MARGARET STEWARD

We previously shared Travis Steward’s story of being a gay man and former mission leader who came out after many decades of marriage. To read that story, click here

This is Margaret’s Steward’s story…

Margaret Steward didn’t grow up imagining she’d one day be the wife of a mission president, or the woman quietly fielding whispers after her husband came out as gay. She was born in Nephi, Utah, into what she calls “a super LDS community,” but her family stood slightly off-center from the mold. Her father was a 36-year-old small-town bachelor and partygoer when he met her mother, a 27-year-old schoolteacher. “They hooked up, got pregnant, and married. My mom didn’t want to be married,” Margaret recalls. “My sister always suspected my mom was a lesbian. Their whole marriage was a struggle.”

From a young age, Margaret understood what it felt like to live on the margins—not active LDS, raised in a turbulent household, constantly aware of difference. “My mom was a true original feminist who loved being in her skin—confident, capable,” she says. “My dad was a traditional white guy from small-town Utah. They were always going to get divorced, but they didn’t. They found a way to acclimate to each other.”

After high school, Margaret earned her associate’s degree from Snow College and—like “all good Snow College Badgers”—headed to Utah State. A friend asked if she’d ever thought about serving a mission. She resisted, having a boyfriend already out on a mission. But the minute she actually considered it, she felt the idea implant into her heart—while equally terrifying her. Despite that fear, she submitted her papers and was called to serve in Denmark—later learning through 23andMe that she was 55% Danish. “It felt divine. I had ancestors who served there in the 1800s. I was the fifth sister missionary sent to Denmark in over 20 years. It was an amazing experience.”

When she returned, Margaret moved to Provo, low on funds but full of momentum. She was living with former roommates and a mission companion while working retail when she met Travis Steward. Her former mission companion fell madly in love with one of his roommates, so the two got thrown together. 

At first, romance was the furthest thing from Margaret’s mind. She was on a dating break and says she liked hanging out, but not like that. She wasn’t exactly leaning in. But Travis liked being with Margaret and said he could see himself marrying her, though he’d never had a girlfriend before. “I thought he was just a shy and inexperienced guy,” she says. “But being together felt comfortable. He’d always wanted to be married and have a family. And we enjoyed each other.”

The two got engaged and married within a few months. Travis worked at the MTC, and Margaret continued working at a department store. She got pregnant right away. “I wanted to be married but was terrified of kids,” she now admits. “It was just me and my sister growing up—no nieces or nephews. Little kids terrified me.” But Travis stepped in so naturally. “He was amazing with them. A great helper.”

Over the next four decades, they raised six children and served in high-level church callings, including three years as mission leaders in Houston. They took along their kids ages 18 to 4. Of that experience, Margaret says, “It was exhilarating and exhausting. But we loved it. We mourned every time a month would conclude knowing we had that much less time with the missionaries.” Their youngest children became immersed in Texas life, where they said their own version of a state pledge and made lots of friends and core memories. 

Though she embraced the church callings that came their way, Margaret felt she never quite fit the “homemaker” mold. She says, “It was thrust upon me. I loved adventuring with my family, and I was irreverent at times. I paid attention to the way other mothers were doing things and worried that I was not doing it right. But the kids are alive. They survived.”

Margaret has taught in a range of church capacities—institute, Relief Society, Gospel Doctrine—and always approached those roles with thoughtfulness. But after they served as mission leaders and then as bishop for five years upon their return, when Travis came out publicly, things shifted. “There was a quietness after,” she said. “I was teaching seminary. He was in a student stake high council. People didn’t know what to do with us. Mostly because of what they’ve been taught—what it means to be gay or bi or whatever—and that you can’t lead if you are. Too risky. As if we aren’t all a risk at any given time.”

Still, she saw that most of it wasn’t rooted in malice. “I appreciate that people just don’t know what to do. It’s what they’ve picked up from the culture, not from a desire to be cruel.”

When asked what it was like to learn that her husband was gay after decades of marriage, Margaret says, “I’m an open book, sometimes to a fault. Some people don’t need to hear it all. I didn’t know what was there with Travis. There was just… a bit of a gap. Like I couldn’t fully see him. When he came out, I realized: that was it. That was the gap. He couldn’t show me all of who he was.”

She remembers the day clearly. Travis had been carrying the truth silently for some time. “He related that he felt the strong impression to tell me, but he didn’t want to. One Sunday morning, he closed our bedroom door and said, ‘I need to talk to you.’ Usually, it was me confessing something,” she laughs. “But I looked at him and the thought came, ‘Whatever comes out of his mouth, just hear it and accept it. Don’t assign meaning’.”

When he told her, she didn’t flinch. “I saw the man I’d loved for 30 years,” she says. “And I thought, I want to help hold this.”

There were complexities, of course. Travis was deeply closeted and had internalized years of shame. “He was terrified,” Margaret remembers. “But I had received this clear directive from the Holy Ghost: Here’s what you can do to help.”

The following two years were some of the hardest. Their shared life had been tightly interwoven through church service, callings, and community. But Travis lost his career after decades of devoted effort and investment. The loss was devastating. “Everything he feared came true,” Margaret says. “But eventually it got better. He was able to accept the truth of his experience without making it mean something dark.”

For Margaret, acceptance came more easily. “I didn’t have a lot of narratives to unravel. I’ve always believed that any person can find themselves on the margins at any time,” she says. “Our brains crave simplicity, but real life is more nuanced. God’s creation is expansive.”

Margaret also never defined herself as an “ally,” and still doesn’t. “Let me explain my thinking with that. Truth stands on its own merits I wonder when I hear someone speak of defending the truth. In my opinion, the truth doesn’t require defending. Simply because it is the truth. What our LGBTQ+ brothers and sisters experience is a lived truth. Exactly like our own. Nuanced, varying, and ever evolving as we experience and learn. No one has the answers as to how we arrive at the manifold attractions we experience.” 

Her views on identity are similarly fluid. “While I recognize the need to orient ourselves in this mortal experience, we far too often simplify that process by sticking to polarities. Righteous-wicked, gay-straight, female-male, strong-weak, etc. Labels can be helpful for some, but for others, they become cages. I want people to be free to define themselves—and to change as they learn more about who they are.” 

She also doesn’t lead with the term “mixed-orientation marriage,” yet because she recognizes there are more resources out there for parents of LGBTQ+ than for spouses, she tries to be a resource when asked. She and Travis remain married, still deeply connected. They spend much of their time adventuring together, also sharing those adventures with their kids and grandkids, especially at their off-the-grid cabin. One of their sons is gay, and Margaret’s sister is a lesbian married to a woman. Several others in their extended family fall along the LGBTQ+ spectrum. “From a young age, I just knew LGBTQ people were normal,” she says. “Growing up with friends and neighbors in my own small town, and my mission and college experiences only confirmed that.”

She recalls reading The Miracle of Forgiveness as a teen and bristling at President Kimball’s framing of homosexuality as "deep, dark sin." “I remember thinking of my sister and others I loved and just knowing: that wasn’t true.”

Margaret now works part-time as a receptionist at a therapy clinic for children and families. “I’ve always loved therapy,” she says. “Didn’t get a degree in it, but I’ve learned a lot just by being around it.”

She has been to a few LGBTQ conferences over the years, including one where she remembers looking around and thinking, “I will rejoice in the day when people don’t need a conference to legitimize their existence. Similarly, I never felt I needed a man in my life to feel whole. I haven’t viewed myself as half of anything. Nor have I had interest in attending events solely for women.” Still, she’s grateful those spaces exist. “I know not everyone was raised by strong women like I was,” she says. “Some people need those spaces to heal from their trauma.”

Margaret’s hope is for more curiosity and less programming. “Recently on the beach in Mexico, we met a beautiful trans woman and her wife,” Margaret recalls. “She was testing the waters to see if we were safe. When she learned we were still married after Travis came out, she was shocked. Even within LGBTQ+ spaces, we carry assumptions. We pick up narratives and use verbiage that is fraught with restricted thinking. I wish we could all be more open, more curious. More humble.”

At 64, Margaret has shed the need to define things too rigidly. “Life is too complex for boxes,” she says. “I thank my Heavenly Father for giving me the life experiences I’ve had. I don’t have to understand everything. I just need to love people. That’s enough.”

MONICA, HORACIO, & CAYLIN

Monica Bousfield met her husband Horacio Frey in the fortuitous aisles of Babies R Us, where they both worked in the early 2000s. At first, they were just friends. Then best friends. Then after about a year of hanging out constantly, they surmised they must be dating. A year later, Monica nudged Horacio that it was probably time for them to go ahead and get married. After an eight-month engagement, they did, and while they eventually both left Babies R Us, their commitment to each other later resulted in two babies they would together raise. Through all this, Monica kept her maiden name—primarily because she’d never known of another couple like her and Horacio to last, and she didn’t want to complicate legal paperwork around having to undergo name changes twice. Monica had never heard of a woman marrying a gay man and having it not end in divorce. While she’d known Horacio was gay from their early days of hanging out, there were two other things she knew about Horacio: he was her best friend, and she wanted to marry him. Over two decades later, the couple is still making it work in Westminster, Colorado, where they have two children—Caylin, who is 17 and also identifies as queer, and Dominic—13.

While Horacio has known he’s gay since a young age, this is the first time he has come out publicly. His childhood was marked with hardships, having suffered abuse and being adopted at age eight, which created abandonment issues. He came out to a few friends and his parents in high school, but very few people knew he was gay when he married Monica. He had been raised in a Christian church community in Santa Fe, New Mexico. While it was an open affirming congregation, Horacio opted for the white picket fence and kids route that was so highly encouraged. When he met Monica, she was not active in the LDS faith of her family of origin, but after their daughter was born, Monica says, “I realized I had this amazing, super special kid, and started going back to church gradually and then more actively.” After about five or six years of attending by herself with Caylin, Horacio converted. Monica laughs that she has the kind of mom who, every time they went to her house for dinner, would make sure the missionaries just happened to be there. Finally, Monica says, “She had a set there with the right personality at the right time.”

Horacio’s bachelor’s degree in Information Systems Security brought him to Colorado. After receiving her bachelor’s at what is now UVU, Monica started a graduate school program in counseling at CU Denver. But three years into the program and then married, she found while she loved learning about counseling, she had no desire to go into the practice. Instead, Monica went into management at Babies R Us, and then got her masters in HR. Now she works for a local municipality in compensation and benefits, a job she loves. Horacio works as a tech manager for a solar company.

Monica says, “if you’re going to marry someone who’s gay and you’re not, you need to be pretty confident, but we figured we’d never know if our marriage would work out unless we got married.” The beginning of their union felt lonely for Monica, having no one she could talk to who could relate to her variety of issues. “I internalized a lot, which is probably not healthy. But I didn’t want to out him. When others would talk about how great their marriage was, I was like, ‘Um, yeah…’” Monica didn’t actualize that hers was not the only mixed orientation marriage in existence until a few years ago. But of her almost-exclusive status, she says, “It doesn’t go away and it’s not easy. I’m not going to say it’s not worth it, but it’s not easy.” Horacio agrees it’s been difficult as well from his perspective with the couple talking about it, then not talking about it, when perhaps they should have more often. But after lots of counseling, he says, “We’re committed to making it work and have no interested in getting divorced or not making it work.” Monica appreciates how Horacio is still her best friend, despite the complexity of their issues.

Five years ago, new information about their children brought the two even closer together. Around the same time that Dominic (at age 8) was identified as being on the autism spectrum, Caylin revealed that she’s queer. Of their kids, Monica says, “She’s very creative, and he’s very, very logical. It’s two extremes, and definitely makes things interesting.”

While Monica was shocked about Caylin’s admission, Horacio was not as surprised, after Caylin had recently played Christina Aguilera’s “You are Beautiful” at the dining room table and asked her dad if he’d still love her if she came out. It was 2020 during the pandemic, and the family had spent much of their time together in quarantine. One afternoon, while on her way to her first outing to a friend’s house in a long while, Caylin sat in the back of her parent’s car, quietly drafting a text. She didn’t hit send until she’d safely entered her friend’s front door, and Monica and Horacio drove home in shock, processing. Besides the blindsiding of the information itself, they were now also apparently “old” because they had no idea what Caylin meant by: “I’m coming out as pansexual.” Monica googled it on their drive, while her heart stung with the second half of Caylin’s text: “I hope you still love me after this is over and done with.” Of course they did, she says.

However, needing more time to process as she hadn’t heard of a 12-year-old coming out that young before, Monica sent Horacio to pick up their daughter. When he pulled up to the house in a slight rainfall, he saw a rainbow in the sky behind Caylin’s friend’s roof. A scene that felt “picture perfect.” Caylin got in the car and Horacio abruptly revealed he was mad at his daughter--only because she had told him in a text and not in person. The two went and got ice cream at Chic-fil-A (Monica now laughs at the irony of that), and Horacio explained to his daughter that he was in a position to understand what Caylin was feeling. He revealed, “Not that I want to steal your story, but I understand because I identify as gay.” Horacio went on to explain how Caylin could still have church values, even though there is a lot of stigma in church communities about how to act. Horacio clarified, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Your mother and I still love you and will navigate with you, and you’ll get through it.”

Caylin says she’d known she “was some flavor of gay” since age nine, just growing up in the internet age, though she didn’t always have words for what she felt. She now prefers to identify as queer instead of pansexual, and says it has been hard to “figure out what I actually am and to surround myself with people who would accept me, especially in the church where a lot of people don’t necessarily agree with all of that.” Now a senior in high school, the church is still a part of Caylin’s life as she attends sacrament meetings on Sundays, but she prefers to go to Relief Society with her mom over Young Women’s. She also prefers to avoid seminary and youth activities, and keeps quiet about how she identifies at church. The family’s ward is small and skews a bit older and more conservative. With few youth, there are fewer opportunities for friendships. Caylin says her school has its ups and downs, but she has a good friend group and likes to do art and read fiction and romance books--the Caraval book series being a favorite. She also participates in theater, and is on the costume crew for the school’s current production of Chicago. While dating has been a part of her teen years, she’s not currently seeing anyone.

Shortly after Caylin came out to her parents at age 13, she was sitting at a stoplight with her mom. Monica remembers her saying, “Mom, I don’t know why God hates gay people.” Monica asked what she meant by that, reiterating that God loves everybody. Caylin replied, “I don’t know why gay people can’t get married in the temple, have kids, and do all the things.” Monica feels this messaging kids receive while sitting in the pews is important to share, as the words hit hard and create more harm than some may intend. While it took Monica herself time to process the news Caylin shared via text that day, she now feels protective “like a mama bear” and wears a rainbow pin and speaks up when it feels appropriate, which can be hard to gage in their ward. Horacio also wears some sort of rainbow every Sunday.

The family has attended some of the events sponsored by their local ally group Rainbow COnnection, which was started by members of their stake. While Monica’s an introvert, she values the gatherings. In her extended family circle, people tend to more quietly share big news to avoid big reactions. Monica has appreciated how talking with her relatives about Caylin has strengthened her relationship with her family members who were raised in a world where their family “looked good on the outside but weren’t that close.” Nowadays, they’re working on being closer at home.

Caylin says sharing a unique identifier alongside her dad has helped her to feel less alone. She now focuses on not letting others’ opinions bother her. One Sunday, after a lesson in which someone expressed how they had a kid “struggling with LGBTQ issues,” Caylin walked out into the hall and toward their car, confidently telling her mom, “I’m not struggling with LGBTQ issues. I’m quite good with them.”

For Monica, who has kept much close to her heart over the 20+ years of her marriage, she longs for a day when it feels more comfortable for people to share what they’re experiencing at church in a real way, instead of trying to present the image of “being perfect.” She says, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if people could say, ‘I’m really struggling with this,’ instead of ‘Life is great’! I’ve dealt with a lot on my own, which is probably not the best way to handle things.” She continues, “It’s good more people have been talking about this in the last few years. It’s important to get out there and hear about it and share, so you don’t feel so alone.”

MARY ANN ANDERSEN

Mary Ann Andersen had always believed that love was unconditional, yet nothing could have prepared her for the totally unexpected revelation that would reshape her life and her marriage. For years she had built a life with Dave, a man she knew as a devoted husband, caring father of four, and committed member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Their days were marked by shared routines: family dinners filled with laughter, lively discussions, the typical demands of raising kids, and the steady pressure of church and community service. Yet, beneath this familiar rhythm lay a secret that would eventually alter the contour of their relationship.

It began 14 years into their marriage in 1993, when Dave confided in Mary Ann about the inner conflict he had carried since youth—a dissonance born of a desire to express a feminine side he had long kept hidden. At the time, Mary Ann was busy raising four kids and managing a farm and bed and breakfast while Dave worked full-time and served as the bishop of their ward. Dave had always gone to great lengths to keep his feminine interests and clothing hidden, though Mary Ann had observed how complementary Dave was about how she did her own hair and makeup. “It didn’t make a lot of sense back then, but I just thought what a goldmine of a husband I had that he even noticed. But really Jennifer was living her life through me.”  While some wives might have loved having their husbands encourage more facials and makeovers, Mary Ann started to resent this, wondering if she wasn’t attractive enough for her husband.

Back then the term “transgender” was nearly unknown, and the idea that the man she loved might also be the woman he felt inside was as bewildering as it was painful for Mary Ann. She remembers that Dave’s first hesitant admission was filled with both fear and hope for understanding. As Dave revealed that he carried within him a longing to be seen as female, Mary Ann felt shock, confusion, and an aching vulnerability. She wondered if her husband was gay and wouldn’t admit the truth to her. “And why didn’t he tell me this before we got married?” Back then, they both didn’t fully understand the difference between sexual orientation, gender identity, and gender dysphoria. After a difficult month of trying to process this news and wandering the aisles of local bookstores and libraries to pour over whatever literature she could find in search of answers, Mary Ann informed Dave, “I can’t change who I am, and I’m not attracted to women. This isn’t going to work for our marriage.” She figured he would do the “right thing” because he had always done so in the past. Being raised in the church, and being a teenager during the 70’s, it was taught that being gay was a choice, it was so black and white. This is something you can choose not to do. So the two shelved the topic for over two decades, never bringing it up or discussing Dave’s confession. She figured he had control over it.

Yet over the last ten years, as Mary Ann began meeting people from the LGBTQ+ community and hearing their lived experiences, her perspective began to shift. She learned that transgender identity was not a flaw or a choice, but an aspect of human diversity. Slowly, her heart softened. The realization eventually came that the hidden part of Dave’s soul—Jennifer—was not a betrayal of their love but a long-suppressed truth that needed to be acknowledged. It was in 2018 that Dave came forward a second time, revealing his authentic self as Jennifer. This time, the revelation carried with it both shock and sorrow—as Mary Ann recognized the pain Dave had suffered suppressing this side of him for so many years. It also caught her by surprise and many conversations ensued. She did a lot of soul searching to understand her own feelings and how to make things work in her marriage.

In 2020, when they felt it was time to tell their children and their spouses, Mary Ann was concerned how they would receive the news. She knew they would be surprised and shocked because she remembered feeling that way the first time she found out about Jennifer. It took time for their children to process the news and to their credit they led with love, acceptance, and curiosity. Each child was concerned with how their mom was coping with this change. Mary Ann appreciated their checking in with her. The Andersen grandchildren, accustomed to the familiar image of their granddad gradually were introduced to Jennifer and soon began to accept this new reality.

Their oldest son, Blaine, shares this insight about his journey. “Prior to my father revealing to me that he was part of the transgender community, I had recently chosen to leave the comfort and security of my Mormon-influenced worldview. Part of this process involved the painful re-evaluation of what I once believed to be etched in stone. My soul dragged my mind to a state of intrepid curiosity. This beautiful ‘hell’ I found myself in was the ideal climate for learning that my parent had far more dimension than what was previously known. Knee jerk, black and white thinking had been replaced with an ability to see nuance and adjust focus, which I had control over. I was able to give myself permission to explore the world through his/her eyes without the crippling fear that I was on the wrong side.” Knowing that her family continued to love and support them lifted a huge burden from Mary Ann’s soul.

Blaine continued, “When a person comes out as trans, it’s important for all affected parties to have compassion. My initial reaction was that of acceptance, love and curiosity.  But to be sure, I have dealt with feelings of loss and second guessing along the way.  I admittedly have many more miles to cover on this journey and I have made peace with the idea that it's okay to feel a range of emotions.  Patience, humility, love, and curiosity have been effective checks and balances for me. My father and Jennifer are both amazing. They are incredibly courageous and loving. Members of the LGBTQ+ community add a depth and spirit that is badly needed in our world.”

Mary Ann says that, “Now that Jennifer is out, we laugh more. We can be ourselves, and are more relaxed. We definitely communicate better.” Mary Ann laughs at how with her spouse alternating throughout the week between presenting as Dave and Jennifer, she avoids name confusion by calling her spouse “Babe.”

Mary Ann has found that the outside world, particularly the church and some segments of their broader community, have been slow to offer support. In church circles, Mary Ann was often asked hurtful questions like, “Why do you stay in your marriage?” Or  “What’s wrong with you?” instead of questions she’d prefer like, “How do you make it work?” She does appreciate some LDS friends and others who have remained loyal and caring, and who often open conversations with her and others by modeling the welcoming words, “Tell me more.”

In their former stake, where news of Jennifer’s emergence spread like wildfire, some of those who the Andersens once considered friends began to distance themselves, and invitations to gatherings dwindled. For a variety of reasons, Mary Ann stopped attending church services altogether. This happened well before Dave began attending church as Jennifer in 2022. Now, neither attend LDS services, instead preferring to attend another more welcoming congregation in town. 

