Something Worth Celebrating

On Parental Hope and Heartbreak was posted on Doves & Serpents at the beginning of this month. I have to say... it was a refreshing read.

I have family members that are under the impression that the greatest failure for them is the fact that I don't hold the same beliefs or understand the world the same way that they do. I didn't realize how pervasive this sentiment was in Mormon culture, at least, I never heard someone articulate it so poignantly until I read the blog post above.

I have to agree with the blog post; it's sad when family members believe that they've failed because a family member is learning and growing. It'd be different if I was being unhealthy and self-destructive. But genuine self-discovery and healthy growth? How's that even worth the energy it takes to mourn? Celebrating a family members growing into himself/herself seems much more productive.

A Conversation That I'm Having

I'm taking this from a conversation I'm having on Facebook with a recent acquaintance. I love this conversation! Putting things down on paper (on computer?) helps me better shape what I believe, so I'm posting my contribution to the conversation here:


"BTW, I love this conversation. It's really beneficial to me, and I really love to think out and express my testimony. It gives me chance to reevaluate where I am, and helps me see what I need to improve on.


That being said, I'd like to preface my thoughts with this: Recognizing my attraction to other men has been the catalyst for me to question why I believe what I believe. I have had to be brutally honest with myself, and with the way that I've lived in the Church. I want to be as close to God as I can be, and so I do the best with the faculties I've been given.


I respectfully disagree with the idea that the Church is true or it isn't. I believe Joseph Smith saw what he saw, and I believe that he established a very true and good religion. I also believe that our Heavenly Father has a divine plan for all of his children, and the narrative of history seems to point to the idea that our Father provides all his children with truths according to what they are willing to receive. Essentially, I believe that the Church plays a vital role in the salvation of the human race, but I recognize the very real presence of God in other faiths.


I've never had to articulate why I believe things are true before, so I thank you for that opportunity. I judge what is true based off of spiritual confirmation of the scriptures, spiritual confirmation of other people witnessing to me, and common experience. Truth also leads to health, physical, spiritual, emotional, etc., so I take that into account too.


I guess feelings do play a role in how I determine things to be true. But I also use the faculties God has provided me to engage with what I feel. From my observation, that's when the Spirit steps in and carries me.


I factor in what the Prophets say and what the Scriptures say when mulling over truth. To answer your questions more fully, I think that I weigh self-evidence very heavily when determining truth. If what the Prophets and what the Scriptures are telling me seems insensitive, cruel, unfeeling, unreasonable or not self-evident, I do hold on to skepticism. That's where faith comes in though; I have faith in the Atonement, and I have faith in well-meaning servants of God throughout all ages.


I hope that fleshed out my perspectives for you! Thank you for this great conversation :)"


I feel really good about these thoughts... For now, they help me navigate the way I deal with Mormonism.

A Blank Slate

You pay a price to be a Mormon. Well, you pay a price to be anything really, but it's only recently that I've been thinking about what that looks like as I wade my way through Mormonism. I realize that I want to pay the appropriate amount to be a Mormon man congruent with what I think is true and sensible and spiritual. It's tricky though, figuring out what the price is that I am willing to pay.

And so, I've decided, it's time to just start at the very beginning. I hope to post my observations as I attend Sacrament meeting, read my scriptures on a (somewhat) daily basis, and pray a bit more earnestly and regularly. Perhaps as I do this, I'll find out what I'm truly willing to spend to be a part of my community.

Here is my first observation: My old beliefs are, essentially, dead. Coming out and accepting my gay identity has led me to rethink the ways in which Heavenly Father moves through the world, the ways in which He speaks to His children, and the ways in which I tie my personal spiritual health to a religious institution. I feel, more or less, like a blank slate. Mormonism is still valuable and exciting to me, and I want to participate in it.

So here is a post, a road marker, in my journey; may the odds be ever in my favor.

So Maybe It's Time to Come Out Some More

I really want to try to get through to my parents. I know my Mom is trying to be understanding and accepting of her gay son, and I appreciate her effort. My Dad, I think, needs to be educated about homosexuality and the Church. That last sentence was pretty blunt, but that's how I feel.

Several parents of USGA members spoke to USGA last night and one idea I heard over and over again was that parents need to be educated. They need to dig deep into the research about homosexuality and into Church History. Acceptance and love then become more readily available to them. Lots of parents have to throw away their dreams for their children when their children come out. Research provides them the tools they need to build a new dream for their gay children.

