He was once cast out of his family, friends and school for being gay. Now, KC Ernst wants to be the person he once needed.

As KC Ernst rode his scooter to work on Sept. 20, nine days after he started working in person at Associated Bank, he pulled over to pray.

Ernst, 34, didn't know what or why he was feeling pulled to help those experiencing homelessness, but he knew it was a purpose greater than the corporation he was getting ready to walk into. He asked God to bring forth the plan that day.

He remembers being greeted with compliments on his work as he walked into the office that morning.

Then, about 15 minutes later, Ernst said he was let go as part of a restructuring that also impacted eight other employees on his team. Associated Bank confirmed Ernst was laid off due to restructuring, but declined to comment further.

Ernst and his husband had sold their beloved lakefront home in Ohio and relocated to Milwaukee for the opportunity to be a vice president in the bank's fraud surveillance team. Now, Ernst was left without a job in an unfamiliar city. Ernst's husband, who gave up a contract to own a salon to accompany him, was also unemployed.

"The weird thing is, though, I had a peace that surpassed all understanding," Ernst said. "I remember walking home thinking to myself, 'I shouldn’t be this calm.'"

But what came as a devastating shock soon revealed itself as an opportunity to do what Ernst knew was his true passion — helping unhoused queer youth.

"Even when we got here (to Milwaukee), I kept saying to everybody I knew, 'I'm here to work with the homeless,'" said Ernst. "'I don't know why I keep saying that, and it has nothing to do with this job (at Associated Bank).'"

Cast out of his school, family and friends because of his sexuality

Growing up in a conservative Pentecostal church in Ohio, Ernst said he spent most of his teenage and young adult years feeling like he was "literally possessed by evil" because he was attracted to men.

"They were very vocal about the fact it was evil, and the consequence of being gay is eternal hellfire and damnation," Ernst said.

So, Ernst fought to hide who he was, especially because his childhood dream was to become a preacher. He wasn't quiet about his goal, either, loudly preaching in his bedroom from six to 18 years old.

Naturally, Ernst said, he enrolled in college to become a minister. He'll never forget one of the important lessons he was taught on the first day of new student orientation: "There is a zero tolerance for homosexual behavior, and if you are found to have in any way entertained this lifestyle, you will be immediately expelled from the school without question."

Ernst thought it would be easy to keep living the lie that he'd lived for most of his life — until he fell for one of his peers, the lead singer at a nearby megachurch students attended.

"I imagine it was a lot like when Noah saw Allie in 'The Notebook' for the first time," he said.

The pair became close friends and eventually started a secret relationship, according to Ernst.

That was until, months later, Ernst's college roommates went through his cell phone and read the couple's texts, he said. They changed his name in Ernst's phone to "boyfriend." They knew.

Ernst still remembers running to his boyfriend's room, "upstairs, the second door on the left." Both of them had received emails from administration requesting to meet.

Ernst and his boyfriend agreed to deny everything, he said.

What Ernst's boyfriend ended up telling administration, though, hurt him beyond comprehension.

"He came closer to me and said, 'I told them the truth,'" Ernst said. "'That you were sent by the devil to destroy my ministry, and that you wouldn't stop pursuing me, and that I wasn't gay.'"

He walked away like he never knew Ernst, and Ernst said he never saw him again.

When Ernst returned home after being expelled, he said his brother was his only family member who didn't attempt to convince him that he wasn't gay. Most of his family told him that to be straight, all he had to do was pray.

At 19 years old, Ernst decided to run away, packing all his belongings into his car and driving to an unknown destination.

Turning around a 'dangerously reckless life'

For about nine years, Ernst said he "lived a dangerously reckless life," first living in Tampa, then couch surfing in Ohio and Virginia, then living out the remainder of the time in Orlando.

"When I was made to feel like I was demon-possessed and unworthy, I went down a really dark, suicidal path," Ernst said. "A lot of drug use."

When he was sexually assaulted in 2007, he said he felt he deserved it for choosing his lifestyle.

It wasn't until Ernst moved back to his small hometown to care of his sick godfather in 2016 that he met his husband.

At the time, Ernst was recording and posting inspirational content to Facebook to motivate others. His future husband commented on one of his videos, and their conversation took off from there.

"What he and most people didn’t know is that when I was making these videos, I was talking to myself, because I was broken and still addicted to multiple substances," Ernst said.