Mary Ann’s decision to step away from the church, largely due to their LGBTQ+ policies, was met with a reticence from many who remained. She says, “I’ve noticed when I let people know I no longer attend, they’re almost a little fearful of me. They don’t want to engage with me. I don’t hold any weight anymore; when you leave, you’re no longer believable nor credible.”

As Mary Ann has listened to the stories of other spouses of trans individuals and engaged with the broader LGBTQ+ community, she’s come to understand Dave’s struggle was never a denial of her worth, but rather a reflection of the rigid expectations imposed upon them by doctrine and culture. She says, “I now understand that this isn’t a choice, this is who these people are and they’re not broken. It’s made me open my arms to humanity and not just our little church world.” This realization has been liberating for Mary Ann, paving the way for a profound redefinition of what it means to love and be loved.

A voracious reader and talented seamstress, and as one who genuinely enjoys learning from and listening to others’ stories, Mary Ann loves to engage with those around her, and has always pursued her own passions and interests. Her organic skincare business, formed due to her own experiences having sensitive skin, flourished for a decade as an online business. In sharing her creative pursuits with Jennifer—offering alterations, fashion advice, and collaborating on projects—their lives have become interwoven in new, dynamic ways.

The evolution of their marriage also brought changes in how Mary Ann and Jennifer spend their time together. While Mary Ann doesn’t like to shop as much as Jennifer does, she loves to go out to dinner and to the beach with their friends. Mary Ann cherishes any time spent with their four children, their spouses, and their 11 grandkids, 5 of whom live nearby in their Oregon community. And Mary Ann has observed how Jennifer, now free to be her authentic self, has become much more social. They both enjoy attending dinners with their friends in the Rose City transgender group (including spouses), and participating in Affirmation, Gather, and other trans-affirming conferences where they both feel well understood. 

While Mary Ann did not know this part of her spouse before they married, she understands Dave’s former presumption that it would all go away if he just “married a good wife.” She recognizes now that Dave didn’t have the words for what he was experiencing. Mary Ann has always appreciated how her spouse has been “such a wonderful, kind, thoughtful person and very much a team member with raising our kids, and still is.” As Jennifer emerged, their relationship was tested and ultimately transformed but Mary Ann embraces the belief that no marriage remains static.

“Having always enjoyed people and hearing their stories, I like this version of me so much better. It’s so much healthier. There’s a whole new world out there, with amazing, wonderful people. This has all made me more friendly, and more able to depart from my comfort zone.” Mary Ann acknowledges, “I didn’t sign up for this, and it’s not what I agreed to. But on the other hand, if you thought your spouse would never change and will always be the same person you married, that’s a grave misconception. The key is to grow and change together—to support each other, give each other space, and let them be who they are.”

Want to learn more? You’ll find Jennifer’s story here

THE BALDWIN FAMILY

Natalie Baldwin has spent her life ensuring things run smoothly—whether as the administrative assistant to the Dean of UVU’s College of Health and Public Service where she currently works, or as the heart of her home in Salem, Utah, where she and her husband, Briggs, are raising five children. But her life’s journey has taught her that even the most careful planning cannot account for the unexpected. Diagnosed with Chronic Myeloid Leukemia in June 2022, Natalie’s health required her husband’s career overseas with the State Department to come to an abrupt halt; until she can hit certain markers, they cannot return to expat living. Instead, the Baldwins were forced to leave their last assignment in Turkey to move near her family in Utah where she could focus on her health. The past ten years of both adventure and change have left Natalie grappling with profound questions—about faith, culture, family, and the unique challenges of raising two LGBTQ children within the framework of her Latter-day Saint beliefs.

Natalie and Briggs’s children range in age from 13 to 22. Their eldest, Easton, is 22 and a manager at a popular chain restaurant. Emery, 20, a manager of a popular food truck, came out as bisexual at 15, but now identifies as pansexual. After exclusively dating women for a while, she now plans to one day marry her current boyfriend. Eli, 18, is a junior in high school, and Estelle, 13, is in middle school. Eloise, a 15-year-old sophomore, is in the process of exploring her identity and currently identifes as bisexual with just the “occasional” moment of attraction to boys. The Baldwin’s family dynamic has been shaped by love, questions, and a steadfast commitment to embracing their children for who they are.

For Natalie, the first major shift came when Emery came out at 15. Having always been open with her parents until then, Emery had given them a small “heads-up” about a year before her formal declaration, processing much of her identity internally. When she finally came out, Natalie’s immediate response was rooted in her conviction: “I know God doesn’t make mistakes. If you’re made that way, it’s the way you’re supposed to be. We’ll love you unconditionally regardless of any decisions you make.” Those words became a mantra, grounding Natalie through the ups and downs that followed.

Yet there were challenges. Living in Cairo at the time, Emery’s sexuality became a complicated and, at times, dangerous issue. In the predominantly Muslim country, where homophobia was rampant, Emery was outed by a peer. The news reached a church leader, who responded by incessantly preaching the Family Proclamation. Of that time, Emery says, “The year between realizing my sexuality, and finally coming out, I was battling some serious internalized homophobia. I couldn’t grasp the fact that I was queer, but I was also supposed to be a righteous daughter of God. It didn’t make sense to me that I could be both at once. I had a million questions, and so many bad days, but I was terrified to share any of these thoughts. My thought process was, ‘If I myself am having such a hard time accepting my own sexuality, how could anyone else’?” Feeling unsafe and unwelcome in a church community that for much of her childhood had taught her negative things about the LGBTQ+ community led Emery to eventually make the decision to step away from church entirely. 

Though the family soon relocated back to the U.S., Emery has not returned to church, but Natalie remains proud of the strong, empathetic woman her daughter has become. Emery likewise is grateful for her family’s unconditional support, saying, “Feeling like you don’t belong, and feeling so utterly lost and helpless, is not an easy thing to come back from, especially when a lot of those feelings were created by peers and teachers from what was supposed to be my church, and my community. While I have nothing but love for the church, the hurt that I felt from individuals in the church is one I don’t think I could ever forget. Every single day of my life, I am eternally grateful for my parents who made the choice to learn more, and love more, rather than to judge and to try and teach.”

Of her eldest daughter, Natalie says, “She has a good head on her shoulders. It didn’t take her long to realize who she is doesn’t align with the church, but that doesn’t make her a bad person. The church is just not a good fit for her. Her sexuality, and Eloise’s, have given them an empathy for others we will never fully understand. They have the ability to see people in ways I never could.” The Baldwin’s oldest son has labeled himself “nonpracticing, but with a testimony.” While he occasionally attends church, Natalie points out that often young men feel out of place when, like Easton, they didn’t serve a mission. He “really doesn’t like the outspoken conservative culture in the church, but still has a love and respect for the gospel,” says Natalie who adds that Easton said he never plans on labeling himself an ex-Mormon.

For Natalie, the process of supporting her children has been deeply personal. She says, “I’m not afraid to ask questions, or of the answers that I’ll receive. I trust myself, my intuition, and my ability to hear God. I know God doesn’t make mistakes. The way these children come to us is the way they’re meant to be. Maybe sometimes it doesn’t align perfectly with gospel doctrine, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re eternal beings with unique gifts and souls.” Briggs has had his own journey to see things through a different lens, thanks to his wife and daughters, and has grown to embrace and love the LGBTQ+ community.

Eloise, Natalie’s 15-year-old, is currently exploring her identity. Unlike Emery, who initially kept much of her early journey private, Eloise has been more open about her feelings from the beginning. She’s also benefitted from her older sister’s experiences and how they’ve prepped the family. Analytical and self-assured, Natalie says Eloise came to this earth like an adult, speaking in full sentences at age one. “Eloise has a strong sense of her worth. She knows she’s a child of loving Heavenly Parents.” That doesn’t mean her path has been without challenges. Recently, she called her mother in tears, asking to be picked up from seminary after a class discussion on good versus evil where another student included the LGBTQ community as an example of “evil.” Eloise has also been privy to conversations in which her peers have said LGBTQ people are mentally ill or just need to go to therapy. While Eloise’s seminary teacher has been a supportive ally, redirecting harmful comments and fostering a more inclusive environment, incidents like these still sting. Yet, Eloise remains resilient, determined to stay true to herself despite the occasional adversity.

Returning to Utah after years overseas presented its own set of challenges. The family had grown accustomed to the somewhat liberal and inclusive culture of the expatriate community. “Living among expats was a different world,” Natalie explains. “The schools were welcoming, the communities open. Moving back to Utah, we’ve had to face deeply rooted anti-LGBTQ sentiments and the realities of living in a predominantly conservative area. It’s made us all want to retract and keep to ourselves, not knowing who we can trust and who will be a safe space.”

For Eloise, navigating this environment in high school has been a learning experience. “She’s queer, she’s female, she’s liberal,” Natalie says. “It’s a triple whammy in this area. But she’s so bright, intelligent, and mature. She’s learning to decide when to speak up and when to let things go. That kind of wisdom is remarkable at her age.”

Natalie herself is no stranger to speaking out. Over the past two years, Natalie has become a visible advocate, not just for her children, but for all those navigating the intersection of faith and identity. Her ward itself reflects the complexities of her environment. Natalie describes her current congregation as very young and predominantly conservative. “We’re the old people here,” she jokes, noting that she and Briggs often feel out of place as what feels like the lone liberals in a sea of Trump signs and conservative culture. Yet, even in this environment, Natalie has found moments of connection. Her social media posts, particularly on Instagram, often address these themes, sparking private messages of support from some other members of her ward and broader community. “People thank me for being outspoken, but they’re afraid to say it publicly,” she shares. “They don’t want to face ostracization, but they’re grateful someone is saying what they feel. If I can make them feel less alone by being the one to speak up, it’s worth the target I’m putting on myself.”

Natalie’s hopes for the church extend beyond her immediate family. “I wish church leaders would genuinely try to get to know a variety of queer people,” she says. “Really know what they think, feel, experience, and then believe them. If they say they feel a certain way or have confirmation from God, don’t question them, just believe them.” 

Through it all, Natalie’s love for her children has remained constant. She believes their unique journeys have made her a better mother and a better person. “I know without a doubt that God has guided us on this path,” she says. “Our family is exactly as it is meant to be. And I will never stop advocating for my children—because their worth is infinite, and their stories deserve to be heard.”

ANONYMOUS FAMILY

Content warning: suicidal ideation.  

“Sometimes being in the ‘Top Ten’ of a ward’s hierarchy can pay dividends,” surmises Molly*, the mother of a family for whom we’ll be honoring their request for privacy by using pseudonyms in this story because frankly, it’s a tough time for families of trans kids. It’s especially tough when you have two trans kids. Such is the case for today’s family of 7, with Peter* and Molly’s children ranging in age from 15-23. Molly laughs that, “We started with four girls and one boy, and we ended up with four girls and one boy.” But a lot has changed since their first child was born, shortly after the couple met and married while at BYU.

“I was always the perfect Molly Mormon, and he was Peter Priesthood. We were the ideal LDS unit, and we popped out cute babies like good LDS families do,” says Molly. By the time Peter graduated from law school, they already had two kids, and the family rolled straight into the Marine Corps, with Peter working as a lawyer and Molly managing the family as they moved every three years. “Every ward was excited when we moved in because we brought five kids and were active doers, solid pioneer stock. And we were super judgmental—anyone not pulling their weight? We didn’t want to deal with them. We were excited to be and work with doers.”

When their oldest was around 16, the family was stationed overseas.  Molly was sitting in the pew on Mother’s Day Sunday next to Child #1 (who was AMAB), and who leaned over and said, “I don’t want to go to church anymore; I don’t have a testimony. I’m quitting.” This pronounced dissatisfaction came out of the blue; Molly was shocked. She now admits she did not handle it very well. Peter was even less sympathetic. While Molly allowed herself to become the “kind of parent I never wanted to be who let their child wear ear buds all through church, I thought, ‘Well, at least they’re here’.” Eventually Molly realized their child had been struggling with both church and depression, and acknowledged it’s hard to feel the spirit when you’re depressed. Child #1 had also discovered anti-LDS literature and felt church was “horrible, wrong, and stupid.” Molly said her initial counter-argument was along the lines of “Well, you’re dumb for reading the wrong stuff.” When their oldest turned 18, she moved across the ocean to Cedar City to attend Southern Utah University.  The next summer, in the middle of Covid, the family moved from Japan to California and shortly after, child #1 sent her parents a text out of the blue saying, “I’m trans; I’m Sierra* now.”

This really threw Molly and Peter for a loop. This child had grown up “all boy, a Thomas the Tank Engine fan, a mild-mannered child which we thought was due to having four sisters. It took us a moment to realize this was not a punchline.” Yet this time, it was Peter who acted quickly, by calling Sierra just to say, “We love you. I don’t know anything about this, but I love you.” Having the physical distance was good for the family as each slowly got used to their new reality, and Molly said, “It was a time of ‘how do we deal with this?’ but admittedly, it wasn’t as hard as when she said she was vegan. That probably changed more for us. But it was that moment of ‘How does this fit into my view of the gospel and families and everything I believe?’ It also led to the realization of, 'Oh my gosh, my kids aren’t a reflection of me.’ I thought if I taught them all the right things, they’d grow into future prophets.” Molly also struggled with knowing what everyone else was probably thinking, because she owns that she was that person who formerly judged families like hers.

When Sierra came home for Christmas that year, she expressed an extreme amount of anger toward her parents for “ruining her life.”  She was angry at everything from her parents staying in the church to the fact they’d had to move around so much as kids, even though Molly thought that provided cool opportunities for the kids, like getting to live in Japan for six years. While Sierra’s anger hurt Molly, she realized it was best to validate that whatever Sierra was feeling was real to her, and that she could apologize for any pain they’d caused, which eventually helped Sierra to work through her anger. 

“I did not think this was how my life would turn out,” says Molly, a box checker who did all the FHE, Come Follow Me tasks she was supposed to in raising her kids, expecting certain results. “It was mind-blowing.” Molly and Peter also joke their family is the “alphabet mafia”—as most in their family have been diagnosed with either autism and/or mental health challenges, including OCD, ADHD, anxiety and depression. As things finally began to improve with Sierra, Child #4—John*, who was 13 at the time and assigned female at birth, suddenly wanted to cut their “glorious, blonde hair that fell to their waist into a short boy cut, like they had done to themselves when they were age four,” says Molly. Later, she took 15-year-old John to be tested for autism, and as they got on the elevator to the psychologist’s office, John put on a pin that said he/him. Molly says, “I was like, ‘What? We’re doing this right now’?”

After a “definite personality change” that kicked in at puberty, Molly learned from the counselor John had also suffered extreme depression, suicidal ideation, and self-harm that ultimately required stay at an outpatient program. Once John was able to overcome his fear of admitting to himself that he was trans and coming out to his parents, he immediately began to turn around and has been “awesome ever since. He’s the posterchild of the program he was in,” says Molly. Molly eventually found out at a parent’s night at school that the teachers had been honoring John’s chosen name for some time, and felt a little embarrassed thinking they probably assumed he didn’t have support at home. After finishing his treatment program, John was able to get a 504 and access to a gender-neutral bathroom. Availability was not what it should have been, and Molly had to fight with the school to keep the bathroom open, but the school was supportive, aside from that struggle” 

John has always willingly attended church, and the family was touched how local leaders in California honored his wish to attend Young Men’s once he started wearing a suit. Molly says that socially, it was somewhat seamless as his best friend was a “giant, hulking kid so no one messed with him.” After being gone for summer travels, Molly had already posted on the ward Facebook page about John's transition and new name with a request to be kind, “even if you don’t support this.” She knew one of her “super homophobic friends” would see the post, but no one said anything. She found it humorous when the same woman who removed her kids from the local public school, saying “there were too many gay people there” still called to invite one of Molly’s kids over to play with her child.

Molly believes all those years of being in the “top 10” families of doers built up a currency which paid off in that most handled it well in California. John's seminary teachers and Young Women's leaders met with them and asked how they could help him feel welcome and agreed to comply with his wish not to be called on by any name in class until he was out to the ward. Their stake president even organized an LGBTQ+ fireside, inviting in a psychologist to speak alongside him. In the stake president’s talk, he shared a story about a young man he'd watched at local baseball games who would always get up and help an elderly couple with season passes up to their seats as they returned from the snack bar. The stake president commented how the (LDS) young man never chided the couple for buying and drinking beer, or refused to carry it – he just saw a need and met it. The stake president challenged his stake’s congregants to just be the person who sees the need, and meets it, despite your feelings about it.

Back when the family was stationed in Japan in 2017, Sierra was given a patriarchal blessing after which the patriarch stayed for lunch and shared an impression he’d had during the blessing that this child would have a difficult life, but didn’t know how to say it in the blessing where it wouldn’t sound bad. During this summer (2024), the two youngest kids received patriarchal blessings from a family friend in which John's name and pronouns were honored and he was called a “son of God,” and told that God “knows who you are and is proud of you.” Molly and Peter found these blessings personal and meaningful. The whole family found it funny when a young man who was new to the ward asked John to pass the sacrament, not knowing he wasn’t able to have the priesthood. A sibling teased John, “You can pass but you can’t pass.” 

After Peter retired from the military earlier this year, a new job search forced the family to consider where they could safely move so their kids could maintain continuity of care. Sierra (now 23), who has been living in Utah, has plans to move somewhere safer with their (trans) partner. The rest of the family wanted to stay in California, but the promise of a job took them to another state. Because of the move, John had to fly back to California to get his Lupron shot, which is the only thing that stops his periods, and gender dysphoria.  As John also has some genetic anomalies, Lupron is the only drug that works for him. He started testosterone in February. Now 17, John has also consulted with a medical team about pursuing top surgery—something his mom supports as he can only wear a binder for eight hours a day and she wants him to be able to be confident and stand up straight and tall and proud. John also struggles with extremely painful periods without the Lupron, and would like to do a hysterectomy, but is not sure they’ll find a doctor to perform it.  The family’s military insurance covers gender-affirming care, but not surgery.

Now that they’ve moved away from their welcoming ward in California, things are not quite so friendly at church. With the handbook’s recent new policy that disallows trans individuals from entering bathrooms or attending gendered classes that don’t align with their gender assigned at birth, their new stake president has said John can either attend Young Women’s, or go home for second hour every other week.  If he wants to attend Young Men’s classes and activities, John will have to receive a waiver from the first presidency, and was told chances are grim. This stake president followed up with the instruction that gendered meetings are for those preparing to attend the temple, and since John is not allowed to do that, those classes are not for him. Hearing this, Molly sat next to John in shock at the realization that unlike others who have tried so hard to make them feel welcome, this new climate represented a new reality--this man genuinely did not want her son at church. “In California, John made the sacrament bread every Sunday, saying, ‘I can’t pass the bread, but I can make it.’ He currently wakes up every school morning and leaves the house at 5:30am to go to seminary. He wants to go to church. Why would you say no to someone who genuinely wants to be involved?” 

When Molly asked the bishop what John should do during second hour, he was much more affirming and wanted to find ways to help him stay and be involved--while walking the line of following the church’s position. While the bishop has seemed supportive, the stake president made them feel unwelcome. When Molly opened up to John’s friend’s mom about this, she replied, “I go every week and don’t feel welcome. You’re going to stop going when you feel unwelcome?” And thus, Molly says she stays because, “Someone needs to represent, and bring up the things no one wants to talk about. I don’t want to be that person with an agenda where everyone rolls their eyes when she begins to talk. I just want to offer different ways of looking at things that can be more inclusive.” She continues, “I stay because my mom taught me the gospel and the church are not the same thing—the gospel is pure, perfect. I’m all in. The church is not perfect because God has no one to call who is perfect. He's only working with imperfect people, but we also can’t get revelation for questions that haven’t been asked.” 

"My trans children have been a blessing in my life.  This has required me to examine my testimony and pare it down to my most basic beliefs and to build it back from there.  I know absolutely that God loves me. I know absolutely that He loves my children. And I know absolutely that He wants me to help the rest of His children feel loved. I may not know much else, but I know that."

The other children in the family have varying levels of activity. Their 21-year-old is at BYU Idaho, where she hosted waffle Saturdays and games in an apartment that always displays a Pride flag. Their 19-year-old struggles with anxiety and OCD, and has just been called to a service mission near home. John still attends church, but commented after the new church policy that he could have his records removed and would have more rights to the church than if he stayed a member. Molly’s 15-year-old still attends, but Molly anticipates they may eventually feel pushed out as well. 

Since the election, Molly feels some relief her trans children are both soon to be safely in their adulthood and live in states where they can continue gender-affirming care, but she feels for those in other states who are not afforded the same opportunities. “To them, I’d say get out, but sometimes you can’t.” When they moved, the family chose a home that could be a gathering space. They have a large basement and extra room, anticipating they’ll likely always house someone who needs a safe place to stay. While the election results worry them, Molly is trying to be optimistic and not live with fear. She says, “I just watched a Hallmark movie with a cute love story about a gay couple—if we are mass marketing Christmas movies like that, it must be mainstream enough where people must be ok, I hope? Although trans issues are a whole new thing.” For now, Molly is holding on to what she has, and for her, it’s, “I love my kids—they’re such neurotic little goofballs, they’re the best.” 

