by Caleb Bryant as told on the Story Partners Podcast
I expected the church to kick me out. I sat across the table from an elder, sweating and panicked, and told him my secrets.
He just looked at me and said, “That’s all?” It was met with a grace I couldn’t have imagined.
A West Texas Kid
I grew up in West Texas, a little town called Midland. My mom was involved in lots of different aspects of the church, but it varied a lot. My dad, at the time when I was younger, was a music minister. He would be there for choir practices throughout the week, and we would go and just run around and play, trying not to distract them.
I’ve never known a man who read the Scripture from start to finish as many times as him. You open that book he’s got, and it’s highlighters and sticky notes and pen and all the extra study and concordances—it’s astounding. It was often a bit of a ritual with the church. We would get up on a Sunday morning, put on our nice clothes, and head to service. There was a checklist of how you’re supposed to be a good Christian, and that was very prevalent in our home. There were standards of perfection that you needed to meet. This is just what you do; there is no choice. I don’t know that it was really a faith-based thing as much as it was a facts-based decision.
Pressure to be Perfect
I was sort of a straight-laced, goody-two-shoes kid because I had a standard to uphold. My dad would notice, so it was very empty. I would be working and doing all this stuff, but not because I gave a crap—I was doing it to get attention and validation. I needed to make sure everyone outside the home saw me as being such a good little guy.
My dad is a very hard man, and he is a source of a lot of church hurt and religious trauma that I had for most of my life. He had this tendency to be very quiet until something pushed him over the edge, and he would explode and be very verbally and physically abusive at times. There was one time he broke a paddle over me. I noticed the thick, one of those oak wood boards; it should have been a cutting board, it shouldn’t have been a paddle. But we got that a lot. We got slapped sometimes, put in our place. He cared a lot about that image of being a good religious leader in the church, so we were extensions of him. There was pressure to be better, to be perfect.
Spiritual Trauma
It was often a blend of the physical, but a lot of it was using the Bible. It was using Scripture and quoting it and trying to use the Bible as a weapon. He would often tell us, “This is the right way to be, and if you disagree with that, you’re disagreeing with God.” It wasn’t disagreeing with him or my mom; it was disagreeing with God.
It was hard to disassociate the two ideas because, on the one hand, it’s a belief system in Jesus and He talked about grace, but there’s justice over here. And at home, it was almost all justice, where I never really felt loved most of the time. I didn’t feel any grace in the home. It was all pressure, and you have to work this many types of things. Growing up wasn’t all bad, but that was that overwhelming feeling: that I didn’t belong.
An Identity of Intelligence
I prayed quite a bit as a kid, but I didn’t receive much out of it. I prayed in the shower to ask for Jesus to come into my heart and I’d asked Him for the wisdom of Solomon. I remember that. I wanted to be really smart and really wise—just knowledge and intelligence and memorization.
To insult my intelligence was the greatest way to hurt me because I didn’t have anything else going for me. I was a fat kid. I wasn’t athletic. I didn’t have any friends. I had nothing going for me except I could read, I could learn, and I could be smart. It wasn’t about knowing the Bible or knowing God; I didn’t care about that. I wanted to make my dad proud. He loved the Bible, so I was going to learn it. I remember being seven or eight and a teacher called my mom because she was frustrated that I could quote Bible stuff better than she could.
The Root
Before I was old enough to really understand what sexuality was, I found myself obsessed with it. Just truly captivated by the idea. One of my first memories that I didn’t recall until much later in life was in a church where I was molested. I think I was probably three or four. I know what church it was and I know where it was, but I didn’t remember that all my life until I was 27 or 28. It just came flooding back and washing over me. I remember the time, the place, and the way the carpet felt. I don’t remember the person that did that, but I do know that it happened.
Growing up as a kid, I caught myself grinding on different things of furniture when I was like five or seven—way too young to understand some of that stuff. Meanwhile, we’d come home from church, and we’d be criticizing people. “Did you see so-and-so with her wandering eye? Did you see the dress she was wearing?” Constantly criticizing and making fun of other people. I adopted that critical spirit because, again, that’s a way to get him proud of me.
