Faith and Certainty

I'm supposed to be in bed.
I have church at 9:30. I'm teaching the lesson in Priesthood, something I'm actually excited to do.

Yet here I am, blogging.

Last night  I went to a gay family home evening with people I'd known through the blog world, but never in person. Despite my initial anxiety, it was a wonderful experience. I spent hours talking there, finally leaving at 2 am. It was wonderful.

Today, after 10 days with his family in Arizona, my boyfriend returned to Provo. Walking into his room and seeing him again was like finding a lost part of my soul. We spent all evening together, and by the time he went home I knew even deeper how much I truly love him.

Tonight, I worked on my lesson. I read through scriptures and looked up references online. Finally, I got to a point that was sufficient for tonight. I set everything aside, turned off my laptop, texted my boyfriend goodnight, and was on my way to turn off the light when my phone buzzed.

My brother texted me. And not just a simple, "hey, what's up" text. A looong text.

He and I have never talked about my sexuality, though I'm sure he knows. Well, tonight's text removes all doubt. And while I've developed a thicker skin in discussing this issue with my parents, it kind of stung to hear what my brother had to say.

He talked about temple worthiness, my previous example to him. He spoke of the devastation it would cause my youngest brother and sister if they knew. Even now I can't bring myself to read the text again, because despite the multiplicity of words, I hear one message:

You're not good enough.

Regardless of his intended message, this is what I hear. It's what I always hear. And it's the message I've heard for the past 23 years. This is my ultimate tender spot. My Achilles heel. The fear that regardless of how hard I try, I am not good enough.

When I finished the text I set my phone aside. The psychologist in me leaped into action, trying to piece apart my emotions so that they didn't overwhelm me.

And then I booted up my laptop.

I need to be fair. My brother has no idea what this issue looks like from the inside. He has no idea what my life has been like. He has no knowledge of the tears and the ache and the shame that I've carried. He doesn't know of the sheer hell I've been through, the valley of shadow and death that I descended into when all logical sense and faith crumbled. He doesn't know.

He also doesn't know of the peace that God has granted me. He doesn't know the freedom of a soul who has been caged for so long. He doesn't know the sheer glory of being able to see yourself, your complete self, and love it. He doesn't know of the pure tenderness of being wrapped up in the person you love. Of feeling your heart connect with another's. Of becoming whole.

But perhaps the greatest reason that the weight fell back onto my shoulders after that text was because it threw my doubt back into my hands. My questions and fears and "what if I'm wrong"s came rushing back to me. The shadow of that dreaded uncertainty fell upon me once more.

This seems to be a popular topic lately. Faith and doubt. Certainty and uncertainty. John Gustav-Wrathall blogged about it this morning here.

As I prepared my lesson tonight I watched a youtube video on faith. The video showed a clip of President Monson speaking at General Conference. "Remember," he said, "that faith and doubt cannot exist in the same place at the same time, for one will dispel the other." I heard that, thought for a moment, and then said "I don't think that's right."

In her book The Gifts of Imperfection and in her TED talk Brene Brown discusses faith. Faith, she says, used to be something used to explain the unknown. It was a belief in mystery, the unexplained. But it's become a safety net and a weapon: 'I'm right, you're wrong. Shut up.'  She goes on in the book about how doubt is not the opposite of faith. Rather, certainty is the opposite of faith.

She writes:
"Faith is a place of mystery, where we find the courage to believe in what we cannot see and the strength to let go of our fear of uncertainty."

She then quotes the theologian Richard Rohr:
"My scientist friends have come up with things like 'principles of uncertainty' and dark holes. They're willing to live inside imagined hypotheses and theories. But many religious folk insist on answers that are always true. We love closure, resolution and clarity, while thinking that we are people of 'faith'! How strange that the very word 'faith' has come to mean its exact opposite."

Uncertainty scares the hell out of me. It strikes me deep in my center with a fear of being wrong, of failing, of being rejected, and yes, of not being good enough. But certainty isn't faith. And without faith, we can do nothing.

I have been trying to learn to live with uncertainty. Sometimes I do very well with it, like last night at the FHE gathering or today with my boyfriend. But sometimes, like tonight with this text message, that fear gets to me and leaves me scrambling to get back to the sure shores of certainty.

But ironically, that "certainty" only comes from the approval of others. It's almost as if I can get enough people to agree on a point, then that must be the truth. And, among those people at least, I will be "certain." I will be sure.

But were I to retreat back into the world of certainty, of being validated by others, I would not be satisfied. Because deep within me, something would be dying.

I had a dream a few nights ago. I didn't understand it, but as I have been studying jungian dream analysis for a class project I believe that I'm beginning to gain some meaning from it.

I was being instructed by someone. Someone older and wiser. The person reminded me of Master Yoda from Star Wars. Small and simple, yet full of eternal wisdom. He was teaching me, among others, of fidelity. Of complete faithfulness. It was clear by what he taught that faithfulness was vital.

The dream shifted. I was in a tuxedo. Somewhere nearby was a bride. But she wasn't the focus of this part. Although it was clear that I had just been married, the focus was not on to whom, but rather what to do now. I recall looking down at my left hand and seeing a vivid golden band on my ring finger. I loved that ring. It symbolized my union, my completion, my wholeness.

As I look at the ring, Yoda came again. Once again he told me of the vital nature of fidelity. Of faithfulness.

And then I awoke.

I pondered over this dream. Especially the part with the bride, and how the point wasn't that I had married a woman. I couldn't make much sense of this dream.

Earlier today I was reading a book on jungian dream analysis, and the author commented on the archetype of marriage, both in dreams and in life.

"The syzygy (married couple) represents the union of paired opposites. Thus, this archetype governs the process of achieving wholeness in the personalty through formation of conscious polarities."

The whole goal of jungian psychology is the individuation of an individual. To put it another way, it is to become that person that we are truly, deeply, intended to be. This requires not a smothering or casting away of aspects of ourselves, but rather complete assimilation of everything, even those things we fear or hide. True individuation, true wholeness, is a union of opposites.

Thus, the marriage in my dream was not a sign of "find a woman," but rather, a symbol of my gaining further wholeness by integrating all parts of myself into one. Perhaps the most difficult part of myself to work with has been my sexuality, that so completely seems to contradict my faith. Yet, true wholeness is a union of opposites.

Fear would have me bury my shadow, lock away anything that wasn't comfortable, easy, or socially endorsed. Fear would have me bury fear itself. It would have me run from vulnerability. It would have me cling to certainty.

Yoda's words to continue faithful to that union, to that search for wholeness, is an directive to stay the course, in spite of fear. To listen to myself, and to God. And even if I have no explanation, no answers, no certainty, to move forward.

I cannot deny that these feelings are a part of my life. I cannot deny the deep desire to be connected to a wonderful man in every way. I cannot deny the love I feel with my boyfriend, the completion, the absolute serenity.

I have no choice but to claim uncertainty, to claim faith. It is the only ground I have to stand on.

I have no answers. I don't know why or how I came to feel as I do. I don't know what my God will say on that final day. I don't know that this relationship, these hopes and dreams and feelings that I have, aren't all a massive mistake. But I don't know that they are, either.

But one thing I do know. That my God sees the intents of my heart. He knows my desires. That my Savior felt each and every one of these emotions that I now feel. That my Lord has been watching, working, and whispering to me. He has been guiding me, and the journey's not yet over.

And when I have the sense to quiet my fears, to settle the panicked urge to find certainty, I feel his voice: "They don't know you. I know you. Listen to me."

And with Him, who needs certainty?

The Dilemma of the Questioning

He was young when the preachers came. About 14 or so years old. In almost no time at all they had the city riled up in such a state of religious and spiritual fervor that none could ignore. People could hardly speak of things others than faith and works and the judgment of God. In a flurry, people flocked to separate congregations to hear what they considered to be the true word of God.

In this great religious meat market the clergy were the true fueling force. They cried to one and all to come and partake of the waters of life. Let each come and find faith in Jesus; which faith was of no consequence, just come.

Yet, as soon as people filed away from one congregation or the other, such brotherly invitations to Christ fell to contention and condemnation. Priest contended against priest, and convert against convert. In the blink of an eye the Christians didn't seem so christian anymore. Words became weapons, and scripture became deadly.

