Open Letter: I Choose Right Now

To everyone I love, and all those who love me,

With a sober mind, an earnest heart, and some measure of apprehension, I have carefully chosen this time to share with my friends and family that I am no longer actively participating in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Though I still retain my membership on official records, I have chosen to step away from the body of the Church in order to protect my own personal sanity, health, happiness, and wellbeing, which have all been immensely strained for the past several years as I’ve struggled to maintain a grip on the faith which, for so long, was the only sustaining power in my life. I have let go of what I had hoped could be, and have moved on to what I know I can have right now.

The sun has set upon who I once was, and the lifeless
landscape through which I made my tiresome journey.

Though it weighs heavily on my heart to make this announcement, nevertheless I am very grateful, honored, and overjoyed to also announce I am not stepping away from the body of the Saints with empty arms or an empty heart. For more than a year now I have been in an amazing long-term relationship with a wonderful man whom I care deeply about, and it is one of the best, most fulfilling decisions I’ve ever made in my life. We entered each other’s lives at just the right time for both of us, when we were each ready for the love and devotion that we had never before experienced, with the partner (and gender) of our choice. We could not have known then just how perfect of a match we would be, and how strong our bond would become. 

Though our relationship took root very quickly, we have been content to spend as much time as possible growing and learning together and preparing our hearts for our future life as a couple. We are both very much in love and taking our relationship very seriously; however, we know that in a local culture of quick courtships and hasty marriages, we do not want to be like our peers, and we aim to do things right the first time. He is not going anywhere, and neither am I; this is not a fling or a temporary arrangement. This is more than he and I could’ve ever hoped for in our fondest dreams, and we are lucky and truly blessed to have each other. And I hope, someday, to be able to share our joy with the world, but it will be in our own time and in our own way.

Knowing that I cannot maintain this loving relationship and my membership in the Church simultaneously while remaining in “good standing” is the primary reason why I have been forced to make the difficult decision to separate myself from the Church. I wish it were not so that giving my whole heart to a caring and adoring man who loves me and makes me happy was a spiritual death sentence—an act of apostasy according to the doctrines and teachings of the Latter-day Saint Church. But that, unfortunately, is not something within my power to change. As Gandalf the Grey once said in J.R.R. Tolkien’s epic tale The Lord of the Rings, “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” And the simple fact is that I have chosen love for the time that remains of my life on earth, and it has brought me newfound happiness.

Through the ensuing darkness, the light of a new hope
still shone to guide me into unknown territory.

I have witnessed many LGBTQ Latter-day Saints before me leave the Church; I have heard their stories, and I have long-anticipated the mixed reactions that will come from those who care about me—many of whom have traveled along with me on my personal path of faith, through my blog writing, social media posts, and candid, private discussions. Thus, I understand that this news will be taken in varying ways, based on your own personal feelings and experiences, and how well you feel you’ve gotten to know me. I am not asking anyone to feel a certain way about it; I’m not even asking anyone to understand, necessarily, because this is all immensely complicated. But I do wish to elaborate on three primary points that I feel are important, and at the same time set some clear boundaries for those who may want to show their support or express their love to me in the coming weeks.

Firstly, even though I’ve always spoken very openly and publicly about my life, faith, and sexuality, I don’t feel that I owe anything to anyone as I carry out these monumental life changes. Not an explanation. Not a reason. Not an apology. Nothing. Now—I know how harsh that sounds, and I don’t mean to come off as bitter and uncaring; but separating myself from other people’s feelings and opinions (something I’ve struggled to do all my life) is really the best way for me to approach this whole situation as I prepare for the mixture of positive and negative feedback from people who know me (because it will come).

I hate to say it, but I have put off my doubts and my longing for an intimate human connection for far too long, out of fear of how others would feel about it, rather than how I actually felt about it. I wanted a partner, and the Church was no longer bringing me joy; but I was afraid that others would stop loving and respecting me, and no doubt, some will. There will be those who will message, text, and call to wish me luck regardless of how they feel about my choices; some will be genuinely happy for me, and others will be unsure of their feelings. And that’s okay; this is still very new for me, too. But I know there will also be those who will contact me to express their disappointment and sadness, and will feel the need to recommend scriptures and General Conference talks, and to share their testimonies that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true, and they will bear witness that I am making a choice with immense eternal consequences.

In the absence of the blinding light, new paths came into my
vision, and better ways were illuminated before me.

So I am telling you right now: That is not what I need or want at this time. Truthfully, my faith is largely in shreds, and I am not presently in a position to incorporate religion into my daily life, nor to consider religious beliefs to be a critical part of my future development, as I once did. Eternity is not on my radar right now, as I have much in the present to work on in order to be successful for what remains of my mortal life; not to mention preparing to share my life with another person and build a successful relationship. I am focusing on myself, my future career, and my partnership at this time, and I don’t have a place for even well-meant gestures that ultimately just foster guilt and shame related to my choice to step away from the Church. There may come a time in the future when I feel ready to delve more deeply into my reasons for leaving, the state of my religious beliefs, and the emotions that I’ve battled with over the last few years; but that time is not now, at least not on a public scale.

Secondly, I fully understand that I didn’t need to announce this publicly; frankly, I’ve felt that it was really nobody’s business. And so, obviously, over a year has passed with few but my closest friends and family members knowing that I am partnered and inactive. But it was my choice to finally announce this after lengthy and careful consideration. Over months and months I have gone through dozens of versions of this letter, and considered a handful of different ways to share it with everyone. With all the options I considered, I still had apprehensions about how my message would be received.

If I was too confidant and blatant, it could be seen as rude or inconsiderate; if I was too subdued, my sincerity could be questioned or I might not be taken seriously. Regardless of the mode of transmission, I was still letting the opinions of others direct my actions, from which I am trying harder to refrain. So I decided finally that I was not going to make it my responsibility to ensure that everyone I knew received this information at the same time, but rather that I would make access to it available to all, and let each individual choose whether they were interested in reading about my life update.

The roads were still rough, but I did not tread them alone; the
journey was still long, but I had renewed strength to carry on.

Another major motivator for me arriving at this desire for a public announcement has been the feeling like I am living in the closet again, hiding my true self from the world for fear of backlash, rejection, and criticism. That is an awful feeling; it is stifling and uncomfortable. No one deserves to feel confined to a space where they cannot be who they were meant to be. So in opening the door and coming out again now, please try to understand that I cannot and will not hold myself personally accountable or responsible for what anyone thinks or how anyone feels about this news or how I’ve chosen to share it. I dislike feeling like I have something to hide, like I did when I was young, closeted, and putting up a façade for everyone. Honestly, I’m tired of keeping track of who “knows,” and who doesn’t; who I’ve told already, and who I haven’t. I just want it to be over with already, in one swift, but quiet motion.

Even though it is for the best for me to remain somewhat detached from others’ opinions on this topic, I want you to know that I fully understand the array of emotions you may feel, because I have already cycled through them many times over in the last few months (and years) as I saw my time in the Latter-day Saint Church drawing to a close—despite my death grip on my faith. Some will feel that this public disclosure was indeed necessary, and others will see it as attention-seeking behavior, but I cannot change any of those thoughts. I spent years in the closet and remember my liberation from it very well. I am seeking that freedom again by telling everyone that I am now living as authentically as I can after finding the right time and way to make this leap.

I acknowledge the pain and sadness some of you will feel. It does make me uncomfortable to know that my choice will hurt some of you. I understand that there are those who have looked up to me and been inspired by my faith and devotion to the gospel for a long time now. But because I invite others’ feelings into my heart and mind so easily, they do not just remain personal opinions or fleeting feelings—they become scathing expectations and heavy responsibilities that I cannot help but take upon myself personally, and it causes (and has caused) irreparable damage to my wellbeing. I have chosen to be true and faithful to the truest part of myself that I know (and have confirmed) will bring me the most happiness now, not later. And I am learning to do this regardless of what anyone else will think about it—even those I am closest to, who I know care about me and just want the best for me. I’m not very good at it yet, but I keep trying, and it is getting easier to do.

