THE HONG FAMILY

We reached out to the Hong family after their father posted a talk he gave in their ward on how doubt and having a gay son helped him become closer to God. Here is their story.  

There are some perks to being a rule follower. People generally heap praises and smiles upon you as you check the boxes: seminary graduation, leadership callings, BYU, institute, mission, scripture reading 30 minutes a day, all while praying morning and night you’ll find a woman to marry and promising God you won’t do anything wrong IF… because you know the levity of that ask. Isaac Hong (now 30) did it all well in his southeastern Idaho, predominately LDS hometown, and later in Provo, because as he says, “I’m a really good rule follower.” He came home from that mission ready to obey his next task: to find a woman and marry her within a year of his homecoming. And then… reality hit.  

Isaac remembers the moment he realized, “Oh shoot; this is not working. I cannot get myself to do it.” Several difficult conversations he had with himself resulted in a journal entry in which for the first time he acknowledged, “I think I’m gay.” As time passed, Isaac spiraled and knew he needed to talk to someone. As he tried to lose himself in service and distraction, he realized he was at risk of actually losing himself. “I was exhausted, trying so hard to do good. It got to a point I was breaking. I would drive to work and hope something might happen to me along the way, because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t change this thing about me.”  

Wanting to engage with his parents while home visiting, late one night, Isaac went into their room and asked if they could talk. And they did. He recalls there was a lot of listening and a lot of asking what things meant, and for him, a huge sense of feeling overwhelmed and relieved at putting it out there, but also actualizing that he didn’t know exactly what this would look like—especially if he left the church. At the time he thought he’d stay highly active. His dad, Don, serving as bishop then, also envisioned that possibility, and even imagined his son gracing one of the Mormonads circulating at the time. Don could see his son in the interview chair, saying, “I’m gay and I’m a Mormon.” Don’s wife, Jenny, didn’t see Isaac’s future quite the same. 

As the mom of four kids she calls “amazing,” Jenny was just coming off a parenting payday. Isaac had come home to join family in supporting his sister as she received her endowments. “It’s amazing how prideful we can be,” Jenny laughs. “I went to bed thinking three down, one to go. Wow, what a day…” But there had been many days—or years—since Jenny had first sensed her second oldest child might be gay. She remembers observing special qualities back in kindergarten as Isaac would reach out and befriend those who needed it. She continued to watch through high school, wondering when he’d say something. After his mission, she wondered if she might have been wrong; but she always sensed that behind his bright, overachieving smile there was a sense of loneliness and misery. She says, “I’d pray—whatever this is, please let him be able to be open about this.” The night he finally opened up, Jenny remembers telling him, “I love you, I’ll support you, whatever your journey looks like.” Her memory of that night also included Isaac sitting on the foot of the bed, with a giant canvas of a bedspread between them. She says she wishes she’d done more--invited him to sit next to them, maybe said, “give me just two minutes to put sweats on so I can give you a hug.”  

Jenny assures they weren’t the picture-perfect family, but says, “We were guilty of trying to check the boxes.  We tried to do daily scriptures, evening prayer, and family home evening—even taking a stand that Monday night basketball practices had to end by 7pm so we could have FHE. But maybe we should have focused more on making sure our kids simply knew we loved them no matter what. Focusing on checking the boxes probably sent the wrong message.”  

The Hongs acknowledge they endured some ungraceful moments. When Isaac told his dad he was going to start dating men, Don remembers saying, “Well, if I’m being honest, I’m not as excited for this as I would be about your sister seriously dating someone.” That comment hurt Isaac and he said, “Why wouldn’t you want me to find someone to share my life with and be happy?” Don looks back now with regret, and reflects he was just trying to process everything. “I was probably 50 steps behind Isaac and spent a lot of those early days trying to catch up.” But as time passed, Isaac credits his dad for being a genuine, curious person. When Isaac would say, “Hey Dad, you hurt me; this hurts,” Don wouldn’t take it personally, but instead would say, “Help me to understand why.” That approach allowed the two to develop an open and honest relationship in which Isaac offered his dad a lot of patience as they tried to come to a place of understanding. Referencing BYU professor and author Jared Halverson’s first stage of faith in Don’s talk, he says, “I was stuck in the creation stage.”  

Don says Jenny, who had grown up with a more open mindset, was way ahead of the curve in understanding and supporting their son. So it was a punch to the gut when Isaac called her one day, sounding happier than he had in a long time. He said he had the perfect solution to the current family crisis. A close family member had recently received a severe liver disease diagnosis and would need a transplant within the next five years. Isaac volunteered, “When that day comes, I’ll just figure out a way to give him mine.” That result would be fatal; Jenny fell apart. She says, “Obviously, that’s not an option—we wanted them both to live the healthiest, happiest lives possible; they deserved that. That day, I knew we had to find a way for Isaac to know he deserved to experience joy and happiness. Whatever road that was, we’d go down together.”  

She and Isaac would call each other every day. On one of those calls, she could tell he was having an especially hard day.  Jenny remembers starting to cry and telling him her heart was breaking.  She remembers it made him feel bad he had upset her, but at the same time, it healed him to know she was mourning with him. It was easy for Jenny to cheer him on. When Isaac called her to say he was going to start dating, Jenny was elated. She loved hearing the refreshing excitement in his voice as he’d talk about a guy he found to be “super good looking.” She says, “I’d been waiting so many years to hear giddiness in his voice; I loved it.”  

