a nearby Christian ministry to men and women overcoming homosexuality. I put the slip of paper in my pocket and thought, Is this God calling me to minister? It can’t be–I’m not totally healed yet.

Two weeks later, the same woman gave me a copy of the ad again, forgetting that she had already mentioned it. I sensed God was behind it, so I decided to phone Love In Action. I got the address for their group meetings and went to the church.

From the first night, I knew God wanted me there, and I started going regularly. Then the leader left and I found myself in charge of the group. But there still wasn’t any deep sense of healing within me. I was out of lesbian behavior, but I was just beginning to see who I was as a woman.

One day, I shared with a friend at church my burden for becoming a counselor. “That sounds great!” she said. “But you’ll need to go back to school.” I started looking into different programs, and chose Biola University near Los Angeles.

Soon I was on my way to southern California, with ten dollars in my pocket and my little Datsun full of my earthly possessions. On the way down, I stopped to visit my dad. For the first time in his life, he took me to the bank, withdrew one hundred dollars from his account, and handed it to me. I knew he was saying, “I love you. I’m behind you.” I was ready to cry. It was the first step of restoration in our relationship.

Once in Los Angeles, I called a friend who’d been my first Sunday School teacher. She lived fairly close to the school and said, “My husband’s out of town for two weeks. How would you like to stay here?” I thought, “Hallelujah! I’ve got a place to stay for awhile.” That was nine years ago, and though I’ve lived in other places, I’ve never lacked a home since that day. The Lord has taken really good care of me.

God has done a lot of good things in my life during these past nine years. There’s been a slow healing process in accepting my femininity. For example, as a result of the rape, I never dressed to look pretty, because pretty meant seductive, and seductive meant trouble.

“I need to learn how to shop for clothes,” I told my roommate one day. About a week later, she said, “Let’s go shopping!” I broke out in a cold sweat.

“Uhh, wait,” I answered. She waited another week, then tried again.

“Starla, I need to go shopping for something to wear on my trip. Do you want to come with me?” So we went shopping, and she really got into it. I was pushing through all the hangers, casually looking at things. It was a start! Now when we go shopping, we try on all kinds of flamboyant things, just to see what they look like. I’ve learned a bit about style, what colors look good on me–that sort of thing. I love it; it feels good to enhance who I am.

In fact, the Lord has totally changed me. About six months after accepting the Lord, I ran into one of the men I used to play pool with. I shook his hand, and asked him how his family was doing. He didn’t even recognize me.

After our conversation, I walked away, floating about three feet off the ground. “God, You’ve really done a work in me,” I laughed. Now when I tell people some of things I used to do, they say, “I can’t imagine you that way.” And it’s true, because I can’t either. God has healed my bitterness, and the real me underneath is blossoming.

Four years ago when I became a Christian, my life was consumed by feminist politics and the gay/lesbian community. Professionally, I served as chief of staff to a government official who was a lesbian, and as vice president of the National Organization for Women (NOW) in the state of Washington. My private life revolved around my committed three-year relationship with another woman.  A few years previous, during the latter half of college, I was exposed to the feminist movement and surrounded by lesbian professors who influenced me to question my sexuality. To that point, I never considered myself a lesbian. But, looking back, I can see influences in my life which eventually led me in that direction.
Surrounded by Violence
I grew up in a house of chaos and violence. When things got really bad, I would flee to my neighbors’ house next door. But their home was also chaotic, and I developed an intensely close relationship with their daughter. We understood each other, and we were both running from similar pain and heartache.

During high school, I changed from an awkward unpopular girl to a star runner. Sports gave me a new sense of belonging, and I gained a relationship with my father that I’d never had before (he had also been a runner in his youth). I vividly remember falling into his arms after one race, totally exhausted. I can recall the crisp November air and the feel of his tweed wool coat against my cheek. At that moment, I felt complete peace and safety.

But, during my junior year, I began losing races. I couldn’t explain why, and my dad began to pull away emotionally. It caused confusion, then deep pain. My father became obsessed with my performance, barking orders at me and my coaches. The situation got so bad that he began to physically beat me after I lost a race.

A Major Change
After high school, I enrolled in an all-women’s college in Washington, D.C. I partied heavily, trying to numb my emotions. When I changed my major to sports medicine, I found myself surrounded by lesbian professors. I was drawn to them. They were strong, they were intelligent, they had their own little community, and I wanted to be a part of it.

