In the Same Boat?

My Bishop asked to meet with me the other day. I didn't want to, but I'm a good girl, so I did. I think he now may regret asking me in. :)

In the past I would have monitored how much and to what extent I shared my thoughts and feelings. Partly because they aren't always clear in my own head, but mostly to avoid making him uncomfortable or for fear of being judged by him.

Those were not a part of my thought processes this time around. Honesty feels a lot better, even if it does make some uncomfortable, or if it means being judged.

I want to be clear that I that I like my Bishop. I support him. I sustain him. 

He wanted to talk to me about two things. The first is not relevant here. The second thing, he said, was regarding my "same-gender...thing."

So we talked about that. I told him honestly, though I was doing pretty well, there are definitely issues I have had, mainly regarding how the Church has responded lately (lately, what am I saying? Pretty much always) to the marriage equality issue. 

I told him I fully support marriage equality. That I was thrilled and so happy when that came to Utah for those couple of weeks. And how I felt once it was stayed. I told him how frustrated I was that the Church feels a need to continue to make this such a difficult issue. How I support traditional marriage and the family. But not to the exclusion of all other types of unions. And that I struggle with the fact that an organization is essentially forcing others to live by their standards, though not everyone experiences life the same or holds the same beliefs. I told him how I wished the church could abide by the Article of Faith about "allowing all men the same privilege" of worshiping "how, where and what they may." And the verse in the Doctrine and Covenants about how religion nor government should influence the other in a way that limits the rights of others. How I wished the Church would follow those principles.

After discussing these things, I mentioned that I didn't know how those ideas and feelings about gay marriage would affect my Temple Recommend renewal. He said as long as I was living the standards, not acting on my feelings, bla, bla, bla, he could renew my recommend....

Well, there's the issue isn't it? So I wondered what does "acting on it" mean to him? I told him I was interested in dating. He didn't really have an answer, so went to the handbook. Of course I knew exactly what was written there. Callings can be held, full activity in the church can be enjoyed, Temple recommend can be renewed by avoiding all homosexual activity. He looked at me with an I'm-sorry-but-there-it-is-spelled-out-clearly look. Then he said, "So if you started dating, it could affect your temple worthiness status."

I told him I had been dealing with this "issue" for a little over 10 years now the way the Church has advised and recommend I do. And for the past three, at least, I've wanted to die. Some days very much so. Because despite my obedience, service, daily prayer, scripture study, and Temple attendance, the peace those things should offer was extremely short lived if there at all. The idea of continuing that for another 40 + years was more than I could bear. So I made the decision to date. And my heart has been at peace.

I mentioned it feels like there is a double standard in the church. Straight people can date. They can hold hands, kiss, etc. With zero consequences. In fact, it is encouraged. And yet, I am asked to not even consider it. Hold hands? Nope. Certainly not kiss. "Avoid any homosexual activity." Absolute double standard.

Then he made a ridiculous comment. There is another single woman in my ward, about my age, straight, who wants to start dating again. He said she and I were in the same boat. Single. Wanting to date. I'm sure the incredulous look on my face made him realize what a stupid comment that was. I said, no, we aren't in the same boat. Not remotely. Because she is encouraged to date. People are happy to see her date. I'm being utterly discouraged to date. Avoid it totally. So, no. We aren't in the same boat. We aren't even on the same ocean.

In his attempt to be helpful, he reminded me how short life really was. And that the best course of action was to continue to pray, read my scriptures, serve, attend church. And everything would be worked out in the next life. I didn't even have the words to express how unhelpful that counsel was. So all I could say was the choice I am faced with is an impossible one to make for someone who loves the gospel. Choose to remain totally  obedient to the policies set out in the church currently, and live the rest of my life alone, and quite possibly miserable, or chose to embrace my need for companionship, and lose so much of what the gospel is in my life.

Again, his only advice was a reminder of how short life is. And that the Lord would work everything out in the end.

