O T H E R
T E S T I M O N I A L S

When I Am Weak, Then Am I Strong

I want to share with you how I was able to come out of the world of homosexuality to become a Christ-like person. I will never forget the night of January 20, 1995. The lights in the gay bar were dim. But in a fabulously understated way! Indeed, that has been my only regret leaving homosexuality - a return to hurriedly conceived lighting schemes. The faces surrounding me were dim, too. Those sad, lonely faces with sighing eyes searched the bar that night just as I did, longing for someone to fill their emptiness. Sometimes in the past, we would settle on the same "someone," often leading me to viciously undermining my would-be rival with lacerating verbal banter that managed to deeply and permanently scar their psychological confidence. My demeaning remarks could always be counted on for their pin-point accuracy in finding a person's most acute vulnerability. In fact, I began referring to my lethal bon mots as Cruise Missiles! Oftentimes, I became so caught up in making a rival cry, I would forget entirely about the trick I was after! I mean, HELLO? How stupid was that? But, even if I let the prey slip by, I took great satisfaction in watching someone turn into a quivering, unsure mess - right in front of the whole bar!

Anyway, back to the story, the next day, Saturday, marked my 36th birthday, yet I felt no joy -- only deep depression. I wanted the alcohol to wash away the pain of a homosexual relationship now decaying into emotional trauma. As the scotch began its numbing effect, I remembered an incident three years earlier that took place while I stood in grocery store express line. Janice, a plain, frump I'd known since high school, called out from three aisles over, "Randy, your homosexual lifestyle is sin in God's eyes." Her statement staggered me, and I quickly defended myself. "Why? I'm not hurting anyone."

"You're hurting yourself," she promptly answered. "Read Romans 1:27. God says your sin will destroy your body." Her voice echoed throughout the check-out area, and many eyes turned to us. My face flushed. Fortunately, I knew that Janice has been sexually abused as a child, something I started talking about in a very loud voice. What I didn't know, I made up. Janice didn't make it out of the store without being reduced to an inexpensively dressed ball of distraught anguish, her wholly pathetical wails of abject torment drowning out the sounds of the Muzak. After she was helped out of the store, I was pleased to see what quick service I got from the seemingly nervous check-out girl.

The tinkling of glasses interrupted my fond recollection. I realized on that night before my birthday that homosexuality had caused the dark, smothering depression and loneliness in my life. I realized that while Janice had been very misguided in choosing a synthetic, laughably-faux Hermes scarf with the tragically tailored suit she was wearing, but she had been right about me. I was hurting myself.

I pondered the past, hoping an answer would surface. Why had I become a homosexual? Was it the lack of a father image, as some psychologists suggested? But it was probably Mom. She was always telling me what to do as a child. Plus, she really loved me. That can make you homosexual, too.

Grandma, a staunch Baptist, took me to the Lord's house every Sunday. In Sunday School I first learned about Jesus; many of those early lessons were never forgotten. As a teenager I drifted away from the church's influence and decided to follow a desire beginning to stir within me-a sexual desire for men.

I could establish friendships with women, but they would always fail. Usually because they would get all bent out of shape and bitchy when I took time out of my busy day to give them some lengthy and much needed - the Blessed Jesus knows!! -- constructive, but acidic, criticism on their outfits, hair and/or make-up. They would often go off on some crying jag or storm out like children. My attitude was usually, "You look like total shit and if you can't take some friendly advice, fuck you!!" If all these women hadn't been such bitches, I'm sure I would have become romantically involved with one them and married, but they always stopped that from happening with their petty inability to hear the truth. So, I guess it may really be their fault that I became a homosexual and not Mom's after all.

At 19 I experienced my first sexual encounter with a man. Even in my distorted identity, I longed for a relationship. Although this was normal, my choice of gender wasn't. Throughout the next 16 years, I floundered in attempts to find the ideal relationship. No matter whom I met, there was ALWAYS something really wrong with them. Sometimes, it would be something incredibly annoying - like moronically using "aggravate" when they meant "irritate." My first boyfriend did that, and that would really piss me off. When I upbraided him at a dinner party about it, his lame excuse was "But honey everyone does that; surely by now it is an excepted usage." I just blew up and told him - right in front of all his pretentious friends - "Just because everyone is an illiterate idiot doesn't allow ANYONE to use the incorrect word when there is the perfectly fabulous CORRECT word to express the idea waiting for you to find, you lazy dim-wit! It's like all these losers sitting at this horrendous reproduction Louis Seize table, which is more akin to a Formica dinette than anything people of taste would sit down for a lovely meal on! They are all wearing all these dreadfully tired so-1980s Ralph Lauren numbers. Pardon me while I yawn! Do you think that makes wearing dull, predicable, cheaply made CRAP OK?" I had ruined the dinner party, and lost my boyfriend (good riddance, asshole!), but I was glad that I had made an important point.

