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I had the privilege to go to Nauvoo, Illinois from May 1-May 5 for a leadership retreat with Affirmation: LGBT Mormons, Families, and Friends. I was asked to write a piece on the experience I had with Nauvoo. (It was published here) I came to Nauvoo with an interesting perspective... I left with an entirely new one.

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"What am I doing here," I muttered to myself as I stepped off the plane in St. Louis. "This is too close, My past is too vivid here, it's too vulnerable. I don't belong here... this is the one place that I cannot go."

As I collected my bags, and met up the other Affirmation members I was carpooling with, I was filled with a conflicted sense of pain. I didn't feel like the confident 24 year old that I've grown to be; I had been replaced with my 18 year old self... the wanderer., traveling aimlessly into an unknown abyss.

We all piled into a Suburban, and started the drive north along the Mississippi River. I had a lot of time to think, and ponder on what the weekend would bring, and the emotions it would create. Nauvoo is of utmost importance to the Church, and it's members, but as a convert, it had no significant place for me. To me, the City of Joseph was a place filled with religious history, a history filled with holes, and tainted with doubt. I never felt an affinity with Nauvoo... not until I arrived in the city itself.

As we all ate dinner, and set up things at the Nauvoo House on Thursday night, I could feel the Spirit lingering, and the pain that had occurred there. I could feel it hovering... pooling around the buildings, the trees, and the roads. I could feel the aching pain in the Smith family cemetery, and inside the Nauvoo House, the house that Emma had last called home.

Nauvoo's birth was veiled with trauma – the Saints were forced to leave behind their beloved temple in Kirtland, and the Prophet Joseph was imprisoned at Liberty Jail, leaving Emma and the Saints to fend for themselves while being expelled from Missouri. The Saints continued to experience pain with the doctrine of plural marriage, and the eventual martyrdom of Hyrum and Joseph. Nauvoo, while indeed the beautiful place that had inspired it's name, was not a place of joy... it was a place of injury and inexplicable pain and suffering.

Friday morning and afternoon, I had the opportunity to explore the historical sites of Nauvoo. I walked down Main Street and stopped at the Times and Seasons, the home of Apostle (and 3rd President of the Church) John Taylor, and Scovil Bakery on my way to the LDS Visitors Center, where I took a wagon ride along the historical districts of the city. I was struck by the abandoned feeling of the flatlands of Old Nauvoo. Most of the buildings had been torn down within the first 40 years after the Saints crossed the plains. All that was left were empty fields and the handful of buildings that had been preserved and renovated.

As I made my way back to the river to Emma's Nauvoo House, people had started to arrive. Dinner as being made in the kitchen, and volunteers were beginning to set up the parlor with tables and chairs. These were my people – my family – and my heart began to fill with joy. These were the people who know me, and understood my journey as a gay Mormon.

We sat down to dinner, and the conversation flowed. I was catching up with old friends, and planting seeds with new friends. Everything was wonderful. After dinner was finished, we pushed the tables to the side, and started the ice breaker activities. We went around the room and shared 3 adjectives about our anticipation of the weekend. Many described feelings of joy, and excitement, as well as faith and devotion. Mine however revealed my cloud of apprehension – my adjectives were hope, fear, and trepidation.

The next activity had us move around the room in a game called "social mapping". We were first told to move to where we lived. For me, that as Salt Lake City... easy enough. The next however threw that cloud of uncertainty over me. Move to where you call home. I don't have a home. I was born and raised in Defiance, Ohio, but that is far from anything I would consider home. In Salt Lake, I have a house that I live in, with a roommate and a dog, but it isn't home. I was homeless, so I moved to a corner that could only be called limbo.

That night I was plagued with restless sleep. I tossed and turned, wrestling with the parallels drawn between myself and this place. Nauvoo was too close to home. It represented everything that I had run away from – everything that I had left behind, and never looked back to remember. It represented a place that required a recommend of worthiness I cannot obtain.

