As I looked at this tiny little baby boy I had just given birth to, I was so very thankful. God had heard my prayers - prayers desperately asking for my baby to be well, to have all the correct bits and pieces and most of all to be a little boy. That would be the icing on the cake! Of course, I would still be pleased if it turned out to be a little girl but having never had a brother and knowing how much it would mean to my parents to have a grandson, a little boy would be such a special gift.
I felt really privileged to find myself carrying a child. This was something I feared might never happen due to years of fighting borderline anorexia. I was fortunate enough to have a good pregnancy with very few problems and the child inside me was certainly very active, a really good mover! Unfortunately the baby’s father did not share my enthusiasm and seemed rather bored by the whole thing. He already had two sons by a previous marriage so the prospect of another child didn’t seem to hold any joy or excitement. I couldn’t understand his reaction to this most miraculous baby and secretly hoped when the baby arrived he would be different.
The baby was born four weeks premature. He looked so very tiny and he was very blue having nearly died due to the cord being wrapped around his neck. This child of mine was a boy, a real baby boy – at last a boy in our family, a son of my own, a grandson – thank you Lord, I said, thank you. I was overjoyed with this new arrival but not so my husband. “Another boy” he said, “I wanted a girl”. From this moment on life seemed to go downhill rapidly; a tiny baby struggling for survival and all he could say was that he wanted a daughter instead of another son.
In the days that followed my son’s father showed almost no interest in the baby or myself. He turned up to visit at the end of visiting time, smelling of drink, never once bringing flowers or anything at all. I became very depressed and every time I looked at my baby I would ask myself, “What have you done, why have you brought this poor child into the world?” On leaving hospital, I really struggled to cope as the depression became much worse and my feelings of guilt overwhelmed me all day, every day. The thought of this helpless little baby born into a family such as this kept going round and round in my head.
A few months after having my son, my husband won custody of his two sons by his first marriage. So within a few hours we went from having one baby to having three boys in our home and I was now a stepmother to a 10 and 11 year old. I really thought God must have a sense of humour; yes I did want a son but not three! How on earth was I going to cope? Problems arose very quickly ranging from one child refusing to do PE at school, to the other trying to make himself sick every morning to avoid going to school. My own baby boy just had to fit in where he could as I hardly had time to breathe between the three of them.
Why, you might wonder, am I giving all this background information when I was supposed to be talking about how I’ve come to terms with the knowledge that my son is gay? Well, I’ve been trying hard to work out if there was any connection between his upbringing and his sexuality. Let me continue for a little longer…
My baby hardly ever seemed to want to sleep. He cried a great deal and I’m sure he was reacting to the difficult situation in our home. I was extremely tense and always on edge. I tried so hard to be “mum” but I was utterly exhausted. I received little or no help from my husband and was made to feel like a servant not a wife. My husband had strict rules about the baby always being in bed when he came home so contact between the two of them was a rare thing. My husband also had a very bad temper, especially when he had been drinking which became more and more frequent in the weeks and months to come. This culminated in my being knocked down the stairs whilst cradling my baby boy. Luckily the baby was not hurt although I was badly bruised. This was the first time I left the marital home. The shock and horror of it all was just too much to bear and I had to escape. Having stayed away for three months, my husband pleaded with me to return saying it would never happen again and my two stepsons were missing us. Like a fool, I took my son back into the home and the horror began all over again, only worse than ever.
From the age of l8 months to 3 years my beautiful little boy witnessed more scenes of domestic abuse than ever he should. He began stammering and had bouts of temper and still I stayed. I made those wedding vows and I simply could not leave my husband - it was against everything I believed in. Unfortunately the situation worsened. The police became involved more and more and I was advised to move out quickly with my son before he was hurt also. As I looked into the mirror I didn’t recognise the person looking back at me. What had happened, who was I, how could I have allowed this to happen to myself and to my son? I remembered back to the day I was married and how God had spoken to me, telling me that the path I had chosen to walk was going to be a very hard one. He said there would be times when I would feel He had deserted me but I should remember that He would always be with me. He had tried to warn me not to marry this man but I would not listen. Those words now rang so true in my ears, why was I so stubborn and stupid? Three months after marrying I was hit for the first time. I convinced myself it would change “if only” I did such and such. It’s amazing, isn’t it, just how much one human being is prepared to suffer.