With the smallest glimmer of a new day on the horizon, all
fears seemed to vanish, and I felt the warmth of life returning.

And that brings me to my third and final point, and that is that I AM HAPPY. You need to know and understand this the most. I am happy with this decision. Please do not assume for one second that I arrived at it easily; it is probably the most difficult choice I’ve ever been forced to make, and forced I was. But it needed to happen in order for me to be happy with my life and optimistic about my future—both of which seemed to be hopeless and going nowhere before the fall of 2019, when I met my partner and my life slowly began to change and take on new meaning.

After thirteen steady years as an active member of the Church, I was uncertain and uncomfortable at first, even as I was falling in love with an amazing man. But the simple passing of time within a new way of living (and loving) has brought about a solid awareness and a clearer recognition of the joy and satisfaction I feel being loved and in love. I am more certain of the happiness I feel with my partner than I was with the type of happiness I felt as an openly gay, fully active Latter-day Saint. I do not regret my time as an active member of the Church. I do sometimes wish that I had been ready to make this change sooner in my life’s timeline; but that is one more thing I cannot do anything about now. Still, my broken faith aside, I choose to believe that everything which has transpired in my life happened exactly as it was meant to.

I think it’s also important for you to know (or be reminded) that I have been to the brink of wanting to take my own life because I was so unhappy and felt so hopeless. Within the last five years, even, I have come close to ending my pain and exiting this mortal stage rather than exiting the Church. Both options seemed like a failure. And I have known and heard of many like me, LGBTQ Latter-day Saints, who approached that same dark precipice and chose to plunge over the edge to end their pain. I did not want that to be my fate when another solution seemed to be in sight: Embracing my sexuality to the fullest extent possible and seeking a loving relationship with a man. I could no longer push through the agony and anguish toward a time, somewhere beyond the veil, when I was told everything would be okay, and all would be made up to me a hundred fold. It was too far, and too lonely a path to trudge for the rest of my living days.

Challenges lay ahead on every road I had yet to travel, but my
heart was at peace and my soul was no longer weary from toil.

No one—absolutely no one—deserves to feel (or be told) that they have to wait to die in order to truly start living. Not one single person deserves that, especially those like the LGBTQ Latter-day Saints, who are so often willing to sacrifice everything to continue making costly deposits into a heavenly bank account of everlasting joy, while in the meantime living on earth in a state of mental, emotional, psychological, and spiritual poverty. That was my plight; I lived it every day for many years, waiting (sometimes wishing) for death and my ultimate eternal payoff. I was waiting to die in order to start living.

I can only say that it was a miserable state of limbo to be in when I was taught that life was meant to be enjoyed, and when I tried so hard to make myself believe that God had a plan of happiness for me that was supposed to be the entire purpose of my existence. Eventually I decided that I deserve happiness now—not at some future time, especially when my mental health struggles were so challenging at times that I couldn’t even see myself lasting long enough to reach the finish line.

And I am happy! You don’t have to believe it; but I want you to know it regardless. I am not without many of the same daily challenges; but I’m happier now than I’ve been in a long time, because I can compare and contrast my joy and my pain, then and now, and I see the difference starkly. What I thought was happiness as an active member of the Church probably was happiness according to the limitations I put on myself in order to please God and others. But this, what I have now, is somehow fuller, and more satiating to my soul. It feels different, and that is something that I didn’t think was possible—indeed, I was told that it wasn’t.

I basked in the light and warmth of a new life, as if I had never
known joy—as if it couldn't possibly exist.

In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints I was taught to believe that true happiness comes from having the gospel in my life and by obeying its teachings; it only follows, then, that those who do not have the gospel message are not truly happy, or that their fulfillment and joy in life are fleeting, fragile, and temporary—not in their purest and most lasting forms. This is why we send tens of thousands of missionaries out into the world to spread our message and share our joy with others.

Whether intentionally or unintentionally, I was taught in the Church to believe that my satisfaction and contentment with life exceeded that of others because of the knowledge that came from my faith beliefs. Any success or joy or happiness was not of my own making, but a gift of the gospel and a blessing from God. With a collective conviction such as this, I often wondered who wouldn’t want to be a member of our church, or worse: Who would choose to leave it?

My experience has been that this overarching notion has led many Latter-day Saints, including me, to become convinced that anyone who chooses to abandon full activity in the Church or allows themselves to fall into unbelief is deliberately choosing not only unhappiness for life but spiritual punishment in death. With the abandonment of one’s membership willfully comes the loss of potential blessings, the loss of conscience (through the separation of the Holy Ghost), as well the eternal consequences of breaking God’s commandments. This is the message I received, and it is truly what I believed as I sacrificed my health and life for God, believing that that was what He wanted and required from me, and that I would most certainly be damned if I chose any other alternative.

Thus, there will be some, I’m sure, who will believe that I am deceiving myself and everyone else when I say that I am happy with my decision to love another man outside of the fold of the Church. But I promise you all that I am happy now, and this is for the best. I can feel the difference, in my flesh and in my bones. I am happy in love—I have an intimate connection with another human being that is not limited to the type of love I feel for my family and friends. It’s what I’ve always wished for; and it’s what many of you already experience and enjoy without prohibition.

In the fertile soil of my open heart, love took root, blossoming
into something more beautiful than I had ever imagined.

As look back on my life, I can see so many instances where I made choices that were not my own, but stemmed rather from pressure, intimidation, expectations, or even well-meant encouragement from others—parents and other family, friends, leaders in school and in the Church, my peers, my society and culture, etc. Getting a college education, for example, was not really my own desire the first two times I tried it, and I am certain that that is part of the reason I failed on those occasions. But when I saw that my life was going nowhere, and it seemed that a college degree would give me a leg up on more opportunities and enjoyment in living, I luckily took serious the chance I got to go back to earn my degree. And because it was my choice to go back that third time, I was ready to make the most of the opportunity and I worked hard to make my dreams a reality—and certainly, in the end, I did. I graduated.

I see the circumstances surrounding my exit from the LDS Church much that same as my college experience. I am finally living for myself and what I need to be well and happy. It is my choice and my opportunity, and I am giving it all I’ve got, being careful, taking my time, and working hard at maintaining this remarkable relationship I have. I am not (or am trying to not) be concerned about how others will take it, because it’s my heart that is in the decision this time, not theirs; and it is proving to be the most correct choice I’ve ever made on my own.

I am conscious of the “risks” involved, both relational and spiritual, and I am the one who will face the consequences of my choice, should I ever be required to do so. But equally and oppositely, I am also the one who will feel the positive reverberations coming from my choice to love and be loved. I am the one who gets to share all that happiness with my partner. I am the one who will enjoy companionship and intimacy, perhaps for life, rather than loneliness and despair. I am the one who gets to be happy now, after years and years of living to please others and bring them happiness first.

I am putting myself first for once. It is my turn to be happy now, and truly I am. And that is all that matters right now. Nothing else.

My happiness finally matters.

With love,

~ Wade

This is the heart of the Eagle Nebula, a formation of cosmic dust, gas, and other matter known as the "Pillars of Creation," a cradle of life for the birth of stars.  "New" stars are created from the remnants of themselves—stellar matter ejected from old stars which have died in massive supernovas, and then gathered together again over eons to form new light and life.  Sometimes, as John the Revelator once spoke, former things must pass away in order for better things to manifest (Revelation 21:4).  Similarly, some parts of ourselves, even ones that we once considered vital to our character, must die in order for us to become a better version of the person we want to be.  But that doesn't mean that our "old self" didn't serve a purpose; it is from the former versions of us that we gather together the key elements of who we are and begin again the slow process of regeneration and rebirth.  THANK YOU to all who supported the light that my former self strived to shine upon the world.  I hope you will find that my new self carries with him the same familiar warmth, but with added brilliance and clarity. ~ WAW

Song Dissection—"Second Hand Heart" (Pt. 10)

See my introductory post, “Song Dissection – Second Hand Heart (Pt. 1)” for background on this essay project. If you are a new reader, I invite you to listen to the song and watch the official music video below. The lyrics are listed for you to read as well. This is the final installment of the 10-part series begun in January 2018, wherein I have reflected on spiritual lessons inspired by this song. 