Self-Hatred and Pornography
There was a constant criticism and spirit of judgment in the home. For me, I got called fat, I got called ugly, I got called r***rd. That began to manifest in body dysmorphia and hating myself. I would get bullied a lot as a kid for being fat. My nickname from some of the kids was “Jelly Roll.” That stuck with me. No matter how much weight I lost or how much I ran, it was all defeating because it didn’t matter how I looked. When people would say nice things about me, it was a lie. I couldn’t believe it because deep down I knew how messed up I was. And if they knew my secrets, oh man, they’d hate me too. Because I hated myself.
The first time I was exposed to pornography, I think I was around eight. I found my dad’s Penthouse magazine. It was dusty, but I was fascinated by it. My family never talked about sex; it was taboo. I was left to the internet to figure out what was happening to my body and my mind. That’s a terrible place to turn to. I remember as a kid I would look up diagrams of anatomy, and we had a software at the time called LimeWire. I absolutely nuked that laptop to death trying to find little clips or videos of pornography at the age of ten, just because I had to understand what was happening to me.
The Divorce
Abuses were being hurled at us, and it all built to the point that my mom finally divorced my dad. I was 17. This was actually Thanksgiving Day when they told us. At the time they announced the divorce, we had a decision to make. Our youngest brother, Ezra, was too young to decide where he wanted to go, and my mom was taking him no matter what. My middle brother and I were old enough to choose, and we agreed to stick with Ezra, to not let the brothers be separated. That was crucial.
My mom took all the money, all the furniture, all the stuff. We moved in with her at her new house, and I was a bitter, resentful, unhappy person. I brought my resentment towards her into that home. I believed it was unbiblical to get divorced, and she was cruel for breaking up our family. I made life a living hell for her for several months.
The Key and the Gun
My dad was constantly depressed and hurting. His way of finding soothing was often to tell other people how “woe is me” his situation was. At one point, he asked me to try to find a storage unit key that my mom had somewhere in her house. One Saturday night, I tried to do that. I was rummaging through her purse, and she caught me.
The next morning, we went to church. When I got home, a lot of my stuff had been packed up and thrown out in the yard. She was kicking me out. I was on my knees, begging and pleading with her to let me stay because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing my brothers. And she said no. She was happy, actually. I remember her whistling when she was getting some of my stuff packed up.
I sat down in that front room, and I played a hymn on the piano: “It Is Well With My Soul.” I don’t know why; it was just the song that the book was open to. I played it, and I cried a bunch. We packed our stuff, and we left. I felt like a failure. My mom told me that the divorce was my fault—that I always took my dad’s side and I was making fun of her all the time. She said part of the reason she left was my fault.
I sat there that night, looking up at the ceiling fan, and I just wanted it all to end. I pulled out a revolver. I loaded it with one bullet. That’s all I needed. I pulled the hammer back, I put it in my mouth, and I pulled the trigger because I wanted to die. For reasons I can’t explain, I loaded that revolver wrong. I put the bullet in the chamber one to the right. That’s why I’m still alive today.
Risky Behavior
Right after the suicide attempt, some guys from my school that I barely knew came up and prayed for me. I’ll never forget the words: that they prayed for the floodgates of heaven to be opened and that the water be cleansing. And yet, that wasn’t enough. It was nearly a decade that I never spoke to my mom or my little brother.
All through college, I played the part of a Christian, but it wasn’t authentic. I thought it was just a way of being a chameleon, blending into my environment. I was working at a church as a recreational intern, and I’d mentioned to our boss that I was about to turn 21 and was excited to drink. I got fired, and they would not give me a reason why. The only thing my brain could make sense of was that. How crazy—I knew other people up there that drank, but they didn’t talk about it. That’s hypocrisy. I didn’t want anything to do with church. I walked away right then.
I started partying and was drunk all the time. I passed out in my front yard more times than I can count. I engaged in every risky behavior for over a decade. I failed a class because I got caught cheating. That shame drove me to suicide again. My identity was rooted in being “intelligent” and “wise,” and I couldn’t handle the mask being taken off. I believed my family would be better off without me. The only reason it didn’t pan out was a friend who answered my phone call and came to take my guns away.