*names have been changed for privacy

The first piece of art shown below was painted by the grandmother of the kids in today’s story in 2006 and is beloved by the family as a representation of their family in 2006. The second piece of art (by artist Erin Nimmer @erinnimmerart) was purchased by Molly*, the mother of the family, at the Gather Conference, and she says she loves how the visual reflects the idea how she’s paving her covenant path with rainbow stones.

art credit: Erin Nimmer @erinnimmerart

THE PRATT FAMILY

Dan and Terri Pratt of Peoria, AZ experienced their first “what if” trajectory after their oldest of six children entered high school. As Brigham began to struggle emotionally to the extent he battled suicidal ideation and received a misdiagnosis of borderline personality disorder, the Pratts began to question it all. The worry of “What if he doesn’t go on a mission?” took a backseat to “What if he tries to take his own life?”

 This was not a path they had anticipated. After serving missions before meeting and marrying, Dan and Terri had raised their oldest kids “doing all the things” – daily scripture study, weekly church, and serving every way they could. While they read all the parenting books and tried to check all the boxes that their own Arizona-based, LDS families of origin had, the techniques with which they’d been raised just didn’t seem to result in what they’d been promised. Rather, their houseful of kids, Brigham (now 25), Ammon (24), Sonia (22), Amelia (19), Benjamin (15), and Echo (14) seemed contentious in their youth, and Terri says, “No matter how hard we tried, we didn’t fit.” Since those early days, all six of the Pratt kids have been diagnosed as neurodivergent, five of whom specifically are on the autism spectrum. “The autism now makes more sense of why things didn’t go according to plan.”

Their initial “what if” questioning did prepare Dan and Terri to work with God through prayer on how to love their kids unconditionally, and that no matter what happened, they trusted their kids would be received with open arms by loving heavenly parents whenever that time came. This has brought new comfort as they’ve been thrown more curve balls. A few years ago, their oldest daughter, Sonia, approached Terri and said, “What would you do if you had a gay or bisexual child?” Wanting to be honest, Terri replied, “Well, I think it would be really hard, but I know I would love them.” This started the Pratts on a new quandary that resulted in Terri feeling drawn to read all she could get her hands on to understand the LGBTQ+ community. She read Ben Schilaty’s book, A Walk in My Shoes, then Tom Christofferson’s That We May Be One, and then listened to and read as many stories as she could on Richard Ostler’s Listen, Learn and Love podcast and at Lift and Love. Eventually they realized Sonia’s question had been prompted by her younger sibling Amelia, (preferred pronouns she/her/they/them), who at age 15, had confided in Sonia that she was bi. When Amelia was finally ready to have that conversation with her parents, after they had seen some text messages revealing it was true, Terri says, “We were ready. We wanted to be on the journey with them – and told them we would, wherever it takes them. We told them, ‘We love you and are here to support you in whatever you discover about yourself’.”

A couple years later, their youngest child Echo (12 at the time, they/them) came out through a letter, letting their parents know they were a lesbian and hoped their parents could still love them. Terri showed the letter to Dan, who called Echo in. Both Terri and Dan thanked Echo for sharing that information. Since, Echo has told them they’re nonbinary, gender fluid and wanted a name change, though they don’t bristle when often still referred to by their name at birth, Evie. Sonia has also since come out as bisexual. 

The frequent overlap of the neurodivergent and LGBTQ+ community has been something Terri has discovered to be quite common in her current masters’ studies to be a counselor. During Covid, she felt impressed to finish her bachelor’s degree, and now her graduate studies have led to an internship over the past several months with a practice in town called Neurodiverse Counseling. She says, “It’s been great to embrace more of that community. One’s heart opens to individual’s strengths and uniqueness, learning how a brain functions, and the beauty that comes with it. I’ve adopted an affirming rather than deficit-based perspective. It’s really helped me to love people.” After raising so many kids who struggled to find the therapists and support structures they needed, and seeing there’s not a lot out there in this space of overlap, Terri is eager to now become part of the solution.

Dan and Terri are long time owners of Pratt’s Pet Stores, owning several shops in their area. Dan also spent many years teaching early morning seminary. At the time, he was already undergoing a faith expansion journey, and as he’d read the assigned lessons, he often felt like a school teacher with a pen, mentally drawing red lines that he felt were too fear-based or not as loving as they should be for his young class. “There wasn’t the Jesus in it I’d hope for.” He adopted a class motto, “Haters gonna hate, but we ain't haters.” While he hadn’t yet become aware of his call as a father of LGBTQ+ kids, he was already struggling with a lesson on the Family Proclamation, one he was later glad he had softened, as a girl from his class later came out. Along with her family, she has attended the ally group, Love Without Asterisks, that Terri and Dan started with two other couples in their area.

 This group formed after a particularly painful fifth Sunday school lesson on LGBTQ+ in their ward that seemed to focus more on maintaining the comfort of the general membership rather than the inclusion of the LGBTQ+ community. A local career seminary teacher, Clare Dalton, was invited in to be the special guest speaker but only was given a few minutes to speak about being a gay woman before the rest of the class shifted tones. It became so hurtful that Terri and her youngest child left early, but they had invited Clare to join them at their home afterward for lunch. Comforting them, Clare said, “Let’s have our own meeting.” Clare returned the next month to join the Pratts and a few close friends, and that began their monthly ally nights, which the Pratts say have been “such a blessing.”

The Pratts have had to carve out safe spaces for their children, and maintain boundaries. They have prioritized their spiritual focus on teachings that allow people to truly love and care for others. Terri says, “It’s beautiful to build a place where you can be whoever you are, wherever you are, and share that with others. It’s different than Sunday School, where you have to edit yourself to fit in. Our ally nights are a beautiful example of Zion, of expanding the tent to see how we can all fit. And it’s positive for our children to see that they can keep spirituality and God in their life, no matter what their relationship to the church might be. They’re each on individual journeys with that.”

 After the recent transgender and nonbinary policy changes, Terri got a call from a good friend who was devastated. She said, “How do you stay and manage all of this?” Terri explained how their primary engagement is no longer serving the church as it used to be. While they attend sacrament meetings, Dan and Terri do not often participate in second hour nor currently hold callings. Instead, they focus on hosting their ally nights, and most recently found much joy and community in being on the committee for the youth program at Gather. The Pratts also love hosting many neurodivergent and LGBTQ+ friends of Amelia and Echo (who are gender fluid) at their house. They’ve witnessed how one of her AMAB friends is only able to express her gender identity in their home through dress and using she/her pronouns. Witnessing this young adult’s joy has expanded Terri’s. She says, “We are able to engage in different ways that feed our soul rather than suck it, which has been vital to our growth.” When the new policy came out, the Pratts had a moment of reckoning in which they realized, “They’re talking about our children, whatever wording they choose.” Terri laments, “I’m so glad they don’t attend church. It’s kinda sad, but that’s how I feel. Dan and I have to empower ourselves to 'stay in' in a way that’s healthy for us.”

Dan says, “In our home, I feel so much more love and acceptance for all my children as I redefine what’s an expectation versus acceptance. I’m always in awe when we get together now about how awesome it is as a father to not have to feel, ‘Are they on the right track?’ – always worried about how to fit in the box, and make corrections, but rather to let go of a lot of that and find out who they are and what they’re interested in or what makes them tick. I can see how glorious each of them are as they go through their journeys. And when they do ask questions about life, it’s all so authentically real in the way it happens.”  Terri agrees that where they are now is so different than a decade ago in their relationships with their kids. She says, “They know we love and respect their journey as their own, and it doesn’t have to look like ours.” She explains that a lot of her children have been through hard things, “which may be seen as ‘hard choices,’ but they know they’re allowed to make mistakes and learn from them.” 

Dan appreciates how he wouldn’t be where he is if “I was worried about empty chairs – or are we all going to make it to the celestial kingdom with its checkboxes and expectations? I’m not worried about a future of being ‘eternally happy.’ We have the present acceptance and love to bind us and help us through.”

THE CASE FAMILY

“We both love live music, the Utah Symphony, college sports, and theater. That’s one of the joys of the relationship we have—she doesn’t drag me to ballet and I don’t drag her to football,” says Jeff Case of Pleasant Grove, UT, sharing that loving going to these things together is just one of the perks of their mixed orientation marriage. Both Jeff and his wife Sarah are classically trained musicians, owning that, “Music is a gigantic part of our lives.” It’s a passion they’ve passed down to their three kids, Andrew—25, Danae—22, and Moth—18, though the younger ones may gravitate toward different genres. “We don’t always get what they listen to, but it seems like that’s just par for the parenting course,” says Jeff.

After staying at home with their kids for 15 years, for the past seven, Sarah has been teaching junior high. She teaches family consumer science which includes sewing, interior design, and behavioral health. Jeff, who leads the Lift & Love mixed-orientation marriage group for men, had originally joined the National Guard as a musician in ’95 before being sponsored by the Army to do his doctoral work in psychology at BYU. He was then commissioned as a psychologist in the Army for eight years. He is a veteran of the war in Iraq. Since getting out of the Army, he continues to work with veterans and their families as the director of the Provo Vet Center (a nationwide organization with 300 centers around the country).

Raised LDS on military bases while his dad served in the Air Force, the culture and era in which Jeff grew up did not feel conducive to coming out, though he knew he was gay by the end of high school. He was one of six kids who had to pay out of pocket for his own college and rely on military scholarships so it felt safest not to rock the boat. He went to BYU freshman year, then served a mission where he finally came out to himself after feeling “tightly boxed up and unsure what to do.” Jeff laughs, “God sent me on a mission to South Beach, Miami, which was a gay mecca in 1993. Two contrasting lifestyles were in my face—the BYU/LDS path, or South Beach gay life of the early 90s. I had a strong testimony, and still do—though it’s evolved over the years. I decided to come back to BYU.”

Jeff met Sarah the first day of class that year. Both music ed majors, she sat behind him, and they quickly became best friends. Jeff knew he wanted to get married and have kids—and his patriarchal blessing said as much. After a couple years of their friendship, Sarah was preparing to go on a mission herself. But suddenly they went from being best friends to getting married, without really dating. Sarah laughs, “I didn’t want to be one of those BYU couples who got engaged after four minutes, but essentially we got in the car one day and decided to date, and got out of the car engaged.”

Sarah had told Jeff first she had feelings, actually having fallen in love with him a year prior. At first, Jeff felt panicky—unsure of how to be a boyfriend, and he didn’t want to ruin the friendship, but says, “A lot of things happened that led to me falling in love with her.” He found her beautiful, and when she started completing her mission papers, he started having romantic inklings. “I had a series of small miracles happen that showed me we could get married,” says Jeff. He told Sarah he loved her but didn’t want to stop her from going on her mission. Sarah replied, “What mission?”

After meeting in 1995, they were married in 1997. While Jeff served in the Army, they lived in Washington, Germany, and Texas, before moving to Utah, where their kids completed high school. His military service was during the peak of “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” and Jeff had become accustomed to not telling. In fact, he did not even tell Sarah about his attractions to men until after they’d been married for six months. He says, “I thought it might have just been a phase and would go away, that I just needed to take a leap like Indiana Jones stepping out into the chasm. But it didn’t go away (with getting married).” And a lot was on the line—at that time, one could get kicked out of BYU just for being gay. He could lose his scholarships and get kicked out of the military. And he really didn’t want to lose Sarah. But as things “were bubbling and that tight box called ‘Jeff’s sexuality’ opened and spilled out,” Jeff finally broke down and said, “Sarah, I need to tell you this—I’m attracted to guys.” Sarah asked, “So what’s the plan, are you leaving? Will we work this out?” They decided to see where it would go, just the two of them. They navigated it quietly for a couple years, with no additional support.

After their first son was born, they each confided in their best friends, and started to talk to their friends in the music department—many of them who understood themselves. “There wasn’t really a way for gay people to connect back then; all of us were afraid to speak openly.” Talking seemed to help, and over the years, they opened up to their parents and siblings. When Jeff got out of the army in 2014, they felt it was time to speak openly about their story. “We experienced a number of moments in the temple and felt sharing our story could be a gift back to God who’d shown us how to live in this world,” he says. In 2014, Jeff published an essay for North Star’s Voices of Hope website. Then they made a video together. (Jeff now spends most of his volunteer time working with Emmaus and Lift & Love.)

After their bishop attended a North Star conference with them in 2017, the bishop asked Jeff what the temperature was in their ward about LGBTQ+ topics. Jeff replied, “There is no narrative. The only comment I’ve ever heard at church was that, ‘Modern day Korihors are the gays and feminists’.” The bishop asked the Cases to facilitate a fifth Sunday lesson on LGBTQ+ latter-day saints in 2017, saying a number of ward members had grandkids coming out and he wanted people to be willing to talk. Jeff says, “That got a narrative going, and our ward has been accepting, loving, never hostile to our faces.” As there has been some turnover since Covid, they’re unsure if everyone knows, but Jeff does talk about LGBTQ+ issues in priesthood and Sunday School lessons from time to time.

 When Jeff’s essay was about to come out, Jeff and Sarah told their oldest kids (then 14 and 12) that he was gay, feeling it might still be too complex of a topic for their 8-year-old. Their 12-year-old replied, “I thought you loved mom.” Jeff confirmed that that was the case and made sure it was clear nothing in their family dynamic would be changing.

Many years later, it was their youngest, Moth (his preferred name), who chose to come out at age 15—first as pansexual, then lesbian, then nonbinary attracted to women, then as trans male. The Cases found an affirming therapist whom Moth adores, which Sarah says is “an important step to Moth being able to work through their transition in a safe environment.” Sarah continues, “Moth is interesting—he’d like to be seen as a fem boy. He likes makeup and dying hair, wearing skirts. He’s very fun.” Moth’s parents have been supportive during the medical process, which they did have to pause a few years ago when Utah passed a law that wouldn’t allow trans-affirming medical care for minors. Sarah says, “We’re trying to be present and supportive wherever Moth is at.” Their middle child, Danae, has also come out as bisexual, though doesn’t love labels.

The two younger Case children no longer attend church, and Jeff and Sarah have made it clear to them and others that, “Being gay and in a mixed-orientation marriage and active in the church is our path. You figure out your path, what works for you.” Jeff likes to view the long game, and has seen that the church offers value for him, but that their adult children need to find their own values related to spirituality. “That’s fine,” he says, “I don’t want to drive them away. I want them to still be around and look to us. They only get that if they sense we love them where and how they are.” The Cases asked all their kids to join them at church one year for Christmas Sunday, and one child had a near panic attack. Jeff now reflects, “Why’d we do that? Are we trying to punish them? I now say, ‘Come if you want. I want to know where and how you see yourself on a spiritual level and just be present with you wherever you’re at’.” As to what advice he’d give other parents, he quotes his friend Bennett Borden who says, “You only have influence on people you have access to.”  Jeff also advises parents to remember the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and to not panic if their kids come out—”Parents who panic often drive their kids away.” 

Jeff says, “Being in the closet as long as I was, I never heard the bad types of advice from well-meaning parents and leaders (that was common during those years). We want to show up for our kids, but let them do the work.” Their parenting approach has been to focus on teaching their kids to be good people and to move themselves as parents into more of a consultant role. He values how Elder Neal A. Maxwell spoke of the need for individualized curriculum.  “We’re not too worried about the box-checking outcomes; we don’t need our kids to be like the Israelites who checked so many boxes but didn’t recognize Christ when He came. Just because they don’t believe in our same religion doesn’t mean they can’t be spiritual or have a relationship with Deity—they just have to figure out what that means for them.”

As to how she experiences being in a mixed orientation marriage, Sarah says, “It comes with its own set of trials and obstacles, but every marriage has something others don’t have to deal with. I believe you choose your trial by who you marry; you choose your tough parts. We decided these are worth it. I also believe if he wasn’t gay, that might take away parts of him that are really important and lead him to being a sensitive person, considerate, kind. I love who he is and wouldn’t take that part away. Him being gay is an important part of Jeff.” On the other hand, Sarah and Jeff are quick to say it’s really important that people know they would never prescribe their path for others. Sarah says, “It works for us, but I’d never suggest it should work for anyone else. It’s not going to work for everyone.”

The Cases love to travel, and Sarah and Jeff just completed a 3,400-mile road trip during which Jeff visited his 50th state right before turning 50. It was a long and winding road (or roads) that not everyone may experience, much like their journey together, but it’s one they’ve decided to keep navigating together.

LINKS:

Jeff’s presentation at Gather Conference 2023

Jeff and Sarah’s “Voices of Hope” video

THE MCCLELLAN FAMILY

Marion and David McClellan were initiated into the camp of parents who just go with it with their firstborn. Their oldest child, Anna, stomped around in moonboots and Yu-Gi-Oh t-shirts playing Pokemon and that’s just how things were, so they let her be her. Marion says, “The minute I wasn’t dressing her in floofy pink dresses anymore, she was instantly in basketball shorts and graphic t’s.” The McClellans operated off the assumption, “We just thought kids are however they came out.” So nine years later when their young son Ford was wearing Wicked Witch of the West costumes and aqua glitter butterfly flip flops or ruby red slippers, Marion says, “We just went with it.” Little did they know that decades later, Anna would discover the word “nonbinary” best described her gender identity, which immediately made complete sense to her husband, parents, and everyone else who has known and loved her over her 32 years. Anna being Anna paved the way for Ford’s journey when he later came out as gay in 2018, at age 16.

It happened one night while sitting on the couch listening to his mom’s playful prodding about the importance of getting his Duty to God award plan in place. Ford—typically the “most compliant and sweet kid in the universe who showed up a half an hour early every week to prep the sacrament”—snippily turned to his mom and said, “Mom, I’m gay and I don’t want to be Mormon anymore!” Marion says “stunned” and “shocked” are not strong enough words to describe the feeling that coursed through her body. Her first coherent thought was, “We couldn’t have a gay kid! We have FHE every week!” Marion had believed everything she was taught about gay people—that it was a choice. But somehow, she was able to harness these emotions with a force “that must have been from God.” Gentle words informed her reply: “We love you. We’ll walk with you on whatever path you choose. Your dad loves you. Do you need anything else because I need to go whip the cream for this party we’re having in 5 minutes?” Ford later confirmed that he premeditated the timing of his delivery, knowing his mom couldn’t completely lose it with company coming over.

Ford ran downstairs “like a cockroach” to be by himself, and Marion went into the kitchen to whip the cream (while bawling hysterically) for the party of people now approaching in four minutes. Somehow, she kept it together and later that night, approached her son to check on him and ask if he wanted to tell his dad or if he wanted her to do it.  Ford gave her permission to tell his dad. 

That night, David walked into their room to find Marion staring at the wall like a zombie. She blurted out, “Ford is gay and doesn’t want to be Mormon anymore,” the latter part of this sentence holding the more troubling truth for her. David replied, “Are you serious?” The look she returned confirmed it. David’s facial reaction made Marion glad Ford wasn’t in the room with them. But that night, David went through the entire grieving process, while Marion took an Ambien and went to sleep. They both woke up with the same conclusion—that they had a lot of work to do to become the parents Ford needed them to be. 

While David tends to be a “thoughtful, slow processor,” Marion says she’s never been considered an “underwhelming” figure and prefers the firehose approach to life. Thus, she jumped right in the deep end with resources, the next day consulting with a trusted friend who was already a Mama Dragon and mother of two queer kids. She came home with a link to the Mackintosh Family’s story on the LDS church’s website, and The Family Acceptance Project. David and Marion met with Richard Ostler in her first week of learning and soon after found Encircle. As she shared these resources with David, they both came to the same conclusion that their sweet Ford, “as close to perfect as you could get,” did not choose this and had not been “swept up in lascivious lies.” 

Marion jokes that the church’s fatal flaw was teaching her that she could talk to God and God would talk back. An extremely devout member of the LDS faith who had served in “all the callings,” Marion says, “The same voice that gave me counselors names for presidencies and had been talking to me all my life said, ‘There’s nothing wrong with your son, he is exactly as I created him.” While this was somewhat of a relief, it put Marion—and her husband who had the same impression—in a really tricky spot with their belief system. She now says, “It’s interesting that most of the parents in the support groups we’ve been a part of heard the same thing about their kids.” 

The McClellans still live in the cozy gingerbread house in which they raised their six kids in Payson, Utah. It was the home David’s grandparents had built and lived in, and Marion loved the Brady Bunch-esque idea of living in the same home forever, so after David’s grandmother died, they bought it. After the whiplash of an immediately onset faith crisis, this home became their enclave, as church—once their second home—quickly became tricky territory to navigate. Marion began to hear all the messages the way her child must have—as a10-year-old in Primary singing songs about eternal families, and realizing none of that was for him. As a young man being taught that homosexual behavior is a serious sin. “But at age 12, breathing and washing dishes are human behaviors.” Marion now reflects that a tween isn’t able to differentiate exactly what “behavior” indicates, leading to self-loathing and shame. She says, “Fortunately, he didn’t absorb much of that; he knew he didn’t choose this, so it couldn’t be a sin. And we are very lucky because a majority of parents in our community find out their child is queer AFTER a suicide attempt. Fortunately for us, he wasn’t in that category.”

But still, Ford was not yet ready for others outside his family to know he was gay, so his mom encouraged him to keep attending church to avoid suspicions. She now says, “I don’t regret many things in my life because if I could have done better, I would have. But I regret that I didn’t have him stop attending church immediately and stay home with him. I wish I knew how dangerous it was for him to continue attending, even with his resilience.” Marion says most of the parents in this space she’s befriended share that regret. As she continued to see the harm in policies—especially as she had to explain the 2015 exclusion policy to her perfect child, Marion’s world unraveled. Church became a minefield, as she fearfully anticipated what people might say each week. She started bringing a second set of keys and there were only two Sundays that whole year she didn’t leave early, crying. After going to church, it took Marion nearly an entire week to recover before the Saturday dread and Sunday trauma would return again. But at this difficult time, Marion still felt fortunate to work in the temple with David. That first year after Ford came out, they were in the temple weekly, and for Marion, often daily, as there, she could quiet her mind and seek clarity. 