So maybe I can shape my parent's dream for me. I want to give my Mom No More Goodbyes by Carol Lynn Pearson. She loves to read, and I think it would be interesting for her to hear those experiences and thoughts expressed in the book. I actually haven't read it (I tend to shy away from emotional, heavy reads... I don't have the stamina for it.), but the book is always recommended and praised when mentioned in conversation. I trust my friend's opinion on this one.

I've also been thinking about getting my Mom in contact with parents of other gay Mormons. I think she needs someone to talk to; my Dad can be pretty over-bearing in his opinions, and without my brother and I, I think my Mom has few people she can openly express things to at home. Maybe another mother of a gay son would be a helpful link for her.

And then, maybe, my Mom will be able to approach my Dad with all this and help him grow. I know that right now I can't reach him. I am apostatizing in his mind. He also won't look up Carol Lynn Pearson or Bill Bradshaw because his apostate son suggested them as resources. It's frustrating, and I hope my Mom can get through to him.

Ultimately, these things take time. I haven't really pushed this conversation --- I'm letting them approach it as they please --- But maybe I can guide them, and maybe we can draw a bit closer from it all.

Prayer, and a Silly Thing I Imagined

I don't really know why I am writing today. There is no real discontentment or triumph that I feel like sharing, nor did you need to know that... But alas, here I am, and there you are.

What do prayers mean to you? You know, I can't really bring myself to pray for outcomes. There are so many factors that collide and bounce off of one another in each and every day of my life. I can't kid myself, or God for that matter, and pretend that I have a good suggestion as to how these factors should bounce off one another. I was horrible at physics in high school.

Usually a prayer is, to me, pounding the pavement. Earbuds in the ears, hands in the pockets, and my well-worn New Balance sneakers plodding along some puddily Provo excuse for a sidewalk. I think about my life, the gift that everything is, and above all I have a hope in my heart: that everything will turn out for the best.

It's the most earnest, honest prayer I can give. Oh, and there is always one pet blessing that I dare ask for... and that's the request the I be happy while I'm sorting through this beautiful mess.

I have this image in my head, a tableau that popped into my head when I was reading Russian literature a year ago. She's an old woman with a wizened, wrinkled face shrouded and draped in a gray and tattered thing. She is sitting on a stone, rocking an infant-sized stone as if to put it to sleep.

She sings to it, and it comes to life. A form of a little child, gurgling and laughing happily. The old woman rocks the image, laughs with it, makes faces with it and loves it.

I assume when the old woman goes home, she ends her enchantment and places the lifeless little stone where she found it. I imagine her coming back daily to the place where a little trick provides her infinite happiness.

I don't know why I shared that, or what exactly it means. It makes me a bit melancholy, really. Is she wrong for  loving something that isn't real? She could be neglecting more real and alive people. Or, is she right for reveling in a dream? Is she creating her own beauty in a life that sees very little beauty outside her own? Maybe it's both; these options I just thought of aren't mutually exclusive.

Ha! Maybe these thoughts reflect me :) Hopefully they have amused you!

"Oh, look how you storm! I would be friends..."

"Some things are worth fighting for. Other things, sometimes the same things, are worth trudging through the trenches for."

There is a sort of meditative quality I associate with monotonous tasks. Every once in awhile, a gem of a thought will pop into my head while doing some rather boring thing. Such gems make me smile, and subsequently I share them with you.

Oh, and a thought on optimism. I come from a rather cynical family, and I think it is fair enough to say that my coming out and my wrestling with my faith have lead me to be a little more cynical in life. But that being said, I walked to work this morning in the dark and rather oppressive cold of Provo and mulled over my cynicism in my head, and thought, "Well, I could stand to be a little more sunny." Considering how especially dreary the quiet 4 o'clock hour was this morning, I'd say I'm off to a good start.

It just occurred to me then that I don't have to deny dreariness or bleakness their realness in life. I can just choose to approach them differently.

Goodness and contentment tend to play Hide and Seek with me and my friends. I'd rather play Sardines, really.

Hope you're well :)

Blessings and Curses

"Some are cursed with blessings, others blessed with curses."

Thoughts and a Few Words

The purpose of this blog is shifting. I feel my interest in writing here has become more casual. It's a good thing; I love reading books or blogs where the tone shifts as you wade your way through it. Some changes are more subtle than others. And yet, when tones transform and ideas evolve before your eyes, it's beautiful. The mind behind the words is changing, and its that change that interests me. If your growing, share it, because the sharing is lovely.

Of late I've been thinking a lot about silences in conversation. They occur naturally, when nothing more is left to be said, and maybe for other reasons that I can't think of right now. Most days, I'm comfortable with a silence that bubbles out of the conversation. Other days and times, and especially when I am spending time with a person who means a great deal to me, I become acutely uncomfortable when a silence forms.

