Change Is Gonna Come

A month or so ago, I wrote here about the decision I made to go 100% public with my sexual orientation in church -twice. Now don't get me wrong, I've been pretty out for a long time. Before these instances, my coworkers knew, my close friends knew, my family knew, my church leaders knew, pretty much most people knew. There was something strangely empowering, though, about allowing the entire ward, and then the entire Seattle/Tacoma metro area in on my life.

A lot of people had opinions on what short and long term effects might occur. I had my own ideas of how things would change with some people. The funny thing is that since then, I haven't noticed a dramatic change in the way people around me are acting. In fact, I have received more positive reactions than not; but in all actuality, most of my relationships are the same. The one person that changed? ME!

I've been a pretty outgoing person for the better half of my life, and I like to think that I make friends easily. But I have noticed how much more confident I've become over the last month. I have expressed my opinions more unabashedly, had more fun when going out, danced more shamelessly, laughed louder and longer, said "no" more emphatically, and much more I'm sure. I think that the reason the Lord prompted me to be so forthcoming with my Sunday School class was for this purpose: to prove to me that a raging homo like myself belongs in the neighborhood, in the church, in the world!

It's been a great feeling! I've still had some depressing moments, but overall, I've been happier. My friends have wanted to be around me more often, my family has requested more of my quality time, I've been hit on more often when out in public! Haha I know, I sound like a little girl~

Really, I'm grateful for this experience, and I'm looking forward to many more great opportunities to grow!

P.S. And I'm NOT 30! Yes, I'm talking to you, Chase!

26 and a Half

I can remember being only 5
When I had my first crush on a guy
He lived next door, and every day
We'd talk, we'd laugh, we'd play

We moved far away from my dear friend
I never did see that guy again
It happened 21 years ago,
I never forgot him though.

It happened again at 6, at 10,
These little crushes on little men
Now I'm 26 and a half years old
I had no idea how my life would unfold

At 12, I felt strange curiosity
My teacher called it "puberty"
But while other boys solely vied for girls
I grasped for the best of both worlds

When 13 came, I was no longer a child
That summer, things got pretty wild
A little fling turned into 4 years
Of a double life led in fear

I look back on my teenage self
And remember all the secret things I felt
Now that I'm 26 and a half
I'm grateful to call it my past

19 was probably the toughest time yet
It's when the fork in the road and I met
The journey ahead would be rough and trying
But it'd be worth the hurting and crying

At 21 God gave my Mormon card back
But my love for mankind He did not retract
I was grateful, for I had learned and matured
Through this "disease" He would not cure

Life has been good, though it's had its downs
Still, I smile more oft than I frown
Now I'm 26 and a half
I can't believe all that's happened so fast

In 26 and a half more years
I'm pretty sure I'll still be queer
Will I ever be able to come to a place
Where I'll have a wife and kids one day?

Will I be able to someday enjoy
A traditional family, like other boys?
Or am I forever to benchwarm on the side
And watch others play, like old times?

If I must wait for the eternities
To wed, then I'll do what God asks of me
But I'm only 26 and a half
I sure hope I've the strength to last

Pride

About a month ago, a friend asked me to save today on my schedule so I could go to Pride in Seattle. It was going to be an educational experience for me because, though I've been out for quite a few years, I've never actually been to Pride before. He thought it would serve me well to go and honor the gays that came before me that helped open the eyes of the world to acceptance of men like me, like Harvey Milk and other people I fail to remember.

Then I found out that this weekend was our Multi-Regional YSA Conference. I thought I'd book myself for the conference on Friday and Saturday, and go to Pride on Sunday. I wrestled a little with the decision until my bishop called and asked me to teach Sunday School today. It was over - no Pride for me.

A very funny thing happened, though: over the last week, as I prepared the lesson for the class today, I kept getting little prickles from the Spirit. The lesson was about apostasy in the church, and how to fortify yourself against it. I was impressed to share my life openly again with this class. I was very nervous about this, but I knew that if I could do it once, I could do it again.