It was in the midst of this war of words and contest of opinions that he found himself, a young boy so unaware of the ways of the world, seeking to find faith. The tide of religious excitement took him along in its current, and young as he was he couldn't help but feel the same deep and pressing desire to unite himself to God and be one of His people. 

But which congregation was God's, he didn't know. And all the people in town disagreed. Even his family was divided on the issue, maintaining a peaceful truce between the converts and those who kept themselves apart from it all. 

He went to the revival meetings as often as he could. He would sit and listen, eyes and ears ablaze as the latest sermon on the way and will of God was trumpeted forth with great charisma and enthusiasm. The words of the preacher would strike a fire of excitement in his heart, and he would think, "yes, this has to be the one." Though as soon as he left that congregation and joined another, that certainty was fading and being replaced by different orchestra of "be thou"s and "thou shalt"s and "thus saith the Lord"s. As that sermon rolled forth he would feel the excitement again, and feel the logic of it, and think "oh, yes! This one, this has to be it."

But, alas, the fervor never lasted. For as soon as another sect began debating the points of the first or the second, the logic, the reasoning, and the scripture would all be lost in a massive heap of rubble. 

Often he spent his evenings walking the dusty roads pondering the words and ideas of the latest meeting. What they said made so much sense. But so had what the last preacher said. And his sermon contradicted the first. How could they all make so much sense, yet refute each other so completely?

Sometimes, the weight of it would get so heavy that it was all he could do to not cry out in frustration. In moments of fleeting sleep he would stare at the stars and wonder: "what am I to do? Who out of all these is right? If any of them are right, which is it? And how can I know?"

But the even the answer to this question eluded him, and he would eventually fall into an uneasy sleep in the early hours of the morning. 

And so time went on. Preachers preached, converts testified, and the fire of faith seemed to have claimed almost everyone to a congregation. But no matter how many times the boy visited a congregation, he never found any more clarity than he had before. He was going in circles. And even though he felt more partial to some sects over the others, never could he bring himself to throw himself into the waters of baptism and relentless loyalty. 

He listened. And he pondered. And he listened again. He read the Bible, trying to find the answers the preachers weren't giving him, but couldn't find any solidity. However, he did not relent in his search. He couldn't. There was too much at stake.

One evening, while searching the Bible for answers, he fell upon a verse. "If any of you lack wisdom," he read, "let him ask of God, who giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not, and it shall be given him." His blood seemed to burn as he read those words, slamming his heart against his ribcage. Every fiber of his being shook. If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God.

He couldn't shake those words from his mind. Through the following days they echoed inside of him, bouncing off of every question he asked himself. If any of you lack wisdom. They seemed to whisper in his ear as he listened to the clergy declare their fiery sermons. Let him ask of God. They pulsed with every beat of his heart as he heard converts testify and contradict and argue with one another. And it shall be given him.

He needed to know. He had to know. And from the word of God itself told him to ask God. Don't ask the preacher. Don't ask the converts. Don't ask religious scholars, or miracle workers, or even the Bible itself. If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God.

The words burned within his chest day in and day out, urging him on. They roused excitement within him, not like the preachers with their emotional intonations, but a deeper excitement, as if his very bones were shaking. 

But part of him also hid itself from those words. He couldn't ask. What if God didn't answer? What then? He'd be right back where he started. And even worse, what if he did? What if God gave him an answer, and it wasn't what he expected, what if it was the opposite of what he wanted? Could he handle receiving such an answer? Would he be strong enough? Or would it simply crush him?

These two halves battled it out within him, and all the while he continued to listen, to read, and to ponder, hoping something would sway the fight one way or the other. 

He was in bed one night, feeling the same familiar tension in his stomach as the two sides debated in his head. He tried to shut up the noise and fall asleep, but the battle was beyond him now. 

Finally, he let go, and just listened to the sound of the silence. The tension fell somewhat, though the root was still there in his stomach. He turned and looked out the window in resignation. He couldn't handle the conflict anymore. The indecision was just too much. He looked past the road and toward the woods on the other side of their property. That's where he had decided to go to ask, if he did go. The space between the trees was dark as pitch, despite the bright moonlight pouring across the nearby fields. The contrast was so sharp. All one would have to do to be able to move out of the darkness was take a step. Just one step. And suddenly, everything would be bathed in light. 

That same choice was his.

He didn't sleep much. The battle tried to reignite itself throughout the night, but he knew what he had to do. When the first shreds of twilight broke over the fields, he got up and got dressed. In the deep silence he slipped outside, stopping by the barrel on the side of the house to splash water across his face. Then he turned, faced the woods across the road, and walked.

When the light finally faded from his eyes, he blinked, trying to focus. He was on his back, and morning light was pouring through the trees from the east. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling every inch of his body relax. The tension was gone. The battle was gone. The words and arguments and the questions were gone. Well, maybe not all the questions. But they didn't eat at him the way they had before. 

He listened, this time hearing the silence on a whole new level. It seemed to come from within him. It was the sound of perfect reconciliation. It was calm. Every inhibition had fled. Every doubt was gone. He knew. Wellness and euphoria filled his chest. And for the first time in a long time, he laughed, simply, because it felt good.

Inner Battle

Last night I watched an LGBT movie that I'd never heard of before. It's called Dorian Blues, and it follows the coming out story of a boy in his senior year of high school. While the premise was nothing new, the execution was fresh and entertaining. It had a light comic feel as it followed this cynical 18-year old through his journey of dealing with his sexuality.

At the heart of the movie was Dorian's conflict with his strong-minded, authoritarian father. His father is ruthless, judgmental, and condescending, leading Dorian to become rather bitter toward him. And in the end, the thing that sets him free is dealing with his anger, rather than his father. 

He has a moment of realization at the end, when it hits him how much of an effect his father's judgment has had on him, and how much the resulting anger has made him miserable.

Speaking about his father, he says something to the effect of: "You know the one worst thing my father did to me? He convinced me it mattered what people think of you. And truth is, they never think quite enough."

This hit close to home. The anger and resentment that he talked about was all too familiar. And it's for the same reason. I care way too much what people think of me. And because I do, I even project what I think people would think of me, if they knew the whole truth about me. The result is anger and lashing out in order to protect my vulnerability.

And I'm tired of it.

I'm tired of being frustrated and angry at people. I'm tired of yelling at people on the road, emotionally separating myself from people in class. And most of all, I'm tired of keeping myself away from any and all family to protect myself. Because I have a right to a family, and I shouldn't have to put on the armor to go to a family party.

I know where this stems from. I was talking with my therapist over a month ago when we finally pierced through the shell I'd spent months forming around myself. I broke down. I wept. And it felt wonderful. At the end of the session, I knew that I had not resolved my issues with my parents as well as I had thought. 

A couple weeks ago, I went on a vacation to San Diego with my parents and siblings. Having realized my need for resolution and peacemaking with my parents, I looked forward to the trip. I also hoped to meet up with a friend who has been there for me so much as I have been dealing with my sexuality. 

It was Easter Sunday, and out first full day in San Diego. My friend and I planned to attend the Easter program at a cathedral downtown and then see the sights. I mentioned this to my mother the night before, but in the chaos of the evening not much attention was paid to it. In the morning as I was getting ready, she interrogated me, and found out the details: it wasn't an LDS service, my friend was gay, we'd met at a Moho Party. I could see the irritation fall onto her face just before she said "I don't agree with it, but it's your life."

I went anyway, because I needed to get away from them. I had a very nice time. The service was beautiful. San Diego was warm and bright. And spending time in the company of such a good friend was refreshing. And I even made it back to the hotel room before my family got back from their service. So, all was good, and like usual, we didn't discuss it.

Later in the week, I wanted to meet up with this friend for dinner. I found an evening when my family was doing nothing other than relaxing in the hotel room after a day at the beach. It was perfect: I would get to see my friend, and  wouldn't be robbing them of family vacation time. 

I told my mother that I wanted to go out that night with the same friend. I saw that same irritated face as she said "Talk to your father."