Saturday morning, I awoke and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I gathered my things and drove over to the Community of Christ (formerly the RLDS Church) Visitors Center where we held a scripture study session led by John Gustav-Wrathall, Judy Finch, Todd Richardson, and Tom Christofferson. As we discussed passages from the Doctrine and Covenants, an interesting point was made about how the LDS Church, and its members, handle pain... we smile through it. I realized that I've done this my entire life. Every step I have ever taken, I made sure to take it in a way that showed my friends, my family, and the members of my ward that everything was fine, even as my world was crumbling before my eyes. I tried to look at it from a point of view that turned it into good, but did it without taking the time to mourn, to sob, to anguish, and to panic. I tried to turn it into a blessing before I had given myself the opportunity to heal. It was during this session, that I learned to confront my own demons, and mourn my losses. I learned that everything is a blessing, but it can't be a blessing until I am ready to fight back against the abuse that I had left unchallenged.

Our second session was conducted on the banks of the Mississippi River, at the end of the Trail of Hope where the Saints had left Nauvoo to begin their trek west. This is where the Saints looked back on their homes, their businesses, their schools, and their beloved temple, and chose to abandon them, so as to leave and search for a better life. I reflected and meditated on the loss of the Saints felt as they left their homes. I was reminded of the Atonement of the Savior, and how the Saints had to have leaned on Him for their strength and good spirits in that desperate time of need. Aside from the temple, this is where I felt the Spirit most strongly. It kept pushing me toward the bank, saying, "Go. The pain of your personal exodus in life pales in comparison to the pain here. Go. Find your own joy."

After a morning of exploring that opened my eyes to understanding I had never before uncovered, we took a break for lunch and free time. The first couple of hours I spent with the women of the Conference. We had our lunch overlooking the river and getting to know one another on a deeper level than we had the previous night. After lunch, I went to find my scriptures, and my journal, and I was overcome with emotion. The closer I came to understanding the events that transpired here, the more I was brought back to my own past, and the experiences that made me who I am today. I fought the tears that came from a place buried deep inside of me. No matter where I turned for peace, the peace was overwhelmed by pain.

After dinner, we all gathered into cars and we drove up to the temple for our group picture. The sun was just beginning to set, and the view from the hill overlooking the land and the river was remarkable. It was here and here alone that I felt peace. I watched the boys skip down the hill, and looked over at the young couple taking their wedding photos. I felt a very distinct feeling that told me everything would be ok, and that all things would ultimately turnout for my good. With all of the conflicting emotions I had felt this weekend, that confirmation and blessings of peace from my Heavenly Mother and Father was exactly what I needed for my journey to inner peace.

The last event of the night was the meeting we held on the second floor of Joseph Smith's Red Brick Store. Berta Marquez shared her story of being a Guatemalan refugee in the oppressive conditions of her country's dictatorship. She was able to create a new life for herself, and she pulled herself out of a place of despair, into a place of hope. I grew up being taught, and eventually begun to believe that I was to shoulder my burdens, and accept the side effects and limitations that came with them. This was yet another confirmation to challenge the things taught to me, and to forge my own path.

Carol Lynn Pearson was the last to speak that night. Her presentation struck me, and transformed my experience. She spoke about Emma Hale Smith, Joseph's beloved wife. She spoke of the devotion and unconditional love she had for her husband, but also spoke of the suffering and anguish she endured through the revelation of her husband's plural marriages, and then the crippling trauma of his assassination. Carol Lynn performed a monologue that she had written about Emma in her play, Mother Wove the Morning. It was so touching, and so moving that I had tears flowing down my face the entire monologue. She summed up, in 10 minutes, the thoughts and feelings that I had harbored, and clutched so closely to my heart for all of these years.

Sunday morning, we had a testimony meeting in the Seventies Hall owned by the LDS Church. The Nauvoo Mission President was present, and he spoke to us briefly before the stand was opened to us to share our feelings and our testimonies. Every single one of us spoke straight from the heart, and spoke with a vulnerable authenticity that we can't always express in our wards and branches back home.

As I walked up to the stand to bear my testimony, I was sustained with a shot of confidence that I had been lacking for the last few days. I went up, and shared my favorite passage from the Book of Mormon. The first 8 verses of the Book of Enos begin with Enos wrestling before God, and his soul hungering for truth. He knelt down before his Maker and "cried unto Him in mighty prayer and supplication for mine own soul." It goes on to read, "all the day long did I cry unto him, yea, and when the night came I did still raise my voice high that it reached the heavens."

This is what I had done for so long... prayed, cried, and anguished for the Lord to fix something that was unfixable. I had pleaded with the Lord to help me with the trials of my childhood and adolescence, so that I could be made whole once more. My Heavenly Mother and Father had helped me accept myself as a gay woman, but now I needed Their help in calming the waters of my past, and allowing me to grow.