It's not because I'm not good at carrying a conversation. It's not because I'm not interesting, or that I'm not interested in what the other persons saying. I just blank! I want to say something funny, or charming, and all I see in my mind is a big, white blankness.

It's tough to get over that kind of anxiety. Or rather, work with it. I'm trying to embrace those silences, and instead of focusing on how awkward I must seem struggling to find words, I relish the moment and let thought naturally flow again. I'm trying to break that dam of paralyzing self-awareness and just let things be. My next thoughts might trickle out; they might gush out. Either, or... Hmph, letting thoughts just happen is scary. It's hard to be a genuine you sometimes isn't it?

It's really a matter of acceptance I think. I accept that I have worth and that I'm an interesting person, and I don't need excess words to prove it.

Truth is, some people can take the words away from you. Not maliciously, or selfishly. No, their presence, the light in their eyes, their smile... They can leave you breathless. Why ruin a breathless moment with words?

‎"anxiety is simply part of the condition of being human. if we were not anxious, we would never create anything." william e. barrett


"Thoughts are created in the act of writing. It is a myth that you must have something to say in order to write. Reality: You often need to write in order to have anything to say. Thought comes with writing, and writing may never come if it is postponed until we are satisfied that we have something to say... The assertion of write first, see what you had to say later applies to all manifestations of written language, to letters... as well as to diaries and journals." --- frank smith

Mirror, mirror... I am no Adonis

I read of girl who once refused to look in a mirror for an entire year. It bothers me that at the thought of the very prospect of emulating her, I become terrified.

Vanity! It runs in my veins. I can appreciate the beauty of another. I can see someone as human, with feelings, thoughts, fears, loves, and imaginations. I, however, can only appreciate what cold, unfeeling surfaces reflect of me when I wish to appraise me. It's a bitter truth. I feel most vulnerable when I admit it.

Of course I have worth. Of course I am attractive, sexy, and whatever else is supposed to matter! So are you. But can we face our admirable qualities if we were to strip ourselves naked in front of the nearest looking glass? Mirror is a harsh material, and I am an unrelenting critic.

Why is it so hard to love yourself in the same ways that others love you?

We have so much to fight against. Fashion, video games, porn, movies, art, history... These are just a few things that inform me, a gay man, of how I'm "supposed" to look. It's paralyzing to realize just how pervasive their messages are... But there is little I can do, save I just be me.

Once upon a time, I was anorexic in just about every sense of the word minus the official diagnosis. I'd eat hardly anything, and pound away on a treadmill for hours at a time. I hated myself for what I did there, and it's been scary and weird trying to build a trusting, loving relationship with food and exercise ever since. I'm not good at this, but I'm trying.

I'm trying to accept the man I am. I'm trying to accept that my ideal is, well, an unknown ultimate. A magazine can't tell me what I'll look like when I'm healthy. The internet can't tell me either. Even my friends can't give me what I'm looking for. This is about how I perceive myself, and only I can give myself the green light to live and reject the ideals projected by popular culture.

And after everything, if I give in to pressures and forces outside my control, the thing that will surprise me most is that I was me the whole time. My hair might be longer or shorter. My body toned or not so much, depending on how much I exercise. Perhaps I will have wrinkles, or yellow teeth, or something else so human that it's deemed airbrush worthy. Wherever time takes me, a person I was waiting to be will have always been locked up inside. I wouldn't ever live fully, because I was waiting to be, well... beautiful.

But perhaps I can make my own kind of beautiful now. Perhaps I can celebrate what is me, and what will be mine now and always. Maybe there is a person out there who finds me interesting, worthy of love, who needs me and wants me no matter the mirror.

I was crushed by a mirror today, metaphorically speaking. This is just a matter of getting back up, and walking away from years of worthless, self-destructive rubble. I forgive myself, love myself, and never wait to live. Keys open locked doors, not mirrors.

Putting the Muse to Rest

Until we meet again...

I'm completely out of the closet. When I say that, when I think that, I recognize that these days I breathe easier. Close friends say that there's a noticeable difference in the way I act; they're probably right. I will always be coming out to people, but the bulk of my work has been done. I can walk away from the closet now, and leave it behind for good.

But there are parts of me that I've had to say goodbye to. There were compliments to my closet that I can no longer access because they are no longer a part of me like they once were. Once, there was a Muse who attended me. She guarded me with songs and plays. I would voraciously eat through paper and pencil, and the results were heartfelt compositions. I was proud of them, and I thought there would never be a day that I wouldn't be driven to create in the way that she pushed me. Well, that day has come. Writing and drawing and composing are different to me now. All are still special to me, still a part of me; but my motivations are quieter. This is a calmer, quieter thing.

