The Life That's Waiting For Us

When I was 17 years old, my parents sent me to a residential treatment center to begin and finish my senior year of high school. The experience was not the worst experience of my life, but it tore me down bit by bit, inch by inch, until there was little left of the light, and strength of my spirit. It tore my self confidence to shreds. The experience taught me that no matter the pain or heartache I had experienced in the past, I was solely at fault for everything that had happened.

Observing the interactions with my family was telling as well. Very few letters, awkward and shorter than allotted phone calls, and being the only one whose parents did not permit them to go home for Christmas. I learned that I had
earned their tolerance rather than their unconditional love.

This is only one side of the story, and not a complete one at that, but it conveys accurately the feelings of my heart... Feelings from 7 years ago, and feelings from today.

During my time there, I developed the belief that God alone could save me. That God alone could heal my afflictions and mistakes. I believed that with enough faith, with enough devotion, I would be made whole.

This led me to the Church. I was yearning for truth in a way I had never sought before. I was entranced in the idea that righteousness brings blessings. And the only blessing that I wanted was to be made whole. To be made into the image that God intended. To see myself in the way God saw me. And it was a bitter pill to swallow when I realized that after two years of strict adherence to the letter of the law... nothing happened. My family relations were still non existent. I was still broken. I was still gay. And it only led to more self loathing, more self hatred, and more failure.

But it lead me to really open my eyes. That's when my search for truth took off. And the truth I found, while unorthodox and unexpected, was exactly what I needed.

I learned the truth. I learned that while I had done wrong, and that I was to blame for the vast majority of it, I was not to blame for all of it. I learned that my parents had done wrong, and they were to blame for some of it, but not all of it. My classmates, teachers, neighbors, friends, bullies... they were all to blame for some, but all. They were to blame for their words, and their actions towards me. I was to blame for my words and actions, and for all of the hurt that I caused. But I learned not to carry blame that was not my own.

From that day forward, I learned that healing was possible. I learned how to have compassion and forgiveness for my fellow men and women. I no longer looked for their faults, but instead I looked for their good. For their praiseworthy actions. I learned to recognize that all of us have done wrong. You. Me. Your spouse. Your dog. Some of those wrongs were done intentionally, but most weren't. Some of these wrongs were severely painful, and others were not.

Because Christ's Atonement is infinite, I've been able to forgive myself. I've forgiven myself for my lack of self control, and inability to think before I speak. I have forgiven myself for the wrong I have done. Because after all we can do, Christ's Atonement picks up the slack. When I drop to the floor in exhaustion and anguish, He picks me back up. He carries me until I have the strength to stand on my own. And on those marathons where I am too fat and out of shape to finish, He carries me to the finish. He is there. He knows me to my very core. He knows the intentions of our hearts. He is there.

"We must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us." - Joseph Campbell

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.

Journey To Gay (Part 2)

When I started writing this, I intended it to be in just one post. But after looking at how long it got, I decided to split it in two.

When I moved to Utah at age 17, I was going through some major therapy (as to why is a whole other story). It was a good and bad experience, but honestly, I do not look back on it fondly. It destroyed my self esteem, I learned that I was wrong about just about everything, and right about virtually nothing. My mother, with whom I've never had a good relationship with, would not write letters to me, or speak on the phone. Our relationship never recovered. Nor did my relationship with the rest of my family.

But it was here, at my lowest point in life, that I finally recognized what I was. I finally recognized that I was gay. I craved an emotional, physical, and sexual connection to women... Not men. And it scared me, because at the time, I had a very conservative therapist, who I already did not like, or trust, so how could I possibly tell her my biggest secret? I remember the entire experience felt like a fight or flight... I simply had to survive. And there was no way in hell that I was going to tell her something that could potentially lengthen my stay. No way.

After that experience, I was released from my cage, and into the world of college. I was at Southern Utah University which is in no way a big school, or a party school, but it felt that way to me! I had 5 roommates in the dorm, and every single one of them is Mormon. Here is where my Mormon experience starts. I read the Book of Mormon, and I had the lessons with the missionaries. This was the first time that I had heard anything about homosexuality not being ok. And the Elders did a fantastic job at explaining it... They said nothing bad about gay people, or that they were damned to hell. They simply explained the Law of Chastity, that sexual relations were only allowed in marriage, and that marriage was between a man and a woman only. At this point, I was beginning to form a testimony, and I wasn't going to question it... This was the first time that I had ever felt the Spirit like that. And it felt right, and true. 

As I gained a testimony of the Book of Mormon, I read passages about God healing afflictions, and that He will bless me. I believed that, and I still do. But I foolishly thought that I could be fixed. Wrong. In my baptismal interview I was asked about homosexual activity, not feelings. So I answered his questions honestly. I got baptized and was on top of the world. I was happy.

I continued to date men... And no one really was able to fit the bill for me. One guy, Mike, came the closest... Still no fireworks and earthquakes when I kissed him (like I later would experience with women). But it was something. To this day, he's the only man I could seriously consider, but even then, I wouldn't be as happy as I know that I could be.

And then, in my last year living in Cedar City, my roommate Missy kissed me, and we formed a mini relationship. I was on fire... I never stopped wanting to feel her lips on mine. But wait! This is wrong! Dirty! Abominable! This is the same year that Elder Boyd K. Packer gave his infamous talk titled "Cleansing the Inner Vessel." I was terrified. And so was she. She "broke up" with me, and told me months later that if she or any of her friends see me, they'd beat the shit out of me. Naturally, I never again tried to contact her. 

This is where I tried to serve a mission, and it failed, because I told my bishop that I was gay. He was the first one I told... Needless to say, I didn't tell another bishop for a while. I went back into the closet. Dated another guy named Zac. And he's amazing... Just not for me. Reason? He has a penis. But... He will make a girl so happy one day :) He was the last guy I dated.

My boss at the time was my saving grae. Melanie is a lesbian, and grew up LDS, so she knew the dynamic I was struggling with. She was the first person that I had truly come out to. The first person who heard me say, "______, I'm gay." She helped me realize that I wasn't alone, and that there was nothing wrong with me. She was the missing piece in the puzzle for my self confidence.

I started dating a girl named Jamie. She was kind, and smart, but she had completely left the Church, and wanted different things for our lives. And it was difficult, but in the end it was for the best.

That's when I came out to my roommates... I couldn't stand being set up anymore, or them asking about my dating life. I told them, and at first it was alright, but after a while they turned really Molly Mormon about everything, and started insisting that I go to church with them, which was anything but what I wanted to do. I finally caved and went. 

That eventually proved to not be enough and they encouraged me to speak to the bishop. I scheduled a meeting and told him that I was gay... I didn't tell him about anything that I had done, just came out. He wasn't hostile about it, but he wasn't inviting either. He recommended articles that were "less than compassionate", and absolutely refused to refer to me as a lesbian, using instead the term same sex attracted. And I hate that more than anything else. The one good thing that came out of those meetings was a recommend to receive my patriarchal blessing.

It was around this time that I met Melissa and until 2 weeks ago, I was the happiest woman alive. I knew that I was finally being true to myself. I was being authentic. I wasn't hiding anymore. I was free.

Continue to Part 3