* * * * *

– Second Hand Heart –

Performed by Ben Haenow

(Featuring Kelly Clarkson)

The light of the morning finds you sleeping in my bed

And it’s not like the stories; it’s never like what they said

I know who you want me to be but I’m just not there yet

Yeah, the broken road’s always been home and it’s so hard to forget

Wait for me now

Will you wait for me now?

CHORUS:

I might think too much, drink too much, stay out too late

I know I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change

I can’t steal you the stars, but I can give you this secondhand heart

All your friends think I’m hopeless, they don’t understand

That this imperfect love can start over again

It’s been broken apart, but will you still take my secondhand heart?

(FIRST STANZA REPEATS)

(CHORUS REPEATS)

FIRST BRIDGE:

If you let me show you, I could love you the same

And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day

Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart

SECOND BRIDGE:

And I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change

And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day

Oh, you know you got my secondhand heart

(SECOND BRIDGE REPEATS)

* * * * *

“If you let me show you, I could love you the same

And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day

Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart

… you know you got my secondhand heart” 

Elder George Albert Smith (1870 – 1951), who would later be sustained as the eighth president and prophet of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormons) once said the following:

         “The beauty of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is that it makes us all equal in as far as we keep the commandments of the Lord. In as far as we observe to keep the laws of the Church we have equal opportunities for exaltation.”

         ~ In Conference Report, Oct. 1933, 25.

This quote by then-Elder Smith was among the first of a collection of quotes that I began recording shortly after I joined the LDS Church. I wrote them in a spiral-bound notebook and later meticulously transferred them to my computer where my collection has reached over 300 quotes from LDS prophets, apostles, and general authorities. As I’ve pondered the closing of this Song Dissection essay series, and these final few lyrics, I’ve reflected much on my distant past, the recent past, the present, and my future in order to write about what these lyrics meant to me when I first heard them, and what they mean to me now.

Growing up as a closeted, gay young man, and also living with Tourette syndrome and obsessive compulsive disorder, I was frequently torn between wanting to fit in with everyone else, while still desiring to stand out among the crowd as someone unique and special. I recognized my talents and wanted to share them with others, perhaps in compensation for possessing so many visible and invisible flaws and shortcomings.

I wanted to be included while internally my sexuality made me feel excluded from others, especially other males. Outwardly, I couldn’t help but be noticed with my frequent vocal and motor tics. I’ve thought about this period of my life a lot, with sorrow, regret, shame, and anger—for the ways in which I was treated, for the ways I behaved and acted out while yearning for attention.

It's an interesting feeling to know that you stand out from the
crowd while having a strong desire to fit in with others.

Looking back now, I feel that what I really wanted most was to be noticed and acknowledged on my own terms rather than forced into public view by the disorders that ruled me. I wanted to be liked because of my good qualities, not necessarily my outstanding quirks; I wanted to feel important because of my human worth, not because others felt sorry for me. Many days I wanted just to blend in with the crowd (preferably the more popular, well-liked groups); other days I longed to juxtapose myself across social circles and be admired by all. My sometimes erratic behavior got me into a lot of trouble during high school as I struggled so hard to find a comfortable place among my peers, while maintaining my individual identity (as I simultaneously suppressed my sexual identity, albeit very poorly).

It’s an interesting feeling to know that some integral part (or parts) of who you are—like your sexual orientation, gender identity, race, ethnicity, etc.—make(s) you unequal to everyone else around you in ways that you cannot fully comprehend in your youth. I think this is why I sought early on to find a community or clique that understood me and appreciated my differences, while also not emphasizing them. People who wanted me, needed me, but with whom I fit in like a piece of a larger puzzle. People I could be mostly myself around without censoring, silencing, or second-guessing.

Like a phoenix from the ashes, my trials
have given rebirth to my confidence to
be unique in a pool of cultural homogeneity.

Over the last several years, I have caved to the idea that I cannot be the Latter-day Saint or disciple of Christ that my Mormon peers expect me to be, which is a devastating inclination for someone like me, who for so long felt rescued by my faith and devoted to it for life (and eternity). Yet my realizations brought me very near to leaving the Church for the second time, just a year ago. Though the ways in which I’ve grown in the last year are important, they are subtle even to me, and I will not try to explain them. What I can articulate is that, like a phoenix that survives its own self-induced flames, this process of suffering and starting over has renewed my sense of identity and self-worth and given birth to a new confidence that inspires and emboldens me to embrace my outstanding differences in a pool of cultural sameness.

I have chosen not to succumb to the trends of homogeneity in my faith. I invite and embrace human diversity in all its many forms, especially with people and in places where diversity is too-often viewed as rebellion, irreverence, or lackadaisical discipleship. I am pushing back, gently, against the impossible cultural standards where I live, work, and attend school and church, which is saturated with toxic messages that do not reflect the God I know and the gospel I have come to love.

With a large portion of my faith and testimony restored, I am trying to make a place for myself in the church, just as I am—no apologies, no explanations, and no guilt. I am striving to show my fellow Mormons that I can love God the same as they do, and that it doesn’t matter if I wear a rainbow tie tack to church, or bring my sparkly man-purse to activities, or whether I talk openly in meetings about my sexuality or speak up to correct misguided generalizations about people and unfair blanket statements that exclude others.

It has been said before (and reiterated by LDS leaders) that we ought not to judge others for “sinning differently” than we do—because we all sin (Romans 3:23). I offer that it is just as courteous, if not critical, to apply the same token by not judging others (in this instance, fellow Latter-day Saints) for worshipping differently than we do—because we all worship the same God. We are brothers and sisters of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and our faith should unite us in every respect, where too often it divides us in petty and insensible ways.

"Come As You Are" by Greg Olsen
Copyright © 2018 by Greg Olsen

More importantly, for me, I am trying to show my Heavenly Father and my Lord, Jesus Christ, that I can support the people, causes, and communities I love—and feel equally apart of, like the gay community—the same as I love Them, my heavenly home, and the gospel path I am presently taking. And I see no reason why I can’t do just that. I have made sacred covenants to obey God’s laws and commandments, and I honor and keep those covenants while repenting often to show Him that I am dedicated to being my best self. Every other detail of my worship is between me and the Lord.

The only inapplicable portion of the lyrics in this instance is that I am not asking for permission to squeeze my way into a toxic culture that proscribes me from being who I am; I am deliberately making a place for myself there in the hope that I can force a few people out of their comfortable cultural bubbles to see that Mormons are not cookie-cutter people, as I like to call them—nor do we have to be. What unites us is that we love the Lord, we know where we came from, why we are here, and where we want to go—back home to our Heavenly Parents.

It’s true that I will never be able to prove to God that I will always be faithful to Him and the covenants I’ve made in His holy house. My experience as a Latter-day Saint has been wracked with ups and downs. But like the lyrics of the song, I can acknowledge the majesty and splendor of the star-filled heavens while recognizing, trustingly, that they are not in my power to command. Perfection is not a reality of mortality; it is a blessing of eternity. What’s important now is that I continue to aim for the stars, knowing that in time I will reach them.

Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf, an apostle of the Lord, and then a member of the First Presidency of the Church once gave this beautiful anecdote:

          “Isn’t it wonderful to know that we don’t have to be perfect to experience the blessings and gifts of our Heavenly Father? We don’t have to wait to cross the finish line to receive God’s blessings. In fact, the heavens begin to part and the blessings of heaven begin to distill upon us with the very first steps we take toward the light.

           “The perfect place to begin is exactly where you are right now. It doesn’t matter how unqualified you may think you are or how far behind others you may feel. The very moment you begin to seek your Heavenly Father, in that moment, the hope of His light will begin to awaken, enliven, and ennoble your soul. The darkness may not dissipate all at once, but as surely as night always gives way to dawn, the light will come.