Under police escort, my 3-year-old son and I left our home with only a couple of cases and headed over to my parents, some 5 or 6 miles away. Little did I know then that we would both be living with my parents for the next 3 years. We were forced to apply for benefits as my husband refused to pay maintenance and it took months before things were finally sorted. So here we were, my adorable little boy and myself, forced to reside in my parent’s home, turning their lives upside down whilst they tried to accommodate us. It was a very painful price to pay for not paying more attention to God and less to my own wants and needs. This little boy seemed to understand far more than he should; he would come and put his arms around me and bring me tissues, pleading with me not to cry anymore.
I think from this moment on I felt as if it was just us against the rest of the world. Everything I wanted to do or have was a battle. After months of tormenting myself about our present situation, I felt as if God told me to start looking forward and not backwards. I couldn’t change what had happened but I could certainly do something about securing a future for us both. So the word of the day became Acceptance. I was to accept what had happened in my marriage, accept where we were living and be grateful, accept the fact that I had to get a job to support us and accept the fact that my little boy needed me to be “Mum” again and to try and make things “better”. This little person became the reason for my existence; when I felt unable to carry on, I would just look at him and tell myself to stop being so selfish. Our relationship was a very close one; I had this deep feeling of wanting to try and protect him. I didn’t want him to suffer in any way because of the breakdown of the marriage and I tried so very hard to be mother, father, friend, and playmate to him.
My son was a very sociable little boy, going to playschool and making lots of little friends – everyone really loved him. As he grew up he wasn’t a particularly naughty child although there were “moments”! At the age of 5 he started school; once again there were no problems and his circle of friends began to grow even more. He worked hard and his teachers always commented on his good manners and how well behaved he was. When he was around 6 I noticed he became interested in playing with dolls, particularly ones like Barbie with long hair that he would sit combing for absolutely ages. The doll seemed to take the place of a sibling and I didn’t see anything wrong with him playing with them. He had cars and Star Wars figures that boys played with, but his favourite toy was obviously the Barbie. I hated toy guns etc and so thought he was just getting in touch with his feminine side, much to my father’s horror. In his eyes boys never played with dolls, it just “wasn’t right”. But rightly or wrongly I took no notice and thought when he was ready he would grow out it.
Next door to my parents’ home lived a family we knew very well; my son played with Sam most of the time, always preferring to be round at his house. Sam had two older sisters who my son, Greg, loved to be with; when he came home he was always talking about them. They were extremely good to him and I think were aware of our difficult situation. Sam was certainly a real boy in all senses of the word; he loved rugby and started playing locally at an early age. Sam could be much rougher than Greg – he always came home with holes in his trousers looking as if he’d been in a rugby scrum! Still the two lads were good mates and I was pleased Greg had a close friend. Greg was also friends with other boys, going to their homes and bringing them to ours. He went swimming with them, went for day trips with them and did the normal sort of things like riding bikes together.
From a very young age Greg loved music and would sit for ages playing the same record over and over again. He loved having a part in the school play and would learn his lines very quickly indeed. At the age of 6, having been living with my parents for 3 years, I finally succeeded in being offered a council house. My previous home had been sold and had realised much less than envisaged due to the poor state my now ex-husband had left it in. Obviously moving away from my parents was very hard for Greg but eventually he seemed to settle well, having his own bedroom at last. During the 3 years he had developed asthma. But he soon adapted to his medication and it was hoped that as he got older this would improve.