I remember looking out at the crowd today as I played the organ during the meeting. The entire chapel was full, and so was the overflow. Half of the gym was full as well. We had somewhere around 400 people today, from all over the state and parts of British Columbia. I was asked to teach in the chapel. Many people filed out of the chapel after Sacrament was over to attend other classes, but we still managed to fill the entire chapel for Sunday School. I was still nervous...

I spent a good deal of time this morning praying for the Spirit's aid today. Along the way, I randomly met an LDS family living near me, on their way to church. I took it as a good sign. At church, I continued to pray for help. As the opening prayer to class was spoken, I prayed for one last burst of strength. God's so good: we had an awesome lesson. The class was upbeat, and everyone was very helpful, and insightful, and inquisitive. I really enjoyed it.

At the end of the class, after we had talked about things like pride, getting offended, lacking in testimony, judging others, and other reasons why people leave the church, and counter-balancing them with a list of things to do to battle them like personal scripture study, praying often, obeying the commandments, and so on (I know, they're so simple, I love this list!), it came time to close the class. We had laughed a lot, and chatted amiably for so long, I felt pretty comfortable. I asked the class if I could get personal. I proceeded to tell them of my life at 19, coming to terms with being gay, and going through the process of repenting after making some unfortunate decisions. I told them about two friends I have, and of the experience of watching one of them take offense, and leaving the church; and the other who built a relationship with his savior, and is still here reaping the blessings that come from doing so. I chose the latter path, and was taught by him and others in my life who loved me so much that they were there for me. Now, 7 years later, I'm still here, and I'm deeply blessed because of that experience.

After the closing prayer, I received an overwhelmingly positive reaction to the class. One boy thanked me for my testimony, and told me of his own struggles with SSA, and his 5 year excommunication from the church. He's been back for 2 years now, and he's happier than ever. Another guy told me about a friend of his whom he thinks is lonely, and needs support from another guy like him, dealing with SSA, and asked if he could give his friend my number. One girl ran up to me, and gave me a hug, telling me how brave I was. Another hugged me as she cried. I couldn't believe it! We are so scared, for so long, to share our plight with people because we think the outcome will be bad. I experienced the complete opposite. I even had many beautiful, manly heteros that thanked me for the lesson. One told me that he admired people with guts, and that I had guts! Another told me it was the best lesson he'd ever had, and that he wished more people were open like that in church, because it invited the Spirit in for stronger and more meaningful bonds and experiences.

I am so grateful for this experience. I think it's ironic that I almost missed it because I was going to go educate myself on the gay world, and instead, I had the opportunity to provide one for so many Mormon kids inside the chapel of God.

A Sunday Outting

All year long, I have wrestled with the thought of coming out to my Sunday School class, and using my life as an example in so many our lessons. Then, almost 2 weeks ago, after another semi-depressing conversation with my best friend, I decided that the time had arrived for me to grow the balls to finally do it. So for roughly a week leading up to last week Sunday, I prayed for the courage, and derived strength from my close friends as I prepared for that fateful time.

Sunday, June 7th, 2009 marks the day it finally happened. The lesson discussion was focused around the second coming of Christ. I used the story of Peter the disciple and Jesus Christ walking on water:

22 And straightway Jesus constrained his disciples to get into a ship, and to go before him unto the other side, while he sent the multitudes away.
23 And when he had sent the multitudes away, he went up into a mountain apart to pray: and when the evening was come, he was there alone.
24 But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves: for the wind was contrary.
25 And in the fourth watch of the night Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea.
26 And when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out for fear.
27 But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.
28 And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water.
29 And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus.
30 But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me.
31 And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?
32 And when they were come into the ship, the wind ceased.
33 Then they that were in the ship came and worshipped him, saying, Of a truth thou art the Son of God.

I encouraged the class to pull apart the story, and to tell me what they got out of it. Their responses were wonderful. Some spoke of the miracle it was that Peter was able to walk on the water at all. Some talked about the example Christ was in setting aside time to commune with his Father in Heaven. Others spoke of their personal desires to remain faithful to Christ always, and to never be paralyzed by fear.