                    ~ “The Hope of God’s Light,” Ensign, May 2013, 75.

When I was baptized, I was under the impression that rising out of the warm waters of the baptismal font made me clean from my sins—which I felt were many, even at age 16—and that it was my responsibility to never sin again. I remember how awful I felt when I transgressed the new law of my life as a covenant member of God’s Kingdom soon after. Similar vices have stayed with me since then, and I don’t imagine they will ever leave—I will probably always be tempted to sin and transgress in ways that have long helped me to cope, find relief, self-soothe, and bring comfort.

But how wrong I was to assume that becoming a disciple of Christ meant being a perfect mortal at all times and in all places. I have learned through trial and error that God’s only expectation for me is to do my best and let the atonement of Jesus Christ make up for the rest. I am happy for the times when I am strong in the faith; but I have seen too many like me leave, and have myself wanted to leave (or have done so) too many times to erroneously assume that I will always be a Mormon.  I simply don't know, and try not to speculate either way.

To some, that probably sounds pessimistic and depressing. To me, though, it is living purposefully and deliberately with my challenges—spiritual, physical, mental, and emotional—by choosing to be a person of faith as long as I can. I cannot say that others (or myself, really) will never tear me apart from my religion, but I don’t think I could ever disregard a belief in my God or my Savior, even if my relationship with Them changed over time.

I take comfort in knowing that the Lord knows all the
chapters of my life, and all the feelings of my heart.

For now I can have faith and trust in power and knowledge greater than my own that things are working out exactly as they should, and will continue to do so. I can forgive others of their insensitivities and ignorance, though at times it is difficult. And I know that no matter what I go through in life, or how my circumstances affect me temporarily, my Redeemer has my secondhand heart permanently, and it is of more value to Him than I could ever possibly comprehend.

He knows my heart’s hurt, its sorrow, its passion, its love, its devotion—for all things, including Him. He knows perfectly, intimately, every story my heart could tell, because He was with me through the telling of them all. He took my heart gently in His pierced hands and mended it after every conflict, struggle, and sin that bruised it, broke it, and crushed it. And I am confident that all that my secondhand heart has felt and endured will be taken into account in the end; and I believe this will hold greater power in the final judgment of God over any choices we may make in order to find further peace and fulfillment and to endure well to the end.

When I look at my brothers and sisters and see addictions, transgressions, weakness, hatred, and foolishness, I am reassured that Christ knows every detail of their turmoil, and all the reasons for their actions. And I am thankful that my tales of success, failure, struggle, and triumph are forever written in the hands and feet of the Master Storyteller, who will mercifully consider all the chapters of my life—both told and untold—before making His final review.  “For the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).

          In the Roman Catholic tradition, the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, or Sacratissimum Cor Iesu in Latin, is a devotion (non-liturgical, or personal, form of worship) recognized annually by a solemnity, or religious celebration, called the Feast of the Sacred Heart, which takes place outside of regular Sunday worship. Pope Pius IX established the solemnity of the Sacred Heart in 1856 as obligatory for the whole church.  The devotion to the Sacred Heart is one of the most well-known and widely practiced devotions in Catholicism, taking the physical heart of Jesus Christ as the representation of His divine love for humanity.

          Considering that the Feast of the Sacred Heart will be celebrated this week (June 8, 2018) by Catholics worldwide, I found this painting by an unknown artist to be an appropriate conclusion to this essay series, showing the Savior holding His own perfect, but once-wounded heart in His hands—also symbolic, perhaps, of the way the Lord holds our hearts in perfect love and mercy.

          It is my prayer that the followers of Christ, in many faiths, will remember always that Jesus knows how to heal our secondhand hearts because His own beating heart was once stilled for our sakes, and brought to life again through His miraculous resurrection.  Our Redeemer lives, and I testify of it!

          To my readers, thank you for joining me on this literary journey.

                    ~ Wade

Song Dissection—"Second Hand Heart" (Pt. 8)

See my introductory post, “Song Dissection – Second Hand Heart (Pt. 1)” for background on this essay project. If you are a new reader, I invite you to listen to the song and watch the official music video below. The lyrics are listed for you to read as well; after which, I will continue to dissect the song and share my thoughts on the lessons that it taught me, which is one reason I love this song so much. Be sure and check back for subsequent updates in this 10-part series.

* * * * *

– Second Hand Heart –

Performed by Ben Haenow

(Featuring Kelly Clarkson)

The light of the morning finds you sleeping in my bed

And it’s not like the stories; it’s never like what they said

I know who you want me to be but I’m just not there yet

Yeah, the broken road’s always been home and it’s so hard to forget

Wait for me now

Will you wait for me now?

CHORUS:

I might think too much, drink too much, stay out too late

I know I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change

I can’t steal you the stars, but I can give you this secondhand heart

All your friends think I’m hopeless, they don’t understand

That this imperfect love can start over again

It’s been broken apart, but will you still take my secondhand heart?

(FIRST STANZA REPEATS)

(CHORUS REPEATS)

FIRST BRIDGE:

If you let me show you, I could love you the same

And I can’t steal you the stars but I can try every day

Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart

SECOND BRIDGE:

And I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change

And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day

Oh, you know you got my secondhand heart

(SECOND BRIDGE REPEATS)

* * * * *

“All your friends think I’m hopeless, they don’t understand that this imperfect love can start over again.”

These lines hit home for me because I care a great deal what others think about me; another person’s perceptions of me hold more power for me than I have of my own accord, and my self-esteem rests often in the judgment—good or bad—of others. I’m sure there have been many times in my life that others thought I was a hopeless wreck; some of those times I probably thought I was too. But with my recent success in college and my approaching graduation (after dropping out twice over a ten-year period), I have shown myself and others that I am capable of much more than either party probably supposed.

Errors and imperfections are a part of life for everyone;
thankfully, God allows retakes and do-overs for a fresh start.

Certainly I am a prime example of the ebb and flow of testimony and religious activity. I grew up not knowing any God, and soon after I made covenants to follow the God I found, I became disenchanted with Him once again as I pursued forbidden paths. If you’ve read my blog before, you know that I came back; and in more recent posts (see “15 Years a Mormon—A Reflection”—November 2017) I’ve shared my wanderings back to that fence that ten years ago I straddled between a religious life and a nonreligious life. Doors that were once closed are now unlocked and ready to be opened, though presently I choose to stay in the faith.

I’ve always tried to keep my blog compelling, and I am compelled by personal tales shared in truth and vulnerability. I have told my tales of struggle and triumph in the hopes that others may be inspired; but I do admit to worrying a great deal about what others might think when I share old doubts that I had once conquered, but am suddenly reliving. I lose sight of what it means to repent and be forgiven, and I fail to remember that repenting and forsaking our sins and shortcomings does not mean that we will not make the same mistakes again. The beautiful thing about the gospel of Jesus Christ is that perfection is sought after, but not attainable, and we all get as many do-over’s as we need.

I'm discovering just how fragile faith is, as challenges have more
than once stripped my base of testimony down to its roots.

In my head I make up scenarios of people gossiping about me when I’m not around, and they say, “How can he be doing that again? I thought he moved on; I thought he was past that stage of his life. I guess his repentance wasn’t heartfelt; I guess he didn’t try hard enough to change.” In reality, I think these made-up conversations are expressions of my own conscious awareness of my struggles and how I feel about them, rather than how most others really view me. In my circumstances, it is probably not all my other friends who think I am hopeless, but me thinking such thoughts about myself.

While I could probably have a very heated debate with my imagined gossipers about why I am not a hopeless cause, and how I can start over again at square-one, convincing myself of that is a bit harder. Bouncing back from mistakes has never been my strong point, and my slate is never quite as clean as I’d like it to be after erasing my errors. Truly, I am my own worst critic and my own worst enemy; we all likely are, in one way or another. When I am faced with such critical decisions—sometimes questions of faith, sometimes questions of life or death—I have to travel back to the roots of my being to rediscover, again and again, why I choose to be present and accounted for.

Building upon foundations of faith can bring me back to higher
ground, and back again into the enlightenment of God's truth.