We lived in our council house for two years and during that time Greg made a few friends in the neighbourhood. Living next door to us were two brothers whom Greg played with occasionally. I continued to encourage him to bring friends home for tea and he did, most often girls. After tea they’d sit and play with dolls and Greg was in his element. Contact between Greg and his own father was very spasmodic; visits were arranged but more often than not Greg’s father never even bothered to turn up and no apology was given. What must it have felt like to Greg, knowing your Dad didn’t really want you, could never be bothered to get in touch with you and couldn’t be bothered to keep pre-arranged visits? Did this little boy miss not having a real Daddy like his friends, a Dad who took you out on your bike, who took you to play football, who took you swimming, who had times of rough and tumble with you? How could I compensate him for this loss? I tried so very hard.
When Greg was 8 years old I was introduced, by a friend, to Tom who was a Christian and to whom I could relate immediately. Our friendship developed and when Tom and Greg met they seemed to get on quite well together. Tom had two daughters from his first marriage. A year later Tom and I married. We gave up our council house and moved to live in Tom’s home, which was l5 miles away. For Greg this proved to be a very traumatic experience, taking him away from the only family he had known and putting him into a very new and somewhat frightening situation. Gradually he settled into his new school but very early in our marriage it became evident that Greg and his new stepfather were not getting on very well. Tom seemed to find Greg’s presence a constant annoyance and left no time before he told him so. Once again Greg, I think, began to feel insecure. Perhaps he was feeling that another “Dad” didn’t really want him. As the weeks and months went on the relationship between the two of them deteriorated rapidly. I wasn’t really allowed to show any affection to Greg in front of my husband, and it often felt like we were walking on eggshells just to keep the peace in the home. As Greg grew older the tension became even worse; upsets in the home were frequent and I began feeling like “piggy in the middle”.
Fortunately, throughout this time Greg’s schoolwork didn’t appear to suffer and he worked very hard at school, receiving good results. He had one or two male friends with whom he went out and everything appeared quite normal. He seemed, at times, to prefer his own company and when they called at the house occasionally he would refuse to go with them. He liked music, often playing the keyboard and singing. He also loved drama and often appeared in different productions at the church we attended. He seemed to integrate very well with the young people in our church and was always involved in social activities.
At the age of 14 Greg moved to a Grammar School and once again he settled in very well. He made a few friends and always seemed quite popular with girls. By this time the relationship between Greg and his stepfather was very difficult indeed. We had reached the point where they argued constantly. Tom made comments about every little thing Greg did and Greg retaliated. On more than one occasion a fight between the two of them ensued. To see the two people I loved the most fighting made me horrified and very frightened. They physically set about each other and I always tried to separate them by getting in between. But it was so hard for me to do anything against two grown men whose strength was greater than mine. One or other of them would suffer minor cuts and bruises frequently and I was at a loss as to know what to do to sort things out. Greg always felt I sided with Tom and vice versa; whatever I did seemed to be wrong. I began to think “what sort of a mother am I to allow this to continue”. Because I loved them both I constantly tried talking to one and then the other, hoping that one day they would at least be civil to each other.
Greg took his GCSE exams and did really well, going on to A levels. At this point he became very friendly with one particular boy named Paul who was very musical and played the piano beautifully. Paul was also a very bright boy who worked hard at school. They spent a lot of time together and I thought it was good for Greg to have a mate - someone with whom he could talk and sometimes escape to when things were difficult at home. It was around this time that Greg started singing; he had always liked to sing and his music teacher could see great potential. It was decided Greg should receive singing lessons, which the school would arrange with a local singing teacher. He loved his lessons and his voice became better and better. Paul started to accompany Greg on the piano and together they made beautiful music; it was magnificent. Another passion of Greg’s was tennis - music and tennis made him very happy. He played in many tournaments and was always a popular member of the local tennis club. I felt perhaps he could let out his aggression when hitting a tennis ball. Everyone at the club seemed to love him and they gave him tremendous encouragement. Greg went from strength to strength playing all over the county and always being in demand for competitions. Greg struck up a friendship with a girl at the club called Jo and they clicked straight away. They would practise together, play in tournaments together, socialise together and appeared to be the best of friends. Over the following years the friendship grew even stronger and they always seemed so happy to see each other.