Huddled in a dark closet, fewer things kept me safer than she who made me burn with stories and songs. Perhaps it seems strange to you for me to personify this part of me the way I do, but she feels like an other. We've parted ways, and I'll always remember and be proud of what we made together. I was afraid to move on without her as a part of my identity. If I wasn't an author and composer all my life, who would be? Well, it turns out I can be a very interesting person. It's interesting that after accepting being gay, I find a whole new host of ways to define myself.

She smiled when she saw a new dawn in my eyes. Hand in hand, we walked out of a closet, and stepped in a maze. I chose one direction, she another. A brush of fingers as our hands parted was the last contact we had.

And I'm okay. I'm in love with life, with people, with everything. My memories will always be fond when I think of the Muse that whispered through my closeted dreams.

There are things we can never stop thinking about, things we can never get out of our heads. Some make us long for the past, and some make us antsy for the future. Either way, we are trapped in the expansive prison of the present. Today, you are the great reconciler. Today is the day that you mediate between yesterday and tomorrow. This betweenness is what we live in, it's what we flow through. We live when we forgive time and space and make peace with the reality of now. May we all find a way to ally our pasts with our futures. All will be clearer, all will feel safer, and there will be peace :)

Going Somewhere?

I just love this picture. That is all.

Isn't it interesting that as one walks a step forward, one also steps back?

I move forward in school, and I get wrapped up in redefining aspirations and life goals.

I move forward in spirit, and I encounter more natural and familiar worship.

I move forward with friends, and I wish that I was better to those who have come and gone.

I move forward in music, and I learn to trust my spaces and limitations.

I went to Provo High's GSA meeting today. For an hour, I was back in high school again. I think its funny that I felt bathed in nostalgia, although I've only been out of high school for two years. I was so impressed by them. They were smart and funny; much more put together than I was when I was in high school. Things are different than they were for me, and it shows. My point? Things and places change quickly, and there's no guarantee that time will treat you fairly. Better keep moving forward.

I move forward, out of the closet, and I step into my home. It always feels like I'm going back to something I knew, when I go up and further in. The recognition and the familiarity and the nostalgia tug at me when I'm most content, and that's how I know that I am in the right place.

Midnight Musings: Dad, Prophets, Still Waters & Dissonance

I'm supposed to be at work tomorrow at 5... but the honest truth is that I'm sick and I can't sleep.

So here I am.

Thank you to everyone for your kind messages and support. It's been a tough transition, coming out to Dad. The Good is that I am officially out to the world. The Bad is the "hate the sin, love the sinner" sentiments that I receive from home feel a lot more like rejection.

It's as though any righteous thing I have ever done doesn't mean a thing anymore; I am an apostate. Also, my spiritual confirmations that God wants me to be gay and marry a man come from a source that is not God, since the path I choose is in opposition to Church policy. At least, this is what my Dad tells me.

Sure, I expected this reaction, but I thought as his son he'd believe me. I thought he would believe that I am trying to do the right thing, that I am walking in faith. But he believes that I have been deceived.

I honestly do love my Father, believe me! I am just disappointed that his perspective is so locked.

Here is why I am so disappointed: What I have always admired in the Mormon religion is its collective, divine imagination. Mormons embrace creativity and are inspired by fantastical narrative. I think this is why so many members have an affinity for fantasy and science fiction. It must have something to do with the goal of becoming gods... We all get to thinking about how we would make things if we could craft worlds. It might also have to do with our belief that all things that are temporal are also spiritual. While we certainly aren't animists, we do believe the divine is everywhere, that God's spark is everywhere. There is a thrill to igniting that spark, and to watching the world around go up in divine flame... Mormons know this well.

The imagination is, however, limited in Mormon orthodoxy. I'm not to think past the prophets. Sure, I am to have the Spirit confirm their teachings to me, but that is the only option I have. I should study, pray, confirm and obey. At least, that's what I was told to think growing up, and its certainly the impression I get when I listen to others speak of the prophets here at BYU.

But... is that what the prophets are really asking us to do? Are they really saying, "Hey, if you don't believe me, talk to the Holy Ghost! Then you'll know I'm right!" Or... as I like to think... is the invitation to try the words of the prophets an admission that they might be... wrong? Or at least, not in full alignment with what God wants for me? Is this invitation a nod to Christian liberty, or am I just fantasizing?