In the temple, she remembers being fascinated by Eve, and how she was “exactly correct.” Marion continues, “In the church I grew up in, there were only ‘Adams’ allowed. We were expected to be obedient with exactness, not to look at a commandment and choose something differently.” In the temple, she heard words come to her clear as day that said, “You were never meant to be an Adam. It’s time you start acting like the Eve you were always meant to be.”

But after a lifetime of daily scripture reading and memorizing handbooks, embracing a nuanced mindset was virtually impossible. It took half of her six kids deciding to stop attending church, some painful therapy sessions with David, and a silent meditation retreat for Marion to examine her personal integrity before she experienced the clarity she was seeking. She says she came to a realization that she would never associate with any organization that taught what her church taught about queer people; so was it the right place for her to remain? For Marion, the decision was no. She knew this decision would not be popular in their heavily LDS, Payson, UT community, but she had also watched how her straight kids had concurrently been so warmly embraced by the LGBTQ+ community they had begun to interact with at family events at Encircle and the Augenstein family’s frequent ally events. Marion knew they could still find community; it might just look a little different. 

One day she asked one of her straight sons if he was ok “going to all the gay stuff with us.” He replied, “Yeah, the gays are a lot more fun than the straights.” While at Encircle, Marion also sadly observed how many LGBTQ+ people had lost their families after coming out and weren’t even allowed to be around their younger siblings anymore. She saw how quick they were to embrace her family. While her faith deconstruction had proven to be the most painful thing she’d ever experienced, Marion says, “When people say the lazy learner thing about people like us who have gone through this, I want to punch them in the face. There’s nothing lazy about what we’ve gone through.”

The McClellans have deeply felt the agony that comes when you step away from a faith community that’s not exactly trained to know what to do with you. After having been in the same neighborhood where they served their ward and stake families diligently for 30 years, Marion says there is a painful void.

All that being said, Marion feels, “Having a gay kid is the greatest blessing I never knew I wanted. I would never change any of it, even with the pain and strangeness. Our lives needed to change… But I would never change him. I love him and his partner.”

Ford, 23, now lives with his partner in Midvale and works as an engineer for a soil tech firm at Hill Air Force Base. Marion loves observing his happiness. She reflects how once upon a time, she put qualifiers on parental success based on whether her kids were “on the covenant path,” but now she’s grateful to observe them from a vantage point where she can just step back and appreciate how all six of her kids are “the most amazing humans. They are such good people – so compassionate, so thoughtful, they love our family. Before, I just had a limited ability to see.”

THE DAVIS FAMILY

“All great spirituality is about what we do with our pain. If we do not transform our pain, we will transmit it to those around us.” This was the Richard Rohr quote TeriDel Davis opened with at a recent presentation at an ally night in her Gilbert, AZ hometown. Joined by her husband, Tad, TeriDel then passed the mic to their 17-year-old trans daughter Kay to expand on the pain she thought she’d be able to bury until after high school, when it might be a better time to “figure it out.” But Kay explained, “This didn’t work out very well for me, as the only way I could bury the pain was to try and make myself numb to (it).” Citing Brene Brown, she continued, “When you numb your pain, you numb your joy.”

The desire to teach their kids to pursue rather put off joy is what has propelled the Davis family to share their journey. 

For TeriDel, the import of the call to be Kay’s mother started while she was pregnant with her oldest and being set apart for a calling. After the standard calling-related language, TeriDel was given specifics about the child she carried, that she would “find being his mom hard because it would be very difficult, but if I raised him unto God that he would then bring me the greatest joy I would ever know.” Anticipating her child would be born with severe special needs, TeriDel was surprised when Kay was born a healthy, happy newborn. As a toddler, Kay proved to be quite advanced, demonstrating high intelligence. But as she continued to grow, TeriDel says it was indeed difficult to raise and connect with Kay. The Davis family learned Kay was autistic, which propelled TeriDel to adjust her parenting style so that she could better connect with and teach Kay. 

When Kay was baptized at eight years old, her parents felt immense joy and gratitude that despite the challenging years, they had gotten to a good place and that Kay was “a kind, loving, smart kid who had proven very dedicated to pleasing her Heavenly Father.” About five years later of growth opportunities for the family, which now included younger siblings Gibson aka “Gibby” – now 16, Langston aka “Badger”—14, Cliff—12, Lilah—9, and an older foster child, Cynthia, Kay asked if she could talk about something that had been weighing on her. She wanted to know if TeriDel thought her younger brother Gibby had ever shown signs of being gay. TeriDel initially was upset Kay had asked this, thinking Kay might be agreeing with the school bullies who had been teasing Gibby for some time. She firmly replied that they’d had many conversations with Gibby and his therapist and that he wasn’t gay and that these kinds of questions were hurtful to Gibby.

The conversation initiated several months of heated conversations between TeriDel and Kay about LGBTQ issues, until one day, Kay approached her mother and again asked the same question about Gibby. Upset at her persistence, TeriDel turned from the dishes she was washing to scold Kay but saw a pained look in her eyes. TeriDel replied she needed a moment before she could answer. She went to her room to pray, where she was prompted that Kay was asking these questions about herself, and that TeriDel needed to become okay with Kay being gay or transgender very quickly and go talk to her about it. TeriDel says, “It was made very clear to me that Heavenly Father would not be okay with me doing anything other than loving Kay and supporting her.” 

TeriDel called her husband Tad at work, who concurred. She then called Kay into her room and point blank asked her if she was gay. Panicked, Kay mumbled in return that no, but she was experiencing feelings of gender dysphoria. TeriDel had to ask what that meant. Tad explains, “It’s like you don’t even know the questions to even ask until you have to.” He explains that over the next several months in their research, things would come up that proved unsettling to his theretofore reliance on binary, black-and-white church doctrines. “It was unsettling in the sense I thought I could put everything in the right place on the bookshelf. But this was like someone had knocked over the whole shelf, and some of the books on the floor I didn’t need anymore, and I realized I needed some new books, too.”

While this was the first time they were able to talk about it as a family, Kay had been quietly battling complex thoughts and emotions for sometime privately. When returning from a family party with cousins on her 13th birthday, Kay sat in the back of the family van pondering her reality and future. Asking herself questions about how she might avoid typical teenage pitfalls and drama, Kay identified that she’d never felt an attraction to boys and thus must not be gay, nor did she desire to get into a romantic relationship as she felt “I’m not very romantic, impulsive, or charming.” A new question emerged: “Am I trans?” A sense of dread settled in as Kay realized she could not say no to this, as she had never been comfortable being labelled, grouped with, or seen as a boy. She preferred to be known by other labels such as “smart, creative, kind.” This new thought induced terror as Kay presumed her firmly conservative Christian family would hurt her mentally or emotionally if they found out—which is why she shrouded her initial questions about the topic as a concern about her brother. But Kay says, “Without any guidance, I could never come to an answer.” She had searched on social media, but struggled to find anyone who likewise didn’t see being trans as a testimony-breaker. As the sun set in the horizon outside the van, she knew it was time to pray and ask God her question: “Am I trans?” The answer she received was “not a declaration of my identity but just a comforting message that, ‘either way is okay’.” Kay says, “It was in that moment that any worry of God’s judgment or wrath dissipated, and while it didn’t answer my original question, it released a weight I didn’t realize I was carrying. It seemed like my inner conflict was much more manageable with the knowledge of God’s love for me.” 

The new knowledge of her daughter’s identity and struggles opened TeriDel’s eyes to a heightened awareness of how she had been getting all her information “from straight people” and “somehow thought I had an accurate view on what would cause gender dysphoria.” She also realized how hard church can be when harmful rhetoric about the LGBTQ+ community is shared. While in the temple and privately she relied on the spirit to personally guide and direct her to a state of joy and enlightenment in her journey, it became difficult to hear comments like that of one woman in Sunday school: “The fastest growing tool of the devil is suggesting that having tolerance and love for other people means that we should be supportive of people who don’t follow the gospel. We need to rid the church members of any behavior or persons that prohibit us entering the temple.” 

While Kay has not gone public with a social transition yet, not wanting to deal with the social or political consequences, she has found herself in many uncomfortable situations in which she has struggled with anxiety, deep pain, and fear of rejection. Even after initially telling her parents, Kay says she didn’t really know how they felt for a while as it took them time to be more open to talking about it. “They didn’t know how painful it was to sit and wonder who I was all by myself, especially because it had been much easier to ignore and sideline it.” She has also experienced a state of stasis and abstract dread, as if feeling stuck in a swamp. Even her favorite hobbies like art projects can feel like hopeless wastes of time. Kay credits conversations with her mom and an excellent therapist for helping pull her out of these funks. 

TeriDel says with her new lens, church has become a hard place for her with the “random comments and misguided lessons.” She’s uncomfortable in any calling other than serving in the nursery, and is grateful that having a relationship with God has remained the priority of Kay, saying, “Hopefully we’ve helped her understand as long as she has that relationship with God either in or out of the church, we’re ok with that.” Tad often finds himself reflecting on Joseph Smith’s adage to “teach them correct principles and let them govern themselves,” deferring to prayer and personal revelation and his belief that God judges us on a curve tailored to us. 

Church can be unwelcoming at times according to Kay, “though our ward does its best to be welcoming and respectful, which is appreciated.” It meant a lot to Kay while attending seminary last year that she had a teacher who was inspired to gently answer the prescient question, “What should I do if I feel what the spirit is telling me and the teachings of the church contradict?” The teacher said that when Kay is conflicted, she should continue to make that a conversation between God and her, and to continue to pray about it until she feels peace. Kay says, “I think it’s hard for my seminary teacher to understand how much his answer meant to me. That answer allowed me to let go of my mental image and went leaps and bounds in allowing me to feel more comfortable in seminary. It even meant that when the lesson turned to the topic of how we must treat LGBTQ individuals with kindness even if we don’t approve of them, that I could at least be in that space and rely on my own personal answers to prayer.” Kay continues, “Even though it stings to hear that I am the person they don’t approve of, I believe that at some level my seminary teacher believes that God knows me and accepts me as I am.”

 When their son, Gibby, recently asked why the nature of God seemed to change so much across different books of scripture, Tad explained that explaining the grand plan of God would be like explaining all the complex levels, tricks, lore and Easter eggs of his favorite video game to his five-year-old cousin and expecting her to understand. TeriDel says, “That is what God is dealing with. He has this amazing, beautiful, complex, and fulfilling plan, and then he goes to his children (who are metaphorically five-year-olds) and tries to explain things to them and then has to deal with whatever they thought they heard. So it’s not surprising that God might sound a little different over time. God is limited by us.”

While Kay remains grateful for her reliance on personal revelation in discovering her own identity, TeriDel is increasing appreciative of a Christ-centered perspective and the grace and love that has come into her life by “not worrying about all of that stuff and just focusing on the very basic principle of showing love to those around me. In the end, God’s plan is just love.” Tad appreciates how their close-knit family, in which their kids are all each other’s best friends, can now have healthier conversations about the long term because they trust Kay to make good decisions for herself. He says, “Kay is such a good kid and has always wanted to be a good person and do her best to make her Heavenly Father and Savior happy. I’ve realized I needed to take a backset and trust she’ll make good decisions. She’s proved us right.”

THE JOHNSON FAMILY

Cameo and Cooper Johnson knew they wanted their children to have a different kind of upbringing: one that expanded outside of Mesa, Arizona, where they were both raised. As such, after marrying, they took their four children, Cora-now 23, Granger-21, Jonah-19, and Ezra-15, for most of their young lives to live in various parts of the world. These travels were not always luxurious—rather, the family worked hard all year to save and sometimes barely broke even as they moved about--living and learning with the locals along the way. 

They lived in Guatemala for four months, where they were involved in various service projects including distributing food to locals for Christmas, building a sustainable tilapia pond with and for their branch president, and assembling stoves for indigenous villagers so the residents could have warmth and a way to cook food. In Petra Jordan, their young son gave his own shoes to a barefoot indigenous child whom he had befriended, after learning that the children there don’t have the opportunity to go to school but must work in order to provide support to their families. In Spain, they met an artist on the street without arms who drew beautiful works of art with his feet and inspired their young son to overcome all obstacles. In downtown Philadelphia, they often passed unhoused residents in the streets to walk into church, and on a fast Sunday, later watched as those same people from the streets entered the building as well and bore the “most gorgeous testimonies” after which their fellow congregants (many of whom were new to the LDS faith) would shout out “Hallelujahs” and “Amens.” In Cambodia, the Johnsons lived with a local family. “Ten of us shared the same pit toilet bathroom without plumbing or hot water and had to pour cold water on ourselves to bathe,” says Cameo. “While there, we were invited to the funeral of the village leader and also invited to be blessed by a Buddhist monk. We honored these other traditions and beliefs. We were constantly exposing our children to other spiritualities and ways of thinking with love being the unifying focus.” This experience happened during the senior year in high school for their eldest child, Cora, and Cameo largely credits the priority on family closeness and emphasis on Christ-focused service and doctrine through their travels rather than building a social network as the reason each of her four kids have chosen to cling to the gospel in which they were raised. “Because we were only in many of our wards and communities temporarily, we didn’t worry about ostracization… and once we returned to Utah and Arizona, we really saw the diversity of the places and people we’d met with such unique needs and wants than what I’d understood growing up.”

On June 1st of this year, the family traveled together to California, where Cora married her girlfriend of over a year, Ady, in a beautiful ceremony in the Redwoods, near where they had both met while serving as LDS missionaries. The two were never companions, but after admitting to having feelings for each other on their mission, they put those feelings aside to focus on serving until they came home. The service was simple, only attended by their parents and siblings. Cora’s returned missionary brother had received a ministerial license to perform the nuptials. Cameo says as the simple ceremony was just “focused on them, we didn’t have to worry about the extraneous. It was beautiful.” She continues, “Both families had come a long way in the last year to process, change, and grow, but because we all know them and what beautiful humans they both are, you can’t help but see the genuine love they have for each other and desire their well-being and happiness. Their pure love is just evident on their faces.”

A week later, the couple had a reception in Flagstaff near the Johnson’s home, in which there was a bounty of music, dancing, acceptance and love. It was a party attended by many family members and friends from near and far, including many from the girls’ missions who they had served. “It was a happy, happy time,” says Cameo, “and because they chose to already be married by the time people arrived at the reception, there were no worries about feeling judged. It was already done.”

While such a warm reception to the marriage of two females from the LDS faith may come as a surprise to some, it was no surprise to Cameo and Cooper when Cora finally came out as queer at age 16. “We always knew, and had had conversations between us as a couple since Cora was three or four years old, like, ‘Hey, what are we going to do if she tells us she’s gay or that she wants to be a ‘he’?” says Cameo. Cora previously shared her own story on Lift & Love, and her mother Cameo concurs her daughter never fit the gender norms as a child. People gave her dolls she didn’t want, and she cried every time she was told to put on a church dress. When she’d play house with her fellow school girls, Cora always cast herself in the role of “husband.” 

When she was younger, Cameo admits she didn’t know anyone in the queer community two decades ago and was quite fearful of what might happen due to how she had been raised, saying, “Anything new is scary for me.” But through many conversations, Cooper assured Cameo that they could just wait and see, that they didn’t need to anticipate everything right then. So a decade later when Cora finally came out, Cameo was not a bit surprised or scared as she’d had a decade to work on her own feelings. She says, “I felt comfortable because I knew who she was—the most kind, nonjudgmental person I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a lot. This is Cora—she’s not sinful or someone who cares more about herself and material desires. She’s a very spiritual person, making It hard for anyone to continue in any preconceived notions about the community. Because I know her worth and value and how amazing she is, and had been prepping for ten years, it wasn’t hard for me. I know I’m lucky in that regard.”

What did worry Cameo a bit was that when Cora came out, in the same sentence, she said, “I’m gay and I want to stay in the church and go on a mission.” Cameo had experienced enough of their Arizona culture to know how the church at large perceives the LGBTQ population, but she also chose to respect her daughter’s decision and support what she needed to do. Cameo again figures that the family’s emphasis on core principles of Christ-centered living is what drove Cora to see the divine purpose in serving a mission for a church that would later not allow her marriage in their temple. 

Cameo also reflects on the efforts they had made to create a safe space in their home when Cora was a young child after they witnessed a neighborhood child  who was perceived to be gay often be referenced by derogatory slurs, including in their own home. Cameo sat down one of her young children who had repeated the word and in very certain terms, made it clear, “That is not a word we use, because people are born this way—lovely, beautiful, and often more kind and gentle than the rest of us. We have something to learn from them, and I never want you to say anything that would make us seem better than them. We all have differences.”

When Cora later came out, she told her mother she remembered that experience and knew her home would always be a safe space. Cameo reminds parents, “Our children are always watching us, including our interactions and the phrases we say. It’s important we remember that they are listening to the jokes we laugh at. Our kids are watching, and determining whether we’ve created a safe space for them to later become whoever they may be.”

While the Johnsons traveled, both Cameo and Cooper pursued their masters’ degrees. Using her training as a Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner, and after selling their first mental health practice, Cameo recently started a new one called Ponderosa Psychiatry in Flagstaff. She has found that by word-of-mouth referrals, she largely serves individuals at the LGBTQ+ and LDS intersection, including those serving or having served missions, and those who love them, to help them have a place to process their thoughts and emotions. “There’s an intersection between how we love and how we’re told we’re supposed to love and obey that can come across as not very loving to our children… It’s important to remember that incongruence is much more fabricated than our spirits and bodies believe. Love is love, and we know that in our hearts. When we don’t feel we’re being loving or when we’re being judgmental, it doesn’t feel right.”

Cameo again credits her family’s unique life experiences and current luck in having a very supportive bishop and stake president, who both came to Cora’s and Ady’s wedding reception, as part of the reason they’ve been able to join their kids in their desires to serve and stay in the church. She says, “I love my bishop and stake president. I have had leadership in other areas of the world who weren’t so understanding, but I’ve come to understand that they don’t define my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus. It’s just me; there’s no intermediary. Those people are called for a reason, but are also humans struggling with the human experience, and I’m ok with that. That’s the beautiful thing about the church—personal revelation. I love having my direct line.”

Read Cora’s Lift+Love family story here

Wedding photo credits to Anna Naylor Photography

ANONYMOUS

M* drives across state lines to seek the healthcare for her preteen daughter that has improved her sense of well-being. She tells very few people where she is going, as few seem to understand. But a nearby state allows a puberty blocker shot that’s recently been banned for minors under 18 in M’s home state. It’s a shot that has been widely given without major concerns for decades to patients with early onset puberty, until the politicking of the trans community dominated airwaves and stigmatized it as “unsafe.” It’s a shot that can help prevent the further need for medication for trans individuals if timed right, which is why the trans-affirming medical community prioritizes its use in younger patients on the verge of puberty. But this process requires a parent and a medical team to trust the intuition and identity of a patient who is still a child.

M does trust her daughter to know herself better than anyone, describing her as an intelligent and fun-loving home schooled young tween who has “read all the things,” says M. “I know she doesn’t know everything, but she knows a lot more than I do.” 

Healthcare. Safety. Well-being. They are the basic human needs most parents desire for their children. But when a child comes out as transgender, the method of how best to pursue each ideal can vary drastically between parents, often creating unease at home. Societal pressures can isolate children and families who don’t fit the binary norms of a classroom or bathroom, further exacerbating isolation. State legislation can dictate what is allowed in the doctor’s office, resulting in mental duress. These are the common realities for families of trans kids, and when a child comes out at an especially young age, the collateral fears can drive the child or family right back into the closet.

As M views the best path forward for her daughter differently than her social circle, church community, and state legislature does, she is only out anonymously, as the creator of the Instagram account, @mama_trans_kid_in_the_closet. The community she has built on this account, as well as her Mama Dragons network, have served as a salve for M, who has appreciated having public forums to discuss social transitions, hormone replacement therapy, puberty blockers, and bathroom bills. They are topics she once knew nothing about, but her network and a helpful book, The Transgender Child: A Handbook for Parents and Professionals Supporting Transgender and Nonbinary Children by Stephanie Brill and Rachel Pepper, have contributed to her new vocabulary and understanding. They have also been able to get acquainted with adult trans women, who offer hope for what can be. 

A self-described “Molly Mormon,” M’s advocacy for her children surprises even herself. But she’s grateful for the 2020 impression she had to study LGBTQ+ issues, coupled with Elder Ballard’s oft-quoted nudge for LDS members to learn more about the experiences of LGBTQ+ people. Feeling compelled to do a deep dive into something she had never thoughtfully considered, M picked up Charlie Bird’s book, Without the Mask, at Deseret Book, feeling it might be a “safe” source, then Ben Schilaty’s, A Walk in My Shoes, and began listening to their podcast, “Questions from the Closet.” More podcasts, including “Listen, Learn and Love,” helped her begin to consider what life is like for an LGBTQ+ member of the church. 

