CORA JOHNSON

Cora Johnson grew up in Snowflake, AZ -- a small town so predominately LDS it’s been dubbed “Little Utah.” But she’s grateful to have also grown up in an open-minded household with parents who taught her from an early age to ask questions and to explore other cultures and ideas. Having prioritized global travel above “just about everything else,” Cora says her parents, Cooper and Cameo Johnson, have instilled their “vagabond genes” in each of their four kids: Cora – 21, Granger – 19, Jonah – 17, and Ezra – 13. While balancing a full and hectic life, through good and bad financial times, whether it be starting a business or pursuing higher education and trying to meet the needs of all members of the family, they always prioritized travel. Together, the family embarked on adventures everywhere from Morocco to Malaysia. Cora managed to visit 32 countries and all 50 states before her LDS mission to Santa Rosa, CA, and upon her recent return, just squeezed in a trip to Europe, the Middle East, and Africa. It’s this broader perspective that Cora credits as having helped her navigate her inner journey of being queer with confidence.

 Cora was in tune with who she was from a young age. A self-proclaimed tomboy, most of her friends were boys, partly because she was more interested in their pastimes, and partly because she didn’t like to have girls as close friends because she’d end up developing crushes on them. While Cora’s attraction to girls was clear to her, she didn’t talk about it often – figuring it didn’t matter that much.

 From about the age of 10 or 11, Cora resolved she wanted to serve a mission, a notion that didn’t go away, even as she started to come out to others around age 17. She didn’t make a public announcement, but told her family and friends, who largely responded positively – even a line-up of extended family members who she feared might not due to their traditional LDS mindsets. As she suspected, Cora’s parents were very supportive and loving, though Cooper did advise his daughter to be cautious about coming out in the church. Worried it might end up hurting her, he warned her that the church might not always be a safe and secure space.

 A couple years passed and as Covid changed the landscape of the nation, Cora decided she was ready to leave Arizona to serve that mission. She’d come out as bisexual already to her bishop and stake president, both of whom were very affirming and supportive of her desire to serve. But they both advised her to keep her sexuality on the downlow, reminding her “your mission is not about that/you.” Cora reasoned she could keep things under wraps. Off she went to Santa Rosa, CA.

 While her mission was a lot harder than expected (especially regarding the need to harbor any mention of her orientation), Cora loved every minute of her 18 months in the field. She felt nothing else she had ever done had grown her relationship with and love for the Savior more. As she began to draw close to her fellow missionaries, one day she found herself in a conversation with a group in which another sister expressed how she’d recently come out and was struggling with emotions Cora herself had faced. Feeling a strong desire to be of service, Cora said, “I know how hard coming out can be – I’ve done a lot of research and can help if needed.” In this one statement, Cora felt a renewed purpose as she discovered another pocket in which she could be of service. Over the course of her mission, she ended up meeting many other missionaries who were also trying to navigate being queer in the church. Cora found her peers to be affirming for the most part, particularly one companion she had for half her mission who was “amazingly supportive and open to learning.”

 Still, Cora tried to keep it all on the downlow, reasoning that when you’re on a mission, your romantic life shouldn’t be your focus. But as so often happens with sisters and elders who serve in the same area, Cora met a sister missionary in a nearby area for whom her feelings were undeniable. Word somehow got back to her mission president, who was not pleased and made sure to keep them assigned as far away from each other as possible. And Cora now had a new dilemma on her hands – she knew that when she’d return home from her mission, she would have to come to terms with the fact that the church she loved so much and had dedicated her life to had teachings in direct conflict with the future she now knew she’d be pursuing. While she tried to maintain focus on the work, Cora began to fear that the hope of the Atonement she was so committed to teaching to others wouldn’t extend to her unless she was willing to give up a romantic relationship. For the first time, Cora didn’t know whether she’d be able to authentically remain a member of the church while being queer.

 Cora turned to her parents for advice; ever loving, they lifted her spirits. Her mom assured her, “What you’re doing right now is good. God loves you as you are. What you do or don’t do when you get home will not diminish the value of the experiences you’re having right now, and the help you’re providing people.” Cora recalls it was still of course difficult, but without the positive encouragement from her mom, she wouldn’t have been able to push through. Cora finished strong, and returned home to Arizona, where she is now working at the Phoenix airport while completing prerequisites to apply to nursing school. The adventure seeker still loves traveling “more than anything else in the world,” and also enjoys hiking, camping, being outside, concerts, snowboarding, and longboarding.

 To any other queer youth considering the mission field, Cora advises: “Definitely pray about it a lot. Consider all the possibilities, because temple covenants are a big deal – and that’s one thing that gives me a lot of anxiety. Missions are amazing, and I’m so glad I went on mine. But they can be very difficult.” Especially for LGBTQ members. Cora says, “Going into my mission, I knew I was bi and queer, but I assumed when I came home, I’d probably try to get into a relationship with a guy and marry in the temple. I did not anticipate falling for a girl.”

Since coming out and coming home, Cora has maintained her church activity while also becoming much more vocal and active in the LGBTQ community. During Pride month, she posted an invitation on her Facebook profile (@hna.colocha) for followers to ask her (anonymous) questions about the reality of being LGBTQ in the church. Her answers have continued to shed light to a mostly kind and receptive audience, including many extended family members who Cora didn’t anticipate would be so open to hearing more about her experiences.

The Johnson’s home stake recently asked Cameo to give a talk on inclusion in stake conference, which Cora says was “amazing.” Cora appreciates how her parents have both chosen to be so open about their family’s journey. Her brother Granger is now serving a mission in Colorado Springs, where he, too, has had opportunities to speak up and speak out about having a queer family member. “It’s been really, really good,” says Cora. It’s this kind of familial love and support that Cora credits for being the reason she has been able to adjust so well as her journy has taken her all over the world. And always, back to a loving home.

THE CHRISTENSEN FAMILY

In February of 2021, Mindy Christensen drove cross country from her Tallahassee, FL home to her parents’ house in Orem, UT to bring her third child home. It was a big trip, in many ways. Mindy was driving a brand new car – an SUV in a loud, gorgeous red far from the norm of her typically subtle car palette. And the child she’d be picking up was her soon to be 24-year-old. A month earlier, Mads (nonbinary; they/them) had called their mom, Mindy, to share big news: after two years of marriage to a man, Mads had come to terms with the fact that they were gay, and needed to get divorced. Also, Mads would be bringing their seven-month-old son, Luca, back with them.

It was a lot to process. Luckily, Mindy had a long drive to do so. She now admits she did not initially handle it all in a great way, asking Mads several questions other parents might reasonably consider in a similar situation: Are you sure? Could this perhaps just be a sex drive thing? Do you realize you’re married with a kid, and this is a big deal? Mads replied they had carefully considered all of the above. And this was real.

Mads had actually gone through months and months of careful consideration over the seriousness of the situation before coming out to anyone. Though when it truly came down to it, they knew that being the truest and best version of themselves was much more important than maintaining a reputation or relationship. It was more important for Luca to grow up with a parent who was honest about life and true in their identity. Mads knew theirs and Luca’s lives would change drastically, but the overwhelming realization of being queer was more damaging the longer it was held in. So out came the truth, and such led to a handful of changes in the Christensen family.

Having raised seven kids in the church, Mindy says they were “one of those families” – one that others looked to with admiration for their dutiful compliance to the LDS model. One who didn’t question, but believed in the promised fruits of strict obedience. Now they say they have a clearer picture of what obedience really means and the importance of personal revelation.

“There is general counsel from our leaders and personal counsel from the Lord, which trumps everything.”

Tom and Mindy Christensen were in fact a couple who once upon a time had to check themselves for making homophobic comments, upon the realization that they could possibly say something that might someday offend one of their own kids — but they never expected Mads. Blindsided, Mindy realized she had a lot of learning to do. And now she had some time to do it.

As she crossed seven states over her three-day road trip, Mindy listened to podcast after podcast of LGBTQ stories. One particular Listen, Learn and Love (by Richard Ostler) episode hit her the hardest. It featured a married couple whose son had come out, and they were able to express how much they still loved the gospel, and were also totally fine with their son and his gay marriage. An “and” statement. Mindy reflected on how she’d spent her whole life believing that members of the church were taught to follow one direct path to find happiness. She spent her whole marriage wanting her kids to end up happy, and believed there was only one way to do that. That’s how she was taught to teach them. But as she drove across Texas, processing this other family’s story, Mindy had a powerful experience -- a mindshift. She says it was almost as if a ray of light came down from heaven, and she heard the Lord say, “Your kids are going to be happy.” Tears streamed down her face, and an exuberant peace filled her heart. Mindy believed this prompting, and knew everything would be fine. Even if her kids walked different paths than she and Tom had.

In her impression, the word “kids” was plural, which took on new meaning later last year when yet another adult child returned home to live with Tom and Mindy -- with news to share. 27-year-old Emma (she/her) moved back from Idaho after finishing her schooling and shared that she is bisexual and needed therapy. Other feelings were so big at the time that discovering her sexuality was almost an afterthought to her. That’s why she didn’t make a big deal about it. Managing trauma was taking up the most space. Mindy says, “Emma dissociates a lot and so even though leaving the church and coming out queer/coming into her own were/are big things, because of dissociation, those things didn’t seem to take up much space in her mind.”

Now, just three of the Christensen’s seven kids (ages 14-30) are still active in the church, as two other siblings have also chosen to step away. Tom and Mindy understand the need for this, and are grateful that all their children are supportive of and loving to each other, wherever they are at. Recently, their son married a girl who he reassured his parents is totally “on board” with his family dynamic. The Christensens were touched when their new daughter-in-law’s family honored Mads’ wishes and bought them a tie to wear to the wedding. Mindy says, “It was so thoughtful of them to be completely inclusive. It touched my heart.”

Despite these loving wins, Mindy says theirs has not been a journey she would call easy. They have seen friends pull away, continuously had to remind themselves that some family members’ comments were not meant to be as hurtful as they came across, and church has just been… hard. The family has experienced some trauma – including Mindy, who has felt the physical affects of anxiety upon entering the church building. At one point, she had to advocate for her family and ask certain leaders not to talk to her or her kids anymore.

Of her church experience, Mindy says, “I felt like I’d given everything I had to a church that wasn’t there for me when I needed it. Everything I taught my kids, everything I breathed, thought, did -- my whole purpose was the gospel. Then when it came to the point where I really needed it there for me, it wasn’t. No one knew how to talk to us anymore. No one knew what to say. That’s part of my trauma.” And she’s working through it.

Mindy says, “I used to be excited to go to church. It was happy, fun. I had friends, I felt like people wanted to see me. Now I feel like they don’t. The second I go, I feel like I’m… the problem.” She is grateful for those friends who’ve really been there for them, including a new bishop who’s working with her to create a safe space for them, and others like her stake president who are listening and trying to make things better. Something Mindy herself is trying to do. “Unfortunately, it’s too late for us and my children, and that’s what caused me the most trauma. Because when my kids are hurt, I take it personally. I feel it to the depths of my soul. But I know for a fact there are others who haven’t come out yet, who need the support.” She recognizes that she herself once thought she knew everything, and others still live in that mindset now. Mindy suggests we all need to humble ourselves to listen and learn about what we don’t know or personally experience. She finds comfort and guidance in a quote by Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf: "Brothers and sisters, as good as our previous experience may be, if we stop asking questions, stop thinking, stop pondering, we can thwart the revelations of the Spirit. Remember, it was the questions young Joseph asked that opened the door for the restoration of all things. We can block the growth and knowledge our Heavenly Father intends for us. How often has the Holy Spirit tried to tell us something we needed to know but couldn't get past the massive iron gate of what we thought we already knew?" Mindy now teaches the youth in Sunday School, and she’s grateful she can be there to support this younger generation in any way they need her.

On Mindy’s road trip, she felt the Lord tell her she needed to be that person who is there for others. That she needed to make a difference.  Shortly after she went home, Mindy returned to Utah in June to visit family and ended up attending her first Pride event. She wore her Free Mama Bear Hugs t-shirt, and a young person ran up to her and asked her for a hug. This new friend said their mom had died before they were able to come out to them. Mindy remembers standing at the top of the hill near the Utah Capitol Building, surveying all the hundreds of different people who were there, and “the spirit struck me so hard. Tears ran down my face and I knew I was in the right place, helping the right people.”

Mindy now sends LGBTQ+ resources, including Richard Ostler’s books, to others who ask, and volunteers for the Trevor project. As the Vice President of PFLAG Tallahassee, she has a plan to complete, with volunteers, a Pride mural as a beacon of hope to LGBTQ kids. Mindy regularly posts queer content on Facebook, and has even taken her messages to Instagram. She also slapped three LGBTQ+-affirming bumper stickers across the back of her car, which she is now grateful is a bright, flashy color people notice.

At first, Mindy second guessed her efforts, but as she’s learned to recognize the Lord’s hand in her messages of love, she’s come to appreciate that, “I’m a big nuisance. Some of us are willing to shout, and some of us are willing to do things quietly behind the scenes. Both are needed. When you’re the one shouting, you sometimes feel you’re the only one doing that. But even if I help one person or family learn, that’s all that matters. If you don’t like it, you can just move on… That might sound harsh, but I can’t worry about it. The Lord said shout, so I shout!” For everyone who unfollows her, Mindy finds that someone from her past finds her and expresses how much they needed to hear her message that day. She is grateful to be on the path Elder Hugh B. Brown referenced when he said, “There is an incomprehensibly greater part of truth which we must yet discover. Our revealed truth should leave us stricken with the knowledge of how little we really know. It should never lead to an emotional arrogance based upon a false assumption that we somehow have all the answers — that we in fact have a corner on truth. For we do not.”

Of her experiences, Mindy says, “It's a journey. That’s for sure, but I’m grateful. Sometimes I want to go back to being ignorant, it was so peaceful. But then I think: no, I don’t. I was hurting people. Unintentionally, of course, but I was. We used to look so different… Now I know better.“ Being the mother of queer kids who she loves completely has shown Mindy the wider expanse of divine love. “When people talk about the two greatest commandments – the second completes the first. You’re not going to hang out with a mom who doesn’t like your kids; you find people who love all of you, not just part. There’s no way to love God if you don’t love all His children the way He does.”

THE HARRISON FAMILY

“It never crossed our minds,” says Jill Harrison of the 22 years she spent raising her son before finding out he was gay. Unlike other parents she’s encountered who had early promptings about their LGBTQ toddlers or teens, Jill says, “We never would have guessed Matthew was gay, and I don’t think anyone else would have either.”

Up until that point, he’d walked a pretty routine LDS path. Jill says Matthew seemed to value his religious upbringing. A “spiritual force” in their home, Jill remembers him encouraging the family to read scriptures from a young age. In high school, he dated girls and even had a girlfriend, but seemed relieved when she broke it off. After graduation, Matthew attended a year of classes at BYU Provo before eagerly serving a mission in Bolivia Santa Cruz. That was a positive experience during which he wrote many letters to friends back home that left an influential impression on them regarding the church. Two years later when he returned, he moved back to Provo, where he majored in Spanish. 

In 2016, Jill flew out to Utah from their Sterling, VA home to attend a nephew’s wedding. She and Matthew drove to the Salt Lake temple together, but as they approached the building, Matthew stopped his mother and said, “I don’t think I can go in. I have a lot on my mind. We can talk about it later.” Jill proceeded to attend the sealing alone, consumed with just what might be on Matthew’s mind. Did he want to drop out of school? Was he leaving the church? Due to their busy schedule with wedding festivities, it was another day before the mother and son had a chance to take a drive, just the two of them. After a prolonged silence, Matthew uttered the words his mother never saw coming, “I’m gay.” Jill burst into tears -- but they had nothing to do with a rejection of him or his news. Rather, Jill exclaimed, “How did you sit there all those years at church and listen to all those painful lessons?”

It was a few more days before Matthew told his father, Michael, about his orientation. He sensed his dad would also be a safe space since both his parents had made it clear back in high school that they affirmed and supported one of Matthew’s friends at the time, who was gay. Over the remainder of that wedding week with his mom, Matthew slowly shared his evolution – that he’d known this about himself since puberty. That the only person he’d ever told during high school was their bishop, who had advised him not to take any action quite yet, to give himself time to figure things out. Growing up amidst church teachings that prioritized marriages that precluded people like him, Matthew said for the most part, he was able to bounce along with it all except when it came to the Plan of Salvation, during which lessons he felt an underlying sense of anxiety. 

But Jill says there were many good things Matthew took from the church, including the great friend group he had at BYU. Even after coming out after his mission, Matthew tried not to shut the doors on any romantic possibilities. But it didn’t take him long to realize he just couldn’t be with a woman. He finished his Spanish degree at BYU in 2019, and upon graduation, moved to Brooklyn, NY. Matthew hasn’t been back to church since.

Ruminating on the many painful teachings her son had endured has become a source of pain for Jill. As a Young Women’s leader in her ward, even though she’s sat with her son’s news for six years now, she still struggles during lessons on temple marriage or the Family Proclamation. She tries to make things clear in her wording to the girls she teaches that things might look different for various people and families. That we may not have all the answers yet. Her husband, Michael, currently serves as bishop of their ward and openly shares the knowledge he has gleaned as the father of a gay son when he assumes a teaching role – that people don’t “turn gay,” and you can’t “pray it away” with enough faith. While Matthew – 28, and his older sister, Tess – 30, have both since left the church, they do not resent their parents’ activity. And Jill and Michael strive to always make their family relationship their first priority. Jill says, “We love everything about our children. Everything they do is important to me. I feel like my relationship with my son and daughter is the most important thing and if that relationship is their tie to Christ, then that is key. I choose to show Christlike love.”