When he first started dating, Isaac was still attending church. After a couple of years, Isaac met his now partner of three and a half years, Brock. A Utah native, Brock had also grown up in the LDS faith, and in his coming out journey, had been negatively impacted by religion. Isaac says, “Brock was able to clearly express it in ways I hadn’t heard it articulated before. So much resonated, and my heart hurt for him... I was upset how the church had hurt him and no longer wanted to be active.” Isaac says that disaffiliation almost felt like another coming out, which was another gradual process for his family. But as they had worked to develop a relationship of being honest, curious, and compassionate, Isaac would vocalize a heads up to his parents–whether it was that he wouldn’t be wearing his garments on the next family vacation, or that he and Brock would prefer to share a room.  

Don says, “I love Brock! Both he and Isaac are some of the most thoughtful people you will meet. Brock’s very good at sharing a fair perspective on many topics, whereas I often come at them with my biases. He has helped me see things in an atonement stage way. It’s very humbling.” After graduating from BYU, Isaac got an MBA at the University of Utah and now works as a product manager for Mastercard. He and Brock met at a Utah gathering of like-minded friends. Together they love getting out and exploring Utah via paddleboards, lakes, reservoirs, the mountains, their swim team, and they also enjoy playing pickleball, and “chilling and watching TV.” 

Isaac says he is the extrovert of his siblings, but his siblings are all “loud supporters” who have also wholeheartedly welcomed Brock into their family. Older brother Jacob (who’s married to Stephanie, and father to their kids Ella, Gracie, and Simon) is likely the most reserved sibling, but made it loud and clear that Isaac and his partner are always welcome into their family’s Minnesota home. Isaac’s sister Calie, 27, lives in the lower portion of Isaac and Brock’s townhome in American Fork, and the Hong’s youngest, Lacy—19, is going to UVU and getting married this summer.  

“Having a gay son has been a gift,” says Don. “It has opened my eyes to just how many people don’t feel like they have a place at the table, and I want to do my part in making that table full.” Don recently gave a talk in his ward’s sacrament meeting that’s been widely shared online about ways people can do better to honor those on their faith expansion journeys. They’ve been warmed by the response in their town as many who had been silent from the margins have connected with the message and shared their stories with them. Jenny hopes people realize the church does not take the place of your family and “we should never feel it’s one or the other. There is infinite grace, and I look to a day when everyone can simply love. Love people exactly where they are and without judgement.” Isaac says he and Brock no longer attend church, and doubts it could ever become a place where he would feel safe or want to return.  

While sitting beside his parents, it’s clear the three have worked hard to come to a place of understanding and unconditional love. Of the journey he’s taken alongside his parents, Isaac says, “We may have different perspectives, but at the end of the day, there’s grace and beauty in what each is trying to do. It’s an ongoing dialogue.” 

Don’s talk can be found here:  https://www.facebook.com/don.hong.56/posts/pfbid02TEg3BLtu9Ec7WTYZpPu4YEza6oAcNG7V44T2CzYEy2ebFTZABaa5DgPM8ZicGnjsl 

BLAIRE OSTLER

As a ninth-generation descendant of Mormon pioneer stock, notable author and philosopher Blaire Ostler says, “For me, Mormonism is not just a religion, but part of my culture and identity--it’s almost an ethnicity. It’s how I think and see the world. I joke I couldn’t not be Mormon, even if I didn’t want to be—even my rejection of some parts of it is so Mormon.” Equally, Blaire is bisexual and intersex and identifies as queer, saying, “That’s also always been a part of me; it’s how I see the world and navigate life.” Her landmark book, Queer Mormon Theology (published in ’21 by By Common Consent Press), chronicles the juxtaposition of these unique traits that cast people like her in the margins of most circles. But while Blaire was told these two identities couldn’t coexist together, she absolutely knew both existed inside of her. “As one can imagine, having a conflicting view of self can tear at you.”

A self-described “military brat,” Blaire grew up attending LDS wards with anywhere from 15-600 congregants, in meetinghouses from Korea to California. Having this wide exposure to “church,” she saw how it means different things to different people. Outside of Utah, she saw the church as the built-in community you find wherever you go. It was about ensuring everyone has access to food, healthcare, language—basic needs. “That was more important than some of the cultural debris that gets mingled with the gospel. For us, the gospel was ‘Love your neighbor; take care of each other’.” She was also raised by a Catholic mother who converted to the LDS faith—somewhat of a universalist who held there is more than one way to find God. Blaire was given tools to deconstruct—a process that for her began around 14.

At this time, she was coming to grips with the fact that she was biologically queer with intersex characteristics, and also bisexual, experiencing sexual attraction and desire towards a diversity of genders. “It’s difficult to overstate how much it messes with your brain to be taught two conflicting messages about yourself as a Mormon woman, that: 1) your most important goal is to have a temple marriage and raise babies to go with you to the celestial kingdom, and 2) queer people destroy families, are promiscuous, die of AIDS, and corrupt society.” Blaire’s most difficult struggle was to get past this engrained dichotomy of being told “You’re supposed to do this,” but “As a queer person, you will fail at it.”

Blaire, who is now on the editorial board at Dialogue, wound up at BYU Provo where she met her husband of 20 years, Drew. After many moves and jobs, they now again call Provo, Utah home--the Y mountain just outside their doorstep. Blaire jokes her 20s were spent either pregnant, in an operating room, or a hospital–having and nursing babies, and having surgeries that would allow her to do so as an intersex person. “It was a decade of trying to be the ideal version of a Mormon woman in every imaginable capacity—from the way I looked, sounded, functioned, existed. It will burn you out—you can only do it for so long.” Blaire and Drew ultimately had three children, now ages 15, 13, and 10. 