Every path is as unique as the person who walks it. I'd like to think the words of the prophets are conduits to God; the way we ponder and wrestle with the words we receive draw us closer to The Truth. The Way, The Truth, The Path... Universal symbols that everyone hopes to understand. I'd like to think that my elders, especially those called to be special witnesses of Christ, could give me sound advice on how to find meaning in such symbols.

Its interesting to note that I can feel my insides cringe a little when I admit that the prophets are sometimes wrong. I know many people who would take away my Mormon card right now. Honestly, I'm not a huge Boyd K. Packer fan, and I get a little antsy when we start talking Bruce R. McConkie. People around here are appalled when I admit these things. Seriously! One of my friends let out an offended little noise at my confession, and said, "We love all the Apostles, Elliot!"

Haha! Actually, I agree; I love them all. Like grandpas. But that doesn't mean that I have to agree with everything they say.

And really, thinking for myself is where my adventure begins. Before I came to terms with my sexuality, I swept things that made me feel uncomfortable under the rug. Anything that set off my inner alarms was quickly quieted, and I locked it up in a place in my brain that I don't go to often. Now, I embrace my uncomfortableness, my awkwardness, and my questions. Why? Because they lead me to good places: the still waters, the throne of God, the home I want, just to name a few.

Some of our most important conversations with friends are the ones where we are most vulnerable; where we admit our uncertainties and fears, and we comfort each other.


My most important conversations with God are the ones where I tell Him how much I don't know, how much not knowing sucks, and how much I'm really trying my best with light I've been given.

Honest. Vulnerable. Complete and Whole. There is a lot of self to be found in the dissonance. I remember that resolution can only be as sweet as the dissonance before is terrible. Indeed, I feel that is the glory of God.

Ah, forgive me, that almost makes me sound like I am mentally abusing myself. What I'm really trying to express is my love for this journey. I realize my thoughts are scattered tonight... but I feel grateful and blessed: So I write :)

And Tonight, Father, I Sing for You.

 

For awhile now, my Dad has been wondering if I am gay. Tonight, he finally sent me an email in which he expressed his concern for me as I continue to navigate what it means to be Gay and Mormon. I officially came out to him tonight, and here is what I wrote:

Thanks for the note Dad, I really do appreciate it.

I didn't know when the best time would be to tell you, but I guess since you have been thinking about it already I will be honest: I am gay.

But I imagine it isn't really a surprise. From all my challenges and trials I have faced, you probably wondered, as I did, why I was so different. You cannot imagine the peace I felt when I finally accepted this piece of myself.

I'm still committed to God, and I am still a spiritual person. I am still Mormon :) It's unfortunate that I even have to come out and say that I still love God, but it's the tragic truth that people believe that one can't be spiritual and gay. I just want to let you know that I have faith and I am gay, and many of my friends here at BYU find ways to be spiritual despite the homophobic atmosphere we live in.

The truth is, this atmosphere and people can be stifling, and it is exhausting to find truth and acceptance here. It's hard to feel the Spirit when your afraid someone will judge you for being who you are, for being honest.

Dad, I want you to know that I have felt the Spirit confirm the divine nature of my sexuality. I have felt God's love for me as a gay, Mormon man. I have brought before God, in prayer, my decisions. I want to marry a man, and God condones my decision.

I believe the Law of Chastity applies to all sexualities equally. I believe the prophet's words when they speak as mouthpieces of God, and not as men. I believe Christ's Atonement is sufficient for my mistakes. I believe that God's law is love.

This isn't about sex, or even sexual urges. This is about true love that God wants everyone to have. I don't believe that falling in love with another man and seeking to build a family with him as equal partners is a sin. My desires are righteous, and I know that.

I realize that I am not in full alignment with what the Church teaches today. But I'm doing the best I can! How do I reconcile what the Church teaches, and what I know to be right and true? This weekend I attended a conference called Circling the Wagons. It was sponsored by Mormon Stories, and was focused on discussing what it is like to be Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender in the Church. We talked with each other, encouraging each other to find truth and follow the Spirit.

I bore my testimony at this conference, and here is what I said: "I just want a home. I want to come home, to be home. By home, I mean the peace and security of God's love that I know is God's true church." I want to belong here in Mormonism, because I love it! I recently talked to my stake president, Dad, and it is very clear to me that because of my feelings, I am a second rate citizen in this Church. If I were heterosexual, I would not have been humiliated like I was, nor would I have been as disturbed by what I heard in that meeting. But I know that I am a Son of God, and I will be open and honest with everyone about who I am and what I stand for.