At the end of the lesson, we came back to the story, and pulled it apart some more. We related it to ourselves. Christ was with us once, but left to be with his Father. We know he will come back one day, but we don't know when, just like the apostles didn't know when he'd join them again. The disciples were out there on the seas during the fourth watch: this time period fell between 3-6 AM, just before dawn. We live in the last dispensation of time. In their geographical area, the winds were often very violent, and the waves very daunting. When the savior came to them on the water, it was no wonder the disciples were freaked out. Yet amidst the storm, Christ said, "Be of good cheer...". How often do those words have to give battle to the virulent torrents in our lives?

Then came the exchange between Peter and Christ. After Christ invites Peter out onto the water, Peter actually stands on it and begins to walk! That's so AWESOME!! But his environment scared him, and he began to sink. Peter IMMEDIATELY called for the savior's help, and Christ was there instantly, helping him back onto his feet. Christ's scolding, though often taken as chastising, to me sounds more like a gentle chiding: "O ye of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?" Did he say, "O ye of little faith in me, wherefore didst thou doubt in me? NO! I think the implications were more along the lines of "O ye of little faith in yourself, wherefore didst thou doubt in yourself? We agreed as a class that more often than not, that's what happens in our lives. It's not that we lose faith in Christ, or doubt in him; we lose faith in ourselves, and our own abilities. We start drowning, because the waves in our lives get so high so quickly. So often, we are quick to judge Peter for sinking, but we all in essence experience the very same thing in our lives when times get scary, right?

I love verse 32: And when they were come into the ship, the wind ceased. Which says a few things to me: (1) The winds didn't let up at all the entire time Christ and Peter remained on the water. They calmed once they got to the ship. And (2) they had to get back to the ship. Now in every picture I've seen of this story's depiction, Peter and Christ were a good distance from the ship. Did Christ tow Peter through the water until they reached the boat? I don't think so. I think after Christ lifted Peter out the water's grasp, he set him on his feet, and together they walked on that water, all the way back to the boat.

When they got to the boat, what happened? Not one of the disciples judged Peter for ever sinking in that water. Instead, they were happy that Peter was there, and that Christ had come, and they all worshipped Christ together. After discussing the consequences for the righteous and the wicked when Christ comes again, our class agreed that the prize for the righteous was much better, and that we would love all of our friends and family to be there on the boat, together in love and happiness. I asked if anyone had friends or family out there in the water, drowning, or if they themselves felt like that. Most of the class responded with an understanding affirmative.

And that's when I told my class about my own experiences with drowning, with SSA, and with those in my life who came to my aid and grabbed me by the arms, lifted me out of the water, and helped me on my feet, even when I wasn't crying out for Christ's help. I got to bare my testimony to the class about how happy I am that I am still here in the church today, walking on water once again, on my way with those I love to the boat that's big enough for all of us. I told the class that my experience should not be special - that all of our friends, no matter what they deal with, whether it's abusive and addictive substances, violence, same gender attraction, depression, whatever it is - that we all belong here, that we all have a place on that boat.

This past Sunday, my bishop approached me after sacrament meeting. He is brand new to the ward, and it was only his second Sunday here when he sat in the back of my class and observed the class. He thanked me for teaching the class, and told me that the lesson was wonderful. He said he could really feel my spirit, and that he was glad I was able to share what I did with the class. I was so grateful to God for giving me the strength to do it, and for sending the bishop as reassurance that what I had done was for a good cause.



P.S. The two boys that I spoke about in my last blog? They came to my performance on Sunday! Their mother said they'd been talking about me nonstop all week, and so they came to the fireside just to hear me sing again! I was so touched.

Where You're Going

Before Jason passed away, I wrote a song for him. I never had the guts to sing it to him, or to anyone else but my brother and his girlfriend. However, the song has served as such a strength to me in helping me cope with his passing, and I'm beginning to wonder if it would do the same for anyone else who has mourned his passing, or the passing of another loved one recently.

So here are the lyrics. Soon, I'll post a video of me performing it...

