Delivered: the transformation of a bisexual Christian

I didn’t think my finally-go-public coming out story would be like this. I’ve been out to friends. I was ready to come out publicly. I’d been ready. For a long time, I thought I would never come out publicly or ever on social media unless I met a woman that I was serious about. Then I got to the point that I was done hiding. I was done being a closeted bisexual Christian in an ultra-conservative social circle. I couldn’t handle being caged anymore. I wanted to let the world see who I really was. Tear the walls down. Let it bleed. Let things fall. Then build with whatever I had left. Individuals could decide if they wanted to stick around. I continued to come out to more friends. It gets easier. And yet I didn’t come out to my family or make some public announcement. I don’t even know why. It was fairly obvious anyway. My journey took a different path than I expected. I would have never believed my story held a chapter on deliverance. I didn’t believe in such things… until I heard someone’s testimony and saw their transformation was undeniable. That planted a seed of hope, hope that there was something to seek after that could change the way I didn’t want to be. I was bisexual for 17 years. In one day, my chains were broken. For me, this was chains. This is my experience. This is where I’m at right now and I want to talk about it.
 
Full stop disclaimer: I do not tolerate gay bashing. This blog is not some anti-gay rant from an ex-queer chick. Hateful or homophobic comments will be deleted. I have no desire to tell other people what they need to do with their sexual orientation. That’s a very sensitive matter for queer folks and people need to be gentle with that. If you find yourself on that path, you have to walk your own journey. It’s up to the individual to navigate this and decide what they’re going to do about it. I have no interest in controlling anybody. I have a lot of love for the queer community. The last thing I want is to be hurtful to any of them. I’m not here to condemn or criticize or correct. I’m simply here to share my story with you. I know everyone has their own unique story. Mine might look different than others. That’s okay. I wish someone who had walked through similar things had shared their story with me. So, here is mine. I hope it resonates with the people who need to hear it.
 
Friday night December 6th around 7-7:30pm is a night I’ll never forget. The “impossible” happened. Something I didn’t expect that day (or ever) happened. Deliverance happened. I feel like I received a miracle. It was nothing short of a powerful move of God. I prayed through. Jesus broke my shackles and took my 17 year struggle of being bisexual. I never thought that would happen for me. I could cut to the chase and tell you about that miraculous night, but first I want to tell you the whole story.
 
You won’t understand the power of deliverance
if you don’t understand the pain of bondage.
 
Before I begin, I again want to make very clear that I am in no way condemning the queer community. I love them. I was one of them. Everybody has their own journey and everybody’s story is unique. This is mine. I never expected it to be mine. I didn’t believe people could be delivered until I met someone who claimed to be and it was undeniably evident that he was genuinely transformed. I still didn’t think that would happen for me. This was a very unexpected blessing, a move of God I am immensely grateful for. I’m not telling anyone else they need to change. I’m telling you I’ve changed. This is real. It’s genuine. Deliverance is authentic. This is my story.  

I knew by the time I was 14

​I heard the whispers from the time I was young. So and so was gay. So and so was living with another woman. People were so disgusted with it. Times were different in the 90s. It was much harder for openly queer folks than it is now. I was in middle school when I started wondering if it was normal to notice other girls like that. I mean I’d notice them. I was drawn to gals a lot more than I was guys. I didn’t know what that meant though. Expectations were straight, gender-conforming, marriage and family, aprons and homemaking. The possibility of being queer was a foreign concept. I had very little exposure to that way of life. I just knew people thought it was wrong.
 
By my freshman year of high school, I knew I was bi. I was 14. Again, I had very little exposure or education on anything not hetero, but I definitely knew I was bisexual. I was out to friends and wasn’t exactly closeted at school. I never came out to my family. I knew they looked down on people like that. I didn’t want them to be disgusted with me. There was no support back then outside of fellow queer friends. Well, we didn’t use the word queer back then. It was a hateful term thrown at people. This was the days when social media was brand new. Most of us were not using it. That significantly limited my knowledge or access to the queer community. I didn’t even know there was a whole community out there. I had no idea PRIDE parades were even a thing. This was long before the days you’d see rainbow flags and pride sprinkled everywhere each June. It was unimaginable. Gay couples even being allowed to marry was unimaginable. Most of us were not out publicly. You’d be a fool to flaunt it, asking to get your ass kicked. These issues were not discussed in the media. If they were, it was only in a negative light. An actress came out as a lesbian? That’ll end your career. The only thing I distinctly remember from the media back then was Matthew Shepard. We knew that’s what could happen to people who were openly homosexual. You could get murdered. You could get beaten. You were not safe. People were hateful. I didn’t know what PRIDE was. No one walked around high school with rainbow buttons on their bookbags. The term ‘ally’ was for war and politics. Times were so different back then. It was so isolating not being straight. The kids at school could be so mean to anyone they even thought was gay, especially the Christian teens. However, I was atheist. I was free to think as I please, unbeholden to Christian rules. Part of me felt like it was wrong to be gay (or half gay haha), and part of me felt like it was the most natural thing in the world. Kissing girls was far more preferable to dealing with boys. It felt natural to me. Yes, there was judgment. Who cares? Any standards of sexual purity were imposed by culture, not religion. I did what I wanted with who I wanted. And I couldn’t stand the Christians who hated people and tried to control entire groups of people who were different than them. 

Becoming Christian meant shoving myself back in the closet

Things changed in November of 2005 when I became a Christian at 17 years old. The knowledge of sin came in. Shame came with it. Purity culture was introduced to me early on in my Christian walk, and I didn’t know how corrupt it was. This is when I went Side B. Of course, back then I didn’t know there was a term for it. Homosexuality was a sin. I couldn’t live like that anymore. I went so far as to declare that I’d save sex for marriage and everything. I was dedicated. I chose to live for Jesus. That meant denying myself and following after His ways. I traded happiness for righteousness. I voluntarily took on the burden of loneliness because my desire to live in a way that was pleasing to God exceeded my desire to give in to temptation. After all, I did like men. I wanted to marry a man and have kids. I had long hair. I could easily look the part. No one would ever suspect anything. I could be with a guy and no one would have a clue I was bi. I had stopped speaking to all the people I used to hang out with. I spent many years avoiding that crowd for fear of being outed. I wouldn’t talk about that part of my past. I wouldn’t acknowledge that it was still a part of me. Nope, I liked men and wanted a traditional family. I suppressed my attraction to women and did my best to deny my sexuality even to myself. Same-sex attraction was simply a thorn in my side. I carried on in my faith, not being any lesser than in Christ because I struggled with this one thing. I was still very much Christian and very much loved Jesus. I did my best to follow Him and refrain from sin or anything that could even lead me into temptation.
 