Eventually the emotional and spiritual attraction became physical. I had always felt different, and I began to consider that these feelings might mean I was a lesbian. I confided in a lesbian friend and she said, “I always thought you were a lesbian.” And so, in the spring of my senior year, I entered into my first lesbian relationship.

Around that same time, I became energized by my first abortion-rights march and vowed to commit my life to the fight for women’s freedom. I was elected president of the Alexandria, VA, chapter of NOW, and upon graduation, worked for their national office in Washington, D.C. I rose quickly through the ranks, eventually serving as press secretary for the organization. I seemed to have it all: a challenging job, success, power, friends and a caring relationship. Most of all, I believed I had ultimate freedom—to act, speak and believe as I wanted and to choose whom I loved.

Cornered By Grace
In the fall of 1992, I began to feel myself inexplicably drawn to God. There were times when I would be doing something routine, such as working on my computer, and a powerful hunger for God would overtake me, sometimes followed by an incredible feeling of peace. These experiences, which lasted from several hours to several days, were always interrupted as the demands of my job snapped me back into reality. For almost three years, I consciously shoved those promptings and feelings from my mind.

Part of my confusion stemmed from the fact that I couldn’t reconcile my heart’s yearning with the hostile behavior I encountered in most Christians. Rarely did I see anyone reflecting the heart or nature of the God pursuing me. On one occasion, however, I encountered a Christian activist who chose to engage the “other side” with the Gospel, rather than with hostile stares, violence or moralizing.

It was a Saturday afternoon, in the midst of a “rescue” outside an abortion clinic in D.C. Another woman and I were following a couple of pro-life men in an attempt to catch them in the act of violating a court injunction. As we moved away from the clinic, the chorus of chaotic chanting and singing faded, and one of the men began talking about Jesus and His love for us. After several tense minutes, I glanced at my friend’s face. This man’s words had melted her angry countenance.

Uncomfortable with the situation, I pulled her away from the conversation. At the time, I considered his tactics highly manipulative, but now I recognize that the power of the Holy Spirit was at work through him. It was the one time I can recall that someone from the pro-life side ever mentioned Jesus’ love for me -— not just for the victims of abortion.

Escape From D.C.
As the fall of 1994 arrived, God continued to work on my heart, and I had trouble operating as though life was normal. I tried to find the cause of these spiritual experiences in order to stop them from disrupting my career. At one point, I sought help from a therapist, explaining that I had a problem of “feeling vulnerable to God and Christianity.”

Entertaining the claims of Christianity did not seem a sane or workable option because I was immersed in an environment hostile to Christians. And the repercussions of exploring Christianity seemed ugly. I remembered the turmoil caused by another woman who worked with NOW and became “saved.” I knew I needed to leave the heated environment of the nation’s capital in search of answers, so my girlfriend and I decided to move to the West Coast.

Final Surrender
In Seattle my career, relationships and activism began to suffocate me. I could no longer ignore the absence of right and wrong in the mindset of the gay community. My drive to champion the “issues” waned.

Every fiber within me longed for real truth and purity. In August 1995, I wrote in my journal, “I seem to be on a course I cannot get off. The feelings are as powerful as ever….If I choose Jesus, I will lose everything. And what if I’m mistaken? What if this craving for God and this emptiness is not satisfied? Where will it leave me?” Every day for a week, I walked the streets during my lunch hour, hoping to find someone who could answer my questions and give me some direction. I found no one who could help me.

Finally I opened the telephone directory to the “Church” section, and my eyes were drawn to the largest ad. An hour later, as I walked into the sanctuary, I shook with fear and avoided eye contact with everyone. After several weeks of slipping in and out of this church, I realized that the pastor’s message, the Gospel, was the very one my soul craved. On September 19, 1995, I walked down the aisle and accepted Christ as my Savior.

Behind “Enemy” Lines
Following my conversion, life became weird and painful as I struggled to live in my old world as a new creation in Christ. Through word of mouth, my friends found out about my conversion, and their distress and shock, as well as their attempted “rescues” of me, made life almost unbearable at times. Nobody could understand what had happened.