In her words, she spent her 30s in a therapist’s office, trying to heal “from all the chaos of trying to fit a narrative that my body—my biology—was not made to create babies. It was a dangerous activity.” She says, “I was convinced I had to prove myself by doing these things, not even caring if I lived or died. That was obviously a low point.” After passing out on the operating room table after having her third child, Blaire chose to get sterilized for her own safety. Her 30s afforded her time to heal her body from the surgeries, her heart from the spiritual trauma, and her mind from the things she’d been told about her purpose. It was during that process that she decided to write her book.

Per Blaire’s educational background, philosophy plus religion equals theology. Via this contextual podium, Blaire ventured into a possibility space where she could be both queer and Mormon? “Queer” is an intentional word for Blaire, who both supports the reclaiming of the word as one with positive connotation (as demonstrated by Queer Nation since 1990), and recognizes how, in its blanket simplicity, it affords many the privacy and legitimacy they seek in a world that sometimes requires labels to consider and afford equitable rights. She also recognizes it as a word similar to “peculiar,” which has likewise been lauded in Mormon philosophy to be a good thing. Further, Blaire reclaims and esteems “Mormon” as a positive term, citing its inclusion in scripture. Her book provocatively explores the inherent coexistence of what it means to be queer, peculiar, and Mormon, and invites the reader to see things that are hidden in plain sight. 

Further propelling her quest to upend presuppositions is her role as a mother of three, with Blaire youngest also identifying as queer. “It’s interesting because as a queer parent, my daughter was essentially raised at a Pride parade. We assumed she was simply reflecting what she saw. But over time, it became apparent that this was her. I have a beautiful, queer, 10-year-old child.” But this made things different, regarding church. Blaire found herself becoming protective and concerned with what her Primary-aged daughter might be exposed to. “It’s one thing to roll the dice with yourself; it’s another to do it with your child.” Blaire’s family has taken a calculated approach to their church activity, choosing to support this activity or class or speaker, but perhaps not show up for those deemed riskier. “I didn’t want her to grow up being taught that she was anything other than a beautiful child of God—and strangely enough, she might be taught otherwise at church.” In this Ostler household (no close relation to Richard Ostler’s), there are a variety of faith transitions going on, and Blaire presumes each may land at different spots as they have varied perspectives on Mormonism, church, and God. But “at the end of the day, Mormonism means family. We all agree to take care of each other, and if we do that, then we did our job… This isn’t necessarily a rejection of the church, but a manifestation of our most sincerely held beliefs.” She explains it as the orthopraxy of her orthodoxy and acknowledges that while some may not understand, Blaire views her best perch as one that respects people where they are.

“The thing I learned from Mormonism and how I was raised is that life was about creating eternal families. At the end of the day, when the church is in conflict with my eternal family, I err on the side of family.” She continues, “The church was started by a man desperately trying to connect families and relationships through sealings. When I pick my family, I’m picking Mormonism, by not letting an institution come before my family. Strangely, some conflate the institution with their beliefs. I see the Church more as like a ship, and Mormonism is the people on the ship working together. But some on that ship (the institution) want to throw the queer people overboard, and if people are getting thrown off the boat, I’m going with them--the least of them. Guess who else did that? Jesus. He went with those who were cast out and left behind. The gospel is so much more than just a ship, even though a ship is useful.”

Blaire feels that even her presence causes some cognitive dissonance for others. “Because what I say is steeped in gospel and scriptures, sometimes people have a hard time coming to grips with it. It’s a view of the scriptures that most aren’t accustomed to.” But she honors religious plurality as found in universal concepts like the Golden Rule. “I feel like we need to take it to the next level in Mormonism and recognize when something on the ship isn’t working. We’re a religion of ‘Is this working?’ And if not, we honor change through ongoing revelation. The monolithic narrative of hetero supremacy isn’t working as so many family structures look different,” she says, addressing the single parent, divorced, widowed, polygamous, adoptive, and never married members now casting the nuclear or “traditional” family as a new minority. “We need to recognize our faith community as much bigger than we thought. We’ll be stronger for our diversity and inclusion. Imagine all the beautiful queer youth, queer missionaries, and rising young adults we’re losing because we looked at their queer gifts and said, ‘No, we don’t want your unique contributions.’ We are missing out.”

Referencing the body of Christ as found in Corinthians, Blaire explains, “We were never meant to be the same. Sometimes we look at our differences as a place of conflict rather than beauty and opportunity. If one’s good at writing and one good at building, wow, what a great opportunity that is to help each other! Is the body of Christ all hands or feet? No, we have different parts that work together cohesively. But we’re afraid, and sometimes we look the other way because we don’t want to see the parts of the body of Christ that are suffering. However, by recognizing suffering and mourning with those that mourn, we take the first step to making things better.” Acknowledging those deficiencies, like when the church changed its priesthood and temple exclusion policies and started the perpetual education fund to further restore equity, brings Blaire hope for further change. “Imagine the powerhouse the church could be if all members were ordained to the priesthood instead of half. Or if we didn’t push out 5%+ for being queer; imagine how much stronger we’d be. When we cut people off for insignificant differences like race, gender, or orientation, we’re undermining ourselves.” She recognizes this awareness is needed outside of the church, as well, especially now as people along the LGBTQIA+ spectrum face a litany of hostile legislation and infighting even in the secular community.