Greg decided he wanted to go to University but refused to let us help him decide which would be best for him. He said both he and Paul wanted to go to Nottingham together. Unfortunately this didn’t work out, as Paul got a place to study Maths at Nottingham University but they didn’t do the course that Greg wanted. These two young men had to separate and I now know this was one of the most traumatic events in Greg’s life. He didn’t seem to know how he would survive without Paul being around, although at the time I didn’t realise this. Greg eventually secured a place at Liverpool University studying Music. In hindsight this was totally the wrong course for him to be taking and his emotional state was such that he and his studies deteriorated rapidly. It became increasingly difficult to communicate with Greg as he would never answer his phone or respond to my messages. When his bank statements arrived, they showed him always being overdrawn and spending money he just did not have. I just couldn’t understand what he was doing, why was he acting so irresponsibly? When I did finally manage to contact him by phone, he said he was sorting things out and was sorry to be overdrawn but could I help him clear off the overdraft. I did this many times and after spending over £3,000 I knew something must be seriously wrong. We went to see Greg’s Tutor who said he hadn’t been going to classes, had missed his tutorials, and hadn’t replied to emails sent to him. There was even some talk of him being involved in drugs. Other students had apparently commented on the fact he always seemed to have plenty of money and was going out a lot. We were absolutely stunned!
We decided to pay Greg a surprise visit. When he eventually opened the door he was shocked to find us standing there. It was 1.30 pm but Greg was obviously still in bed; he appeared dazed and confused and didn’t know what to say to us. The room absolutely stank, there was rubbish everywhere, and dirty clothes were piled sky-high. Our hearts sank. What on earth had happened to Greg? Tom decided he should withdraw from the situation and leave me to try and talk things through with Greg. This proved to be very difficult; I was trying to show love and affection but with no response so I decided I should try different tactics. I insisted on Greg giving me his credit card - there would be no more over-spending and things had to change very soon as he would miss out on taking his exams if he didn’t start attending classes. I wanted Greg to open up to me and tell me what was wrong. It was apparent he wasn’t eating properly; he’d never been to wash his clothes since he’d been at University and he hadn’t done any shopping. And yet what was he spending all his money on? Greg had totally denied being involved in drugs in any way and stated he had never had anything to do with them. It was obvious Greg was upset over our visit so we tried to part company on good terms and he came outside and waved us off. I sobbed all the way home and my heart was broken at seeing my only son like this.
In the weeks that followed I do believe Greg tried to engage himself in his studies but it proved to be impossible, as this whole situation had obviously gone too far. Within a couple of months we received a phone call asking if he could come home. He said he couldn’t face staying at University a moment longer and he needed to get away. I knew his coming home again was going to cause problems for Tom, my husband, who was enjoying having me all to himself. Nevertheless, within a week Greg was back home with us. He seemed to be in a very fragile state - he didn’t want to talk and just shut himself in his bedroom most of the time. I thought he needed time and space to “find himself again” and that maybe with time he would open up a little and share what had happened at University. After three months I thought it was time for him to find a job and get some purpose back into his life. He couldn’t just drift around forever and he needed to start facing people again. At this point he still had said very little about his University life except he never did drugs but did go clubbing a lot with anyone he could find. His music course, he said, wasn’t really what he wanted to do and he found it very difficult to keep up with the rest of the students who appeared to all be very gifted musicians whereas his instrument was his voice. Therefore instead of going and talking to his tutor, he just tried to block things out by going out all the time and not facing up to the situation. This was as far as Greg was prepared to go in talking about University life and I accepted this thinking that maybe some time in the future he might reveal more information.
