A few years ago, I visited a church to preach. I vividly remember the small talk with somebody before the service. “I assume you are married with kids,” they said. “No. I’m single actually,” I replied. They were somewhat surprised. “Oh! Have you never found anybody you liked?” And then an altogether different suggestion struck them. “Or have you never found anybody who likes you?”

I was born in Shrewsbury and raised in the somewhat odd border town of Oswestry, where I think it is fair to say I retain some rather fond memories of my early years. In my primary school years I, of course, had not developed any real identity or serious interests that would define who I was.

Marriage reflects the gospel by representing Christ’s love for the church. This is a glorious truth I have heard proclaimed at countless weddings and whenever marriage is spoken of from the pulpit or in Bible study. Yet on the other hand, when singleness is brought up, the only positive thing you hear about it is that those who are single can be undivided in their service to God.

As a 75-year-old, I’ve learnt that it is unwise to make assumptions about how one’s life is going to pan out. Now looking back, I can say that as youthful libido wains, and by the transforming power of the Holy Spirit, one’s same-sex attraction can sublimate into something useful. For me this has been an introduction to the practice of ‘father care’, free of sexual content, but fuelled by spare emotional capital.

Allow me to tell you my story:

The Coronavirus pandemic was my introduction to TFT and the Women of Light group, and I have enjoyed wonderful fellowship across borders, at the online conferences, as well as support on the Facebook page.

There is a Danish philosopher, Søren Kierkegaard, who is known for this quote: “Life is lived forwards, but understood backwards.” I start with that quote because I was recently diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome, which now helps quite a few things in my life make sense.

Growing up, I lived opposite an incredibly house-proud lady. We could regularly see her, rain or shine, sprucing up the front of her home. She would clean the windows, ensure no weeds were growing, and even go out onto the pavement with a hard scrubbing brush to remove all the dirt from the concrete flagstones. I’m not going to criticise anyone for maintaining high standards of cleanliness, but it used to amuse us that the fastidiousness of her home didn’t match that of the homes surrounding it.