One Piece Too Many

Last Thursday, I was taking a quick lunch at Taco Bell with Chris when Dr. Kennedy, my neurologist, called. To make a long story short, after sending my scans to doctors around the country, I have been tentatively diagnosed with non-cancerous meningioma. In layman's terms, I have a tumor in the lining around my brain. It is near my pituitary gland and pressing on the optic nerve bundle for my left eye, inhibiting muscle response and causing a condition known as strabismus. I am being referred to Doctor William Couldwell in Salt Lake City for further treatment.

I'm not as frightened today as I was during the weekend. I've had a little time to process the information I was given, although I'm really anxious to see this new doctor so I can get some more answers. I'd also like to see the scans showing this remote mote in my eye. Or is it a beam? Either way, I'd really like to be able to see clearly again.

I've often wondered if there isn't a spiritual connection between my vision troubles and my choice to ignore the Church's stand on gay sexual activity. Chris articulated one of my fears for me on the drive to Idaho Falls Monday morning. He mentioned personality changes that occur with brain tumors and brain surgery. "What if you wake up and you're not gay anymore?" What if, indeed. Apparently, for all my reading and experience over the last few years, I'm in as many peaces now as I ever was.

Bigger Than a Million Pride Parades

There is a custom in the LDS church for the patriarch of one's Stake to give a special blessing to those who request it. It's kind of like a personal communique from God. I am instructed in mine to walk in the right path so others would know they would be safe to follow me. That admonition has stayed with me and often kept me from doing things I might have later regretted. It has also weighed heavily on me as I’ve followed a path other than the one I was taught. That’s why the following message from a friend, sent via Facebook, filled me with a number of conflicting emotions:

Just wanted to say that I loved the article you posted. […] I think Prop 8 was when many of us were forced to take a stand one way or another. My stake was one of the ones asked to make phone calls to people in California, and it made me really have to consider what the still, small voice inside of me was telling me to do.

Side note: although I knew and was friends with plenty of gay people before, you were the first person who came out who I trusted to make good decisions for yourself. I know it sounds incredibly judgmental of me, but it is what it is. When I found out that you were gay, it was different—it became a real thing in my mind. I knew it must have been an incredibly difficult decision for you, and I knew you lived a life close to God. This wasn’t a choice that you had made lightly, and you weren’t just “confused” or trying to get attention. Because I had known and respected you for so long, I suddenly had to take this whole homosexual thing seriously.

So back to making phone calls to California. I was terrified they would ask me to do it. And while I have a testimony of living prophets, I also have a testimony that the still, small voice inside of me is a personal guide. And after you came out, I had to start asking the still, small voice whether it thought you were doing something evil or whether you were the same Trent you had always been. Suddenly the still, small voice was saying a different thing than what Boyd K. Packer was saying. Which to choose? And I also knew that this was just a small shadow of what you were going through. At least for me it was all theoretical without a big impact in my life; I knew that you had struggled with a much bigger question with huge impacts for you and your family.

So…I didn’t make the phone calls in California, and when gay marriage came up on the Washington ballot last year (I can still vote in the state of Washington) I happily voted for it. I decided to trust the still, small voice instead of the infallibility of prophets. This is still a struggle. And I’m not turning my profile picture red and all that, mainly because I’m not happy with the actions of either political side so I don’t want to align myself with a certain political group. I’ve also been trying to avoid getting into the arguments about it lately, except when I have to. Maybe I’m just a coward, but the “discussions” just seem to lead to contention and make people dig in their heels even more. But the spirit of the movement has my support.

And this whole long story is mean [sic.] to explain to you why I suggested you[…]and everyone else keep sharing your stories. Your personal story had a bigger impact on my personal prejudices than a million gay pride parades.

I’ve known this person since we were children. As I read her message I was reminded yet again of my father’s words. Suddenly there was doubt. Was I leading people in unsafe paths? Was the way I live my life causing people to stray from the true faith? What was I going to have to account for when I faced God?

Yet, I couldn’t help feeling some gratification, even vindication. Her beautifully-worded final sentence made me smile. I’ve sometimes been told I should get angry and assert myself, facing down those who oppose me with fire and force. I’ve specifically been criticized for the way I choose to support “The Cause.” My friend confirms for me yet again that angry militancy changes nothing for the better. Unconditional love and mutual respect will always go further in uniting hearts and minds to heal the world than any flamboyant or violent “in-your-face” display.

All those voices, inner and outer, telling me I had abandoned my calling and betrayed my gifts aren’t necessarily right. Being a true follower of Christ isn’t easy and it involves a lot of stepping out into the darkness, identifying and trusting the right inner voice to lead the way. It’s a struggle for me, too.

The blessing the Patriarch gave me is being fulfilled after all. It doesn’t involve me being some great bishop or stake president or any kind of leader, Church or otherwise. I’m simply doing my best to understand and heed what the light inside is telling me to do and then telling my story as authentically as I can. If that helps others to follow the light inside them, I’m glad.