Where You're Going

Where you're going is beautiful
And the gift of knowing helps keep me whole
'Cause I know that one day I want to be
Where you're going

So will you please save a plot for me
Next to your place, or across the street
'Cause I know that one day I want to be
Where you're going

Promise me you'll wait
To usher me through heaven's gate
I'll meet you there one sweet day
We'll be together again

But until then, I'll do all I can
To be a good friend; I'll try to be as good a man
As you are 'cause I want to be
Where you're going

Where you're going is a special place
There's no crying, there's no sickness, and there's no pain
Everybody's happy to be
Where you're going

So promise me you'll wait
To usher me through heaven's gate
I'll meet you there one, one sweet day
We'll be together again

But til that time comes, I'm gonna live each day
As if it was my last one, and I promise to keep the faith
And walk as you did, 'cause I want to live
In that special place where now you wait
I would give anything to be
Where you're going
Where you're going

Help Thou Mine Unbelief

One of my favorite passages in the Bible comes from Mark 9:

23 Jesus said unto him, If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.
24 And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.

It expresses how I feel so often in my life. I KNOW that the gospel of Jesus Christ is real, and I KNOW that Heavenly Father hears my prayers. I KNOW that the atonement is big enough for all things, even my own plight. Still, I have days where I'm weak, and my faith is tried. On these days, I want to cry, and I plead that the Lord will allow blessings into my life despite my unbelief.

Now, more than I have in a very long time, my hope is that God sees the good in me, and will grant unto me the righteous desires of my heart, despite my imperfections.

"Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief..."

I Stand All Amazed

Especially For This Youth

Last Sunday, I was blessed with the opportunity to take part in a musical number for a friend's sacrament meeting in a neighboring stake. Two of my friends, my brother, and I performed "Prayer of the Children," and it went very well, especially considering we only practiced together 4 times. In our own stake, we were having Stake Conference, so I didn't feel too bad about skipping out on my weekly duties in my home ward.

Just after I finished dinner that evening, though, my bishop called to let me know he missed me at church today. He wondered why he didn't see me or my brother, and joked about us playing hookey. Then he asked me if I was planning on attending our ward's St. Patty's Party this weekend. "It's on Saturday evening, Brother Esera; I made sure they planned it that way just for you," he told me. We talked for a little while longer, I promised I'd be there, and then he spoke to my brother about the activity as well.

I know this may not sound like a big deal, but you have to know my bishop, and some background:

In my single's ward, we have had AMAZING bishoprics over the last 10 years. When I first came into contact with this ward almost 8 years ago, Bishop Wolvers served us. He is a brilliant man - affluent in music, great with people, and a life-long counselor to high school and college aged young adults. I joined the ward during my term of disfellowshipment because of the wonderful things I heard about him from 2 other mohos. I credit much of my spiritual growth to his patient ear, his honest tongue, his sturdy shoulders, and his loving heart. He was succeeded by Bishop Washer, a retired Naval officer with the most pleasant demeanor and genuine spirit. He is also a people-person, and a long time friend to my family.

When Bishop Anderson was called to our ward, I knew nothing about him - I'd never met him, and had heard about him. My early impressions of him were not the same as the past two bishops: Bishop Anderson is not quite as social as the men who preceeded him, and was not as easy-going. He came off as more conservative, more stiff, less understanding, and less approachable. I was unsure as to how comfortable I would feel coming to him with my personal issues, especially when it came to SSA. I was afraid he was just too different from the last two bishops.

The real trouble came when my friends and my brother started relaying the same concerns. "I know what you guys mean," I'd say, "but there has to be a reason why he was called to our ward at this time. He's going to learn to be better for us, and we're going to learn to love and appreciate him. Somehow, Bishop Anderson is going to be good for us." Inside, I told myself that I had to learn this for myself, and be sure if anyone was going to believe me.

I remember praying for help before the first time I went to see Bishop Anderson. I prayed that I would be open to accepting him as my bishop, and that we would both be guided by the Spirit during our meeting so it would be effective for us. I remember specifically asking the Lord to show me that the Bishop loved me so I could trust him and his divinely-inspired counsel.

Our interview went much better than expected! Though the Bishop was still a little stiff, he took my confession very well, and didn't freak out in the slightest when I described to him the issues I was having with SSA. He was very matter-of-factly, and I appreciated his honest and direct candor. I was set up to have an interview with the Stake President, and I prayed for a similar experience. That went well, too. I went back to my ward that Sunday, and felt great!

