How I Lost My Faith . XII - The Turning Point

When I left the east coast in the summer of 1984, I brought with me—in addition to clothes and calligraphy supplies—three dichotomous collections: books on astrology and the occult, a large box of gay pornographic magazines, and all of the Watchtower publications I possessed.  Everything else I just left where it was, including hundreds of dollars of sex-related items which I'm sure embarrassed the hell out of whoever had the task of cleaning my vacated apartment.

Why I held onto my Watchtower publications, I do not know, except that somewhere in the far recesses of my mind, I knew that eventually I would have to face what I knew, all I'd learned from the Bible.  Even though I'd managed to live the last four years as a hedonistic, openly-gay young man, "the Truth" (as Witnesses call their body of beliefs) was ever-present in the back of my mind, haunting me, as I'd been taught that the battle of Armageddon was just around the corner, and only those dedicated to Jehovah and baptized were guaranteed a place in Paradise.  I knew that I was no where near reaching that goal of "everlasting life in Paradise on Earth", and I put off fretting about it for as long as I could, but in January, 1985, I found I could put if off no longer.

I had to make a choice: an immoral, openly-gay life or Jehovah God.  It was one or the other; I could be either gay or straight, good or bad, black or white; there was no gray.  The Bible was very clear about my lifestyle, and the Witnesses would never compromise on Bible laws or principles.  I'd be either good or bad, faithful or degenerate; it was, for me at the time, literally a matter of life and death.  I could not—and would never be able to—live both lives; I am not and have never been a hypocrite, so it was one or the other.  My very soul was poised on the edge of an extremely sharp knife, and the wrong move one way or the other would scar me for life; little did I know how large that scar would grow.

When I was granted by Welfare a seven-day stay at a less-than-stellar hotel in downtown Denver, I took from my car (which was by now completely undriveable) the box of Watchtower books and magazines and settled in for a long reading and contemplation of my situation.  I remember reading at least six books in just two or three days, each one nudging closer and closer to the decision that would change my life forever: I needed to return to Jehovah and His people.  I actually, deeply felt that I had no choice; there was a reason I was here in this circumstance, and had met Richard, a man after my own (real) heart.  I felt very strongly that Jehovah was drawing me back to Him, and how could I refuse?

So, that Sunday, I decided to find the nearest Kingdom Hall and take the first step back to Jehovah's favor.  In the phone book, I found the closest Hall to be near City Park, at Gaylord and 22nd Street, north of Colfax.  I took the bus over to York Street and walked, in the middle of a blizzard, the seven or eight blocks to meet my destiny.  I showed up wearing jeans and a full beard; I knew this was not proper attire for a place as sacrosanct as this, but I had nothing else.  I felt completely out of place, but the folks around me quickly made me feel welcome, including the sister who gave me a song book at the beginning of the meeting.  Three people in particular, however, stand out above all others in my memories of that day: Phillip, Dan, and Ted.

Phillip was the first man to shake my hand that morning. He was a young ministerial servant, and we hit it off right away; that friendship would last through good times and bad for the next 25 years or so.

I also met Dan and his wife and six boys, two of whom were twins.  I felt an immediate connection with this couple and quickly endeared myself to them, and they practically adopted me into their family. Dan and I clicked on a really profound level and had hours-long conversations about the Bible and Watchtower literature, particularly the “deeper things of God” like prophecy and chronology, and how close we were to Armageddon and what it would be like in Paradise. He studied the Bible with me off and on for years before I was finally baptized.

That day I also met the most influential person of my young life: Ted, a black elder in a predominantly-black congregation, as well as its current presiding overseer. I grew to love and respect this man as a father-figure and mentor and he would be critical to my progress toward baptism years later.

 

These three people would become integral parts of my struggle to be clean and upright before Jehovah, and my desire to serve Him with every fiber of my being, and that cold, wintery day in January, 1985, would be the turning point in my life, the beginning of a long road of learning, discovery...and despair, and I would never be the same again.