Despite this wave of adversity, I could feel God’s viselike grip around me, keeping me afloat and protecting me. The God who had pursued me so relentlessly now watched over me day and night, providing everything I needed to begin a new life.

Over a period of months, through the power of the Holy Spirit, I was able to break away from my job, its related activities, relationships and lifestyle. I finally experienced great freedom, like that of an immigrant who has just escaped from a repressive regime.

I found it relatively easy to leave lesbianism behind. I loved my new church, was surrounded by wonderful Christian friends, and I had a deep hunger for God’s Word. Some of my Christian friends knew about my feminist background, but many other church members had radical pasts, so my story was not terribly unusual. However, I only told a couple of friends about my past involvement in lesbianism.

Then, in the spring of 1997, I was hired to work in the media relations department at Focus on the Family, one of the largest evangelical organizations in the world. The move to Colorado Springs was very exciting, and working among 1,300 Christian employees could not have been a more radical contrast to my past.

But I found myself struggling with a new intensity. The weekdays were fun and rewarding, but my weekends became increasingly lonely. I needed to form quality friendships, but I couldn’t seem to break through feelings of isolation and depression.

Then John Paulk, the board chairman of Exodus, was hired by Focus on the Family. He and his wife, Anne, embraced me with open arms. “You’re part of our family,” they told me, and they really meant it. Instead of having to wait days or even weeks to have an evening with Christian friends, I could phone the Paulks anytime and go over to their house to “hang out.” I discovered the joy of having friends who knew at the deepest level what I had gone through in leaving lesbianism behind. And, through them, I was able to develop a wider network of rewarding friendships.

The Real Message
We must never tire in praying for our loved ones caught up in homosexuality. After my conversion, I found out that my sister and brother-in-law–as well as their Bible study group–had been praying for me for many years. When I eventually attended one of their meetings, these men and women kept staring at me all evening, many with tears in their eyes. They could hardly believe that God had answered their prayers in such a dramatic way!

God puts people in our path every day, just as He put me and my friend in the path of the man at the abortion clinic who spoke of Jesus’ love. We must be ready to share the message of the Cross and reflect the character of Jesus through our relationships and daily interactions with others–even those whom we deem beyond hope. Who knows? They could be searching for God, and we may be the only reflection of Jesus that they see.

Our lives can be a powerful influence on those involved in homosexuality. Through knowing us–and experiencing the love of Jesus Christ–they can discover what true freedom really is.

by Christine Sneeringer

“Coach, she’s cussing in the outfield,” Tammy complained. “This is supposed to be a Christian team. Aren’t you going to do something?”  The coach looked at her, then pointed in my direction. “You see that girl? You pray for that girl.” I strolled in from the outfield oblivious the conversation was about me, the prodigal softball player.  Though I played on my friend’s church team, Christianity was the farthest thing from my mind. That was obvious as I used profanity to show my disapproval when one of my teammates made a costly error. Even though the name of their church was sprawled across the front of my jersey, I forgot who I was playing for when I was in the outfield. All I thought about was winning.  In the year and a half that I played for this Baptist women’s softball team, the coach never once scolded me for my unchristian sportsmanship. If he had, I probably wouldn’t have stuck around so long. I was there for one reason only–to play ball. But God had other ideas.  I was drawn by the love that my fellow teammates had for each other and for me. It seemed so pure and so right. The other women knew I was not a Christian and they were praying for me all along. However, they did not know I was a lesbian.  Growing up, my alcoholic father had a violent temper and would often hit my mother. Because my mom was a victim, I rejected anything to do with femininity and wanted no part of being a girl. Instead I looked up to my older brother and wanted to be just like him.  As early as I can remember, I preferred sports over playing with dolls like my younger sister. I was accepted as one of the guys because I was strong and tough. I walked like a boy, talked like a boy, and even played shirtless like a boy. It’s no wonder that people often called me “son” or “young man.” I also hated my feminine name, Christine, and went by the more generic “Chris.”

My parents divorced when I was 12 and sent me away to live with relatives, where I was molested by an older cousin. Like most children who have been sexually abused, somehow I thought I was to blame. If only men wouldn’t find me attractive, then things like this wouldn’t happen to me, I reasoned. From then on I wanted to conceal whatever shred of femininity I had left.