I spent my entire 20s alone (aside from a fling in 2015, but that wasn’t much more than sex). I never had a boyfriend. I never even had a date. It’s not that I didn’t want to. I just honestly never had a man I was that interested in. I had a few crushes, but nothing that was ever enough to go anywhere with it. I’d wait and I’d pray. God send me my husband, send me a godly man. I tried so hard to be a godly woman. I tried so hard to be feminine (well just not butch, okay?), righteous, and holy, someone a good man would regard as a woman of God. After becoming Apostolic Pentecostal in 2011, I even went above and beyond to follow traditional gender roles as if wearing skirts could purify my struggle. I mean, I do really like long skirts and I favor most traditional gender roles, but I buried myself in this look of purity. I buried me. I lost parts of myself in religion, in trying to be what I thought God wanted me to be. I lost part of that feisty woman who danced to the beat of her own drum. I was buried under a pile of holiness standards that suffocated me, but I was still daydreaming about women every night. He could never know. I would never tell my husband about that part of my past. I was afraid he’d be disgusted with me, maybe even leave me. How would I explain that one? I would never admit how often I was attracted to women or how much I thought about it. I would never tell a soul. I suffered in silence with zero support from anyone. Loneliness and shame tormented me. To cope with my struggle, I’d beat myself with bible verses as reminders to be repulsed by sexual sin. I knew all the verses. I publicly called homosexuality sin. I declared biblical marriage to be between one man and one woman. I was that person on Facebook calling it out for the sin that it is. I was trying to remind myself not to act on it. Hellfires awaited me if I gave in to the sweet temptation of a woman’s kiss, the kind of kiss which I desperately craved. The more I struggled the more I would speak against it. No. I was Christian. I had to follow holiness. Things got so lonely. I was deeply depressed. From time to time, I’d beg God to take it from me, but most of the time I was too ashamed to even talk to Him about it. It was a daily struggle, one I carried alone. No one currently in my life knew. I spoke to no one about it. 

The tides turned

It was September of 2018 that things started changing for me. The locks I had on my closet door came off. The door cracked open. I began to explore the queer part of me. No one warned me there would be no shutting that door ever again. No one warned me how much pain there was if I stopped bottling everything up. I saw the movie trailer for Boy Erased on YouTube. It struck me hard. I heard about the book and immediately gave in to buying it on Amazon. I read the whole thing in one sitting. It shredded me. It tore me up inside. I mean enough to make me bawl my eyes out for days and throw up over it. That ripped me open. My struggle oozed out, throbbing with pain. I had no idea what conversion therapy was. I’d never let myself look into it. That’s for people that are willing to admit their struggle. I wasn’t brave enough to do that even in the confidence of a counselor’s office. I started looking into conversion therapy and got so angry about the unethical practices and their condemning approach. I started looking into LGBT rights and history. This was the world I walked away from. Things were different now. There was a whole community out there on the internet and social media. There were other people like me. This is when it began to consume me. I specifically remember a Facebook post where I defended the queer community publicly for the first time. It was September 2018. Someone had been kicked out of their Christian college because he was gay. I shared the story saying how ridiculous it was. The comments cut me deep. It hurt so much to see my friends and people from church so harshly criticizing the guy for being gay as if you can’t be gay and Christian, as if homosexuality were any worse a sin than fornication or adultery. I knew they assumed they were talking to a straight person. They wouldn’t talk like this to someone who was openly queer – well probably not – but the downside of being in the closet is Christians and conservatives will bash the hell out of LGBT folks and show how they really feel without realizing a lot of queer folks sitting in their pews look like them. They have this stereotype in their head and a hatred in their heart. The comments carried on and the heartache became too much to bear. I finally broke down and texted my friend about the post (which she had seen). She’s known me since high school. I thought she remembered I was openly bi back then, and we just never talked about it. I remember texting her, “I feel like if these people really knew me they’d set me on fire.” She didn’t understand at first. That ended up being an accidental coming out. I was so mad it just came out. I’m bi. I’ve been bisexual since I was 14. That’s never changed. When I realized I had just come out to somebody, I went into what can only accurately be described as gay panic. I never forgot that day. No one sees me. And now someone does. Someone sees the real me. That terrified me.
 
Months passed and I became more informed on LGBT history and rights. I had always turned a blind eye to it. I was so focused on the religious factor of it being sin that I lost sight of humanity. I didn’t see the broken people. I didn’t see the hurt. I was blinded by my own struggle. The discrimination became clear. The hatred became clearer. Was it people like me that oppressed them all these years? Was it people like me that made them feel beat down? Here they were out loud and proud being authentic to themselves. Here I was unseen and living life in the closet. What’s the point of coming out and being open with the struggle if I’m not willing to act on it? That’s taking on all the stigma and shame regardless of my sacrifice. As I learned more about the societal obstacles the queer community faced/currently faces, I became outraged over it. I started to talk about it on social media. I started to separate my religion and politics. I began to support gay marriage and other rights. I went from being this anti-gay religious nut to being a very vocal advocate for the queer community. As I posted about gay issues in politics, my social circle began getting smaller. More and more people from church unfriended me or stopped talking to me. It didn’t matter that much. I had stopped going to church in 2015. The homophobia became apparent. More and more conservative Christian “friends” cut me out. That would sting. And I’d turn to my queer community for love. I could always find compassion there. I talked about these issues more and more throughout 2019. This became a hot topic for me. I would get red hot mad defending the queer community. I’d wave that rainbow flag and drop those rainbow emojis with a warrior fierceness. Few things pissed me off more than Christians bashing/oppressing the gay community. This was an issue I couldn’t stop talking about. I thought about it daily. I was protective of them. They were my people even if most people didn’t know it. This matter consumed me.
 
I tried to erase the conservative I used to be. I’d go through my Facebook memories app daily and delete old posts. I deleted a lot of my religious blogs as well. I’d already stopped subscribing to many of the Christian social media pages I used to. I stopped liking the religious stuff I used to. What used to speak to me now bothered me. I didn’t even realize my faith was falling apart. I was still very much Christian. I loved Jesus. I maintained some conservative values, but I grew closer to middle ground. Politically, I moved closer to the middle and settled right of center. Education does that to a person. When it comes to being a queer Christian, religion and politics are very intertwined. It can be rough waters to navigate. What’s right for me? What’s freedom for other people? Where do you draw the line of societal acceptance? Such is politics.
 