While she considers the gospel of Jesus Christ as her personal guiding faith practice, Blaire says she honors each individual’s ability to choose their own healthy path. “If a queer person is happier in a hetero marriage sealed in temple, or if another no longer affiliates with the church because it’s psychologically traumatizing, I support both. You have to go where your basic needs are being met, and you get to decide what that looks like—especially queer people. I have a hard time believing our Heavenly Parents don’t want our queer kids safe more than anything – I can’t imagine any loving parent thinking that, let alone a godly parent. We need to support each queer person wherever they land.” She has reframed her paradigm of God and now considers the concept of God to be a big heavenly family where all are connected. “God isn’t he, or she, God is they—God is all of us in one big eternal family… When we honor our families, we’re honoring God and the greater heavenly family we’re all a part of. Sometimes we think of God as a monster who wants to punish and harm us…I think we limit God’s compassion through our own imagination. I believe in a God that is more compassionate, loving, and benevolent than we could possibly imagine.” Blaire says as a parent herself, she views her role as “a heavenly parent in-training, trying my best to care for my children. Will I send them to a room, activity, or meeting that’s harming them and causing panic attacks? No, I’d rather say, ‘You are that you might have joy.’ This is what we’re doing as a family—prototyping a heavenly family. We stick together; we don’t kick people out on account of our differences.”

Of her faith practice, Blaire especially loves taking the sacrament as it symbolizes the “breaking of bread with my people, especially when we disagree. That’s when we need it the most.” She continues, “We’re all members of the body of Christ and this equates our commitment to each other and to adhering to His gospel.” Again, she is taken back to meeting the primal needs she identified in childhood: does everyone have food? Housing? Care? Health? “That is what Jesus did. Here, our basic needs are met.”

“In Primary, we are taught to love one another. Loving one another is how we find our way home,” says Blaire. “Our queer mantra is ‘Love wins.’ And I truly believe that. Love wins. Or in other words, charity never faileth.” 

**If you would like to learn more about the intersex population and what it means to identify as genderqueer, Blaire recommends the books Sex and Gender: Biology in a Social World by Anne Fausto-Sterling and Evolution’s Rainbow: Diversity, Gender and Sexuality in Nature and People by Joan Roughgarden. Blaire’s book, Queer Mormon Theology, is available on Amazon and Audible.

THE ERVIN FAMILY

Every month, parents of transgender and nonbinary kids can join a Lift and Love online support circle facilitated by Anita Ervin of Canal Winchester, Ohio. It’s a topic with which she is very familiar. When Oliver—22, and Rome—19, the oldest of her four children, are both home together, the Ervin house is noticeably louder and filled with laughter. While the two say they fought sharing a room as children, they now share an inextricable bond. Rome credits Oliver for making their coming out journey much easier at age 16. Anita admits Oliver put them all through a learning curve when he first identified as queer in 2018. Rome says, “Oliver got the messy; I got the ‘all good’.”

In summer 2018 at age 18, Oliver came home from BYU-Idaho and told their parents he identified as pansexual. This first happened in a car conversation with his mom in which Oliver asked if he would ever be kicked out of the house. When Anita passed the turnoff to their neighborhood and kept driving, Oliver was startled and feared he was about to be dropped off for good anywhere but home. But instead, Anita drove to a nearby park where they could have what turned out to be a complex conversation in peace. Anita assured Oliver that she would never kick him out unless it was something for his own good, not for his orientation. Almost 18 months later in December of 2020, Oliver (who was AFAB) came out as trans-masculine to Anita by sharing a handwritten letter he was going to send to his grandmother for whom he was originally named. Oliver’s coming out process has continued in a manner in which Oliver typically explains things to his mom, who then shares them with his dad, Ben. A couple months later, during a dinner conversation, Oliver explained to his siblings that there is a spectrum of gender identity with males on one side and the females on the other. Oliver shared he falls just left of center, on the male side, and would prefer to use the pronouns he/they and change their name.

“Growing up in a heavily Mormon family, I didn’t have the words for gender or sexuality and didn’t know what gay people were or gay marriage was until I was 12, and they read that letter in church about gay marriage. It just wasn’t discussed. I didn’t know trans people existed until well into high school. So I didn’t have words for it, but I knew I wasn’t the same as everyone else. I felt like an alien, trying to pretend, because I didn’t have the same guide book,” says Oliver. In college, they met their first queer person inside the church. In their time away from home while at school, Oliver explored how he best identified until he settled on what felt authentic. Oliver, who says he didn’t “get the hype” and hasn’t felt a connection to God since the age of eight, has removed his name from church records. He spent most of his adolescence with his family in a conservative ward in Oklahoma, where the Bible Belt climate often compared people like him as akin to murderers. Oliver is now more open in his spiritual practice, believing that actions beget consequences but does not adhere to a specific organized religion.

After spending many years babysitting and later working at a day care center, Oliver is now comfortable being out at their current workplace. He loves movies and TV, reading, painting and customizing black Vans shoes, and does a lot of art. Oliver has been dating Mya (AFAB) for almost three years, and also identifies as unlabeled orientation-wise. Oliver explains that often, LGBTQ humans first have a sexuality crisis, then a gender crisis, then another sexuality re-examination. Of he and Mya (who uses they/she pronouns and is bisexual), who has been with Oliver through his transition, Oliver says, “We’re not pressed on labels; it just is what it is. We both feel a little too old to lie awake at night trying to find a label or a box to put ourselves in. Sleep is already difficult; I’m not losing more over this.” Oliver and Mya also identify as “kitchen table” polyamorous, which they explain as not really a sexual thing, but more like being open to consensual emotional connections with others. The Ervins really like Mya, and Rome has told Oliver more than once they can’t break up because Rome and Mya are “besties.”