There were other incidences where men took advantage of me, reinforcing my theory time and again. I never felt safe as a girl with all the seemingly sex-crazed men around me. Even my dad fit the bill with stacks of pornographic magazines under his bed when I was growing up.

Then, as a high school freshman, I learned that my best friend, Kim, was in love with me. Though I looked the part of a lesbian, I had never been involved with a girl. I was confused about what to do, so I looked in the Bible for answers and found a verse on love. I knew I loved Kim, so I concluded that nothing could be wrong between two people if they loved each other.

This freed me from my inhibitions and we became lovers. It was very exciting that someone cared so deeply and wanted to know all about me. Kim and I always checked with each other before we made any plans with other friends. I felt I would die if she withdrew from the relationship, even slightly. Our lives revolved around each other in a consuming sort of way. These qualities, I learned later, were all characteristics of an emotionally-dependent relationship.

My relationship with Kim lasted a year and a half, until my mom found out after discovering a love note I had written to Kim.

My mom demanded that the relationship stop, embarrassed to have a gay daughter. She also called Kim’s mom, and together they plotted to end our love affair. Eventually they were successful.

Afterwards, at 17, I began to experiment with guys sexually to find out if I was really gay or not. Each time I felt used and degraded because the guys didn’t care about me at all–they only wanted sex. As a result I knew I preferred being with a woman. I found it very gratifying, and it felt natural to me.

In college I continued in homosexuality. Once again, I enjoyed being the center of another woman’s world. It also filled a void in my life as I deeply longed to be loved. My last girlfriend, who was seven years older, was a Christian and she struggled with guilt because she was brought up believing homosexuality was a sin. I struggled with guilt because she was married. Her husband worked 70-80 hours a week, leaving her emotionally needy and susceptible to looking outside her marriage to meet her needs.

While we were lovers, she stayed involved in her church throughout our 18-month relationship and her divorce. One day I expressed my interest in joining her church softball team. She told me I’d have to join the church and I told her no way. But for some reason the coach let me play.

I never anticipated the impact this softball team would have on me. My teammates were so loving and accepting. They knew I was different, but they never treated me like an outsider. I wanted to know more, and I wanted to experience what they had so I started going to church regularly.

I never dreamed that after all I’d done, God could still love me or that He would even want me. Here I was, a lesbian and a home-wrecker. Though I felt disqualified, God still accepted me. I became a Christian in November 1989.

My girlfriend and I wanted to do the right thing, but our physical relationship continued for many weeks. Eventually I broke off the friendship with my lover, but continued to suffer in silence with my homosexual desires. I was even angry at God for making me gay, not understanding that He doesn’t make anybody homosexual. Like many lesbians, I chose this path because I had been trying to protect against further hurt from a man and I was looking for my mother’s love that I didn’t receive when I was a girl.

Then I heard the president of Exodus International on the radio. I marveled at the wisdom of this man, Sy Rogers, who obviously understood the struggle I was in as he counseled people on a call-in show. When he announced the date of a seminar in Orlando, just two hours from my hometown of Tampa, I made plans to attend.

That seminar changed my life as I heard Sy share his own story of overcoming a lifetime of homosexuality, and I was filled with hope that I could, too. I found out about an Exodus ministry in Tampa, and began attending weekly support group meetings where I learned about the roots of my homosexual struggles.

I also attended the annual Exodus conference that year in San Antonio. There I participated in a “make-over” session which had a deep impact on me. For the first time since I had been sexually abused, I wanted to be pretty, just like other women at church. As I walked back to my dorm room after the makeover, a thought hit me and stopped me in my tracks.

“Do you remember those girls back home at church that you envied because they were beautiful?” God seemed to be asking me. “You’re no different. You are beautiful–just like them.”

Stunned, I continued down the path to my dorm as tears stained my cheeks. All my life I struggled with intense feelings of inadequacy about being a girl and suddenly I saw myself as just like them.

When I returned to my church in Tampa, I asked all my friends to start calling me “Christine.” Though it felt odd at first because I had always been “Chris,” I wanted to embrace my femininity. In the church I met godly, strong women who helped me to see that being female wasn’t a liability.

I also saw men in a different light. They were true friends, and they were interested in me, not sex. For the first time, I felt safe as a woman.