Until that night in the bar, I failed to realize that my floundering resulted from being outside God's will. I remembered twirling my drink that night and thinking my life twirled much the same -- spinning without purpose. I imagined all my friends as cubes of ice - just making me cold before they melted away. I stood up and threw some change onto the bar, telling the mincing bartender, "No wonder you are reduced to working in a cheap dank bar so desperate it sells well drinks for a dollar! Who else would hire a revoltingly fey, prancing nobody with such stomach-turning skin. Fortunately for you, you will never make enough money for plastic surgery. Because any doctor with any pride of workmanship would never let you out of his operating room!" I splashed my drink in his face. And then taking one last look around the smoke-filled room, I walked out into the cold night air. It was the last time I ever patronized a gay bar. And it wasn't just because I was asked never to return.

Later that night, in my fabulously rococo studio condo in Smyrna, Georgia, thoughts from my sinful past continued to torture me. I tried to sleep, but the thoughts were relentless. I tossed, turned, then finally I arose from my futon to slip on my to-die-for chemise smoking jacket. I poured myself a pousse-cafª. With 14 different types of liqueurs, it took me almost 5 hours to get one so that all the different colored strata were perfectly segregated. It really chaps me when people don't do it right. I then turned my attention to the many glasses filled with failed attempts at pousse-cafes - their liqueurs muddled in murky integration. I must have passed out sometime after my twelfth.

The next morning I awoke with a pounding head and an aching heart. It was my birthday, but I expected no presents, no cake with candles, and no joy; only more of last night's depression. Suddenly an urge to take the Bible off the bookshelf overwhelmed me. It had been years since I'd last read it. But on that morning I wanted to read Romans 1:27, the section dowdy Janice had mentioned. Thumbing through the New Testament, I found the text and I began to weep uncontrollably.

I cried for more than an hour, pouring my sorrow out to God. "Jesus," I said, "I have sinned against You. I'm tired of this life...please forgive me...help me to live for You." A sweeping wave of gentle peace settled over me. The deep depression of the past months lifted. It was as though I'd emerged from a dark tunnel into the brilliant light of day as Jesus Christ became real to me. I looked up at the ceiling and said, "Jesus, I've got to tell you something. I'm really, really pissed off. I've been having a totally bad time for the last 16 years with all these LOSERS in my life and where the fuck have you been? They say you died to help me, but - hello? -- where were you when I prayed for that job at the Adrien Arpel counter at Saks? Nowhere! So, don't come to me now, all majestic, benevolent, back-lit and glowing -- expecting me to be oh-so-grateful. I want an apology and I want it now!"

I arose from the floor and saw a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of creme de menthe I'd drunk from the previous night. Grabbing them both from the night table, I rushed into the bathroom and dumped them down the toilet (the bottle of creme de menthe was empty, but it was only meant to be a symbolic gesture anyway). I said, "Jesus, if you apologize and give me what I want, I will never smoke or drink liquor again!" The transforming power of Christ was so potent that I have never drunk or smoked since that day. Fortunately, I hadn't promised to give up cocaine or crystal-meth, and He hasn't said anything about them, so it's not like I have to make it through the day without help.

Moments later, I felt an urgent need to tell someone what had happened, so I called a friend who had recently accepted Christ as her Savior. She rejoiced with me. She said, "I am so glad that you have found your way to the Truth! I am so happy for you, Randy!" I was so giddy with joy I started laughing. She asked what was so funny. I said, "I was just noticing for the first time how nasal your voice sounds. I was just wondering if you hold your nose when you talk. That's what it sounds like. No wonder you never had a boyfriend. I can't imagine being cooped up with you for more than 5 minutes hearing that laborious wheezing. That is just one of the things I really can't stand about fat people. You know, you'd think fat people were OK to talk to on the phone because you don't have to look at them. But you forget about that horrid wheezing. Yuck!"