In all of this God came and went – rather, it was I who came and went. I did have a strong faith but I felt tested to the very limits. I had prayed and prayed for Greg, both before he went away and whilst he was at University, and yet still things went horribly wrong. What was I doing wrong? Why wasn’t God listening to me? Why didn’t He protect Greg from all the bad things that had happened to him? How could God let this happen? Question after question kept going through my mind and no answers seemed to come but still I kept praying – I didn’t know what else to do. Our God is unquestionably a great God, always faithful, always gracious and merciful. He knows our weaknesses and understands our humanity. As I found out, if we are obedient to Him, he always blesses us and He certainly did our family. Before very long Greg decided it was time to find a job that would bring him in some money for the time being. This job would not be a career move but just a means to the end; it would once again enable him to get out into the real world and feel he had something to contribute. Within a week or two, Greg had been offered a job as barman working in a local nightclub. He’d never done anything like this before but was determined to give it his best shot. This proved to be a turning point in his life. His self-confidence started to slowly come back and he began to take an interest in what was going on around him; every now and again he would even instigate a conversation! He appeared to be working very hard, with long hours and little pay, but he never grumbled or moaned. Before long Greg was promoted to bar superintendent; he was thrilled and pleased to be earning a little more. He began making new friends and having some sort of social life again. He was a changed person and I thanked God from the bottom of my heart.
After doing this job for about 18 months Greg decided it was time to start thinking about his future. After some thought he decided he wanted to go into accounting. He applied for a few jobs and was fortunate enough to be given an interview and a position was offered to him. At last he was very happy and so his career began in a firm of accountants – another answered prayer. Everything seemed to be going well; he was getting to grips with everything and the company remarked how well he was doing. He was given the opportunity of studying for his AAT exams, which he was pleased to accept. But when I asked him what the other lads were like at his office he didn’t say much except they were not the sort of people he wanted to go out with socially. Over the weeks and months that followed Greg became very moody again saying he was depressed, he hated his job, and he couldn’t stand accounting. He became more and more miserable, appeared to have no interest in anything, stayed in his room every evening and wouldn’t talk to me. Every time I tried to say something to him, he was very rude and abusive; he started swearing badly and often raised his voice to me. Tom was coming to the end of his patience and threatened on more than one occasion to “sort him out”; he said he would not stand for such bad behaviour in his house. Then the two of them absolutely erupted over nothing really and a fight began – it was the most frightening episode to date and both of them ended up suffering from grazes and bruises. Where are you now God? Why is this happening all over again?
Eventually Greg confided in me that he hated his job. It was making him really unhappy so in order to try and break the monotony he had applied for an interview with GAP, the clothing company. He did a couple of nights a week there after work. After six months he then announced that after a lot of soul searching he was giving up accountancy and going to work at GAP full-time. They had offered him a full-time position and the opportunity to begin his management training. He was so happy and wanted us to be happy for him. But working in a shop wasn’t what I had envisaged for my son. My husband was not a happy man - he thought the idea was ridiculous and said I must be mad if I agreed with Greg’s decision. Lord, what should we do this time? The answer came to go and talk to our vicar. He suggested we should give Greg our blessing and tell him it was OK for him to work for GAP even though it wasn’t our choice of career for him. We did just that and Greg commenced full-time employment with GAP. We watched in amazement as a new person emerged before our very eyes – a young man who looked so happy, who dressed in the latest fashion, whose hair was styled to suit and who became very particular about his appearance. Was this really my son? I was seeing him in a way I had never done before. Out of the depths of misery came a shining ray of light; we had turned a corner and a new chapter in Greg’s life was about to begin. He was happy at last.