Huh. Well, thanks for the chat.

At least he now knows exactly where I am and where I stand. But...he doesn't get it.

An Unexpected Answer

If you’ve been following my blog much over the last little while, you know some of the angst I’ve been feeling – more so lately in the last year or more.

And over the past week, I’ve experienced a huge shift in focus. A new and unexpected piece to the puzzle of my life.

Something this big can’t, and didn’t just happen overnight. It has been at least two years in the making.

After I turned 40, I remember lying on my bed and thinking, and crying “Is this all that there is for me? If this is what my life, for the next 40 years is going to be like, I don’t want it.” And really, I had only been dealing with these things consciously for the past 10 years. During much of that time, my life has been a roller-coaster of feelings and emotions as I persisted in the idea that the decision I made, once I realized I was gay, to live a celibate life, was the right one. When I found it wasn’t working for me, that I was spiraling downward once again, I figured I just needed to be more patient, have more faith and that it would, eventually, all make sense and get better.

But that day, lying on my bed, I was overwhelmed with the thoughts and feelings of how in the world I was going to squeeze 40 more years out like that – alone, lost, hurting so deeply, confused. I need human connection. I'm not just talking about the few close friendships I have. They are wonderful, to be sure. But they can't, simply by their nature, fill me in the deep, soul connecting ways my soul craves. The need to belong to someone, and them to me. That is what I crave. What I have always craved. What the human soul searches for. And again the idea of living my life in a way that won't allow that made me not want to live my life at all.

But since I thought I had no choice, really, if I were to have the full love and support and acceptance of the Savior that was the only choice I felt I could make. But there was also a huge unbalance there. Because I also knew He wanted me to be happy. To live my life fully. But as I lay there on my bed, I knew I wasn't doing that. And I couldn't see how to do that.

My feelings were often so low, that many times over the past several years, I just wanted to swerve the steering wheel and drive over a cliff. Or hope that some semi would smash into me.

 I would rather not be here, than be here persistently feeling this way.

 I felt this would certainly be much simpler to deal with on the other side where I didn’t have a body to contend with.

How is that happy? How is that fulfilling? Choosing a life of solitude because I know I can't express certain levels of affection was bringing me more hurt, heart-ache and pain than any peace choosing righteously should have brought me. But I continued in that choice. And really, I didn’t think I could make any other choice, because as hard as it was, I thought for sure it was the right one. The only one. And that I just needed to keep persisting in that, hoping it would get better. Thinking maybe I could find enough peace in remaining separate from the deepest human connection to make it all okay.

Again. Up and down. Over the last two years, more downs than ups. More sorrow than peace. More hurt than joy. More questions than answers. And those answers that did come were always about being patient. The Lord knows me. Trust Him.

Then recently, I had a conversation with a friend that caused me to look once more at this whole issue. I realized I was in a hopeless situation. What I want most, connection, a significant other, someone to love and belong to, could never be a part of my life with the restrictions I had placed on such a relationship. It just couldn’t happen.

And for the first time, I had a reason to really stop and ask and consider what I was doing. What I wanted. What was working and what wasn’t and why. I had to consider if what I had been choosing really was the right thing for me. Was it going to provide me that which had become abundantly clear I needed in my life – that of deep human connection? Of being truly and completely open and honest with myself?

 For the first time, two choices became very clear to me - choose to open myself up to the possibility of a relationship and be in that fully, no restrictions, no boundaries. Or choose to stay single and celibate. Because trying to do both, have a fully connected relationship, while trying to remain celibate, wasn’t working. Rather, I was feeling more hurt, sadness, loss, anxiety, confusion and fear. None of which stems from the Savior.