Like Enos, I prayed for the Lord to bless me with forgiven sins, and a calm heart. Like Enos, I don't know how it was to be accomplished, but I knew that it would be done. The Lord tells Enos, "Because of your faith in Christ, who thou hast never before heard nor seen. And many years lass away before he shall manifest himself in the flesh; wherefore go to, thy faith hath made thee whole."

The rest of the day was filled with hugs and goodbyes as people set off to drive back home and the the airport. By the end, there were only a handful of us left. We drove to Carthage, to see the site of the martyrdom, and once again the Spirit there was one of anguish. The room where the Prophet Joseph and his brother Hyrum were killed held a chill... it was an eerie sense of finality and certitude. It's a feeling that I will never forget.

When I got back from Carthage, and after all the chores were finished, I went outside, and looked out over the river for the final time. I walked over the the Smith family cemetery and placed my hand on Emma's marker. I laughed with her, and I cried with her. I shared in her joys and in her triumphs, and mourned with her over her losses, and her pain. I shared with her my love for her, and my admiration of her courage, and driven nature. I poured my heart out to her about my life – sharing the joy and pride of my success, and sharing the pain I've harbored for so long. I told her of my family, and explained how I yearn to be reunited with them someday. Emma and I developed a sisterhood that night. I created that bond that I so desperately needed to create with this place. And I was finally at peace.

As I boarded the place back to Salt Lake City, I allowed Nauvoo to stay with me. I didn't leave and never look back like I had so often done before. I allowed myself to see that Nauvoo was home. I am a Saint. I have been left behind, I have been left abandoned. I have been the one driven out; I have been the one with an extermination order written against me. I had once been the weary traveler; I had once been the aimless wanderer. Nauvoo welcomed me with open arms; The City of Joseph is home.







Unworthy

I want to go to the temple.

There. I said it. Out of my system.

The problem is that I didn't know how to go. And trust me... it's a hell of a lot harder and more complicated than convincing the bishop and stake president to sign a piece of paper, and then driving to one of the four temples in the Salt Lake Valley.

I'm a Mormon. I'm a Mormon who's a Democrat, an intellectual, and a feminist, and a lesbian. That right there just put four road blocks down my path to "spiritual enlightenment", and I have no idea how to reconcile it. I'm the danger in President Boyd K. Packer's imfamous quote, "The dangers I speak of come from the gay-lesbian movement, the feminist movement (both of which are relatively new), and the ever-present challenge from the so-called scholars or intellectuals."

The biggest road block is easily the fact that I'm gay. I believe that the Church has got it wrong on homosexuality. Like the Church's new policy on race, I believe that the denial of full fellowship to LGBT members is coming from a place of privileged bigotry. I have had personal revelation from God that tells me very plainly that I was born gay, and that it was absolutely something God intended. I was gay in the premortal existence, I'm gay in morality, and I will be gay hereafter. Easy peasy. But I can't be dishonest. Because I have had sex with a woman *gasp*, I need to go through the repentance process. Am I ok repenting for sex before marriage? Yes. Am I ok repenting for having sex with a woman, and promise to never do it again? Absolutely not!! I simply can't do that with good conscience. However, in the Bishop's eyes... this is a "cut and dry" example of not being repentant of my sins. And BAM. No recommend. No temple. And possibly a form of formal/informal Church discipline. No bueno.

But all of these concerns are things that are real to me. I have severe concerns, and disbelief about the Church's positions on homosexuality, and the ordination of women to the Priesthood. I have serious concerns about the Church's teachings to our Young Women about modesty, and how they are responsible for the "pure thoughts" of the Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthood holders. I have serious concerns about the Church's lack of transparency about it's history. I have concerns about the Church's "worship" of Joseph Smith, and his portrayal of the most perfect man who's ever lived, when in truth, while inspired and called of God, he was a man with many flaws. I have doubts! And simply "doubting my doubts" isn't cutting it. They are not going to go away.