When I face my Savior, I know I’ll have things to account for. Hopefully, I won’t suffer for them too long. In the end, I trust His love and grace to make up the difference after I’ve done all I can do.

We’re all in this together and I’m really glad my friend reached out to share her story. In doing so, she helped me continue to trust the light I feel and become all one peace.

[This post was concurrently published on my companion blog From Where I Stand.]

Embraceable Me

On February 18, I shared an article from The Huffington Post on Facebook that reflected on the impact religious organizations have on young gay people. I commented that the past couldn't be changed but that I often wondered what life would be like for me now if my church had embraced me for who I was. These are some of the things that come to my mind during these musings.

It was pretty obvious when I was a child there was the possibility I would be gay. Although I chased the Baldwin girls around the Moreland church's lawn in a game of kiss tag, I also loved to style the hair on a doll. By the time I was 5, I was kissing boys on the cheek in kindergarten and playing dress up with my cousins by wearing a certain purple skirt that I loved. I continued to crush on girls through my early adolescence but it became clear that it was the guys that sexually turned me on.

I was 12 when I learned that the church had excommunicated my uncle for acting on his homosexual desires, not for drinking alcohol as I'd been allowed to believe for six years. Two years later, I had my first taste of church discipline when I told my bishop I had been engaging in same-sex sexual play with boys my own age since I was 8. I was given a copy of The Miracle of Forgiveness, told to read it, and not discuss this with anyone but my folks. To make a long story short, encouragement to rid myself of these tendencies came at me from every corner, especially from the church. I was also highly encouraged to be interested in girls. 

It was also during this time that I discovered my love for and ability in musical theatre and vocal music. I wanted to be a stage performer so badly my soul ached. I was vigorously discouraged from pursuing my desire by authority figures in my life. I was told that that was precisely how my uncle had "fallen away." Trying to make a living in that wicked world was only going to further corrupt me, and besides, how was I going to support a family living such an economically uncertain life?

Usually, if a teen discovers a deep-seeded passion for an art or a science, this is encouraged and nurtured. Given the right support, such individuals often become influential leaders in their fields of endeavor as they pass through high school and college. Basically what I'm trying to say here is, to quote Rocky, I think "I coulda' been a contenda' " in the field of performing arts. Although I fought my way through and am now deeply involved in music making in my community, I think there could have been much more. I am often seen by others as an example of thwarted potential and I'm not sure they're wrong.

When I was a priest, I had the opportunity to ordain a special young man to the Aaronic Priesthood in my ward. As I did so, I gave him a blessing that I knew came through me from God. Conveying God's love isn't hard when it's your basic nature to love anyway. When the ordination was over, the feeling in the room was powerful, many people were in tears and the bishop patted me on the back and told me I had a gift. I still have that gift to give, but the church won't accept it from me. I feel like there are so many ways I could be helpful and would like to serve, but unless I end the loving, committed relationship I'm in, severely wounding the wonderful young man I'm committed to, my gift is unacceptable. So what is the most loving course of action here?

Let me make one thing clear: I do not hate or demonize the LDS church. I am realistic about what it is and its place in my life. It's been over ten years since I was an active member, and this distance has given me a different appreciation than I would have had of the church's felicities and its foibles. (Ten points anyone for using and alliterating those words in a blog post?) Every religious organization has them and the view of them changes depending on your proximity to that body. I just wonder if I would have had as many peaces to put together had my experience with the church been different, and I sometimes wonder if there will ever be a time when my gifts will again be welcomed there.

I Feel My Saviour's Love

I've been looking for something to dissipate the anger I've been feeling over the last couple days. Anger is poison when it isn't given vent. It's like a boil that isn't lanced, or an abscess that isn't drained. It festers and kills all the healthy tissue around it.

For the most part, I've held in my anger, not allowing myself to respond to the direct and indirect accusations, insinuations, and other contentious words thrown around, both at me and people I care about BY people I care about. I accept that, according to one of those indirect accusations, I might have carelessly started the fire, but I didn't want it to spread any further. It was my mess and I wanted to quench it and clean it up as ethically as I could.

However, holding in all that anger wasn't good for me. In the privacy of my own company, I ranted and raved, and spoke many of the angry things I didn't dare write, all to no avail. There was something unsatisfying about not being able to land the intended blows. "Be careful who you make your enemy, for you shall become them..." and I had. I had become one of those people that had sparked the whole incident in the first place, hateful and harboring resentment. I didn't want to be this person. I felt like I had lost myself.

And then the words came to me, like salve on a sunburn: "But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you [or unfriend you], do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you." (Matt. 5:44, with a small 2012 addition)

My Saviour's words restored my soul. Although I had been saying for the past week that love was the answer, I wasn't feeling it until His words brought it back to me. Suddenly, I had hope again, hope that the sharp divisions between myself and loved ones could be resolved, hope that the country could be healed instead of lapsing into secession, hope that we could survive the fulfillment of the dire prophesies for our future.

Now I'm grateful for the past two days. The adversity has given me strength and reminded my soul of its center. This is why I don't cut people out of my life when the relationship is rocky. Hopefully, their contact with me is reciprocally beneficial.

