There was a brief stunned silence. I didn't really know how to respond, and just stood there. ‘So do you have a boyfriend?’ I had never been asked that question before, and even though the answer was simple, it took a long time for my brain to catch up. Later, better, more casual responses came to me – ‘Not that I know of’, or since I was standing in a shop, ‘No, do you have any in stock?’. Instead, I just lamely muttered 'No' and began calculating how quickly I could exit the conversation without it seeming weird.
I had encountered similar questions before without batting an eyelid: Are you single? Are you married? Do you have a girlfriend? All questions that I have been asked without being particularly put off. But this? It was so pointed towards my sexuality. It threw off my day; it stuck around in my mind for days after.
It made me wonder, why was I so shaken by it?
1. I felt invisible.
The world has no category for someone in my position. If I share that I am same-sex attracted that is because I plan to go find a boyfriend. That’s the logical next step, isn't it? Why on earth would I share it otherwise? When I initially shared publicly, someone congratulated me on my exciting new life, with the undertones that I had shed the 'old me' and was now going to live the life of a proud gay man. I told them I'd shared because I wanted to point people to Jesus, but they didn't really care about that bit. It can feel like people look past me, to the person they think I am, not the one who is in front of them.
2. I felt pitied.
Once when someone asked me if I was married, to my reply to the negative they said ‘Oh, that’s sad. You're all alone then.’ (Yes, yikes!) It was the underlying tone of pity in that response that I found the hardest. The tone floats around the narrative of 'coming out', especially when you're a little bit older. Prior to this moment, you've been living a sad life of repression. Coming out is freedom, finally. Welcome to the big wide world of fulfilment. When I uttered my awkward 'No', I felt like I was one to be pitied for not quite going the full way. Not having a boyfriend left me stuck in a kind of sad lonely Neverland. Not a real grown up. Not yet. Even though it's a narrative I truly believe is utterly false, and even though I believe singleness is good, in that moment it was hard not to internalise the pity.
3. I felt jealous.
If I'm being honest with myself, I felt jealous of the alternate universe version of me that could respond enthusiastically 'Yeah, he's great' as I usher him into the shop to introduce him to them. Streamers would come flying down from the ceiling, ‘Celebrate good times’ would start playing from nowhere, and I would be handed a trophy for having made it.
The mind can go to wild places. It shone a light on something deep inside me that made me long for that alternate universe. Despite all that I know and believe about God's good plans for me, I was jealous of those who could say yes to that question.
The worst of it is, I wondered if it was true. If I was sad and miserable.
When I doubt God's goodness, and am tempted to envy what the world has, I feel like the author of Psalm 73. In this psalm the psalmist experiences a real sense of doubt as he looks at those who celebrate sin and prosper, while he tries to walk the righteous path but feels miserable. He focuses upon what he doesn't have. He envies others, thinking them carefree. ‘Surely in vain I have kept my heart pure’ (v.13) he wonders, just like I had. Then he returns to contemplating God, and how the joy of his enduring presence outweighs the temporary pleasures the world has to offer. The fleeting pleasures of sin have nothing on the surpassing worth of knowing God. The poem builds to a verse that never fails to make me tear up:
‘My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever’ (Psalm 73:26).
My flesh is weak. My heart equally so. In that moment after being asked that seemingly simple question I felt that weakness. In that moment I needed to be reminded that God is the strength of my heart, to rely on him to give me the strength to say yes to godliness, even when it feels painful. I am not invisible to him. He is my refuge, he guides me along the way. I needed to remember that the Lord is my portion for ever. How could I be pitiable with him as my lot? What more could I need? Why would I envy a version of myself that could say 'Here is my boyfriend' in the place of 'Here is my Lord'? Our vision is so easily pulled down in moments like this, the words of Psalm 73 raise it right back up again to these greater things.
As I felt my flesh and my heart fail, I needed to be reminded of these truths. And I was. Psalm 73 is a Psalm I have read time and time again. I constantly return to it for comfort. Knowing this Psalm well was a real blessing to me. It didn't stop me from feeling how I did in the moment, but it became a comfort and a reminder afterwards. As I reflected on how I felt, the words of this Psalm began to resurface in my mind to point me back to Jesus. So now, I could answer that question with confidence.
Do I have a boyfriend? No, I have something infinitely better.