I finished getting ready and met my mother and father on the couch. I could feel that familiar tension in my stomach as I sat down. This wasn't going to be good. I told my dad that I wanted to go out with this friend, and asked if he had any objections. He turned his gaze from the tv, but didn't bring it all the way around to me. "Ty, I really don't feel good about this," he said. A serious, almost bishop-like tone filled the place in his voice where it was normally light hearted and joking.

I explained. I trusted this guy. I'd met him before. Nothing bad is going to happen. 

"Try to think about this, Ty. We planned this trip around your schedule so that you could come with us. Then you skip church on Easter Sunday to be with a friend instead of your family. And the fact that this friend is a part of the lifestyle you're choosing doesn't please us either." 

I understood about the family time, thing. That would be the case no matter who the friend was. And passing on church with the family. That probably didn't feel good for them, seeing the empty spot on the sacrament bench and imagining it as an empty spot in heaven. 

But then the "lifestyle" I'm choosing. I thought it pretty ironic, because in terms of gay mindset, I think myself extremely conservative. I want a home, a marriage, a family. I want a career. I want to be a part of a church community and to serve within that community. I don't care for gay bars or clubs. I'm so completely not "A" list that I barely even know what that means. Essentially, I want the same life I wanted before I came to terms with my attraction. Just, switch the sex of the person I'm with. 

I tried explaining that to some degree, but to no avail. I could feel the disapproval weighing down on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. And it began clouding my logic so I could barely even defend my point of view. It was the shaming powers my parents have had all my life, even if they don't realize they have it. Their disapproval crushes me, and robs my self-worth.

Even so, I tried to stand my ground, defend my position, weakly though it may have been. This just raised the temperature of the room, until my dear mother snapped.

Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn. And for a woman who only knows how to react to vulnerability by bottling up or getting angry, that scorn is especially fierce. 

I'll spare you the details of it, partially because it's besides the point, and partially because I don't think I've un-repressed the memory enough to completely remember what she said. But the just of it was this:

• through prayer, she'd received the answer that sin is sin, and that she cannot tolerate it.
• my attraction is not legitimate; I apparently had a hard time on my mission, had my heart broken, and sought companionship elsewhere because it hurt too much. (I fought back on that one, pointing out that she could never feel comfortable in the arms of a woman, no matter how hurt she was. It isn't about heartbreak.)
• I cannot be saved if I keep pursuing this lifestyle
• eventually the gays will persecute the church

Don't ask me where that last one came from. It was just as random and out of the blue as it sounds.

She said I couldn't argue with her, because she's read a lot of books on this. I asked which ones. She couldn't think of titles off the top of her head. I asked if she read the one I sent her (No More Goodbyes). An expression of control crossed her face as she said "Yes, and it was awful." 

That one hurt. In all the loneliness, in all the isolation and self-hatred, no one had been there to wrap their arms around me and tell me they loved me. But through that book I could almost feel loving and protecting arms around me. It wasn't a book of "you're not good enough." It was simply "I love you." And my mother thought it was awful.

My father made the point to tell her here that Carol Lynn's first book was different, and that diffused my mother to a degree. Still, she thought it awful that all these families were changing their beliefs in order to excuse their child's behavior. But I never asked her to change her beliefs. In fact, I want her to retain her faith as much as possible. I just wanted her to love me.

The conversation went on, that crushing weight bringing me low in my seat. I couldn't look at them. I felt the misery building in me, but the shame wouldn't let me cry. They told me that they couldn't sleep because of this. That this was the most awful trial they'd ever had to go through. Even my brother, whose kidneys are failing, who goes to dialysis three times a week in order to live, who is waiting for a kidney transplant and will have health implications from it for the rest of his life doesn't compare to this, they said. We make jokes about his kidney problems, they said. 

That one hurt, too. I am the most painful thing they've ever experienced. I tried to speak of my own pain. Of the misery I felt. Of the trials I had experienced, but they were usually brushed aside. I told my mother, who thinks she knows my entire psychological persona through prayer, that I have never felt I could trust them with personal and emotional parts of myself, and so how would she know who I was, or what I'd been through? I don't tell her anything, and she knows nothing. 

A knock at the door was my salvation. My mother's old friend from San Diego was here, and I could escape her presence. My dad took me into his bedroom while my mom opened the door to greet her friend. 

As soon as the door was closed he turned to me and said, "let me diffuse a little of the emotion. I didn't want to get into all this tonight. But you know your mother." He came up to me and wrapped his arms around me. And then the tears came. To say that I wept would be a gross understatement. I bawled. My entire body shook and my tears came out in massive sobs. I felt my legs get weak, and had he not been holding me, I would have fallen to the floor. I was being crushed to death by my own parents.

When I regained my composure to a small degree we talked. My father tends to be the more emotionally in-tune out of my parents, and thus doesn't feel compelled to resort to anger when he feels vulnerable. Never once did he raise his voice. Neither was he prone to attacking or condemning accusations. That said, his disapproval is more subtle as well, which makes it difficult to sort from truth.

We talked about a lot. I was able to express myself a bit better. He still didn't budge on the issue. Though, at one point he said "if it weren't for the eternal ramifications of this I would have dropped it long ago." So it seems his only concern is God's disapproval. While I find definitive evidence of this disapproval hard to come by, I can accept his position. It's better than any other stance he could take.

We talked of life choices, of the possibility of being celibate. We talked of my boyfriend and the part he had played in all this. I told my father with strong resolution that if it were not for my boyfriend, my life would have been ruined by now. I was too weak in the early days to have resisted things that would have destroyed me.

My dad told me of the anger he felt toward my boyfriend. Though in all fairness, I don't think he realizes the degree to which it takes two people to make a relationship. If my boyfriend has any blame, then I have just as much.

I told him about the awful night when they drove down to Provo to force me out of the closet, and how it is the one event I wish I could erase from my life. (Though this experience pulls a close second). 

He still doesn't budge much doctrinally. He defended President Packer in his infamous talk last October. He defended President Kimball in his recommendation to hundreds of young gay men to marry women and they'd be fixed ("I seriously doubt that's the only instruction he gave them"). And he defends the concept of man/woman salvation as if there were no possible other way. The thought doesn't even occur to him that if God said it was so, there's be a perfectly logical explanation. The Doctrine and Covenants doesn't hold the entirety of the plan of salvation, and I cannot help but believe just because I don't see how something could be, that He can't.

It's funny. The way he and my mom talk to me about this, it's as if they're trying to get me to change before it's too late. As if there's a point of no return, or an expiration date on my potential straightness. But their attitude of "you need to do it now" irritates me. This life is the time to prepare to meet God, and I need to learn and grow and experience to figure out just what that preparation entails. And right now, that means being in a relationship. 

So, while my talk with my dad didn't change his view much, at least he listened. And he expressed a desire to listen more. I told him that if he wanted to be there for me, he needed to be more available, and he needed to shut up and listen. We'll see how things go in the future.

After we finished talking he went out to greet my mother's friend, and I talked to both my friend from San Diego, and my boyfriend on the phone. My friend was very consoling and helpful, (as his blog ever continues to be) and from the conversation with him I knew even more that I just wasn't going to get direction or answers on this issue from the church. It's not going to happen. Not in the time frame that I need them. The culminating point in all this was that I need to ask God.

But I have a hard time with that. I ask, but I haven't asked while really wanting to know the answer. Because I'm afraid of the answer. As my friend put it, "part of you is going to have to be sacrificed." And that's going to hurt. 

I'm trying to be ready to ask and mean it. And I'm trying to let the shame and rejection from my parents heal. The entire day following that fiasco with my parents was a numb day. I was just there, floating from place to place with my family. I felt little emotion over anything. It improved as the vacation drew to a close. My mother came up both that night and the following morning and hugged me and apologized for how she had acted. That was a start. But the hurt isn't gone.

When I got home, my boyfriend came over. It was so surreal to see him, to have those arms again. I had to step back and just look at him for a bit, to make sure he was real. I had to break through the numbness, but it took time. 

I remember laying with his arms around me that evening. It felt so wonderful to have his warm body wrapped around mine. I just had to ask myself, why? Why is this so wrong? I do not understand, and no one has been able to explain it to me, especially in a calm and unhateful way. 