The undoubtable answer to my prayer came soon after. I remember Bishop Anderson randomly coming up to me one day, and wrapping his arm around my shoulder as he asked about how I was doing. Bishop Anderson is NOT a touchy-feely kind of guy! I knew nothing short of a miracle could get him to spontaneously and willingly do that, especially with me! I thanked God for showing me that my bishop loved and cared for me.

Since then, my bishop has shown me time and time again that he loves not only me, but my peers in the ward. He has lightened up SO MUCH, and has earned the respect and adoration of the ward in the same right that our previous bishops did. Even my best friend and my brother, who were very skeptical in the beginning, have grown to love him. I am so proud of my bishop! And I'm so glad that the Lord has blessed me with the fulfillment of my hope.

When Bishop Anderson told me he made sure that this weekend's activity took place on Saturday just for me, I was very touched. He knows that my work schedule prohibits me from being there on Friday evenings, and he knows how prone our activity's committee is to planning events on Fridays versus Saturday nights. It showed me that he really wanted me to be involved, and I felt special that he would take the time to do something like that just for me. If you're reading this, Bishop, thanks so much! And I love you too!!

What's At the End of the Rainbow

I'm a gay Mormon guy. One of many, actually. In fact, my bishop told me that in the greater Seattle area, we have over 600 LDS men and women that deal with same-sex attractions. That's more than any other area in the US besides perhaps the Salt Lake Valley. 600! So often, people like me feel like we have no one that can relate to us. If only we realized how non-unique our situation truly is!

Most people know someone who is both gay and Mormon, whether you're a member of the LDS faith or not. Of course, many people don't know they know a gay Mormon, but I'll venture to say everyone does. Many of my friends had other gay Mormon friends before they made my acquaintance. The thing that strikes me is the response I get from a lot of these friends. I get a lot of comments like, "You're not like so-and-so, and he's a gay Mormon," or "Wow, I thought that gay Mormons were more like blank, and you're not really like that," or "You're so different from my other Mormon friend, and he's gay, too." I used to be wary of that comment, but recently I've come to realize that I shouldn't be. Why not?

Well, I guess it's because of where I choose to put the emphasis on my opening statement: I am a gay Mormon guy. I've found that a lot of my friends who are in the same boat choose to put the emphasis on the first part: I am a gay Mormon guy. They talk about their gay life all the time, and place so much importance on that part of themselves. I guess I understand why: we go so long without addressing that portion of our beings, hiding it, even trying to destroy it for so many years. We fear rejection if we were ever to share that intimate part of ourselves with people. And when we finally are comfortable and capable of opening up and expressing that side of our soul, we find such liberation in the act that we allow ourselves to share it almost too generously with others. I remember this stage of my life; it was only just 5 years ago that I was like this.

But there came a point where I needed to figure out how the rest of that statement played in my life. I needed to know if the next part held any weight that I was willing to carry. For quite some time, I didn't know if I had room in my pack for "gay" and "Mormon;" I thought I'd have to leave one of the burdens behind. But as I studied the gospel, prayed to my Heavenly Father, and matured in spirit, I gained a testimony of things so strong and so undeniable, that the emphasis started shifting; my original statement turned into "I am a gay Mormon guy."

Reaching this point in my spiritual development mirrored coming out of the closet in so many interesting ways. I've had moments where telling people my religious affilitations shocked them more than coming out to them. A few people have asked if I was truly happy being a member of the church, and others have encouraged me to try other faiths. And some of those people didn't even know yet that I was gay! Then there are those who admire me for my convictions, and for being myself, and following my heart. They defend me when others are close-minded to my spiritual beliefs. It's been quite an interesting phenomenon to watch.