At last week’s rededication of the DC temple near the Harrison’s house, one of the apostles who came to speak said, “Everybody has a place in the kingdom.” Jill sometimes struggles hearing these types of statements, knowing how hard it was for her son to try to find a place. But she cleaves to her inherent truth: “I believe that there is a place. I believe our family is going to be together, even though my son and daughter have both left. I can’t think of a Heavenly Father who would separate families. Seeing how much I love both of my kids, I can’t even begin to imagine His love. It’s one of those things I have to tuck away on the proverbial shelf. Our gay son and others like him have got to be part of that plan. And I don’t think it’s being celibate.”

Jill understands when LGBTQ people choose to leave the church. “I’ve heard some people say, ‘They should stay because they can be a good influence.’ But I wonder, ‘Maybe it’s not a good place for some to be, and is it our responsibility to change others?’ Though I personally do feel some responsibility – to stay and say something in a particular lesson or whatnot.”

The Harrisons feel lucky that Matthew has maintained a healthy outlook, and was able to find a positive peer group even at BYU after he’d come out to a few close friends there. They recognize this is not the case for many. Jill describes her son as a “warm, fun, creative person others gravitate toward.” A talented musician and drummer who had a music deal with a major label in high school, Matthew now enjoys the music, nightlife, and culture of the Big Apple. After working in the Orem, UT Trader Joe’s, Matthew now enjoys working at the Chinatown, NY store. He lives with a few roommates in a “really cool warehouse apartment” in Brooklyn with a view of the Manhattan skyline.

Just a few hours away in Virginia, his father Michael works in sales, and mom Jill works at a preschool. They prioritize spending time with family, and are very grateful for their many family members and friends who have all been loving toward their son. Jill hopes Matthew one day finds a life partner who makes him happy. Jill says, “Everyone wants someone to share their life.” Of her journey, she advises other parents in her shoes to, “Just love. I wouldn’t change anything as far as where I’m at, how I look at people, and how I interact with the youth at church. It’s definitely opened my eyes. If I’m going to err on the side of anything, I’m going to err on the side of love.”  

THE BURTON FAMILY

One night, when Holly Burton was tucking her 6-year-old son Sam into bed, he looked up at her with his imploring blue eyes and said, “Mom, I have a question and you have to tell me the truth. Am I adopted?” Holly responded, “No, honey. I would tell you if you were adopted; why do you ask that?” Her son replied, “I don’t know, I’m just… different.”

It turns out Sam would experience a unique path from many of his peers, in more ways than one. “He was always a very creative, gentle, inquisitive and intelligent child,” says his mom. “He tested to be in a gifted program, but he wanted to stay at his regular school and be with his friends.”

Sam is the second of five children in the Burton Family. Throughout middle and high school, Holly says Sam didn’t identify himself as being gay, but later reasons that the guys he admired back then probably were crushes. He told her, “Our culture never provided me with a healthy framework to even conceive of being gay, so it was easy to dissociate and convince myself it wasn’t so.” Sam had lots of friends who were girls, but no girlfriends. Holly now laughs, “I always just thought he was so pure, he wasn’t going to kiss anyone before his mission.” Indeed, as he prepared to serve, Sam’s stake president told his parents, “I interview a lot of missionaries before they leave and really grill them – I want to tell you that Sam is one of the purest souls I’ve ever spoken with.”

Sam loved serving in one of the New York missions, and his friends and family loved receiving his “wonderfully entertaining letters.” Halfway through his mission, Sam began having what he thought were heart problems. He was put through a series of tests, but came to realize he was experiencing severe anxiety attacks. Sam was coming to the realization that he was gay and the cognitive dissonance that it created caused his body to react. He came out to a LDS services therapist as well as his mission president.

Unfortunately, telling his mission president is something Sam later regretted. His mission president approached Sam being gay as a problem to be fixed, a sin to be repented of, and proceeded by meeting with Sam regularly to help him determine what was preventing him from accessing the Atonement to help him be made straight. As a pretty straight-laced kid, Sam was unable to come up with answers that merited such a repentance process. Sam’s mission president advised him not to tell his family he was gay, so they remained unaware of what he was going through. After two years, Sam returned home to Holladay, UT, and began school at BYU Provo, where he found a good therapist. He found these sessions very helpful.

Soon after school started that fall, Sam met his mom for a last minute lunch at Thanksgiving Point. Over a table at Costa Vida, Sam shared a significant spiritual experience from his mission that happened during a time when he was in a particularly dark place. He was sitting outside his apartment on a fire escape feeling alone and without hope. As he prayed, he felt a great peace and these words came into his mind: “You are not broken. You are exactly who you should be. You are going to be okay.” This experience carried Sam for the rest of his mission until he returned home. On that day, after sharing this with his mom, he said, “You probably already know this, Mom, but I’m gay.” Taken back, Holly replied, “Wow. I didn’t know that. This is big… Just know I love you and that makes absolutely no difference.”

When Holly got back to her car, she had an overwhelming feeling of, “I wish it were yesterday. I wish I could go back in time.” While she was so grateful her son had shared this news with her, she says, “I was worried. I didn’t feel like this is end of the world horrible. But more like all those expectations and dreams I had for him are gone, and he’s going to have a different life, and I was mourning that. Things will be different – for this kid whose kindness, patience, and compassion are gifts. We thought he would be the best husband and father. And at that time, I thought that’s not going to happen for him. Now, my thinking has flipped – he will be the best husband and father, but it won’t be with a woman. And I’m completely okay with that.”

Sam had asked his mom to let him be the one to tell his dad, Brent, which presented a challenge for Holly who always shared her thoughts and feelings with her husband – especially big news. That night, as she was making dinner, Brent caught her in an emotional moment and asked what was wrong. She said, “I heard news about a friend who is going through some hard things. I can’t share the details, but I’m feeling sad.” Sam reached out to her that night to make sure she was alright, saying, “I’ve had a long time to process this mom…I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Holly says, “Sam was still Sam. His love and empathy still came through.” Over the next couple weeks, Holly found herself processing alone, with many nights spent crying in the bathroom by the kitchen -- a place no one would hear her. She urged Sam to tell his dad, completely confident Brent would respond the right way. And he did. Later, Brent said, “This is Sam we’re talking about – one of the best people we know. We know this isn’t a choice.” While Holly and Brent were united in love and support for their son, they then faced the questions that flood so many parents in this space: What does this mean? For our son, for this church, for these people? Where is their place?

Initially, Sam considered the idea of remaining celibate, or alone, and staying in the church. But his family watched as he spiraled into depression, devoid of hope. “God did not make us to be alone,” says Holly. “Especially Sam – who has so much love to offer, so much to share.” Brent initially struggled, wondering “What kind of God would do this to someone? It just seems cruel to give someone a testimony of God’s plan, only for them to realize that one of the end goals in that plan is not possible for them.” Holly ‘s first thoughts were, “Of course this is going to change! If this really is Jesus Christ’s church, it will have to. He has a plan for ALL his children. I’m just waiting for the further light and knowledge!” Though she hopes she’s not being naïve.

Sam remained at BYU, where Holly says loving, affirming professors in his undergraduate program offered Sam the support he needed. “They didn’t love Sam because he was a gay student. They saw him for who he was – this amazing, talented kid. They gave him opportunities to succeed. He won awards, he presented papers, he taught undergraduate classes. He even went to DC to help a professor present their research at a conference.” She credits one professor in particular with offering the kind of support that she feels helped save her son’s life. In light of recent events, she hopes the BYU faculty will remain a safe space for kids like her son who so desperately need them to be.

Holly will never forget when she received a call from Sam one late night. She could hear it in his voice. He was not okay. She asked, “Are you thinking about hurting yourself, Sam?” His response quickly prompted her to drive down and take him to the ER where they met with the psych department. A nurse asked Sam to explain what was going on. “I’m a gay man; I go to BYU.” “Say no more,” the nurse replied. Together, Sam’s support team made a game plan. He started to turn to music, specifically the BYU piano practice rooms, where he’d escape whenever he needed to destress.

It was a short time later that Sam asked his parents, “What would you do if I ever married a man?” They told him, “We’d be completely supportive and love him just like we love you. He’d be a part of our family.” Once Sam realized he had his parents’ full support, Holly says they saw a weight lift from him. He felt hope. Sam is now thriving at UT Austin where he was granted a teaching fellowship and is now pursuing his masters in Media Studies. He plans on being a professor someday. Recently, out of respect to his parents, Sam told them of his intention to have his records removed from the church, feeling he can no longer “in good conscience have (his) name on the records of a church that treats people this way.” Although, he fully respects his parents’ choice to try to stay in the church, serve, and hopefully make a difference.

Holly is serving as a stake Young Women’s president. She strongly believes we should lead with love instead of fear on these issues. She says, “By listening to others -- really listening, we can build bridges and come to understand different lived experiences unlike our own.” She flies a Pride flag not as a political statement, but to show her love. She has often felt the presence of her beloved father, who passed away three years ago, and she hears his spirit reminding her to “Be fearless. Trust in the Lord and know that this is all so much bigger than we can even comprehend.” She believes we need less judgment and more love. “My job is not to judge. I believe that is the Savior’s job. Our job as members of His church is to love.” She wishes we had better training for church leaders on these issues. “Probably the best thing leaders can learn to do is to listen to LGBTQ people.” Her bishop did exactly this with Sam. Holly was so touched by how their bishop just listened to Sam and asked questions -- for hours. He was then inspired to plan a fifth Sunday meeting where he invited Samuel (as the main speaker) to share his experiences, and Holly and Brent and two other parents of an LGBTQ child, to share theirs as well.

What Holly hopes for most right now in this space is that we can shift the narrative so that when a LDS parent’s child comes out, the parents don’t see this as devastating, but see their child as a gift. She says, “The LGBTQ people I know are incredible. They are amazing! I know we say we have a place for them, but our doctrine is not so clear about that place. At least not a place or space that many can live with. By not having or creating that space, we’re losing out. We’ve lost so many people – not just those who have stepped away, but literal lives have been lost over this. It is heartbreaking to me! These are people who have so much to offer. Sometimes we have to ask hard questions – and more importantly listen to the answers. When we really listen to LGBTQ people, we see them, we understand them, and it is then that we are better able to fully love them.”

THE HAYCOCK FAMILY

For the Haycock family, the process of publicly sharing their story has felt like both an excavation and a family therapy session. It started with a sacrament meeting talk given in May by their youngest child, Emily, that spread on YouTube as she shared her evolution of learning how to show full Christlike love for her brother Carlos, who is transgender. It was a talk she was so nervous to give that her Apple watch clocked 25 minutes of cardio while doing so. But that experience was positive enough to nudge Emily toward also sharing her family’s story (with their permission) on the podcast, What Now. (links in stories) 

And now, on a hot, summer night, Russ and Silvia Haycock share a Zoom screen with each of their four children: Norma – 49, Monica – 47, Carlos – 44, and Emily – 38, as they recount three decades of love and tears through their various lenses of Carlos’ complicated journey to coming to a place of self-identity and acceptance.

But first, they are careful to defer to Carlos. At age 12, he knew he was different. At 15, his mother found a letter in a backpack that outed him as a lesbian (at the time) who’d enjoyed kissing a girl after going to a gay club. He begged his mother not to tell his dad. He’d told his therapist he’d kill himself if his parents found out about his orientation. He just considered himself a “nerdy gay kid” whose male bandmates had crushes on, all subscribing to his female status at the time. Carlos didn’t have the language to know what trans was back then. And his parents – Silvia, who was raised Catholic before joining the LDS faith, and his dad, Russ, who came from deep LDS roots--had very little resources or knowledge in the LGBTQ department. Carlos kept much of his sadness and frustration to himself. When ward members didn’t want him to go to girls’ camp, the bishop called him in and asked personal questions about his involvement with other girls. Carlos didn’t tell his parents about this, but remembers being touched when the bishop still told him, “You’ll always be welcome in my church.”

At 18, Carlos moved to Provo to attend BYU. He lived with his sister Monica as he felt uncomfortable with the thought of living in a dorm with straight, Mormon girls. He felt uncomfortable in his skin and body, and preferred wearing baggy clothes. He says, “I presented as lesbian but was seen as male.” It was a different time at BYU in the ‘90s. The fellow gay friends he managed to find called him David. Carlos struggled. After failing a test and going in to meet with the professor, Carlos’ teacher said, “What’s up with you?” It was then that an adult first started explaining to Carlos how there are different genders and sexes. This teacher became a friend and later told Carlos to “take good notes,” when he got called into a meeting with the BYU Honor Code. Carlos had been reported for going to the University of Washington and sitting on a panel where he introduced himself as a gay BYU student, and for having a girlfriend at then-UVSC. Both accusations were false – but a student reported them anyway. An investigation began. 

The experience was deeply traumatic. Monica vouched for her younger sibling. They didn’t tell their parents at the time how they both went in to the HCO together, crying, and were asked to bear their testimonies. Carlos internally reasoned, “I’m gay, and I’m a good person. Why do I have to be here?” The council demanded to know who Carlos hung out with, and where they convened. Monica now says, “It was a witch hunt. After that experience, I saw a gradual decline in Carlos’ ability to function as a human.” Suffering from crippling depression and anxiety, Carlos transferred to the U, where he failed classes and self-medicated with marijuana to cope, which lasted for years. “That was my therapy.”

In SLC, Carlos met others in the queer community and lots of ex-Mormons who became his friends. Later, he moved to Portland where he encountered his first trans male. “That’s where things clicked.” But as he wrestled with his identity and what really felt right, Carlos said even his friends in the queer community struggled to understand him. “I labeled myself lesbian, then dyke, then gay or queer, then trans. It was hard because a lot of my friends were female and didn’t understand—even in 1990s Portland. I felt like I’d lost my Mormon community, then my queer community.”

Carlos’ family learned of his process in stages. His parents flew out to join him for a therapy session in which he shared his plans to transition. His parents took him to get a second opinion from a woman who was actually a conversion therapist. After that, Carlos went for about two months without speaking to his family. Later, when he’d return home for visits, he’d endure being dead-named. He’d not mention his medical procedures and often stay in the closet of their home (literally) and hide when people from church stopped by to visit. He remembers having to put on a dress and having Monica re-pierce his ears so he could present as female at his great-grandfather’s funeral. He’d stuff his bra with toilet paper after he’d had top surgery whenever a certain grandparent was coming to visit. Shave his facial hair clean to hide it. A people pleaser, he didn’t want to upset his family members. But he was consumed by feelings of shame. “Shame that came from my whole life of everything I’ve ever heard, in society and the Mormon church especially.”

His life looks much different now. Carlos works as an RN in a large hospital and is a licensed acupuncturist and herbalist. He is married to Lauren, and the two are happily raising their two young daughters. His mental health is much improved. Carlos recognizes that nowadays, things are different – in a good way. All of the recent media attention on the LDS faith and queer identity in general has created more resources and knowledge he wishes had been there for his family at the time. They concur, and they wish they would have done better.   

Carlos says, “I feel a lot closer to my family than I ever have before. I always knew they’d come around – I always wanted to have that space to give them that chance. Yes, it took 15 years for some of them. But it’s in their blood – they were raised in this church to be a certain way. I understand, but at the same time, I was hoping they would just come around.”

Silvia recalls it not taking long for her to choose her child over her church during Prop 8. The family was living in the Bay Area and both Silvia and Carlos were horrified to see many of their church friends’ names on the lists of those who had donated to the campaign denying people in his LGBTQ community the right to marry, at the bequest of the church. Silvia was shocked and demoralized that a church that teaches “Love One Another” would try and impose their value system on other people, especially when they believe in free agency. That was the final straw for Silvia, who left. “There were already a lot of teachings I didn’t agree with, but this was the breakup for me – I would like to be a principled person. The church’s stance and policies are hateful and detrimental to families, even though there are speeches that are very loving.” As for what happened to Carlos at BYU, Silvia says, “I’m glad I didn’t know. I’ve been known to speak up. I would have gone to BYU to fight for privacy rights and civil rights.” Of the boundaries Carlos once put up with his family to protect himself, Silvia and Russ say it was so hard, and they wish they’d done better and not been in denial for so long. Silvia says, “I’m a Mexican mom so I need my kids there with me every day.” She appreciates that her own mother told her, “All children are born how God intended them to be. People are born that way – why do people judge?”  

Russ did his own work to try to understand his son, attending a SLC Evergreen conference where he remembers there being a lot of resources for gay people, but not necessarily trans. He continued searching for answers and was referred to an organization in San Francisco that assisted people with gender transitions. While one-on-one with a nurse, he said, “Help me to understand this.” She replied, “I’ve been doing this a long time and I still don’t fully understand, but it is what it is. Don’t try to understand. Love your son. Get on board.” And he has, crediting Silvia with leading the way. Russ says, “Silvia is the leader of the pack with the love side. She has always had her arms, heart, and doorway open, and everyone tries to follow her lead. That’s one of the keys of being a good family.”

Putting family first is the motto Emily remembers most from her childhood. Family was always emphasized as the most important thing, and as each of the Haycocks came to remember that in their own ways, it made life easier for Carlos. It was when Carlos said he was going to be a father that his youngest sister Emily realized it was time to get on board – that it would not be fair to have his children know him as one name and pronoun, while the rest of the family confused things. She realized that this was bigger than herself; this wasn’t about her. In her lifelong process to understand her brother, Emily recalls Carlos once saying, “I’ll always be your sister,” and as much as she wanted to hang on to that crutch of a label and her upbringing “with four girls,” it was time to let go and let Carlos be Carlos. 