It changes the way you look at yourself. Why am I like this? Why can’t I just be straight? Why can’t I make myself straight? Am I too masculine? Maybe if I …. Maybe I’m too independent. I’m naturally a leader, somewhat dominant, I like to organize things and make plans. Maybe guys would be more interested if I was one of those needy damsel-in-distress types that want to be rescued and told what to do or think. Nah, I can’t stand those women. I’m not even capable of being that girly girl that needs a man to change a lightbulb. I like to talk politics, business, and humanity. A lot of the topics I like are male-dominated. Do I think like a man? Maybe if I dressed more feminine? Maybe if I didn’t let anyone see me in all those men’s t-shirts in my closet or men’s pajama pants? Maybe if I wore more makeup? I don’t even like makeup. Did my hair more? How can I be more feminine like women are supposed to be? It makes you question your identity, the clothes you like, the way you sit and pose for pictures, how you talk, everything. Our society is so wrapped up in gender roles that fit neatly into this little box of expectations. I don’t fit neatly into either. Maybe if I did… Maybe if I tried harder to look and act the way women are supposed to… Maybe I wouldn’t be like this if I could make myself be like that.  
 
Do you know what it’s like to be torn between your faith and who you are? Sexuality is a big part of a person’s identity. Being torn between your sexuality and your Christian conviction not to act on sinful desires leaves a person in turmoil. This is effing torment. It’s like being ripped in half, aching, throbbing, bleeding, wounded, empty…. I can’t think of any words that can articulate what it feels like to be a queer Christian trying not to live out your flesh’s desires. It hurts too much for language to convey. It’s a throbbing pain, a daily pain. It’s a struggle that doesn’t stop, year after year, nothing changes. Some days the struggle is worse than others. Some days it’s a constant distraction. Some days the broken pieces cut deeper than other days. That may sound dramatic to someone who has never experienced it. If you’re a queer Christian, you know what I’m talking about. And the more the churchy folk throw their dislike and judgment at the queer folk, the more it pushes them away from church and God. The more Christians are cold-hearted to anyone that falls into the LGBT community, the easier it is to integrate into that LGBT community (even if you belief it’s a sin) because there is acceptance there. You can be yourself with them, and typically there is an understanding respect of the choice to be Side B. I feel like the church likes to differentiate between homosexuality and same-sex attraction. Some like to say that same-sex attraction isn’t a sin and act like it’s not a big deal. Hear me well: It’s the same thing. The chains are the same. Whether you’re denying yourself or allowing yourself what you want, what you want is the same thing. Saying you’re same-sex attracted but not really gay because you don’t act on it is a big dose of denial. You’re still queer; you’re just alone. On the flip side, acting like people need deliverance from homosexuality but sugar coating same-sex attraction like it’s something different or lesser than does a disservice to all the Side B folks (LGB folks who feel convicted not to act on their attractions) who also need the same chains broken.
 
It was April 12th when I came out to a second friend, this time someone who is gay and understands the Christian struggle. He didn’t show any shock. He was gentle in his response and supportive of me doing whatever is right for me. He knew I wanted a traditional family, and he said that’s okay. That was so healing for me. To be seen and not be treated any differently… to not suffer alone… to be understood. He is a great friend who became my confidant. I nicknamed him my queer mentor.
 
Also in April, I saw a testimony going around Facebook that stopped me in my tracks every time I saw it. I’d heard of ex-gay testimonies. I knew they were out there. I just never believed them. But this one….this was different. His before and after pictures struck both parts of me, queer and Christian. He looked so at peace. There was something about it. When I read that he was also Apostolic Pentecostal, it resonated with me hard. This guy, Jeremy Fox, is local to me. He goes to a church I’ve always felt drawn to. And from the time I first read his testimony (gone viral in the Apostolic community), I couldn’t get it out of my head. He said he was delivered. Is that possible? Friends from church would share it. I’d read it again every time his posts were shared. I never commented or left any reaction on the posts. I definitely never shared because that would go against my pro-queer crusade I had going on. But I always read it, and I’d ponder it often. There was always something different that’d speak to me. He actually understood. Here’s an Apostolic Pentecostal person who shares my faith and knows what it’s like to be queer….except he’s not anymore and I am. I was never able to forget that testimony. It planted a seed. It planted hope. Was it possible to actually not be attracted to the same gender anymore? It seemed genuine. If deliverance is possible, I wish I could have that…..
 
It was May before I finally let myself watch the movie Boy Erased. I rented it on YouTube and watched it 3 times. It sent me into an emotional mess for days. I couldn’t stop crying. Again, that sparked an outrage in me. I couldn’t stop thinking about or talking about gay issues. I’d always keep it in politics and culture though. I’d tiptoe around the religion card, only discussing it with people I felt safe being vulnerable with. It was June when I celebrated PRIDE for the first time. I deeply longed to be out there at the PRIDE festival, but I held myself back. I wished I hadn’t. I was still afraid that people might see me and know. Instead, I stalked queer Christian Facebook pages. I liked the love is love type posts, but usually wouldn’t let myself share them. I spent hours scouring the internet reading coming out stories and watching videos on YouTube of people sharing their experiences, specifically as queer Christians. I’d secretly listen to gay pride songs almost every day. This consumed my mind on the daily. On the last day of June, I finally posted a blog about why I celebrated PRIDE for the first time. I left religion out of it and kept the focus on politics and human rights. Again, the social circle got smaller. The criticism got larger. My confidence grew in speaking on these issues. I stopped caring so much what people thought. This is me…
 