I didn't realize it at the time, but the Holy Spirit had me confess with my mouth what I'd already believed in my heart. As the Bible says, "If you confess with your mouth, 'Jesus is Lord,' and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved." (Romans 10:9-10)

A few weeks later, I began attending Mrs. Bowers' Christians Are Saving Homosexuals ministry. I had seen her "The End of The Rainbow Leads to C.A.S.H." and "C.A.S.H. in your $3 Bills" ads in the newspaper. The $2,800 I paid Mrs. Bowers (all in twenties, for some reason) was money well spent. Through CASH, the second greatest miracle in my life took place. One Sunday after service, I was invited to dinner at one of Mrs. Bowers' homes! While we were driving over in her fabulous new Bentley, Mrs. Bowers told me there would be someone at the dinner she wanted me to meet - Adel Perkins, who was a member of Mrs. Bowers' church. Mrs. Bowers had not told Adel that I was with CASH. When I met Adel, for the first time in my life I felt a stirring attraction for a female. She was wearing Dolce & Gabanna!

Over the following months God drew Adel and myself together. She wore fabulous clothes, so soon we fell in love. But as the days passed and our love deepened, I became troubled. Should I tell her of my past? I didn't want someone else to tell her. I knew Mrs. Bowers would not tell her because I had paid CASH the supplemental $1,800 (this time in $10 bills) for CASH's Deluxe Privacy Package, which I had only gotten because it included an herbal wrap at a local spa as an incentive. One night, anxious and trembling, I called Adel, determined to tell her everything. When the moment came I spoke with major treps, "Adel, I have something important to tell you. God has delivered me from homosexuality."

Once the words were out, I felt relieved-for a moment. Then I waited for her response. She remained silent for what seemed like an eternity, then she finally replied, "Randy, I love you as you are now". My tension dissolved and I shouted, "Hallelujah!" I then added, "I wasn't really worried though. It's not like you could be real picky. I mean, you dress well but you are still real dykey looking. And, believe me, I could smell the stench of desperation rising from your every attentive gesture. It wasn't like you were in a position to say "no" to ANY man who would ask someone as butch as you to marry. Right?"

Adel proved to be more touchy than I had thought. That was the last time I spoke to her - until I berated her about her inability to recognize a sly English-French double-entendre at the hearing on her restraining order.

I battled with a feeling of not actually being saved because there was still affection for my last lover. Although I was still angry at him for leaving me. Mrs. Bowers helped me to understand that feeling had nothing to do with salvation. "Your former lover is going straight to Hell to burn for eternity in a lake of fire anyway," she reassured me. It was music to my ears. I also learned that one doesn't always feel saved, but I had to learn to accept what the Word says about salvation. "Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved," God's Word says simply (Acts 16:31). "Surely, even one of you people can understand that," Mrs. Bowers told me, as she passed me the paperwork that assigned CASH a security interest in my condo should I be late with one of my $400 monthly payments.

Over the years, CASH has been my main strength in staying free of homosexuality. Mrs. Bowers has been so super supportive - even allowing me to stay in my condo after CASH took over the title in a lawsuit to recover "special" fees that I had neglected to see on the reverse side of my treatment contract with CASH. Now, I'm part of one of CASH's small groups, which has been a great help. And on those many occasions when I lapse back into homosexuality, I've found that CASH is the perfect place to find horny guys.

Soon after I was saved, our group discussed the verse, "Confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed" (James 5:16). I confessed the strong feelings I still had for my former lover - even though he had basically no dick and was going to spend eternity in a lake of fire. One guy, told this wonderful story about this hot little Latin hustler he had met. Just listening to the story of doing it in the back of a pick-up in the desert, I had to go into Mrs. Bowers' private Laura Ashley bathroom and beat off. It was intense! Unfortunately, the guy speaking when I came out of the bathroom was so ugly that I had to tell him: "In order to listen to you talk about having sex, I have to imagine what you would look like naked and that is not advisable on a full stomach, so do me a favor and shut the fuck up!"

I have come to a better understanding of myself through the study of the Bible. I can sum up this understanding of myself with the Scripture in 2 Corinthians 12:10, "For when I am weak, then am I strong." Rather than my own willpower it is God's power working in me which keeps me strong and pressing forward in victory. Even when I'm yelling at someone over something stupid they have done, I now know that I speak with the authority of Christ. And it is through His love that I have left homosexuality - allowing me to become totally Christ-like. And, I'll tell you, when you are Christ-like, you really start to notice how un-Christ-like everyone else is. But, fortunately for me, having the rarified perspective of the cognoscenti has always been a cross I have borne with elan.

The CASH site (including the testimonials), as is so often the case with purported former-gay ministries, is a work of fiction. None of the characters or events depicted represents actual persons or events. Any resemblance to any persons living or dead is unintended and purely coincidental.

Adult Christian Home Page © PostFun 1998 All Rights Reserved	Send E-Mail to editor@postfun.com [http://www.postfun.com/pfp/cash/testimony1098c.html]