Nowadays, my statement looks more like this: "I am a gay Mormon guy." Although I know I am quite different from other people, I am just a guy, trying to get by in this world; doing his part to make a difference; doing his best to matter; trying hard to do all that he's set out to accomplish. I have made peace emotionally and spiritually with the decisions that have led me to accept the homosexual feelings I bear, and the testimony of God's church that I cannot forsake. Now, I'm just doing my best to live the way I know I should, not because someone else says so, but because it's truly what I want. Being gay is a part of who I am, but it's not the biggest slice of this pie. My relationship with God is more important. I want to live with Him again; I know it may be a tough road to tread, but I'm willing to go for a hike if it means there's a "happily ever after" to look forward to.

This is going to sound totally gay, but it came to me while I pondered the upcoming celebration of St. Patrick's Day:

Life is like a rainbow. It is made up of many different colors, some that you may love, and others you won't care for. The rainbow seems to extend forever, and you can't see where it ends, and you don't know where it originated. At the end, a little man has a pot of gold, and he'll share it with us if we find them. This is life. There are parts we love, and parts we don't love. We don't know how long this life will last, but we know it has an end. At the end, there is a man there. From where we stand, he looks small because he seems so far away. In actuality, he's not a leprachaun at all - he's a great divine being. Luckily for us, he's our Father. And He has a treasure worth more than anything on this Earth. Many may not believe in this man, or the pot of gold, but I know they're there, because I've asked, and even from way far away, He's let me know that they both exist. I am willing to wait til I get to the end of the rainbow to meet Him, and share in the treasure He has to offer.

Happiness is a Choice

I knew a kid who was called to serve a mission in a foreign land, and had to learn to speak the language. Prior to this appointment, he had minimal exposure to the culture or language of these people he had been called to serve. His patriarchal blessing, however, promised that he'd accomplish the feat of mastery over foreign languages through his faith and diligence.

After a few months out on his mission, however, his parents informed me that he was struggling terribly to learn the language, and communicate with the people he met. Growing up around traditions from another culture (Samoan), and being familiar with the culture and language he was new to, I understood the difficulties that this kid was facing. His parents and I and my best friend tossed around ideas on how we could help him out (my best friend is fluent in the aforementioned language and culture), and we finally decided that there was little we could do but pray on his behalf, for the mental and emotional strength he needed to overcome his struggles with the language barriers.

I committed to praying for him on several occasions over the next year. Whenever I spoke with this kid's parents, they would inform me of the progress he was making, and they looked more and more relieved and happy for the success their son was finding in this difficult trial.

After he returned, I spoke to him about his mission, about his experience with the people and the culture. He lightly spoke about it, and made no deal about his mission, either good or bad. Then, later, I heard him speak sarcastically about the language and returning to that place, and was really saddened by his candor. Didn't this guy realize that there were people out there that were praying for him while he was on his mission? That we asked Heavenly Father to help HIM specifically with his trial? That the very thing he was taking so lightly, others had taken seriously enough to pray to God about?

I continued in this vain for about a week until my mind was taken back to an experience I had years ago. I remember being 20 years old, and very unhappy with the way my life was going. I had envisioned my perfect life as a child: doing a semester of BYU after high school before leaving on a mission right at 19; coming home at 21; getting married by 22; finishing college at 24; being discovered by 25; selling a million records by 26; having 6 children (including a set of twins) by 30; and yada yada, right?! Instead, I was 20, with a year of BYU-I under my belt, no plans to return; no mission call; disfellowshipped from the church; and worst of all, the gradual realization that I was gay, and probably never going to marry or have children! I was very depressed.

During this time, I was visiting my then bishop every week. He was the best thing that ever happened to me. He didn't always tell me what I wanted to hear, but he always told me what I needed to hear, and didn't do it until after he listened to what I had to say. He gave me the most sound advice I'd ever received: "Happiness is a CHOICE." He taught me that happy people don't end up that way by accident. They make the conscious decision to be happy, and that I could be like that if I simply chose to be." I remember trying, a little in vain in the beginning. But one weekend, I did find a way to be happy, and I remember things going well for me. A good friend asked me specifically about that weekend later that month, after not seeing or visiting with me for quite a while. After I declared to him my positive experience, he gave me a big hug and said, "Good, because that's the day where I felt impressed to pray for you."

