Doing the Next Right Thing

Dory had it right: Just keep swimming. Make the next right choice, and the next. Trust your gut and keep moving. The race doesn't last forever. 

A Quiet Space to Be Real

I can't post this on social media. This blog has been dormant long enough that it's a safe space to say things like this out loud and it'll still just be to myself. 

I'm having a really hard time doing anything. Holding on to hope is a struggle. The big hits that just haven't let up have knocked me to my knees. (And yes, I pray while I'm down there.) I should be up and doing something right now and I'm still in bed. I haven't been this immobilized by depression in a long time. 

Typing out this post is working a little magic, though. I guess it's the mirror I needed to put my face back on. Gotta keep the face up! 

Lightbulb

A lightbulb moment in counseling today. Increasingly, I want to isolate myself. Social encounters are scary and fraught and I always leave them feeling insecure and like I've failed. I didn't want to disappoint or hurt people. I feel like I'm not enough and I'll never be enough. If I'm not and will never be enough, especially to my own satisfaction. If that's all true, then why continue to exist? 

Hell

Off my Adderall for two days. Chris tells me his income is being cut by more than half. I'm not reacting well. Next morning, it's a rough morning. I have a small breakdown on the way to work. I get to work and I'm speeding off my mental rails. I'm turning on the public PC's and it hits me: I'm in hell. We're all in hell, and I'm in hell. It's at that point the suicidal thoughts go away and I start to laugh because it's really, really funny. I'm in hell. And I can choose how I feel in hell. So I laugh and get a little of my power back. I remember to take my meds. I still have two more breakdowns later that day as well as an anxiety attack. But as long as I remember I'm in hell, all the bad things happening make sense and I can accept them and it's all very funny. 

Children of Abraham

3:30 am

A prayer I uttered was answered tonight. I asked God to help me live and He did.

I had walked out to my grandparents-in-law's house to simultaneously clear my head and achieve a step goal. Laying on the front steps in the peace of a rural Idaho night, I gave in to my Twitter habit and came across a TikTok share of video from a BYU address by Vaughn J. Featherstone. He was railing against the "homosexuals" who were pleading with the brethren to be seen and heard and loved. He said perversion will always be perversion, even though these men really wanted to have families and remain faithful. He brought up a point of doctrine that's been especially thorny for me: eternal progression.

Eternal progression isn't a common doctrine in the Christian world. The LDS variety basically teaches that perfect beings still progress but, being perfect, their progression is accomplished through production of offspring, spiritual and physical. To be like God, a perfect being, it's imperative to procreate. You can't procreate and thus progress in the eternities if you don't do it here. (There are exceptions made, but acting gay isn't one of them.) That's why the LDS are so big on family, the bigger the better. I was actively taught this doctrine and it marked me to my core.

To rebuff the pleas to the brethren for acceptance, Featherstone invoked eternal progression, inferring since "homosexuals" can't have children, their attempts to create families with a same-gender partner were in vain and not to be taken seriously. I listened to this speech, given when I was still a child, and heard all the voices accumulated through the years telling me I was deficient, unacceptable, that I was unwanted and unlovable.

I quoted the tweet to my own account, pointing at it as an example of why I struggle to value myself. An inspiration regarding Abraham struck while I composed it and I included the words that came without registering their significance to me. I was still immersed in emotional pain. For what seemed the millionth time, I wanted to die.

I sat up on the steps. The porch light was triggered and I waited for it to switch back off. I was hoping the deer I'd scared away would come back. The moon shone down and the cool night air carried the sounds of crickets and distant traffic. The peace of night was a balm. Something in me shifted. I bowed my head, drew myself in, and out came a prayer unlike any I'd offered before. I asked for help to live. I asked it twice. Hot tears fell on my hands and the grief ebbed away.

I stood and began the walk back. As I walked, the images of Featherstone and numerous other brethren coalesced and I spoke out loud to them. My pain had given birth to anger. In that moment, the thought about Abraham returned and it solved the problem that's tortured me for decades. 

Most members of the LDS church take the doctrine of adoption into the lineage of Abraham very seriously. We former Gentile children become part of the fulfillment of God's promise to the ancient patriarch that ensures his eternal progression. If that can be the case for Abraham, can't adoption of children by queer couples do the same? Of course it can! We are just as capable of eternal progression as any cisgender, hetero human. The children we adopt become as our own flesh and blood!

I rejoiced. I can live! I can live eternally! I'm not going to live out my post-mortal life as some neutered house elf to the exalted beautiful people! (Yes, that's how one teacher at Ricks College described those in the Celestial Kingdom.) The tears falling now were tears of relief and hope, mingled with the release of grief. They were also tears of gratitude, an expression of the awareness my prayer had just been answered.

There were other words and thoughts as I continued my way home, some to do with the necessary role of gay folk in humanity, but they are for another time. I wanted to record this answer so I wouldn't forget.

I stand all amazed. 