Escapism
Pornography became an escape. The more life sucks, the more you want to get away from how much you loathe yourself. Fantasy replaced reality. Eventually, it isn’t enough to watch a video; you need to live it. You need hookups and one-night stands.
After walking away from God at 21, I tried to find meaning everywhere else. I read the Bhagavad Gita and the Quran. I even dated a woman who was a practicing witch and pagan. I practiced with her and made sacrifices to another god. It was the same idea: I had to try all the things to find meaning.
I moved to Austin and got plugged in with the BDSM community. It was exciting; it was the stuff I’d watched all those years. I went to house parties with 80 people. I liked it. Watching is never enough—the beast you’re feeding is never satisfied. I ended up living with a dealer and had easy access to everything. I did shrooms, coke, and weed every day.
I was selfish and narcissistic. I dragged my baggage into a relationship with a partner who wanted monogamy. I agreed to it but went behind her back. I kept trying to pressure her into experiences with other people even though she didn’t want to. I was hollow.
Two of my partners specifically told me when they broke up with me: “You are behaving like your father.”
On my 30th birthday, a friend made a toast: “To being disappointments to our fathers.” We all raised our glasses and cheered. At the time, it didn’t pang my heart. I had a problem feeling my feelings. The only feelings left were insecurity, rage, disappointment, and failure.
I had no problem being a “safe person” for others to talk to; I would let them open up, but I didn’t know how to do that myself. I would always hide and keep my secrets because that’s how I was raised: a “good man” keeps his secrets. By that point, I was a shell of a person. I wasn’t me. I wasn’t anybody. I just existed—unhappy, dissatisfied, and alone.
The Price
I had made a vow that I would never cheat on a partner, that I would never engage in that—and then I did. I made vows to myself that I would quit this behavior, and it would last a day before I couldn’t do it anymore. I made vows that I would never watch a certain kind of porn, and then I did. I made vows I’d never go and do a specific activity, and then I did it over and over and over. The insanity just built like a tornado of hell.
I went to massage parlors for “adult massages.” I used online apps for hookups where I would meet a random person, and we would just sleep together. Why? How unsafe and insane is that? None of it was a reasonable decision, but it’s not reasonable to be an addict in any way.
At one stage in my life, I had amassed up to $146,000 in debt. Forty-six thousand of that was just addiction spending across various stripes: alcohol, drugs, whatever. The majority of that $46,000 was spent in strip clubs.
I lived this life of keeping secrets for so long that I eventually became bored with it. The escalation of all the addictions I had required more. It was unsustainable.
The Haunted Carousel
We had been looking for new furniture for the house. We went to Goodwill and we found this beautiful sterling silver pewter carousel. It had little horses around it; it was a music box. The inner column was a mirror. It was gorgeous. You can wind it up and listen to it. It was five dollars at Goodwill and I was like, “Hahaha, that’s haunted. I have to buy it.” At that stage of life, that was where I was at. I didn’t have fear; I thought it was cool to buy spooky stuff. It’s the same idea as people who play with Ouija boards.
So I bought this thing and we brought it home, and it was really right after that when some of this stuff started to happen: doors opening and closing; blinds just randomly falling off the window when they were set up just fine for months. We heard footsteps in the attic. We had electronics that would power on and off with no explanation.
The worst and most obvious was when my girlfriend and I were in the kitchen cooking. No one else was home, and yet we heard a loud “Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom,” like something falling down the staircase. We freaked out. We went to look, and there was nothing there. The dog wasn’t out, no people were home—nothing. But we both heard it loudly. It was obvious. We started talking about all the crazy, weird, spooky things that had been happening. In that season, there had been a lot of oppression. The chaos was way more than anything I’d ever felt, and I wanted it to end.
Sleep Paralysis
Later on, I couldn’t stay in the house. I had to get out for a while, so I went back west to see my family. This was before Thanksgiving that year, and that’s when a bunch of other crazy stuff started to happen. I got into an argument with my dad. I got really drunk. He said some stuff that really bothered me. I tried so hard to gain his approval, and nothing ever worked for decades. So now it’s like, “Who cares? Dad, your problems aren’t mine. I don’t care what you think.” I just absolutely turned my back.