It was late in the summer 2019 when I became affirming. I had started reading queer theology for the first time. I watched a lot of Kevin Garcia videos on YouTube. As a faithful conservative Christian, I’d never let myself read anything that was written from the other side. It felt so healing to hear from queer Christians. It felt like…this is me. One by one, the “clobber verses” as we call them were dissected. It could also mean this or that. Look at this history. Look at that context. Things became foggy. My years of conviction turned into confusion. I was born this way. I never chose this. Why would God make me like this and then say it’s a sin to be this way? That doesn’t make sense. What if… What if it’s normal? What if the biblical family structure was cultural? What if it’s okay to be gay? I’d study the scriptures again and again. Everything felt so foggy and confusing. I didn’t understand anything anymore. What was once crystal clear became chaos. What was once conviction became a constant questioning. I remember the day I learned that 1 Corinthians 6:9-11 and 1 Timothy 1:7-10 didn’t say homosexuality until the 1940s. That was my breaking point. That was the day I felt deceived and betrayed; it hurt so deep. There wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough in the bible against same-sex couples for me to carry on with saying people shouldn’t love who they love. My emotional wounds bled. The scars pierced jagged through my core. It hurt too much. I couldn’t take the torment any longer. I threw in the towel. I declared myself affirming, publicly at that. I even posted a blog in September on the topic and shared my views. I gave in. And you know what? It felt so liberating!! In hindsight, it felt like freedom because I stopped fighting. I stopped recognizing this as a spiritual battle. I let go, and it felt good. It felt right. “It’s normal” is what I would say a million times. It’s normal. It’s normal. It’s normal. Love is love. There’s nothing wrong with loving people and being good to somebody. Deep down it still felt like sin, but I told myself that shame was from culture.
 
Another thing, I liked being affirming. I liked the inclusive message, the unconditional love, the acceptance of different types of families. I liked sticking up for them and parading my pride for the queer community’s progress and current battle. I liked showing them love and acceptance. I liked that I had let go of separating my faith from my sexuality. I chose acceptance. It was easier.
 
I started coming out to people throughout the year. The more people I came out to the less scary it was. After I “came out” as affirming (and my social circle got smaller again, that hurt), I started to think about coming out publicly. I feared it. I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of the stigma. I couldn’t handle it. I’ve got thick skin, but this matter was just too sensitive. It’s a sore spot. It hurts too much. I talked about gay issues more and more, adamant that it was my responsibility to advocate for the queer community I once used to speak out against. The way people reacted to me being affirming, it hurt so much. It cut so deep. If only they knew the pain. If only I could put into words the way it aches and throbs and consumes….on a daily basis. If only they knew how hard I fought for all those years. Don’t give into temptation. Be a good Christian. Be holy. Do the right thing. Pick up your cross and carry it. This is your sacrifice. It’s just the thorn in your side. Carry on. Don’t think about it. If only they knew how hard I tried. I struggled more and more with my attraction to women, and I hated it. I’d try not to think about it, but that was impossible. So I’d get out my bible. When I couldn’t concentrate on reading, I’d try to pray instead. I’d listen to worship music for hours and hours turned up loud enough to drown out my mind. And yet… my sexuality remained the same. 80% of the time when I was attracted to someone they were a woman, and that attraction was strong. I’d never been attracted to men as strongly as I was to women. I hated this. I didn’t want to be this way. I wanted to fall in love with a man, have a godly marriage, and a big family. My body’s desires were so contrary to my heart’s desires.
 
I began to fear that I wouldn’t be happy if I was with a man anyway. I began to let myself imagine being with a woman. I couldn’t wrap my head around how gender roles work in a same-sex relationship. Nor did I know how to meet women, well not the right kind of woman. I want whoever I date to be Christian. I want us to be able to go to church together without having to hide our relationship. What about having children? More and more I was tempted. For the first time in my life, I had accepted being bisexual. I had become okay with it. I didn’t like it, but I accepted it. The layers of shame melted away. This is normal. This is me, like it or not this is how I am. I was ready. I was finally ready to meet someone. I even told a few friends that. And then I hesitated. Isn’t it selfish of me to date someone I’m not willing to marry? I’ve always believed the purpose of dating is to find your spouse. I’m very old-fashioned. How will I ever find a woman who is old-fashioned like me and Christian like me but also queer? And what happens if I do? My heart ached and grieved over the idea of never getting married and never having kids. I guess that’s not in the cards for all queer folks because I just can’t. I can’t go there. That’s not what I want. But I was bisexual, I had come out as affirming, and I was ready to come out publicly because this consumed me and I wanted to be free from the secrecy of life in the closet.
 
I know a lot of people had already caught on with as often as I talked about gay issues on Facebook. That used to terrify me that I suspected they knew or had assumptions. At this point, I didn’t care. This. Is. Me. I was so sick of hiding. Coming out is liberating. It’s freeing to be seen for who you really are. I didn’t want to hide anymore. I am who I am and I wanted to own it. I was ready. When it comes to coming out, when you’re ready you’re ready. It’s a journey to get to that point. It’s not easy. That’s an understatement. It’s really frickin hard to be a queer Christian from a conservative background trying to navigate your faith and sexuality and how you want to live. It’s a lot to work through, and everybody has their own path working through all that and figuring out what to do about it. 

Redirection and a gentle conviction

I left the church. I backslid hard in 2014 while I was still attending church and I quit going in 2015. At one time, I was in church every week at least twice a week. Then I’d go a few times a year. Then it was once maybe twice a year. I knew when I started defending gay rights that it’d be pointless to go to church. The Apostolic Pentecostal world is ultra-conservative. There are too many people there that won’t talk to me, too many dirty looks. I’m too different. Yet I longed for church and a faith community. The very thought of attending church would send me into an anxiety attack. It’d been years since I’d been able to attend church without having an anxiety attack. All year long I thought about starting to go to an affirming church. I was convinced that’s what I needed. Yet there was emptiness there, a worldliness there. Those churches were so liberal. I want a church that teaches Oneness, biblical salvation, and does baptism in Jesus’ name. I want a church where I can feel God’s presence. I want a church that knows how to praise. I also want a church where I can be myself. I’m still Apostolic Pentecostal. I also happened to be queer.
 