After reading past church teachings and some messages about queer people delivered over pulpits that were “really tough to swallow,” M began to understand why people in this community were misunderstood. Still, when her daughter came out as trans, it was “super shocking” for M and her husband. “I had heard about trans kids knowing about their identity from a young age—always dressing up as princesses or pirates. But ours was typically into boy things. Even now, besides growing out her hair, she hasn’t expressed a strong interest in make-up or dressing in a feminine way often. Though she has yet to come out publicly.” She came out to her mom via a phone message exchange, sharing she had been feeling confused for some time, like she didn’t know what was going on. And then she said a prayer and had a moment of clarity as a thought entered her head: “I’m trans.” M says her child described suddenly feeling good about that, like God was telling her, “Yep, that’s it.” She felt excited to tell her mom then, having felt some peace about who she was. M says this was at first very hard for her to grasp. Like all their kids, this child was named after a beloved relative, so honoring the name and pronoun transition took some time for M. While navigating this new reality, shortly after, one of M’s older children came out as bisexual.

M feels grateful her kids have had each other’s support and are close, as they have lost friends over people saying disparaging things about LGBTQ. While she and her husband still attend, the church has been a tricky place for some members of the family. When one of her older kids was asked about their plans to serve a mission, their response was, “I don’t see how I can tell people to go join a church where people like my siblings won’t be treated the same as everyone else. It doesn’t feel right.” M’s bisexual child doesn’t feel like they fit in, but says they’d return overnight for the social structure, if the church changed their LGBTQ+ policies.

Bi-erasure is also a new vocabulary word for M. “One of the hardest things with the church is that the teachings on marriage and family are all clearly directed for someone to choose a male or female—the opposite gender—and do what’s expected of them… People assume you can just choose the more simple path, making it much harder for you if you don’t. Also, you’re in between two spaces, making you feel like you don’t fit or are forgotten.” M says when she goes to the temple she can’t help but notice all the binary division, and considers if her trans daughter could ever feel comfortable in church spaces. “Like if she did come to church, would they let her go to Young Women’s? I have so many questions. She doesn’t go, so it’s not an issue.” M’s trans child is only out to her immediate family members and a few others. 

M says her kids don’t speak out against her church involvement, but she has explained to them, “I’m not going to church because I support everything they say, but because it’s what feels right, right now. I’d like to help create change. I don’t want to leave, but sometimes I feel so tired.” As someone who naturally wants to talk through her current struggles, M says, “It’s hard when you have a kid in the closet. You want to talk about it, but can’t when they’re not out.” So for now, she speaks out from a closet of her own. And she reminds people that this is a topic that affects everyone. “If you think you don’thave an LGBTQ person in the family, the chances are very slim you don’t. They have always been here; there is just now more vocabulary to be understood and people feeling safe to come out.”

M continues, “It can never be said enough: we parents of LGBTQ kids know our kids, and for those of us who’ve grown up in the church, this is me following inspiration and following my God who wants me to support my child. That’s probably the most hurtful thing I hear people say—that you’ve got to be careful to ‘not be deceived,’ like you don’t know the gospel, when it’s all you’ve known for your whole life.”

(M* = to protect her children’s safety and well-being, M has elected to remain anonymous)

THE MACKINTOSH FAMILY

Theirs may be one of the first family stories you encountered at the LDS-LGBTQ+ intersection when you first leaned in, as the Mackintosh’s video about their son Xian has lived on the LDS church’s website for the past seven years. Becky Mackintosh’s book, Love Boldly: Embracing Your LGBTQ Loved Ones and Embracing Your Faith, may have also been one of the first how-to books you read.  

The church approached the Mackintosh family of Lehi, Utah to film a video showing “the reality of having a gay child in the church—that it’s not all tied up in a bow.” The church asked the Mackintoshes specifically to share their story because they knew Xian was in a relationship, and wanted them to answer the question many LDS families were asking at the time: “How do we respond when our child steps away from the church?” Becky’s answer: “Continue to love and include your child in the family circle.” The video has remained on the Church website since 2017, something Becky says a lot of people still don’t know. Deseret Books also initially solicited Becky and family to chronicle their story in a memoir, though ultimately, and with Deseret Book’s blessing, they went with Cedar Fort Publishing for a more expeditious print run. Deseret Books still carries it in their store (as does Amazon). And Becky and Scott Mackintosh are still frequently invited to speak at firesides. They especially love it when Xian is also invited to speak with them. At these firesides, Becky often invites audiences to pull out their phones and go to the gospel library app and scroll to “life help” where they can find “so much support for unique situations like unwed pregnancies, suicide, SSA, and transgender.” There, people will also find Becky’s face as the thumbnail image for the family videos under “SSA.” Becky says, “The story is still so relevant, so needed. However we may respond when our daughters or sons step away, you must love and include. It’s the only way to keep the family together.” 

This is something the Mackintosh family has learned through experience, and over time. When Xian first sent his parents a private Facebook message on the last night of a Christmas break home, telling them in simple terms that he was gay, his parents’ initial reaction was not all sunshine and rainbows. It took Scott some time to come around to a place of affirming his son. Becky was the one to stay awake and wait for Xian to come home that night from being with friends; the two stayed up until 4am talking about it. But Becky says she was the one who “was suddenly an expert on this topic I knew nothing about” and did most of the talking—trying to convince Xian that since no one else knew, it might not be too late to “nip this in the bud and hold to the rod.” Becky pulled out Xian’s patriarchal blessing, reminding him of the passage in which he was told he’d marry a woman; and she referenced an LDS Living article about a mixed orientation marriage in which the man “experienced SSA but made it work.” Becky implored her son not to go back to the BYU Hawaii campus where he was studying social work and tell anyone, worried he’d be kicked out. Xian reminded her it’s not against the honor code to be gay, only to break the law of chastity. Xian went on to explain that while he had tried to date and kiss and like many girls, he had known his whole life where his attractions lied, and also tried so hard to “get rid of this.” Becky remembers Xian telling her he didn’t know what his future held, but he knew he couldn’t marry a woman or live a life alone. 

With this, Becky thought back to his past. She and Scott had raised their seven kids on a farm they’d lived on for 25+ years. Xian especially loved animals and still does to this day, now the attentive owner of a plethora of pets. Becky says, “Xian was always a happy boy with a big smile on his face. He was a leader, liked by everyone, and had a diverse group of friends as he was able to make friends easily with whoever, wherever. He was always easy to love.” Taught to be faithful, Xian was dedicated to the church and served as both deacon’s and teacher’s quorum president as well as the first assistant to the priests. He served an honorable mission to Detroit, Michigan, and when his parents and sister picked him up there, they loved seeing how much the people loved Xian, and he loved them. While many girls chased Xian over the years and asked him on dates, Becky admits the thought crossed her mind he might be gay as “he was such a good-looking young man, and yet not showing interest in all the girls chasing him.” Becky chalked it up to the fact that Xian was very frugal with money and very studious and maybe just didn’t want a girl to get in the way of his goals to serve a mission and save money. She also admits to thinking at the time that “there’s no way my son would choose to be gay.” 

Xian continued to focus on his studies post-mission. He didn’t come home often between semesters--just at the holidays and for a week in the summer after summer sales stints or his internship to Thailand. When he finally did come out in 2012 to his parents over Christmas break at age 24, it was after years of believing he’d take his secret to the grave, knowing how painful it would be for them. Becky says it makes her so sad to think how terrified he was to tell them because they had said so many hurtful things about the LGBTQ community over the years, believing it was a choice. Xian came out to his six siblings a few months later, and while most of his extended family responded immediately with love, some struggled with his news and created barriers that proved painful with family gatherings. With Deseret Books’ prodding, the first chapter of Becky’s book includes Xian’s story, and the last chapter details Scott’s—how he had to really push himself out of his comfort zone to try to understand his son’s orientation, and how realizing that loving his son was the most important thing and leaving the role of ultimate judge to Christ was what changed everything with their family relationship. 

Shortly after, while they were serving in a BYU student ward bishopric, Becky recalls an eye-opening moment when they had to come to terms with the fact that two of their kids had moved in with their boyfriends—one a son, and one a daughter. The boyfriends were also both from different faiths. Becky thought, “What is happening to our family? We must be horrible parents! This is not how we raised our kids.” Since, they’ve realized a different perspective. 

Becky told Scott that if they didn’t embrace their kids and their partners with open arms, then why would they ever want anything to do with them--or the church? She says, “Who would seek to know more about the gospel if the very people they know who go to church every Sunday are so judgmental and cruel?” Scott concurred. They decided to “embrace their reality” and make concerted efforts so that all their children would feel safe and welcome at home. Becky says, “We didn’t have to preach to them. They already know our beliefs and values. The greatest gift we can give them is our love.” 

Now, Becky says she is so glad her daughter married that boyfriend—they are now expecting their fourth child. Xian eventually split up with that first boyfriend, who the Mackintoshes came to love, making it a hard break-up. But after watching his six older siblings get married, it was finally Xian’s turn to do something his parents had always wanted for all their kids: to marry a returned missionary. They just didn’t know it would be to someone of the same sex. Both Xian and a sister went through divorces, of which Becky says, “Divorce happens in gay and straight marriages. No path is easy, whether it’s in or out of the church. We’re all trying to do the best we can. Our job as parents is just to love and support our kids, and meet them where they are.” 

The Mackintosh clan has grown to 32, with 17 grandchildren and counting. A new baby is due in a month. Becky loves her “very diverse family—with a spectrum of different races, religions, orientations, and political views. But we are a united family of respect and love.” Becky works hard to create a space where her kids know they’re loved, and want to come home and be around her. She says, “I’m not sure what the future holds, but that’s our lived experience. At the end of the day, they’re there for each other. I couldn’t ask for more to make me feel successful as a parent.” 

After Xian came out, Becky says she dove into the scriptures and was comforted to be reminded there “are no perfect families, even in the scriptures.” She learned to focus on what she could control, which was how she responded to any given situation. And the answer she always got through prayer was to love and include. She remembers praying, “But he’s dating a boy!” and hearing in return, “Love and include.” She feels it’s this practice that helped set the tone for Xian’s wedding, a lovely ceremony all his siblings and friends attended, sincerely happy for him. She also feels this approach helped Xian feel he could rely on his family when his marriage later began to crumble. Becky feels, “If we had chosen not to go to the wedding to ‘stand for truth and righteousness and not condone,’ he might have not informed us of his later relationship problems.” 

Xian owns a home in North Salt Lake, where he manages his businesses of vending cold plunge freezers and breeding Long-haired French Bulldogs. Given his rigorous work ethic, he financed his college education independently and emerged debt-free, holding a master’s degree in social work from the University of Hawaii.  

Not all of Becky and Scott’s kids are active in the church, and she says once upon a time, she would have been “curled up crying thinking, ‘what happened to my eternal family’.” But now she says, “As I’ve laid things at the Savior’s feet, all I can’t control, that’s when peace comes to my heart. My job is just to love them where they are and trust God with the process.” The Mackintoshes try to maintain a respect for the diversity of choices in their family. Becky’s kids support her serving in the Saratoga Springs temple weekly, and she says she’s never felt pressure from them to choose between the church and her children. That being said, she believes if she were to reject her child, she would not be living the gospel which has taught her the two great commandments—to love God and love others. 

For many years, Becky and Scott have been involved at North Star, and they’ve joined Xian to be the keynote speakers at Affirmation. In 2020, when Scott and Becky were the keynote speakers at North Star, they were surprised to learn it had been arranged that Xian would be the one to introduce them—a touching moment, especially as Xian was married to his husband at the time and still invited in by the more church policy-adherent group. They felt the love of their son in his introductory words.  

The Mackintoshes, most of whom still live in Utah, gather for family dinner the third Sunday of every month. Xian always joins and doesn’t hesitate when asked to give the prayer. It meant a lot to him when one of his nephews also asked him to pray at his LDS baptism. Xian has given his parents his blessing in sharing their side of the story as he believes it will help a lot of families experiencing similar things. He is also willing to share his, which he will soon do in this same forum. Xian also challenges his parents to look at all sides of the issue. When he first came out, he implored his mom to read Carol Lynn Pearson’s, No More Goodbyes, which she was reluctant to finish because the book opened with anecdotes of LDS families kicking out their children after they came out, which she couldn’t fathom, then followed with tales of entire families leaving the church, feeling they had to choose between their child and their church. She knew neither was an option for her, and she never felt she was being asked to choose a side. With Xian’s encouragement to finish the book, she did and that is when Becky felt the confirmation to come out of her own proverbial closet and openly share her story as an LDS mother openly embracing her son and her religious faith. This was two years after Xian’s initial coming out.

With their new desire to openly share their story, Becky’s film school graduate daughter shot a video in which Becky and Xian shared their story and Becky encouraged viewers to invest in kindness. Having served in ward and stake leadership roles for decades, Becky wasn’t sure how leadership would react, so she made an appointment with her bishop and stake president to let them view the video and read the blog post that was about to go live. They responded she was brave and they appreciated her intent. There were hundreds of shares and comments when the video got posted on social media, and Becky was overwhelmed by how many recently returned missionaries related to what Xian had been experiencing and had also felt so alone. Feeling driven to do more, the Mackintoshes have since hosted parent support groups and a bimonthly LGBTQ FHE night for the past nine years, and tried to create safe spaces whenever and wherever nudged.  

As for being a public figure in this space, Becky doesn’t want anyone to think the emotions expressed in their six-minute video of going from “My son is gay!” to “One big happy family” are in real time, for it took time. But her book was written “to relate to parents who are really struggling to embrace both their child and the gospel.” Becky owns up to their wedges, and the positives. “It’s been a diversity of feelings, and not an easy journey, but one I am so grateful for. I’ve learned to lean in to love, show empathy and respect, and look for ways to strengthen our relationship. I couldn’t do it without the guidance of God and our Savior.” She continues, “I’m so grateful for this journey. I can’t imagine my life without all the beautiful people I’ve met along the way. I’m so glad God sent me a son who’s gay (and six other perfectly imperfect children) – it’s completely opened my perspective.” 

LUPE BARTHOLOMEW

Lupe Bartholomew and her son David Archuleta

“If I have to live without you 

I don’t want to live forever 

In someone else's heaven 

So let 'em close the gates” 

They are lines many parents in this space understand. For Lupe Bartholomew, they are the lyrics she inspired in her son David Archuleta’s new single, “Hell Together.” Once Lupe realized the depth of pain her son was experiencing at the crux of his faith transition, she made it clear she would navigate this road with him in words that resonate with many listeners:

“If they don't like the way you're made 

Then they're not any better 

If paradise is pressure 

Oh, we'll go to Hell together”

However, this was not the initial response Lupe offered when David first came out as queer. Having had little known interaction with the LGBTQ+ community until the moment her son shared his news with her on a phone call at age 29, (after three failed engagements with women and years of trying to make the LDS church’s teachings work), Lupe admits it took her time to get to a place of understanding and affirmation. She is now intentional about sharing her side of the story of her recent decision to step away from the church in solidarity of her son and her newfound understanding, so that she might sit with others. In this space, she recognizes many might echo the lyric, “I'm afraid of letting go of the version of me that I used to know.”

That version grew up in Honduras, the youngest of four daughters born to loving parents who worked hard to provide a happy home amidst widespread poverty. Lupe and her sisters loved to sing. After some missionaries introduced their mom to the LDS faith and they were baptized, the Mayorga girls would often don matching dresses and sing at new members’ baptisms and other services, taking their show on the road. At a young age, Lupe was also an accomplished basketball player and champion free throw shooter on Honduras’ national team. When she was 15, her father’s job allowed the family to move to Miami, where the girls continued their missionary efforts, singing at baptisms and church events.

While in Florida, Lupe met a man from church. At the time, she didn’t attend much as she was working long shifts as a caregiver to help her family pay the bills. But as she became more involved with the young man, she also increased her involvement with the church. The two eventually took a bus to Salt Lake City to get married in the temple, then right back to Florida, where four of their five kids were born. There was a sixth child, but Lupe’s third pregnancy resulted in a full-term stillbirth, which devastated her. But with two young toddlers at home, she had no choice but to keep living, not wanting them to “see me crying in my bedroom all the time.” 

The Archuletas traded the sun for the snow when Lupe’s then husband felt Utah would be a better place to raise the kids, surrounded by the influence of the church. They moved west to Bountiful and then Murray, UT, where they could walk to church instead of driving 30 minutes as they had in Florida. Lupe says they loved being surrounded by temples and the church culture. Having always wanted eight kids, Lupe especially loved the supportive environment for men to work and women to stay home with the children. When they were little, Lupe loved homeschooling and taught all of their kids to read by age four. As the children also inherited their mother’s pipes, music filled their home as she taught them to sing. Lupe admits she didn’t love to cook or bake, so instead they would treat their neighbors with Christmas carols at the holidays, and often go sing to residents of senior living facilities. 

David was just 16 when he appeared on American Idol. Though he had won Star Search at age 12, this newfound fame was “exciting, but so unexpected.” Lupe continues, “I had trained my kids to sing for fun, not to be famous… And David had always been so shy.” While the fame was “cool” at first, it quickly became overwhelming for Lupe as it affected the family’s privacy with people taking pictures of their house, randomly knocking on their door, and leaving presents. When people at church would ask, “How’s your son?” Lupe would think, “Which one? I have two?” She recalls, “The rest of us kind of became invisible.” 

Once American Idol launched David’s career, Lupe says he never really came home full-time after that, nor experienced the childhood many other teens get to. His father handled most of the travel with David, while Lupe stayed home with their other kids. And the rest of the world watched as David took bold actions that affirmed his faith—he served a mission in South America. After he returned, Lupe says, “I saw David praying the gay away—he was so righteous. I thought he’d be a general authority or something, he was so obedient and dedicated. He’d stay in a white shirt and tie on Sundays, listening to conference talks. And he was put on a pedestal by the church, like a posterchild.”

Lupe and her first husband divorced, yet she remained devoted to visiting the temple every week for guidance. It was there while praying that God would send someone who understood her needs that a name clearly entered her mind: “Dave.” The next day, she felt a strong presence of love in her living room so overwhelming she started crying. She now wonders if that might have been a spiritual force nudging the union. Although they’d only been out a few times, Dave Bartholomew turned out to be the man she would marry, and later get sealed to in the Salt Lake City temple. With their blended family, they now enjoy time with nine children and 18 grandkids whom Lupe cherishes, saying, “The love I feel for them is so strong it hurts sometimes.” Lupe and Dave have been happily married for ten years, and she now sees how he’s the perfect person for her in all the ways as they have navigated this road together. She has watched some friends’ husbands leave them after calling them “apostates” when they underwent faith transitions, and she appreciates how Dave has stuck by her side.

When Lupe’s son David first called to tell her he was gay, she expressed how his family will always love him and be there for him. But as Lupe had recently increased her own activity in the church after being disappointed several of her family members had pulled away, she was in a place of determination to be the strong one, the example, the one to “gather my eternal family.” When her daughters stopped attending, she appreciates how they supported her still going but scoffed when one day her daughter said, “Have fun” as Lupe made her way out the door to church. Lupe thought, “I’m not going there to have fun! I’m going there to work and save others!” Resolved to keeping one foot in the door with the church and the other with her family, Lupe reasoned she could still love her child no matter what while also believing all the teachings of her faith. This resulted in several challenging conversations with her son as she tried to convince him to backpedal his announcement. She says, “I was struggling with it because in my mind, we needed to obey the prophet, and what the prophet says, goes. And I reminded him how the youth of the church look up to him and how was that going to work?... I worried all these kids would lose their testimonies, and was concerned for the youth if David stepped away and came out as gay.” 

Lupe says she encouraged him to try to work through things and figure out how to keep up with the thousands of people he’d been an example to. She recalls how when visiting home, he’d join her for church at her request, but eventually he expressed it was too painful to keep trying to show up. Around this time, Lupe started to notice things—how when she looked around her ward congregation, she did not see LGBTQ+ people in the crowd. While she had never been interested in delving into church history before, she learned some information that troubled her. While she had been planning to become a temple worker, she started to wonder how honestly she could answer some of the questions anymore as she deconstructed her faith.

And then David’s article in People magazine came out, which opened Lupe’s eyes to realize just how much her son was struggling “having been hurt so much, trying to take his life away, feeling it better to be dead than not be a good example or sinner.” The article that came out on November 1, 2022 shook Lupe, and on November 5 she wrote her bishop after having agreed to say prayers in sacrament meeting along with her husband, but now realizing she couldn’t do it emotionally (although she had always loved praying). She expressed:

“I’m writing this email with tears in my eyes because it hurts so much to make this decision… After careful thought, ponder and praying, we have decided that we’re going to step away from this lovely church and take a break. My family and I have worked so hard on callings, three of our kids served honorable missions and gave everything they had to preach the gospel to others. The reason why we need to take a moment away is because our wounded hearts need some time to heal from knowing not everyone is welcome in this church.”

Lupe’s letter continued to mention how church leadership at the highest level had made some off-putting comments to David that he found dismissive. She also included an excerpt from his interview with People magazine: "For my own mental health, I can't keep putting myself in a place where it's so conflicting where they say, ‘We love you so much, but at the same time, you must change who you are. Oh, you can't? Then we are going to ignore this problem’."

Lupe told her bishop, “It’s hard for us to believe that a loving Heavenly Father doesn’t welcome my son and others like him in this church if it feels to us they don’t fit the profile God's gospel needs to fit: rich and poor, white skin, dark skin, gays, lesbians, all need to be welcome. There are many of them who are beautiful and talented in the eyes of God, but they are not ‘worthy’ like we are.” Lupe then shared the parable in Matthew of the 99 sheep and how Christ always ministered to the one who “went astray.” The Bartholomew’s bishop replied respectfully, letting Lupe and Dave know they were needed and would be missed, but he respected their choice.