That night I went to sleep, and in a vivid dream, I experienced some stuff I couldn’t explain. I’m sitting on this couch and I’m watching a scene play out before me. I looked to my right and there’s this really strange shadowy figure sitting on the couch next to me. It was blackened with a paled face, its mouth and eyes agape as a black mist or a void, just looking at me. I wasn’t scared; I was just interested. It proceeded to watch the rest of the scene before me.
At that point, it reached over and touched me on my arm. I remember going completely numb. My head was on the couch and I didn’t know what to do. I was stuck and nothing I did could move. I got desperate and panicked. I started calling out for help, and I heard all these voices saying my name. Then I heard a different voice that said my name—a voice I didn’t know. In my desperation, I was like, “Whoever you are, help me. I’m stuck.” I felt a hand reach up behind my head and lift my head up off the couch.
Waking Up
I woke back up in my room. I was awake, but I felt this tense pressure on my forearms holding me down. Looking above me, there was a smoke or a vapor emanating from my mouth. It was like it was being inhaled by something up above me, but it was invisible. It wasn’t just dissipating; it was being sucked in. It scared me. I couldn’t move, so all I could do was move my fingers. I managed to scratch my leg a whole bunch until that pain jolted me awake, and I could finally sit up.
I touched my forearms and there wasn’t an outward bruise, but the muscle was extremely tender—like it had been bruised, but you just couldn’t see it. I spent the next three hours writing it down. It happened at 2 a.m.
When I went back home to Austin, I mentioned it to my roommates. The others slowly piped up and mentioned that they’d also had sleep paralysis experiences in the house that none of us had talked about before. The goal of this entity seemed to be breakdown and division—within the home and within the self. I hated myself more than ever, and it culminated in me trying to kill myself again.
A Dumpster And A Prayer
We decided this thing had to go. I grabbed the carousel and went outside. I took it down the street to a big industrial dumpster. I noticed an orange street light out front. I walked closer and saw that the house was the exact same architectural design as our house. Now I’m getting freaked out because I had seen an orange street light and a dumpster in my dream. I went to put this carousel in the dumpster and I saw beautiful cherry wood cabinets with brass hardware inside—the exact same image I saw in my dream.
I panicked. I threw it in there and ran back home. I was crying; I couldn’t breathe. After that, I went outside to have a cigarette because I was stressed. I was shaking physically and I fell onto my face on the ground. I prayed for the first time in a decade or more. It was the first time in my life that it really was earnest. Whatever showed me that vision, I wanted to know its name. “Whatever God you are, tell me your name and I’ll worship you.” That was what I said.
I wanted it to be anything other than church. Anything other than Jesus, and I’m good. I started trying to read books. I looked up temples. Nothing was clicking. I just needed something right now. So, I ended up deciding to go to church as much as I didn’t want to. I tried to go to one nearby, but they had changed their hours. I was mad. “Typical church,” you know?
I went down the street to the next closest place, Point Community Church. When I walked in, the worship leader was up there singing a song called “Jireh” by Maverick City.
I don’t know how to explain this, but there’s a moment in your life sometimes where something just aligns. It just clicks in a way that you can’t understand. When I walked into that church and heard the song “Jireh,” I knew instinctively that was the name I’d been praying for and asking for for so long. Jireh. In Hebrew, it means “He provides.” That was the name of the God who lifted my head off the couch. That was the God who saved me in the dream.
I had all these pre-existing ideas about what it meant to be a Christian. I was somebody who liked to do drugs, get drunk, smoke weed, and watch porn. I didn’t want to give those up. I thought being a Christian meant a checklist of “dos and don’ts.” That didn’t feel like freedom; it felt like slavery. I came into this new space with my long hair, tattoos, and painted nails, almost wanting these people to reject me so I could prove they were hypocrites and go somewhere else.
