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I imagine that your friends, colleagues, and the readers of Venus had intense reactions to your conversion — and your decision to change the focus of your magazine.

It's been hard. My ex-girlfriend became physically ill. My friends have tried intervention. And there's even chatter at my local church along the lines of "let's just wait and see if it sticks."

As for Venus, the reaction has been predictably extreme. Most of the response has been negative. My magazine is distributed at pride events, gay groups, bars, and through my mailing list. In the issue after my conversion, I put myself on the cover and gave my testimony. People will either respond to the Word as either shoutin' glad or fightin' mad — and most were angry. I would have responded the same way. I understand the darkness they're trapped in.

Yet I've also received a slew of letters thanking me for speaking out.

How about the activist community? I imagine they weren't too pleased by your public statement of faith, particularly your new stand on homosexuality.

Following the issue featuring my testimony, the gay political machine pressured my ad agency to drop us. In response, I told the agency that my mission had changed. They urged me to take a week and think about it. When they called back a week later, I told them my mission stands. By Monday afternoon, several thousand dollars worth of advertising were cancelled. My business pretty much died that week.

For three days, the devil laughed in my face. He told me that I had no income, no friends, and that I was standing by myself. I said, "Lord, I still trust you. I will use this publication that killed people to help them turn their lives around."

And then it happened. My story ended up on an evangelical website. I was flooded with 200 emails from saints all over the world. People sent love and hugs. God sent me loving encouragement. I continue to hear from people in Nigeria, Iceland, Hong Kong, Argentina, South America. They're asking me to come speak. They're interviewing me.

Before I published, I sold real estate. I'm going back to keep the presses going. Many, many people need the Word. They won't admit they need it, but they do. And the Word won't return void.

I realize the church, particularly African-American churches, can be reticent to openly discuss issues of sexuality. How have you been received?

In black churches, gays are often the butt of jokes. It's hurtful. And it's okay, so long as someone doesn't admit they're gay. I'd say that 90 percent of the positive responses have been from the white evangelical side. I'm hopeful, however. I'm beginning to see fruit. I have two interviews coming up — one in London and one in Louisiana—with African-American radio stations.

What was most difficult about leaving your old life?

I guess the friendships I've developed over the years. They'll never be the same. We went to each other's parents' funerals; we buried gay community members together. They were people I licked a thousand envelopes with. I grieved the other day when I went through a box of letters. I've lost these friends.

What is something positive you've taken away from your 29 years as an activist?

The fact that while I was in the gay life, I worked. God will still use my gifts in ministry. I'm proud of being a hard worker then and now.

How do you view the gay community now?

I view them with love in my heart. I was suddenly rescued from a sinking ship, but my family is still on that ship. And they're going down.

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March (Web-only) 2007, Vol. 51