Why I Stay

I am one of the lucky ones.

For the first five years of my life, my mother was my constant companion. I would follow her around the house and she called me her "little shadow." As I grew, I was her helper, her protector, and her confidante. She was my best friend. In many ways, it's because of her that my family ties are stronger than those of most people I know.

Early in the year 2000, I was in my first semester at ISU and living with my parents. Because my folks expected it, I attended church with them. It was the ward I had grown up in, so I fell easily into the role I'd played before I had left home to go to Ricks' College.

My bishop wanted to put me to work in the ward. One Sunday, he asked me into his office to issue me a calling. I refused, telling him I was in a relationship with a young man that had physically exceeded the bounds acceptable to the Church and was therefore not worthy. My confession led to a disciplinary council that concluded in disfellowhipment from the LDS church. At the conclusion of that meeting, I begged my mother to just let me go, as I knew it would be easier in many ways for both of us. With tear-filled eyes, she told me she would never let me go.

On that pivotal night, asking for release was the furthest extreme to which I could go.

As time went on, my family and I developed a method of discourse that protected us all from the discomfort of dealing with reality. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was the best we could do. Years went by.

Then I met someone. It was the first time I had been that in love with anyone. He seemed like the perfect man in every way. He was handsome, educated, and well-spoken. He was also endearing, tender, and so much more even-headed than I was. We had many interests in common, yet there were also fascinating differences. I was flattered by his interest and excited to absorb all of the good things he was that I felt I wasn't.

As a returned missionary himself, I thought he understood the difficult position I was in. He let me read his coming out journal which detailed his struggles with his own family. He told me he wanted me to really know him. The intimacy of his trust was intoxicating.

I gave him my heart, transferring to him the spot my family had occupied and preparing for the rift it would cause with them. More than once I returned to his arms after visiting them, sobbing because of the pain of separation that was going on inside me. I was like an addict going through withdrawal while becoming addicted to something else.

Then suddenly, he ended the relationship. I was devastated. I couldn't eat. Sleep was fitful, and when I awoke, thoughts of him haunted my every movement and interaction. My heart leapt at every car that looked like his. I saw his face everywhere.

From something he said to me the night he left, I decided that my ties to God and family would always keep me from finding someone who loved me. I also decided that as long as I didn't love myself, no one else would either. I had a talk with my parents and told them things had to change, that I was never going to hide my life from them again.

Four months of working out, losing a lot of weight, and mentally demolishing long-cherished landmarks in my soul didn't lead me to love, but I was feeling very alive. It was a different kind of alive than I was used to. It was animal rather than spiritual. The close friends that I selected to replace my family were worried by the drastic change. I didn't care; I was never going to be hurt like that again.

Then came a week in January where I was fighting a cold. I usually follow the "feed a cold, starve a fever" mantra, so I was feeding the cold with Papa Murphy's Chicken & Garlic pizza. The creamy garlic alfredo sauce was apparently the last straw for my gall bladder because it kicked out the biggest fuss I've ever felt inside my body. The pain was excruciating. I seriously thought I was going to die.

I called my new "family" in a panic, but none of them were available to come help me. Finally, I called a cousin who lived in town. He came and sat with me for two hours while I writhed in an agonized indecision. I didn't have health insurance at the time and I didn't know for sure what was going on inside, but I finally couldn't take it anymore. My cousin drove me to the hospital. He sat with me until 5 in the morning when my parents came down from Idaho Falls. He had a lesson to teach in church at 9.

For the next couple weeks, my parents were both by my side, helping through the surgery and subsequent convalescence. They supported me as I struggled through finding a way to pay for the medical bills, and they listened to me talk about my broken heart.

It became starkly apparent to me that I'd made a grave mistake in trying to replace my family with friends. Although my friends had been sympathetic, it was my family who actually came to my aid. Since then, there are friends I've made that I know I can rely on for many things. Some of them are frustrated that I continue to grapple with the differences between me and my family, but I've learned better than to place those relationships above my family.

Like I said, I'm one of the lucky ones.

A Rolling Stone Reveals Dead Men's Bones

The cover was distasteful, reeking like a junior high bathroom. Miley Cyrus emerging from a swimming pool licking her bare shoulder, mascara bleeding from her wanton eyes. Rolling Stone was playing her game and pandering to the lowest common denominator. Then the smaller print below caught my eye. "The War on Gay Teens" it said. So instead of putting the magazine on the shelving rack, I checked it out and took it home to read. (http://www.rollingstone.com/culture/news/the-hidden-war-against-gay-teens-20131010)

On its surface, it looked like just another tired bleeding-heart liberal piece crying big crocodile tears over the plight of oppressed sexual misfits. That kind of stuff irks me because it usually just gives ammo to the haters. However, it quickly dug deeper, showing a link to tax-supported bullying and shaming in Christian schools. As I read, I got mad. Mad that people could be so hateful and devious all the while claiming that they were acting for Jesus Christ. Mad that this debate even exists.