Years later, I'm reminded of the choice that I have: the choice to feel the way that I want to feel. No matter what is going on in my life, I can either moan and groan, and complain about my circumstances, or I can choose to bear my burden with hope and faith, with the surety that pain is temporary, and that I will make it through whatever is happening. I'm sure that when Christ suffered for me in the Garden, that he did not do it begrudgingly. He willingly atoned for my sins, out of love and out of faith in me. Jesus suffered so much more than I ever will have to, so that I don't have to. So why should I choose to? I am going to follow his example, and bear my burden with a positive spirit, with the reassurance that I have a Savior who knows exactly what I'm feeling, and knows how to succor me. Even if I must bear a difficult trial like SSA, or being single, for the rest of this short mortal life, I will die in the real hope that Heavenly Father has prepared a way for me to experience eternal and everlasting happiness with Him, which gift is more precious and priceless to me than any other temporary things this world has offered me for pleasure. I have made my decision, and I am happier now than I was when I was that confused 20 year old kid.

I am never going to complain about having SSA again, or any other seemingly impossible trial I will face. I will choose to be happy in the knowledge that God would never give me more than I can handle, especially with Him there with me. Besides, I never know who is praying for me!

Christmas 2008

Every Christmas, my parents put on a very large Holiday Get-Together with relatives, friends, and missionaries from our church. We typically get anywhere between 20 - 50 people together. For me, it's quite the ordeal. I would much rather have a quieter Christmas with just immediate family. I prefer a more intimate holiday, at home, with little hustle and bustle. Every Christmas, I complain that it's too crowded, too busy, and too noisy, and ask if next year, we can have a traditional stay-at-home family Christmas. Every year, my parents say, "Maybe next Christmas;" and I take it as a "no."

I guess you'd have to know my family a little bit to totally understand. My parents are very generous, loving, God-fearing people. They will give the shirt off their backs to any stranger they thought could use it, even if that stranger already had 3 shirts on. They have always been very popular with my friends, especially at Halloween: my parents would take all of our hard-earned candy, and give it to all of the other kids at school, just to make sure they all had some. It didn't matter if there were any left for us, as long as our friends were happy.

I remember, 6 years ago, when I told my mother that I couldn't go on a mission because I'd broken the law of chastity. Her first question was, "With a girl?" After I shook my head, she asked, "With a boy?" I felt so ashamed as I nodded, I thought she was going to disown me. She sighed, and said, "Oh, son! If it were a girl, it would be okay, we could fix it. But it was with a boy, so I don't know!" I was so shocked, I laughed. We spent the next 3 hours, analyzing my situation and hypothesizing as to why I had feelings for other boys. She was even able to pinpoint one of my ex's, and asked if we'd been intimate. Mothers always know! She felt guilty, she asked if it was her fault that I didn't like girls. I laughed, and gingerly reassured her that it was no one's fault, that it was something I dealt with, and didn't know why.

My mother asked me not to share this with my dad, that she would tell him herself. I was so grateful, I had no idea how to do it. Telling my mother ended up being so much easier than I ever dreamed it would be. My father was not so understanding. She told him that evening as the went to bed. He hardly slept. He cried; in fact, he cried for the next 3 days. He didn't look or talk to me during this time, it was so difficult for him to accept. After the 3rd day, he pulled me aside, very early in the morning, to talk to me about it. I felt so bad for him, to have to deal with the realization that his oldest child, the second man of the family, was unworthy to serve a mission, and worse, was a homosexual. I promised that I would fix things in my life, and that I would be more careful around boys. He half-heartedly believed me, but I could tell this burden would be very heavy for him. He went on to carry it in a very heavy manner for the next couple years, and gradually found solace and comfort as he shared this burden with a dear friend who also was going through the same thing with one of his sons, as he shared it with my sister, and as he grew comfortable enough to joke about it with me.

The older of my two younger sisters was the first sibling I talked to about SSA. She had a hard time with it in the beginning, much like my father. She even lashed out angrily at me from time to time, in frustration and disappointment. She stayed my close friend, though, and I'm so grateful for her support. She is now serving a mission in Las Vegas, and is fulfilling a dream my parents have always had for their children.