He worked very hard in his job; all the staff seemed to love him and he appeared to have a real flare for what he was doing. Whenever I visited the store it did seem a little strange seeing him surrounded by women’s wear, but he loved it and women customers were always calling for Greg to help them choose what to wear. He seemed to ooze charm and charisma and the women just seemed to spend and spend; so much so that he was voted top salesman time and time again. He completed his management training in record time and sitting his exams didn’t seem to bother him although he was quite nervous about the prospect of facing a panel of assessors. Everything went extremely well and within a few weeks he heard he had passed with the highest marks of everyone. Life seemed to be on the up, not only in his working life but also his social life. He always seemed to be in demand and our home phone never stopped ringing. He had many female friends but he also had mates who occasionally came round to see him. I often asked him if he had a girlfriend, to which he responded he didn’t and didn’t have time at the moment. I never questioned this; he said they went around in groups consisting of both men and women. It was fascinating to watch him at home when he was getting ready to go to work or out socially. It took ages – first his skincare routine, followed by his hair, his clothes etc. By the time he finished he looked like a male model!
But as time went by he started to become quite difficult to communicate with again. He often shouted at me as though I was stupid and began swearing again. When at home he would shut himself in his room. What was happening? None of this made any sense; I knew he still loved his job but what had gone wrong? He clammed up completely.
In June 2004 Greg announced that he had been asked to move to Nottingham to take up a managerial position in the GAP shop. It would mean him leaving home and finding a flat there. He said he liked Nottingham and thought it would be OK although he was a bit nervous, as the last time he left home things didn’t turn out very well. But he felt sure his friends would visit and that he’d soon make new ones. The move went ahead at the end of June. He’d found a very nice flat run by a housing association close to where he worked, so he was happy. Once again I had to adjust to him going away; I was really going to miss him but I just knew it was the right thing for him to do. He settled really well into looking after himself and he loved the new store. In no time at all he made friends and his social life began to pick up again. I still had no idea about my son’s sexuality. He was musical, still singing and hoping one day to launch into the music world. He was also very fashion conscious, articulate, personable and charming (when he wanted to be) and, from what I could gather, his friends all had similar tastes.
A few months later my youngest sister came to visit and asked how Greg was getting on in his new job. I said he was fine and seemed to have made lots of friends, which I was pleased about. The words which came out of her mouth next were to change my life completely – “Have you ever thought Greg might be gay?” I stopped, turned around and said, “What did you say?” She repeated the question again. “What makes you think that?” I asked. “My husband has thought so for a long time” she said. My heart was pounding in my chest. I felt sick to my stomach and I refused to take any notice of her. She went back home leaving me with dreadful thoughts going round and round in my head. What was I going to do? How could I find out? Should I ask Greg outright? I spoke to my husband who told me to take no notice and just ignore her. If ever I needed God, I needed him right now. The panic turned to tears. I sobbed and sobbed. Over and over in my mind those words just kept on coming, “Gay, he’s gay, gay, gay”. I was gripped with the most overwhelming fear that almost paralysed me. I was unable to think clearly. I needed to see Greg and to know the truth. Fortunately a few days later he came home as he was rehearsing for a singing gig at the Birmingham NEC. I had been rehearsing in my mind what I was going to say to him, but in the end I just blurted it out. I said, “If someone thought you were gay, would you be offended?” He answered, “No.” This prompted me to say, “Are you telling me then that you are gay?” He said, “Often gay people are snappy dressers.” I answered, “Like you, you mean?” “Yes,” he said. I heard myself saying, “You are gay, aren’t you?” “Yes,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me, why didn’t I know?” I cried. He answered, “I thought you’d hate me.” “How could I hate you, you’re my son, my own flesh and blood, you’re my only child, I’d never hate you, I love you so very much.” At this point he left the house, saying he was going to be late for his rehearsal and I was left alone with this knowledge. A thousand voices screaming in my head, none of them making any sense.