Oldest sister Norma says that when Monica once asked her, “Do you feel like you’re losing a sister?” she thought about it and came to the realization, “I feel like Carlos is still who he always was – funny, talented, a great cook -- as a child he invented the yogurt parfait. We shared a bedroom, we played Lego, the bottom of our bunk bed was covered in boogers. I feel like he’s still the same person. And for me, it’s so heartbreaking to think of how much pain he’s gone through for so much of his life. How hard that must have been, and how hard things still are.” Still in the church and still attending all the family gatherings that sometimes Carlos doesn’t always feel comfortable showing up for, Norma says, “I do feel like we need to give people a chance, the benefit of the doubt. I think so many people are willing to love [him] no matter what. It’s sad for me when Carlos doesn’t feel comfortable coming, because then someone’s missing.”

While each of the Haycocks are on different paths spiritually – some in the church, some out – they make it a practice of showing up for each other, and their shared love permeates from each of their frames on our Zoom screen as we conclude our “therapy session.” Monica, who remained by Carlos’ side during those painful college years and is the only family member he felt safe enough at the time to share about his wedding, says, “There’s a difference between religion and spirituality. You can still have a direct connection to the higher power without the horizontal line of religion. Carlos is one of the most spiritual people I know.” Of her work in the mental health field, Monica says, “In my research, I’ve seen how it usually takes just one family member to be on board, one accepting leader. And then there’s the domino effect of love, curiosity, and question asking. It’s usually someone in the caretaker role. Then once that one person’s on board, acceptance gradually follows. It took us forever -- 15 years – for everyone to get on the same page. 15 years of Carlos having to live a double life. Looking back, he had so much shame and fear of not being accepted, when he just needed to be loved.” And now he knows he is.

THE UNTOLD LIFT+LOVE FAMILY STORIES

This week’s feature looks a little bit different. We had a family lined up – a real live family with real live people and pictures. And we were really excited about this one. The mother is a force – a fierce ally with a successful podcast you’ve likely heard of. She works tirelessly to make the LDS space safer for all those on the margins, including our LGBTQ+ kiddos. She was eager to share. Only at the last minute, her own queer kiddo pulled out. Shut down the story. Said they don’t want to feel like the “token gay child” of someone else’s agenda. 

And we 1000% get it. 

This is nothing new for us. In fact, this happens about a third of the time we approach a family to share their story. Typically, mom or dad’s on board – eager to give back to a community that has helped them feel less alone. They long to soften hearts. To increase understanding. They’re willing to sacrifice their privacy and at times risk personal relationships to share their truth. All from a place of love for their children -- many of whom are also eager to share and offer hope to their younger counterparts. How we love and need these families! 

But when a family’s beloved child says no, we pull the plug, no questions asked.

So many of the LGBTQ kids we love (including my own) have never been on this site. They are beyond done with the church and have no desire to affiliate or try to portray it as a safe space. Others don’t feel a need for the spotlight. Some have already transitioned to a world where they have found friends and community in which they are able to comfortably just… be. They don’t want us to hang Pride flags in our yard, or wear rainbow shoes to the grocery store, or slap equality stickers on our bumpers. Some kids don’t need or want any of that. They just want to feel… normal. 

So while we can’t offer our typical family profile story this week, we still want to hold space for all the kids who do not feel a need to enter this space. Kids whose lives and stories are just as important as those who are okay sharing. 

You’re not a token. You’re not an agenda. You’re 1000% normal, and we honor and recognize you for exactly who you are. Even if you never read this.   

THE ANDRUS FAMILY

I am a Child of God,

Their promises are sure;

Queer kids are precious in Their site

If they can but endure.

Lead me, guide me

Walk beside me;

Help me find the way.

Teach me all that I must do -

To help them live today.

It’s a mantra and a mission for Andrea Andrus, who reworked the words of a favorite hymn to align with her own experience as the mother of Ash (they/them). At 17 years old, Ash identifies as pansexual, nonbinary, and asexual, and was also recently diagnosed with autism. Andrea feels it’s both a calling and a blessing to parent such a beloved child with unique gifts. “Ash is my miracle baby. I want them and the world to know how special they are.” And of the many children like her own who also struggle with their mental health, Andrea says of her advocacy, “We know there are lives on the line. That’s why we do this work.”  

Ash was born when Andrea was 35. Andrea and husband Kevin both recognized early on that there was always something extra special about them. Growing up, Andrea says Ash was the “sweetest, sweetest kid -- super smart, top of the class. Ash always wanted to do the right thing and be involved and have fun. They would come home from school all the time and say, ‘This is the best day ever’!” Ash is artistic and gifted musically. They performed with a youth theatre group, taught themselves the ukulele, and after taking piano lessons for several years, now play by ear.

While Ash has always been a delight to their parents, Andrea chokes up at recalling the rough road the Andrus’ faced when they realized the level of suffering their child had endured for years. Around Ash’s 8th grade year, Andrea and Kevin made an unexpected move back to Idaho, where they both were raised. Ash was forced to leave behind their friends and everything they knew. Then Covid hit. Ash seemed to be lost in their own world. Andrea vividly remembers the day she went in to wake up Ash for seminary and she realized there was something more going on – she knew her child was really suffering from major anxiety and depression. As they worked through that for a couple years, there was still something else Andrea felt she was missing. She then found out her child was autistic. Andrea says, “I feel strongly that someone being born with autism is just like being born LGBTQ – it’s how your brain is formed. And it’s great -- autistic people change the world. They think outside the box, they are beautiful and creative, just like our LGBTQ community.” 

But Andrea feels that Ash having been undiagnosed that long with autism, and not getting the right support and treatments was very harmful and likely made their depression a lot worse. Right after they found out they were likely autistic, Ash asked Andrea, “Mom, am I broken?” Andrea says, “I had this powerful download of words that were not my own: ‘No, you’re not broken. This is your superpower’.” She told Ash, ‘It’s just like being gay. It’s how you were born. There’s nothing wrong with that, and it’s beautiful.”

Andrea reasons so many children like her own came out during 2020, (or while on their missions), is because in times of deep introspection and isolation with both yourself and God, is when we get real with ourselves. It was the same for Ash, whose coming out was a bit of an evolution of identities as they navigated what felt most authentic. Eventually, they found identifying as nonbinary to feel like a better fit for them than being gender fluid or trans.  Andrea reports that in her research, she has found this to be a perfectly normal part of an LGBTQ youth’s journey. While she struggled with Ash’s name and pronoun shifts at first, she values the advice of (Lift and Love Trans Support Group Leader Mama) Anita who says, “Using preferred name and pronouns is another way of saying ‘I love you’.” This got really real for Andrea who, having been married once before, recently saw her former married name printed somewhere and it made her physically ill, which again reiterated to her the importance of believing people when they tell you who they are, and not dead-naming them.

Ash no longer associates with the church, and is unsure if they believe in God. Yet they have a deep connection with and find comfort in nature. Ash loves animals, mountains, the ocean, and forests. Spiritually, Ash leans into mystical things and loves crystals, essential oils, and finds Oracle cards fascinating -- much like a journal prompt. As Andrea has stepped back and watched her child’s interests develop, she has been reminded of the creation story witnessed in the temple, and that all the elements that fascinate Ash and cause them to listen to the divine are the same surrounding elements that God created. 

Rather than resist Ash’s affinities, Andrea has made it a conscience choice to lean in and learn what her child is experiencing. She recognizes that a long time ago, she was one of those people who thought being gay was a choice. But when her own child came out, and her daily need became keeping that child alive, Andrea shed some of her past reluctancies and now finds intense peace and joy in allowing her heart to remain cracked open. An early prompting to learn all she could about the LGBTQ space transformed Andrea’s own belief system as she started to see that her personal revelation and insights did not always align with what she’d been taught. At one point, she apologized to Ash for not being better prepared, and now the two have a very strong bond of trust and transparency. Because of the actions Andrea took to educate herself and become a stronger ally, not only does Andrea feel an extreme outpouring of love for Ash, but for all LGBTQ people, including her gay niece and nephew.

She advises others to “Stay curious. To try to accept and love. If something bothers you, ask yourself why.” When Ash first came out to their parents, at the time the Andrus family was living in Twin Falls, ID, where they had a remarkable affirming bishop and his wife – each with a gay sibling of their own. Andrea’s bishop advised her to seek her own personal revelation, while also saying, “Your job is to love them.” At first, she thought, “Of course, I do.” But with time, she learned that love really is a verb.

On her spiritual journey, many things uttered over pulpits have been hurtful to Andrea. “I try to be a stone catcher. But sometimes it feels like stones are being thrown by some of our own.” One recent talk in particular that made it sound like Andrea’s child might “end up in a lesser kingdom” was especially hard. “I reject that,” she says. “I think there’s a VIP section for our LGBTQ siblings in heaven. A special place for special people.” Andrea also embraces the notion of expecting miracles along this journey as we navigate from Point A to Point B. She says, “God loves all His children. If the gospel doesn’t include all God’s children, then it’s not the complete gospel.”  

Now residents of Eagle, ID, Andrea is hopeful the church may someday feel like a safer place for her family. But as of now, she says, “We’re hurting. It’s not ok. Such a huge percentage of LGBTQ families leave the church. There are some people and organizations doing great things, but until it comes from the top, it’s not going to change the masses. Unless you’re blessed enough to have an LGBTQ child, it’s a slow process of changing hearts. And in the meantime, we’re losing so many wonderful people. Every ward’s got a few safe ‘come sit by me’ people, but it’s not enough. It’s a huge loss. And it’s lonely.” That being said, Andrea takes great comfort in her knowledge that her child Ash has a divine purpose on earth, and that God will help them succeed. 

THE MARCHEK FAMILY

Seth Marchek was a happy baby. While his mom recalls he was slow to talk, he was good at following directions and loved to be at home. As he grew, Jen says her youngest child was a “super easy child -- very obedient. He easily played by himself, and would sometimes get left behind at places because he was so low maintenance.” Seth loved to sing and dance, making a showtime out of his family’s FHE. Highly coordinated at a young age, he was also skilled at soccer.

Seth’s love for dance and musical theater as well as his super obedient nature continued through middle school, during which time he was very particular about how he dressed for church – tying his own tie by age 10. Jen says, “He was very studious about anything church related – he’d take notes during General Conference and leave post-it note reminders around his room.” Seth single-handedly led his family to read the entire Book of a Mormon as a family during the school year, after which he planned a special celebration, complete with a treat he’d baked at home and brought for his family to eat on the temple hill when they finished. Jen notes he was “100% obedient about praying over meals – even offering thanks publicly at restaurants and in his middle school cafeteria.”

Around the time he turned 15, things changed. Parents Jeff and Jen Marchek recall Seth became extremely moody and argumentative. Unhappy. Depressed. The once diligent Deacon who loved to pass the Sacrament now found excuses not to go to church. While his parents couldn’t determine what was brewing under the surface and guiding Seth’s new behavior, it was during this time that he chose to come out to his older siblings, Kira (now 23) and Zak (20). Both were extremely supportive of their younger brother.

Shortly before Seth turned 16, Jen took the kids to Pieology for pizza one night. She could tell there was a buzz between the three kids throughout dinner that followed them into the car. Once they’d closed the doors, Seth said, “Mom, I have to tell you something. Just listen for a second.” She replied, “Ok...,” to which Seth said, “I’m gay… what do you think?” Jen said she instantly said, “I love you. This doesn’t change anything.”

While Jen didn’t foresee Seth’s news, in looking back, she says she now sees how God prepared her to be the mother of a queer child. Her husband Jeff’s sister is a lesbian and got married around the time of Prop 8. Jen says, “I remember feeling very conflicted at the time, and many of our church friends asked us how we could go her wedding while being members of the church, which was so set against gay marriage. I remember taking this to the Lord in prayer and I was impressed with feelings of love for Mandi and Traci and that they were important and beloved members of not just my family – but God’s family.” 

Six months before Seth came out to his parents, Jen was on a business trip to San Francisco, near their Folsom, CA home. She felt a strong impression to look up what the church website said about LGBTQ people. She felt compelled to read everything she could find online. While she was prepared with all of this recent research, when Seth’s news hit her, at first, she was still a bit shocked and scared about what her son’s life might look like. She felt some grief for the picture she had in mind of how his life would unfold, and what her family’s future would look like. Jen knew that the despite the world being more accepting of LGBT folks than ever before, her son’s road would still be hard, and she worried for his safety. 

Jen recalls, “In this place of fear and grief and heartbreak, I turned to my Savior in prayer. I prayed to know what to do for Seth, how to help him. What should I say and do? And I was filled with the spirit of an overwhelming message – love him. I had the strongest reassurance that I was chosen to be his mother and show him love like our Savior would love him. And I felt the Spirit witnessing that God loves Seth, too.”

Now 18, Seth is a recent high school graduate who is excited to continue his education this fall at San Francisco State University. He still loves music, playing the ukulele, and performing with a competitive dance company. His parents say his mental health has drastically improved and he is back to being a happy, helpful kid. Jen says, “Seth is kind and thoughtful and respectful of others. The cloud of despair has lifted.”

While Seth is now dating a young man and has maintained a very supportive friend group from high school, Jen regrets he never really had a close friend in the church he could talk to. Seth no longer goes to church, nor do his siblings, though Zak occasionally attends YSA activities. They feel better about avoiding Sunday meetings in solidarity of their brother. Jen is her Folsom ward’s Relief Society president, and she still attends church with Jeff, where she wears a rainbow pin to church. Jen loves how her children have charitable hearts and are all always willing to help her serve anyone in their area who needs it. They often serve the homeless, and help with last minute needs that arise for Jen, who loves how Seth in particular has bonded with one of the “trickiest” ladies in the ward by pet-sitting.

Recently, Jen was asked to teach her ward’s 5th Sunday lesson about how they can be more loving LGBTQ allies. After sharing her own family’s path, Jen encouraged her ward members to pull out their gospel app while she read straight from the source of the importance of learning all you can, and expressing and showing love to LGBTQ loved ones while honoring your own natural feelings that may come as a result of someone close to you coming out. She shared the staggering mental health statistics faced by LGBTQ teens, and importance of creating safe spaces for them. She shared how her heart broke when she learned that her own son had struggled as a youth, feeling if he could just be righteous enough – more perfect in his prayers, scripture reading, and with keeping the commandments, that somehow God would take this way. Then she shared, “But the years went by and it didn’t change. And he felt pain that he didn’t fit in with the gospel plan, especially as told in the Proclamation, which led to pain bubbling up in an angry teen.” She shared the sadness she felt that despite all she had done to show her family they were a place of acceptance, that her son still harbored fear and shame. Jen also shared how she feels the most important reactions people can have when someone comes out are to 1) love them and 2) believe them. In her lesson, she emphasized a point once made by Carol F. McConkie, “The gospel of Jesus Christ does not marginalize people. People marginalize people. And we have to fix that. We need to be sensitive and love them and allow them the opportunity to grow and to blossom and to be their best selves. They have talents and abilities and personalities that are needed in the kingdom of God.”

Jen concluded her well-received lesson with this testimony: “As I’ve sought to study and learn more about this portion of my journey, I keep being drawn closer and closer to Christ. He is the answer. He is the one who ministered to all of those on the margins, the Samaritans, the tax collector, the woman accused of adultery, the sick and the lepers. I truly know in my heart that Jesus Christ loves all of his children.” 

Jen is grateful to participate in a nearby stake’s Learn of Me LGBTQ study group, in which their meetings all include a story from the life and ministry of Jesus Christ: “It is to Him we look.” Of her calling of being Seth’s mom, Jen is grateful that, “It’s a chance to love more, feel the spirit more, and to not be afraid.” And Jen took great comfort at the recent Lift and Love mom’s retreat, where she looked around at the 100+ other women in the room and marveled how she’s not alone in her journey as she strives to keep her faith and walk this path.

THE BALDWIN FAMILY

Like many mothers of LGBTQ kids, Carey Baldwin’s path to allyship was prompted long before her daughter, Millie, ever raised the topic of her own sexual orientation. When she first met Lift & Love founder (and now friend, Allison Dayton), Carey had to agree with her notion: “Isn’t it amazing how God gives you a runway?” 

About four years ago, a series of experiences cracked open Carey’s heart to the LGBTQ community. She witnessed a handful of people in her orbit face complex situations with their LGBTQ loved ones, from a trans person being denied the opportunity to be baptized, to multiple friends grappling with their LGBTQ children’s mental health and suicidal behavior. She says, “The hardest part was seeing how everyone seemed to know what was going on, but no one said anything. Why do these young people feel like they have to leave our LDS community and make it on their own – or take their lives?” Around this time, Carey heard the statistic about how LGBTQ youth who have at least one supportive adult in their life are 40% less likely to attempt suicide. At that moment, Carey decided, “I have to be that person. Anyone who knows me has to know how I feel about LGBTQ. That I love them.” But at first, she wasn’t sure exactly how to go about it.

Carey saw J. Kirk Richard’s painting “Jesus Said Love Everyone” online and considered the influx of youth and young adults who frequented her own home as a mother of four and wife of a bishop. She decided to make her home an obvious safe space, and acquired and hung the painting. She also posted a picture of the painting on social media. This caught the attention of a friend whose child had just come out. Her friend mentioned the loneliness and isolation she was feeling, and the two started taking regular walks for hours around a lake, where they’d talk through everything and strategize how they could do better. It was the beginning of 2020’s COVID quarantine, and with more time on their hands, they decided to start an LGBTQ study group and dive into whatever resources they could find for LDS people trying to be better allies. They followed the lead of Questions from the Closet podcast co-host, Charlie Bird, and started reading the Book of Mormon from the lens of an LGBTQ person/ally. 