I saw my family again on mother's day. I went up to my aunt's house for the big family dinner. I found myself nervous as I walked up the driveway, and when I walked in I was suddenly very aware of the walls I was protecting myself with. My parents were there, and they were sweet. Things were like they were before, as they always are on the surface. But beneath it all I could feel the hidden wound, still fresh from our vacation. I love my parents. But I find myself pulling away from them, because I don't want to get hurt. But even the pulling away hurts, because I miss them. I miss being a part of a family.

When I pray I have made a point lately to ask for healing and for greater love for others. I'm tired of the anger and the resentment. It's like an infection in the wound, keeping me in pain and keeping it from healing. I'm trying to learn to forgive, but it can be so difficult. But I'm reminded of the sermon I heard Easter morning in a beautiful cathedral. The sermon was on the atonement in our lives. The preacher said that as we face the seemingly insurmountable difficulties in our lives, we need to tell ourselves "I can't. God can. I'll let him." 

And I really can't carry this anymore. I'm getting too weary. So I'm trying to let God carry it for me. Sometimes the unaccepting judgmental God of my youth creeps in, making it harder to open my heart to him. But in those sweet moments, when mortal opinion falls away, I feel the reality of his all-loving nature. It's then that I can let go of the pain and the anger. It's then that I can lay down with peace and truly rest. And it's then that I can find a loving haven in this chaotic world. 

I am so incredibly grateful for those moments. Even more, I am grateful that out of all the people that have been affected by this aspect of my life, my God is the one who has never left or abandoned me. He is merciful to me, even when others would limit his mercy. He is loving, when others would limit his love. And he is changing me as he sees wise, when others would define what his design is for me.

I love him. And I trust him

Wonderings

I have so much to get done today, but I need to take a moment and get my thoughts down before they're gone.

Yesterday I received "Goodbye, I Love You" by Carol Lynn Pearson in the mail. I love everything she puts her pen to. I read with hunger through to book until I finished about an hour ago. With everything I read I come to love this woman more. Carol Lynn has such a beautiful way of touching the human soul. Her words make me weep.

I found so much that was so familiar in the story of Carol Lynn and Gerald. Their courtship and the dynamics between them was so similar to what I have experienced in my close friendships and relationships with girls. I feel that I have had some of the questions answered by reading their story. For some time I have wondered, what would have happened if I had just found a girl and gotten married? What if I had married the girl I once dated, never touching the world of gay dating? I know now that it would not have gone away. Hearts would have been broken. And that's just something I cannot do.

The beautiful spirituality of the book is not classic Mormonism. And I liked that. She spoke of femininity, of God and Goddess, of meditation and communion with Deity. It refreshed my soul to hear and read and feel the things she wrote.

But I found that while it is a first hand account, there was no declaration of what is, what should be, and how to act. There is no stance on the issue, no prescribed course of action for the church or the nation. There's only Carol Lynn and Gerald, revealed for all to see the deepest parts of their hearts. I think every one who knows this issue firsthand can see themselves there, watching them play out the very things we've felt ourselves.

There are so many things unanswered. It leads one to lift his eyes to the starry night and wonder. It seems that the knowledge God has given us is as each one of those pinpricks in the sky--bright, beautiful, and poignant. But such inky mystery separates them. What does all this mean? How does it all connect? And who am I, who so defies our understanding of the world here and beyond?

We truly are pioneers, as cheesy as the comparison seems. Though unlike the pioneers, I'm not sure what the destination is. In the barren wilderness I forge I can only raise my single voice and ask Him to show the way. He doesn't tell me the destination. He just tells me the next step. And when he doesn't even tell me the next step and the night gets ever darker, he gives me a hand to hold on to, and a shoulder to weep on.

I do not understand. I cannot even explain my own existence. But I know that I need God. As much as I need air to breathe and water to drink, I need him. I need to be engulfed in his spirit and his love.

"I know only as much of God and the world
As a creature with two eyes must;
But what I do understand I love,
And what I don't understand, I trust."

 - Carol Lynn Pearson

As I read this book, a 25 year old first edition copy, I marveled at how dramatically Carol Lynn's life changed. It was fascinating to read of her as a young woman, fresh in love, and to watch the way her world changed, and then to think of how her world has continued to change in one massive metamorphosis driven by divine design. It baffles me, to think of how my life will similarly change. It will morph and become something I cannot even now fathom. What will it be? What will I be? What will I know, and think, and love? The possibility that I contain, as a simple human being, amazes me.

"Today
You came running
With a small specked egg
Warm in your hand.
You could barely understand,
I know,
As I told you
Of Beginnings--
Of egg and bird
Told, too,
That years ago
You began,
Smaller than sight.
And then,
As egg yearns for sky
And seed
Stretches to tree,
You became--
Like me.

Oh,
But there's
So much more.
You and I,
Child,
Have just begun.

Think:
Worlds from now
What might we be? --
We,
Who are seed
Of Deity."

 - CLP

Aaaaand We're Back!

It is absolutely atrocious how long it has been since I wrote here. Probably more than a month. It's been a rocky few weeks, and even though there were times I thought about writing, I felt so emotionally drained that I couldn't muster the energy.

But I'm back! The problems aren't all gone, but do problems ever really go away? I think perhaps there are simply times when we handle them better than others.

So, one really good thing that I got from the last few weeks of wandering is the chance to read Brene Brown's The Gifts of Imperfection. I referenced Brene earlier when I wrote about her vulnerability speech. But this is basically her guidebook on how to live wholeheartedly. It's an incredible read. Unlike other "self-help" books, she hits right to the center of the things that are causing many of us conflict and tension in our lives. I would highly, highly recommend it. In fact, I'll link you to amazon right now.

This last week has been rather nice. My boyfriend's mother came into town, and from last Wednesday to today we've spent every evening at his sister's house so that he could be with his mom. He is such a momma's boy, and he knows it. I loved seeing the excitement in his eye when he was with her. They don't get to see one another nearly often enough, but this week was nice for them.

But the time I spent with them was different for me as well. Now, I've been at his sister's house plenty of times, and I had gotten to know her husband and daughter. But this week with all of us together it felt like I became much more a part of the family than before. I got closer to both my bf's sister and her husband, and I think the husband would be okay with getting me as a brother-in-law. Finally someone in the family to play Call of Duty with him. ;)

Tonight, as we had our last dinner with his mom, they began talking about my boyfriend getting a car this summer (I've been a happy chauffeur for a year now). "I could come and see you guys much more often," he said to his sister. She then looked at me and said "But you still have to bring Ty. Just because he doesn't have to drive you doesn't mean he doesn't get to come." That made me feel really good.

We've never talked to them about it, but we're pretty darn sure they know about us dating. Otherwise it would be really odd for them to invite me to dinner for the past five nights. I'm not sure how they feel about it all. But I think they see that we are happy with each other. They see the fruits of our relationship in other aspects of our lives. And even though they might not understand it, and they might not agree with it, they love us all the same. And that makes me feel good.

Since we're talking about families, I'll segue into a bit about my own. I went home this weekend (two and a half hour drive!). I stopped on the way to visit my grandmother, who has taken quite a beating health-wise in the last couple years. She was thrilled to see me, and I was just as happy to see her. I've always felt a connection to this grandmother, and if I were to come out to someone in my extended family, it would probably be her. She has such an unconditional love, and she is able to get rid of prejudice when it interferes with her family. What an angel she is. I think I'll make a habit of visiting every time I go home.

My immediate family was doing well. They moved into a new house a month ago, and they're finally getting settled. It was really good to see them. My mom has definitely softened up. I sent her a copy of Carol Lynn Pearson's No More Goodbyes, and although she's never mentioned it since, it seems like she may have read it. The weekend was nice, simply because I got to sit around and be a part of a family. Nothing too eventful. Just a nice weekend.

Although, when we got to sacrament meeting yesterday, the first speaker stands up and announces that she's been assigned President Packer's talk as her subject. My heart dropped and I prepared for the worst. Thankfully, she was very judicial and stuck to the material, using scripture simply to reiterate what President Packer said. All the same, it was still hard to sit through. I am grateful, however, that she wasn't offensive about it.