Rome, who was also AFAB, identifies as gender queer and bi-curious. (They have no preferred pronouns.) They selected the name Rome awhile ago, and Anita laughs she still hears the B52’s lyric “Roam if you want to” every time she calls her child’s new name. Growing up, Anita says she and her husband Ben were used to pairing off their kids, having two of each, and referred to their brood as “the girls and the boys” (younger siblings include Connor – 14 and Maddox – 12). But now, it’s the “gremlins and the boys.” Oliver laughs that he and Rome “are a little freakish” and so the name suits them well. Anita is very grateful that both of her oldest kids’ anxiety has improved since coming out.

Rome enjoys making jewelry, specifically earrings, out of miniature things, and loves the aesthetic (not the drug) of the mushroom. They also enjoy true crime, creating art, watching Criminal Minds, Minecraft, and claim they have an “unhealthy love of Mexican food.” Rome has done a year of college and is working at a BBQ joint for the summer.

In 2020, after listening in on a conversation Anita had with the Emmaus (LGBTQ and faith-affirming) group, Rome confided in her mom: “Mom, I think I might like girls.” This time, Anita responded more along the lines of, “I’ll love you forever and ever and ever,” laughs Rome. Anita recalls counseling Rome to not rush to label themselves, that they’d figure it out. Rome is grateful Oliver “paved the way for my ability to come out comfortably because he instigated the learning process for our friends and family,” and that they’ve had a family willing to accept them, no matter what. Rome also has benefitted from a more accepting ward in Ohio where several women wear pants to church and it’s easier to blend in. Anita encourages this, after observing Rome’s choice to wear slacks and a vest to prom. She believes Sunday dress is about “dressing your best” as your full self for the Lord, not adhering to some cultural norm.

Before Oliver came out, Anita says she always considered herself a “middle of the road, cliché Mormon.” She went on a mission, married in the temple, never turned down a calling. When Oliver first approached the LGBTQ subject with her, she didn’t know what to do – should she steer him toward the bishop? She didn’t want him living the life of shame she’d seen another close family member endure. Anita says, “As I prayed about what to do the only answer I got was to love him the way God loved him—fully. It was not my job to ‘teach more truth’ in an attempt to ‘fix’ him.” In the beginning, she and Oliver concur things were rocky; there were lots of tears. But Anita emphasized maintaining a strong connection with her child. She has close ally friends in her ward who she says got her on the right supportive path and to a place where she realized she could be all in with her family and all in with the church. “I loved realizing I didn’t have to choose between fully supporting them and being present in their lives, and being committed to my faith as well. I could do both.”

The Ervins have also reassessed how they teach faith at home, focusing more on how to develop a connection with Christ than follow a pamphlet of do’s and don’ts. “If you strip away everything else, at the core, it’s Jesus Christ and His grace that saves us, not going through the motions of church activity. I can’t limit Christ. I can’t say I have to expect my kids to live a certain way to be saved by Christ. I think He’s big enough to handle the complexity of their lives.” Anita says they have definitely moved on from a place of grieving over lost expectations, and now are able to see the humor in things. Their driveway is witness to the frequent “Can you make that straight?” joke, referring to a crooked parking job with a well-received double entendre.

A significant realization that’s helped Anita came from Richard Ostler’s second Listen, Learn, and Love podcast episode in which he deconstructed three partitions of church: the Church of Jesus Christ. The restored gospel. And the organization of the church. Anita likewise deconstructed her testimony and is able to safely linger in the first when things get hard. She can just focus on maintaining a pure connection to Christ. As looming fears of policy changes regarding trans individuals both in the national landscape and at church brew, Anita is choosing to focus on the one thing that won’t change: her faith in Christ.

Anita says, “I have faith and beliefs which haven’t changed, but I can respect where my kids are coming from. If they don’t go down the path I’d hoped, it doesn’t destroy my perspective. It’s okay for them to choose their paths; it’s only complicated because I don’t know the answers yet. But a pain point for me is that I see my kids in their gender journeys and some of the policies towards trans individuals, and I feel like they’re being treated like wolves instead of sheep. I want some recognition that they’re sheep.”

Oliver concurs there’s an untold level of pain kids like him experience. “The first time I thought about ending myself, I was eight years old… If people truly knew the level of discomfort, they would choose to learn. If people knew they could literally save a child’s life by listening and trying, they would.” He says Wrabel’s song “The Village” (lyrics below) perfectly sums up how important it is to listen to the trans experience in religious environments. Anita also laments the suicidality rates of trans individuals, as found at the Trevor Project. She’s had flashes of “What if? What if I had been the parent who’d said, ‘Not in my house’. I probably would not have all of my kids with me today. This isn’t just about us. We all change in our lifetimes; we all grow. People say, ‘What if it’s a phase?’ I respond, ‘So what if it is—this is real to them right now, and so right now I’m showing up 100% on their team. As their mom, I’ll do what I need to do to get them through the next five, ten years.”