Word slowly spread about their study group, and eventually it turned into a regular Zoom meeting with a growing number of friends. Carey says, “I have learned more from the scriptures in the past couple years studying with this group than I ever have before… It’s definitely a sacred space for me.” Carey felt a warmth inside her the day her Minnesota stake president got up in stake conference and, while sharing successes in their church community, included the fact that they have an LGBTQ Book of Mormon study group. Hearing this, some gay members in attendance then joined the group, which still continues via Zoom and in-person today. As people gradually returned to in-person church, Carey made sure to show up to church gatherings wearing her rainbow pin, and trying to be the best ally she could.

Shortly before the Baldwin's oldest daughter, Ella, was to be married in the temple, Carey remembers popping into Millie’s room one night to say prayers with her. While the two were talking about the wedding, Millie casually said, “You know, I don’t know if I’ll get married in the temple.” When her mother asked her why not, Millie replied, “Well, not everyone can get married there – like people who are LGBTQ can’t.” Carey remembers agreeing that was unfortunate, but didn’t ask more. She assumed this was just the social justice side of Millie speaking – a side that’s always been very much alive and admired by those who know and love Millie.

“She’s always had a different way of viewing the world than most of her peers,” says Carey. Millie was diagnosed with a visual processing disorder that has made the traditional learning environment challenging. Because of this, Carey spent a lot of time with her youngest over the years as they sought the proper therapy and resources to be successful in a school setting. She has learned to advocate for herself and has overcome many learning challenges. Carey now recognizes the gift that Millie has to see the world in a way most people don’t. “Millie’s always been an authentic kid – she doesn’t conform, she’s just herself. And she cares so much for someone her age – about equality, fairness. It’s fascinating.”  

In another bedtime check-in about a year later, Millie said, “Mom, I’m just going to tell you I’m bisexual.” Carey remembers feeling so grateful she had immersed herself in the resources she had, but still she found herself silencing thoughts like, “You’re too young to start thinking that/you’ve got all this time/why do you need to identify yourself right now?”  But in the moment, what she said was, “I love you, and I think you’re awesome.” Millie then left her room to go tell her dad, Scott, who had walked the ally journey alongside Carey, and was also instantly supportive and affirming. So were all of Millie’s siblings, which include Ella (23), Caroline (20) and Calvin (18). Carey says no one seemed phased by this news. And neither is Millie, who “doesn’t find her orientation a big deal.” As Carey has reflected on this moment, she recognizes that what mattered most was being ready to display unconditional love, without hesitation or reservation. She is also trying to leave safe space for Millie to fully understand herself. “I have learned that many youth evolve in how they understand their sexuality as they grow and learn more about themselves,” Carey said. “I wanted Millie to know that she would be fully accepted and loved by me and our family throughout her journey.”

Carey admires her daughter’s bravery and self-confidence, something she does not remember feeling at the same levels at that age. Carey admits sometimes she still feels the same fear creeping up when it comes to her daughter entering a new environment. After many years living in Minnesota, the family made an unexpected move to Denver, CO last summer, and Carey harbored some anxiety knowing they’d be moving to a new, more conservative area. She feels she may have projected some of that anxiety on Millie who she told, “Maybe don’t come right out with it – get to know people first.” Millie requested to meet with a therapist to help her sort some things out in the transition, which turned out to be a great support as Millie entered her new environment. “She is doing great,” smiles Carey.

Her mother assumed Millie might say “peace out” to the church with the new move, but that has not been the case. When Carey asked her if she was fine to keep going, Millie said, “Yeah, for now.” It helps her to know her parents have her back, and will listen and commiserate when certain lessons don’t effectively address her reality. Millie doesn’t lead with her orientation, but most of the kids know. While their new ward and stake are not quite as LGBTQ-affirming yet as those in Minnesota, Millie says most of her peers don’t feel her identity is a big deal, and she doesn’t understand why her mom “stresses about it so much.”

When they moved, Carey did lead with announcing her own allyship. She showed up the first Sunday at church wearing a rainbow dress and pin, and now laughs, “I may have scared a few people.” But her actions attracted the attention of her stake RS president, who is also an ally, and this new friend asked her to be the stake inclusion specialist. She also suggested that Carey do a training for the bishops about LGBTQ inclusion. Carey has enjoyed sharing what she has learned and making new friendships with others who are working on their allyship. She just wishes that more church members and leaders would engage so that progress could accelerate. Carey says, “Too often, members and leaders either avoid discussing LGBTQ topics or gravitate to outmoded and incorrect ideas.” 

As for Millie, she is thriving in her new environment. An avid theatre and music lover and Harry Styles fan, Millie just starred as the Baker’s Wife in a school production of Into the Woods. Her parents were also impressed that, as the new kid in school, she was recently selected to be part of student government. She has a unique sense of fashion and someday wants to go to fashion school in New York. Carey says, “People really like Millie because she doesn’t put on a front with anyone.”

Carey takes her calling as Millie’s mother and LGBTQ advocate seriously, and advises any parent new to this space to lead with love when it comes to their children. “When they come out, you just tell them that you love them and are there to support them. And give them the biggest hug ever. Be so proud they felt comfortable sharing that with you – they’ve thought about it a long time. Give them as much grace and love as you can.”

She thinks back to the day she first bravely posted on Instagram the beautiful painting of the Savior with rainbow robes by J. Kirk Richards, and the friend who reached out to her seeking a supportive person to talk to. Now Carey and her friend realize that having that experience changed both of their lives for the better as they have learned to become allies who are committed to supporting their children and to staying in the church they love – for them, these are not mutually exclusive notions. And they have an LGBTQ study group to prove it.

Carey concludes, “The church should not be a painful place for people to be. That’s so counterintuitive to the radical love the Savior showed – and we are supposed to be like Him. No one should feel pain while worshiping Jesus. Only love.”

THE CONFORTO FAMILY

Looking back, there were several incidents over the years that prepared Jason and Natalie Conforto for that late night just before their oldest son Jamison’s 18th birthday in which he would come into their room and reveal that he was gay. But nothing prepared them for his subsequent admission that he had packed his bags and was prepared to leave their home if they felt it was necessary. “That just broke our hearts -- that he would think that his being gay would make it so he didn’t have a place in our family. It was painful,” says Jason. 

Of course, the Confortos didn’t kick their son out. Instead, they reassured Jamison he was a valued part of their family and would be forever, and that they loved and supported everything about him. But their son’s fear led Jason and his wife on a deep dive to see what in their past they might have said or done to make their son think this might even be a possibility. That probe has led them now to make it very clear where they stand both as faithful members of their LDS faith and visible allies and supporters of the LGBTQ community in West Jordan, UT, where they’ve raised their five kids (Jamison – 20, Lucy – 18, Bella – 16, Aria – 14, and Monte – 12). 

Jamison’s journey in coming out has in some ways paralleled his father’s journey in coming to understand LGBTQ issues in a meaningful way over the past two decades. When Jamison was just a toddler, Jason and Natalie recall wondering if their son might be gay, reflecting on his affinity for traditionally female things – singing, dancing, princesses. Natalie felt it was her duty to teach the Proclamation and gender roles often. While they never punished him for the things he enjoyed, Jason tried (mostly vainly) to interest his son in Batman and Star Wars, and Natalie thought that gentle guidance would help Jamison "choose" a traditionally masculine path. Instead, Jamison learned to mask his sexuality and retreat into himself. Natalie saw his unhappiness, and started to understand that her son's feelings were not a choice, but his nature. Jamison and his parents were all acting out of love, but Jamison was suffering as he hid.

For many years, Jason also served as a home teacher to a young man named Sam who was gay and had left the church. At first, Sam was resistant to a home teacher and even tried to shock Jason with stories of his relationships and activities, but Jason offered a consistent, nonjudgmental friendship for years that continues to this day. In fact, this month Jason and Natalie joined Sam and his husband Derek for Salt Lake’s Pride festival, and the Confortos were touched when Sam and Derek went out of their way to ride SLC’s Trax system all the way to West Jordan to pick up Jason and Natalie, then back again downtown by their home, just so they wouldn’t get lost. Jason says this important friendship has redefined the concept of the new ministering program, as Jason now emphasizes that you don’t need a calling to befriend someone, whether in or out of your ward boundaries.

When Jamison was still in high school, Jason, a filmmaker, produced the feature documentary Dog Valley, which followed the horrific torture, rape and murder of a young gay man named Gordon Church in Cedar City in the ‘80s. This was a harrowing experience to spend so much time with, but Jason felt it an important story to be told, even before knowing his own son was gay. Two years later, around the time Jamison came out, he told his parents he wanted to attend Southern Utah University in Cedar City. Jason said things got real when as a father, he moved his son into his dorm that was just a block away from where Gordon Church had been abducted. Jason says, “I’m really grateful that we live in a different world now, in terms of safety, for the most part. Things aren’t perfect for our LGBTQ loved ones, especially in terms of mental health, but things are getting better.”

Jamison just completed his junior year at SUU, where he is focusing on writing and film. His father says he is a natural, gifted writer. Jamison is currently studying abroad in London, and his artistic portfolio includes a handful of fantasy books, a literary memoir about his experience of coming out and entering the dating world, and freelance film work including a video about belonging and inclusion that he worked on with his father, as well as several animated music videos he’s created. Jamison is surrounded by a loving network of family and friends. Following the night he came out to his parents, Jamison came out publicly on social media, and his parents followed his lead the next day. Jason says all three posts received nothing but beautiful, positive, loving comments from friends and family.

But to the one relative who asked Jason, “Why do they have to come out?”, Jason offered this as a reply: “Jamison knows you loved the person he was pretending to be. Now he needs to know we actually love the person he is.” Jason continues, “I can’t imagine having to fear whether anyone in the world loves you. Jamison even struggled wondering if God loved him, and felt isolated from God. Such a painful thing to imagine.” Jason feels his son would still be active in the church if there was a healthy place for him. While Jason and Natalie are active LDS members, they feel there’s a lot of work to do to break down some of the hypocrisy they see. Jason feels there is way too much emphasis on whether LGBTQ people are keeping the law of chastity. “I try to change the focus to, are we keeping our covenants to love each other?  Including loving LGBTQ individuals? Frankly, we’re not. If someone wants to make and keep covenants of chastity, that’s between them and the Lord. Our business is, are we just loving them?” 

Instead of leaving the faith they love, Jason and Natalie have chosen to try to lift where they stand and look to Jesus Christ's example of love. They believe the Lord sent them their special son as part of His plan to teach us all to love better, and they try not to condemn others while their own understanding is still developing. When people make insensitive comments, Natalie remembers (with a stab), "I used to feel that way!" She believes people do their best with the limited understanding they have, and feels that sharing her story can help others grow. Natalie says, "Not everyone got to have an in-home tutor for the past twenty years, but each of our lives have taught different lessons. We need each other, and we need Jesus to show us why."

While Jamison is now out of the house as a college student, the couple now hosts a monthly group seeking to bridge understanding and provide support for those in their Pride circle. Shortly after their own son came out, Jason and Natalie realized there were five other LGBTQ teens and young adults just on their street who might benefit from some fellowship. After first notifying parents of minors and circulating their desire to host a monthly gathering, they started an open invite support circle for LGBTQ friends with LDS backgrounds. At first, they tried to operate it as a church-style meeting that included a song, prayer, and thought, but soon after, a few in the space, including their own son, recognized that might be triggering for some. The group became more of a topic-led discussion in which all can share freely, and guest speakers are often invited. Topics have included coming out, family relationships, handling the holidays and family gatherings, dating, and the group has even had a Valentine exchange party and show tune singalong night. The gatherings have grown in popularity and length, and Jason laughs he has on occasion had to tell people it’s time to go home when the clock hit 1am. 

Recently, a post he was tagged in made Jason think. It said, “What do you do if you’re a fully committed Christian but your child is gay?” Jason says, “To me, that question is written wrong. It should say, ‘What do I do as a fully committed Christian, but I struggle with my child being gay.’ That’s the only but. That’s what you need to worry about. There is no problem being a Christian and having a gay son and loving him. It’s very easy to do.” 

THE KENDRA & DEVIN WILDE STORY

“Jesus said love everyone, treat them kindly, too” and “Kindness begins with me” are the lyrics Primary President Kendra Wilde of West Jordan, UT hopes her ward members both big and small lead with when it comes to how they treat LGBTQ people. She has been happy to see this has largely been the case in her ward, where people have embraced her youngest son, Devin Wilde, since he came out as gay after he returned from his mission in 2020. 

Following the example of a bishop who Kendra calls wonderfully supportive, the Wilde’s ward has welcomed Devin to share this aspect of who he is openly, since he returned home after serving 17 months in the Scotland-Ireland mission. Devin was serving in the height of Covid, and it was a crushing time to be a missionary in the UK. He was only allowed outside of his apartment one hour a day, which left him grappling with all kinds of thoughts and emotions during lockdown. One being the past experiences that had led him to question aspects of his sexuality. Devin discovered the podcast “Latter Gay Stories,” and would listen to the stories via earbuds while binge cleaning his apartment, while his companion found other things to occupy his time. 

Kendra remembers getting a call from Devin that completely blindsided her as he revealed that he was bisexual, and would be returning home early from his mission -- for other reasons. When he returned, Devin’s mental health was at an all-time low, and it took some time for Kendra and Devin to find the right help, which they did via a life coach who specializes in LGBTQ and addiction issues. It was in those meetings that Devin came to actualize and admit that he is gay and accept himself as he is.

When Devin returned from his mission, defeated, Kendra brought him to work, where she manages the office affairs for a property development company. She tried to find odd jobs for him to do to keep him busy and keep his mind off some heavy emotions he was battling. One of her two bosses (a former bishop) saw Devin lying on the floor of her office one day, depressed, and realized the magnitude of the situation.  He has since been a wonderful support for Kendra and Devin. Her other boss took Devin fishing for a day and also offered him some support. Looking back, Kendra is grateful for the many family members and friends, like her bosses, along the way who met Devin where he was at and let him know he was loved for who he is as they helped him use the gift of the Atonement to get to a healthier mental space.

Devin’s orientation took his mom completely by surprise. He had been just 13 when his father passed away from colon cancer, and as the youngest of four kids and still living at home with his mom after his mission, Kendra says she felt very alone when he first opened up to her about all he had been grappling with. In some ways, Kendra says going through that experience was even more shocking and isolating than dealing with her husband’s death. When Devin first told her, she responded she loved him no matter what, but admits now that she needed to embark on a steep learning curve to come to a place where she could be fully supportive and open-minded about all he was experiencing. 

Like many parents, Kendra reflected back on the when and the why and the how did she not see this coming? In high school, Devin had loved ballroom dancing, and had dated a lot of girls from the sport. Kendra recalls that many girls had had crushes on him. There was one girl in particular Devin had known before his mission who he had expressed having real feelings for.  After his mission, on a quest to really figure himself out, Devin went out with the girl again, and while the two are still good friends to this day, Devin says it didn’t take him long to figure out that he wasn’t romantically interested in women.

After Devin had been home for about a year, Kendra’s bishop contacted them to say he felt strongly impressed that they needed to have a fifth Sunday lesson about LGBTQ issues, and he wanted Kendra and Devin to teach it. They agreed. The bishopric circulated a google doc amongst the ward announcing the lesson and asked ward members to input any (anonymous) questions they’d like to ask. One person questioned why this was a lesson they needed when they’re supposed to go to church to learn about Jesus Christ. This was a bit shocking to Kendra and Devin, who saw the question, but the bishop encouraged the lesson to move forward. 

Kendra and Devin took a Christ-centered yet vulnerable approach to their lesson, openly sharing each of their personal experiences and suggestions as to how people can better minister to those in the margins, and to those who might feel like they don’t fit the LDS mold. Kendra let her ward members know that, “This is what Heavenly Father has asked me to do and I am going to do it.”  It was later shared with Kendra that after the lesson was delivered, the same member who had complained about its necessity afterwards told a bishopric member that this was “the most spiritual lesson he’d ever attended” and apologized for the previous conversation.

Nowadays, Devin is doing much better. He’s working full time, studying cyber security at Davis Tech, and dating his boyfriend who he really likes.  Devin has chosen to rely on personal revelation to guide him where he should go in his future in terms of his relationships and his involvement with the church. He often goes to the temple grounds in prayer with the scriptures and a journal to receive revelation from Heavenly Father.  Currently, he feels compelled to stay, even though it is not always an easy road.  Devin does have a testimony, but things can be and are hard at times; but he still follows what he feels is right. And in fact, most Sundays you can find him near his mom in the primary room, singing the songs with the CTR 5 and 6 class he co-teaches. Kendra says, “My counselors kept asking me to call him to be a teacher.  The kids have always loved him.  And the messages taught in Primary about love and kindness are safe ones for all to hear.”

Kendra says, “Over the last two years, both of us have relied on our relationships with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ which have been strengthened and continue to grow.  We have received many answers and feel peace at where we are today.”     

THE FARRIS-DAVIS FAMILY

Sometimes it’s not what we say, but what we don’t, that makes the most lasting impression on our children when they come to us with important news. This was the case for Mandy Davis, who’s now grateful she held her tongue to just listen about a year ago when her daughter, Ella (then 14), joined her on an after-dinner walk. Their conversation went something like this:

Ella: Mom, what do you think about gay marriage?