So, I had a long conversation with the Lord not too long ago. Well, what really happened is He sent me over three hours worth of thoughts, ideas and impressions, with me asking a question here and there. I learned a lot of things that night, most of which I won't share, because they feel too personal to me. But what I did come away with, that I can and need to share is that the Lord knows how much I desire human connection. He also knows I am gay, that I always have been, that it wasn't something I chose, so I can't choose any course of action to reverse that. He knows I love Him. That I crave and seek His peace. And I haven't been very good at feeling that to the level I once did. He knows my heart. He knows my soul. He knows it better than I do. So while it wasn't unexpected to receive an answer from Him, the answer I did receive was unexpected.

I'm still sitting with it. Considering it and all that it entails. If I hadn't experienced it for myself, in addition to other confirming experiences, I wouldn't have believed it - not for me anyway. I could believe this answer for someone else, but not for me. And yet, here it was.

If I want to have a meaningful relationship in my life, and if the opportunity comes into my life, my choice now is to pursue that, and all that it entails. By doing so does not mean I have lost my testimony. It does not mean I love the Lord any less. On the contrary, I feel like I can more fully and honestly serve Him by living my full, complete self. Not just spiritually, but emotionally and physically.

This is a huge shift for me, so I've continued sitting with these thoughts and feelings. Recognizing and preparing for the inevitable loss that will most likely come with this decision. I will move on and forward with my life as I have always done. But now with a different focus to any potential and future relationships. The hope of having such a relationship has been opened up to me with the removal of the boundaries that would have kept something like that away.

And, as a friend of mine recently said: “There can be really tough things with which we are dealing or troubles we are going through, but when we know God has our back, there is an element of peace knowing we are in His hands and following a path He has endorsed for us.”

How much more true that feels when we realize the path he has endorsed for us is not what we thought it was all along.

Survivors Guilt

Or something like that. In order to address this post topic, I have to back up a ways. Sorry for the round-about way to get to where I want to take you.

I have never questioned my faith. I have never questioned the counsel and policies of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I have never questioned my testimony. I have always been strong and steady. My faith has always been rooted in Christ. I have always enjoyed attending church and mingling my faith with those around me.

So why, a few months ago, did all of that begin to feel shaky, uncertain, and uprooted? Why did attending church become a chore that left me feeling worse than ever? Why did I feel lost, forgotten, not understood? Why did I find it so, so hard to feel the comfort of the Holy Ghost? Why did I suddenly feel that as a gay Latter-Day Saint, I was less than, left out, on the outskirts, alone? Why did my burden suddenly feel so much greater than it ever had before? And why could I not find reconciliation with any of that as I always had before?

I searched my mind and my heart for answers.

What came to me were simple things that only made a small, and temporary difference: focus on my blessings, what I have, rather than what I feel I lack; remember the answers I have received; work on trusting and having faith in the Savior again; etc.

I thought often about how much simpler this would be to deal with on the "other side", and silently hoped for some tragic accident to take me there.

Thankfully I'm still here.

Because tiny miracles have begun to happen in my life.

I outed myself on facebook. A blessing in and of itself. Suddenly, I became known more fully and more completely by people who thought they already knew me. Because of that, I began to feel seen again in nearly every circle of my life, and I began to notice the care and love others feel and felt for me. And slowly, my comfort level in church began to grow again.

With that, other shaky areas of my life (spiritual and otherwise) began to stabilize again. Like that tattered cloth I blogged about a while ago.

Elder Bednar, of the Quorum of Twelve Apostles, came to our Stake Conference and shared simple but powerful messages, and bore a powerful testimony. And I recognized that I felt the spirit in a way I hadn't for far too long.

Sometime around then a simple, not fully developed thought, or impression came to me. There aren't really even words to express it, but the message it brought was something like: "You've been resisting the spirit, joy and hope from your own life, so that you too could struggle in ways others with this issue struggle; so it wouldn't seem so simple and straightforward to deal with this very complex and difficult issue of begin gay and Mormon."

In other words, if I'm too hopeful and too full of the spirit then how can it really be that hard?

That idea shocked me, but also felt absolutely correct.

