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I'm ashamed to say that the most I've mentioned homosexuality in the last seven months was recounting an episode of The Office. I've steered clear of anything that might link me to my gay/ex-gay past.

While at Focus, I counseled often about earning the right to speak into someone's life before sharing what the Bible has to say about homosexual behavior (or any other sin). I also talked about the mandate to love individuals, whether or not they came to Christ or changed their behavior. In the past few years, I've tried to live out this principle. While working with prostitutes, I had the chance to help lead a young man to Christ just before he passed away from AIDS-related cancer. I likely wouldn't have experienced this divine moment had I beat him over the head with his sin. Instead, I spent time leading him closer to Jesus, meeting practical needs, and helping to shoulder his fear and suffering.

So why have I felt reluctant to share the "ex-gay" part of my testimony? Am I falling down on my job as a Christian? What happened to the girl who was once unafraid to share her heart publicly, both before and after her Christian conversion—the girl who once followed Senator Chuck Robb into an elevator shouting, "What about Anita Hill, Senator!" following the confirmation hearings of Justice Clarence Thomas?

As a new believer, I shared Christ door to door and passed out Jack Chick tracts on the streets of Seattle. I temped during this period and prayed faithfully for the people in whatever office I ended up in. I wanted others to share the joy of knowing Jesus. While I miss that infectious faith, I sometimes question the zeal that drove away all my friends from my old life. I was a certified freak for Jesus with no wisdom under my belt. Now I have the wisdom, and pray for the zeal.

Then I ended up at Focus on the Family, where I served in the pro-family trenches for seven years. At some point, I began to have a crisis of faith, which didn't fully hit until I left the ministry. Questions about Christianity and worldview, which had been swirling around for some time, came to the surface, creating spiritual confusion, darkness, cynicism, and distance from the One who had originally captured my heart. Blame could be placed on adjusting to a radically new worldview, serving in high-profile ministry, and negotiating the loneliness and loss of my old community.

I do not believe God made it easy for me to stay connected to him. Then again, I did not persevere in some necessary things that mark the life of a mature believer: praying daily, meditating on Scripture, and submitting my thoughts and fears to him. I did not put into practice the apostle Paul's admonition to "demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and … take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ" (2 Cor. 10:5).

I felt consumed by spiritual darkness during my first year in Chicago. I sought help from a local church, but found indifference. My pastors in Colorado, Sallie and Ken Ross, encouraged me by way of e-mail; they suggested I put aside the questions and focus instead on Jesus. While I could not take their advice then, I'm confident that their prayers helped carry me through.

One major gift from God during this season was a redheaded, hairy, 40-pound wonder named Rosie. She's a shepherd/ chow/something mix. And she's near perfect. One of our joint activities is spending time with friends at the Montrose Harbor Dog Beach, a Disneyland for dog lovers. We get together at least five times a week with a regular crew (a professional magician, an actress, an artist, a psychologist, and a retired couple). Over time we've become friends, lounging in beach chairs and gossiping about the latest dog-beach news. None of the other members of this group are friendly toward Christianity, yet they are all curious about my faith. They ask questions regularly and feel safe enough to poke me about tougher issues.

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March 2008, Vol. 52, No. 3