I was afraid of my father as a kid. As a disciplinarian, he had this thick, heavy, leather belt and hedges lining 3 sides of our house.  Dad restored order to disobedient children with that belt and painful green switches.  Two things you need to know about my dad.  He loved Bologna sandwiches and Jesus.  When I was young, my dad was my daddy.  I loved and trusted him.  He made me feel safe.  When I was 7, my dad and I were on a long night drive when all of a sudden, the headlights on the truck shut off and came back on repeatedly.  One minute you could see the road, the next it was pitch black.  Each time the headlights went out, fear would seize my heart.  I was so afraid, that I ended up laying down with my head on my father’s leg and singing worship songs all the way home.  I was only a kid, but I knew when I was afraid my daddy could make me feel better.  Before I ever trusted in Father God, I trusted my daddy.

At six years of age, satan came at me and my family pretty hard. My mom tried to commit suicide, my best friend died in a Halloween car accident and I was sexually abused and introduced to pornography by my brother. This would send my life in a very different kind of direction. I would later learn that my brother had been molested by a man in our town. His molestation led to mine. If my father had not been a man of God and also a man of prayer, our family would have surely been marked for destruction. Yet, no matter what satan threw at us, my father persisted in serving the Lord.

I was close to my father when I was younger, but my mother struggled with bi-polar disorder and always demanded I stay with her. My father would inevitably spend more time with my brother. I perceived this as rejection from my father and I grew to hate him and the relationship he had with my brother. What had once been a loving relationship between my father and I, steadily weakened and widened over the years. My hatred and misunderstanding I felt for my father would only get darker and deeper as time progressed.

When I was about to leave for college, my plans were to cut all ties with my parents. I was so delusional to think that I could survive without their money. I was trying to cut them out of my life, because I knew I was going to come out as gay in college and I knew that they would reject me. My parents were both Christians. The Holy Spirit did not allow me to fully cut my parents off, but instead I opened up to them about all the bullying I had experienced at the hands of my high school bullies and one of my cousins. I wrote my parents a letter. Instead of saying goodbye forever, I divulged every ounce of heartache I had experienced at the hand of my tormentors.

As a result of my confession, my father sat with me in my car on the side of the Turner Turnpike in Oklahoma and told me how sorry he was for all that I had been through. My father was trying to bridge the gap between us, but I was too hurt, broken and bitter to let him in.

My father never stopped praying for me. “How do you know?,” you ask. If my father had not prayed I would not be here writing this tale for you. God honored the effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man as it says in James. My father was that man.

When I eventually came out as a gay man and invited my mother to my commitment ceremony, my father found out and wrote me a 10 page letter. Now you have to know. My father is not a letter writer. His spelling is atrocious. I have a love for writing and language. My father spells words phonetically and occasionally he spells them correctly. But this letter y’all. This letter was inspired by God and written by a man who may not have been a perfect writer, but he loved God and he loved his son. The letter didn’t condemn me as a person in the least. The letter was a loving reminder of how God created me and what scripture says about homosexuality. Dad wrote that letter more than 30 years. I still have it today.

I have felt led for some time to encourage parents with LGBT kids to write letters to their kids. If your kids are in your life, write them letters. If your kids are not in your life, write them letters. Pick up a pen and a piece of paper and add this exercise to your daily bible devotional reading. I won’t mince words. If you don’t read the Bible daily, then you are missing out on a deeper relationship with God. For the parents whose kids have cut them off, that doesn’t mean that your relationship is over. It means that only one of you has your child’s best interest at heart and that is you. You may not be talking to them in person, but you can still communicate your love for them in writing. Write them letters and store them away in a box for when your child returns to the relationship. In the letters, you can write scripture. You can share your hopes and dreams. Use these letters to cry out to God for your child. These letters are a way for you to cope, process and sow into the life of a child that is in active rebellion against God and you. As simple as my father’s communication style was, the intent of his heart was expressed to me. Do not lose hope. Take a stand. Begin writing into the future of your child. Let God lead you in this process.

If you are a parent with an LGBT child and you are in relationship, you have to use wisdom whether you give the letters to your child on this side of their LGBT struggle, or when God leads them back home. Try your best not to use the letters as a passive aggressive way to tell your child they are wrong. These letters, just like my dad’s are to speak life and the light of God into the darkness of your child’s life. If they don’t know Jesus, then the wisdom of the Bible is foolishness to them. Start small and don’t put pressure on yourself to write a lot or every day. Do make this a healthy exercise and time of communion between you, Father God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit. This is you taking back control from the enemy. This is you letting him know that he can’t have your child. You will fight tooth and nail for the life, liberty and salvation of your kid. No matter what you see in the natural, know that your prayers are being heard in the spiritual.

My Christian walk started as small seeds, sown by a simple man, with simple means who loved God real big. My walk is the result of my father’s faith and his “3 AM prayers”; on his knees, face to the floor, pleading with God for my life. 

Dad was my spiritual advocate.  That is the very heart of Jesus.