When the time finally came to split up for priesthood and relief society, I left and retrieved my own copy of No More Goodbyes that I wisely stowed for the trip. I spent the time sitting in my car, reading, and weeping a bit, squeezing all the love and acceptance I could from Sister Pearson's beautiful words. That book has been a lifeline for me in the last few weeks, and I am so grateful for it.

This leads me to my last topic for the night. Last week I read that Carol Lynn Pearson's play "Facing East" is going to be made into a movie. I am thrilled about this, simply because I can't find it being put on anywhere nearby, and I really want to see it. But being the resourceful person I am, I found a place that offered her play for a very reasonable price, and immediately bought it.

I arrived today, with a handwritten note on the first page saying "Love from Carol Lynn Pearson."

I don't know what it is about seeing someone else's writing, especially when it expresses such sweet and sincere messages such as that. But there is a life in the words others write, especially when written by their own hand. And that short message meant the world to me today.

I read the play immediately. I love it. It is so beautiful and so touching. And I could feel a bit of myself in every one of the characters. I especially loved Marcus, the boyfriend of Andrew. Andrew's suicide and the effect on others is the premise of the play. It is so clear in the way Marcus speaks, and the way that Andrew speaks about him, that their love is real. And perhaps I love it even more because I can feel the same thing I feel when I am wrapped up with my own boyfriend. Love is an absolutely precious and priceless object. You cannot fully comprehend it unless you feel it. And the wonderful thing is, it is continually changing and growing, giving you the chance to discover it anew over and over again.

Just one last note, and I'll end for tonight. Now, I know what temptation feels like. I understand the almost physical pressure, blurring of the senses, and feeling of numbing darkness that accompanies it in one form or another. But that is not what I feel when I am with my boyfriend. I feel peace. Absolute tranquility. True union with someone who has become an extension of myself. I feel love.

Perhaps Andrew from "Facing East" said it best when he said "It doesn't feel like darkness."

A Glance

Do you ever just look in the mirror, and truly look at yourself? Look into your own eyes, trying to pierce through and see the soul that lies within? It surprises me sometimes, to see the life behind those eyes, and know that it's mine. We spend so much time looking through the window of our bodies that to stop and see the being that we are can be almost a revelation.

I wonder, as I look into those blue eyes, what secrets lie beneath. What deep potential lies dormant there, waiting just beneath my fingertips? What eternities of wisdom are held within that hidden soul? What love rests deep within, for beings I do not know?

I think we are too often in the habit of degrading ourselves, of making ourselves into fallen and broken people. In an effort to bring attention to what maintenance we need, we end up declaring the whole thing a mess. What's worse, we begin to believe it.

But just a few moments before a mirror, peering into the eyes we look out of so much, and we feel the inklings of the reality of who we are. We find there a being of grace and light. A spirit of passion and goodness. Something within the eye shimmers, hinting at the fullness of glory clothed by our flesh.

I believe in the reality of the spirit. One half of the whole we claim as "I". I believe that it has existed for ages, and that this short existence is but a continuation. What things have these eyes seen? What hearts has it loved? How many long and wondering conversations have I had with people I counted close to me? To think of such things expands the limits of my own abilities to think, to learn, to teach, and to love.

As I look into those eyes, I can see the other direction as well. I wonder what these eyes will hold in five, ten, or fifty years. What things will they have seen? What tears of joy and sorrow will have fallen from them? What will I know then that I don't know now? What will I be?

In the short couple of decades that I've been here it has become evident that the circumstance that constitutes "my world" is not a permanent one. My world right now is college, my boyfriend, dealing with coming out, and working to maintain my relationship with my faith and my family. But it is a temporary world. As are they all.

So what will tomorrow's be?

I know that one day this will all be a long distant dream. Faces and names will fade with time. Passions will cool, while others are ignited. Desires come and go. And work and success mold the future with each passing day. Time is an ever changing mistress. You cannot tame her. You are at her mercy, and can only work out the details.

Such trains of thought bring new understanding of the value of a life. Eternity is held within the eyes of every person. And if you look closely, you can find God in every face. Each day more stories are lived than could ever be written. And each story interweaves with the next. We are connected inseparably to the future and the past. Our life is but a small thread in the master tapestry. Just a blink. A glance. But every glance holds another infinity.

Who We Really Are

My blog inbox is getting stagnant. A new post is made once every couple of days, and I'm convinced that everyone else has gotten just as slammed with life as I have. So I decided that I would at least contribute to everyone else's inbox with a new post. It was either that, or read the book I keep putting off for literature class.


Problem is that I'm not quite sure what I want to write about. I've had a couple things pop into my head in the last few days, but I don't really feel like writing about those things right now. 


School has been going well. It's busy, but good. My gender class has been interesting. We've spent the last few weeks talking about gender roles and the way they play a huge role in life. In the midst of this I realized that one of the nice things about being gay is that we are completely exempt from the Nazi-like rules of the male gender stereotype. By my mere nature, I defy it. As a child I liked dolls and the Little Mermaid. In elementary I liked make believe on the big toy, not sports. And now, I like Lady Gaga and artsy movies. Being an average guy I would be completely ridiculed by this. I would be a disgrace to the male gender. But by being gay I am excused from the macho male table and allowed to sit at a table that actually celebrates my love of dance club music and spending way too much money at the mall. The things that would make me an outcast in the male gender stereotype actually elevate me in the gay role. Kinda nice.


So a couple weeks ago I came across some notes made by one of the professors in the department I work for called "Homosexual Notes." (Funny, I didn't know that notes had an orientation.) My curiosity got the best of me, and I took a look. I really didn't find anything I hadn't heard before, but it was interesting how the tone of these notes was almost novice. It was clear that he had little literal understanding of my situation. His notes are based on theories discussed by Joe Dallas, and detail the common theory that homosexuality is the result of "sexualized needs for same-gender acceptance." That kind of bothered me. 


Don't get me wrong, I completely understand the logic of it all. Many of us felt like we didn't fit in as we grew up. And so it is easy to say that because we were never accepted we sought for that acceptance, and then sexualized it as we got older. However, while the logic may be sound, I feel like there are some holes in it. 


For example, at the end of his notes it said that "not all boys who don’t get their need for same-sex emotional bonding sexualize these needs however." For the sexualization of unmet needs to be the cause of homosexuality, that means that it has to be present in every case of homosexuality, and that it is the only cause of homosexuality. It also means, at least to my understanding, that this would have to cause homosexuality in every single case where those same-sex needs are not met. But his very statement says that not all boys sexualize it. That seems inconsistent to me.


He later makes the comment, while jotting notes on reparative therapy, that complete homosexuals do not always become complete heterosexuals through that therapy. That also seems to contradict the theory. If these unmet needs were the only true cause of homosexuality, then would not satisfying those needs cause the complete and utter cessation of homosexual feelings? Apparently not.


And what about all those boys who are completely rejected by their peers. They are not accepted by other boys. They are outcasts. Yet, they are not gay. How can you say one boy in this situation will sexualize those unmet needs and another won't? I'm sorry, but it seems to me that those things are determined well before adolescence. In fact, isn't that when most of us realized that we were different than other boys? 


In fact, there is no way whatsoever to prove that it was not the homosexual nature that caused the rejection by the rest of the peer group. It's the proverbial chicken and the egg, and unfortunately, because we cannot manipulate gender nor orientation, it can never be proved. So it thus remains theory, and only a theory. 


These things were going through my head as I was supposed to be studying for my Gender Studies class, and I took a break and wrote my thoughts out on the back of my study guide.


I was thinking about our nature. Not our sexual orientation, but rather those personality traits that set us apart from the general male population. The previously stated theory was going through my head, and here is what I wrote:


Common ideas among conservative psychologists is that rejection by the same gender, or lack of identification with the same gender, leads to unfulfilled same-sex needs which are sexualized later in life. 


Following this theory, rejection of this would lead to embracing opposite gender traits and roles, because one does not "belong" in the other gender. Had the behavior that caused the rejection been simply due to a mix-up of gender traits/roles, the behavior would change so as to meet the approval of the same gender group, and acceptance would occur, and homosexuality would not happen.