Mandy: I think God loves all his children, and He wants all His children to be happy.

Ella: Good, because I think I’m bisexual.

And with that, Mandy’s head started spinning. As they walked home, she felt overwhelmed with a mix of emotions -- shock that her “girly girl” who she thought had childhood crushes on singers Brandon Flowers and Adam Levine might also like girls, love for her child trusting her with this news, and gratitude she had heeded a strong impression to not say some beliefs she held (at the time): that from a church standpoint, it was still a sin to “act on it” and while it is a hard burden to carry, it is just like other sins people struggle with. She’s really glad she felt prompted not to say all that.

Mandy and Ella had always shared a special closeness – the only girls in the large, blended Farris-Davis household that includes Ella’s step-dad, Brian, step-brothers Jesse (23), Justin (20), Jake (16) and Jared (14), and her biological brothers Jace (17) and Nash (11). So after hearing Ella’s confession, Mandy questioned why she’d never sensed this about her daughter, or had the impressions some parents of LGBTQ kids say they’ve had, before their kids came out. On their walk, Mandy asked Ella how she’d come to this conclusion. She responded, “Well, today in class I was talking with this girl, and I realized how cute I thought she was, and that I think I am attracted to her.” 

“She thinks” were the words that lingered for Mandy. She took them home to her husband; Brian was also surprised. Mandy says, “It sounded so casual and sudden.  How does a light switch just go on one day and you realize you’re bisexual?” Over the next month, Mandy broached the subject again with Ella, asking if she had thought more on her feelings. Ella responded she’d been researching other sexualities that might better fit her, unsure whether bisexual was the right identity (she’d eventually determine that her sexual identity is lesbian). Hearing this, Mandy struggled to understand: why would someone need to research their sexuality? How do you just not know how you feel? She started to question how real all of this was, and found herself giving space to some of the common fallacies people hold about kids discovering their sexuality, (many of which are addressed in Richard Ostler’s book Listen, Learn and Love, which Mandy highly recommends), including: 

- Isn’t she too young to know she is gay?

- Don’t a lot of kids go through this “phase” because it is the cool thing to do, or they are just confused?

- Why would someone say they are bisexual, then later decide they are lesbian/gay?

- She had no “signs” of being gay; she seemed to have crushes in the past.  How is it that she is now suddenly gay?

- Could this just be a reaction to processing the trauma and hardships she has experienced in life?

Mandy found herself dwelling on this last question, as did a few close family members once she told them about Ella. In a few short years, much had changed for Mandy’s kids. They experienced their parents’ divorce in 2016, challenges that came with merging families when their mom remarried, and witnessed their dad’s personal struggles that persisted after the divorce. When he passed away in his sleep in April of 2020, the kids were the ones who found him. Ella was extremely close to her dad and had always tried to take care of him, so Mandy says in her misconceptions about LGBTQ+, she thought maybe her daughter was just overwhelmed and confused about life. 

The next few months brought some hard moments. Mandy said she could handle her daughter being lesbian, but she found herself constantly questioning, “Does she for sure know?” Ella also began losing her testimony and belief in God, but after watching her mom struggle with her oldest brother’s recent stepping away from the church, Ella agreed to keep going as to not rock the boat anymore. Mandy admits, “I know now that I didn’t handle everything as I should have. I was focusing on my own grief of lost futures and expectations and still trying to force Ella down the path I had envisioned for her, thinking ‘she can still be gay and participate in church’.” Mandy now acknowledges, “I didn’t truly understand at the time how difficult it is to be LGBTQ+ in the church -- to not be fully accepted and able to fully participate, to hear messages of how being LGBTQ+ is an ‘attack on the family’ or ‘influenced by Satan,’ and to hear persistent messages on temple marriage -- a blessing that she can never have.”

One Sunday, Ella asked to stay home from church to research and pray to find her own answers. She texted Mandy the scripture in Leviticus that is translated to refer to homosexuality as an “abomination,” and asked her mom, “How am I supposed to love a God who doesn’t love me?” Mandy’s heart shattered with these words. She became increasingly aware of just how difficult the church could be for families like hers. She says, “I’d also begun to experience anxiety while bracing myself for ill-informed comments and lessons on hard topics. And I have a solid testimony, so, I can only image how much harder it was for her.”  

During the open house of the Mesa, AZ temple near their hometown of Marana, AZ, Ella broke down crying in the bride’s room, and again in the sealing room. It was in this moment Mandy knew without a doubt her daughter was gay, and Mandy fully understood that if Ella could never have all the blessings the church promotes without being asked to sacrifice true love and companionship, that the best thing for her emotional health was to no longer participate in the church.

Ella is now 15 and doing well. She shares her mother’s passion for history, books, music, and live concerts. She has a natural talent for music (piano) and art (drawing), and is often complemented on her music taste, loving everything from Led Zepplin, The Beatles, Weezer, Chopin, Frank Sinatra, opera, and Broadway musicals. Ella’s family has always admired her maturity, thoughtfulness, and introspection, and the confidence with which she approaches life, including in how she owns her sexual identity. While it took a minute for Mandy to wrap her head around it all, she has strived to show her daughter her full love and support. 

After Ella came out, Mandy immediately purchased a rainbow bracelet which she wears constantly, and she has continued to add to her “rainbow collection” of apparel. On her piano is a display that includes a picture of Christ embracing children in rainbow robes, and a sign with rainbow hearts that says, “I’ll walk with you” that they made on Ella’s birthday this year. Mandy’s grateful for the family and friends who’ve shown immediate love and acceptance for Ella, including her conservative parents who’ve said, “We knew one day it was very likely we would have an LGBTQ+ grandchild or loved one.  And we knew that we would love them, just the same as we always have.”

As she’s continued on her journey, Mandy felt stirred by words shared by Charlie Bird at a recent Lift and Love retreat. He said, “You cannot be a warrior without being willing to take battle scars.” She and Brian discussed how when you go into battle, you gear yourself up with armor – hers decidedly being the fruits of her endeavors to increase her secular and spiritual knowledge and relationship with God. Mandy has made efforts to overcome her fear of rejection in lieu of advocating and shining light on the LGBTQ community, to help people see how church members can do better. She hopes that in a restorative church that values ongoing revelation, that we will continue to study these issues via solid resources and ask questions – especially of those who walk different paths so that we can understand their experience.

Much like in a solid marriage where differences and disagreements occur, Mandy knows you can feel uneasy with diverse viewpoints, ask questions, and work out compromises while still supporting each other.  Similarly, she feels we can sustain leaders as we work through difficult messages -- understanding that leaders encourage personal reflection, don’t claim perfection, and above all want us to love each other.  Mandy says, “We don’t often allow ourselves (and others) to pray, think, and ponder, as encouraged by our leaders, on a topic and come to our own thoughts and conclusion.  We love to have certainty, because without certainty we feel vulnerable.  That need for certainty inhibits our faith, trust, and personal growth. It does not give room for hope.  My wish is that we create space for everyone to express their struggles, disagreements, and differing viewpoints without questioning their devotion to the gospel and relationship with God.  We can live and love the gospel while also having hope for change and faith in the ongoing restoration, acknowledging there are a lot of things that God knows that we don’t and are not yet ready for.”  

Mandy says that while her path in life has been much more of a “zig zag” than a “straight and narrow,” she has never doubted God nor His love for her – a testimony that has only strengthened in the past year since that after-dinner walk last May. “Having Ella come out has increased my personal relationship with God, which has made all the difference in finding peace and knowing my child is exactly who He meant her to be. I have felt His guidance and received personal answers to my questions and struggles. Most of all, it has led me more towards developing the unconditional Christ-like love that I know God wants me to show to others.”  

THE TANYA & BRENDEN DAVIS FAMILY

My husband Brenden and I are the parents of four beautiful children: Courtney - 25, Ren - 23, Eme – 15, and Jackson – 13, who are ALL LGBTQ! We are the only family we know with all LQBTQ kids and we feel like we won the lottery! But it has been a process to get to this point in our lives.

Our second child, Ren (they/them), was our first to come out in 2016 at age 16, originally as pansexual and more recently as non-binary as well. As our first to come out, Ren had the toughest time and we made SO MANY mistakes, especially me. Brenden and I were on our way to Europe to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary when we found a note in our car at the airport, telling us Ren was pansexual, had known for more than five years, and was leaving the church. We were stunned. I found out later that they had a bag packed that day in case we asked them to move out – which broke my heart. We did call right away and shared our love and support, but that was really the only time we talked about it for the next few months. I chalked it up to giving everyone time to process; but the truth was, I was afraid, and hoped this was just a phase that would go away. I thought Ren was exaggerating pain to get out of attending church, and honestly, I made the experience at the time more about me and the pain I was feeling about their stepping away from the church, instead of about their feelings.

Even with our love and acceptance, Ren had internalized feelings of unworthiness and shame that were at times crippling. A suicide attempt in 2017 really opened my eyes. At the time, I felt there could be nothing worse than the despair you feel when your child tries to take their life. And then I witnessed the level of pain experienced by four separate family friends who each lost loved ones to suicide, some due to shame they faced from their church communities because of their identity.

After Ren’s attempt, the situation became painfully clear. It didn’t matter if this was a phase. It didn’t matter what I was feeling. What mattered was this kid, right now, and the fact that they were hurting deeply. And I needed to figure out how I could help. We were given a second chance – a gift many others don’t receive, and I was determined to do better, to be better for all of our kids.

It seemed unfathomable to me that the church that had brought such joy and fullness to my life could be causing pain for others. I asked Ren to explain more about what hurt at church, and several examples were shared. But the one that hit home the most was a regular and repeated experience – a brother in the ward who reliably bore his testimony every month about Satan’s attack on the family. With tear-filled eyes, Ren looked at me and said, “They are talking about me, Mom. He thinks that I am Satan’s tool to destroy families.” Ren continued, “How could God love me but make me this way?” It was the first time those thoughts had ever occurred to me, and I had no answer for my child who was hurting so badly. But from that very day, I became determined to dig in and learn more, to understand the pain points and to do a better job protecting. When I took my pleas to the Lord, they changed from “Change my child” to “Change me, help me to see.” As the Lord always does, He answered clearly and precisely: “Just love, without preconditions, without judgement, and without requirement to change.” I had four years to educate myself and to learn before life would change again.

One of the blessings for Brenden and I during the 2020 pandemic was lots of family time and many conversations that helped our kids to understand how we truly wanted to be supportive. Our daughter Eme (she/her), then 13, opened up in a tearful conversation and shared that she was pansexual. Five minutes into that conversation, our then 11-year-old son Jackson (he/him) burst into the room. He could tell he had walked into something important since we were crying together, and he started to back out of the room. Eme made eye contact with him and said, “I told her.” My response was, “Wait, he already knew?” To which my son responded that he might was well share his news, too: he was omnisexual (attracted to any gender, with a male preference) and gender fluid! That was a lot for one conversation! But the feeling was so palpably different than our first experience with a child coming out. I felt relief that we knew so early, without years of trying to hide and repress feelings. I felt so much gratitude that Ren had paved the way so that their siblings could have an entirely different experience.

Our oldest daughter, Courtney (she/her), got married civilly during the pandemic and about a year later came out in a Facebook post as bisexual. She shared this information with her new husband, Casey, prior to their marriage and he was nothing but supportive of her. He’s a keeper! She delayed telling us because she was worried that we would struggle with her decision to leave the church and that four LGBTQ kids might “put us over the edge.” By that point, I was a little bit relieved that for the first time, we were all in this together, in a different way than we had ever experienced before. We are making the decision to “come out” as a family together now because we want to celebrate how far we have come and to emphasize that there is no shame in the way the Lord made each of us. We are so incredibly proud of the amazing, talented, artistic, funny and empathetic children we have been blessed with. They have taught us the true meaning of love. We are better because they are part of our lives. We have told them repeatedly – and we mean it – that we will love whomever they choose to share their lives with!

These experiences have brought Brenden and I closer to the Savior, and to explain that further, I need to share a bit about my job. I am an architect and I work for the church in the Special Projects Department. I oversee the design of new temples in a large part of the world, and I have been participating in this work in some form or another since 2016, just months before Ren came out.

As I came to better understand the trauma our LGBTQ kids were carrying, I came to understand why the temple was such a source of pain for many. I have had tearful, honest conversations with my kids about the reality of their ability to attend the temple now and in the future. At times, it has seemed ironic to me that the majority of my time and effort on a daily basis is spent engaged in building temples that my own children may not be able to attend. It hurt tremendously, often more than I had words to explain. I don’t think it is a coincidence that I work where I do and that all my children are LGBTQ. It has given me the opportunity to search deeply for answers from the Lord.

As I repeatedly took my concerns to the Lord in the temple, several things were made clear to me. First, the valiant example of Eve: her ability to evaluate truth and evil and make a courageous choice allowed the unfolding of the Lord’s plan. She is someone I can emulate and admire as a mother and a woman who bravely does hard things. Second, the blessings pronounced in the temple go both forward and backward in time, they impact my ancestors and my children, and are based solely on my ability to keep my covenants, not theirs. Third, it was no accident that the focus of the temple is on the beauty and variety of the Lord’s creations. My children, and others like them, were beautifully and wonderfully created in His image and were some of the most valiant spirits saved for these latter days. That last truth came as I sat in a celestial room and looked up at the beautiful chandelier and saw hundreds – if not thousands -- of tiny rainbows. It literally took my breath away. I was also blessed with the opportunity to take my whole family to the open house and rededication of the Raleigh, NC temple, one of my earliest temple projects. As we sat in the celestial room together, I had the thought that it might be the only opportunity we would have, in this life, to be with our children in the temple and how grateful I was that we at least had that experience together. I was filled with tremendous peace that everything would be ok, and I have often looked back on that experience for peace and reassurance from the Lord.

We try to Lift + Love our children by believing them. We talk about everything honestly and openly. We try to help them process things that hurt, including comments and attitudes of others -- sometimes close friends. They have our permission to leave a space that doesn’t feel safe and to advocate for themselves and others. We are also working on allowing them the space and time they need to create their own relationship with the Savior and to understand that His love is not transactional; it does not need to be earned. The Lord has slowly been teaching me that I don’t have to hold on so tightly. He loves these kids infinitely more than I do – which is hard to imagine. Whether they stay members is not important; what matters most is that they connect with Him and feel His love in a way they can understand.

As for my husband and I, we feel called to stay, to tell our story, and to advocate for safety and inclusion. I believe that truly listening to each other and learning from each other paves the path to real Christlike love. Listening to the stories of other LGBTQ members as well as my own kids ultimately changed my heart. My desire is that one day we, as members of the church, will open our hearts and our minds to everyone and that we will have a desire to truly magnify our baptismal covenants -- to mourn with those who mourn and comfort those who stand in need of comfort -- with both our words and our actions. Church will be a place to come and heal, regardless of the trials and challenges we face individually and ALL will be welcome on the pews. We will be able to love without preconditions, without requirement to change -- to love like He loves!

We’d like to thank Tanya Davis for sharing her beautiful family story.

THE VON PINGEL FAMILY

Each week, Teddi and Eric von Pingel experience a different type of Sunday than they once envisioned. For Teddi, it’s a physically taxing endeavor as she now serves as the ASL interpreter coordinator for a Deaf ward in Lehi, UT, where Eric teaches Sunday School. While they dutifully raised their three children in the church, partly out of gratitude for the roots planted by their convert parents, Teddi and Eric now attend alone. The von Pingels once adhered to “all in” gospel living, never questioning what they’d been taught; but now, they regularly question how best to navigate the waters of loving both their LGBTQ children and their church, of which their youngest two no longer feel a part.

It wasn’t always this way. Before they married, Teddi served an ASL mission in North Carolina and Georgia. Eric equally loved his time as an elder in Montevideo, Uruguay. They were committed to raising their kids (Olivia – 23, D’Artagnan – 21, and Sophia – 17) in their faith. All three attended seminary, and their older two graduated. Teddi says they were taken by surprise when Olivia announced her plans to serve a mission after high school graduation, as she had always said she wouldn’t be doing that. But she accepted a call to McAllen, TX - Spanish speaking. About a week after her departure, the von Pingels got a call that Olivia was experiencing debilitating anxiety. Not eating, not sleeping, she was miserable. Her parents referenced their own experiences as missionaries and told her, “You can do this; we know it’s hard.” But the anxiety got worse, and after several more weeks, Olivia’s mission president put her on a plane to go home. 

Her homecoming was the beginning of Olivia’s journey of learning to love herself. Olivia still attended church at that point, as she tried to work through what it meant to come home early, even though all her leaders assured her she had served honorably. Gradually, she became less active. Teddi recalls, “I had several promptings she was experiencing same-sex attraction. When I prayed about it, I’d feel ‘This is not your journey, you have to be there for her and let her experience this’.” When Teddi would talk to her daughter about the emotions she was experiencing, she’d ask, “Is there anything else you’d like to talk to me about?” Olivia would reply, “I don’t know, Mom, I don’t know.” 

One of the blessings of Covid was the amount of time the family spent together. Finally one day, Olivia approached her mom and said, “I need to be honest with you – I’m bisexual; I’m attracted to women.” Teddi responded, “I already felt that’s what you were going to say – I love you, and I’m proud of you for being who you are.” Teddi continues, “Come to find out, I was one of the last to know. She was afraid I’d be disappointed in her. I think that came from teachings from the church. But I reassured her, ‘I love you, you’re my child first, I will always choose you. Now you’ve got to tell your dad’.” And in walked Eric, who joined them on their couch of tears. Eric also told Olivia, “I love you so much and I’m so proud of you for telling us.”