The key to my healing was developing healthy same-sex friendships. I also saw a counselor to help me deal with the sexual abuse and dysfunctional family issues while continuing my involvement in church and Exodus. With God’s help and the support of caring people, homosexuality no longer casts a shadow on my life.

This summer my Dad and I attended the Exodus conference together, where I taught a workshop. I never dreamed that the man who first inspired me to believe that being a woman wasn’t good or safe would one day accompany me as I went to tell others it’s a lie.

by Elaine Sinnard

From my earliest memories, I loved to dress up in “boys” clothes. My older brother (by nine years) had always wanted a little brother, and I did everything I could to fill that role.

After Dad’s death when I was five, my mother bought a 40-acre farm where she built a house (this was in the 1930s during the Depression). I wore bib overalls, high-top working shoes, and went without a shirt like my brother. I got acquainted with some of the neighborhood boys and we became buddies. I was strong for my age and could beat up the boys. This gave me power and control over them, and made me feel safe and respected.

My mother and grandmother fought a great deal and seemed to hate each other intensely. I never ever want to be like either one of them, I vowed to myself. In my mind, women were always angry, yelling, scolding, and disgusting.

Then came the first day of school. Much to my horror, I was forced to wear a dress! I felt totally humiliated during recess when one of the boys pulled up my dress and then ran away as he shouted, “I just wanted to see if you had overalls on underneath.”

I began fantasizing about a machine that would change me instantly into a young man like the silent-movie star, Rudoph Valentino. I could dress in handsome clothing, be desired by women, and make lots of money to care for Mother and my family.

My brother knew about my desire to be a boy and told me to eat three worms to bring about the change. I was so desperate that I followed his directions. Being a boy would solve all my problems, I thought. I intensely hated being a girl.

I answered to the name “Jeri” and refused to allow anyone in my family to call me “Elaine.” Mother was a Christian Scientist and allowed me to wear knickers and boy’s shirts to class. When the teacher complained about my mode of dress, Mother indignantly took me out of Sunday School. I thought she was terrific for defending me.

During the Second World War I attended dance school. I was tall and awkward, but still attractive and young men began to notice me. When we kissed, I fantasized that I was the man kissing some gloriously beautiful woman.

At 18, I got into show business, dancing at a small nightclub. I formed an intense crush on one of the other female dancers. We were close and went everywhere together. I did anything to gain and keep her attention. Within several years, I was fully into lesbian behavior, always in the masculine role. At last I had found my rightful place in life.

After several lesbian relationships, I met an older woman who fell head-over-heels in love with me. She was extremely masculine and not my “type” at all. But I had been undergoing therapy to try and become more feminine, so I decided to become her lover. I was trying to be a woman for the first time in my life, but I hated it. After 18 years of misery, I finally left her for a feminine woman, instantly reverting back to the male role.

My partner, Penny, and I purchased a home and art studio together (I was a professional artist). All our gay friends thought it was a wonderful match. But as time went on, anger, fear, jealousy, possessiveness, alcohol abuse and verbal abuse entered our relationship. Within a year-and-a-half of this new relationship with Penny, I felt utterly hopeless.

Then, in July 1978, I made a decision to accept Jesus Christ as my Savior while jogging. Penny made the same decision alone one morning about a month later. Neither one of us knew anything had happened to the other for a while. Then we noticed each other reading the Bible.

To our knowledge, we did not know any Christians. No one had been sharing with us about Christ and our need of Him–yet God drew us to Himself by the power of His Holy Spirit.

Both of us noticed good things happening to our relationship. Foul language, drinking, parties–gay or straight–were not desirable to us anymore. We were changing. In time we began attending church and learned that we had been “born again” (see John 3). How thrilling to finally understand what was happening to us.  Both of us read the Bible with hunger and fell deeply in love with Jesus. Then one day I read about lesbianism in Romans 1:26. It was frightening and horrible to learn that God did not approve of my lesbianism. Devastated, I showed the Scripture verse to Penny. We were stunned.

After much discussion, prayer, crying and grieving, we determined to follow Jesus Christ anyway. We loved Him too much to turn away from following and loving Him.

But after serving the Lord for six years while trying to continue our homosexual relationship, we could not handle it any longer. One evening we prayed together and asked God to give us the gift of celibacy like the Apostle Paul (1 Cor. 7:7).