With my faith, these are doctrinal concepts such as, “Do I believe in God? Do I believe that He loves me perfectly? Do I believe He has power to help me if I ask Him?” Though the answer has not always been in the affirmative when I am living in dark moments, I usually come back to the light with a resounding and peace-lending “Yes!” With my life circumstances—living with physical disabilities and mental health challenges—the fundamentals I come back to are questions like, “Who are they that love me and would miss me if I were gone, and how can they help me through this difficult time? Do I believe that things will eventually get better? Can I hold on long enough to get past this most troublesome moment?”

Wilford Woodruff, fourth President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints once admonished:

          “Put your trust in God and rely on his promises, living up to the light and knowledge you possess; and all will be well with you whether living or dying.”
          ~ Discourses of Wilford Woodruff, ed. G. Homer Durham, 260.

Though not particularly profound, I have long loved this quote because of its back-to-basics approach. Whatever we have available—be it faith, family, friends, or other beneficial resources—we should utilize them as we carry on along our journey; this includes reaching out to loved ones when we are struggling, visiting a professional therapist, talking to ecclesiastical leaders, taking time for ourselves, and practicing self-compassion.

Imperfection is expected of all; indeed, it is the one character trait that we all share as human beings, and which can be anticipated with 100% certainty. While others may judge us (or seem like they are), they cannot escape the same fate of failing at one thing or another, just as I do. Whether or not we can start over again—and again and again!—when we do imperfect things is the true test of our character and our faith. And when I do find that my faith is in need of repair or renovation, it’s helpful to remember that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love me perfectly in my imperfection; and that divine love provides the eternal blueprint from which I can reconceptualize my existence, reframe my challenges, and reconstruct my faith.

15 Years a Mormon—A Reflection

Fifteen years ago I officially became a Mormon.

On Saturday, November 23, 2002—fifteen years ago this Thanksgiving holiday—I made a choice that would affect the trajectory of my life forever. I was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormons). My ancestry on both my mother’s and father’s sides has been predominantly Mormon since Brigham Young settled with the Saints in the Salt Lake Valley in 1847. Many of my ancestors converted to Mormonism in the British Isles and immigrated by ship, wagon, and handcart to Utah during the great pioneer exodus of the mid- and late-1800’s.

My parents did not choose to repeat many religious rituals in our family, consisting of me and my three older brothers. By cultural tradition, as infants, my siblings and I were all blessed and given names by my maternal grandfather. My two oldest brothers were baptized after they turned eight years-old, but this was most likely due again to cultural pressure from sources outside our immediate family and less because my brothers actually knew what they were doing and understood the meaning behind the ordinance.

My next brother, who is three years older than me, has never been baptized, and I was sixteen years-old before I made the decision to join the LDS Church of my own choice. I remember full-time Mormon missionaries coming to our door often when I was a child. I mostly remember them visiting around the time I turned eight myself, and I assume that well-meaning neighbors had encouraged local leadership to groom me for baptism as one of the inactive/non-religious families in the ward (local congregation).

I was introduced to religion by LDS missionaries as a child, but
wouldn't choose to be baptized until I was a teenager.

My mother usually politely refused the missionaries’ message; but I became curious about these young men wearing suits in 90-degree weather, and asked my mother if I could invite them in. She didn’t understand my desire, but she did not object. I remember the first time I read from the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ with these young men. The missionaries handed me the volume with a highlighted verse on one page and asked me to read it aloud. I remember being confused about the pronunciation of ‘ye’ and ‘yea’ and was corrected when I said them wrong.

Missionary companionships would come and go over my growing up years, and they always tried to befriend me. One Elder offered me a tasseled bookmark that I had admired in his scripture case if I promised to read from the Book of Mormon and say my prayers. I never did, to my recollection; but he gave me the bookmark anyway. Another Elder taught me how to pray to a God whom I had never known in the name of a Man whom I only knew from Christmas songs and my mother’s ceramic Nativity set that went up during the holidays.

Once, one of these Elders taught me about the origin of the Book of Mormon and asked me to go into my room and pray to know if the volume of scripture was true—right then and there. I went into my room and kneeled at my unmade bed, as I was instructed, but I don’t remember if I really prayed or not. I wasn’t sincere about it, at any rate, and knowing myself, I was probably too embarrassed to refuse the request. Nevertheless, I returned to the living room to declare that I hadn’t received any answer, to the chagrin of the zealous Elders. It would not be until adulthood when I would feel that I had received an answer from heaven that told me that I believed in the authenticity of the Book of Mormon.

Upon learning the identity of Jesus as a child, I
drew a picture of him and showed it to my mother;
she was critical of my interest in religion.

Once, after the missionaries had left our home, I sat down to draw a picture of this Man that the Elders called Jesus Christ, the Son of God; I loved drawing and doodling as a boy. I drew the Man in long, flowing white robes, standing upon a cloud, His arms outstretched as He appeared in all the pictures I had been shown of Him by the missionaries. I carefully drew tiny dots in the palms of the Man’s hands, and upon His feet. Apparently He had died long ago—and for me, I was told—but now He was alive again and living in heaven.

I was proud of the drawing; I had worked so hard on it. Later that night, after I put the finishing touches on the sketch, I showed it to my mother, who was busy cooking dinner. She made a face and scoffed a little, insisting that I didn’t even know who that Man was. She expressed her dissatisfaction at what the young missionaries had been teaching me, I think because she felt I was being coerced into believing something that I didn’t truly understand—but she was right, I didn’t.

I received a Book of Mormon reader around age eight, from the ward missionaries, one of whom happened to be the son of our kind neighbor, who was also my mom’s dedicated and humble visiting teacher up until my parents’ divorce. The book contained small picture boxes, six to a page, with short captions underneath each of them, condensing and simplifying the stories from the Book of Mormon. I read it diligently many times, cover to cover, with genuine interest, but never knowing that the stories were supposed to be based on real events. My love of ancient worlds and history was probably what enthralled me most, as I realized that the events were set in a time long past.

My interest in religion waned as I got older. We had a complete Book of Mormon in the house collecting dust on a shelf; it was a gift to one of my older brothers when he was baptized. I opened it periodically, mostly to look at the few full-page pictures inside by the iconic LDS artist Arnold Friberg. A couple times I remember lying on the couch trying to read from the book, but the language was entirely foreign to me. My mom saw me trying to read it once and again scoffed that my efforts were fruitless because I couldn’t possibly understand the text. I wanted to, though, and I persisted trying to read the book for a week or so, but eventually gave up.

 Discrimination and unfair treatment by school administrators in
my sophomore year of high school left me unnecessarily
isolated from other students.

In my sophomore year of high school I had started to get myself into some trouble with the slight social awkwardness that comes with having Tourettes disorder and OCD. Deeply in the closet at the time as well, and not really understanding my sexuality in its fullness, other boys made games of trying to get me to flirt with them, and feeling that I was welcome to show them my affection, I took things too far. Nobody knew I was gay then, not even my family; and I couldn’t tell anyone that my sexual attractions to other boys my age was a large part of what the school administrators labeled sexually deviant behavior. (You can read more about this time of my life in my past posts, “Dear Andy”—June 2013, “Walk Like a Man”—February 2013, and “When a Man Loves a Woman”—February 2014).

After forcing my mother to send me to a psychiatrist who worked with sex offenders to assess my potential threat to other students (the results of which came back with no indication that I was a sexual predator), the school district forced me into a trailer on the out skirts of the high school campus to receive a poor excuse for an education among young men who had juvenile criminal records. Shockingly to them, I’m sure, I was on good behavior among boys who had blown up mail boxes with homemade pipe bombs and possibly raped young women; I was even attacked after “class” one day by several of the boys who simply couldn’t stand my tics and my gentle personality.

The “warden” (I dare say he was not an adequate teacher by any means) had talked to administrators to figure out a way for me to be on campus during school hours but not in the trailer with the other boys as often. I was not, though, under any circumstances allowed into the main school buildings without a chaperone. I suggested the LDS Seminary program, which was just yards away from my prison classroom, and a welcome place of refuge from a place where I knew I just didn’t belong. All agreed, and I was enrolled in the Seminary program for the remainder of the 2001-2002 school year.