I am gay. I am emotionally and physically attracted to women. No doubt about that. But my attractions aren't really sexual in nature.When I notice an attraction to someone, it is all purely physical (appearance), or emotional. My desires for connection with someone are about emotional connection, deep sharing, companionship, mental, physical, and emotional closeness. But rarely have those connection desires been sexual.

So because I have no libido, keeping the Law of Chastity (no sexual relations outside of marriage, and that as defined between a man and a woman) has been quite simple for me. Even while in a 7 + year relationship with someone, we were celibate. And as it turns out, that was much easier for me to maintain than it was for her.

So several months ago, when a dear friend of mine was excommunicated for engaging in a sexual relationship with her girlfriend, after striving for over a decade to maintain her standard of chastity, my eyes were opened to the depth of this struggle for the majority of gay Mormons. What is relatively simple for me to maintain, can be excruciatingly difficult for so many others who love the Lord and His gospel, but are absolutely and fully attracted to the same gender in every possible way. And while being gay isn't just about sex any more than being straight is, for the majority of the world, sexual connection is a deep and meaningful means of connection and sharing.When my eyes were fully opened to that dilemma, my heart shut. And my struggle increased.

Subconsciously, I resisted being fully supported by the spirit and having absolute faith in the Gospel and Savior, in living my life with peace, hope and faith, because I did not want others to look at me and use me as an example of how other gay Mormons could and should live their lives. This is the realization I received. I felt guilty that my attractions were such that living the Law of Chastity was a non-issue for me, and therefor, I was able to fully participate in every aspect of the Church and the Gospel while so many others struggled deeply and painfully with that.

The idea of being an example of hope and faithful endurance when my struggle is significantly different, was enough to drive a wedge between me and my faith. I (subconsciously) needed to struggle and feel the depth of pain that others feel with this complicated and contradicting issue. And I did. And my heart broke. And my faith waned. And I felt anger at those who could not see the intense struggle this issue presents. And this anger destabilized me. Hence, the answer to the third paragraph above.

That anger and resistance continued for several months. 

After that first eye-opening impression came to me, I just let it mull around in the back of my mind, weighing it for accuracy. I might have forgotten about it, except it came again just a few days ago: "You've been resisting the spirit, joy and hope from your own life, so that you too could struggle in ways others with this issue struggle; so it wouldn't seem so simple and straightforward to deal with this very complex and difficult issue of begin gay and Mormon." But this time a little bit more was added: "You  have resisted the hope and goodness that fills your life, you have resisted being a source of light and faith, of being the woman of God that you are because you didn't want to make light of this very real struggle. But its time now to turn that around. It's time to bring that light and hope back into your life."

And so I'm trying. But I do it hesitantly because the fear and the guilt are still there that my path in dealing with this issue is made easier by my lack of sexual attraction. I loath the idea that someone will compare me and my "success" in staying true to gospel standards, with someone else who is struggling deeply to do the same thing.

Please don't use me as an example.

Unless it is an example that even though there is still heartache and hurt and questions, I can choose to let that rule my life as I have done, or I can put those things into the hands of the Savior and instead fill my life with hope, faith, beauty, joy and light. And knowing even when I do that, the heartache and struggle in life probably won't change, but I can still put my faith in the Savior that everything really will work out and I can focus on the good in life.

Or if it's as an example of the truth that every individual is unique and different, and they can, by following the spirit to the best of their ability, find the path and the life that is right for them, however different it may be to the one I am living.

And that's the message.

Lasting Influence

I've never really had a problem with Mother's Day. Not until yesterday, that is. I mean, people in the ward try so hard to be inclusive. But I think lately, that "going out of your way to be inclusive" has felt more exclusive than anything.

"You're a mother in the ward."  "You have great influence on our youth."   "You are a mother to so many." Well, while I appreciate the effort to try an include me, all I can really think is "No, I'm not a mother. I'm a youth leader. I'm a woman. But that doesn't make me a mother. I have no posterity. And now I'm reminded once again that I'm just a little different than most other women in the ward."