God granted our request, but it was after much struggling that we were victorious. (Now we have been free from sexual sin for over 16 years.) But we still had the mindset that we were celibate homosexual women.

Then we located an ex-gay ministry in New York City. “You were not born gay,” they explained. “You are maturing into normal, heterosexual women.” This was hard for us to believe.

But as we matured in the Lord, we began to realize that we could trust God and His Word. He said we were “new creatures” (2 Cor. 5:17) and we decided to believe it. Our gay feelings were changing, so why hold on to the gay label? We decided to see ourselves as God sees us–new creatures made in His image and likeness. We carefully renewed our minds daily with the “washing of the Word” (Eph. 5:26), and God continued His transforming work.

Now, looking back, I can see that much of our growth came through the Body of Christ, from our church friends–both men and women–loving and accepting us over the past 22 years. The love we have for each other has become the same love we have for close brothers and sisters in Christ. Our friendship needs are now being met in healthy, wholesome and Christlike ways.

Penny and I continue to share a home, which has puzzled some people who ask, “How can you live with your former lover and claim to be free of homosexuality?” If I was still battling homosexual attractions and unhealthy emotional entanglements, I definitely could not live with Penny and remain a strong, peaceful Christian. But for the past 16 years, we have both been increasingly healed and now relate to each other as heterosexual women. It is not sinful for heterosexual women to share a home.

Of course, life continues to bring challenges. Now, as a “senior citizen,” I’ve found that young and old alike are listening more to younger people these days. This reality has been hard to face at times. I used to think that growing older as a Christian would bring dignity, worth and respect. But sometimes the generation gap seems even more noticeable in the church than it was in the gay community.

Even so, I pray to be a holy and healthy “spiritual mother” to younger men and women whom God brings into my life. I no longer look for the unhealthy attention I sought as a youth. Now I look to God for my deepest needs to be met. “Our physical body is becoming older and weaker, but our spirit inside us is made new every day” (2 Cor. 4:16).

My joy and satisfaction in life comes from being well-pleasing to my Heavenly Father. I am happy being the woman God made me to be. Apart from my salvation, that’s the greatest miracle of all.

by Rebekah Baeder-Johnston

In November 1983, I was sitting in a lesbian bar in Seattle. My lover was dancing with another woman. As I painfully watched her flirting with the other woman, I heard an audible voice.

When I looked up, there was powerful presence standing next to the table where I was sitting. Jesus spoke, “My child what are you doing here?” The voice was so real. “I have so much better planned for you than the false security and identity that you live in now.”

As I looked out onto the dance floor, I saw the most incredible vision: all the smiling faces turned to wax and started to melt. The laughter stopped. The Holy Spirit revealed to me that the broken hearts behind the smiling masks were not really laughing at all. More important was the reality that my heart was also scarred and broken.

Years ago I saw a card that reminded me of the emotional secrets I hid behind a well-constructed mask while I was growing up. It pictured a little girl, with golden braids in a pretty pink dress, hanging up laundry on a clothesline. Once I was that innocent little girl, happy to be a “mommy” to my younger brother, a nurse to my dolls, and a little helper to my mother.

Then a chain of events occurred that changed the course of my life. At age three, I learned from my aunt that I had an older sister who died at birth. “She was so beautiful,” my aunt told me. “She was just perfect.”

I asked my aunt many questions and became obsessed with this sister that I never knew. As I grew older, I knew secretly that I could never attain the same perfection that this little girl would have attained if she had lived.

My younger brother also shaped my poor self-image. Everything seemed to come so easily to him. I always tried to be just like him, but failed continually.

When I was eight years old, my family was involved in a serious car accident. My brother and I were separated from our parents for three months. This separation created a great sense of loss and abandonment in my life.

Then came the most devastating event of all: my grandfather molested me when I was nine. After the incest, my childhood slipped away like a thief in the night. My dolls were traded for a baseball and bat. When I played house with my girlfriends, I was always the husband. I was labeled a “tomboy” by others and secretly wished that I could be a boy.

I became my mother’s protector, admiring and idolizing her. We became emotionally enmeshed as I became her confidante, her caretaker and her surrogate husband. I withdrew emotionally and physically from my father who found refuge in his work to avoid emotional involvement or conflict related to the incest by my grandfather. I began to believe that emotional support and security could only be found in another woman.