What pains Anita most when she leads the parent support group is witnessing the sadness of families whose kids are being othered and excluded. “Too often when the kids don’t stay, the whole family goes. I feel that loss keenly. I understand when families step away. People need to realize that when they have those casual conversations against our kids, they are often sitting next to a parent of a nonbinary or trans child…” She fears the exponential hurt that may come in the near future for many. “Of all the places on earth where people should feel love and acceptance it should be among the followers of Christ and in His church. Unfortunately, that’s not always the case.”

Lyrics

No, your mom don't get it
And your dad don't get it
Uncle John don't get it

And you can't tell grandma
'Cause her heart can't take it
And she might not make it

They say, "Don't dare, don't you even go there"
"Cutting off your long hair"
"You do as you're told"
Tell you, "Wake up, go put on your makeup"
"This is just a phase you're gonna outgrow"

There's something wrong in the village
In the village, oh
They stare in the village
In the village, oh

There's nothing wrong with you
It's true, it's true
There's something wrong with the village
With the village
There's something wrong with the village

Feel the rumors follow you
From Monday all the way to Friday dinner
You got one day of shelter
Then it's Sunday hell to pay, you young lost sinner

Well, I've been there, sitting in that same chair
Whispering that same prayer half a million times
It's a lie, though buried in disciples
One page of the Bible isn't worth a life

There's something wrong in the village
In the village, oh
They stare in the village
In the village, oh

There's nothing wrong with you
It's true, it's true
There's something wrong with the village
With the village
Something wrong with the village

THE HOWARTH FAMILY

When it comes to reflecting on the life of their 26-year-old daughter, Ellery, Holly and Robert Howarth of Holladay, Utah credit one milestone day that changed everything: Thursday, September 2, 2021.

Before that Thursday, the Howarths knew their only daughter to be a feisty go-getter who “liked to do everything and who was good at everything.” That hasn’t changed. As a young toddler, Ellery loved “typical girly things,” especially the color pink; but she also had mastered the monkey bars by age three, and really loved and excelled at sports and playing with the boys, including her four brothers (Spencer—now 34, married to Casey, William – 23, married to Hannah, Benjamin –20, and Christian, aka “Boo” -- 17). When she was six, her birthday party was made when her best friend bestowed her gift wish—a light saber, which she gleefully ran off with, hollering to all the little girls and gifts she left behind: “You all can play with all the Polly Pockets!”

In high school, Ellery was junior class president and had many dates and boyfriends. After, she went to BYU and served an LDS mission to Guatemala, which she loved. Her going on a mission surprised her dad a little, as Ellery had expressed some concerns with church doctrine over the years. But when she came home, “something felt different.” Holly says she slept in the same room as her daughter the first couple of nights because Ellery seemed so off. She cried all night and seemed so sad that her parents thought she might be sick from exhaustion.

Ellery proceeded in her schooling and with her plans to be a lawyer. A few years later when her brother got married in the temple, Ellery approached her dad, sobbing, saying this was something that would never happen for her. Looking back, Robert says he was clueless and shrugged it off, joking, “Get outta here; I gotta go to bed.” Continuing to build her resume, Ellery went to Texas to get a Masters in Education from SMU and work for the Teach for America program in a Dallas Title 1 school. Back at home in Utah, Holly acted on the rumblings in her heart and expressed to her brother, “Sometimes I think Ellery might be gay.” To her shock, he replied, “Of course she is; I’ve known that since she was little.” Holly asked why he’d never said anything, to which he replied he’d promised his wife he’d never bring it up unless the Howarths said something first. When Holly broke down crying, her brother said, “Why are you reacting like this? That poor girl, she’s the one who’s been navigating this on her own. If you can’t love her for who she is, then let me love her and parent her.” That statement shocked Holly into an entirely new mindset. She felt her maternal instinct surge, and she said and knew, “No, she’s my daughter. Of course I’m going to love her!” It was Thursday, September 2, 2021.

Holly immediately called Ellery, who was about to walk into class in Texas. She said, “Ellery, you know how you always say I’m your very best friend in the whole world? Sometimes, I think you lie to me.” Ellery replied, “What are you talking about?” Holly said, “I’m going to ask you a question and you have to tell me the truth. Are you gay?” Ellery broke down sobbing and said, “Yes, I am.” Then she angrily yelled, “How can you ask me something like this right now? I have class!” Right after class, she called her dad Robert, who’d already been filled in. She began to profusely apologize. He asked why she was saying sorry, and Ellery replied, “Because I’m an abomination.” Robert said, “I just love you.” Her siblings echoed that sentiment, with her brother Benjamin, who was doing home MTC at the time saying he had prayed all day for inspired words to share with his sister, and the words that came were also just how much she was loved. Holly says this revelation unraveled a decade of torment their daughter had been enduring alone. In those early days, after that Thursday, Ellery continuously called herself an abomination, feeling like she was the reason her family “wouldn’t be together forever.” It turns out she had been working hard to get her finances in order, feeling as if her parents would cut her off if they found out.

After that Thursday night, as the truth came out, it set Ellery free. She revealed she’d figured out she was gay right after breaking up with her tenth grade boyfriend, and realizing her mom’s admonitions to “don’t make out, and keep your feet on the floor” were no problem at all if you weren’t feeling those urges for the opposite sex. While her going on a mission had shocked her dad, Ellery revealed that was an attempt on her part to make a plea bargain with God to change this part of her. Her monumental depression on her return was due to the fact that this hadn’t worked--she was still the same. Ellery had beat herself up over the years, internalizing every phrase ever uttered against people like her, including when her mom once found out a girl they knew came out and she said, “Oh, her poor mom.” Or the times Holly used to say, “I have a lot of single friends and they have to stay celibate, so gay people can do the same.” 