Teddi recalls that as one of the most beautiful days of her life: “The day my child trusted me to be who she is. I take that as a great honor – to have a child comfortable enough to tell me.” Their conversation took a turn as Olivia then dovetailed into telling her parents she just didn’t think the church was true anymore, saying, “I can’t be a part of a church that doesn’t accept me for who I am. I was trying so hard and what I was experiencing would be seen as unrighteous even though I had never had a serious relationship with anyone, or done anything.” This became a troubling point for Teddi as well – how so many focus on the physical aspects of being LGBTQ, when in reality, so many of these kids haven’t even had that opportunity.

Olivia soon stopped attending church altogether, and struggled with her parents’ continued activity in a church she felt didn’t accept her. Teddi responded, “Sweetie, I don’t know what else to do. It might take me time to navigate all this.” Again, Teddi felt grateful for the home church focus during the pandemic, and that they had time to process their future together. Siblings D’Artagnan and Sophia completely love and support Olivia, and while D’Artagnan is still active in his singles’ ward, Sophia soon after stopped attending seminary, saying she couldn’t attend a church that doesn’t love and accept her sister. Within the last six months, Sophia, now a junior in high school, has also told her parents that she identifies with the “Q” of “LGBTQ:” she’s questioning. 

The von Pingels continue to love and support each other where they’re at, and Teddi values their strong family unit. She cringes when she hears parents say things like, “I’d rather my child die than be gay,” something she’d never want to imagine. And she both thanks and laments figures in their past who affected their own views about what it means to have a gay child. Teddi and Eric are grateful for the various LGBTQ coworkers, friends and family members they have who they had the opportunity to care for and root for before they had a child needing them to apply those actions inhouse. And while they offer him grace, they’re a little less grateful for an older neighbor and former home teacher they once had who chose not to support his own gay child, even refusing to attend his wedding because he “didn’t want to send the wrong message.” Teddi feels bad that this experience really stayed with Olivia who withheld her own feelings from her parents for a long time, feeling like, “If that person couldn’t support his own child, how could he ever accept me?” In contrast, the von Pingels also have a fabulous neighbor who sent a note around the neighborhood offering to distribute Pride flags to anyone who might want to share their love and support for their LGBTQ friends during Pride month. “Those small acts – we see. Those of us struggling to fit in, or who have a child who struggles to fit in and who wants nothing to do with church… it’s just being a community member. We see every single thing people put out – flags, mats.  Such simple, great gestures,” says Teddi.

Since quarantine has ended, the von Pingels are transitioning to a new normal, which has proven to be an adjustment. Where they live, Teddi says, “It can be hard to know how to make friends when you’re not part of the church community.” But Olivia wants to get out there and date. A former student at UVU, she now is following her brother’s path and is in the coding program at Lambda. Over the past three years, she’s also diligently woken up to work the 5am shift at Hruska’s Kolaches. (Teddi’s had to diligently ask her to stop bringing the delectable treats home anymore.)

While their daughters have stepped away from the church, Olivia and Sophia recognize and appreciate that their parents still embrace the ideals of service and community which Teddi credits as pillars of the church. Otherwise, they’re struggling to “make sense of all this contradiction in what they’ve been taught and the message in their heads.” There are a lot of questions. But Teddi says there came a day when she asked, “How can we be of service still?” That is when she decided to put her ASL skills to use once again to attend the nearby Lehi 44th deaf ward. She says, “For some reason, I feel Olivia can accept that – she knows the deaf community and their struggles and that they are grateful for our presence there. The deaf community is more loving and accepting of all people where they’re at. We’re not sure how long this will last, but for now, this is where we need to be.” 

Teddi says in some ways, their journey reminds her of themes in the recent Oscar-winning film, CODA, which follows a deaf family and their hearing child as she debates whether to follow her dreams to become a singer or stay behind to help translate for her parents. Teddi says, “I feel like that movie has another symbolic meaning for parents of LGBTQ – how do they choose? How do we choose? Do you sign? Do you not sign? Do you stay with your family, or pursue your own path? It can feel like a deaf parent who doesn’t fully understand their hearing child. How do you support and love and lift a child when what they’re experiencing is outside your own experience? You just have to believe them.”

And when it comes to her own beliefs, Teddi says, “I don’t know about a lot of things in the church anymore, but I know I have Heavenly Parents who love me and love my children. That’s where I’m staking my flag – and it’s a Pride one.”

THE BAILEY FAMILY

Right around his 13th birthday, in February of 2020, Liam Bailey came out to his mom, telling her he was nonbinary pansexual. This was a shock since the kid telling her this was assigned female at birth (AFAB) and had always seemed to loved pink, princesses, and girly things. “I was like, ‘I don’t even know what that means’,” laughs Tiffany. She may not have at the time, but now, just over two years later, Tiffany displays a remarkable ease and education in all things LGBTQ+, sparked by her allegiant trust in her teen’s unique journey.

Just before he came out, Liam had been struggling with his mental health. His anxiety levels startled his doctor. At an appointment, it also came out that there had been a suicide attempt. “I didn’t know there had been one or why, but clearly something was wrong. It was a lot,” says Tiffany. Her older son, Thomas (now 16), had also experienced some intense mental health challenges the year prior, so when Tiffany’s second child came to her in a similar state of turmoil, she says, “I kinda lost it and felt like I was failing as a parent. I thought, something has to change.”

After Liam entered therapy, he was able to vocalize that he’d been experiencing gender dysphoria, which ultimately led to his coming out to Tiffany, and then his dad, Brad. At first Tiffany wondered if Liam had been influenced by the GSA (Gay Straight Alliance) club at school he had joined, but as she listened more to his experience, she changed her mind and eventually realized, “As long as you stay alive, I’m happy with whoever you are.” With the help of a skilled therapist, Liam started to improve, and the emotional climate at the Bailey house gradually lightened. But at the same time, Tiffany felt like a rug had been pulled out from under her. “My child, who I thought was female, coming out as non-binary and then transgender male made me rethink a lot of things – I felt like I was trying to do everything right and checking all the boxes the church wanted me to. But really, I was in the box trying to make it look good on the outside. Inside, I was falling apart.” 

Luckily, Tiffany was able to reach out to a small network of friends - – a transgender neighbor, a fellow piano technician who is a trans woman, and another mother of a transgender child. They each shared the pain and tension they’d felt from certain family members who had not been accepting. Tiffany realized that these friends’ placement in her life prior to her own child coming out was a merciful way her Heavenly Parents had prepared her. And now, their advice helped her recognize the vital steps she would need to take to help Liam not just want to stay alive, but to thrive.

“I realized my heart had to break wide open. I had to trust in my Savior and my Heavenly Parents, and the answer I got from them was one of the strongest spiritual experiences I’ve had in my life. I was told, ‘We love your child more than you even know, and even more than you love him. We created him on purpose for a purpose. He has a path and things will be okay’. It was a beautiful, beautiful experience,” recalls Tiffany. She determined she wanted her child to know she loved him deeply without conditions, just as the Savior does.

The next prompting she felt was that she needed to be a support to other youth, as the nonbinary and trans experience is misunderstood by so many. Tiffany says, “Even just having one affirming person in your life can cut the risk of suicide by almost 50%. I’m going to be that person for as many people as I can.

It took her some time to get comfortable with rainbows, but now Tiffany wears one everywhere she goes, especially when she knows she’ll be around youth, to signal she’s a safe space. “More than once, I’ve had those youth tell me they like my pin, and ask where they can get one, or thank me for wearing one. So… it’s working.”

When Liam first came out as nonbinary, Tiffany trained her brain to think of his they/them preferred pronouns at the time, much as you would a lost item and say, “Somebody left their wallet...” Liam tried out several names with friends at school and discussed suggestions with his mother before centering on his chosen name of Liam. After continuing to meet with a therapist who specializes in gender and LGBTQ, Liam now feels the pronouns he/him ring more true. 

When it came to social transitioning, Tiffany acknowledges some things felt scary at first, having been trained to abide by societal constructs with dress and haircuts and the like, but Tiffany chose to learn about ways she could affirm her child medically, one being puberty blockers that buy time and are completely reversible. She has come to the conclusion that, “Medically transitioning is very personal and is really nobody else’s business. Transitioning has a very broad range. But ultimately, it’s not what’s under their underwear that makes them who they are – it’s who they say they are on the inside.” 

While Tiffany now makes it all sound easy, she acknowledges this all took some training and even mourning. “With a trans kid, there is a period of mourning – not for the loss of your child, but what you thought was going to happen. It’s a real process. The hard part is your body responds like you’ve lost a child, but in this case, no Relief Society is bringing you a casserole. You feel so alone, and without support. It’s a private, lonely pain.”

She continues, “The name we chose at birth had so much meaning – at times, his name change felt like a rejection of us. Then we realized it wasn’t him rejecting us but what we wanted for him. Now we know more. At the same time, it’s still painful.” One thing Tiffany’s learned is to master the words AND and BOTH. “I can love my child and support him, AND I can still be sad at times for things that aren’t and won’t be.”

Most important to Tiffany is showing Liam a mother’s unconditional love. ”I refuse to be a source of trauma for my child by not validating who he says he is. He is not confused about his gender. He’s not being deceived by Satan. He’s just trying to explain his mortal experience to a world that doesn’t understand. I don’t presume to know what his spirit was before this earth life – I don’t know if his body formed differently than what his spirit is, but we know that can happen on this earth. There’s a lot we don’t know. What I do know is I can believe him and support him for exactly who he says he is, and walk alongside him.” 

Tiffany also finds it ludicrous that with recent legislation, if she were to enter the state of Texas, per se, she’d automatically be labelled as a child abuser for affirming her son. She asks, “What’s the worse abuse? Ignoring my child’s trauma and suppressing who they say they are, or allowing them life-saving medical treatment and therapy? Because if he didn’t have that, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be here.”

Liam is now 15 and in the 9th grade in Syracuse, UT, where he is a 4.0 student and was awarded Student of the Month last fall. A teacher told Tiffany that they all deeply admire how Liam “knows who he is,” something many ninth graders still struggle with. Something Tiffany is grateful Liam is able to feel, both at school and at home. She says that all around, he is thriving. He is a team captain of his National Academic League, an amazing artist, and is involved in affirming roles in his junior high school’s drama program. While he has a great group of friends, he is not immune to hurtful comments from students – some “generally ignorant, some blatantly awful.” Their youngest child, daughter Rose -13 (a 7th grader, who Tiffany describes as a fantastic ally) is quick to stand up for LGBTQ students in the school.

Church is very complicated with a transgender child, as there is not really a place in a deliberately binary church, despite what leaders may say. Liam has chosen to step away from the church, a decision his parents fully support. Tiffany says that, “While our day to day box-checking church activity looks very different than it used to, my testimony of our Savior and relationship with my Heavenly Parents is very active and has never been stronger. It’s deepened in a way I couldn’t have imagined.” 

The Baileys participate in a monthly support group for LGBTQ+ and allies which they host at their house along with neighbor, and fellow LGBTQ parent, Becky Edwards. Of the meeting, Tiffany says, “Now that is a sacred space.”

While Liam’s initial coming out blindsided her, Tiffany now says with confidence, “I want Liam to be the best version of himself, not to conform to societal norms – just to be happy in his own skin, whatever that looks like for him. I want him to be authentic. There’s such a big spectrum of the human experience. We need to leave it up to the person to explain their experience to us and believe them, not put our presumptions and expectations on them and tell them who they are – they get to figure that out for themselves. I get to just love and accept at face value.”

the gruwell family

Just after Christmas, on January 13, 2021, our Elli told us that she is bisexual. She was 16 years old.

A series of events led me to feel impressed by the Spirit to ask Elli if she experiences an attraction to women. She opened up and shared that she doesid. Sitting across from me on my bed, she shared that she experiences a stronger attraction to women than men, and that she has a desire to embrace and explore this part of her life. This part of who she is. 

Life changed. We have put our arms around her and told her that we love her, and we always will;, she will always be a part of us. We told her we would navigate this road with her and walk with her wherever it took her. I told her if she married a woman, I'd throw a beautiful wedding for her, and we'd stand by her side.

But inside. my heart ached. Because I knew this would be a long road. Because I knew others wouldn’t understand like I do.  Because I knew this road may take her away from the very thing that gives me breath. 

The Lord prepared my husband, Matt, and I, and we were carried in His love during those first days. On the night she told us, I had a very strong, distinct impression from the Spirit that this experience would bless us. That this is what the Lord has always had planned for us. That this would cause us to dig deep and access places in our heart that we wouldn't be able to access otherwise. That we would become more like the Savior than we ever could in any other way imagined. That our life was always meant to be this way. Almost like there was something in our family,, in our reality and our space that was missing, that would now help us become more whole.

But somehow, it felt so deeply hard. Hard to reconcile emotions and feelings and dreams. Not hard to love her. Not hard to make our family a safe space. Not even hard to tell someone I have a gay child. It was just so hard as a parent to know what to do next, for her. What to do to help her be healthy and happy in this world of discrimination and fear. There's no map for this. It's really lonely.  

I learned long ago that life doesn't follow a "plan,", or an expected path.  It's an individual journey for each of us, and a lifetime of wrestling with a variety of realities that we each inevitably face.  Elli's journey is no different, and she will work with the Lord to determine what that journey will be. Not me. I've learned to relinquish that role as a parent. My job is to love her and teach her that the Lord loves her. Our love for her will never change. W, we will love and accept whatever choices she makes and whatever path she chooses. We feel peace with that. And we are handing it over to the Lord. I think we often try to take on the role of the Savior in our children's lives. It's not our job. We can't fix or heal. We can't convince or change. That is His job.
We can love. That's all we have been asked to do. And if our children choose a journey that takes them on a twisting, winding path to find that light and that love, that is simply ok. It was always meant to be that way.

I have had multiple experiences over the last decade that have caused me to wrestle with the Lord and have given me deep love and gratitude for His love and His doctrine. There is so much I don't understand, but hasn't it always been that way? Weren't we told that there would be mysteries that we don't understand? Haven't we been told that we would have to wait upon the Lord? Isn't that why faith is what it is? We are asked to walk into the dark and trust Him. To have faith that what we don't know;, He knows. It's a different kind of faith -- deep faith. The kind of faith that only comes when we are blind. 

The Lord has asked me to relinquish control over and over and over (and over) again in my life. I'm grateful for that repeated lesson that was preparing me, in ways I didn't know I'd need --, to do it again now. 

I believe the Lord knows each one of us personally and intimately. No tear is unseen. In the months that followed Elli’s coming out, my husband and I immersed ourselves in learning more, and in listening. We talked with Elli often, asking a lot of questions, both to show support and a willingness to learn and understand. It was no coincidence that I decided, through a series of heaven-led moments, to return to graduate school for my Master of Social Work degree not long before Elli came out. As bishop, my husband and I both felt impressed to start listening to how we could better minister to the LGBTQ+ community the year prior, with no real comprehension as to why. It is no coincidence that we live in a beautiful, small corner of Pennsylvania where the Young Women’s leaders have loved Elliher and asked her to share her thoughts and experiences in lessons, in her small class of six young women. It is no coincidence that she was part of a 13-year career in competitive gymnastics with a team that knows her and would love her and accept her. Elli, who has always had the biggest and kindest heart, is happier and healthier than she has ever been, and she believes her Heavenly Father knows her and He loves her. She knows we love her. I wouldn’t trade the love and joy in those relationships for any guaranteed outcome.

We have learned and grown so much on this journey. I have felt inadequate every step of the way, but I have heard the Lord whisper to me -- sometimes moment to moment, day byto day -- what to say, what to do, and where to turn. He has been guiding us, strengthening us, and reminding us that the conduit to heaven is real. I have felt my relationship with my Savior strengthen and my heart expand. We want to help others as they navigate this path. We want to say, “Wwe see you, we know it’s real,, sit with us., Yyou can talk about it and you can be open about it, and you can share the reality of it in this space. And you will be safe.” This cultural change is not only needed in the church;, it is needed everywhere. In our homes, in our schools, in our streets. From both a spiritual, personal, and professional space, I can tell you it is needed everywhere. It will save lives. Invalidating the core of a person’s identity has lasting effects that cannot be measured, causing deep trauma and deep wounds. It is such an important thing to humanize the unknown. The more stories we hear, the more we clarify and dispel the single story often defined and communicated to us through society. We must love, and leave the rest to the Lord.

Often in my conversations with people, I wrestle with the irreconcilable aspects of this road. What is right or wrong, what the doctrine says, what the future will be like, where God stands. I honor and respect that for some, the healthy choice is to step away from the church. I have a heart wide open in love for both those who stay and those who can’t.

I don’t know the answers. But for me, believing that God knows things that we don’t, that understanding can change and be increased over time, that things can be revealed, that there is so much we do not know, and that … saying “as we know it” to an array of topics and questionss… ..is foundational to having hope and faith, and being able to trust despite all the questions. I don’t say “as we know it” to dictate or even assume what changes will happen. I don’t claim to know the answers. I just know I can’t make sense of it right now, and I pray more clarity comes along the way. “As we know it” doesn’t represent doubt;, it represents faith. My role is not to determine or change doctrine. That is the Lord’s job -- and His alone. I will leave that to Him and trust Him. But I can change the way I love. I can change me. I can change my home. I can change my pew.