During Sacrament meeting one of the mothers in the ward was giving a talk. She spoke for a moment about one of her good friends who died suddenly. This friend was 41 years old, never been married, but had had such a great influence on the lives of those around her. That just got to me. I was already feeling a bit sorry for myself (that's always when things are hardest, when I'm feeling all sorry for myself), and then this description of this individual. And I couldn't help it, I just started to cry. It wasn't even that I was single and had never had kids (and probably never will). It was more that I wonder if my life means anything at all to those around me. What kind of influence do I really have on anyone? If I were to die tomorrow, who would remember me? Who would remember me a year from now?

I do have children in my life who I am connected to in some way - nieces, nephews, faux children - but my influence on their lives is minor, temporary, short-lived. If I were gone, they would probably miss me for a while, but that would be more or less fleeting. Their lives would go on pretty much unaltered. 

I kind of hoped I would have a dream showing me what influence I did have on those around me. I didn't. So all I can do is wonder. And hope that I'm wrong. Hope that my life does mean something. That my influence is felt in lasting ways.

I hate being whiny. But sometimes I just am. I still have a lot to learn.

Moving to the Island

I've started my new job out at "The Island". I am currently in the process of moving into one of the houses out there to save on commute time and gas money.

It's a bitter-sweet move.

Bitter because this is my home. My family is right here in this house. I love them and will miss them terribly when I'm gone. Worried that maybe absence actually makes the heart grow forgetful rather than fonder. Especially when the person you are afraid might grow forgetful has someone else to turn to and loves to be with. I worry that the love of having me around and in her life will grow dim.

Sweet because it will save a couple hundred dollars a month on gas. It will save on wear and tear with the car. It will shorten my commute from 60 minutes to 2, which will be awesome. It will be really cool to live out on the Island with all that wildlife and incredible sunrises and sunsets. It will be sweet to be able to hop on my bike and bike around without having to worry about traffic.

When I'm all settled in, you are all welcome to come take an island vacation, and stay in my 5 bedroom Island House. The views are incredible.

This Is Me

I am, first and foremost, just me. I am a daughter of God, and learned several years ago what that means to me. I saw myself, at least a glimpse of, the way my Father in Heaven sees me. It was a wonderful, sacred experience.

I have never wavered in my testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I know God has a plan for me, for all of us. I know this plan, called the Plan of Salvation, is real. As real as anything. I know my Savior lives. I know He has established His church once again on the earth and it is led, as He has always led it, by Apostles and Prophets. I know obedience brings peace and blessings. I also know it isn't always easy to be obedient. Which is why the Savior came to the earth, lived a perfect life, and then took upon Himself all the sins of mankind. Why He performed the Atonement, suffered in the garden and died on the cross. I also know He rose again, and because of that, we all will.

I know we have all been given the wonderful gift of agency. We fought for it in our pre-earth life. It is this gift that allows us to learn, and grow, and change, and make mistakes, and choose differently again. It is this gift that I exercise everyday. I have a choice. And my choice has always been towards my testimony of the truthfulness of the Gospel of Jesus Christ as taught by the LDS church.

Early on in my discovery of my orientation, even before I really understood it, or accepted it as real, I knew that I did not choose it. At the same time, I knew that I could choose how to respond to it. Because of my testimony and beliefs and knowledge of the Gospel, and the purposes of life, I knew that I could never leave the church to pursue a gay lifestyle.  I never imagined I would even have what constituted a partner. And when I found myself in that place, with a person I truly loved, I still chose to follow God's laws.

I have never regretted choosing the gospel. I can't imagine I ever will. It is me. It is who I am. I am a part of it and it is a part of me. But some days are hard. Not hard to stay true to my testimony, but hard feeling more isolated and alone than I'd like. Some days I feel very at home in a group of LDS folks, other days all I want is to surround myself with a group of lesbians. Or a group of people who know me - my testimony and my orientation and are okay with both.