After that Thursday night, Holly actualized she would never want a life of loneliness or celibacy for her daughter. She had recently gone to lunch with a 68-year-old female friend who had never been married and asked her, “Do you still have hope there may still be someone out there for you?” The friend replied, “I absolutely do.” Holly now says, “Why are we telling these gay children, ‘There’s no hope for you’?”

The night after Ellery came out, she told her parents, “If you leave the church over this, I will be angry at you and never forgive you. If it was true before you knew this about me, it still better be true after… Although it’s not for me right now, because there’s no place for me, I know that my God is good.” Holly and Robert went back with Ellery to visit the people of Guatemala whose lives she had impacted on her mission and they loved seeing the pure love and gratitude the people expressed for their daughter. One particular woman who Ellery had helped find the gospel proudly showed them her temple endowment certificate and is a temple worker now. Holly says, “She felt all that; it’s real. Ellery believed all that. That’s where the pain comes from – her not being able to be who she is and have all that. People will say, ‘Oh there’s a place for her in this church,’ and I’ll say, ‘No there’s not, not right now; she can’t have a girlfriend and be a part of the church. That’s hard. It’s heartbreaking for those who want to remain a part.”

While at BYU, Ellery had begun seeing a counselor for her depression and anxiety who helped her work through her own faith progression, after realizing she would need to weigh the pros and cons of staying in an organization that didn’t support her finding a companion. Up until then, she had tormented herself, battling suicidal urges to take her life by the age of 25 so no one would ever “have to know.” Eventually, the therapist helped her identify the church wasn’t servicing her anymore, and she needed to write down those pros and cons and have a ceremony and burn them and say goodbye. One of the hardest pills for Ellery’s parents to swallow was when she asked them why God didn’t love her, saying, “Why would he make me this way if he knew I’d never be able to return to live with Him?” Since Ellery has stepped away from church activity, she has not experienced any more suicidal breakdowns.

Holly reflects that if she hadn’t had that conversation with her brother on that Thursday and immediately called her daughter, she might not have seen her in this life again. Ellery’s 25th birthday was the following December 18th. But instead, Ellery returned home to celebrate and put on a beautiful new dress and went out with friends. Just before she walked out the door, she told her parents, “I never realized I could be this happy.” Ellery currently lives with her girlfriend of a year, Madeline, and one day looks forward to getting married and having kids. She loves knowing she’ll have her family’s support.

As she prepares to welcome their first two grandbabies this summer (each of the Howarth’s daughters-in-law are expecting), Holly has also been on a faith journey, re-examining her belief system. She’s dug into reading the book, Jesus the Christ, to really try to come to understand pure Christianity. She questions why a church would be called after someone who embraces all, but currently as an institution causes so much suffering as there isn’t a safe place for all. She wonders, “Why is it people would rather die than be who they are—those who were born this way? Sometimes I feel like I’ve been punked… The gospel was always so black and white and easy: ‘Do all these things and everything will work out. Unless you’re gay; then it’s not.’ I’m trying to put the work in, so I don’t feel punked. I’m putting in the effort to get to know the Savior again, so I don’t carry these feelings of anger, sadness and heartache. I’ve used the Atonement in my life probably as much as anyone; I’ve needed it. But I’ve been hurt. I have a testimony, but I’m struggling.”   

Robert has maintained his LDS faith with the caveat, “I just have to have a testimony that I don’t know everything, and I won’t while here on earth. I’ve got to take what I know to be true and run with that because I don’t like the alternative.” Both Holly and Robert concur that heaven would not be heaven without all their kids; and Robert says, “Ellery, wherever you are, I will find you.” Holly agrees, “She’s our whole world; she’s everything to us. Nothing’s changed in that regard. But a lot of things have been put into perspective since that Thursday, when everything changed.”

THE MCINTIER FAMILY

Since their oldest son, Max, was a young toddler, Abby and Jeff McIntier always wondered if him being gay was a possibility. But they never wanted anyone to label him before Max himself was ready. Abby says, “In my heart, only he knows who he is. And God.” But, they admit several friends may have wondered.

While the McIntiers were in grad school in Buffalo, NY, their close network of friends all had young daughters Max’s age, and he loved playing princesses right along with them. After one particular playdate resulted in a fight (led by Max) over who would wear the Cinderella dress and who would be Rapunzel, Abby’s friend called her and joked, “You’d think this wouldn’t happen with the boy who’s over.” But even at home, Max gravitated toward stereotypically girl things. Abby says, “It wasn’t what I thought raising a boy would be like. My husband and I always thought, ‘Huh’.”

Fast forward to 2015, when Max entered middle school. Abby was about to pop with their fourth child when a friend called and said that one of their kids’ friends had called Max gay, and Max didn’t really seem to know what that meant. Abby thought, “Here it is. I sensed this might come. And I knew I needed to create an environment for him to know he was safe being whoever he is—and only he will know who that is. It’s not ok for anyone else to tell him.” At that time, the political climate was quite negative regarding LGBTQ issues in the McIntier’s Richmond, Kentucky hometown, and middle school can be quite harsh in general, so Abby would often find herself engaging in late night conversations with Max about “so and so in their youth group who’s gay and their parents won’t accept them.” Occasionally, Abby would ask, “Are you?” Max would always reply, “No, I’m not.” Abby would quickly follow that with, “Well you know it's ok, right?”