However, children as young as two or three show opposite gender traits, including favoritism for opposite-gender toys (the most reliable predictor of future homosexual orientation for men (Bailey & Zucker, 1995)). They are not forced to develop opposite-gender traits (children have not even recognized the existence of gender roles at this time). The traits are simply there. So irregardless of the same-gender group, the child develops traits that commonly belong to the opposite gender. And at rejection they cannot change them, because they are inherent in the personality. 


Thus, the emotional/personality traits of gay and lesbian people are not developed, but are there from birth. How many parents comment that their baby seems to have a personality all his own, even at just a few months old. And those traits follow the child through life. 


Based on the Proclamation on the Family, my gender (which in all technicality is not anatomy, but the emotional personality of a person) is eternal, thus my psychological/personality gender traits are pre-inborn and eternal.


Since we were children we felt different. Since we were toddlers we acted differently. We were more sensitive. We didn't like fighting or conflict. We seemed to be much more attuned to the emotions of other people. We saw beauty where other boys only saw something to smash. We had traits that simply weren't common for boys. But those traits are ours. Our personality is eternal. 


Now, I haven't said anything about actual attraction, because when you throw the body into the mix crazy things happen. (And I just haven't gotten that far in my own thought process). But I find great comfort in the fact that my personality traits, which are often the first things that make others believe one is gay, are not wrong. They cannot, and should not be changed. We are talking about trying to stifle God-given spiritual gifts. And I don't like that idea. :)


But let's look at a couple other things, straying from the scientific side of things. Let's make a list of classical male traits:


 - strong
 - independent
 - masculine
 - assertive
 - tough


Now a list of feminine traits:


 - affectionate
 - sentimental
 - submissive
 - nurturing
 - meek
 - emotional


Now ask yourself, which of these sounds more like the Savior, as we see him in the scriptures? Ironically enough, the feminine traits fit him better. However, from other parts of the scriptures we see that he can be strong, assertive, masculine, and tough when he needs to be. But the thing that surprises us the most (and evidently the writers of the scriptures) was that he possessed a strong amount of traditionally feminine traits.


Taking that a bit further, with the decree that we must become as Christ is, we can see that we must become a blend of male and female traits. In this light, the declaration that it is not good for man to be alone makes sense. A man and a woman coming together allows them to work on each other, like yin and yang, and to be complete people.


However, many of us are already endowed with the treasured feminine traits. (Sometimes it's the masculine ones we need to work on!) In her book No More Goodbyes, Carol Lynn Pearson makes an interesting comment. She talks about a two-piece sculpture of a man and a woman, beautifully intertwined. 


"The figures were so right. Trevor created male and female to be together, just like God did. Why couldn't Gerald (her husband) see that, know that, feel that? The response I'd heard from him so often: 'Of course. Male and female together. Only some of us find that wedding within ourselves instead of with another of the opposite sex.' It never made sense to me, but it did to Gerald. And to Trevor."


And to me. 


In this light, I see the traits I have been given as a marvelous gift. Last semester I took a class based on values and character, and one of the assignments was to go through a list of values and name our top eight. Without hesitation, my number one value was compassion. It is something I have been given, something I need so much more of, and a gift that I treasure as a priceless jewel. I would never give away the traits that make me an outlier. They make me who I am.


I don't know how things really all fit together. Maybe someday God will fill us in on the details. But I know for sure that he created me as a unique and beautiful creature. As that rare 5%, we have been given gifts that can change the world, if we use them. We can return hate with love, intolerance with compassion, and angry misunderstanding with acceptance and explanation. Of all people to have received these precious gifts, doesn't it make sense that it would be us?


It makes sense to me

Searching for Certainty

My boyfriend and I had an interesting conversation today. We talked a bit about our relationship, and we both agree that this phase of our relationship is nearing an end. We discussed things like moving in together, and even marriage. It made me smile to see the subtle excitement in his eyes as we talked about some of that. But I could also see some of the nervous apprehension that I knew was in my own eyes.

There are some big steps coming up, and these type of steps require certainty. I have always been the type that hates risks. I want to know the result before I make the decision. I don't want to risk anything. And it's the same way with this. I want to know for certain that this is the guy. I don't want any doubt. But it's difficult to have that certainty when I've never dated anyone else. Heck, I've barely even had conversations with other gay guys. I know that I love him, but I want to know for certain that I want him above anyone else. But where does such certainty come from?

I know that relationships are things of risk and trust by their very nature. It doesn't matter if you're gay or straight, we all experience these things. So where does the certainty come from that motivates people to pledge their love to each other and build a life together, despite the hardships? Perhaps the certainty is already here, and the doubt I'm experiencing is simply there for its own sake. I don't know.

Our conversation shifted from there to more religious topics. We don't often talk about being gay in a religious context, so tonight was interesting. My boyfriend mentioned the fact that I had dated a girl before, and that I had experienced attraction to some small degree. He said that if we did end up together, he didn't want me to be living a lie, or deceiving myself. But that's how I felt before. And that's what I feel like when I think of having a straight relationship and living the traditional life. Like it would be trying to fit myself to others' expectations, having to stifle the parts of me that the world didn't want.

And then, once again, we come to doubt. My boyfriend and I talked about our whole situation from a religious standpoint, wondering aloud what the real solution was. Where do we fit in the grand scheme of things? What role do we play in God's plans for everything?

The more we talked the more I felt the need for revelation reaffirmed. We need answers, and only divine ones will suffice. I've heard convincing cases for and against homosexuality using the scriptures, and so it's clear that our definitive answer isn't there. And the solutions that the church offers seem to rob our lives of all purpose and joy. Yet the plan the world sets before me destroys all certainty from a religious standpoint. So what's the answer? I feel like the only thing that will suffice is the word of God directly from his lips. We need answers, and we need the ordained prophet of God to receive them. So I hope he's asking.

But we're taught that God gave us two lines to heaven. The prophet is one. And the other is the one we claim directly. One that I have neglected to use for some time. And when it comes to this issue, I seem to have always avoided the subject. I don't know that I've ever actually prayed and asked right out what he would have me do, or what his viewpoint was. And I think I'm scared to. I don't want to go back to the dark place I was before, feeling conflicted and tormented by two seemingly-incongruent parts of myself. There was no peace nor happiness there.

I know what I'd like to hear. I want to be told that there is a purpose in all this, that my attraction is part of a grand design, and that I can find happiness through a family of my own. I have heard from others who felt that God was leading them that way, but is that where he wants me?

I think what I want most is to have my own conviction reaffirmed, regardless of what that is. But the thing is, I never felt divine confirmation that my guilt-inducing, self-hating philosophy was right.

So maybe it's time I start turning my attention heavenward. Perhaps with time and effort I will be able to finally ask God what he thinks about all this. But I need to be free from any other influence, personal, cultural, emotional, etc. I need to be able to know that what I receive is from him. And to do that I need to be free from all bias, ready to receive any answer. Come to think of it, that's exactly what the church needs as well. We need to be ready to accept the answer, whatever it may be.

I take great comfort in the fact that my God looks upon my heart, and that throughout the tumultuous events of the last year he has been judging me based on my sincere desires. I am grateful for a God of mercy, who never condemns nor abandons. And I take strength in my God of change, who takes the rough man that I am and works to mold me into someone more compassionate, more forgiving, more willing to serve and to love. And when it comes down to it, I think those changes are more important to my God than my orientation.

In this situation it sometimes feels like we are alone, and that no one is willing to understand. But I know that God is. Perhaps my view of God strays from the "traditional" understanding of who he is. But I'll take my ever-present God of compassion over a fearsome God of anger any day.

On that note, I love this scripture. It has come to represent all that God has done for me. And that impact has been made simply by being there.

"...I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up."

Prayers for Bobby, and for Everyone Else

I really don't know how to start this post. Words just seem to fail what I'm feeling. I hope that, in the end, they will convey what I want to say.

In the past few days I have been reading "Prayers for Bobby." It is a story all too familiar for those of us within the paradoxical society of gay Mormons. It follows the life of Bobby Griffin, a young boy raised in the seventies and eighties, and his intense internal battle between his faith and his sexuality.