Since, Lupe has said her South Jordan, UT community still smiles and waves, yet respects their space and does not pressure them to attend church. Lupe loves teaching voice lessons at the Lupe Bartholomew Vocal Studio, spending time with her husband, and full time grand-motherhood. She tried to attend another church in Draper, but found they had similar views on LGBTQ and concluded, “If everyone is going to be talking about how LGBTQ don’t belong in the church, I don’t want religion in my life. I just want to love my family and move on.” In her deconstruction, she has learned how the Bible was mistranslated in some parts to conflate homosexuality with child abusers and says, “The poor LGBTQ community has been criticized for a misunderstanding. Now that I know LGBTQ people are the most wonderful, caring, fragile, loving and beautiful people, it breaks my heart. David hasn’t changed, he’s always been the same sweet spirit I raised. I know there’s a God and these kids are going to keep coming, like it or not. I now have talks with my nine-year-old grandchild about how these people need to be loved, not bullied. As parents, we need to train our next generation to be more loving.”

Lupe was touched when she received a box of supportive letters from the Mama Dragons after David came out. Together, they went through them and were moved by the outpouring of love. Lupe has enjoyed finding a new community of like-minded mothers who love their kids and prioritize their mental health above all else. Having been on both sides, she says she now sees and understands a variety of perspectives: the faithful side and the ex-Mormon community who often get criticized or called lazy learners or apostates. But Lupe says, “If you’ve never gone through a faith transition, you never know how hard it is. It’s not like you wake up one day and think ok, I want a different life! I’m still the same person. I used to be critical; now I’m not. I read stories of people not talking to their family because they left church. We don’t do that; we still need to be a family, united.”

Of inspiring David’s new song, “Hell Together,” Lupe recalls how David once told her, “When I sang the hymns for the church and did all the things for the church, I meant it.” She says, “I knew my child was not below me because I was staying in a church, so sarcastically, I said, ‘David if you’re going to hell, we’re all going with you.’ I can’t picture my kids in a lower place than me. How can I be higher than them? So I said, ‘We’re walking out with grace.’ That song made me cry when I heard it. He couldn’t have written a more perfect song to describe it. There’s no way I’ll be in a higher glory than my child. He did nothing wrong but shared that he was gay and wants to live an honest life. And he’s ready to move on, and now everyone knows.” 

THE WRIGHT FAMILY

For the Wright family of St. George, Utah, last year was a magical time of dancing and dining amidst twinkling lights with two family weddings.  On September 8, Jancee and Jeff Wright’s oldest daughter, Tylee, married her favorite cowboy, Nate, under the stars on a friend’s ranch in Arizona with a backdrop of vermillion mountains. Nate wore his cowboy hat, there was lots of line dancing and a couple’s first dance to Chris Ledoux’s “Look at You, Girl,” and loads of laughter when, after Tylee’s grandfather pronounced them husband and wife and Nate leaned in for a kiss, he tripped on Tylee’s veil and “it looked like Nate was riding a bull,” laughs Jancee, as the couple fell down together, Nate’s hat dramatically landing in Jeff’s lap in the front row. The candy bar the couple requested at the reception was emblematic of “their sweet hearts and light-hearted personalities,“ says Jancee, who still glows when talking about it. 

A few months later, on December 30, many of the same partygoers donned black tie and traveled to Sandy, UT for the nuptials of the Wright’s oldest son, Jayden, to his fiancé, Connor, at Le Jardin greenhouse. The lush green plants alit in white lights, Connor’s dad married the couple in a “classy, beautiful and perfect” ceremony, before a crowd of 500 joined in at the reception to toast the couple with bottles of Martinelli’s placed on the tables.  Guests also enjoyed snacking on the grooms’ favorites: Chic-fil-a nuggets, cinnamon rolls, chips, and a soda and lemonade bar. The youngest of five kids who are all married with kids of their own, Connor’s locally-based family also turned up in masses, and the room was full of well-dressed partygoers offering their exuberant love and support. Jayden’s newlywed sister, Tylee, produced their wedding video, and Jayden and Connor’s wedding photos were taken in the mountains, their dark, dapper suits a contrast to the white fallen snow. 

“There was so much love at both weddings.  And I felt the Savior smack dab in the middle of it all,“ says Jancee of her kids’ unions. (cont’d in comments)

She planned and partied and posted about each wedding the exact same way, and loved how “there were the exact same feelings of joy and support and each event.”  She was especially touched by the turnout to Jayden’s event by their lifelong friends, relatives, and church leaders--including bishops, stake presidents and a temple president. It was important to the families that all could attend and witness the legal pronouncement and exchange of rings and vows at each event, so the families elected for civil ceremonies, and Nate and Tylee chose to get sealed in the temple the day after their civil ceremony. While Jayden and Connor are both returned missionaries who still attend church in an LDS ward that largely supports them, this is not an option provided to them. 

Jayden and Connor met on a dating app and talked for four months before meeting face-to face.  After so many weeks of FaceTime after work, by the time they said hello in person, they hit it off immediately. Jancee says, “I feel like they’re the same person; they're so compatible in their goals and beliefs. I love Connor so much, it makes me tear up. He’s such a good guy.”  As the youngest in his family, Connor came out to his older sister-in-law first, knowing as a practicing therapist she’d likely be supportive. She was, and encouraged him to come out to his parents and siblings who were all active in the LDS church, with his father having served as a bishop.  Connor was a 14-year-old ninth grader at the time and Jancee credits his family’s support and his own inherent sense of worth as lending to Connor’s sense of confidence at such a young age. “He knows he’s a son of God, he loves himself, and I love this because it doesn't matter what anyone else says or thinks--he knows who he is.” 

Connor is now working to get his master’s to become an MFT, so he can help clients who are members of the LDS faith also navigate coming out. Currently, he works with CPS in Ogden, helping with difficult situations of emergency child and foster placement.

After graduating from Southern Utah University with his bachelor's degree, Jayden took a job working in administration for a national surgical company in Ogden, to be closer to Connor.  Together, the two love to travel, and have the budding photo wall to prove it. They got engaged in New York City, where they proposed to each other, and just returned from a trip to Fiji with Connor’s family in November. “Connor is very adventurous, which has been exactly what Jayden loves,” says Jancee. “They have many great adventures planned.” 

The revelation of Jayden’s orientation leaked back in high school, in an interchange Jancee now regrets, due to her initial reaction. Jayden was a multi-talented high school senior at the time- a triple threat with his acting, singing, and skills on the piano. He was a lead character in the school production of Aida, and happened to be the only child home one night with his mom when Jancee received a text in a thread that she was mistakenly included in. One of Jayden’s friends texted, “I’m gay.” Jayden responded, “I think I’m gay, too.” Jancee’s stomach dropped reading the words. In shock, she charged toward Jayden’s room, shaking, and showed him the message. “You are not gay, this is crazy! Why are you guys saying this?” she exclaimed, allowing fear to drive her emotions. They both started sobbing. Jancee recalls Jayden was vague and he followed her lead, denying his truth. He agreed to talk to his bishop about it, (even though he had not acted on it or done anything considered wrong), Jancee confirmed that was a good idea, and never brought it up again, even to her husband.  

Shortly after, Jayden attended a year of college, then left for a two-year mission to Milan, Italy.  He loved this experience and served honorably and returned ready for the next stage of life.  A month after his mission homecoming, he came to his mom seeking guidance and had her connect him with a life coach from her professional peer group (Jancee is an organizational life coach expert).

Contrary to Jayden’s expectations that serving a mission would “make this go away,” the coach encouraged Jayden to acknowledge what he’d been hiding and fighting--it was perhaps time for him to accept it in order to progress. 

Soon after, Jayden called his parents and asked if they could have the house to themselves one night because he needed to tell them something important. Jancee says the spirit told her,  “He’s going to tell you he is gay.” She called Jeff, a physician assistant, at work and shared this prompting and asked him to prepare for the moment. Jeff agreed and comforted Jancee, who was in shock. But this time, as she approached her prayer bench in her closet, she also felt a calm peace--a much different emotion than she had the night of the misdirected text many years ago. Honoring Jayden’s wishes, Jancee canceled a house guest they’d agreed to host and made sure Jayden’s two sisters and brother wouldn’t be home--unaware Jayden had already told all of them his news.  

Jayden arrived and came into his parents’ room. He had prepared for this, and first wanted to share a song with them, Matthew West’s “ Truth Be Told.” Then he fell apart crying.  He couldn’t say it. Jancee approached her then 22-year-old son, buckled over on the ground, and put her arm around him and said, “Jayden, I know what you’re going to say and it’s okay to say it.” Jayden whispered back, “I’m gay.” Jeff also met their son on the ground in an emotional embrace. Jancee recalls, “The spirit was so strong. It was a really beautiful moment and all we felt was love. Such a different feeling from that first time which was based completely off of fear.” 

Any perceived notions she’d ever had of orientation being a choice or something one could change were gone. Jancee says, “I trusted him. I believed him. And I changed in the blink of an eye.” Jeff also supported his son, though it was a growth journey for all. Both parents were broken-hearted when Jayden told them that he had worried when he was younger, they would kick him out if he told them about this part of him–something they could never imagine doing.

During the first year after finding out, Jancee also sought support of her own. While scrolling through a list of 300 potential life coaches, she landed on the name “Jenie Hunter,” not knowing Jenie’s own son was gay and that she was involved in Lift & Love. Jancee credits such moments as miracles: “God knew I needed Jenie. God loves Jayden, me, Connor and our families. God is just good, and has been present every step of the way.” 

People now frequently ask Jancee how she can stay in the church and support her gay son, to which she replies, “I’ve come to a place where I just recognize the Savior in this whole journey; I’ve written down countless miracles that have happened. The Savior is not behind me, or in front of me, but smack in the middle with me. I’ve seen Him everywhere. As I’ve held onto that and let Him guide me and felt His spirit in this, I want to create a safe space for others coming behind me.” Jancee now gets a call from a worried mom almost weekly, especially since Jayden has gotten married, and she loves providing that safe, comforting place.  She wears a rainbow ring and makes herself available to leaders seeking to understand their journey.  She says, “I know church doesn’t work for everyone; there is so much hurt and pain and you have to choose what serves you best. If you stay or leave we all have our own journey. For me, I choose to stay, but I also know I have a great responsibility to be a voice and a safe place for those coming behind me. I have been able to come to this place only through my Savior, Jesus Christ.” 

When Jayden and Connor even more frequently get asked why they still attend sacrament meetings in an Ogden ward where they’ve now bought a home, they say, “It’s because of the Savior. That’s why we attend each week.” Jancee says, “It’s hard, but that’s been their journey.” When people ask Jancee if her two married children’s unions look or feel any different, Jancee replies, “I’ve loved my kids' spouses long before I knew who they were.

I decided a long time ago that it didn’t matter who they were, I already loved who they would choose.  I trust my kids--this has been a beautiful gift and blessing in my life to decide this long before it happened.” 

Jancee’s scriptural lifeline has been Proverbs 3:5-6, and she recalls many years being on her knees in her closet asking how to navigate her family path with the church, and reflecting on the words: “Trust in the Lord and lean not unto thine own understanding.” Jancee says, “There’s a reason God keeps making children come to earth who are gay. I don’t know why, but God does-- I just get to trust Him. It’s just who they are, and my only job is to Love BIG!”

THE COONS FAMILY

Achievement and distraction. These were the coping techniques that have proved both useful and life-saving for Dr. Kristine Coons, who has struggled with gender dysphoria for as long as she can remember. Now happily married to her wife of 20 years, and working as an internal medicine physician at a hospital among supportive coworkers, Kristine has found her stride.

Growing up in western Washington in the ‘80s as a middle child of five was especially complicated for Kristine. An older brother had contracted HIV from a bad blood transfusion, and as it was the height of the AIDS crisis, Kristine’s parents frequently moved jobs and homes to get their son the care he needed while trying to give all their kids enough fresh starts in new schools that they could overcome the stigma of being “the family of the kid with AIDS.” Kristine, who with Laura is now a parent of four kids ages 18 to 8 (Ben, Rachel Lizzy and Alex), marvels at all her parents endured. 

As a young child, Kristine sensed her parents didn’t need one more thing to worry about, so she tried to lay low and battle her gender dysphoria alone. But every day, she experienced an intense quandary of wondering why she felt like she was a girl in a boy’s body. She says it felt “like a pressure cooker in which you’d stuff your emotions, lock them in place, and watch as the steam built to the point you felt like exploding.” Not wanting to cause trouble, she worked really hard in school while also striving to minimize the static coursing through the headphones of negative self-talk she endured. Sometimes the static is louder than others, sometimes softer, but Kristine says, “Never being able to take off those headphones with the constant noise drains you. It’s absolutely exhausting.”

Kristine’s hard work in school paid off, and she went on to a semester at BYU Provo where she met her future wife, Laura, before leaving for her mission to Phoenix, Arizona. While serving, she and Laura faithfully wrote to each other; the two married shortly after Kristine returned. Of their marriage, Kristine says, “Laura’s amazing, we are head over heels for each other. I love my wife.” As a newlywed, Kristine quietly negotiated her dysphoria, rationalizing something might fix it or make it go away—she trued prayer, fasting and study. She even attempted herbal remedies she’d heard might dampen the emotions, but found no fix. Alas, she threw herself into what she knew best—hard work.

While Laura and Kristine started having children, Kristine graduated in food science with minors in chemistry and business. She then entered medical school. Though she promised Laura they would not return to Phoenix after her mission because of the heat, the Coons moved back so Kristine could attend the Arizona College of Osteopathic Medicine. They eventually moved to Ohio for her to continue her training and residency. There, Kristine balanced working 24-hour shifts, moonlighting on her one night off at an urgent care, serving as chief resident which required scheduling duties and teaching interns, and helping rewrite training manuals once it was decided the osteopathic and medical world would merge. Kristine now calls this harried time “a perfect distraction from myself.” On their rare down time vacation, the Coons would take road trips during which Kristine would insist on driving so she could keep her mind focused on the road and elaborate math problems or mind games she’d play so her brain stayed busy—distracted away from the gender dysphoria.

As Kristine’s graduation day approached, it hit her that all the distractions she created were about to disappear. With a pending fresh schedule and new start, Kristine would have to face all she’d been battling and it scared her. In March 2014, standing alone in her kitchen, Kristine recalls an overwhelming spiritual impression wash over her. She felt the words, “Have you ever considered accepting this as part of yourself?” No, she hadn’t. Instead, Kristine says she’d spent years trying to pray, fast, wish, read, and study her gender dysphoria away, hoping it would just disappear. While the idea of acceptance had seemed foreign thus far, suddenly it felt right, even intentional. At that moment, Kristine had the strong impression to go confide in Laura—right then.

This was terrifying, as the few times her parents had found her cross-dressing as a child had been very bad experiences, as had reading what happened to relationships with a transgender spouse. Laura found Kristine on their couch, shaking and trembling as Kristine admitted she couldn’t keep up the secret any further. She had to tell someone—for the first time ever, at age 32. Laura listened patiently as Kristine shared two very important truths: 1) that she wanted to follow God as much as possible, and 2) she didn’t want to do anything to hurt the family. Those confessions opened up communication lines between the couple, as they both aligned with wanting to keep their family together, continuing their relationship, and working together to figure out what were the right next steps.

Kristine did not transition right away. Instead, this was a time of the self-reflection of navigating a difficult course. How does one manage gender dysphoria, maintain a marriage relationship, follow guidelines arranged by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and interact with a world and community? For Kristine, abruptly transitioning felt drastic and even overwhelming, but she knew it was important to work it out. The course of understanding herself and her family relationships required a significant amount of thought, prayer, and communication with Laura about what felt right and what didn’t. As the Coons moved to Spokane, WA for Dr. Coons to start her first official job in the fall of 2014, she began hormone therapy. She fondly remembers Laura saying it felt like Kristine had finally come alive, suddenly more present and engaging with their children and family life. Kristine concurs that this awakening allowed her to feel more authentic and able to bond with those in their family. In the midst of these transitional years, Laura was thoughtful, loving, kind and patient. However, Kristine’s transition still had its difficult moments for the relationship. In the end, they found working together and with God helped them most in navigating uncharted waters. 

Starting hormone therapy has its physical side effects. As Kristine wasn’t trying to work toward transition or reveal herself to the world yet, it became necessary to hide the effects of hormone therapy under a daily uniform of baggy scrubs at work. There were occasional glances from co-workers Kristine noticed which made her wonder, “Do they know?” One observant nurse suggested maybe she should get her hormones checked, while another patted her on the back in a way she could sense the nurse was checking for a bra strap. Kristine laughs, “Yep, she found it.” Over time it became harder and harder to hide the effects of hormone therapy. 

After coming out to Laura, Kristine and Laura slowly expanded the circle of who she told. Laura needed someone to confide in and share her feelings and Kristine needed to work to overcome her fear. Sensing they would be the most accepting, Kristine opened up to Laura’s family first, and they proved supportive. She mustered the courage to eventually tell her parents via an email and was grateful to have her parents accept her. After receiving the email, her dad called immediately and stated, “First thing, we love you.” Eventually, Kristine, with the support of Laura by her side, explained her gender dysphoria to the bishop and stake president. During these initial encounters with church leaders, Kristine stated she was trying to do her best to balance her reality with the recommendations from church policy (which currently prevent transitioned individuals from holding the priesthood and entering the temple). Unfortunately, that attempt at balancing turned into a “massive list of do’s and do not’s.” The constant worry of potentially doing something wrong intensified and depression led Kristine to a dark place. “I felt trapped. I felt stuck between a rock and a hard place with the pressure of maintaining policy and trying to be myself.” The pressure and depression became so intense she considered taking her life. She recalls, “The thought came, ‘There is a way out, why don’t you take it?,’ which scared me as for so many years I’d prided myself on never getting to that point.” But the feeling became palpable one day while dressing for work. In her closet, Kristine found medication from a past surgery and thought, “All I had to do was take those pain meds and it would all go away.” She lay there looking at the medications, thoughts racing. One of the things that helped her finally get up was her patients in need at that very moment.

As Kristine worked through her morning shift, the floods of thoughts of all the other people who would be affected entered her mind--her wife, her family. She realized something needed to change. She went out to her car, “cried a lot,” and tearfully called the suicide hotline. She says it was a very encouraging call that led her to go home and talk with Laura about what had happened and figure out how to make this work.  Kristine continued to get help from her doctor, and her mental health improved. Both Kristine and Laura knew some things needed to change. Through continued work together and through prayer, there were intense spiritual experiences that offered Kristine assurance. “I sensed He knows me, sees me, and that my task was to continue to try as hard as I could to negotiate this pathway; and that through the spirit, it could work.” In 2022, with the help of Laura and spiritual guidance, Kristine decided to transition. The morning after she made this decision, Kristine woke up feeling a “huge weight off my shoulders.” The mental clarity allowed her to think and feel; gone were the suppressed emotions of anger, happiness, and sadness. Kristine says, “To start feeling those emotions and have them mean something was incredible.” Kristine stated she knew the struggle would continue, but this was her first glimpse at feeling real. 

Kristine began the process of changing her name and markers, and lauds her medical community of bosses, coworkers, and patients who have in all but one or two cases been extremely kind and supportive. When she walks into a hospital room, she says, “Most patients don’t even bat an eye.” Using her medical experience, Kristine became curious about her own genetics and obtained a whole genome sequencing study. Using prior abnormal hormone levels before transition along with journal articles linking abnormal congenital bone growths, leading to eight hip surgeries, Kristine was able to link a diagnosis of congenital hypogonadotropic hypogonadism to her gender dysphoria, with the help of her primary care doctor. The results fascinated Kristine and she delved into an intense study of our genetics and human development. This work demonstrated gender dysphoria and even intersex conditions don’t always derive from one gene. Often, it’s multiple genes working in concert in a massive orchestration of hundreds of genes that lead to a clinical effect.

As Kristine has expanded her research, she started joining online forums where people discuss gender dysphoria, transgender concerns, and intersex conditions. She has even helped others study and decipher their own genetic testing. At the forefront of her mind, Kristine teaches that the problem is not that a child is born intersex or with gender dysphoria, but how do we care for that child so they can grow and be respected and loved in a way that’s meaningful? Kristine now regularly gives presentations to medical students, residents, medical schools and conferences. She shares her own story with colleagues and church members, educating others about our incredible genetic makeup and development that leads to an amazing human diversity to be loved and respected. 

Because Kristine works every other Sunday, she tries to be as active in her ward as possible, where she is called “Sister Coons” (as is Laura). Kristine serves as ward organist. She says, “My prior spiritual experiences have helped me navigate muddy waters, and they are muddy. I find some policies hurtful, but I also know I need to keep going. My faith has grown as I see so many who have been wonderful, kind and thoughtful. I am grateful for my stake president who has said he’s seen a huge change in our stake just from me being present. The vast majority are open and curious in a good way.” 

The Coons family lives near many relatives who they enjoy spending summers with, boating on the lake or skiing during the winter. Kristine says, “My kids like to brag they have two moms. Laura goes by ‘mom,’ I go by ‘madre.’ My kids are amazing. They stand up for me. I stand up for them. We have a great family.” All four of the Coons’ children are on the autism spectrum and Kristine says, “Their spirituality differs from what you’d expect from many other people. They believe in God and know their Savior… whether they keep going or not, I think they’ll navigate that while having a relationship with Christ.” Kristine has become involved with the political scene in states like Florida and Utah among others, contributing her medical research and opinions to policymakers. Because of laws in certain states, Kristine has been hesitant and even fearful of traveling to other states where things are not favorable for the transgender community. But she asks, “How do you negotiate or interact with a group of people who are fighting against you? The perspective I’ve found to be the most successful is to just do the next right thing. One step at a time. A lot of work, a lot of change – one step at a time, along the way – will have positive outcomes. I have to be hopeful with this, look for next right thing, and stand up for what’s right.”