Things are changing in this Church that I so dearly love, Dad. I know a gay couple who were just married, who didn't have sex before marriage, and who are active Mormons. If they were a heterosexual couple they would have their temple recommends and be members in good standing. After they consummated their marriage, they were brought in for a disciplinary council. This council was to decide what to do with these men, who happened to be gay, but otherwise were in good standing with the Church. Were they excommunicated? Were they disfellowshipped? No. There was no decision; that was the official verdict.

The Church doesn't have revelation on cases such as these, but I believe one day we will. Variations of this story are happening all around North America, and I think it's exciting.

I apologize for such a long, disorganized response to your email, but I want to be honest with you. I was scared to tell you any of this because I know how you feel about homosexuality, but here are my thoughts. I love you very much, and I hope that we can continue talking about this.

Your Son,

Elliot

P.S. Check out "No More Goodbyes" by Carol Lynn Pearson. It's a fantastic book.

I hope I said all the right things. I hope this resonates with him. I hope for the best.

Circling 'dem Wagons

First off, I've recently been getting emails from wonderful people who enjoy reading my blog! Now, granted, some of it is spam, but most of it is truly heartfelt. To you guys, let me just say that I'm so glad that these ramblings mean something to you. This blog helps me stay strong, and helps me (I can't believe I'm saying this... curse you Disney!) stay true to myself. May it do the same for everyone who reads my sporadic postings.

First an inventory of my day:

1.) I wore the pants and the suit coat of two different suits as to put together another suit to sing in the BYU's Combined Choir for the prophet. Needless to say, I looked ridiculous, and, naturally, I ended up singing in the front row. (Go Elliot!)

2.) President Monson watched The Lion King, and quoted it over the pulpit today... (Go Disney?)

3.) Tonight, I am watching 30 Rock episodes and realizing how much Liz Lemon and I have in common. I don't know if I should be appalled or delighted. (Go Tina Fey!)

4.) After another annoying voice lesson, I am beginning to suspect that I'm not a true blue tenor, but a lyric baritone or something. This could throw a wrench into auditioning this month... (Yeah Wrenches!)

Now Second:

I'm excited for this weekend. I'm going to Circling the Wagons, a conference that will be centered on discussing the space where the Mormon and LGBTQ experiences intersect. It's a space where I live and thrive. It's also a space that many struggle to accept and feel comfortable with.

Come if you can, and invite everyone you can! We all need this.

And I honestly believe we really do need this. I hope for there to be a more accepted, loving space for Mormons who identify as LGBTQ. I consciously try to create such a space for me and my friends here at BYU. It's hard because both the Gay and the Mormon elements create walls, barriers. Both draw lines and say, "Here is where I can't compromise. Just accept me."

And I don't think that's going to get anyone anywhere. Both need to reach a place where understanding and non-judgement color the actions of both parties. I say that, and I realize that I'm still thinking in binaries. As if Gay and Mormon were polar opposites of a spectrum! They're not, and there are thousands of beautiful individuals who prove that. I'm hoping this conference proves that to everyone who hears about it.

I just want there to be a place where I don't have to be afraid or pressured this way or that because I am a Gay Mormon. I have that in USGA, truly, but USGA is only so big.... We can't reach everyone the group is meant for.

Just like my heterosexual brothers and sisters, my haven should be that place that Lehi saw in vision: at the foot of the Tree of Life, close to the Savior of the World. I should feel peaceful and safe in the Church, but I don't. And I know many who feel this way. Isn't that awful? That the our Savior's love can be tainted by our brothers and sisters ill-masked homophobia and "good intentions"?

I promised myself when I came out that in every way I could, I would bring myself closer to the truth. I hope for more understanding. I pray to be courageous, open and honest. I am delighted that I get to spend my weekend with others who are striving for the same.

I hope to see you there :)

Little Glass House.

Of late there has been a theme in my conversations with my friends. It kind of looks like this:

As a performer studying to be an even better performer, I hear all the time that you shouldn't pursue a career in acting, singing, movie-making, etc, if you don't really, really want it. It comes up all the time in theater classes, and thusly, my friends and I talk about it frequently. The other day, Pancake Girl (a.k.a. White Beyonce/Emma Stone) and I were once again talking over pancakes, and this very idea came up. Both of us are performers because we love it, but we don't have Rachel Barry syndrome. Neither of us ever said, "I WILL be an actor/singer. That's that." Instead we both just kind of exist and grow in the college theater atmosphere, waiting and preparing for what really want... to be parents.

Umm, but not with each other. Just clearing that up. We'd start laughing if we ever tried to make a baby.

So we don't want to be actors/singers so badly we could die. We just want family. I thinks that's why I'm so wishy-washy about being a performer, or being anything at all. I already know what I want, and now I'm not so ashamed to admit it.

