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.

Not OK

I'm not okay right now.

I went with Chris and his aunt, Annette, on a visitor's tour of the Idaho Falls LDS temple this morning. It was recently renovated and, as with all temples that have undergone renovation or construction, is currently open to the public to tour.

Walking into the Garden Room was a gut punch. The Garden Room where I finally understood the eternal relationship of men and women. The Garden Room where I saw my dear Grandpa Johnson act in the live endowment. Where I thought the things I had learned were finally going to put my past away.

The Celestial Room. So beautiful. So peaceful. I felt like a prodigal son that had come home only to find that I wasn't welcome to stay.

The saccharine, hideously fake video we had to watch in the church next door before the tour got underway, emblematic of everything that disturbs me about the Church. If the Lord looks on the heart and not on the outward appearance, why is the Church so fastidious about how it looks to the world?

Passing by and through all those sealing rooms. With Chris. Loss in so many ways - what could have been with him. With a her. So many points in the past where I could have charted a different course. Or the Church could have charted a different course. There is no eternal increase with two males, but is that just because of rigid parameters? Can increase be measured in other ways? What about the love I feel for him?

My parents were set to be volunteers today. I didn't know what shift they were on. They didn't know either when I made the reservation. As today came closer and I spoke with them about the trip, I got the distinct sense they didn't want to be there when I was, even though it was Mom's idea in the first place to go together. It's probably best we didn't see each other there. I don't think any of us could have endured it.

Ultimately, I went through with the trip because I felt it was important to future dialogues that Chris have the experience of walking through a temple. Being in one. I'm wondering now if it wasn't a mistake.

There's more, but this is what I can put into words now.

An Impossible Dream in Texas

I blame Cervantes. And Peter O’Toole. And Sofia Loren. They taught me to tilt at windmills. They taught me I could be Dulcinea instead of Aldonza just by saying so. They taught me to see life as it should be and not as it is.

Theatre changes people. For millennia, theatre has been a sacred and profane temple for human beings to explore the meaning of their existence and be transformed in the exploration. The Greeks with their mother-marrying father-killing gouge-out-your-eyes types of plays were striving for catharsis, that purifying, cleansing renewal of the soul occurring when locked-up feelings and thoughts are given a safe, vicarious release through the evocation of pity (empathy) and/or fear. Theatre has always been a part of my life, even when I didn’t see it or didn’t want it.

A little over two years ago, I was in a production of Terrence McNally’s passion play Corpus Christi at the Old Town Actor’s Studio. Every night, I sang “Were You There When They Crucified My Lord” with my cast mates…my brothers….and then was called by name, recognized and adored, given a new name (Bartholomew), and baptized on that altar called the stage. Every night, I was renewed.

What needed renewal? In the year 2000 I was disfellowshipped from my natal church. Looking back on it now, I realize the disfellowshipment had been going on years before that as I was told as a teenager to hide a big part of who I was. In any case, I spent a few months continuing to attend church, feeling like the living dead. Disfellowshipped members are asked not to lead prayer in church or participate in church discussions. They cannot hold callings or minister in any way. They are encouraged to study scripture, pray often in private, and pay their tithe. These things are supposed to help purify them until they are sufficiently rehabilitated to reenter the community. I wasn't rehabilitated and I didn’t reenter the community. Instead, I moved and dropped out of it entirely. Feeling like a failure...lost, confused, invalidated, guilty, dirty...my communion with my Heavenly Father was intermittent at best. I felt alone.

Spiritual life continued that way for me for almost 15 years. My attendance at Trinity Episcopal while serving as their organist began to revive it, but I was resistant. Parts of my soul were still shut up tight because what I was feeling was at odds with what I had accepted so long ago as truth. Of course the Spirit was there to be felt, but my life path would never lead me to be like my Heavenly Father, so what was the point? I would always be a second-class citizen in the society of God.

Then Jason Bartosic, the director of Corpus at OTAS, prevailed in getting me to audition for his show. He didn’t have to work too hard. I’d been told who else was going to be in the show and I was eager to work with so much talent. So many gifted performers on stage at one time? Sign me up, please! There was so much I could learn and experience!

The rehearsals were revelatory in themselves. So many ideas innovative by Pocatello standards! The fluidity of the set! The novelty of the writing! The brilliance of the conception and direction as a whole! And I had been right about that company of actors. It was an honor to be among them. When the run of performances began, my soul began to open, and as I said before, I experienced renewal.

One night in particular, that renewal penetrated the most carefully guarded cells of my soul.

I believe it was during the second or third performance of Corpus, I was in the middle of my first exchange with Joshua (another name for Jesus and one actually closer to what he was called while on Earth). I looked into my brother Mitch’s eyes (the guy playing Joshua) and I saw instead my Savior looking back at me. The love, compassion, and acceptance filled my heart beyond its size. I felt like I had come back home.

Home! The home I knew before this life. The home that was waiting for me after it. Home! I wasn’t alone. I had never been alone! I had been denying myself my Savior’s love, my Father’s love, a love that wasn’t conditional on my being in good standing with any particular church. A love that wasn’t conditional at all. I walked with my Savior the rest of that performance, aglow, radiant with the love I felt. I supped with Him in the upper room. I kissed His feet. I wept from my heart as I watched Him die on the cross. It was all very, very real...and I was once again in real communion with the Savior I had shut out so long ago.

Science would say it was a trick of conditioning, a trick of the mind. Life as it is, indeed, Mr. O’Toole. Mr. Stephenson. Mr. Murdoch.  I’ve spent plenty of the last 17 years wondering if all the spiritual experiences I’ve ever had were just the result of brainwashing. It’s a harsh possibility to face that at times has left me desolate, hard, and angry. It’s what I often see in others disconnected from their faith, from their Father, from their Home.  However, gifts are only gifts if they’re accepted. Obi wan wisely and a bit smugly told Luke the truth was all dependant on his point of view. The gift of love that God continually and patiently offers me can only be received if I’m willing and ready to accept it. In that moment on that stage, I was ready and I will never be the same.

That said, I still struggle to accept the gift I was given that night. I struggle because I’ve been told repeatedly that I’m not worthy of it. I struggle because I tell myself I’m not worthy of it. I struggle because I wonder from time to time if it’s real. I struggle because I know the dark corners of my own soul. Last year, as I was facing the wrenching conflict of choosing between family and family, I often was too disoriented by stress and grief to remember what I’d seen, too blinded and scared to grasp the hand still reaching out to me. That struggle continues as I deal with the consequences of the choice I made.

But the gift is still there to be accepted, and I’m grateful.

I’m also grateful for the musical and theatrical gifts that led me down my own road to Emmaus. (Perhaps it’s because of the potential in those gifts that darkness has always tried to separate me from them.) Thanks to them, Mr. McNally, Cervantes, my brothers in Texas (and my sister - I love you, MFP!), and above all my Father who in His infinite and unconditional love gave them all to me , I’ll continue tilting at windmills, claiming my noble heritage as a son of God, and seeing Life as it should be.