This book pulls from his diaries, which were his only consolation during the intense and painful battle he fought. To read of the intense self-hatred he felt, the despair at having failed God for not changing, and the darkness he inevitably sunk into breaks my heart. This young man was in pain, searching somewhere for hope and for peace in a life that was intent on torturing him. But he never found it.

Early in the morning of August 27th, 1983, Bobby Griffin leaped from a bridge into oncoming traffic.

His story is one of tragedy. Not because of his sexual orientation, nor because of his efforts in working with it. It is a tragedy because of the misery he experienced. Because the only escape he could find was death. It is a tragedy because of the way he could never find goodness in himself, because of his intense self-judgment. Because he never learned to love the amazing person that he was. He never felt like he was enough. He never felt that he was anything of worth. And he simply couldn't fight it anymore.

I ache as I read this story. I ache because I have been there. But more so because I know that thousands of young people are going through the exact same thing. They feel rejected, hated, and worthless. They fight to find some happiness, but it escapes them. There are so many. And so many don't know where to turn for help.

I don't know how many people will read this post, but I need to send my own message to those that are fighting their own internal battles. Especially to those who are gay members of the church.

First, please know that you are not alone. There are so many of us who are in the same situation. We are willing to talk and to help.

But even if you don't believe it, God is there for you too. Part of you says, "No, he's not there. He won't be there until I can make myself straight, until I can overcome this challenge." But that's completely false. God doesn't work that way. We don't have to wait until we're perfect before God sends us help. Grace means that God sends us help now, even if we don't deserve it. So accept his grace, his unconditional love.

Know that you are not a freak. You are not a perversion of nature. You are endowed with gifts and abilities that make you a magnificent creature. You are of infinite worth. And your attraction does not change this. In fact, in my opinion, it simply increases your worth.

As I made my own way, working to understand how 'gay' and 'mormon' can coexist, the one message that I got from God without fail was that he loved me. And even when I begged for other answers and he chose not to respond, he always let me know that he loved me. And he loves you.

God does not condemn the homosexual. He looks on the heart. He sees us for who we really are and for what we truly desire. I know that he does not condemn me for my orientation, nor for my relationship. He rather wants me to improve my life and the lives of others around me. If we are constantly busy guilty ourselves about being gay, spending all our time and energy trying to change it when God never promised he would, then we miss the chances to truly make a difference in the lives of others. We miss the chance to connect with those who would break us free from our obsessions. Freedom lies in working to liberate others from their own sorrows.

Life is not an easy road. And we won't always get the answers we seek. Sometimes the path seems so overcrowded that we don't know which way to turn. But we are not alone on this path.

As a final note, I want simply to say that as I have come to accept and appreciate my orientation I have come to be truly happy. As I have come to love myself, and appreciate who I am as a human being, I have found inner peace.

But this acceptance doesn't mean I have to leave the church. It doesn't mean that I have to lead a promiscuousness or partying lifestyle. I can be a good, complete person with a happy and productive life. All of us can.

And all of us are worth it.

New Year and New Friends

I realize that it's incredibly late, and that this will make the fourth post in two days, but I really wanted to get my thoughts down before I went to bed.

Tonight I went to my first MoHo party. And I have to admit, as I drove there I was pretty anxious. I had never met anyone there in person. I had talked to a few through blogs, but that was it. But I had a good feeling that I could trust these people and I decided to give it a shot.

Right as I walked in I was welcomed and brought into a conversation. No one left me on the side to figure things out on my own. People smiled, introduced themselves, and asked questions about me, trying to get to know me better. (I'm still trying to figure out how Rob knew who I was, despite my alias!) While I walked in feeling nervous and reserved, in just a few minutes I felt completely comfortable. At one point I even had a small group listening to my own life story. It meant a lot to know that these people were interested in me and what I had to say, and it made me feel like part of the group that much faster. So to all of you, thanks. :)

Even though this is not the first occasion that I've spent time with other gay people, I found myself marveling at one point at how completely comfortable I was in that situation, and how topics that I'm normally accustomed to hiding from other people felt normal and acceptable. It was like taking a breath of fresh air after being underwater for a long time.

It also made me realize how much I can't wait to get out of Provo. Haha!

I loved the general goodness in everyone that was there. Everyone at the party was at a different point regarding their relationship with the church. But each of us is trying to be a good person, and to maintain a relationship with God. I was very touched when one man told me as he said goodbye "When it comes to the church, don't worry too much about it. What really matters is your relationship with the Savior." Amen.

Over all it was a wonderful night. I got to eat great food (whoever made the quiche is my idol!), discuss things that are important to me, and laugh with a great group of people.

Just as a last thought, it occurred to me as I drove home how absolutely refreshed I felt. How emotionally healthy I felt. I was able to be in a safe situation with people who accepted and liked me. It was so cleansing.

So to any of you who are struggling with your sexuality and don't know what to do about it, the first thing I would suggest is to find someone who accepts you completely, and talk about it. It will save your sanity. Tonight certainly helped mine!

Happy 2011 everyone!!!

Retrospection: Adolescence

As I got to high school I was able to investigate and pursue my own interests more fully. I had been in choir and drama a bit in junior high, and so my first year in high school I latched right on to the choir. I even auditioned and was accepted into the higher combined choir. I loved singing, and the people in choir and drama were much more accepting than those in other areas.

I avoided gym like the plague. I even took an online gym class, just to avoid being in that environment. Insecure jocks seemed to have an instinctive ability to find the more sensitive guys and make their lives miserable. The psychologist in me believes that it is because of personal insecurity, but who knows?

I also began pursuing creative writing. Writing was something that I had discovered in elementary. I had never imagined that those make-believe worlds I loved to play in could be written down in incredible detail and saved for later. I loved it.

I remember one day when my cousin showed me a short story another girl had written. It was scrawled in some random gel-pen color (I was part of the short gel-pen fad that went through some elementary schools). But it was a romance story. And although I was a boy, I was enthralled by it. I had no idea that such a thing could be written. And I realized that I could do that very thing. I wrote many of my own little romances, and they progressed as I got older, moving from lined paper and pen to computer files. My little brother and sister have inherited my old computers, and they loved finding old things that I'd written and lost. My little sister especially loves the romance stories that she finds. Personally, it makes me anxious, because I can't remember what kind of stories have been saved on those computers! Also, those stories were never meant for anyone else. They were mine and mine alone.

I took a creative writing class my first year in high school. Looking back, my teacher was as batty as they get, but she raved over everything we wrote, and I guess more than giving us a critical opinion on our writing, she fostered a love of writing within us. I don't know if that's what she meant to do, but it certainly worked for me. As I went through high school other students mocked her for her absent-mindedness, but I never could. She had a good heart, and she loved writing as much as I did. And that was all that mattered.

As for my attraction, high school simply exacerbated it. Boys were getting better looking, gaining muscle mass (another reason I didn't like gym. I liked looking at the boys, and it made me feel incredibly guilty). I wasn't the only one struggling with feelings I didn't understand, though. I remember overhearing a conversation between a boy from my choir class with another friend, and just from the small bit I heard I could tell that he was struggling with being gay. He was almost five years ahead of me on that one. I hadn't even admitted it to myself yet. But it certainly drew my attention. I didn't know why, but anything gay did. I was drawn to it, but I guilted myself constantly over it.

A lot of that comes from the faith I was raised in. Not all of it. My own personal perfectionism played its own demonic role. But the two combined were a nasty combination. I was raised in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, otherwise known as the Mormon church. I know that there are a lot of nasty feelings toward the church when it comes to its relationship with the gay and lesbian world, but understand that for me the church was something wonderful.

Ever since I was a child I loved it. I loved learning about Jesus and how to be a good boy. I loved the way that scripture and the things of God can pierce and change the human soul. And this love progressed through my adolescent years. But when my perfectionist nature combined with the rules and regulations side of the church things got more complicated.

Because I cared what people thought about me. I cared what my parents thought, what my sunday school teachers though, what the bishop thought, and what God thought. And I believed that in order to be loved at all, to be even remotely lovable, I had to be perfect. So, I latched on to those rules and I obeyed them as perfectly as I could, the same way I had with my parents.