On October 13th, I went to church. That was actually the second time that year I’d gone. I went once in the spring. I didn’t go to go have church though. I went for closure. I was leaving the church altogether. I was done. I was leaving church. I’m not like them. I’m not holy like they are. I can’t live up to these standards of perfection. I can’t do this anymore. I’m just not a churchy person. I never thought I’d be one of those people who call themselves Christian but hate church, and yet there I stood. I went with a friend who knew I was seeking closure. I couldn’t stand being there. I didn’t sing. I was irritated and overwhelmed. I couldn’t wait for it to be over. I texted a friend throughout the sermon and went on and on about how I don’t belong here. I left. I said bye to a few friends. There are people there that I love and want to stay connected with, but I thought church isn’t for me anymore. I walked out of those doors fully intent on never going to church again. I’d rather go to a gay bar. I was falling far away hard. I had already lost my way, but this was different. This was a complete giving in. This was going back to the way I was before I was even Christian. This was a “rediscovering me”. This was a throwing in the towel on organized religion altogether. I only wanted Jesus. I didn’t want church or denomination or man’s opinion on how I should be or live. I left. I don’t know what would have happened if God hadn’t redirected me that day. Actually, I do. I know exactly where I would have ended up. I was making my way to Jefferson Street. My boundaries and restrictions were gone. I was giving into things I thought I’d never do, but they lured me and had me hooked in my mind before I even went there. I was an increasingly vocal and passionate advocate for the queer community. I was increasingly angry at Christianity for their homophobia. I left the church. And I struggled in my relationship with God, but oh how I craved being connected to him like I used to be. There was a void in my life spiritually. He knew exactly where I was headed. So did I. I was just too exhausted to care anymore. I surrendered to the battle, too weary to keep fighting the good fight. I just wanted to be happy.
 
I declared that I just officially left church for good. God said no. I hadn’t even made it home and he redirected my steps. He pulled me to go to that Lighthouse church on Harshman Rd. I’d never been there, but I’d always felt drawn to that church even before I was Apostolic. It had been on my mind to go there for months. I’d wanted to visit for several years. I said no. Did you hear me? I’m done with church! I’m not like these people. I’m not holy like that. I can’t live up to that. Just leave me alone. God pulled me hard. I felt compelled to go there. I argued. I finally decided to go. I didn’t know anybody there. I didn’t even know if they still had an evening service. So I Facebook messaged one person I knew that went there, Jeremy, the guy with the testimony of being delivered from homosexuality. We had spoken once before. I messaged him about his testimony; I think that was in September. Yes, they have an evening service. He invited me to come and sit with his family. I remember he said, “Listen to the pull.” So, I did. I took nervous wreck me all red and blotchy with anxiety and found my way there. I was a hot mess express. Did I not just officially declare that I was leaving church? I’d been thinking about it for over a year. I’m. Not. Like. Them. And yet there I was. I was angry. I was hurt. I had so much going on in life. My life had fallen apart. I was struggling so bad. My anxiety was through the roof to the point that it was debilitating. I was broken. I just sat there wondering why God insisted I be there. Was it the sermon I needed to hear? Did He have a message for me or something? I mean, really, why did He call me there? I sat there in my purple flannel and purple dreamcatcher earrings with dark purple lipstick mentally listing out all the reasons I couldn’t be Apostolic anymore. But I looked around that sanctuary and thought it was odd that it felt like home. And then the choir started. Wow. This is church. I felt God. This is what church used to feel like. It didn’t take too long before I realized why God had me sitting there. It was a Spirit-filled service and prayer filled the sanctuary. To this day I remember what I heard that night. Not in the sermon or in the songs, but in someone praying in tongues. They were behind me (99% sure it was Jeremy but I didn’t want to turn around and stare) and I heard them crying out in prayer. They prayed in tongues and it was like hearing myself pray but I had lost the ability to pray like that. I know the bible talks about interpreting tongues and I’ve heard my old church talk about it, but I’ve never seen it. This was different. This person was praying in tongues and it was like my soul was crying out. I heard someone else crying out to God with the depths of their core, the kind of crying out for God you can only know when you’ve known darkness… the kind of crying out for Jesus you do when you need Him to rescue you. I’ve never experienced anything like it, and I’ll never forget how powerful it was to experience that. I knew there was something there for me. I compromised and said I’d come here sometimes maybe once in a blue moon when I feel like going to church. I knew I had to come back.
 
I came back to the Apostolic Lighthouse Church on November 3rd. Instantly, I was back in church every week. It wasn’t even an active decision to get back in church. I kept going because I really want to be there. I could have never imagined how much God would do for me over the coming weeks. I fell in love with church again. My frequent panic attacks were replaced with peace. My constant (and I do mean constant 24/7 never ending all consuming) anxiety improved. I had a calmness that I hadn’t had in a long time. My emptiness didn’t feel so empty anymore. My worry turned to praise. My fears turned to faith. Within a few weeks, I had a joy in the spirit like I had never had before. Jesus was restoring me piece by piece. I didn’t think that was possible. I was just trying to survive. I was so broken. I was hurting so much. Truly, words cannot express all that I was going through. I needed God. Nothing else could fix this brokenness. He saw fit to redirect me somewhere that I could find healing.
 
Something else happened: conviction. I talked to Jeremy a lot about his testimony. To be honest, I thought about it daily. I even talked to other people about it (maybe excessively?). It seemed so real. I didn’t think it was possible, but here he was living proof. I could tell you I’m affirming and that people are born that way (and can’t change!), but also not even I could deny what God had done for him. He was undeniably transformed. He is living for God, has a strong prayer life, is a worshipper, and is someone I would genuinely call a man of God. Somehow I instinctively knew that he was unchained. He really is set free. Once I realized it was real, I wanted it too. I didn’t think God would do it for me. I said everyone’s story is different. His story is not my story. I didn’t get deliverance, but I was happy for him that he got that. And things began to change. I stopped wanting to find a woman. The attraction was still there, but I couldn’t bring myself to living it out. I started to feel like it was wrong. I remember the day in November I sat in church and during a sermon a thought came to me, “It is normal…in the flesh, but those who walk in the Spirit aren’t supposed to live like that.” It was a gentle thought, presented with such gentleness that I couldn’t be angry. I knew it was the Holy Spirit talking to me, and I knew it was conviction. I grieved. Back to Side B, I guess. Back to loneliness and struggling and bleeding from the thorn in my side. Maybe someday I’ll meet a man and actually be happy… Again, I studied the scriptures. They seemed clearer now than they did this summer. Okay, so I know this isn’t for me, but I want other people to be happy. I can’t ask someone else to suffer like I have. God knows how to convict you with truth but do it with such gentleness and kindness that it doesn’t offend or shame. God does have a structured design for the family and guidelines for sexuality. This is sin. It’s normal in the flesh. It’s no worse than fornication (which most of us have done). It doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t mean you’re less of a Christian. Not everyone struggles with this so maybe that’s why it’s treated like a different kind of sexual sin. The stigma is cultural, not biblical. It is a common desire for the flesh, but it’s not for you when you’ve chosen the path of following Jesus and striving to live righteously. Walk in the Spirit. This sin has you in bondage so deep you don’t even think it’s bondage anymore. It owns you. Know it for what it is: Sin. Bondage. Chains.  