As I have mulled this over and expressed my feelings to friends, I have felt very content with what I am feeling. If you have thoroughly stalked (erm, I mean followed) my blog, you've probably noticed that I have changed my life goals, especially my career-oriented ones at least one thousand times. I know there is nothing wrong with that; hell, I'm in college! This is what I'm here for. But I think I have been beating around the bush, dancing around what I really want. And now, I feel quite distinctly that I've hit the target: I want to be a householder/homemaker/stay-at-home dad.

Whatever word you want to call it, I think you get the picture. I used to be ashamed that this is all I wanted. I've been told all my life that I need to be ultra-ambitious. I have felt obligated to sap myself dry. I feel that what I have been taught in school, Sunday or otherwise, is to never settle for being the stay-at-home parent, and as a man, be ashamed for wanting that. But when my thoughts wander in class, they wander to the home I will create one day. And I am encouraged, because I know that I will a be great father. I know I will completely give myself to my family because I can feel myself growing and changing... preparing, I guess, to take on such a role.

In what I find to be a strange, yet rewarding shift in mind set, I have come to deeply empathize with Mormon women here at BYU. The pressure is on to get married and have a family, then stay home full-time to take care of their children. I recognize that as exactly the plan that I want for myself. It makes me smile to think that I have finally found an LDS life path that resonates with me, and it is gendered to be a woman's life path. It disgusts me that I can still feel a little bit of shame for wanting what I do. And I wonder why it lingers. Perhaps I still feel like I have to prove my masculinity, and I am afraid of subverting it. I know that isn't what I'm doing by accepting this... I'll keep working on that.

Now, I don't plan on waiting around for my white knight (*insert Kristin Chenoweth solo here*). I didn't come to BYU to get married. I have a life right now, and it's mine to spend on the things that matter. It's just comforting to know that I actually do feel called to be something when I grow up. I'm going to have a fantastic career in the field of fatherhood.

And I am looking forward to it.

P.S. Still holding out for David Archuleta; Keeping my fingers crossed :P

Drool...

Be-cause I Am.

Be-cause.

We ask "Because?" to inquire: What causes a thing to "be" the way it is?

What are the causes that make me be? What are the causes that make you be?

My Be-causes:

Creation

Laughter

Performance

Friendship

Honesty

Romance

Words

Wonder

Wealth

Beauty

Your Be-causes:

???

How Are You (Am I) Doing?

Dear apronkid,

Hi.

I wanted to write you a letter, because I thought I should let you know how I am doing these days. And by "doing these days," I mean how I am feeling and what I am thinking these days. You like to know of me because you care for me, this I know. So let me describe to you, in no particular sequence, what it has been like to be in my condition for the last few weeks. I slit open the proverbial wrist of my life and let the blood flow. May it congeal into sentences of crystal clear expression, and into absurd (yet fitting) metaphors.

Do you know what it is like to be a heartbreaker, apronkid? I do not boast when I state that, in fact, I am a heartbreaker. I am quite ashamed of it really. I find it terrible that two can be in a relationship, and one will feel heaven, and the other will feel hell. I have felt hell apronkid. Not hell in the sense that the heaven-feeler was a mean-spirited and ugly person. No, he was quite the contrary. The hell is to know that you are not right for one another and to feel the impending responsibility of confessing your feelings to the heaven-feeler. No matter how they might grow, no matter how beautiful they are now, you know that your path is not theirs. How do you let someone know that they are wonderful, but not for you? I don't know how to dry those kind of tears apronkid. And maybe... those are the kind of tears that shouldn't be dried.

It's like putting together a puzzle. You yearn for the piece that completes, and find one that seems to match every groove and notch. You touch it, feel it, know it and love it. It is the one, until you try to fit it. And when it doesn't fit, it hurts immensely. Apronkid, I can't toss those pieces aside; they're still mine in some way, so I keep them in a special place. It's a place I can never forget, because it pricks my memory with the most ordinary things: songs, notes, places, and yeah, even foods.

That's what it's like to be a heartbreaker, dear. All attention is received with apprehension these days, because I don't think I'm big enough. These things hurt. Bittersweet always. I've heard it said that a heartbreaker is who he is because the heart he carries is broken as well. Is mine? I don't know.

On another note, I don't plan on going to Elder's Quorum anymore. I don't know if you go apronkid, but my quorum feels to dangerous to be in. It's a world of Black & White, and it feels fueled by hatred. Hatred for the other and the different. War seems to be the only option there. It's funny; we talk in Elder's Quorum about the "attack on the family." But who is attacking whose family? I feel attacked in there, and I will endure it  no longer for the sake of my own sanity.