The result was being a person that many looked up to, being the boy that mothers wanted their daughters to end up with, but also being very conflicted inside. Not to mention that all my achievements were hollow. I was an incredible student, a by-the-book mormon boy, but I wasn't satisfied. To this day, one of my proudest achievements is winning first place in a creative writing contest when I was in 9th grade. I entered all on my own, and I did it because I wanted to, not because I was expected to. And miraculously I won. And still today, almost a decade later, I am incredibly proud of the fact that my name is the only guy's name on the plaque at my junior high. And it's because it was all for me.

That, however, was rare in my early years. Most of the time I did all I could to try and be like others wanted me to be. And because of that need for acceptance I denied my true attraction with every fiber of my being. In bishops interviews, even up to my mission interview, I denied any attraction to guys. I was commended on my respect of women. I seemed to have no problem with that. At the time I just thought I was really good. The idea makes me laugh now.

But most of my adolescent years were spent trying to be "good enough" for God. Trying to meet every requirement perfectly, so that I would be lovable in his eyes. Looking back, I spent way too much time feeling guilty and not enough actually trying to be a Christian. That's what guilt does to you, if you let it control you. You actually lose your spirituality, and you lose your ability to touch others' lives.

I made it through high school unscathed, however. It may not shock any readers that by graduation I still hadn't had a real girlfriend or had a first kiss (or even held someone's hand). I believed it was because I just hadn't found the right girl, or wouldn't be able to have the relationship I wanted in high school. In reality, though, I never felt like I fit with a girl. Not like other guys did. And whenever I had romantic fantasies, I was always different. Really, in those fantasies, I was emotionally straight.

My lack of steady dating did not deter some girls, however. I had a few girls who pursued me in high school. All of which would get turned down. Nicely, though. I could never bear to hurt someone. One of those girls would become one of my best friends. We'll call her Monique. She had a definite thing for me during our sophomore year. Something that faded but would never fully disappear, in spite of my lack of interest. But I liked spending time with her. She was fun, and she laughed at my stupid jokes. I can't really even remember what point Monique and I became really close. It just kind of happened. She would be the only one I kept in touch with after high school. And she would be the only person from my past that I willingly told about my orientation. That's how amazingly good of a friendship we had. It's definitely been tested since I came out to her a year ago, and the more I look at it the more I think it's because part of her was waiting for me to fall in love with her, and when I came out I destroyed that. I think it broke her heart. And that makes me sad. But she's dating a wonderful guy right now, so I have high hopes for her.

The summer after high school I moved to Provo to work before I started my freshman year at BYU. As for the college experience, however, that will have to wait until next time.

Feeling Split

So, I've been feeling a lot of the normal confusion surrounding this whole situation. Trying to figure out what trumps what, feelings or spiritual devotions. It's difficult. And it doesn't help that there seem to be so few options. Unless you miraculously change and can live a traditional life (and I've talked to people who have experienced this, but they go through hell in the process), you have to be celibate to be a full fledged active member of the church. And there's just nothing after that.

But not only have I been playing with the idea of trying to change, again, but I've had the question going through my mind for the last week or so, "do I really even want to be straight?" I know what most people would say to that. "Of course you do!" They don't even hesitate. I think that many straight people, especially members of the church, think that this is painful, or awkward for us. It feels uncomfortable and ill-fitting to them, so it certainly must to us. But it doesn't. It doesn't feel awkward at all. It feels like it fits, like the feeling of finally finding the matching puzzle piece you've been looking for and pressing the two into place. The awkward feeling is the one that comes when I think of having a deep and personal relationship with a woman.

Another thing that many straight people may not realize is that the draw is not purely physical. Really, the biggest attraction to a same-sex relationship is emotional. As I think about it, I think that the body can learn attraction. I've heard it said that the most powerful sex organ is the brain. But that, in essence, is the problem. I think I'd have a harder time feeling comfortable in an emotionally intimate way with a woman. And that, of course, affects all the rest. The emotional draw for a relationship with another guy is the most powerful and rewarding part of it all.

But on the other side of the coin, I don't want to have to lose my faith and my religious devotions because of the way I feel. Honestly, I'd like to regain some of the spirituality that I've lost since this all blew up in my face (another story for another time, but one that needs to be told).  I want to go to church, watch general conference, the whole lot. But I don't want to feel like an outsider, either. And I don't want to wonder what will happen after this life. Yeah, God loves us. Of course he does. Anyone who says otherwise is not a true Christian. But laws are laws. I just wish we knew a little more about his thoughts on all these issues.

I think one thing that gets to me the most is that if I chose to follow my feelings, then I wouldn't reach my full potential, and I'd somehow fail in fulfilling some grand purpose or task that I had promised to do before this life. Honestly, I feel that in some way, that purpose has to do with the way I feel. I just don't know what side of the emotions it will all be on.

Anyway, I take comfort in the love God has for all of us. Most of the time the only thing I can say that I truly want is for him to lead me where he wants me to be. I don't know where that is, but I'm assuming it's good.

Thoughts on church

So, I am not part of the social mainstream of the gay world. I have a few gay friends. I’ve been to one party. 

But other than that, I am very much isolated from that. But lately I’ve been reading some of the blogs that gay people in Provo have written. It kind of opens my eyes to how many of us are here.

But it’s been hard to see how many of us end up leaving the church. I understand the reasons why. I’ve seen those reasons in my own life. But I’ve come to think that the biggest problems are not within the church itself, but rather within the social system in the church. Yes, the leaders still don’t endorse a gay life, but they are much more accepting and loving than the members.

I think sometimes we forget that the people that lead the church are just doing the best they can. They don’t know everything. No one does. They don’t have all the answers about the how’s and why’s of our lives. We are pioneers when it comes to being gay and mormon. There are no books about this. There were no Sunday school classes on this. So we’re doing the best we know how. And so are the leaders of the church. And we’ll get a lot further by working together, despite differences, than by building walls between us.

The bigger problems tend to be social problems within the church. And really, that’s where all the problems facing us are. They’re social. Not political. Not governmental. We want to be treated like normal people, not like freaks for what we are.

What people need to realize is that the church was never really about church. It’s a vehicle by which we come to know God. That’s what the gospel is all about. That’s the point of it all. A person can be up to their eyeballs in church attendance, scriptures, manuals, fhe, and whatever else you can think of, but if they’re not coming to know God, then there’s no point to it all.

And in my mind, a person who may not be the best “by the book” member, but who sincerely tries to build a relationship with God, is the one who is accomplishing everything the church is about.

Yes, there are rules in the church. Ones they’re not willing to change. And they never will change. But that doesn’t mean that people like us can’t be a part of that path to God that the church is trying to provide. And if members of the church feel differently, then they need a refresher course in Christ-like compassion.

No, these two life styles don’t go together very well. No one said our lives were going to be easy. But honestly, trying to keep close to God is more important to me than avoiding the awkwardness or judgment of insignificant church members.

God loves us. He always will. And he wants to help us and guide us. Our path is not what people think it will be. All the advice I’ve gotten from people on how to handle my feelings isn’t what I’ve really needed. But God knows what I need. And he’s the one I need to point my way. 

The Hidden World

School has started, and once again campus is swarming with people. As I walk from class to class, I can't help but think about how many of the people on campus might be just like me, attracted to other guys, yet a member of the church, trying to reconcile both, and keeping it all hidden and under wraps.

I found a blog today by another gay guy on my campus. He is my same age and found his way into the hidden world about the same time as me. It's refreshing, and comforting, to know that the guy sitting next to me in class might be like me. To know that I'm not a freak anomaly at a religious school. There are many of us, from all walks of life, with different views and religious devotions. But we all want understanding. We all want peace. We want to be happy.

One point in the blog I read today hit me. The guy made the point that often in the LDS community we are raised with the idea that anyone who doesn't fit the cookie-cutter form of a member of the church is a bad person. So many of us who have liked guys for as long as we can remember guilt ourselves, simply for the way we feel. But we are not bad for it. We are not evil. And until we get that through our heads, God can't help us at all. The guilt leaves no room for God's unconditional love to come through.

So, the first step, if you feel like me and many others do, is accept the fact that you feel that way, and that it doesn't make you a bad person.

The cool thing about God's unconditional love is that it is just that: unconditional.