“My work and efforts aren’t finished. I’ve been Kristine Coons now for two years, and I feel and love myself. I love me, I love seeing me, and even more importantly, I love helping others to see themselves.” At work, Dr. Coons has observed that “for some reason,” she is often assigned the transgender patients. “I wonder why,” she laughs. “But every time I interact with these wonderful humans and see what they go through and have to fight for, the more I want to share and work to make sure we have a voice and can stand up for those who don’t.”

JOHANNE PERRY

At age 18, Johanne Perry showed up to Provo as a brand-new convert to the LDS faith, convinced she’d never marry a Utah boy. Born in Montreal, Canada and raised in Monrovia, California, the BYU dating scene was new to Johanne. She remembers looking across the sea of shiny-faced students in her Young Ambassadors performance class as Steve Perry, fresh off his mission, caught her eye when he was the one asked to give the closing prayer. She wondered, “What if I married him?” Seven years later, that’s what happened; and the couple (who has resided in Utah ever since) will celebrate their 36th wedding anniversary this May. 

Growing up in the 70’s, Johanne says, “I never knew ‘homosexual’ was a thing… the same way I didn’t know what bulimia and anorexia were. People just didn’t talk about it.” Looking back, Johanne says that as a musical theater major, several of her best friends and the young men she had crushes on later came out as gay—including her own husband. “I couldn’t have cared less about sports and big muscles—all I wanted was someone with a good sense of humor who could sing.” That defined Steve.

As they toured together with the Young Ambassadors and other musical performance groups, their friendship grew. After two and a half years, Johanne invited Steve over for dinner and proclaimed her love for him. He said, “Uhhh, we’re just friends.” Johanne resigned herself to the friend zone, but several months later, they tried dating. When they first kissed, she remembers Steve saying, “It’s like kissing my sister.” Johanne says, “Of course I was devastated, but we remained friends.” Johanne moved on to dating someone else, but after a few more months, Steve called to tell her he’d been up all night thinking and he knew he was in love with her. When she told him about her current boyfriend, Steve promised Johanne they didn’t even need to date, they could just get married. After all, they’d spent all those years traveling together, laughing, performing, and Johanne laughs that Steve already knew what she looked like backstage, “in curlers, sweating like a pig.” A week later, Johanne was engaged to the man who has proven the love of her life.

“Everything about Steve attracted me, but the first thing was his sense of humor. He just exudes goodness. You know he’s a good, kind person all the way to the core. And he’s intelligent – my mom always said the person you marry has to be able to talk about anything, and that’s Steve.” Johanne and Steve have raised four kids together and enjoyed decades sharing their love for music in various formats and professions. In their spare time, they love cuddling on the couch while watching YouTube episodes of the UK show, “Escape to the Country,” and dreaming about places they’d love to travel. They recognize their love story is unique.

“I found out about Steve being attracted to men during our first year of marriage,” says Johanne. “Back then, we didn’t know anything about orientation at all. We–like everyone– thought you could pray away the gay as long as you were righteous enough. I knew he loved me enough. And after years and years, it never did go away. But we never really talked about it.” Busy with their kids and careers, Johanne said it likely never really came up, because he gave no indication he was gay. “He was still attracted to me, we had a great life, great friends; I was totally head over heels in love.”

It terrified Johanne when Steve later shared that he wanted to come out publicly. With his public profile and their professions, she wondered if their whole lives would be destroyed. She also worried about personal safety. While Johanne recognized it was essential for his mental health to do so, each time Steve told her he’d opened up to a new friend or loved one, she’d spend the following two days feeling dizzy and trying to breathe. “Looking back, I don’t know what it was that I was afraid of—them judging me or judging him. Maybe I thought people thought we’d been lying to them, but that wasn’t the case.” As a longtime theater teacher at a conservative school, Johanne also feared what her colleagues might think. She was relieved to sense her boss’ and fellow teachers’ support, and actually discovered many teachers and students identified on the LGBTQ+ spectrum and had already been meeting in their own quiet support groups. The school now has assemblies promoting inclusion of various marginalized populations, and Johanne says several students have commented how much they like the rainbow heart pin she wears to class. 

At home, Johanne was impressed by her own kids’ reactions to Steve’s orientation when she found out he had taken the liberty to share with each of them at a time when each of them had opened up to him about feeling confused or judgmental about themselves. “It was good for their relationship to know that about him—that he was a good, honorable man who had this thing in his life that wasn’t accepted.” The best thing for Johanne about Steve being more vocal is that now they can have open conversations in which he can reassure her about his love for her and their relationship. “Steve has been very humble about the whole orientation thing which has allowed us to keep a good relationship without either of us feeling defensive. He’s always worried about my needs and wants.”

There are times when Johanne has worried Steve may decide to pursue a relationship with a man, and she admits to feeling terrified every time he wants to go to an event where there will be a lot of gay men, as he is “so likeable. But then I wonder, how is that different from a straight man going to work with a bunch of cute female co-workers?” If given the chance to go back, Johanne says she would do it all over again and marry Steve, “Because it’s Steve. I don’t think ‘I’m married to a gay man.’ I’m just married to Steve. Others in our situation have to ask themselves the same question – is the fact that they’re married to a gay man overshadowing that they’re married to this person they fell in love with? I just got lucky with the guy I married. It’s hard to explain–I couldn’t possibly tell someone what to do. But my motto is always to choose love.”

If she could go back and give advice to her younger self, Johanne would say: “Don’t be afraid to ask hard questions.” She says she kept so much bottled inside for years, but “the not knowing was worse than the knowing. I was too afraid to ask because I didn’t want it to end our marriage, but now that I know it wouldn’t have done that, I wish I’d been more willing to talk about it earlier and be curious.”

After going to a support group for wives in mixed-orientation marriages a few years ago, Johanne saw how many women were still dealing with betrayal that didn’t necessarily characterize her situation, as she’d known about Steve’s attractions for such a long time. She didn’t feel a need to engage in those groups anymore. She also steers away from conversations in which she feels people’s pity. But now, the Perrys have formed a group of mixed-orientation couple friends who they’ve met through North Star and Emmaus gatherings. They regularly enjoy going out to dinner with these couples who get their inside jokes and shared language. “It’s good to just laugh,” she says.

While Steve has sent Johanne many podcasts to listen to about others in their situation, and Johanne has found Richard Ostler’s particularly helpful, she says she prefers to enjoy her dog-walking time focusing on nature and saying “good girl” to their lab-pit bull-boxer mix, Blossom. She is optimistic about her future with Steve, and hopeful the church as a whole will move forward with more loving messages from the pulpit where people make it clear that it’s not ok to kick out or minimize your LGBTQ+ children. As she’s become more fully immersed in the community in the past several years, Johanne has been introduced to “some of the most kind, compassionate people I’ve ever met—no one would choose this just to get attention. The people I have met are so humble, genuine and wonderful.”     

THE DAVIES FAMILY

Last December, Shelley Davies of Centerville, Utah rallied the arts community her family had performed with for so many years to fill the Centerpoint Legacy Theater for a special event: her son’s coming home (and coming out) tour of his first album, “Not Standard.” Matthew Davies has spent the last several years as a performer in several national Broadway tours. While studying in New York, he was encouraged by his colleague, friend, and mentor, Patrick O’Neill, to cut an album. Matthew worked hard to gather some investors, and his mom sealed the deal by launching a cinnamon roll fundraiser. With the generous aid of North Salt Lake recording studio Funk Studios, the album came to life in April of 2023. December marked the moment it was time for Matthew to come to Utah to perform in front of the community that had raised, loved, and at times, shunned him. 

Shelley sat among the packed house of 340 ticket holders, which included many of Matthew’s LGBTQ+ and New York friends, as well as choreographers and dancers he’d worked with over the years. She listened and laughed as her charming, dynamic son performed numbers that culminated as “a love letter to the LGBTQ+ community.” At times, she also cried as he described the depths of grief he’d experienced. “I can count on one hand the times (in my 70 years) I’ve felt unsafe or rejected, and this boy went through that for 20 years, every day in some form. And yet, he has broken through that cloud of grief to have so much joy in his life now. It was an eye-opening experience for me as his mother,” says Shelley.

In Matthew’s show, he touched on some of the pivotal life experiences he’s faced, including how he’d chosen to serve as a performing missionary (with a few other closeted missionaries) at Nauvoo rather than serve a traditional proselytizing mission. Matthew also touched on his experience attending BYU, where he performed alongside other closeted students. He was the Dance Captain for BYU’s Young Ambassadors program for two years. After graduating from BYU, he left for New York to pursue his dreams. This move gave him the freedom to grow into himself and ultimately led to him meeting his now fiancé, John, on the National Broadway tour of Cinderella.

When Matthew’s one-man show ended, Shelley basked in the euphoric feeling among the crowd’s standing-ovation, finding it hard to believe he’d survived as well as he did and found so much joy. She only wished more church leaders and families struggling to accept their kids had been there to witness the beauty of the event among this community. Most of all, she’d hoped more young queer kids could have been there to experience hope--including a teen in their community who had just recently taken his life, unable to bear the pressure anymore of being gay and ostracized, despite being a top student at his high school.

As the director of culture and engagement at the theater, Shelley was also asked to share her story onstage of being Matthew’s mother as the pre-show announcement for the evening. She shared one of her favorite quotes by her friend, Melinda Welch:

“I have been taught all my life to try to be like Jesus. Jesus loved and ministered to those who were not always understood or valued in society. I don’t know, but I like to imagine we were given a choice in the pre-existence to be hetero or homo or anything in between and those who do not follow the sexual majority of the straight 92% of us, are special angels sent here to earth to help ALL of us examine our own prejudices and more out of our ego drive tendencies into Christlike ones. The LBGTQ were willing to have a more difficult earthly path in an effort to guide us all into a more loving space. Why do some of us continue to add hurt to this path?”

Shelley also shared a recent conversation she’d had with Matt where she sat him down on the happy, yellow couch in their home, put her hands on his shoulders, and said, “I could not be more grateful for you. You have blessed my life and taught me about God’s love in ways only you could. I’m grateful for the ways you’ve enlarged my heart.” Shelley then added, “I want all of you in the audience to know this love exists for you in this world. I used to pray Matt would be healed. I didn’t know I was the one who needed to be healed. I’m not all the way healed, but because of Matthew, I see all the colors of the rainbow, and my heart has been enlightened and opened. Matt came exactly the way he was supposed to come. I want you all to know there is always a place at my table for any who want to come and sit there.”

Since his birth, Shelley felt the magnitude of Matt’s influence to come. The last of her seven children to be born, Matt’s delivery ended up in an emergency situation after which he scored a 1 out of 10 on the Apgar scale. When Shelley cried out on the delivery table, “Father, please let this baby live,” Hannah’s petition “For this child I have prayed” from the Bible came to her mind. Luckily, both mother and child survived, and Shelley says, “Having Matthew as part of my journey has been such a blessing since. He was supposed to come the way he was. Part of MY journey in this life is to love him, as he is, and be an ally and advocate for the LGBTQ community.” She also emphasized that everyone should be granted grace as they navigate understanding and hopefully eventually embracing not only those of the LGBTQ community, but all of God’s children. “Everyone’s journey is different and we need to allow them that grace. Hopefully, this evening will be a bridge between our communities.”

Matthew was the “happiest little boy,” a regular, giggling fixture on his 17-year-old sister’s hip who would take him all over high school. Family friends loved his white-blonde hair, big dimples, and big blue eyes and would come by their house just to play with him. He was also a born performer. Shelley remembers 5-year-old Matthew sliding down their long banister covered in ribbons and bows. When she asked what he was doing, Matthew replied, “I’m your best present, Mommy!” His theater-loving sisters had a blast teaching him to perform the lyric, “Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee” from Grease, and the acting bug stuck. Shelley and her late husband Bill (a former baseball player) signed Matthew up for sports but noticed he was more interested in the dandelions than the soccer ball on the field. He was drawn to theater, where he “stole everyone’s hearts” as Tiny Tim in A Christmas Carol and Jojo in Seussical. When thoughts would emerge that Matthew might be gay, Shelley said she would push them away, thinking, “That couldn’t be us.” Their family had been energetically intentional in immersing their family in the gospel. 

When he was 12, Matthew came running home from a birthday party in tears and said, “Mom, why am I like this? Why do they make fun of me?” It broke Shelley’s heart. In the ninth grade, he came to his mom and said, “I think I need to tell you I like boys.” Shelley replied, “I think you’re confused,” and asked what he thought of girls. He replied he thought they were pretty and nice. Shelley sent him to counseling--counseling that frankly, in hindsight, was brutal. Matthew went through high school pretending to like girls, who seemed to love him (he always had a date to the dances). He’d try to have a girlfriend for a week here and there, but he never felt that spark that others talked about. 

Shelley watched as her teen-magnet house with its sports court and theater/game room attracted a full house on the weekends. But many of those same kids she bought pizza for every weekend and taught in seminary would make fun of Matthew at school throughout the week. On a school Madrigals trip to New York, one of the mom chaperones started to advertise she thought Matthew was gay, and Shelley watched over the next five days as more ostracizing and hurt took place. Shelley wondered how the woman could do that, while in her heart knowing it was true, but still also thinking it was something that might be “cured.” This kind of hurt and ridicule led Matthew to not come out for another six years.

When Matthew graduated high school, this pain of being “othered” continued, as he had been excluded from a graduation trip that his close friends had planned. This infuriated Shelley, but on the morning of the friend trip, after a long night stewing, she found herself at Walmart at 5am, buying the group travel snacks which she placed on a doorstep along with an anonymous note wishing them a great trip. When she came home, Matthew asked how she could do that. Shelley responded she had to find a way to metabolize the anger she was feeling. She feels like she actually learned that from Matthew. Of her son, Shelley says, “I have watched him--the blessing of this child. He approaches everyone with open arms. When he’s betrayed or misjudged, he uses that formula to metabolize unkindness into understanding and love and grace. He has an amazing capacity for love and nonjudgment.” Back in high school, Matthew started a musical theater program for kids with special needs called Friend to Friend that his mom still runs to this day, and he sometimes choreographs for. Hundreds of these amazing children have benefitted from this weekly venture into the world of music and dance. 

About two years after Matt left for New York, he sent a “very sweet letter” to his parents that said, “I have fought this too long; it’s important I become who I am. I am ready to live as an openly gay man and am asking for your support.” When Shelley asked her husband Bill if he’d gotten the email, he said, “Everything’s ok, dear – God is in charge and everything’s ok.” Shelley says it still took her many days to wrap her head about it, but found 1 Nephi 11 coming to mind, where Nephi says, “I know that God loveth his children, nevertheless I do not know meaning of all things.” Immediately, Shelley’s heart filled with how much her Heavenly Father and Jesus love Matt, just how he is. 

Matt’s siblings (Brooke, Jaman –who passed away of the Swine flu at age 30, Krista, Megan, Jordan, and Taylor) and his nieces and nephews adore him and always have. Shelley also has a gay grandson, and she can’t help but think Matthew’s journey has somehow made this nephew’s path a little easier to navigate. Matt doesn’t participate in church but believes he’ll see his deceased brother and father (who died of pancreatic cancer two-and-a-half-years ago) again, and says he supports everyone’s right to their own spiritual journey. Shelley is thrilled Matthew plans to marry his “wonderful fiancé” next year. 

When it comes to Shelley’s faith, she says, “I do not know the meaning of all things. I do have some have some thoughts about some things. I know in this life I may not see the complete picture, but I know how deeply and fiercely my boy is loved by our Savior and Heavenly Father, so I can reconcile that… A mother’s love comes the closest to how the Father loves. We would do anything to protect, love, save, and cherish our children.” She continues, “I think when we meet the Father and Savior and whoever else at the bar, we’ll be judged not on our accomplishments, wealth, job description, or callings, but on how we loved each other and how well we encircled others with that love. That will be the bar of judgment. If it is, Matt’s in really good shape.” Shelley believes true beauty is found in the way we treat others. “When Jesus said love everyone, there were no exceptions. At age 70, I only have one job left in this world – to love. And occasionally make a batch of gooey cinnamon rolls.”

The Cooper Family

Jason Cooper’s childhood home was one that tackled hard things with humor. So in hindsight, it was a little comical to his mom that one day while sitting in the living room in the dark in serious discussion with her (gay) husband, he blurted out, “If I have to stay married to you for one more day, I’ll kill myself. Don’t take offense to that.” Jason’s mom, Janet Rawson, had known her husband Farris was attracted to men for over a decade, but not before their wedding day. Back then, in the 60s-70s, Jason says it was common to grow up with the mindset to “do your duty in the church—serve a mission, marry in the temple, have kids.” And that’s what the Coopers did. Jason was four years old when the dissonance his father was struggling with became too much and he revealed this part of himself to Janet. Another decade later, Jason’s father sat his oldest three kids down to tell them that he’d been excommunicated from the church, but didn’t get into too much detail about why. While Farris told his kids not to let that affect or skew their standing in the church, he encouraged them to find out for themselves whether it was true. He and Janet told their children a few years later that he and Janet were divorcing. The kids also learned they would be staying with their mother, and Jason’s dad warned them not to give her any trouble.

After an atypical divorce, the family dynamic continued in an atypical way, with Jason’s dad “walking in Christmas morning to the house he was no longer a part of to open gifts with us. He was at all the big things he could be, while living 200 hundred miles away in Salt Lake City.” When Jason was 17-years-old, his father finally came out to him. Jason replied, “You’re still my dad and I still love you.” Eventually, Farris introduced his kids to the partner he’d been living with in Salt Lake. From then on, the couple remained an important part of Jason’s and some of his siblings’ lives. Farris’ partner had also grown up LDS in small town Wyoming and served a mission to Mexico City, and Jason fondly remembers him being the one to purchase most of Jason’s mission clothes. Jason met his wife Stephanie on their respective missions to Tucson, AZ. Near the end of Jason’s mission, he developed feelings for Stephanie and he knew he’d need to feel out whether his dad’s relationship would be a dealbreaker for her. Luckily, it wasn’t, and Jason now laughs at how Farris’ partner would leave food for the young couple in the fridge when they’d come over, with notes like, “Remember who you are and why you’re standing. If you’re not standing, you’re not remembering. Signed, love your wicked stepmother.” While Jason’s father passed in 2007, Farris’ partner is still a part of the Coopers’ lives, and they regularly spend holidays together. But when it comes to celebrating his birthday, Janet laments, “It’s hard because I can’t find a card that says, ‘Happy birthday to the man who stole my husband’.”

Jason and Stephanie Cooper have raised their five kids (Tucker—27, who is married to Mikayl—25, Cole—24, Ben—19, Lola—15, and Grace—11) between Salt Lake and Idaho Falls, ID, where they now reside. A special memory for their two oldest boys was getting to run errands with Grandpa Farris and his partner in SLC when they were younger, and Stephanie and Jason were at work and school respectively. Tucker and Cole would join the men on errands as they picked up supplies for their cosmetology practices and took them to restaurants like the Soup Kitchen and Skool Lunch where employees would gush, “Where are your boys?” Later on, these memories of the gay grandpas being mostly accepted (but often not in mostly conservative Utah) would prove a significant impact on Cole, who would later navigate his own orientation.

From a young age, Cole was known as the Cooper family’s second mother and the one appointed caretaker of his siblings when his parents were away. His friends would jokingly call him the “old lady,” because when they’d go swim in the river, he was the one elected to hold their phones and towels and make sure they didn’t do anything too stupid. In high school, Cole played drums and percussion in the band and was involved in student council-- “a typical kid,” says his father, though “remarkably mature.” Cole started to figure out his sexuality around age 12, and by age 14, was texting a friend about how cute a guy was. Stephanie was checking to make sure that Cole’s phone was turned in for the night when the text message came in, and seeing this message sparked a conversation in which he came out to her, but told her “not to tell dad.” Jason’s not sure why this was Cole’s instinct, especially regarding his open acceptance and love for his own father, but wonders if perhaps there was something non-affirming he had said that his son had picked up on? Stephanie agreed Cole should be the one to tell Jason, and Cole waited until he was 18 to deliver what Jason describes as an organic conversation, “nothing like a big gender reveal or mission call opening.” As he had when his father had come out to him, Jason calmly replied, “It’s okay; I still love you—you’re my son.” Jason said his only sorrow expressed in this conversation was that there might be many people in their faith community who would reject the opportunity to get to know how amazing Cole actually is, after learning this one fact about him.

Just as Farris had been raised to do his duty to be faithful in the church, so had Cole. He assured his father, who was the bishop at the time, that while he had spent his life preparing for a mission, out of respect, Cole would not be seeking the Melchizedek priesthood, knowing its associated covenants were not something he would be able to honor. He and his parents now extend a mutual respect to each other’s varied beliefs and church affiliation. Jason says, “Cole knows that if there are things that prick him—policies, procedures—he can talk to us about it. He’s never asked us to choose one or the other, and we would never ask the same of him.”

