My Last Exodus Conference: Lessons Learned

This is the second in an epiK three-part blogging series on my four-year return to the Exodus Conference. For the first part of this series, “Impressions,” click here. For the third part, “Onward,” transport yourself to the future. And then tell me how you did that cuz I wanna go too.

When you attend an Exodus Conference (which, just for clarification from here on out, you won’t since Exodus is shutting down – but roll with me), you learn a thing or two. You get a fancy little workbook/packet and you jot down notes throughout the conference upon listening to speaker after speaker upon workshop after sacred secluded journaling time.

For part 2 of this three-part Exodus series, I wanted to share the most meaningful of my disheveled assortment of notes from my 14 hours at the final Exodus Conference.

Are you ready for the next chapter of my true story?

Exodus Conference Lesson 1: True Stories are Messy but Beautiful

I heard some fantastic quotes at this year’s Exodus Conference. Hardly an hour into the conference, one of the best ones was spoken by Holland Davis, our worship leader for the week (and, incidentally, the same worship leader from the 2009 Exodus conference).

Holland said:

God is not a mechanic; He’s an artist. And art takes time.

Say what you wish and believe what you will about “who I am” and these lovely little same-sex attractions I’ve experienced since second grade. Attractions aside, I believe in a prolific Author/Artist penning the tale and painting the portrait of my life.

My story. An artful story that takes time.

Donald Miller (who else?) has taught me so much about life as a story — all the more reason I’m stoked for STORYLINE this October.

Simply put, a story without struggle is a boring story.

Of course I want a struggle-free life as much as the next guy, gay or straight, but you know what I think I genuinely desire more than that?

The hills.

That “God give us hills…” quote from camp will forever remain with me. Maybe it sounds masochistic, but you know what?

This homosexual struggle has undeniably intimately helped me press deeper into God — and His strength — day after day. Because, after all, struggling often forces you to rely on something — Someone — beyond yourself.

And I’ve found Him.

Despite these often wearying sexual/emotional climbs, the exhales and views from my story’s momentous summits — two defining summer camps, a phenomenal church group, and priceless friendships — have made all the arduous hills of my struggles so very worth the climb.

Whether God “made me gay” or a lack of adolescent male friendships shaped my budding sexuality (or likely some confusing combination of both), I’m a work — a story — in progress like anyone else on Planet Earth.

Philippians 1:6 was quoted multiple times throughout my single day at the Exodus Conference; it’s become a life-verse of mine.

In essence:

He who started this good story in me will finish it.

After all the good I’ve seen through the  lens of my homosexuality, I’ve grown abundantly confident in the truth of this verse. Confident that He will complete my story in a way far better than I could ever craft or forge of my own accord.

Exodus Conference Lesson 2: “I’m Not Special”

Four years ago, I thought I was pretty special – negatively special, that is. I was a Christian and yet I was attracted to other guys.

I was more than special; I was a freak.

Four years later, I’ve learned I’m not all that special. Yes, I’m a “gay Christian” or an “SSA Christian” or a “romantically challenged Christian.” Or whatever. I usually just go by “Tom.”

One of my bigger takeaways from this year’s Exodus Conference and something I’ve been steadily realizing over the years is that my struggles don’t dramatically differ from other Christians’ struggles – they merely parallel them.

I have lust; you have lust.

I worry; you worry.

I feel inferior; you feel superior.

“So similar,” a female speaker commented at the Exodus Conference. She herself did not wrestle with same-sex attractions (a full-blooded OSA’er in our midst!), and yet she realizes as I now do that her struggles compared to mine compared to yours aren’t all that different but instead so similar.

Yes, my particular set of struggles has garnered me two bizarre trips to the Exodus Conference, but my gay-ness is no more heinous or “special” than your own slew of struggles.

We all struggle, and we all need help in this life. And even a messed up Christian like me can lend a helping hand.

This purposeful revelation was huge when I re-drafted Struggle Central; I even described this shift in my Author’s Note. I’m not special; I’m not the only battered soul in a coffee shop or a church pew.

Struggles aside — struggles included — I can help others. So can you.

Exodus Conference Lesson 3: “Ugly Duckling” Wisdom

The greatest line from my return to the Exodus Conference came from that evening’s speaker, Nate Collins. He closed his message by incorporating the beloved tale of “The Ugly Duckling.”

After enduring years of ridicule amid a family of different ducks, this unsuspecting swan one day glanced at his reflection in the water and discovered the beauty he’d unknowingly become.

And do you know what happened next? DO YOU KNOW HOW THE TALE GOES? I hope this BLOWS YOUR MIND like it did mine.

After the ugly duckling examined himself in the water, the narration proceeds as follows:

He now felt glad at having suffered sorrow and trouble, because it enabled him to enjoy so much better all the pleasure and happiness around him.

Good gosh, that’s gold. I want to name my firstborn Hans Christian Zuniga; I couldn’t stop thinking about that line all night long.

Yes, having same-sex attractions as a Christian sucks. It does. The realist in me doesn’t shy away from the admitted unpleasantness that comes with “denying myself” or “picking up my cross” or failing to remove this stubborn “thorn in my flesh.”

But you know what?

I’m so glad I’ve struggled. Because after 26 hard isolating ugly years, I feel like I’m only just now starting to digest the beauty of my reflection in a shimmering lake.

The beauty of my story.