That miraculous night, a powerful prayer, and deliverance

2019 December 6th
(I wrote this part a few days after it happened)
It was around 7 at night. I was listening to worship music on my phone. I felt the need to pray. There’s been so much going on. So many needs. So much to be thankful for. I just wanted to talk to God. It’s been so amazing these last few weeks since I came back to church just over a month ago after backsliding years ago. I was walking the living room as I was praying. I stopped by the recliner and stood still for a moment. I suddenly felt the presence of God so strongly, strong enough to stop me in my tracks. I felt this touch of Holy Spirit fire in my belly. I’d never felt anything quite like that before. At the same time, I felt compelled to pray about being queer. No, I’m busy. I’ve got other things I’m trying to pray about. I don’t have time to talk about me. I’m trying to pray for a couple other people. I’ve got a list. No… It hurt. It hurt to even talk about it, even to God. I thought why should I pray about that when I’ve asked God a thousand times before to take it from me and nothing changes? I’ve repented before and nothing changes. It hurt to think about trying again. It’s been almost 20 years! This felt different though. There was a strong presence of God that came at the very moment I felt prompted to pray about that. I didn’t know what to do. What do I even say? I knew this was different. I could feel it before I even started to talk to God about it. What was happening? Something was about to happen… I began to pray. It was just a conversation with Jesus. I shared my hurt with him. I shared my confusion with him. I shared my struggle with him. I felt the presence stronger. I knew I needed to keep pressing. Keep pushing into prayer. I’ve felt his presence before, but not like this. There was a power here. I admitted that I didn’t even know if I understand the scriptures – things had become so foggy this last year or so – but I knew this was bondage. I knew this was sin. I didn’t like admitting it, but deep down I always knew it was sin. I knew these were chains I couldn’t break. I kept pressing. I told him how much this hinders me, how badly I want a family, how I want a biblical marriage and godly household, the desires of my heart. I poured my heart out to him. I admitted the pain I try to deny even to myself. It hurt so much. I didn’t want to be like this. I didn’t ask for this. I never chose it. I can’t change it, but I know he can. I repented. Nobody likes doing that, but I knew that’s what I needed. Deliver me. Unshackle me. Cleanse me. Purify me, God. I want righteousness. I want holiness. I want this struggle to be gone. I don’t want this 17 year battle to continue. Break these chains. I actually felt like somebody had their hand on my forehead while I was praying. I walked the living room as I prayed in the Spirit. I was praying in tongues so loud you could surely hear me outside. I know I’m Apostolic Pentecostal, but I’m one of those quiet Pentecostals. I never get loud, ever! I was crying out for him. I kept pressing. I felt his presence stronger. I kept praying. That Holy Ghost fire got so strong I couldn’t stand anymore. I dropped to my knees. Unshackle me. That’s one thing I said a couple times, unshackle me. I remember telling Jesus I don’t even want this queer identity that has become how I see myself. Just take it from me. I was so emotional. I don’t usually get emotional, but this…. This was the depth of my core crying out. I was on my knees, hand raised, chin quivering, crying, and feeling the Spirit so strong when I said something I don’t normally say. It just came out. My chin quivered uncontrollably as I said, “I surrender.” I felt Holy Spirit fire from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. This must be what people mean when they talk about that. I’d never experienced it before. It was the most powerful presence. I remember my eyes were closed because right after I said “I surrender” I literally felt something lifted off of me. I opened my eyes and looked around. My whole body was tingling. It felt like Jesus himself just passed by. I knew what had just happened before I could even speak. It was so powerful, so undeniable, and I felt different. I felt different! I felt like something had been taken out of me. I felt different…and I knew. He just took it. He took that from me, for me. He just delivered me of homosexuality. I felt so different. After a moment, I stood up. I was a bit shaky and needed to sit down. Did he just deliver me? The thought crossed my mind, “Well only time will tell. Don’t tell anyone yet.” And that was immediately countered with the thought, “Nah. I know. He just delivered me.” That presence was so strong. That move was so powerful. That Holy Spirit fire was so real and consuming. It was undeniable. I was delivered. I made my way to sit down in the chair and texted a friend telling her everything that just happened. I told her, “I just prayed through.” I told her for a few weeks I’d been feeling convicted, and for a few days repentance has been on my heart. That gentle conviction has been moving me. I felt so different. Lighter, clean, redeemed, delivered. Something was lifted. I feel unshackled. I’ve been delivered. Minutes passed and I still felt embers from that Holy Ghost fire. Second only to the night I was filled with the Holy Ghost and spoke in tongues that sweet first time, this was the strongest experience of praying through that I’d ever had. This was such a powerful move of God; it could not be denied or even questioned. I didn’t want to be bisexual. For me, this felt like bondage. It felt like chains I couldn’t break. It felt like the biggest hindrance to the type of family and lifestyle my heart wanted. And Jesus thought I was worth it enough to come set me free from that bondage. He broke my chains. He changed me. Truly, I came out of that prayer different. 

In the days and weeks that followed

Shock and awe filled the days after. There was part of me that was wowed. For the longest time, I believed the lie that I was born that way. I fully believed people could not genuinely change their orientation…until I heard a testimony of deliverance. I do believe Jesus is a chain breaker. I do believe he is a deliverer. I know Him well enough to know that he can move mountains I can’t and he can change things that I can’t. I was undoubtedly bisexual for 17 years. I say that firmly. I wasn’t questioning. I wasn’t confused. It wasn’t a phase. I knew who I was and what I was in regards to orientation. Though I chose the suffering of Side B and not acting on it and managed to not meet someone after I became affirming (hello hermit crab life), I absolutely knew quite strongly that I was bisexual. There was nothing I could do to change that. And in one day things changed. In one prayer, God moved and delivered me and changed me. I’m not the same. I have completely lost my attraction to women. I have zero desire for that. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want it. And those first few days after were filled with shock that God did that for me and it is real! God is capable! I was also filled with awe at His goodness. It felt good to have that burden lifted off of me!!
 