The off-campus LDS Seminary program at my high school was a
welcome sanctuary from the problems happening to me at school.

I went home and told my mother that I needed a set of LDS scriptures for my new class; I don’t remember her protesting. She kindly bought them for me—a deep red, leather-bound “quad” containing the Bible, the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price—the four books of canonized Mormon scripture. I still own this set of scriptures today, though you wouldn’t be able to tell I’ve had them so long; at the time, I was so obsessive about ruining the thin, wispy pages that I rarely opened the volume outside of class, afraid that a sudden violent, jerky arm or hand tic would rip out clumps of pages.

My first few seminary teachers didn’t “get” me. If it weren’t for a few kind students that I knew there, I’m not sure I would’ve initially fit in at this building either. One early teacher would frequently stop mid-lesson to tell me to be quiet. My tics then involved a lot of random shouting of words and unintelligible sounds at a boisterous volume. Perhaps because I was the curious non-member boy, he supposed that he didn’t have to try as hard to be nice to me—I really can’t say, though. Later, during my senior year in seminary, one female teacher hated me so much that if I had even one tic in her classroom, she would send me to sit outside the closed door. I still have a hard time thinking kindly of her.

I don’t remember exactly how I ended up in Brother Yorgason’s class, but there I finally found my place among the Mormons during parts of my sophomore and junior years. Affectionately called Brother Yorgi by his students, this man was a jovial, upbeat, high-energy man whose love for the gospel of Jesus Christ shone through his bright eyes. He was always excited to be at the head of the class; always happy to see all of his students, including me. 

Among the Latter-day Saint youth I satisfied a steadily-growing
curiosity about religion, God, and my purpose in life.

Looking back on seminary I learned virtually nothing about the scriptures and barely perused the depths of Mormon doctrine, but I felt welcome. I learned the basics about our shared history as Mormons, from Joseph Smith’s First Vision to the current prophet on the earth, then Gordon B. Hinckley. It was enough to intrigue me and I was putty in this humble seminary teacher’s hands.

Still with a laugh, I think back on how much false doctrine I learned in that class. Call it an overzealous teacher—much like those dedicated missionaries from my youth—or just rampant Mormon culture, if you like; but I was told many things that I later learned to be speculative Mormon myth and folklore, like faith-building stories based on slightly outrageous (but still compelling) personal claims. Brother Yorgi told me in 2003 that he believed the Second Coming of Christ would happen in the next decade—we all know now that that didn’t happen. I heard about meetings with the mysterious Three Nephites from many points in Mormon and non-Mormon history; tales about angels guarding the gates of LDS Temples from sinful nonbelievers; and wonderment surrounding prophetic revelations that predated the coming of things like motor vehicles, electricity, elevators, airplanes, and the internet.

Nevertheless, I was awestruck with the knowledge I was taking in. I wanted more than ever to be a part of this unique world that had surrounded me all my life growing up in a predominantly Mormon state, in an even more densely-Mormon town. And, more than ever, I had the knowledge to understand the basics of the religion that I was so intrigued by to know what the proper steps were in joining such a miraculous and amazing organization. I wanted to be baptized.

The LDS missionaries would return to my
home when I was 16 to prepare me for baptism.

I had no idea to whom I ought to speak about my desire to be baptized, so I went to the first good and true source of observable faithfulness I could think of—my mom’s devoted visiting teacher, Ruth Ann. I knocked on her door one day in the early fall of 2002, jubilantly declaring to her that I wanted to be baptized, and asking where I should go to get the ball rolling. She gave me the information of our local ward leader, Bishop Sabey. I later phoned the bishop and set up an appointment with him.

Meeting with the bishop later on, I learned that I needed to proceed officially with a few of the basic lessons taught to investigators by the missionaries before I could be baptized. Those lessons began right away in the same living room where I had met with other companionships as a child. We watched videos on the life of Jesus Christ—videos that I would love for years to come, and watch many more times by my own choice. I don’t really know how many lessons were intended to be taught to new investigators in those days—having never served a mission myself—but it seemed to get through rather quickly.

The Bishop also wanted me to begin attending Sunday church meetings each week, in that same building where he and I met, just a few blocks from my house. I remember the first time I showed up to a sacrament meeting there, feeling out of place, and especially embarrassed because I didn’t know how to tie the necktie I had inherited from my late-grandfather on my dad’s side. My white shirt was open at the neck as I wandered into the meeting, the necktie stuffed into my pocket, and not knowing where to sit because I didn’t know anybody. 

But then I was surprised and relieved to see a familiar face—a girl that I went to school with, sitting on the edge of a pew with space next to her. We made eye contact, and I gestured my request to sit next to her, to which see obliged politely. I remember picking up my first hymnbook and trying to sing with the congregation. I had been singing all my life and was familiar with sheet music, but I didn’t understand how the verses were arranged, and tried to follow the lyrics straight down the page instead of skipping to the next bar of music.

I had a second meeting with Bishop Sabey, called the baptismal interview, which was a chance to answer some predetermined questions and address any past sins. I was sixteen at this time, and it was around the time earlier that spring when I started taking seminary that I had finally concluded that I was gay. It was an inconvenience to learn that my innate attractions to males were a “sin” for which men, women, and whole cities had been destroyed by the wrath of God in ancient times. But it would not deter me from my decision to be baptized.

The Bible Dictionary in my first set of scriptures was where I first
concluded that the "sin" of homosexuality and my lifelong
attractions to males were the same thing.

When Bishop Sabey and I talked about my sins, I was terrified to tell him that I thought I might very well be gay. I was afraid they wouldn’t let me be baptized if I confessed such a thing. Recently having researched LDS policy as it was at that time, the chance was very possible I would’ve been denied. I had had sexual experiences with other boys my age all growing up, though not presently or recently, and that was one criterion for denial. Not wanting to lie to a man of God, I tried to explain my “experimentations” with other boys, being careful not to indicate that I had initiated many of them and that I enjoyed them quite a lot. 

The bishop gave me an example of a child is his neighborhood who used the sidewalk as a bathroom one day because she did not know any better; he insisted that children cannot sin, and therefore I, too, was not at fault—it was all part of growing up. I could see a large difference between a three year-old and a teenager like me making such decisions; so his answer was not quite the relief I thought it would be. I felt like I knew all along what I was doing all those times with the other boys; I understood my actions, just not the attractions. However, I didn’t press the matter, feeling satisfied with my attempt at confession, and my baptism was set for the Saturday before Thanksgiving, with my confirmation being the next day in my new home ward. 

I was thrilled. I typed up a few sheets of small, business-card-like invitations giving the date, time, and place of my baptism, and cut them apart and handed them out in the hallways at school (I had redeemed myself with good behavior to the point that I was allowed on the campus my junior year). My parents had separated in October that year, and the hardest thing to do was probably trying to get my dad to come to my special day, which was important to me, though I knew my parents didn’t necessarily want to see each other. I think he was there; honestly, though, I don’t remember for sure.

The program from my baptismal service - Saturday, November
23, 2002.

My maternal Grandparents, Bud and Dorothy, came into town from southern Utah to attend my baptism. For my special day, I had hoped that my grandfather—the same man who blessed me as an infant—could baptize me as well. But my grandpa was almost seventy at the time and had been battling lymphoma cancer for a few years and was a bit frail. I was tall and stocky as a teen, and my grandpa had concerns about being able to physically perform the ordinance. I was asked to choose two people to share thoughts on the baptism and the Holy Ghost at my service, and I chose my grandpa as one, so he could be involved, and Ruth Ann, my neighbor and family friend, as the other.

I believe my grandparents came into town the day before my baptism, and they stopped by our house before going to my aunt’s house to stay the night. For reasons I don’t remember, my mom and grandma had to go out (shopping, I suppose), and so I stayed at home to keep my grandpa company. He sat in a large recliner in our living room and we started chatting. I honestly wish I could remember everything we talked about, but in reality I remember virtually nothing of the details of our conversation.