And yet the temple pulls at me. Everything aches when I drive past... knowing that everyone else around me can go in, and I can't. I've tried to ignore it. I've put it out of my mind, telling myself that it's simply something I won't get to have in this life. But I shouldn't have to resign myself to the fact that I can't go! Do I feel worthy? Yes! I respect my fellow brothers and sisters. I strive to do good in my day to day life. I help when I can. I pay my tithing into the Book of Mormon fund, and the general missionary fund. I sustain the leadership of the Church. I read my Sciptures and say my prayers. I feel the presence of the Holy Ghost in my life, nor have I ever stopped feeling it. I know that I am worthy.

But it's up to 2 men to decide if I am. And I don't think that they'll rule in my favor.

Gay Catholic To Gay Mormon

I've never sat down to write down my conversion story. I've told it countless times, and I still have my journal from when I was an investigator... but I've never actually written it down. My future grandchildren are probably shaking their heads at me from their little clouds up in Heaven... I can feel it.

I grew up in Defiance, Ohio and growing up I was raised as a devout Roman Catholic. Both sides of my family are Catholic, and they probably have all been Catholic since Christ declared that Peter was the rock upon which He would build His church (which, every Catholic knows is the defining moment where Christ declared Peter the first Pope, and the Catholic Church was born.)

My grandparents on my mother's side (the Romary's) consistently attend daily mass, and are notorious for attending Saturday evening mass, so Grandpa can sleep in on Sunday. My grandparents went to Central Catholic High School, and my mom and her siblings all attended one the Catholic high schools in Fort Wayne, Indiana... Bishop Luers High School, and my cousin Elizabeth is going into her sophomore year at the same school. My Aunt Julie teaches at a Catholic school in South Bend, Indiana, and my cousins Jack and Lucy attend Catholic School as well.

As for my grandparents on my father's side (the Koester's), they are devout Catholics too. I've been told that my grandma was preparing to be a nun, when she met my grandpa. My dad and his siblings didn't attend Catholic schools, but they did belong to one of the two Catholic parishes (ward's) in town, St. Mary Parish. When they graduated from high school, my dad, my Uncle Steve, and my Uncle Brian all went the University of Notre Dame, and my Aunt Mary went to the University of Dayton... all Catholic universities. My Aunt Mary is a very devout Catholic, and her kids and husband are as well.

As for me and my siblings, we didn't attend Catholic schools either. We attended attended CCD (Sunday school that was held on Wednesday nights), and we attended mass almost every Sunday at St. Mary's. My mother was a lectern who read the readings during mass, and one of my brothers was an alter attendant for a while. In high school, I was actively involved in my parish's Youth Group, and every summer, I would participate in a weekend of service called YES (Youth Elect Service) with St. Mary's and St. John's (the other parish across town). I also was able to attend NCYC (National Catholic Youth Conference) in Atlanta, GA in 2005... we celebrated mass in the Georgia dome with over 35,000 people present. It was awesome. My brother Joe now attends Marquette University, and my sister Katie has followed in my Dad's footsteps, and attends the University of Notre Dame.

In short, I grew up Catholic like most Utah Mormons grow up LDS.

When I moved to Utah, and was in treatment, my spirituality was strengthened ten-fold. While I was never permitted to attend Church (treatment is a whole other story), I had a rosary that my Grandma Romary sent to me, and I had a bible that I read frequently. I knew that I needed something bigger than myself if I was to survive those 18 months. Most people lose their faith during those months, and for good reason. But mine grew. I'm grateful for that.

When I aged out of treatment as a 19 year old, I enrolled at Southern Utah University and moved into an apartment with 5 other girls, all of whom are LDS. My direct roommate was Bailey. She and I exchanged the usual get-to-know-you questions, and then she asked me if I was a "member". I thought to myself... "A member of what?" When I realized what she meant, I told her that I was Catholic. And that was that. We existed quite harmoniously.

A couple of weeks later, I went to mass at the local Catholic Church, and I was talking to one of the parishioners about college, and just having a normal conversation. They asked me if I had Mormon roommates. I said yes. The tone of the conversation completely changed. She told me to watch myself, and that they were going to try to give me a Book of Mormon, and set me up with the missionaries any day now.