There was a period of adjustment after that night. It was a huge change, one I wanted but still an adjustment. It blew my mind that my attraction to women was gone. I see women now that I used to crush on and there’s nothing there. There are absolutely no romantic feelings at all. It was almost weird at first, such a change. In an instant, God took that from me. It is no longer a part of me. Queer is no longer my identity. Bisexual is no longer my identity. Bisexual is no longer my struggle, my chains, my silent battle. It’s real. That’s what I kept saying to myself over the weekend, “It’s real.” And I knew from that night I wanted people to know it. I want people out there who are wishing God would take this from them that deliverance is actually possible. It’s very real. It’s genuine. I’m not lying when I say my attraction to women is completely gone. Believe me, it shocked me. I was equally shocked to realize I’m actually more attracted to men than I ever have been. I’ve never been like this. It’s like God swooped down and made that part of me new. He didn’t just fix what was broken. He took out the brokenness and made something new. I’ve literally never been oriented this way.
 
It took a bit for this to feel normal. It is right, but it’s also different. I’ve never been this way. I did have something like a grief in my adjustment. This changed me and transformed my daily life. Who am I now and where do I belong? For a few days, I kind of felt like I lost (an unwanted) part of my identity because I had labeled myself that way for so long and I didn't know how to identify or what to tell people. Who am I now? I’m 100% okay with that change, but there was definitely that thought of “Okay, so I’m no longer queer. What am I now? An ex-gay? A former Side B? Delivered.” I guess straight is the accurate label, but regular brand of straight seems odd. I don’t even like the word straight. It felt weird to say “I’m straight” after so many years of being bi. This is some unusual category of haven’t-always-been hetero. A piece of me felt like I suddenly became disconnected from my queer community (I mean *my* community of friends that are somewhere in the LGB rainbow alphabet), and I worried how it would affect my friendships. Also, where do I belong now? I moved from one community to another (queer to formerly queer), one that was largely unseen as people often stay quiet on this topic. It’d be nice to meet other people who have been through similar things. For a few weeks, I felt like I had suddenly relocated to a new community where I only knew one person. All adjustments steady with time though. It still amazes me that I am exclusively attracted to men now. It’s such a change it still blows my mind a little bit. It amazes me. That part of me is a new creation.
 
A few days after things changed, I noticed my media feed needed some cleansing. I had already left the queer Christians group I was in on Facebook when I started feeling conviction. I unfollowed the Facebook pages that no longer spoke to the new me. I deleted the YouTube playlist with all my pride/lez songs I used to listen to. I’d tell YouTube “not interested” on a video when my regular gay videos would show up in my recommendations. I unsubscribed myself from all the queer theology stuff I had been following for some time. No one told me to do these things. I simply had no desire to be following that anymore. It didn’t do anything for me anymore.
 
I started telling people I’ve changed. Some took it well and were happy. Others are salty. Many think I'm in denial. Honestly, I can’t concern myself with other people’s opinions of me or my life experiences. This is my story and I shouldn’t have to hide it because some don’t like it. Just like queer folks shouldn’t have to hide because society wants them to be different. I’ve realized this is a coming out process in its own right. It’s very similar to coming out to people that I was bi… except I think it surprises people more to hear that I’m not the same as I was.
 
As the weeks passed, I noticed my own growth and transformation was so different from the way I had been in the recent months that I didn’t even recognize that part of who I used to be. The other day I was scrolling through my texts looking for a certain conversation. I scrolled back too far into October. I read my own text bubble and thought, “Who wrote that?!!!” I didn’t even recognize my own statement. It was very gay lol. I don’t talk like that anymore. I don’t think like that anymore. I don’t want that anymore. That’s not me anymore. It’s no longer a part of me. It’s only been 7 weeks, but I’m so far transformed from how I used to be that it feels like years.
 
It is who I was, and I love that person. She was not less of a Christian for being bisexual. Queer folks are not lesser than. All the heartache of struggling with that is only memories now. I don’t feel the pain anymore. I remember who I was and I remember how I felt and I definitely remember the way other people made me feel (for better or worse!), but I’m no longer walking in that bondage and deep pain. I’ve been set free. I am different.

Update: As more time passed, the new me (in regards to my sexuality) came to feel normal. I adjusted socially. Some friendships remained. Other friendships suffered division no matter how gentle and respectful I tried to be. People had their reactions to my testimony. I’ve remained changed. Nothing is hidden, nothing is suppressed. I can be real with myself and take a good look at authentic me. I’m genuinely changed. I’m not like I used to be. I can’t explain how freeing that is to not struggle anymore. My eyes are fixed on following Jesus and walking in his ways. That includes living righteously and taking a godly approach to relationships/dating/courting until I am married to a godly man. This feels right to me. This is what I want. I want to be right with God and live in a way that is pleasing to him. There is a protection in following God’s ways. My heart has transformed to be fully in alignment with God’s desires for marriage and family. 
 
I am immensely grateful for what God has done for me. I know I’m not worthy, but he thought I was worth it enough to break my chains. I don’t know why he thought I was worth saving, but I’m grateful he made a way. He overcame what I could not loosen. He moved mightily and lifted away what consumed me. I strayed. He was patient. I was falling far away hard. He pulled me hard to the Apostolic Lighthouse Church orchestrating everything together for me to hear and experience what I needed. I twisted and denied his word trying to be affirming to justify my own desire for sin. He convicted me gently. His loving kindness amazes me. I am in awe of his love. His grace abounds.

Why am I telling you this?

I don’t mind that people know my story. I’m not ashamed to have been bisexual. I’m not ashamed to be delivered. I know who I am and where I’ve been and I own it. It feels good to come out and talk about it. It’s freeing. It’s liberating. It’s a huge relief. When I was bi and I would come out to people, it always felt like a barrier was broken. I was done hiding. No more shame, no more secrecy, no more closet life, no more worrying about walking on eggshells afraid that people would know. And, in a way, telling people I’ve changed has felt a lot like coming out again. Of course, there is worry over what people will think or what they will say or if I will be treated differently. Nevertheless, it feels good to come out and say it. It feels good to be open about where I’m at now. I like where I’m at now. I’m happy about it! And I don’t think I should have to keep it quiet because there will be people who don’t like my experience.
 