I do remember, though, that we talked about things that my grandpa had always been interested in, like the energy of the earth and the universe, and how the Holy Ghost was a part of those manifestations of power. He talked about the vibration of the earth and how we can measure them, and discussed evidence that experts have obtained that the earth’s vibration began to speed up around the early 1800’s, near the time that Joseph Smith saw God the Father and Jesus Christ in a wooded grove in upstate New York. My grandpa suggested that with the Restoration of the Church approaching at that time, the Spirit of God had more fully entered the world, paving the way for the gospel to fill the earth in the latter days, and causing the energy of the earth to be affected.

What I remember most was being simply flabbergasted by these theories, and marveling at my grandfather’s intelligence. He gave me a new outlook on faith and religion that had more physical, almost tangible evidences, and that fascinated me. Having grown up with old National Geographic’s in our house and a passion for archaeology and ancient history, I had badly wanted evidence for the stories of faith I had learned of in seminary—proof of the ten plagues of Egypt and the parting of the Red Sea; proof that America was populated by the Nephites and Lamanites spoken of in the Book of Mormon; proof that miracles had not ceased and that God still performed His wonders in the world of men. It was the most time I had ever spent talking with my grandpa in my entire life, and it was a thrilling and wonderful experience. I felt like I knew him better and was closer to him after an hour of conversation than I had been in the previous sixteen years before that day. 

I chose baptism into the LDS Church at age 16, and
it changed my life forever.

My memories aren’t very clear all these years later (though it seems such a short time in so many ways!), so the details of my baptismal service are foggy. I remember going to the Stake Center a few blocks from my house and being led to a closet filled with white jumpsuits, where a stranger helped me find one in my size. I changed into it, and waited for guests to arrive. I felt silly in the jumpsuit when people began trickling in, but I greeted my supporters happily. Because of his influential role in my developing testimony, I asked Brother Yorgason, my seminary teacher, if he would perform the baptism, to which he gratefully agreed. I greeted him with a hug when he arrived, and he went and changed into a white jumpsuit he had brought himself.

Two girls in my ward tag-teamed the piano to play the interlude music and the hymns that I had chosen; one of them was the girl I had sat next to on my first day of Church, and the other was the daughter of the Bishop, and we all attended school together. After the opening hymn, Bishop Sabey opened the meeting with a prayer, and asked me to come to the front of the group; I sat on a small table next to a portable pulpit and couldn’t stop smiling. Next, Ruth Ann gave her remarks on baptism; she encouraged me to keep a journal from that day on, which I have tried my best to do since then. 

The time came for me to enter the baptismal font adjacent to the small meeting room. During my baptismal interview, I had asked Bishop Sabey hopefully if we had to go to an LDS temple to perform the baptism, but I was slightly let down when he said there was a font in the Stake Center. I had very much wanted to see the inside of a temple; I had only ever been to one temple open house—the Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple—prior to its dedication, but I was only ten at the time and couldn’t recall much of it.

I remember the water was warm when I stepped into the font. The jumpsuit I wore clung tightly to my legs and body as I proceeded down the steps to the bottom of the font. Brother Yorgason arranged my hands—one gripping his left forearm and the other one palm-up and held by his right hand. He whispered in my ear to remember to plug my nose, and squat low while leaning back. I wasn’t scared; mostly just afraid that I would mess things up somehow. He raised his right hand, calling me by name, and said, “In the name of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” Upon his ‘amen’ and the collective repetition by the audience, I went under the water, and was up again before I could count to three. I looked at the smiling audience with a cheesy grin on my face, mostly just feeling silly that I was soaking wet in front of a group of people, and we proceeded up the steps into our changing rooms.

My certificate of baptism and confirmation given to me by my
LDS ward bishop.

I dressed quickly in a shirt and tie, and lamented that my heavily-styled hair was ruined, and stepped back out into the meeting room. Again, I sat on the table next to the pulpit. My grandpa stood, put his hands into his pockets, and began speaking on the Holy Ghost, without any notes or prompts. He outlined the same things he and I had talked about the day before, about how the Holy Ghost is a presence in the world that can be measured and not just felt. His remarks were so unique compared to anything I had ever heard in an LDS meeting, that I couldn’t help but beam in knowing that I was the grandson of such a brilliant man. When he concluded his remarks, I proudly said, “That was my grandpa.”

My Bishop and Young Men’s leader spoke next, and I don’t remember what they had to say, but it was brief. We sang another hymn, and upon its end my next-door neighbor, our family home teacher—the man who first taught me how to tie a necktie—concluded the meeting with a prayer. Guests were invited back to our home for refreshments; a few people from school were at the service and my home, and I have never forgotten how special they made me feel by taking time to attend.

The next day I attended my home ward sacrament meeting where I was confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by Bishop Sabey, who would become a lifelong friend and a great influence in my life—a father figure that I always wanted. He, along with other important men in my life at the time, joined in a circle around me as I sat on a folding chair at the front of the chapel, and each man lay one hand on my head to pronounce the confirmation and a blessing as well. I remember the warmth of their hands and the gentle weight that made me feel secure and comforted. I stood at the end and gave hugs and handshakes all around.

After the sacrament meeting, I went to the Bishop’s office to be ordained to the Priesthood in my new faith. Young men ages 16 to17 are given the lesser, or Aaronic Priesthood, and are given the title of Priests; it is the last stage in this lesser Priesthood before young men are ordained to the higher standing of Elder in the Melchizedek Priesthood, usually before going on a proselytizing mission or getting married. As Priests, young men are allowed to prepare, break, bless, and consecrate the bread and water used in the ordinance of the sacrament which is administered every Sunday.

My certificate of ordination to the Aaronic Priesthood in the LDS
Church.

I asked a missionary to ordain me, an Elder Oliveros, who had taught me the missionary lessons leading up to my baptism, and who had been there with me every step of the way. It was a wonderful experience, though I didn’t understand well at the time what it meant to have the Priesthood of God. After Church that day, though, I had my first opportunity to use my newly-gained Priesthood power. Young Priests and their leaders often go at least once a month to homes in the ward boundaries to bless and administer the sacramental bread and water to members, usually the elderly, who cannot otherwise attend church meetings and receive the ordinance there.

We went to a few homes that day, but I remember one woman in particular who left a lasting impression on me. When we entered her home I was overcome with the familiar, delightful smell of brewed coffee. In my childhood home, coffee was a morning staple for my parents, and a frequent indulgence for me because I loved drinking coffee with lots of sugar and creamer. It wasn’t odd to me to smell that rich aroma; but in the LDS Church, coffee is to be abstained from, according to latter-day revelation and scripture, and so most active members do not drink it. 

Drawing on the my limited experience as Mormon thus far, I could assume that, culturally, this women was known as “inactive,” in that she didn’t attend Church regularly, hold a temple recommend, or obey certain commandments (like abstaining from coffee). But there was no judgment or exhortation that day, as we were there just to serve her; we were welcomed into her living room and I was humbled by her reception.

As customary, we shared with the sweet woman some thoughts and remarks on topics of faith. I was chosen to give the thoughts, and I chose to recite a new favorite poem that had been printed on my paternal grandfather’s funeral program just a month before. The rhyming verses told of waking up to a beautiful day and thanking God for all we’ve been given, and expressed confidence that God hears all of our prayers. I noticed then that the elderly woman was in tears; they slipped down from her eyes, stopping briefly on the bone of her rosy cheek, and then slid further down her face before dripping onto the shag carpet.

Taking the sacrament to an elderly woman the same
day I became a Priest was a memorable experience.

I don’t recall her exact words; but she was touched, and so was I. She thanked me for sharing that poem—I don’t know why that’s what came to my mind to offer her—and expressed solemnly that she needed its message in her solitude and loneliness. We may have hugged briefly; I don’t recall. Seeing her overcome that way was both heartbreaking and inspiring to me as young man who had dedicated his life to God only a day before.