Well... they were right :)

A few days later I came home from class, and when I got to my room, there was a Book of Mormon on my desk. It had a post it note on the front that said, "Just read the front cover, if nothing else. If you have any questions, feel free to ask". I opened the book, and right on the inside, Bailey and another roommate Danelle, had written in a short testimony of the Book of Mormon. I realized that this wasn't something like a quota that they had to meet... They actually meant all of these things. They had genuine testimonies of this book. And that night I read until about 3am... and read all the way into 2Nephi. I couldn't stop. I started because I was inspired by the honesty and courage of my roommates (giving a Book of Mormon to a non-member friend could potentially blow up in your face...). But I continued reading because the Holy Ghost wanted to turn me into an insomniac :)

About a week later, I attended my first Sacrament meeting, and had my first lesson with the missionaries, Elder Lund and Elder Hill. Everything just made sense. I already believed in the concept of eternal families. I already believed that revelation never stopped. I believed in a pre-mortal existence. These were the stepping stones to my "common sense" testimony.

My biggest hangup was the need for a restoration. Catholics can trace their history all the way back to St. Peter. Logically, there wouldn't be a need to restore anything. Elder Hill put it really simply. He compared the Gospel to a mirror. While Christ was on the earth, the mirror was perfect. But when the Niacin Counsel came around, and messed everything up, the mirror was dropped and shattered. Religions have come around, and taken the pretty pieces of the mirror, and left others. He said that even if the Catholic Church picked up every single shard of glass from the mirror, and glued them back together exactly the way they were supposed to be placed, it would still be imperfect. When Joseph Smith came, and asked God what to do, it was as if Heavenly Father was having us throw out the old, broken mirror, and was giving us a brand new, perfect mirror. And that made sense. It still makes sense.

My family wasn't exactly thrilled, because I was leaving the one true faith. Logically, only the Catholic Church, and the LDS Church can truly have any legitimate claims to the "fullness of the Gospel". But for me that made it pretty simple. There was either an apostasy, or there was not. There was either a need for a Restoration, or there was not. It was black and white for me.

At this point, I had read the Book of Mormon, cover to cover. I had received all of the lessons, and discussions. I had been to Church, and I had started to form my "common sense" testimony. I wanted to believe that the missionaries were telling the truth. I wanted to believe that my roommates were all being honest. It was the moment of truth. Is this the true Church? Or am I already in the true Church? It was time to trust God. It was time to put Him to the test. I opened up that Book of Mormon, and read Moroni 10:4-5, "And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost. And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things."

I was pacing around my dorm room. Bailey was gone that weekend, so I had the room to myself. Pacing and pacing. I finally dropped to my knees, in tears (good tears), and asked out loud, "What is right? I've narrowed it down to two. If this is what you want, I will do it! But I need to know. This isn't a joke. This is my eternal salvation! Just tell me!" And immediately, I was filled with warmth, and comfort, and I had chills up and down my spine. I knew. Clear as day. That was the Holy Ghost. And that was my first experience with divine confirmation. I wouldn't have a confirmation again until a few years later, late in 2011 in the Oquirrh Mountain Temple.

When I told the missionaries that I wanted to be baptized (they actually beat me to it... they challenged me before I could open my mouth and say anything), I knew I was gay. I absolutely knew. But the missionaries said that I would be blessed. And the only blessing I could have wanted was to be straight. When I went in for my baptismal interview with the district leader, he asked me the standard question of whether or not I had participated in homosexual activity. I hadn't. And since he did not ask me if I was homosexual, I knew I answered the question honestly. I was baptized April 25, 2009.

Was a converted on that day? Yes and no. I was converted enough... I believed enough. I knew enough. But I was not truly converted until my experience in the temple 19 months ago. I may speak out, and openly disagree with the General Authorities on certain issues. I may interpret scripture, and doctrine differently than you do. I may be a little more liberal than most Mormons (no... I know that I'm more liberal than most Mormons). I may be a little too intellectual and feminist for your taste. I may speak out too aggressively for your taste. That's ok.

I'm converted. I'm in this. I sustain the First Presidency, and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. I sustain the General Relief Society, Young Women, and Primary Presidencies. I sustain the Presiding Bishopric, and Young Men's Presidency. I sustain the First Quorum of the Seventy. I sustain my Bishop and Stake President. I sustain my ward's Elders Quorum President and Relief Society President. I am in this. I'm a Mormon. A gay Mormon. I'm a little unorthodox, and I like it that way. It keeps me on my toes. It keeps me from getting comfortable, and getting stuck in a rut. My testimony is just as valid as anyone else's. My testimony is just as sacred, and just as important.

If anything... It'll keep you from falling asleep in Fast and Testimony meeting. And speaking on behalf of everyone, we all need a good dose of that.