We all have beams and motes in our vision, but the Saviour's love makes them less blinding. I offer my thanks to you all, and I ask forgiveness from those I have offended as I let go of the offences that briefly took me down. From where I stand, I feel a little more all one peace. I hope you do, too.

(Also published to http://allonepiecesoapbox.blogspot.com/ )

Sound and Fury and Love

I expect that most people who know me would be surprised by some part of this post.

I am grateful for General Hospital. The last two episodes allowed me to cry. I spend so much of my time keeping a lid on my feelings because I don't believe in being ruled by them. The flipside of that is I often can't express my true feelings when I want to. Well-written dramas, like the current incarnation of GH, allow me to release some of the pressure from all that pent-up emotion.

Some people might ask why I don't just let go. All around me is the fallout from people who heedlessly act on their momentary emotional impulses, or worse, abandon Love and crush others underfoot to obtain their desires. I don't want to contribute to that.

I believe that kindness and consideration for the feelings of other people are manifestations of perfect love. The only way this world will be healed is through pure, perfect love. Every day, I try to love perfectly. I often fail, but I get up and try again. I look forward to the day when Love truly will rule the world. I dream of a day when children will not be bruised by the consequences of imperfect love. I will do everything I can to keep that flame alive until the source of the fire returns.

So, the point of this post? To express appreciation for something most people consider trivial, and explain why for me, at least, a soap opera is anything BUT trivial.

Hell is Holding On to Who You Might Have Been

I have a Saturday's Warrior complex.

Every day, Todd draws a picture of a man who's noble, strong, and makes all the right choices. It's the man he wants to be. A paper dream. But every day, he says to himself that it would be foolish to try to be that man because he'd most likely fail. Every day, Todd beats himself up for not being someone else.

Todd is a masochist, and so am I.

Somewhere in life, I was introduced to the idea that hell was a place you went to be tortured with the constant reminder of who you could have been if you'd only made different choices. Now, the upside to this is for Mormons, hell isn't a permanent place. Permanent hell, or "Outer Darkness," is only for those who've basically come face to face with Jesus, know with certainty the things that most of us have to take on faith, and then decide to turn against Him anyway. Mormon hell, or "Spirit Prison," is the place where unrepentant liars, whores, and other spiritual malcontents like me go to wait until they are resurrected, judged by God, and assigned to be servants of the Celestial pretty people. That doesn't make it any less painful while it lasts, but at least it doesn't last forever.

For the last two days, I've been in hell.

And I have a guy named Josh Weed to thank. In many ways, he is my living, breathing paper dream. I fully expect to have a Times Square-sized poster of Mr. Weed, and his pretty friend, Ty Mansfield, plastered to the wall of my cell in hell. Curious readers can peruse Mr. Weed's words here:

http://www.joshweed.com/2012/06/club-unicorn-in-which-i-come-out-of.html?m=1&fb_source=message

As I read about Mr. Weed's journey, events in my own life kept flashing in front of me, taunting me with what could have been if I had made different choices. I could have been him! I could have had that family, that joy, those children! It didn't matter that our circumstances were markedly different. I should have been more faithful! I should have had more courage! Weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth pretty much sums up what went on, so the prophet who described the pains of hell in those terms got it right. My knee-jerk reaction was to resolve then and there that I'd find the courage to do what needed to be done to reclaim what I'd lost. But just as suddenly, I realized I wouldn't be the only one in pain from all this. I have a boyfriend. This would affect him, too.

So I was in hell squared.

Last night, I went to visit my parents and my brother, who is in town from lands down south, to share The Weed with them and talk to them about it. Instead, I spent most of the time playing with my nieces. It was a much better use of my time. I began to feel some peace.

When I arrived home, my boyfriend had left me a note. In essence, it repeated what he'd told me when I showed him around my pit of despair. It said he loved me, and was thinking of me, and wanted what is best for the both of us.

This morning, I put my promise ring back on my finger and let my paper dream fade away. It's only hell while you hold on, and love really is about having the faith to let go.

And Ye Shall Know the Truth...

...and the truth shall make you mad.

I know I should be grateful. I know I should be happy, but like the stubborn, spoiled, petulant little child that I am, I'm so angry I feel like tearing myself in two with my own hands. Has anyone ever felt like that, where they're so angry and the only place they can rightly direct the anger is at themselves? And they want it to be bloody and messy? And fatal? That's how I feel right now.

This morning, on a whim, I decided to find all those unread messages in my Facebook inbox. Of the 25 or so odd messages, one came from a cousin-in-law sent to me over a month ago. Attached to it was the link to a blog written by a gay Mormon with a family. I read it.

I've heard that hope and despair can't exist in someone at the same time, but I swear that was my reaction. And then I got really mad. Mad that he'd waited ten years to talk about his life. Mad that his circumstances had been so favorable. Mad that after finally finding some peace, someone had come along and messed it all up again.

Honestly, though, in the end, I have no one to blame but myself, and that makes me maddest of all.