Cole is now studying Communication Disorders at Utah State University in Logan, and is interested in pursuing a doctorate in audiology after he gains some work experience. His siblings have always proven supportive, especially older brother Tucker, of whom Jason says, “I always wondered if they’d ever become friends, but now Tucker is his fiercest defender.” Jason was also touched when his youngest child, Grace, found out about Cole’s orientation and simply said, “That’s ok. You love who you love.”

As a “fairly sizable introvert” who has been told he comes across as “intimidating,” Jason admits he didn’t ask too many questions about Cole’s personal life until he was called out in this last year. While visiting one weekend, Cole asked, “Is there a reason you never ask about my dating life?” Jason said he just figured if there was something Cole wanted them to know, he’d tell them. Cole then revealed he’d been dating a guy for over nine months. Cole’s boyfriend also has an LDS background, and Jason says the two make a great couple and complement each other very well. Jason also feels he owes a debt of gratitude to the “extremely loving group of like-minded friends in Logan that Cole found—folks in the LGBTQ+ community who I think probably saved his life.” After a camping trip last year, the group spent an evening in the Coopers’ home, and Jason calls them all, “great, great people.”

Jason makes it a point to make his allyship known in his ward, wearing a rainbow pin on his lapel every week. Stephanie does the same. When a Harley-riding, “rough customer type” asked him why they wore the pins, Jason replied, “Why not?” The man responded, “Hmm, okay,” and sauntered off. While still serving as bishop, Jason felt inspired to teach a fifth Sunday lesson in which he could address his congregation’s relation with those who are LGBTQ+. His ward council backed the idea, in the in time between the approval by the ward council and the fifth Sunday lesson, Jason was asked to also speak at an upcoming stake priesthood meeting. He was given cart blanche to talk about whatever he wanted, and while nervous that he felt compelled to share his personal experiences being his father’s son and his son’s father, Jason says his message about making more room at the table was well received. A native of Idaho, there were several men in the audience who had known Jason since his childhood, and he initially worried how they’d react. But several made concerted efforts to reach out afterward and tell him just how much his words mattered. In preparation for the fifth Sunday lesson in his ward, He deliberately let his facial hair grow to a scruffy state before the presentation, so he could feel “just a little uncomfortable—something our LGBTQ+ brothers and sisters likely feel showing up every week.” After Jason’s fifth Sunday lesson which centered on how to more fully embrace any on the margins—including LGBTQ+, divorced, widowed, and single parent members, Jason said a handful of youth and members—including a full-time missionary—privately came out to him, now trusting him as a safe space. Jason and Stephanie likewise cherish the safe space of their local LGBTQ+ support group, appropriately called Open Arms. The organization has recently become a non-profit called Open Arms of Idaho (openarmsidaho.org).

After Jason gave a fifth Sunday lesson in a neighboring ward, there were those, however, who showed they’re still learning or gave a little pushback behind the scenes. The mother of a close friend expressed how her family missed seeing Cole and asked Stephanie to “tell Cole we love him and miss him.” Stephanie replied, “You need to tell.” Now that Jason’s been released as bishop, more people seem to feel safe approaching him. Jason says he likes following Ben Schilaty’s advice to ask the LGBTQ+ person closest to you about their experience and just listen. “We get so caught up with who we think an individual is, and don’t listen to who they are—which is what we should be doing as Christians trying to follow the two great commandments. It’s pretty straight forward–love your neighbor. That doesn’t mean you have to like them all the time; my wife probably feels that way about me--but she always loves me.”

Jason continues, “I know the relationship I had with my father benefitted the relationship I have with my son. I can’t imagine the things my parents went through in the 80s, but I’m grateful for the experience, and have to think it was preparatory and helped foster a better relationship with Cole. I’m glad I didn’t have to start from zero. There’s always room at the table.”

KELLEEN POTTER

(Content warning: mention of suicide, and suicidal ideation)

Nestled against the picturesque landscape of the Wasatch mountains, former Heber City Mayor Kelleen Potter wears many hats – as a leader, a lobbyist, and most of all, as a devoted mother who describes her kids (Daniel-26, Benjamin-24, Faye-22, Hannah-20 and Abby-16) as a bit of a Benetton ad in their diversity. The line-up includes everything from an Air Force intelligence officer who learned to speak Russian on an LDS mission, to two queer kids, to her youngest, who was adopted from China. 

Raised in the LDS faith, Kelleen was committed to her goals to have a large family, but laughs she “got a late start,” (by church culture standards), at age 30. Her life took an unexpected turn when her eldest son, Daniel, began struggling at the age of 12. The once vibrant and academically advanced child started to withdraw. Unbeknownst to his mother, Daniel was grappling with the societal pressures and bullying that often accompany the discovery of one’s sexual orientation. She assumed the kids at school were just teasing him because he was so well-dressed, believing, “He had a little girlfriend, so he couldn’t be gay.” 

Daniel confided in his bishop about his feelings, and was told, “You’re not gay; the world will tell you that you are gay, but you just have talents like fashion and photography which will bless your life if you follow the Church’s teachings.” Upset about this, Daniel told a trusted friend/scout leader who was worried about Daniel and told Kelleen.  At the time, Kelleen did not know anyone who was gay besides the cousin of her husband - a cousin Kelleen now regrets not reaching out to for advice and insight. All she knew about homosexuality was from church and from reading the oft-prescribed book, Miracle of Forgiveness, of which she now says, “I find it horrifying that an entire generation of LDS gay members and their families had only that to turn to for information concerning this topic.”

Seeking comfort and guidance, Daniel requested his patriarchal blessing as a freshman in high school. In it, he was told a beautiful wife was being prepared for him and someday he’d meet and marry her. Kelleen noticed that that was when Daniel started to give up. Daniel has since shared his experience that a child at that age feeling so rejected by their church community and no hope for the future usually has feelings of ending his life. Daniel did make an attempt. “Fortunately, it wasn’t successful, and I didn’t know about it until 12 hours later.” Finding him in the basement, Kelleen had a painful conversation where she found herself at a complete loss for words. “Looking back, there were so many comforting things I should’ve said, but my entire upbringing was through the lens of the church, and I was full of fear about handling it wrong.” 

Kelleen had a roommate in college who ended up marrying a gay man, who had been encouraged to enter into a mixed-orientation marriage by church leaders. The marriage lasted two years. That experience made it clear to Kelleen that this was not something Daniel had chosen or could change. But at the time, she still believed the church should be able to offer him answers. Busy with her stake Primary president calling while also serving on the city council, Kelleen now tried to fit in navigating finding those answers. Daniel warned her not to tell people about him being gay, fearing some in their conservative town might slash her tires. School life was increasingly tough for Daniel, where he’d received a text that said “Watch out, homo,” and a teacher confirmed to his mother Daniel was being bullied. 

Needing a change of scenery, Daniel went to live in Orem with relatives. They ran the Hale Theater, where Daniel got a job and found it to be an accepting place. He came out in his new seminary class to a very affirming teacher, but there was fall out from other students. Ultimately, Daniel ended up at the Walden charter school, which Kelleen jokes felt like “the land of misfit toys,” but where she found the people to be wonderful. During his junior year of high school, Daniel went to Anasazi wilderness camp, which became a beautiful thing as through letters back and forth, Daniel was able to share more of his story and his heart with his family.

Kelleen began turning to non-church resources for help, including her friend, A. Todd Jones, who she had worked with in the EFY circuit, and who had recently come out publicly about being gay on social media. A. Todd connected Kelleen with Wendy Montgomery of Mama Dragons, and soon after, Kelleen found herself at a retreat with 40 other moms who ultimately became mentors as she went around interviewing everyone to figure out how she could make the church work with her family dynamic. Kelleen said she left that weekend feeling like she was hit by a lightning bolt--believing that the church was actually wrong on this issue. She recalls, “That was the first time in my life I could not just take everything they said and act on it… I now see how we in our church and culture have caused a lot of shame for people like my son, who are made to feel like they’re fundamentally flawed… What a terrible message to receive when they are simply a biological variation, a beautiful creation of their Heavenly Father. That’s it. There’s so much beauty in who they are. These bright, beautiful kids, sadly with their light dimming, fearing being cut off from family, friends and community simply for being who they are.”

Kelleen then began to finally take seriously the council to pray about what leadership says, then take personal accountability. She decided she would lead with love over anything else. Up until that point, Kelleen says, “It was so easy to put people in boxes, it became so refreshing to think, ‘Nope that’s not my job. I just get to love people.’ It makes life a lot easier to navigate and has been one of my most important life lessons.”

As Daniel become more stable after Anasazi, Kelleen‘s third child, who was in the eighth grade, also started struggling with mental health. Faye, who had always been so gifted and talented, also began to withdraw. One morning, Kelleen found a note on Faye’s bedroom door that said, “Please take me to the hospital.” Faye’s school also reported a school computer search engine revealed suicide was on her mind. This led to Faye being checked in as an inpatient for five months at Primary Children’s Hospital. 

Right before she returned home, Kelleen saw a text on Faye’s phone that revealed Faye, who had been assigned male at birth, said her fantasy was to go to a dance dressed as a girl, and be accepted. Kelleen says all this made finding out you have a gay kid seem easy. Kelleen is now a lobbyist at the Utah state legislature and struggles as she hears people talk about trans issues, knowing how it will affect a child--her child and so many others. She says, “My Faye is a sweetheart; she is so tender. I hate having to fear dropping her off at a bus or train station, knowing the things people might say to her, for simply living her truth in a way that is best for her mental health.” 

It took some time visiting various doctors and psychiatrists for Faye to fully come out, and for Kelleen to feel the spirit hit her hard and tell her that she could choose to support her child and keep Faye alive and have a relationship, or not. Kelleen has tried to help Faye the best she can with therapy, and credits Lisa Hansen of Flourish Therapy as being a true lifesaver for Faye. Now at age 22 and 6’3, Faye notices the funny looks she gets in the small town where she lives. Of this, Kelleen says, “Thinking of all the steps a trans person goes through in a society where people don’t seem to accept them, even though they’re not hurting anyone… It’s a big journey. I’m so proud of Faye.” While Faye is witty, clever, and talented, Kelleen says her journey has seemed to derail her for a time as she navigated coming out in adolescence and young adulthood. 

During her tenure as mayor of Heber, Kelleen spoke with many people about LGBTQ+ issues. She says, “It was a privilege to be a safe space for parents and LGBTQ youth… I think our church and community and state have made a lot of progress in this area. Several of Daniel’s friends from high school have come out since – some of them also endured hospitalizations along their way for mental health.” 

While serving as mayor, Kelleen was approached to hang Pride flags on Main Street, and she agreed as she felt it was following the law and showing support for these kids. This incited complaints on Facebook and voicemails as Kelleen received the backlash. “The most offensive messages seemed to come from people who proclaimed to be the most religious, and used God‘s name to attack and threaten me.” Around this time, Kelleen knew of several kids in town who struggled with suicidal ideation, not having affirming support at home, which only increased her desire to keep the flags up and hope for some healthy conversations and education in her community.

The backlash made national news and caused many people in town who had been Kelleen‘s prior supporters to not post her campaign signs the second time around. Kelleen was asked if she realized she might lose reelection over this and she said she would happily die on that hill, politically; and indeed, she says her support for the flags, along with a few other issues, led to her losing reelection by 64 votes.

Kelleen harbors no regrets though, saying, “Those kids needed our support. They are so afraid. We have a whole community who knows nothing about LGBTQ issues except what they’ve read in the Miracle of Forgiveness, but the core teachings presented there are not true or healthy. Especially for someone who is part of the LGBTQ community and who wants all the same things as others – family, love, connection. People in the church are speaking up as allies, but the core doctrine currently leaves no room.”

When Faye was in the hospital over those five months, Kelleen increasingly struggled at church to teach Relief Society and Gospel Doctrine lessons on topics she found problematic--like the Family Proclamation. Once, while watching general conference as a family, Daniel walked in and slammed off the TV, shouting, “PTSD!” Kelleen says, “I didn’t realize the damage it was causing.” She did take advantage of the teacher’s podium, though, to share her son’s story and Elder Cook’s quote about LDS people needing to be more loving and compassionate to the LGBTQ population. She says, “Most people wouldn’t look at me after that lesson, though some whispered to me that they had a gay family member they loved.” The same week she gave that lesson, Kelleen was released from that calling. 

Preparing for her own daughter’s upcoming hospital release, Kelleen decided she was not going to say, “Bye, Faye! Sorry I’ve got to go to church where you don’t fit in, and leave you here at home.” She deduced, “The people in church buildings here have people who support them. Those on the outside, like Faye, don’t. It’s almost like they are refugees, with no place to go. We need to honor them, even when they’re not attending, especially when they are not attending. We so often misunderstand people who don’t come to church because we think we know what’s best for them, but we have a lot to learn.” Shortly after Faye came home, a queer friend who had been close to Faye in the hospital tragically ended up taking his life.

Kelleen has since moved to Midway and is one of the few in her neighborhood who does not attend church, though she still has many close friends and family in the faith. When people tell her, “I’m sad you gave up church activity for this,” Kelleen says all she can think is, “Have you ever considered that perhaps this is my calling and purpose, and God is guiding me just like you?”

DR LISA TENSMEYER HANSEN

Chapters. That’s how Lisa Tensmeyer Hansen describes the various seasons that have directed her to what she now regards as the pinnacle of her life’s work. All along, she has felt the guidance of an all-knowing hand. 

The PhD and LMFT now resides in the heart of Utah Valley with her husband Bill, where she is co-founder and CEO of Flourish Therapy, which provides life-saving therapy for LGBTQ+ individuals. While none of her seven biological children, her foster daughter, or other “bonus children” identify as LGBTQ+, they joke that “maybe someone will come out for mom for Christmas.” Besides having a gay nephew whom she adores--and who is soon graduating in vocal performance from the U where he started a gospel choir. Lisa agrees it’s interesting how her path has brought her to this particular space. But she can’t look back without recognizing she’s always had an awareness and empathy for those often deemed marginalized.

Growing up in the LDS church, Lisa says, “I spent a lot of time thinking about what God as parent would want their children to grow up and be and do.” As she experienced various stages of faith development, she started by believing in a God who had reasons for the rules, even those that seemed to make less sense. She began to recognize a God who valued development and not just blind obedience--a God who saw something in each of us that needs to be deeply valued and seen and understood.

As a teen, Lisa believed somewhat in the idea of “the elect”—that finding a way to be like God was a narrow path and not everyone was destined for eternal greatness. But as she became a parent, she recognized that every single individual’s growth matters. That everyone has been given something to bring them closer to God and something to believe in. This paradigm was further cemented when her youngest children’s involvement in a theater program enlisted her to serve as the program’s director. A former member of the BYU Women’s Chorus, Lisa also ran her stake youth choir and served in the stake Young Women’s presidency. In these capacities, she recognized how some of the most vibrant and lively performers were those brave enough to later come out as gay. 

In their small community of Payson, it was easy for Lisa to see how the community of church and school did not provide a safe haven for these performers to be powerful leaders and contributors, despite their phenomenal skills and talents. She witnessed some be excommunicated because they identified a certain way. Another was refused participation in a temple opening extravaganza even after being selected for the top spot, because they were gay. She saw many who were relegated to second class citizen status if they chose celibacy, but “never fully celebrated as they would be if straight.” Lisa says, “That was a powerful message to me… These were not people who were anxious to leave God behind; these were amazingly spiritually deep people whose communities decided they had no place for them.”

In another chapter of Lisa’s development years, she witnessed racism firsthand. Growing up in Indiana, there were both schools and swimming pools segregated based on the color of one’s skin. When Lisa enrolled in an integrated college preparatory high school in her neighborhood, her understanding of what it means to live in a democracy with people who are treated as less than shifted as she heard various viewpoints and recognized her own privilege. At the time, largely due to the teachings she was immersed in via gospel discussions in her home and what was taught over the pulpit, she complacently believed that “God had reasons for the way things were,” even racism. Never hearing anything else, besides the incredulous objections of her more broad-minded classmates, Lisa assumed things would just be that way forever. As she matured in the gospel, and especially after reading Edward Kimball’s carefully crafted summary of the events leading up to his grandfather’s reversal of the priesthood ban in 1978, Lisa experienced a substantial eye-opening. She came to realize that it wasn’t the people waiting around for God to change His mind or make His ways known, but that the people themselves needed to change. She asked herself, “Are we content to keep others at arms’ length so we feel we are holy enough?” As this dissonance set in and Lisa pondered her participation in what she had always believed was the restored gospel, she had an awakening to the reality that even though Jewish leaders at the meridian of time when Christ was on the earth kept many from full participation, that God continued to work in that space. That this delineation didn’t obliterate Christ’s teachings about scripture, prayer, the law and prophets. Lisa says, “This seemed like a path I could emulate.” Perhaps there was something to be gained, or something to be done, in this space of nuance.

As she watched so many in the LGBTQ+ space be excommunicated from a church she as a straight woman could still belong to, Lisa decided to do what she could to elevate the LGBTQ+ community “in the eyes of people like me, and in their own right.” She decided to start a gay men’s chorus in Utah Valley, patterned after the one she’d seen in Salt Lake. “So many I knew cherished the Primary songs and wanted a sense of connection to God that was being denied to them,” she recalls, in reference to LDS markers like missions and temple marriages. It took awhile, but Lisa was able to put together a small gay men’s choir that rehearsed and performed at UVU, the state hospital, and various library holiday celebrations. Once Lisa went back to school, one member of the Utah County Men’s Choir started the One Voice choir in Salt Lake City, and most of the performers followed him to that organization.

With this goal achieved, after some prayer, Lisa felt what she should do next was go back to school with a focus on studying mental health. She knew this is where she could be of most use to the LGBTQ+ community within the context of LDS life, and ultimately chose her alma mater of BYU as the only place to which she’d apply, after a former colleague agreed to mentor her. “At 50 years old, I felt lucky someone wanted to work with me,” she says. The timing was ideal, as BYU was facing accreditation challenges in 2010 and needed to enhance their LGBTQ+ research—a role Lisa eagerly took on. As she put in her hours toward earning her LMFT and PhD, her first client in the BYU clinic was someone with gender identity questions. Soon after, Lisa received an influx of clients who identified as gay, lesbian, gender queer, nonbinary, SSA and bisexual. She says, “I felt like this was confirming a particular direction for my focus.” 

Lisa was instrumental in starting a research group at the clinic based on Kendall Wilcox’s Circles of Empathy wherein gay people would come and share their experiences with straight student therapists. Through the four sessions in which it ran, therapists-in-training participated at least once to expand their understanding. She was also able to help a professor build his curriculum on the topic and has been asked back to the MFT program more than once to talk about LGBTQ+ clients. Of her time in BYU’s graduate program, Lisa says, “I felt a lot of support for the things I wanted to do to benefit and support the LGBTQ+ community while at BYU.”

Just as she was graduating with her PhD, Lisa was approached by Kendall and Roni Jo Draper about helping start the Encircle program in Provo, launching her into a new chapter. She recruited two clinicians she knew to help advise a program in which they could offer free therapy. Along with Encircle director Stephenie Larsen, Lisa was there for the opening of the first home in Provo, where Flourish Counseling Services was born (as a separate entity). While “it was the right thing at the right time,” as Lisa oversaw 13 therapists to meet the clients’ needs, ultimately Lisa parted ways with Encircle. However, she still refers young people to the program for their friendship circles, music and art classes, therapy, and as a place where “they can be themselves without their queerness being the most important thing about them.” 

After moving off campus from Encircle with those 13 therapists, Flourish Therapy is now its own entity with 80 therapists offering approximately 2500 sessions a month in offices from Orem to Salt Lake, all on a sliding scale based on what clients can afford. Thanks to generous donors and insurance subsidies, Flourish is able to keep their session costs well below national average and even offers free therapy to those in crisis who cannot afford it otherwise. Lisa says, “We deeply depend on people paying it forward.” Because of the large number of therapists available, clients are often able to select a therapist with a similar gender identity or orientation, if they prefer.

Unlike LDS Social Services, Flourish is able to freely adhere to APA guidelines and honor their clients’ authentic selves, however they may show up. They have clients ranging from those trying to stay in the LDS church with temple recommends (whether in mixed orientation or same-sex marriages), to those trying to withdraw their names from the church or seek letters for transitional surgeries. Flourish also often treats missionaries referred by mission presidents when the assigned field psychologist perhaps might be struggling to understand. Lisa’s efforts have been widely recognized, and she considers it “a real honor” that the Human Rights Campaign gave her its Impact Award a few months ago. The Utah Marriage and Family Therapy Association also recently awarded Lisa Supervisor of the Year for her work in mentoring student and associate counselors and Affirmation International awarded her Ally of the Year for her work in steering Flourish through its first five years and maintaining its mission to support the LGBTQ+ community despite outside pressures to change their structure and process.

When the tough questions resurface and dissonance reappears, Lisa finds herself traveling back to the early answers she received in Chapter 1 living—when she first knelt and prayed around age 10 to ask whether Joseph Smith had really seen the Father and the Son. She says, “I felt an enormous feeling of light and love. I received no specific answer to my prayer, but felt a love wherein I recognized that something here is the answer and secret and why of everything. God feels this way about us here on earth–that’s what has sustained me all this time and made me feel that what’s inside of us is valuable to God. God’s not looking at us to shed what we have that’s divine but to lean into it and live and cherish and value the learning experience. We will then become able to recognize everyone’s lives—identity and all--as stepping stones.” Lisa concludes, “The things that are true about me are what have moved me into this space where I hope I’m lifting others to that same place wherein they can see how their Creator recognizes the value—the holiness—within all.”