He married his husband in 2018 and began working at Huntington National Bank in Ohio that same year, where he was quickly promoted to its fraud prevention team, remaining in this position for about four years.

Ernst said he wouldn't be alive today if it wasn't for meeting both his husband and his husband's teenage daughter.

"When I met him, I was making less than $10 an hour," Ernst said. "Today, just a few short years later, I find myself laid off from a six-figure leadership position."

Helping raise his stepdaughter, as well as taking in a close friend's son who was struggling in school, helped him "heal and grow."

This is also around the time Ernst reflected on spirituality again, realizing it was far from what he was taught during his childhood.

All he needed to have a spiritually fulfilled life, he realized, was belief in something greater than himself, and maintaining trust that things would work out.

Not a coincidence, but 'a confirmation'

The day after Ernst was laid off from Associated Bank, he realized he couldn't remember the last time he'd gone to dinner with his husband, giving him his undivided attention. Now, he had time.

They searched online for "gay friendly restaurants" and decided to go to Hamburger Mary's in Walker's Point.

As it turns out, Hamburger Mary's was hosting a Bingo night to raise money for Courage MKE that night. The nonprofit organization runs Courage House, a licensed group home on Milwaukee's South Side for displaced and homeless LGBTQ+ youth.

When Courage MKE's co-founder Brad Schlaikowski introduced himself to the couple's table and started telling them about the organization, Ernst felt like he was dreaming. What were the chances that they'd stumble up on the fundraiser and learn about the organization tonight?

"Some would call it coincidence, but to me, it was not," Ernst said. "It was, as I would say, 'confirmation.' But this was just the beginning of a series of events that would let me know I was on the right path."

During the speech Schlaikowski gave that night, he announced Courage MKE's upcoming gala would feature Pulse Nightclub survivor and activist Brandon Wolf.

Ernst said hearing this made his heart drop. Wolf was his first boyfriend after he left college.

"We had met on MySpace back in 2008, and this was when your cell phones still had calling-cards and (you) had to be careful not to talk too much until after 9 p.m.," Ernst said.

After Schlaikowski's speech, Ernst made a donation to Courage MKE and made arrangements to meet Schlaikowski again to talk more about how Ernst could help the organization.

Ernst said even the coffee shop he ended up choosing for the meeting, the Colectivo on South 1st Street, served as a sign he was on the right path.

Schlaikowski told him this Colectivo was the same location where he signed the incorporation documents for Courage MKE six years ago.

Ernst now helps Courage MKE form relationships with donors

After the success of the original Courage House, Courage MKE plans to open a second location to help LGBTQ+ youth transition into more independent living.

With hopes to open the new house by the end of February, Schlaikowski said Courage MKE is struggling to find enough funding. With the current rise in anti-LGBTQ+ legislation, he anticipates less access to government funding in the future.

That's where Ernst comes in, he said.

Ernst now volunteers with Courage MKE helping strengthen the nonprofit's relationships with donors.

Ernst's background, which includes connections in both the corporate world and to other nonprofit organizations, is just one reason why Schlaikowski thinks he's a good fit for Courage MKE. Another reason, Schlaikowski said, is how he can hear the passion in Ernst's voice when he speaks.

With Courage MKE's emphasis on family and community, Schlaikowski wants donors to feel that sense of relationship as well. Half of the organization's funds come from donations, Schlaikowski said.

"(Donors) want to know that their investment is going to the population that we serve, which are the queer kids of state of Wisconsin," Schlaikowski said.

With enough funds, Schlaikowski hopes to eventually hire Ernst and others to a new fund development team.

Ernst said he hopes to increase donations not only in money but also people's time, whether it's helping out at an event or offering their unique skills to help the nonprofit.

"We need you," Ernst said. "Not just your money, but your heart, your time. And I think time and volunteerism is the greatest donation anybody can make."

While Ernst's communication skills have helped him in corporate life so far, he said helping Courage MKE is the first time he's been able to use his skills for something that matters to him.

"I grew up in poverty," Ernst said. "There were times in my life I was cooking our breakfast with no electric on a kerosene heater. And then my husband and I worked really hard to get a lake house and our boats and golf carts. I mean, I had everything. But I remember sitting on that lake feeling like some of the happiest, most fulfilled days of my life were when I had less."

This article originally appeared on Milwaukee Journal Sentinel: After being cast out for his sexuality, KC Ernst now helps queer youth