When my husband returned home from work I told him what I had found out about Greg; he was surprised but said very little. Later in the evening he told me it didn’t upset him as much as it did me because Greg was not his real son. I think Tom felt sorry for me but didn’t really know how to help when the tears flowed again. This time I took myself away into my bedroom, shut the door and sobbed. I just wanted to know how it had happened; how had Greg become gay, was he really gay, perhaps he was just mixed up and needed time to sort out his feelings? Had I let him down? Greg knew I had strong feelings about homosexuality and would never watch anything to do with gay people or lesbians on the television. But now it was in my own family and what was I to do? I pleaded with God not to let this happen to my son. I thought he would get married to some nice girl, have a lovely wedding and I would then have grandchildren – this was what was supposed to happen, wasn’t it? God was silent; I begged him to speak to me but there was nothing. My next train of thought was it had happened because my marriage had broken down and Greg hadn’t had a father in his life. And so I went on and on, flitting from one thought to another till I felt I was going mad.
Greg wouldn’t say much more to me before he headed back to Nottingham; I told him I needed him to help me understand and he said he would, in time. I knew then that I needed to be patient and try to gather myself together. In the days that followed Tom said very little and I seemed to be wandering around as if I were lost. I felt as if someone had ripped my heart out and there was a huge gaping wound. I seemed to be going through the motions of day-to-day living but without any feelings; something inside me had died. Little by little I began to realise I was going through a kind of bereavement; I’d lost the son I thought I had. I was fortunate though because he was very much alive, and I realised I needed to acknowledge that fact sooner rather than later. I rang Greg many times during the coming weeks and tried to talk with him; on one occasion he began crying and said, “I know if I go to God and repent of my sins, God will forgive me”. I said he most certainly would. This proved that Greg still remembered some of things he had been taught when he attended Sunday school and church. I had to hold on to the hope that one day Greg would find his way back to Jesus and when he did, Jesus’ arms would be wide open waiting to receive him. We pray for Greg continually. We know God loves him very much and longs for him to reach out to Him and acknowledge Jesus as his Lord and Saviour.
Greg has been home on a couple of occasions since and the visits have gone well. He told me he thought he’d always been gay and that the feelings intensified about a year and a half ago. I asked him why he hadn’t talked to me; he said he couldn’t, as he knew how much it would hurt me. Instead he had a close friend called Helen who he had confided in and who had been a great help to him. He said he’d always liked girls but had never felt sexually attracted to them. He said he now had quite a lot of friends and I asked if he had one particular friend to whom he replied, “I don’t think I should answer that or you’ll have a nervous breakdown.” After assuring him I would not, he went on to say, “Well, if I were to bring someone home would that be ok.” I assured him it would. I told him I wanted to be a part of his life; I didn’t want to be left out of all that was happening to him. He seemed quite pleased by this so only time will tell.
All my family now know about Greg except for my father who I know would not be able to understand so, on my mother’s advice, we haven’t told him. My family love him very much and they offer him unconditional love. To them he will always be the same Greg.
Throughout this entire process God has taught me to continually trust in him and to seek His face at all times. He has shown me that I shouldn’t always focus on my own feelings but I should think about Greg – what it must have been like knowing he was different to other lads, how he was making sense of what was happening to him, and how he coped with telling me when we were both so close and he knew it would hurt? I have to put my own needs and desires sometimes to one side and focus in on my son. He needs my love and needs me to walk this path with him. I must be there if he wants to talk and he needs me to be praying for him continually. In turn, I need Greg to accept where I am in my walk with Jesus and to accept me as I am. Acceptance is a two-way thing.
I try not to allow myself to think about Greg’s sexual lifestyle and I pray God’s protection around him. I ask for God to show Greg this isn’t the way it should be. I pray he will find it totally unfulfilling and look to Jesus to show him the way forward. God can do all things and we must never place limits on Him. God changed me and gave me a new life the day I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Saviour. He wants so much to do that for Greg and all of our children who, as yet, don’t know Him.
As for me, I have good days and bad days; some days I feel I can take on the world, but on others I’m overcome with thoughts and doubts. I have to place everything into God’s hands and trust him completely.
And so our story continues and only God knows the outcome. I hold on to the verse “Faith, hope and love and the greatest of these is love.” We are to love our sons and daughters always. They are our very own flesh and blood. We gave birth to them and they need us, more than they will ever know.