I have had so many moments of asking, as Emily Belle Freeman doesays, “Where is God and can He be trusted?” Are all the impressions I’ve had my whole life real? How does this fit into that picture? Am I wrong? Are they wrong? Maybe none of us are. Maybe all of us are. Am I understanding my impressions correctly? Are these Gods’ thoughts, or just my own? The list goes on. Faith is hard work. And sometimes I am tired. But then I feel the Savior give me strength from both seen and unseen sources, and I remember that it’s ok not to have the answers. That my life’s story -- Elli’s life story -- is young. Sometimes we put limits on the Lord and his timing with our expectations. Who is to say all our dreams won’t come true? I love the principle of not having our faith based on particular outcomes.

Sometimes I look around and realize that what is happening is exactly what I asked for. I asked to be stretched and molded to become more like my Savior. I asked for doors to be open where I could serve Him. I asked to be broken open, and made new. I promised long ago that I would listen to the Lord’s whisperings and try to do His will. Every step of our lives has been in hopes of serving and sacrificing for our Savior, in an effort to love all His children. This step will be no different. I love my Savior, Jesus Christ. I’m here, both in this church and in this space, because of Him. And because I’ve also knelt in the Sacred Grove. And in the temple. And I’ve had the heavens open in my life. I have had experiences I cannot deny. And I also have questions I cannot reconcile. That’s when I lay it at the Lord’s feet. Despite all that is unanswered, there are also answers to other deep questions of my heart that I cannot find anywhere else.

The loneliness and confusion I experienced, sitting in my corner of the world in those first moments on that January day, were stark and overwhelming. It's amazing how alone you can feel... ..until all of a sudden you realize you are not. That's my hope. That I can help another mother who feels alone in her corner of the world, feel less heartache, and less loneliness. We want to carry these burdens together. We want to share our deep love of the gospel and desire to love and support our daughter at the same time. We want to share that we do believe those two realities can exist. We have access to heaven’s power. We are not alone. You are not alone. Your family was always meant to be this way.

The Gruwell Family consists of Stacie and Matt and their four children: Ashlan (21), Elli (18), Kate (13), and Monty (8). They live in Harborcreek, PA, where Matt is a professor of genetics and evolution at Penn State University, and Stacie works in mental health at a junior high school.

Elli will be attending Utah State University on a scholarship with the Huntsman School of Business Scholar Program this coming Fall. She looks forward to coaching gymnastics, and continuing her passions in vocal performance and digital art. 

THE TALBOT FAMILY

Last Saturday night, 42 parents met at the base of Y Mountain in Provo, UT. Industrial-strength flashlights in hand, they were ready to hike to the top. To get there, they’d need to circumvent BYU’s newly installed orange fencing and prohibitive signage, as well as bypass two patrol cars parked at the path’s entrance. The night was cold, but they were on fire with the fervor of their mission – to shine a rainbow of light that would remind their LGBTQ kids that they’re seen and loved. Charalece Talbot helped distribute the lights (that have lived in her garage over the past year) to the other parents – many anonymous, all willing to risk arrest and fines to complete their mission. Some might call it a protest, but for these parents, Saturday night’s hike to the Y was part of a movement.

 This would be the third rainbow-themed lighting of the 380-foot-tall Y that has become the nationally recognized insignia for BYU, a campus that as of late has had a complicated relationship with its LGBTQ population due to various policies and speeches bestowed by its leadership. The lighting of the Y events, initiated in March of 2021 by Charalece’s son, Brad, has garnered national attention, and BYU’s finger wagging.

Charalece never predicted any of this would be her path when her firstborn entered her and husband Paul’s world in Pleasant Grove, UT 24 years ago. Brad is the oldest of their six children (which also include Preston – 21, Kailene – 19, Breanna – 17, Sterling – 14, and Aliza – 9). When he was younger, Charalece only had mild suspicions Brad might be gay, but she never asked. It wasn’t until he was serving a mission in Winnipeg, Canada that Brad finally emailed his parents to tell them about his orientation. Charalece appreciated this approach, as it gave her time to process and study before he returned home nine months later, and most importantly, to “not say something stupid I would later regret.” Charalece turned to church resources for guidance and was a little surprised at how little she found, so she turned via blogs to “the experts” – i.e. the parents in this space, much as she had sought out forums of a different kind when her son Preston was diagnosed with autism as a toddler. Charalece was dismayed to find how rare it was for a gay member to stay in the church. She mourned a bit as she came to terms with the notion that her son, who was serving a mission, “might not always be a part of the church I love in the way I thought.” But Charalece clung to her faith that, “The Lord has been a part of our whole journey; I knew I could not do this without Christ.”

Once back from Canada in 2018, Brad started his education at BYU, from where he would later graduate in 2021. (He’s headed to Boston College this fall to pursue a MSW). During Brad’s junior year at the Y, he decided he needed to do something to help his fellow LGBTQ peers feel a little less alone – a common reality for many he’d met. He started Color the Campus, an initiative asking allies to show up to campus in rainbow colors twice a year, once in September and once on March 4 – the anniversary of BYU’s Honor Code policy reversal in 2020 that confused and angered many LGBTQ students. A day he wanted to make something positive. Brad’s @colorthecampus IG handle states his mission: “We will support, protect, befriend, and love members of the LGBTQ+ community at all CES schools.”

 The Talbots’ extended family has always shown enthusiastic support for Brad, and Charalece was touched when all his BYU cousins showed up in full rainbow gear to support his first event. She was even more moved when on the first two “Rainbow Days,” it rained in Provo, casting beautiful rainbows across the sky and visible from campus. “Sometimes you just want God to give a sign – and sometimes he does it in such simple ways,” she says.

 But Brad’s movement was not without backlash. A protest was advertised by alt-right group DezNat, though its showing was paltry, and Charalece says Brad has received countless cruel messages from keyboard warriors. While the Rainbow Days can be hard for Brad, she admires his dedication to the cause.

The first lighting of the Y (on 3/4/21) was carried out by 42 well-organized allies. After receiving a copy of Brad’s detailed instructions via Google docs, Charalece summoned her like-minded sister to join her for the hike, needing her own arm of support. Charalece was much more nervous than Brad was about repercussions, fearing it could affect his ability to graduate. But Charalece remembers that first lighting as a deeply spiritual experience. When everyone took their posts and first turned on their screen-tinted lights, they let out a cheer. And then a stillness set over the mountain, as they basked in their solidarity and this symbol of love. Charalece began getting texts from family members across the valley, imploring her to look out her window at the rainbow Y. She laughed, realizing the success of their secrecy – no one knew she was actually at the foot of the Y, holding a purple light herself. After an hour, their legs shaking from their awkward slanted perch and cold, the participants made their way down the mountain, only to be met by a crowd of 8-10 students running up, eager to relieve them of their posts and offering to take a turn themselves. “That was when I realized we’d made an impression, we’d done something. Others wanted to be involved. And it was a life lesson. Right when we were thinking, ‘I can’t do this anymore,’ someone showed up to say, ‘Let me take that burden.’ Sometimes we have to pass the baton.”

There were no repercussions from the event, besides a tweet BYU sent clarifying they had not authorized the event. But that night was a turning point for Charalece. She felt, “I’m just a mom, but I just did something that mattered. Being a mom isn’t always tangible. That night I saw I actually did something good. I didn’t just say, ‘I love you;’ I showed my love. I made a difference.” Her participation was also a turning point for Charalece’s relationship with her son, Brad, who she says now has no doubt she fully supports him.

After the lighting, it took days for Charalece to read through the hundreds of messages of support on social media. She remembers bawling, so caught up in the emotion of all the kids saying they felt seen, heard, and loved. “I want them to remember that. When they feel lonely, that there’s no one, I want them to remember the night we lit the Y. They have people, allies, those who love them unconditionally. Hopefully that will carry them as long as they need it.”

The next lighting in the fall was not a secret and approximately 100 people came to hold flashlights, this time many of them LGBTQ+. Again, there were no repercussions. But as both the online support (and backlash) for the lighting events grew, last weekend’s event remained undercover (yet anticipated). When the No Trespassing signs went up, Charalece started to wonder if maybe they should skip it this year, hoping not to put any BYU students or faculty at risk of disciplinary action. But then, a father called her to say, “I think your son did the lighting of the Y. I’ve been talking to some other dragon dads and we want to do it this time. Moms can come, too. I’m not asking permission – I just need to know the logistics and if we can borrow the lights.”  

Due to weather, the date shifted three times, and with each change, the pit in Charalece’s stomach grew. “I’ve never felt more anxiety,” she says. Traditionally a quiet and reserved rule follower, Charalece feared having to help summon 42 rounds of bail money from a county jail, or worse. The night before the lighting, she barely slept. But then she felt a strange prompting that brought to mind scripture heroes who had defied the norms: Rebecca regarding her sons’ blessings, Nephi smiting Laban’s head. She heard the words, “Their rules are not my rules. Have courage. I need you to do this.” And she did.

Charalece and Brad were followed last weekend by a film crew from HULU, for a 20/20 segment they’re shooting on LGBTQ LDS members. Much of the series follows church members who (understandably) leave because of their orientation, but reps from the show have told Brad they admire how he is trying to stay and make it work. Charalece herself says she often envies Brad’s relationship with the Savior. “He goes through a lot of crap, and he follows his heart.” As to the naysayers who speak against Brad’s Color the Campus or lighting the Y efforts, Charalece replies, “If you can show me something as good as this or better, I’ll do it. It’s a simple nonviolent thing that has a huge impact.”

Besides the film crew and potentially the police, the Talbots were also nervous DezNat might be on their tail Saturday night as they’d been tipped off, so tensions were high Saturday night. After handing out the final lights, Charalece and Brad were the last to approach the entrance to the path. They walked toward the BYU police, then past them. Like the parents who had hiked up before them, they were not stopped. Once at the top, Brad told the participants their demonstration might be short-lived, knowing the cops could quickly reach them via ATV. He cued the crowd and they each hit the on switch to commence lighting the Y with first the pink and blue hues of the trans flag, to show support to the many suffering from various recent national and local policies. They waited, but no one came to stop them. After 15 minutes, they switched their lights to rainbow colors. Again, no one came to shut them down.

But soon after, Charalece looked up and saw a lone BYU policeman making his way up to the top of the Y and talking to each of the light holders in a non-threatening way. She overheard he offered some water. Still, her anxiety returned as she waited for him to descend down the Y, where she held her blue light. As he neared, she realized she recognized the man. He was a family friend. They softened as they faced each other. She asked, “What’s going on? Why the fences this year?” He replied, “I just think they’re trying to keep this a neutral place so people don’t get too carried away.” He continued, “I don’t want all this to happen. You guys are doing a good thing and what BYU is doing isn’t helping. I’m sorry this is happening. I wish it wouldn’t. I just have to do my job and remind you you’re on private property and ask you to leave.” Charalece replied, “I respect that this is your job and that you’re treating us so respectfully. I’m a mom of a gay son and I’m just doing my job.” As she said this, she noticed her friend tear up, in a moment of shared understanding. This is how Charalece believes real change will come – one heart, one connection at a time.

Charalece and Brad were the last to leave the mountain, making sure nothing was left behind. On their descent, Brad told his mom if their group was arrested at the bottom, he wanted to take full responsibility so none of the parents would end up in jail. She responded, “Brad, you do not need to take this all on your own. Give it to me.” Saying this brought to light so much she had felt over the years as Brad’s mom. “What parent doesn’t want to take away their child’s pain? Their heartache and sadness? Every parent would in a heartbeat. But we realize our kids have to go through what they do to grow, to turn to Christ.” Charalece recalled that shortly after Brad told her he was gay, she too offered a desperate prayer in which she told the Lord she couldn’t do this anymore. She said, “This is too hard for me, so I know it will be too hard for him. I’m giving it to you. I need you to do this.” And she felt the Lord take away the burden of worry to lighten her load.

When Charalece and Brad finally hit the bottom of the trail, they were shocked to see there was no one lying in wait to arrest them. In fact, the police cars were gone. Later, they were told that the police had not come that night to stop them but to protect them from any potential harm.

“That’s when I realized the Lord was right – I was going to be okay; I was doing just what I needed to be. Sometimes our rules are not His. He is in the details,” says Charalece. “I want to be brave, because I need these kids to know I’m willing to do something out of my comfort zone to show them love. They live in fear daily. I want them to not be afraid. I’m just trying to be the best I can, and if I have to go to jail to show people I love them, I can’t think of a better reason to go to jail then for shining a light that tells people ‘I love you’.”

THE CARPENTER FAMILY

An openly gay missionary. Most people have yet to meet one. Some may wonder if it’s even possible. But Elder Shane Carpenter’s smile shines brightly above his missionary tag and the rainbow heart pin he wears while serving full-time within the circumference of “the happiest place on earth,” in Anaheim, CA. Elder Carpenter is beloved among his fellow missionaries, and most importantly, by his mission president, who has seen closeted missionaries struggle. The president committed not to let that experience repeat and has thus made it a priority to make his mission a zone of safety and love for all. He even did a mission wide training with Elder Carpenter’s help on how to best minister to our LGBTQ+ community. 

While Shane is loving his mission, getting him there wasn’t the rote just send in your papers and wait two weeks for your call process many experience. Shane had always had a very firm testimony of his Savior and desire to serve in this capacity, but due to his unique circumstances, his parents did not want him to sign up for a mission unless he was really ready, and his application included the words “Openly gay” at the top. It was full authenticity or bust. Knowing it could be a really tough situation, his mom Diane says, “Until he could own who he was, we didn’t support it. I didn’t want to send him on a mission hiding in a closet.”

Shane had come out publicly in 2019 via a middle-of-the-night Instagram post his parents woke up to. But this wasn’t a surprise for his parents. In fact, Diane had known since his preschool years. When he was about four, she counts it as a blessing that she felt the Spirit speak the words, “He is gay.” While she was comforted to have this tip off of a revelation so early in the game, it was still a lot to process “for the LDS mom in me,” she says. She was raised in an open-minded family who wholly loved her gay cousins. While talk of their gay family members had always been positive in her home, Diane says, “That doesn’t mean I fully understood at the time what that really meant in the big picture.” 

Diane kept this knowledge about their son quiet for about four more years, and then told her husband, “I think Shane’s gay, honey.” Together, they kept it on the down low, especially as Shane himself wasn’t aware yet. But around the time he turned 10, he started to notice he was… different. From his friends. From his twin brother, Logan. From most of the kids in his classes. And by this time, his parents were prepared to help him find the words to vocalize it. Shane didn’t come out publicly, and he certainly struggled for many years harboring a quiet depression. Diane says she’s sure many of the kids at school could have guessed he was gay – “It’s something you might kind of pick up on when you meet Shane.” At the time, the family lived in Austin, TX, where Shane had lots of friends and he’d often go on group dates with friends from church. Diane says, “Every girl loved him.” He continued to be the bright, bubbly boy on the outside he always was (“To know Shane is to love him”), but at home he was dealing with major depression and suicidal ideation. For Diane and husband Scott, it was a really hard time. They felt they’d lost their boy. 
They prioritized counseling, and Diane felt a glimmer of hope one day when she was driving Shane home from a session and he expressed a realization: “Mom, this is just part of me. It’s not all of me.” Diane says, “As it sank in that this was just one beautiful part of him, he was able to stop feeling like it had to control him.” That is when Diane said he began to make progress with his mental health. The Carpenters moved to West Jordan, UT right before Shane’s senior year, and she was pleasantly surprised that this ended up being great timing for him. As he moved into a new high school, he was able to just be himself and let go of the years of trying to hide or sort through complex feelings. He finally fully embraced he was gay, and Diane says she felt, “I had my son back.”

After high school, Shane went to BYU-I where he had a remarkably positive experience. He befriended some other gay students who were all supportive of each other. It was during this time Shane came out publicly on Instagram, then started to speak of going on a mission. With his parents’ encouragement, he took it slow. First, he went to the temple. A year later, he started his mission papers. He was 20 by the time he turned them in, enough time for him to be able to embrace his authentic self. He started the process with his BYU bishop, then continued when he came home. All were cautious. Diane and Scott didn’t want him going to a country where being gay was punishable by crime, thus the “openly gay” note on his papers. But it took a while for Shane to get his call. SLC church headquarters had called his stake president with a few more questions, and he was called back in for another interview. None of this bothered Shane, but Diane said the extra scrutiny was hard for her, who’d already sent two children on missions. “This is a gay kid choosing to go out for the Lord,” she says. She didn’t understand why it needed to be made harder with the stigma of extra questioning that could have been part of the initial process. Luckily, Shane had already been evaluated by LDS Services for his mental health, because if not, that would have added an extra delay.

But the added delays in all this did make it easier for Shane to enter the Anaheim mission field at the same time as his mission president, who has been exceptionally understanding and supportive from start to finish. Right when he arrived, the president told Shane, “I have your back. No one’s going to treat you in a negative way because you’re gay.” And he has kept his word. Diane says Shane’s setting apart blessing from his stake president was beautiful. It advised that he would affect even more people outside his mission than in it, something that has proven true as Shane has been able  to share his unique experience on various forums with other LGBTQ missionaries, investigators, and friends throughout the world.  

Elder Carpenter does not tell people that this path in the church is easy, but shares truths he learned at home from his mom. Diane says, “We didn’t vocalize to our kids the need to say, ‘We know the church is true.’ Rather we say, ‘We know the gospel of Jesus Christ is true. The church is a vehicle to teach that. Even prophets are fallible men, mistakes can happen. But Christ is perfect, and we can lean on that.’ This knowledge is vital for us and probably why my son is on a mission today.” 