I was 16 when I met my future husband; we were married by the end of my senior year in high school. By the time I was 23, we had been blessed with two beautiful children. Outwardly, we looked like an ideal family. But behind closed doors, our marriage was very dysfunctional. My husband had become verbally–then physically–abusive. I was terrified of his anger and my shaky identity as a woman was crushed by his angry outbursts. I felt unloved as a woman; instead, I was filled with shame, guilt, and a deep sense of worthlessness. But, rather than confronting my feelings, I stuffed them down, pretending everything was fine.

When I was 29, my “perfect” mask was shattered. My husband became deathly ill and was hospitalized. During this time he confessed that he had been unfaithful to me two years earlier. I was totally devastated. All my suppressed feelings came rushing to the surface, including the painful memories of my childhood.

By the summer of 1981, all the years of suppressed emotions had broken loose. My mask fell off and my true feelings were revealed. I felt heartbroken, angry, betrayed and disillusioned. My life was soon out of control.

Five months later, I left my 13-year marriage and entered the first of three lesbian relationships. My lover and I began to frequent the gay bars and I began a pattern of heavy drinking.

The first year of my lesbian relationship seemed wonderful. Finally I had found that one special person who could complete my life and bring happiness–or so I thought. But gradually my lover’s alcoholism grew worse, and she became physically and emotionally abusive to me. But I was addicted to the relationship and could not break away from her.

By the fall of 1984, I was hitting bottom and feeling more pain than when my marriage broke up. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I was taking tranquilizers, antidepressants and sleeping pills to get through each day and night. My health was failing and I was suicidal.

Then God began breaking through the denial. He showed me that I was trying to cover over deep emotional wounds. Then He spoke to me in the bar and brought me face-to-face with the truth about my life.

In January 1985, I asked my lover to move out. This decision marked the start of a long journey to healing and freedom that still continues today. It has not been easy. In 1987, I relapsed into two other unhealthy relationships, then had a one-night stand with my ex-lover. Later that year, I checked myself into an inpatient treatment center for co-dependency. After completing treatment, I started counseling at Metanoia, an Exodus affiliate ministry in Seattle.

Through counseling, God began digging up the deeper roots of my lesbianism. I had to face the rejection, loneliness, self-hatred, confused gender identity and unforgiveness from childhood hurts. The pain of withdrawal from my emotionally-dependent and addictive behavior patterns was overwhelming at times. Sometimes I wondered if the pain would ever end.

But God was faithful and my relationship with Him and others began to change. I found my true identity in the One who created me in His image. I became totally dependent on God for my every need, and began to experience Him as a loving Father.

In July 1990, I moved back to the area where I had lived as a married woman. My children (16 and 18 years old) came to live with me for the first time in over nine years. We had many issues to work through. I had to ask their forgiveness for leaving them and then begin to earn back their trust.

My son was not able to find any release until he verbalized his pain in a letter to me several years ago. “When you went away,” he wrote, “it left a big hole in my heart that I am not sure will ever be filled again.” His letter opened a door for more communication and healing between us. It has taken longer for my daughter to come to that place of forgiveness but today we are enjoying a new level of friendship.

In November 1997 I faced a new challenge when I was diagnosed with Stage 4 (advanced) breast cancer. I was thrown into the “fiery furnace” like never before; at times it has been unbearably hot.

I have suffered the pain of three surgeries; chemo treatments made me physically sick and radiation left me exhausted. The enemy wanted me to doubt God’s healing of my feminine identity, but instead God has confirmed and affirmed that my identity as a woman is secure and solid in Him. My identity is not in the hair that I lost or my breast that cancer destroyed. My identity is knowing who I am in Jesus Christ.

I would not have chosen this road but now that I’ve traveled it, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Even through the pain and suffering, God has been so faithful to me. His ways are higher than mine (Isaiah 55:8,9), so I can trust Him with my future.

Today I am experiencing increased confidence in God’s sovereignty and His continual presence with me. In the midst of my uncertain circumstances, I can testify to God’s continual goodness.

I no longer have to hide behind a mask, because I have overwhelming joy. God continues to work a miracle in my life. He is awesome!