When the time came, I pulled a single slice of bread from the bag, and broke it into a few pieces—enough for all present—and placed them on a metal, handled tray. Then, with permission, I went to the woman’s kitchen sink and filled the same number of tiny plastic cups—held also in a drip-proof metal tray fitted for the cups—with tap water. Then I returned to an ottoman where I sat for a moment before getting on my knees. My leader handed me a laminated card with the ordinance blessings on it, which must be read verbatim. I read each of the blessings aloud in turn with my head bowed, and was happy that I didn’t make any mistakes. Then after each ‘amen’ another young man passed the trays to all present, and we partook of the bread and drank the water.

I left the woman’s house feeling something I had not felt so strongly before, not even at my baptism. It was the Holy Ghost—so I assumed, and had been told. But it wasn’t a burning of my bosom, as a common scriptural cliché tells; it was simply a warmth in my soul, gratitude in my heart, and a compassionate loving feeling for the woman whom I had had the privilege of meeting that day. I never saw her again, to my recollection; I’ve wondered about her a lot. But I am happy I was able to bring some sunshine into her dimly-lit home that day as I learned the meaning of service in the name of faith, as brothers and sisters, and children of a divine Heavenly Father.

Though I had hoped it would, my Patriarchal
Blessing offered no illumination on my future
as a gay individual.

On the Sunday following my baptism and confirmation, I received my patriarchal blessing—a sort of spiritual rite of passage for faithful Latter-day Saints. By laying his hands upon my head, and elderly Patriarch of the Church pronounced blessings upon my head, along with revelation for the trajectory of my life if I continued a diligent life of faith. My mother was with my in this Patriarch’s wood-paneled office during the blessing. I had hoped as I anticipated this event that I would receive miraculous counsel from God on what I was to do about being gay—what the reason for my homosexuality was, what I was to learn from it, and if I would be okay. There was nothing that specific in my blessing. In fact, my blessing talks a great deal about me marrying a female, my “sweetheart,” and raising a “noble posterity.”

I continued with seminary until I graduated high school, and received a two-year graduation certificate of completion from the seminary program as well. For the first year of my life as a convert-Mormon, I was everything a Mormon boy should be—I attended Church, used my Priesthood to serve, participated in Boy Scouts, Young Men’s group, and Mutual activities with the young women. We went on campouts and held firesides and devotionals. I even visited Temple Square in Salt Lake City for the first time in my life, and marveled at the granite temple there that took forty years to build.

As frequent readers will know, I struggled a great deal in attempting to reconcile my faith and sexuality. I was secretly meeting men through gay social chat lines, and lost my virginity to a man when I was just seventeen. I don’t suppose I ever stopped believing in the LDS Church; I just think exploring my attractions to men was more important at that time than following God’s commandments. In time I came back to the Church, after much promiscuity and one failed relationship with the only boyfriend I ever had. I became an Elder and entered the House of the Lord to receive my temple ordinances with a promise to God that I would never look back—that I would never go back to the “gay lifestyle” that had not brought me the fulfillment I sought.

Now, fifteen years after my baptism, and almost a decade since I made unbreakable covenants with God, I am coming to a crossroads that I thought I would never set foot on again. I am wondering how much longer I can keep up this life of faith, which is feeling more and more like a charade than something genuine from my heart. I read my patriarchal blessing as it promised me a wife and kids and glory in the Celestial Kingdom of God if I remain faithful—and I can’t help but wonder if I am just not cut out to live up to that promise anymore.

The door out of the LDS Church was chained and forbidden by me
long ago; having that door as an open option once again is
terrifying and heartbreaking for me.

I don’t know if those blessings will ever be realized, at least in this life. I wonder sometimes if this foretelling is only meant to mock me and the life I wish I could have with a partner and children. As Mormon Apostle Jeffrey R. Holland has said, “Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don’t come until heaven.” But his assurance is that they come eventually for all who follow the gospel of Jesus Christ (“‘An High Priest of Good Things to Come,’” Ensign, Nov. 1999). 

I used to be quite content to wait it out, dying eventually if I was called to do so, and progressing eternally toward having a family on the other side of the veil, long after my judgment and resurrection. Now, a door that was once closed and dead-bolted shut—the door out of Mormonism and back to living openly as a gay man—is no longer barred in my heart and mind, but stands unlocked and ready to be opened.

Each day is different in how I feel about that door. Sometimes, when I am depressed and anxious about my present (or future), I approach the door and place my hand on the knob, longing to open it. There have been times that I feel like I’ve even cracked the door open and peered inside, but cannot see clearly into what lies beyond it. When I am feeling okay, saying my prayers, and trying to stay close to God, I don’t notice that the door is there much—but it doesn’t go away, and I have not yet put the chains back on it.

Leaving the Church to find more happiness that I think might be out there is more of an option that I ever thought it would be. I haven’t felt this close to straddling the fence of activity and non-activity in over ten years. Truthfully, it’s terrifying. I never wanted to arrive at this place again. I can’t decide if my fears are the same as they’ve always been but just in a different time of my life, or if these are new fears about my resolve to stay an active Mormon that I’ve never faced before. 

For now, I want to stay a Mormon; but sometimes I feel like I'm
delaying an inevitable exit from organized religion.

For now, I stay; I want to stay. But my religious practices are suffering. I don’t pray as often as I used to; I have a hard time reading the Church’s Ensign magazine without rolling my eyes, scoffing, or getting upset at the content; I haven’t been to Church in months. I’m finding it easier, almost, to live without God in my life. I find that I am not as worried about my private habits and behaviors, though I still have high morals and values. I don’t feel as inadequate and unworthy of divine love or heavenly help; and I don’t berate myself as often because of my mistakes or things that I feel I could be doing better. 

Yet I feel like God doesn’t expect me to be perfect at everything like I assume I have to be. I feel like He understands me and doesn’t hold grudges. I feel He is merciful and compassionate and that He will love me no matter what—even if my sins became graver. This might sound joyous to some; but to a Mormon, it is dangerous territory. My culture tells me that I should never assume that I have a free pass to do whatever I want. All my behavior must be kept within the bounds the Lord has set. And yet, those parameters are no longer fulfilling to maintain. I want more; I want something different, and that scares me. I shouldn’t want more than what God already offers me; I should be satisfied with serving Him faithfully until the day I die. But the thought of more years in spiritual and emotional limbo on earth sucks all the hope out of my days.

I don’t think God will abandon me; in fact, I know He won’t. Even if I abandon my faith, I cannot postulate that I will ever stop believing in God, or the Savior Jesus Christ. If I leave it will be because I have lost my eternal perspective on God’s great Plan of Happiness. It will be because I am unwilling to experience more pain and loneliness for my remaining decades of life. It will be because I have decided that living a truly happy life means more to me that living a perfect and exalted eternity.

Many say that freedom is not free; so do I wonder what the choice
to potentially leave the LDS Church might cost me in the eternal
scheme of things.  Is it worth it?

Though I often ponder my place and status in heaven after I die (because I believe Hell is a rare destination for most people after this life), I am becoming more comfortable with the idea of facing God and Christ to be judged knowing that I'm doing my best considering my circumstances. And if, in that final end, it is still not enough to gain the highest kingdom of glory God has to offer, I think I will nevertheless be content with the character of my spirit and the integrity of my life—whether living or dead.

This post has taken a quick turn, I know. But this is something I wanted to share because it has been on my mind as the anniversary of my baptism has been approaching. I couldn’t help but find this milestone to be bittersweet and confusing. I’m not saying I’m leaving; but I’m not saying that I’m staying indefinitely either. I am doing my best to stay sane every day in the face of depression and debilitating anxiety that comes and goes. And with the flowing tide of these mental health issues are the entrances and exits of my desire to remain a Mormon.

In the end I will do what I feel is best for me, knowing that my Church will accept me back with open arms if I discover (for the second time) that my truest joy really is being a Latter-day Saint. Living presently with this uncertainty, though, is taking its toll on me.  I feel like I might just be delaying the inevitable.