Notes on The Forgotten God by Francis Chan, Part 1

Pg. 34 - "Imagine the peace that would come from knowing you would always receive perfect truth and flawless direction from Him." Him refers to Christ functioning as a personal counselor, something He promised the Spirit would do. On page 35, after quoting John 16:7, Chan writes "When the disciples heard that two thousand years ago, I'm sure it was hard for them to grasp." There's the crux of the human dilemma when seeking the Sacred: while we might, indeed, receive perfect truth and flawless direction, it is often hard for us to grasp. Enthusiasm for living by the Spirit must be tempered with the knowledge that we will often fail to fully perceive what is being given to us. Do we need the Spirit in our lives daily, hourly, every minute by minute? Of course! How else can we come to understand the direction we are given? We humans need to be taught the Divine Lesson repeatedly. We need infinite repetitions and numerous failures and attempts before we open up. So saying, that means we do need to act on what we receive, never forgetting that the first and greatest commandment is to love.

Also on page 34, Chan says the Greek word for "another" when describing another Comforter means another just like the first, not one that's different. So the presence of the Holy Spirit is just like the presence of Jesus.

Pg. 36-37 Caterpillar to butterfly analogy is not too far distant from child to adult in the physical sense. We do not hibernate through puberty but the change is as profound. The ability to procreate and the ability to fly are both profound powers to come into after not having them from birth.

Joy to the World - The King of Peace

It started with the first notes of "O come, o come Emmanuel”, those low, rumbling tones from the double basses evoking the darkness and despair of mortality. The tears rolled down my face as choir members filed past with their candles, singing of a hope for unity and peace, calling for us all to rejoice in the coming of the Lord. That one always gets me. I wiped the tears away and settled in to enjoy the rest of the concert.

Mike Sanders welcomed everyone in that amazing voice of his and then the Idaho State-Civic Symphony launched into “O come all ye faithful”. Musicians and audience together sang the first verse, the choir reiterated the same verse in Latin, and then we all joined in for the final two verses. By the end, I was wiping away more tears.

As I proceeded to weep my way through Brenda Stanley's reading of Gift of the Magi, underscored by the Symphony playing the perfect piece by Borodin, as well as the “everybody join in” rendition of White Christmas, I became seriously concerned that something was wrong with me. Where were all these tears coming from?

Yes, several people I know are dealing with serious health issues. Yes, the news from around the world continues in a barrage of bleakness. Yes, my to-do list as I scramble to prepare for Christmas continues to grow while I fall further and further behind. Was that it? Was I just falling prey to all the stress?

Luckily, there was an intermission. I pulled myself together and chatted with people around me while checking my phone for texts and likes on my latest Instagram-Facebook post. There was pumpkin soup and sourdough toast waiting at home after the concert and I was getting hungry. Wait! Justin Hartley did what? And snap! AOC certainly put him in HIS place! Oh, look! So-and-so liked my post!

The lights dimmed and I put my phone away. Those around me did the same. The orchestra re-tuned, the conductors mounted the podium, and off we all went through A Christmas Scherzo arranged by Don Sebesky. Lots of fun and not a tear!

Then the choir stood and, with the orchestra acting as magic carpet, sang one of my favorites, the Wexford Carol. The tears began again and just wouldn't stop. Wow! Why didn't I bring any tissue?

Each succeeding piece spurred more and more crying. I must be having a total emotional/mental breakdown. The stranger on my left must think I'm a nut! What’s going on?!

It finally crystallized for me as I choked on suppressed sobs while everyone else sang Silent Night. I felt safe. Safe from the ugliness of harsh words, anger, and hurt everywhere I look. Safe from the insanity pouring from anything with a speaker or a screen Safe from the malice of those looking to sate themselves at everyone else's expense.

Mike Sanders's voice broke in to my musings, intoning again lyrics sung at the beginning of the evening. “O come, Desire of nations, bind in one the hearts of all mankind. Oh, bid our sad divisions cease, And be yourself our King of Peace.”

I felt safe because as those amazing words were sung, the King of Peace had come and filled the room with His spirit of love. That spirit grew stronger with each song sung and each story told. A huge hall of people had gathered in His name and there He was in our midst and in our hearts and in our instruments and voices. Our hearts were bound in one and anything that might have divided us had melted away into the shining warmth of love and good will.

Peace is not obtained through beating perceived enemies into submission or falling in line with the most powerful warlord. Peace isn't found by chasing after popularity or pleasure. Peace is found by inviting it in and providing space in our hearts and lives for it. For Him.

Many, many thanks to the myriad performers who prepared a program of peace and joy and love. The two and a half hours we spent together were a balm to my soul and a boost to my spirits.

Thank you, also, to those who planned the program for giving those of us who came to listen the chance to take part in such an active way. Even the division between performers and audience was done away with and the unity we felt was Divine.

Merry Christmas, my friends, and may the Prince of Peace fill our hearts with faith and love, now and in the days to come.