Shane is very aware that there are many paths to God and recognizes that there are various ways to return to Him. He was open with his stake president about the fact that he had dated men before his mission, and his family (and stake president) believe that the law of chastity is and should be the same for everyone. “It’s not the law of ‘you can’t hold hands, date, or kiss someone’,” says Diane. She recognizes that human connections and relationships are key to securing the happiness of all her children. The Carpenter kids include Whitney Graham – now 27, and married to Andrew Graham, and the mother of Kennedy; Jordyn Watson – 26 and married to Miles; twins Shane and Logan – 22; and Joshua – 14, and Abigail – 14 who completed the family through the gift of adoption.  Diane says many of her kids have struggled with their mental health, so recently she got a semicolon tattoo as a symbol of the mental health awareness movement: “Wait, there’s more.” Diane filled the punctuation mark with the rainbow colors – one for each of her six children. (And to represent the LGBTQ community.)

Recently, the Carpenters’ second oldest, Jordyn, came out as nonbinary gender-fluid (pronouns they/them), and they have been wholly embraced by their family through the process. When Jordyn initially came out as bi at age 17, Diane says she didn’t handle it quite as well as she wishes she had, acknowledging at the time she was caught up in Shane’s mental health issues. But now she is grateful for the extreme grace and forgiveness Jordyn shows her. Diane is also so impressed by the love and support from Jordyn’s husband, Miles, saying, “I love, love, love him!” 

Diane says her family loves the gospel of Jesus Christ. The Carpenters have since moved to Castlerock, CO, where they host a monthly FHE for ALL (LGBTQ, allies, and leaders) out of their home, hoping to “provide a safe place where everyone can be authentic and share their love of the Savior.”

THE BENCH FAMILY

After 14 years of marriage, Lindsey and Keegan Bench of Spokane, WA have defined their role in their church and community as strong allies willing to speak up in love for the marginalized. Because this was a found path for them, rather than an inherent one, they bring the added asset of understanding where others are coming from who might still struggle to be stone catchers in a world filled with stone throwers. But Lindsey and Keegan are the first to admit, it took time to get here. In fact, when Lindsey’s brother first came out as gay over a decade ago, they weren’t even on the same page with each other when it came to understanding LGBTQ issues. Now, united in their quest to break down the fortresses that prevent us from fully embracing God’s love for all, Lindsey and Keegan Bench are grateful to have glimpsed what it means to expand the tent of  Zion.

Lindsey says she was born and bred in the “typical, picture-perfect Mormon family.” But their Utah county home was rocked when Lindsey’s brother came out while in high school. Without proper resources to support him, the family struggled to know what to do. Some local church leaders advised Lindsey’s parents they were not to let her brother take the lead of his life, and tried to give counsel as to how he could try to be straight and dismiss this aspect of himself. But all this did was make her family sense that perhaps they could not trust their priesthood leaders. Newlyweds Lindsey and Keegan were living at home at the time with her parents and brother, and they sadly watched as some ward members who had always embraced her brother quietly pulled away. Lindsey reasons, “I know it wasn’t malicious; they didn’t know how to respond. But it was painful watching my family end up on an island. A community  that once felt safe and sacred suddenly didn’t feel so safe.”

Even some extended family members distanced themselves, and Lindsey was hurt when they’d ask about every family member except her brother, as if they’d erased him from their lives. It hurt even worse when years later, they would avoid the topic of his wedding altogether, as if it never happened. But all along, inside Lindsey’s home, each of her immediate family members had the same personal revelation: to just love their  brother, and to each figure out what that meant for them. For Lindsey, she felt something like the cracking of a shell -- a pull to deconstruct and break down everything she had been taught about the heteronormative, gender-focused, family-centric “plan” as she reevaluated where her family now fit. 

Lindsey’s shell continued to crack as she would sit through talk after talk in church that would “remind me my brother’s desire for true companionship  was a ‘sin.’ But as I watched him pursue that desire, it didn’t look and feel like a sin to me. This was hard for me to reconcile.” As she reflected on the future of her promised eternal family unit, Lindsey realized that a kingdom that excluded gay family members was no heaven at all. She says, “I’d rather be in a lesser place with my whole family than with a God who wouldn’t allow some of them in because of their desire for the wholeness found in committed, intimate relationships. So many things started to not make sense.” As the church evolved in their teachings (by eventually acknowledging that people don’t choose to be gay, and can’t change it), Lindsey continued to question. “Policies created ‘in the name of God’ that excluded people from saving ordinances in the church were SO painful. Then, we saw the same policies rescinded in the name of God. It was like… is God homophobic, or are they not? Why can’t God make up their mind? It was then I realized this isn’t God’s problem; it’s ours. When we as humans put our own prejudices and faults on God, people give up on God. And that’s on us. It’s painful.”

Lindsey had moments when she found herself telling others, “We’re just so grateful my brother doesn’t have a testimony of the church because he doesn’t have to reconcile who he is.” One day, she says she realized how absurd that felt – knowing her family member was healthier, safer, and happier because he was no longer in the church. At the same time, she was watching one of her close, LDS gay friends struggle with depression and suicidal thoughts while he tried to stay in the church. “The happiness we are promised if we do what we’re told – which for them at the time would be to enter a mixed-orientation  marriage – does not only NOT bring happiness, but destroys lives. It was hugely problematic and eye-opening for me.”

As Lindsey internally processed all this, she struggled with her construct of God. Rather than trusting God, she started to fear Him. But ironically, she says it was attending her brother’s wedding that started to reverse that. She’d grown up hearing “the gay agenda” would destroy families, but as she watched the happiness of her brother and his adored-by-all husband as they committed their lives to each other, Lindsey no longer believed that. She officially realized his marriage in no way hurt her own. Lindsey says it was “a holy, joyous experience watching my brother and his husband find each other, and the healing that took place. He came alive; we had our brother back.” Her family describes the wedding as a beautiful day and they were pleased so many from their ward and his life did show up to celebrate.

Lindsey admits she had never actually asked God if gay marriage was wrong until her brother’s wedding – “probably out of fear.” But now she says she’s “so grateful for the personal revelation I received that God would not ask people to forgo companionship in this life. Honestly, the sweet fruits of my brother's beautiful love with his husband are  what introduced me to the real God for the first time. This opening has healed me, taught me about my own worth, and the worth of all souls.”

Keegan says he’s now on the same page as his wife, though he took a more circuitous path to get there. In the early days of their marriage, Keegan faithfully embraced the religious dogma of the time that led him to believe that homosexuality was wickedness and could never bring happiness. He admits, “Like Elder Packer, I refused to believe that a loving God would allow anyone to be born ‘that way’ and as a result there would be a way to reverse those ‘innate tendencies’ while in this life.” But over time, that quandary took on new weight. Keegan explains, “As I began looking inward at my own sexual and gender identity and how it had developed naturally over time, I began to imagine being asked to reverse that process by any means possible. The prospect was sobering. I felt that if I was unwilling to give up my current relationship with Lindsey and my children, as a sacrifice for ‘something better’ in the eternities, then I could no longer ask others to do the same. I began to be haunted by the way I had dismissed the pain felt in the LDS-LGBTQ community. How I had assumed it was all natural consequences of sinful behaviors – God’s way of inviting them to repent. I realized it was actually me who needed to repent.” He began to transition from his allegiant obedience to “infallible church leaders” and instead began taking responsibility for his own actions and beliefs. “I began asking myself why I believed what I did, was I actually using the Spirit to guide my life or the words of select leaders? If I open my ears to some but close them to others, am I allowing the Spirit to testify of ALL TRUTH or just the stuff I’m willing to listen to? Using this newfound curiosity to seek out the lived experiences of all those around me has flooded my life with witness after witness that there is a loving God weeping with their LGBTQ children and not because of them, that their happiness is not in fact wickedness.”

It was then that Keegan began the painful process of repentance and educating himself. He credits the brave voices of the LGBTQ+ community found in books and podcasts for helping to prepare him for a profound spiritual experience he had while “walking in Ben Schilaty’s shoes,” via his book of a similar title. Having tasted the fruits of charity, he felt an urgency to better listen to, learn from, and love all who’ve distanced themselves from the church for any reason. Through calls and texts, Keegan reached out to over 50 friends and family members with differing beliefs in an attempt to ask forgiveness, mourn with those that mourn, celebrate their newfound joy, acknowledge the validity of their concerns, and share those concerns with other church members in hopes that we can do better. Keegan’s own role as a parent and desire for his kids to prioritize their relationships with each other helps him now better understand that as we focus on the first two commandments, that it’s the second one of loving our neighbors – all of them -- that helps us to more fully obey the first. “If we can really love those who we see and know, we can work toward loving a God we don’t exactly see every day. The reverse order is how we actually come to love God.“ Lindsey adds, “Sometimes I think about things in context and it becomes laughable. It’s silly to conceptualize God saying – ‘Oh dang, you loved others too much’.

As the floodgates of understanding broke open for Keegan, too, he and Lindsey came to a reckoning and committed to becoming dedicated allies. They joined Richard Ostler’s Ministering Resources for LGBTQ Facebook group, where they are vocal, and now encourage others to listen to the stories and voices willing to share on sites like Listen, Learn, and Love and Lift & Love. After their efforts to help their stake leaders plan events to increase LGBTQ+ understanding lost momentum, the couple started their own Spokane-area ally group, which has now met twice this year. The Bench family, along with their four children (Asher – 12, Ruby – 10, Milo – 7, and Luca – 4) “hardcore celebrated” last June’s Pride month, which they say may have put off some in their circles, while other relationships were strengthened or formed anew. But they concur they’re prepared to take hits along the way. They warn, “Stone catching is painful and resisting the urge to return fire is hard. Highlighting the stones and the wounds in charitable ways can help soften the hearts and lower the arms of those who continue to feel the need to defend themselves from those who they do not understand. As a church, we are not whole without these marginalized voices.” As Keegan and Lindsey have together embarked on the work of encouraging all to just love the many LGBTQ children coming to earth, they say they’ve also felt their own marriage strengthen. “We feel better prepared to approach the future with informed and unconditional love as stewards of the next generation – in our home, ward, and community at large.”

Lindsey says she is gratefully now at a place where, “I refuse to hurt people in the name of God anymore. In fact, God has asked me to do the opposite. When we put our shortcomings on God and hurt people in the name of God, that is taking Gods’ name in vain. It’s worshiping a false God. God has beckoned me over and over again to learn to just love, love, love. Letting go of the conditions placed on ‘God’s love’ has allowed me to remove those same conditions of love that I put on others and myself.  This has been the most freeing, healing, sacred work of my life and I’ve been humbled to experience it. I look forward to a lifetime of continual learning and big, bold love.” 

THE ROWELL FAMILY

To this day, it’s still hard for Penny Rowell to talk about without emotions resurfacing. It’s been almost a decade since her son Trevor, now 27, first came out to his parents, but he only felt safe coming out publicly in the past couple years. While his parents are so proud of him and optimistic for Trevor’s future, sometimes they wish they could go back and get a redo. To rewind and shield him from so many painful things heard at church. A decade ago, many in their circle – including Todd and Penny – were operating off limited understanding about what it means to be gay. But now, they are grateful for the plethora of resources available, and thus choose to be one themselves through sharing their story. 

When Trevor was about 18, Penny recalls sitting in a sacrament meeting when abruptly, her husband Todd got up with Trevor and left her and their other three boys (Brandon – now 25 and married to Kieryae, Tyler – 22, and Nathan – 18) behind. Penny texted her husband: “What’s going on?” Shortly after, Todd replied she needed to come home. Trevor was due to receive the Melchizedek priesthood in preparation for serving a mission, but something was weighing heavy on him. Penny and Todd don’t recall their oldest child ever saying, “I’m gay,” but that day was the first time he opened up to his parents and shared he had an attraction to guys. 

Because of what she’d been raised to believe in a predominately LDS culture, Penny says they replied with support but also thought this was something they could “work through” as a family and made an appointment for Trevor to meet with the bishop. Trevor talked with 3 different bishops as well as his mission president over the years, and the advice was always the same. That if he said his prayers, read scriptures, conference talks, remained faithful through his mission, everything would be okay – in fact, this could even go away. Trevor’s mission president even suggested that when he came home from his mission that he should marry a woman right away, and not delay. After meeting with a BYU bishop, Trevor himself had to point the bishop to the church’s mormonandgay.org website of the time and implore him to stop telling other gay kids errant information – that reading a conference talk would not offer a magic cure for changing one’s orientation.  

 Trevor served a mission to Fortaleza, Brazil. But of course, nothing changed about his orientation, and Penny now says they feel stupid for ever thinking that might be a possibility. Trevor came home and resumed his schooling at BYU, where the climate endorsed his notion to keep his sexuality under wraps until that diploma was in hand. The weight of the secrecy bore on his parents, who together realized how much worse must be the burden their son carried, having to keep such a huge part of himself secret. Penny remembers driving Trevor to work one day, after he returned from his mission and him just breaking down. Later, he opened up that on that day in the car, he realized he could never marry a girl – he could never do that to someone. And he no longer wanted to give his parents any false hope. He was gay. 

 While BYU was a difficult place to be for Trevor and he often contemplated transferring to another university that would be better for his mental health, he stayed to complete his studies in graphic design. He loved the program there and felt more comfortable in that environment, with those teachers and people, than any other time at BYU. While in Provo, he received counseling at BYU and at Flourish therapy. (He decided to start therapy after meeting with that BYU bishop.) Penny said she started to see a weight being lifted a bit when he started going. Trevor says that going to therapy is what finally started to change things for him. He graduated in April of 2020, and the lack of the closure of a graduation ceremony during the pandemic felt like yet another defeat. But once Trevor finally received that diploma in the mail (that was unfortunately delayed through a shipping error), he was finally ready to come out publicly. And so were his parents. 

Along the way, through the quiet years, Penny felt guided and buoyed by support resources that would show up in just the right time and just the right way. Penny remembers one late night when she was lamenting the pain her son was experiencing. She got up from bed and went into her (literal) closet where she stumbled on Becky Mackintosh’s video on the lds.org site. She went to Facebook and happened to connect immediately with Becky.  Later, Becky and her husband both became great confidantes and mentors for Penny and Todd. Penny also found a great lifeline through the Facebook group I’ll Walk With You. Not only did she cherish meeting like minds who got her family, but she feels she’s benefited from learning about other identities in the LGBTQ space as others share their experiences. 

Penny now feels it’s vital that more training is offered in the church, as such a huge population of LDS members identify as LGBTQ. She says, “It’s a crapshoot of what kids will hear. And you’re playing with their mental health. I think all bishops, youth leaders, and seminary teachers should undergo necessary training so they’ll stop saying things that might give our kids a reason to not want to be here anymore.” In her own corner of the world in Liberty Lake, WA, Penny works to be a visual ally by hanging a Pride flag at her house so others know she offers an open heart and listening ear. Something her family needed. Todd also hangs a rainbow-themed “All are welcome here” sign in his high school AP history and government classroom to let his students know he is a safe space. They both encourage other LGBTQ parents to just love their kids, and draw boundaries if and when necessary with others to maintain a healthy support system for their kids. 

Trevor is no longer affiliated with the church, which Penny says, “I’m 1000% okay with because I know it’s not a safe place for him. He’s now able to be comfortable with who he is. When you hear your kid say they grew up feeling like they’d rather have a terminal disease than be gay, you know there’s something wrong there. I hate that we subjected him (unknowingly) to that.” 

Trevor is now living his best life as a graphic designer in Seattle, working from home, hanging out with friends, going to museums, and dating.  Penny is eager for him to find the love of his life, just as she hopes for all her kids, (and maybe, if not more for Trevor). She hopes that one day, he “has a family, happiness, success in his job, feels loved and cherished, makes a difference, and most of all she hopes for him to feel healed – not from being gay but from the hurt and pain caused by those who don’t accept that. I don’t want him to carry this stuff with him forever. I’d much rather my son be here (on earth) and in a happy relationship and feel love than alone in the church.” 

Of the new perspective Penny has gained since her oldest son came out, she says one pivotal realization has been that, “I truly in my soul don’t think a loving Heavenly Father would create a gay kid then expect them to fight it and live alone. With everything I am, as a parent myself, I just don’t believe that.”  

Penny and Trevor share a special mother-son bond, loving their time spent together watching reality shows like Project Runway, shopping, and on occasion, learning Tiktok dances. Penny describes Trevor as an amazing and caring man, a fun guy to be around, a great friend who gives good advice, and a loving and supportive big brother and son. She loves how Trevor stands up for himself and for what’s right. 

Church can now be a hard place for the Rowells, especially after recent painful talks and policies stemming out of Utah. They try to practice patience for those who have not yet experienced what their family has in this realm, and hope better resources and education from church headquarters are offered soon. In the meantime, Penny says her family relishes watching “The Chosen” series and often finds that to be the Sunday School lesson they crave. She says, “I can’t picture the Christ of The Chosen turning away a whole body of people.” 

The love Penny bears for all her children runs deep, and of the tears she’s shed while reflecting on the pain Trevor’s experienced, Penny wants all in her circle to know, “This is an emotional topic for me, I would never want someone to mistake my tears for sadness because my son is gay. I’m not sad because I have a gay kid; I’m sad (and cry) because of how they’re sometimes treated. I’m really grateful I have a gay son; I know it’s a blessing. We’ve grown in ways we never would have, if not for him. And we feel so very blessed.”