I decided I wanted to post a link to the article on my Facebook page, a place I often go to when I need to process things like this by discussing them with my friends. In looking for the online version, I found another Rolling Stone article related to this topic. This one, published in 2012, examined how the policy of one school district in Minnesota contributed to a rash of suicides among its gay teens. My anger and revulsion increased. (http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/news/one-towns-war-on-gay-teens-20120202)

This is usually the point in the story where I consider abandoning my affiliation with Christianity, often to the extent of having my name removed from the records of my natal church. It's a common reaction and subsides over a short time. It happens in the privacy of my soul and I don't say much to anyone about it. This time, though, I decided to blog through it.

People are dying, killing themselves because of modern-day Pharisees. One of my favorite passages of scripture is Matthew 23:27 where Jesus dresses down the "church" power players of his day with these words: "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness." I can't stand injustice, and that's what I feel is going on in these schools, in our towns, in our country. People are using the stick of scripture and the cross of Christ to tread their brothers and sisters under their feet. There are times when I would love nothing more than to face all those outwardly religious people who do such hateful things and throw Christ's words right at them, reducing them to the same kind of self-loathing, guilty tears I, myself, have experienced.

But that's where MY bones are, and I can't give in to them. The only things I really want filling my insides are love for myself and those around me and the light of knowledge and truth. That's the only way to have personal peace in this turbulent world.

In those rare moments when I allow myself to be happy just as I am, it feels possible to be a whole person, free from the conflict and rage my soul usually harbors. Slowly, I'm moving on from this issue I've been hung up on since childhood, losing the need to prove anything to anyone, but it still consumes much of my thought and energy...and is taking up so much of my life, which is another blog post entirely.

What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger

After reading a post regarding a Kansas bill that seeks to "protect" religious freedom by barring gays from suing bakers for refusal to make gay wedding cakes, I needed to post a rant somewhere and this is where it goes.

This bill passed the Kanses House of Representatives, looks to easily pass in the Republican-dominated Senate, and has already been praised by the notoriously-conservative governor. I think the reason this event raised my ire is a similar bill was tried in the Idaho legislature as well, though it was withdrawn for the time being by its sponsor, Rep. Luker.

I'm tired of both sides of this issue. I'm tired of "religious conservatives" and their self-righteousness. I'm also tired of litigious gay people who think that suing some small bakery who refused to make their wedding cake is some victory for civil rights. Neither side is right. Neither side is productively moving us all to a peaceful place of existence.

To the wounded God-fearers, I ask, how long did you think lording your moral superiority over those who don't fit into your Jesus-uptopia was going to go unchallenged? How long did you think you were going to get away with grinding your fellow human beings into the ground? It's time to stop being so easily offended by things you don't agree with. It's time to stop excluding your fellow beings from things that should be enjoyed by everyone.

To those gay people who are only making things worse, I say two wrongs don't make a right. Reverse-discrimination is still discrimination. Hitting someone back when they've hit you only perpetuates the cycle of hate and violence that has been perpetrated on gay people throughout recorded history. We have the power to end it and we should do so, not by shrinking away and hiding as has been done in the past, but by being a model of humanity, love, and respect for our fellow beings. This is how we can demonstrate our strength. The question we should always ask ourselves is "How would I feel if this were done to me?" Often, we already know the answer because whatever it is HAS been done to us. That doesn't mean we should return the behavior in kind.

Yesterday, in a Facebook conversation, a friend of mine told me that sometimes there isn't any middle ground, that some people are just wrong. I hear what he is saying, but I cannot and will not subscribe to an "us against them" mentality. Whether I agree with a person or not, they are still my fellow human being, my brother or my sister. I will not make them my enemy by viewing them as such, nor let them do the same. If they try to make me their enemy, they can only do so if I agree with that perception. Frankly, this is the only way to truly neutralize enmity and has been shown to be highly effective by the few brave enough to practice it.

The title of this blog is From Where I Stand, and what is it I stand for? I stand for peace and I stand for truth, as much as can be perceived. That is the only "side" I stand on.