Each year since I was thirteen, I’ve made the same New Year’s resolution. I would look up into the night sky and watch the streams of light launch into the air and glimmer in their glory as they illuminated my face. Imagining the lights as glowing dandelions, I would dream and wish, “I’m going to fight so hard this year that these gay feelings will go away,” dreaming like a goal, or more overpowering, a covenant.

With many resolutions, we tend fail and forget what we were trying to accomplish. We allow our negligence to fight off our will and shoe away our determination. With few resolutions, they evolve into a life’s mission, enticing the very fabric of our minds. These resolutions are like weeds, burying their roots in our tender thoughts. These resolutions, we do not forget.

This resolution became my life. The next year would come: “I’m going to fight so hard this year that these gay feelings will go away.” I continued to fight for its sake, but the consistency of my determination generated the very consistency of my feelings. They never changed. I never changed. Pseudo-hope filled my pillow with hopelessness as I laid on my bed, the same ol’ Sean, depressed and weeping.

Encountering God’s love — His love displayed through all people — finally drew me to a resolution, my resolution with the present. Until I was freed from the enslavement by the present, I could not look ahead. Now, I embrace my unique alignment within this world and can face my future and this year, a year different in every way: full of new people, new experiences, and new identities.

This distinction calls for an alternative resolution, a resolution wrought out of hopes for a new future and love for my community. An intentional resolution where my happiness does not end with me. A committed resolution where God’s love reaches beyond the confides of my body. A welcoming resolution where all can discover they are first and foremost sons and daughters of the Lord Most High.

Jesus calls us to love; that is what I plan to do with my year. Leaving people where I had been left over the last several years of my life is a gruesome act. Leaving people without love is inhumane. The first step towards resolution requires love, and experiencing love requires a hospitable environment.

I want to create a place where my friends and I are welcomed and presented the love of God, where they are embraced and introduced to their design. This year, I aim to love others, helping them discover where they can participate in this community, their design in the greater Kingdom, for each individual has a distinct role in this network called life.