The gravity and impact of such an event is unimaginable, especially to someone who has never gone through such an event. The memories I am about to share are truly painful to bring up. I have no desire to fight for any political cause, no desire to receive applause for any theses. If I am to share these thoughts, these are only to help others in a similar situation.

My brother and I grew up in a home where we were made aware at a very young age that we were spared from a tragic existence by the mercy and grace of the Lord, Jesus Christ. My parents were both headed for an early grave before handing what little they had left over to God. So, when time came for them to have children, we were both consecrated for God’s interests on the earth. I remember a happy home until my brother was born. Then, sadly, my mother was left with a chemical imbalance that absolutely destroyed her from the inside out. She was put into the care of the state when I was around 10 years old. No one suffered more than my brother and in ways we wouldn’t know until much later. I was stable enough at a young age to handle most of it, although my fears of marriage ran very deep.

After my mom was taken away, my brother and I stayed with my father, who was unable to remarry for fear of revenge by my mother, who had degraded to full-blown psychosis. Yet, as most kids do, we took it in stride. It was during these years that I made the decision to care for my brother as a son, not as a sibling. While my friends taunted their brothers, I taught mine to read before preschool. This is not self-congratulation, these are the facts. My sixth grade teacher was in awe at how I cared for my brother.

Then, my teenage years hit, and as most teens do, my world became focused on myself, and intensely so. Not only so, but my brother began to distance himself from me, often lashing out at me as an authority figure. I was deeply hurt, and at that age, had no tools to handle that kind of resentment from someone I loved. During this time, I found the Lord in a real way, and consequently began to seek a refuge with others who shared my experience. I have to say that to this day, I find very few.

High school could occupy a whole book but the end and the transition to college is what really matters. I went to a gifted program within a local high school where I made few friends. I am not saying I was a loner. I liked people then, and I like them now. But, everyone there was doing well within a system that rewarded talent, and I had no interest. There was too much tragedy, too much horror, to believe that I could ever do well. So, I spent those years as a class clown. It was all a joke to me anyway. Nothing we were learning could ever help someone through what I was about to face, and I knew it.

I was learning those lessons in drug dens and party houses after school. Those lessons were learned by walking past the lifeless body of a fallen gang member in broad daylight. Those lessons were learned by finding out just how many of my friends had been molested before they were in high school. Yet again, the God of Mercy found me, and crying on my knees at 19 years old, I went one step further and gave my life to Him. At that point, I didn’t even care whether I lived or died. There was no hope for others around me, and I was far beyond caring for myself.

Nevertheless, my daddy was still my hero, and my hero asked me to go off to college. So, I did. What a joke. Previously peaceful friends of mine who didn’t go to college were being drawn into violence and misogyny. College couldn’t help me, and to this day, can’t help them. What a joke. I barely made it out. I would go, sometimes between classes and pull my mom off the floor of her trailer, dehydrated and starving, off her medication again. My brother was a great kid, but was into things I couldn’t understand. I basically lost him during these years.

When I finally managed to get a degree, I was in a sad state. I was far from the Lord, being stalked by some meth addict trying to get me to put my talents to use to make money for her addictions. I refused, and collapsed under the weight of hopelessness. I lost one job, managed to barely get another, and then decided to go off to Bible school to see if there were any others who still cared at all. To my surprise, thank you, Jesus, there were some! I was whole and at home again, and I must say that Bible school was the best time I had ever enjoyed. The Bible says what we wish it would. There is hope in the Word.

During this time, my brother confided in me that he was gay. Now, you must understand that as a kid, I was disgusted with homosexuality. To this day, I find it ridiculous. I don’t mock people who are homosexual, but the act itself is nonsensical. So, for my brother to open this to me took a lot of courage. I told him that it was no big thing. Really, can anyone point to me where Jesus addressed homosexuality? He didn’t. God so loved the world, including the gay world. By then, though, we had already grown apart. He was deeply into the gay world in the Bay Area, and I was off trying to counsel high-schoolers.

We spoke very little the past few years, and we had a falling out regarding his support of gay rights. We didn’t speak until recently, when he called more than a year later to tell me that he had AIDS. I was and am devastated. I have no interest whatsoever to go through it again. It’s hard enough just talking about it. I have no moral to the story. I have no punch line. Nevertheless, and reluctantly, I must say something to those in my shoes. I am not here to tell you that it’s not your fault, because to some degree, it is.

I am not here to tell you not to worry, because you will. I am not here to tell you to be at peace, because you will probably lose your cool at least once while dealing with this. I remember in a class for youth counseling, we had a teacher who was a celebrated coach, and a very successful and motivating teacher ask us, “What do you think I see most when I look back at the path I have traveled?” We all thought it would be something pleasant, like my grandfather crying about performing before retarded kids and receiving the loveliest of “thank you” letters. Instead, this teacher told us that if he dared to look back, he would see nothing but dead bodies.

Let that sink in.

In part, I owe my life to him and people like him, and yet, all he would see would be the damage that he had caused. I feel the same way. Right now, I feel like the day I sat down in a portable bathroom and almost slit my wrists. If not for a knock at the door, I wouldn’t be writing this. I feel bad enough to commit suicide and the only reason I haven’t is because I don’t even care enough about that. Yes, that’s right. I give a flying flip about recounting my deeds to St. Peter, who would probably offer me a heavenly bottle of wine and give me my long-awaited golden bowling shoes.

Last Sunday, I sat in service, hearing tales of how many people are seeking the Lord in the Word. I am encouraged, but still there is one person who occupies a great deal of my heart who isn’t seeking. That meeting was painful, to the point that I almost swore not to return. Then, I went to get my wife from the toddler’s room, and there was the tiniest, most beautiful little boy you have ever seen. Logan, 10 months old and walking better than I do at 30. He was all over the place, so happy to have been given the chance to live, to eat, to fart. His grandfather sat him on a chair and told me, “Watch this.” Most babies would slowly lower themselves on their stomachs and gently find the floor with their tip toes.

Not Logan. Logan flipped over and landed with a thud on his bottom. There was a look in his eyes that read, “This should have hurt, but somehow, it didn’t. Oh well, I’ll figure that out later. For now, I’m off to eat, to fart, and not to ponder why.” Who will care for Logan? Logan isn’t starving with flies on his face, being cuddled by puppy-eyed religious hypocrites. Logan’s just a typical, tough little guy. What if he’s gay? Who will love him nonetheless? I guarantee Grandpa will have a fit. Who will love him? Who will know how? Only those of us who have failed already and must live with the guilt.

I repeat, only those of us who have failed already and must live with the guilt.

My love and best wishes to the families of those suffering from AIDS.