And you know what apronkid? The mission doesn't seem to be an option any more. As a gay man, I'm held to a different standard than a straight one. In the eyes of the Church I've loved, I still might be a threat to other straight men. I might even be a pedophile, apronkid. I am a second rate citizen in those eyes. The paths I've walked down, any straight man would be able to explore and return with their head held high. The Church would have me, for doing the same, bow my head in shame. "God loves you, but we have no place for you. Repentance, as we define it, does not apply the same way for you." And why, apronkid? Because I'm gay, and it shows in how I've acted. It shows in my triumphs and my failures, and colors my life in the shades that matter. But I'm not allowed to thrive in all the ways that matter to Mormonism without causing friction, apronkid. I will not be treated like this.

As you can see, life is difficult at the moment. It feels heavy sometimes. There are genuine experiences that have shaped me forever, and it seems the price of lessons learned are memories of abandoned homes. That probably makes no sense to you, but it feels in that way apronkid.

Know that there is good here too. There is plenty of song, plenty of laughter, and plenty of friends who care. There are genuine smiles and hopes for the future. How far the happy things carry me is proportional to how much I acknowledge the shadows of these things. So here they are.

Sincerely,
Elliot

Burnout in an Army of Enablers.

At least the ninjas won't get me...

"Life is supposed to be pleasant." - Brain Stokes Mitchell

I actually heard him say that. There are plenty of other well-known figures out there with like thoughts and ideas.

I won't even bring up 2 Nephi 2:25. That has all sorts of baggage that I don't feel like thinking about right now.

The honest to goodness truth is that I have burned out. Again. I live my college education semester by semester just to make myself sick with worry. My interest in things is diminishing fast. I am extremely tired. And I'm patriotic; yes, I actually meant that. You see, America runs on exhausted, dying people working themselves way too hard. We applaud it. And right now, that truth is what's making me sick. It's tear-worthy.

I don't even have the energy to engage myself spiritually right now. The prayers remained caged in my chest, because they have no where to go. I wouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning if it weren't for the fact I had to turn in a paper today...

And here's the real kicker: no one here is going to try to stop me from doing what I'm doing. Here at BYU, I would be hard pressed to find one man who hasn't listened to the Priesthood Session of the last General Conference. You know what we laughed at and applauded at that Conference? The fact that an exhausted President Spencer W. Kimball  collapsed in his chair from burnout and all he could think about was some damn meeting he was attending. A meeting that (probably) in the grand scheme of things meant very little in terms of spiritual gravity. Mormons will worship leaders who sacrifice their health because they "love God." Doesn't it make sense that is we love God, we as His children would treasure the gift that are our bodies? To use a time tested Mormon analogy: Our bodies are temples. We don't let people run the temple until it's nothing but a pile of refuse.

But that's just the place I'm in now. It isn't just the Mormons; it's America.

But I am so done right now... with practically everything. Not living, however; I have a distinct disinterest in ending my own life. What troubles me is that this happens every semester. I pay money to jump hoops until I fall flat on my face. It's sick! As one who has recognized this trend in his life, I have the opportunity now to decide what I'm going to do with this. Are there things I'm not cut out for? Yes. Is college one of those things? Maybe.

Or maybe that's the entirely wrong question: Is BYU the wrong college for me?

Huh. I have no clue.

I'm writing all this to solicit advice. Maybe I'm calling on another Army of Enablers to fight my battles for me, but I need some honest experience to shape my own thoughts.

There are a bajillion ways to get through this life. The best decisions I have made? I don't really know until I can look upon them as one has moved further up and in. Here and now, all I can do is breathe in the space I'm in and admire the signs and trinkets that people have left behind. Where they crossed, I cross now, but I don't know how to do it.

That's it...

Tomorrow, all my notes for class will be written in crayon.

Life's too short for mechanical pencils.

Sentences

Some sentences are are short in life.

Some sentences are egregiously, monotonously, atonally... long (in life).

A sentence that I've been penning for the last two decades finally has been concluded.

Not with this: !

Or this: ?

Or even my favorite, this: ...

I've ended the sentence with a quiet, but very meaningful "." .

Period. Is there anything that, when pressed upon a piece of paper, has anymore finality?

No.

Presently, my life finds me in that gap between sentences. It feels like I am jumping over a void, from the period I have placed to a new letter, a new beginning.

The sensation that churns in me is something akin to dropping, but more exciting. It is a rising fall that is electric.

"What's carrying me over the gap?" I wonder. As I reflect in this blank space, I'm hoping for a bold, capital letter. I want something big that I can shout to the world.