That being said, it is scary putting this out there. Why? My fear is that hearing a testimony of deliverance will be hurtful to the queer folks who consider it a struggle to be queer and they don’t want to be whatever queer category they fall into (bi, gay, lez, etc..). I know the “Why not me?” thought may cross their mind just like it did mine when I first heard deliverance. My big fear is that it will be hurtful to someone who is where I used to be. It wasn’t that long ago that I was majorly offended (and honestly deeply hurt) at ex-gay testimonies. Quite frankly, they pissed me off… because I couldn’t change and I thought no one could actually genuinely change and the whole thing hurt. The whole topic is a sore spot. It’s a sensitive matter for all queer folks.
 
I want people to know my story because I want people to know God’s power. I want people to know that Jesus is capable of breaking these chains. I want to glorify him. Yes, it’s scary putting this out there. It’s vulnerable. I know the trolls will come. I know this will bring negative attention. I know there will be stigma and permanent labels. I know this story is all some people will see when they look at me. I know there are people who will deny the validity of my testimony and others like it. I know a lot of people think I’m just in denial for some reason (I get it; I used to say the same about those formerly LGBT people). And I know there are people who hate me for saying I’ve been delivered. But if I can reach just one person…. If even one person can experience the deliverance they’ve been longing for…. If even one person can be set free from what they feel is bondage and chains…. It’s worth all the criticism and stigma to reach those it will help. I honestly had no idea deliverance was even possible until I heard someone’s testimony. I really didn’t. How can people know if no one is willing to talk about it for fear of upsetting people? Whoever it is that will be reached with hope and seek and receive deliverance after hearing this testimony, I want you to know what freedom feels like. Listen to the pull. There’s a reason you’re reading this. 

To the queer community

I love you. I mean that. You were my people, and you were good to me. You are loving and accepting of the vast diversity of people for who they are. You are welcoming. You are kind, compassionate, patient, and understanding. You reach out for the rejected and show love to the broken. I know we may have different views on religion or righteous living. That doesn’t mean I look down on you. I respect that you are authentic to who you are and what you believe. I want you to be able to express yourself and still be safe. I want you to be treated with decency. I want you to be given respect as equally valuable human beings. 
 
I don’t want to tell you what to do. I really don’t. I have no desire to go around telling queer folks to repent, go Side B, whatever. I’m not interested in throwing bible verses at people like the clobber verses are weapons. I know you have studied these things more than straight folks ever do. I know you have spent years thinking over it, praying over it, maybe tossing back and forth on it trying to figure it all out. You have to walk your own journey. Study the scriptures for yourself. Pray for conviction and God’s direction. It’s up to every individual Christian to try to live righteously in the best way they know how. And how you feel on this topic may change over time. I think it does for many of us.
 
I know there are a variety of perspectives on this topic of sexuality and gender throughout the queer community and society. If you find yourself in a similar situation to where I was, here is my advice.

1. Love yourself. I hope you look at who you are – queerness and all – and I hope you love that person. You are worth loving. If you’re seeking change, don’t ever do it out of self-hatred.
2. Know that being queer doesn’t mean you’re not a real Christian. While I do believe homosexuality is sin, it’s not any worse than fornication or other sexual sins (such as adultery) that are so common in our society people barely bat an eye to it. We are all sinners. You can absolutely be gay and Christian. Don't let this make you lose your faith. You don't/shouldn't have to leave the church. Don't allow this matter to push you away from God. Keep loving Jesus. Keep the faith. Keep following after Him, studying the Word, and praying regularly. God still wants you.  
3. Be safe. There is a lot of hate and homophobia out there. Discrimination is still common. Be aware of that. Coming out isn’t always easy. Being queer isn’t a cakewalk. Set boundaries and follow your instincts. Take care of yourself.
4. Walk your own journey. This is one thing you’ve got to navigate on your own.

 
I know this is a deeply sore topic, and I know the stigma and the criticism you get just for being you. For some, they may be totally fine with being LGBT. For many, they wish they weren’t this way. I could say I was affirming and okay with it all until I was blue in the face, but deep down I still hated being bi. I didn’t want to be that way. I accepted it for what it is and thought it could never go away. Here’s the thing: I would not have known deliverance was possible and genuinely the real deal if I had not heard the testimony of someone else who was brave enough to speak out. I wish somebody had told me that many years ago. I wish I had heard testimonies of deliverance over the years. It would have given me hope when I was in a place that I believed I would suffer with this burden for the rest of my life. I know for me, if I had known I could have what I have now, I wouldn’t have stopped asking until I got what I was seeking. So, that’s why I’m baring my skeleton here. I want you to know that it’s real. I’m not here to show you condemnation. I’m here to show you redemption and restoration. If you’re someone who is Christian, believes homosexuality is a sin, but feels trapped in these chains that you can’t break on your own, let me tell you the chain breaker can deliver you from this bondage. Don’t think it’s impossible. Jesus is capable of it. Believe in His power. Turn to Jesus. Seek his truth. Read his word. Walk in his ways. Take one step at a time. Continue in the right direction. Your deliverance will come. For a long time, anyone saying deliverance will come would have highly offended me because mine had not come yet and I didn’t think it ever would, but I’m so glad someone gave me hope that it was possible. It may not come the first time you seek it. It may take years. It may be something you battle for a long time. I do believe God will deliver those who believe in his power and seek deliverance wholeheartedly… all in His timing. Perhaps, that is naïve to believe everyone who seeks will eventually be delivered, but I’d rather have a naïve hope in God’s love and power than a hopeless burden I wouldn’t pray for help with. I think the thing that was different about the night I got delivered compared to the many other times I had asked God to take it is that was the first time I was willing to lay it down. I had asked God to take it many times over the years, but I still viewed it as part of myself. I believed I was born this way and couldn't really change. I had doubted his ability to transform my life. I held onto being bisexual as part of my identity. I gave it residence to stay when I claimed it as my own. What was different that night is that I was willing to call it what it is (sin, bondage) and I was willing to let go of it. I stopped claiming it as my identity. I chose to pursue God's ways and his desire for how I should live. I really wanted to change and for the first time I really had faith that he would do it for me. Maybe I just needed to be to the point of being sick of being torn apart by this thing that I was ready to purge my life of it. I don’t understand why it took so many years. I don’t know why I had to suffer for so long. I don’t know why I had to go through that. What I do know is that I’ve been delivered. I’ve been set free. My bondage is gone. I’m walking in liberty. I’ve been redeemed. He’s restoring me. And, oh, let me tell you it was worth it to pray about it one more time. It was worth it to take it to God even when it hurt and to push through in prayer until he lifted that burden off of me. If that’s something you want, seek it and don’t give up until you get it…