My other sister was the last person in the family that I became open to about SGA. I never actually came out and told her; she just always had the sense about me, and I realized one day that we were talking about homosexuality openly, and she was hanging out with me and my gay friends, and she was very comfortable and very much herself. She's now married, and living in Utah with her wonderful husband.

My brother was the most touching when it came to coming out to my family. It was in the afternoon, and I was hanging out with him in his bedroom, talking to him as he cleaned it. I was 20 now, and he was only 15 years old. I don't remember exactly what lead us to the conversation; I just remember receiving the distinct impression that it was okay to share my struggles with SGA with him. I remember telling him, and he stopped what he was doing, looked up at me, and said, "Wait, really?" I told him, "Yes, really." He stood up, smiled at me, and said, "Wow, you know... I didn't know. But I don't care. I love you, you're my brother. If it were someone else, I might care, but it's you, and I don't care." He gave me a big hug, and I stood there, shocked beyond comprehension. I was overwhelmed by the love he showed me, and as I hugged him back, I thanked God that I had such an amazing 15 year old brother. He is one of my very best friends to this day, and has the best gay-dar on a straight man that I've ever met! When recounting this event to him the other night, I almost cried, and he laughed, and remarked, "Wow, I was pretty open-minded, even at 15!"

This year, my sister's aren't going to make it to our Christmas gathering. And, yes, my parents are still putting on a huge Christmas thing, with tons of people, tons of noise, and tons of bustle. But at least I'll have my parents, and I'll have my brother. I am so grateful for them, and the love that they have shown me, all through the years. Sure, they can drive me crazy, but this year, as I celebrate Christ's birth with these people that love me so much, I'm going to remember why I love them so much, and I'm going to smile.

Letter to a Friend

Here's a portion of a letter I wrote to a friend last night. It serves as a sort of story-of-my-life, and a piece of my testimony, and a really great blog, in my opinion:

"When I was 21, I was still disfellowshipped from the church. I was living in Pasadena, CA at the time with my best friend who also deals with SSA. I was working at the Banana Republic, and was poor as heck. I had way cute clothes though, haha. But it was the most torn I'd felt in my life. I was working so hard to get my blessings back, and to be able to have full fellowship with the Lord's church again. But at the same time, I was living in a very gay-friendly place, working in a very gay-friendly industry, and surrounded by gays and gay-promoting people. It was a very trying time, and there were days where I felt my head was going to explode. If I could have afforded it, I would have gone to get counseling, but I was so poor. I saved up enough money once a week to eat at my favorite restaurant, as a happy treat! And I worked all the time to be able to live, so I only made it to church on Sundays and Mondays, and occasionally morning institute. It was different from home, where I used to go to institute twice or three times a week, fhe on mondays, and two wards on Sundays (I know, I have OCD).

But I knew I was there in CA for a reason, and I knew I had a lot to learn. I had been prompted to move there, and to grow there. In my experience, people in CA are very interesting: the members are either very conservative, letter-of-the-law type people, or very liberal, open-minded people. Though I felt loved by the vast majority of people, there were times at church where ignorant comments or announcements were made, and they were directed at the gays. With the help of my best friend, I learned to not take those comments personally, and learned to be understanding of others who didn't know any better. I learned to balance SGA in my life with the gospel, and let the gospel take precedence whenever there were discrepencies. I learned a healthy fear of evil things, and learned to maintain strength in goodness. A month before my 22nd birthday, I was refellowshipped into the church! And the day after Christmas, I received my patriarchal blessing. I was so happy! After 2 1/2 years, I was finally able to partake of the sacrament, and hold callings, and speak and sing in church again! All of the pain, the tears, the struggles: they were all worth this, being this close to the Lord again.

It's a time in my life that I'll always remember. Whenever I start to feel weak, I can look back at those years, and remember how hard I fought for the life I have now, even when I wasn't sure why I kept going. I know that it was worth it. And if being refellowshipped into the church gave me that much joy, how much more will I feel when the Lord opens the gates of the Celestial Kingdom to me at the judgement day?!

Besides, the songs that I wrote during that time have been some of the best ever! Depression works wonders for creativity, and so does it's reciprocating joy."