But I went back. I went back because not one other place gave me that “alignment” I felt when I heard that song. What was different here was that I got welcomed into homes. I got invited to dinner. People called me. They never once made me feel judged. They constantly redirected me to the Gospel—that there is no checklist. I’d never been “good enough,” but they were giving me a truth I wasn’t ready to see yet.
Not Your Typical Church People
For years, I had paper-mached over my soul. I added layers to my mask because it was easier than taking accountability for who I was. I couldn’t be honest with anyone else because I wasn’t honest with myself. I misused a three-year relationship with an amazing, loyal woman. The thing I desired most was connection, yet I took every action to prevent it. My licentiousness exploded. I was going to church and doing the “Christian thing,” but I was still doing what I wanted.
It was unsustainable. I lived the life of keeping secrets so long that I became bored with it. Eventually, my girlfriend went through my phone and found the secret photo vaults and the images of past partners. She called an intervention with my friends. That rock bottom was deeper than any before because I lost friends and destroyed that relationship. It was embarrassing.
I expected the church to kick me out. I sat across the table from an elder, sweating and panicked, and told him my secrets. He just looked at me and said, “That’s all?” It was met with a grace I couldn’t have imagined.
One night, after talking about being sober, I went home and got drunk on my kitchen floor. I collapsed in a pile. I wasn’t strong enough. The next morning, a guy at church I barely knew came over to pray for me. He said he felt compelled to pray “peace” over me. He prayed for the desire for alcohol to leave—that even if I tried it in the future, it wouldn’t satisfy me anymore. That’s a scary prayer when you love being satisfied by alcohol.
But seeing people who were living a relationship with God, not a religion, blew my mind. I realized I didn’t have to do it on my own. This community showed me what it means to be an “apprentice” of Jesus. It’s a practice; we’re practicing the Way. It’s not a perfect journey. That changed everything because I’d only ever known a standard of perfection I could never meet. For the first time, I was told I was not rejectable or fundamentally unloved.
The 12 Steps
Eventually, I found the willingness. I joined a 12-step program. We are only as sick as our secrets. To work the steps, you list your deepest, darkest, most shameful actions and read them out loud to a room of people. I read mine to 32 people. It was mind-blowing. When I walked in, I was the only one carrying that shame. When I left, 32 other people were carrying it with me.
I remember a prayer service where I confessed my compulsive sexual behavior. I told them, “I don’t know how to quit. I can’t get off this roller coaster.” A lady asked me, “Do you want to let this go? Do you really want it?” I said yes. They didn’t pray a “Lord, forgive this sinner” prayer; they prayed for the courage and willingness to let go of things that weren’t good for me. Healing happened slowly. I deleted the dating apps. I stopped the porn. It started with that honesty.
The Final Obstacle
As I grew in this journey, God revealed an obstacle: I hadn’t forgiven my father. The resentment was holding back my spiritual journey. I decided it was time to take a leap. I asked my dad, “Would you be willing to baptize me?” He said yes.
When he put his hand over my nose, and I came back up out of the water, his face was the first thing I saw. And I saw it differently. This wasn’t just a man who had wounded me or affected the trajectory of my life. I saw a man who was a reflection of God, a man with flaws just like me. There is grace sufficient for him, and there is grace sufficient for me. Our relationship has flourished ever since.
I needed to get away from my father’s Christianity so I could learn how to choose it for myself. I needed to be put in a place to screw up so I could finally make the choice. And it has been the greatest choice of my life.
A New Life In Christ
Jesus is changing the way I see life in every corner. I used to think I couldn’t breathe without certain things, but as they went away, I found I could breathe better. It’s not about a checklist; it’s about seeing Him rightly and realizing He is worth everything.
I’ve found freedom from the compulsive behaviors that were my routine. I’ve found a way to quit weed, porn, cigarettes, and drinking. What is holding you back? What is getting in your way of healing? Those are the obstacles He is asking you to surrender—not to hurt you, but to grow you.
Jesus has spoken over me that I am loved, accepted, and that my soul is His. I am exactly who I am supposed to be right now. I’ve gone from living a crisis-driven life to a Christ-driven life. And it feels amazing.