Finally, in the summer of 2020, Max was ready to come out. He told his dad first, after Jeff said, “You know, if there’s something you want to tell us...” Later with his mom, while sitting on the couch, Max blurted out, “You know I’m gay, right?” Abby nonchalantly replied, “I didn’t, but that’s cool.” Their late night, supportive talks continued into that fall, and one evening, Max was talking about how excited he was to be out, to date someone, to post it on social. Abby felt something inside her want to verbally gush about the prescriptive life her son could have – still in the church, still going on a mission, “the best uncle ever, and he wouldn’t even have to marry a woman!” He could be like a famous performer Abby had known in her younger days as a performer who was now openly gay and still actively LDS (and presumably celibate). Of that night, Abby says, “Max had just turned 16, and luckily, the spirit shoved a sock in my mouth, and I stopped presupposing and just listened. And I realized there’s got to be more to his life than that. I couldn’t tell him to go on a mission so he could go to the temple so he could go to the celestial kingdom and check all those boxes. Call it spirit, intuition, whatever, but nope, something stopped me, saying, ‘That’s not what you’re going to say’.”

The following Valentine’s Day, in 2021, Max decided to come out publicly on social media to mark the one year anniversary of the first time he’d come out to anyone (a close friend). Abby says that everyone saw his post, including a bishop of another ward who’d called Max’s seminary teacher to warn him. The timing couldn’t have been worse. On the very next day, the lesson in seminary was on Sodom & Gomorrah, and it took an anti-LGBTQ direction as “homosexuality” was written on the board as one of the reasons why the lands were destroyed. People in the class compared it to active sins and things like addiction—but being gay was something Max didn’t choose. Friends called Abby who, now pregnant with her sixth baby, was on the treadmill fielding calls telling her that Max had left seminary quite mad. “He felt just awful—so embarrassed.” Abby read the lesson, and then did a deep dive into the Family Proclamation. 

She says, “I had my own personal revelations that the proclamation feels incomplete to me. There’s nothing in there that says you cannot get married to a man and still live with God. There’s more knowledge to be received on this subject. I think that Heavenly Father is not withholding info, thinking, ‘Oh, you’re not ready to be non-racist or non-exclusive.’ I believe our biases, cultures, and dogmas stop us from receiving further revelation. We think we get an answer and move on, but there’s probably a lot more that Heavenly Father is trying to tell us.”

Abby emailed the two seminary teachers and the bishop of the other ward who happened to be at that lesson and told them, “Whatever was taught at best was naïve, misinformed, ignorant; at best, it was false doctrine.” Up until that point, both Abby and Max had grown very comfortable with who he was. That seminary lesson was the first time Abby realized her son might be ostracized and considered a sinner for something he didn’t choose. She thought, “There’s nothing wrong with him, and I didn’t like that someone would say that. I turned to Lift and Love and found resources to prove my point that I was right, and that everyone else was wrong… Now, I’m on a journey. I have conversations and sometimes get my feelings hurt. This can be just such a taboo topic.” 

Jeff says, “I haven’t always had the best relationship with Max, but thankfully it’s never been because of his sexuality. One time, before he ever came out, I was really pleading to God about what to do about him and our relationship, and I remember distinctly feeling, thinking, and hearing, ‘He’s not yours, he’s mine. You’re just a steward over him for a short time. Your job is to love him.’ I never would have thought that on my own. I think I’m too prideful. But that’s how I know it was from God. All this is not my journey or my story. It’s his."

Shortly after Jeff and Abby had their last baby (their six kids now include Max—18, Perry—15, Nora—11, Freddie—1, Oscar—3, and Charlie Quinn—18 mos.), the McIntiers, who own a couple preschools as well as a dance performance company, were a little surprised when they got a visit from their friend, who now serves as their stake president, and his wife. He was a counselor at the time, and he was feeling out whether she might up for serving as the stake Young Women’s president—with a four-week-old baby. His wife said, “No, don’t do that to her.” Abby says there were probably others in their stake who also might find that appointment jarring. (Abby says, “I’m loads of fun, but rough around the edges. The kind of person who’d wear the t-shirt that says, ‘I’m not drunk, this is just my personality’.”) But Abby accepted the call and continued serving with the youth she’d grown to love as ward YW president. She felt she’d found her niche in encouraging Max and others to invite their friends to church activities—including those who might feel on the margins. Something Max can relate to.

Max has found his crowd in the theatre, and he still keeps in touch with a great group of friends he met in a six-week theatre program last summer. There he met a handful of somewhat closeted kids who live in fear of their families’ responses. Abby says, “I don’t think I’m good at anything, but in hearing about that, I realize I handled this well.” Max is excited to head to the BFA theatre program at Coastal Carolina University this fall. While he usually opts to work at the job “he loves” on Sundays (Dunkin Donuts), Abby says Max will occasionally still come to church with his family because he knows she likes having him there. 

Recently, Max attended a sacrament meeting in which someone gave a talk about the law of chastity and temple work. Abby says, “Nothing about LGBTQ was mentioned, just that families can be together through Heavenly Father’s plan.” Yet Abby, as well as their stake president friend who was in attendance, heard and felt what Max and people like him must be hearing and feeling during talks like that. Abby watched Max keep his arms crossed tightly across his chest, triggered. Later their friend acknowledged that while there are so many great things about the church, the way Max must hear things like that is, ‘I will never be enough because of how I was born’.” 

Abby jokingly calls herself an agnostic Mormon even though she very much believes in Heavenly parents that we are created in their image specifically. She just realizes there are so many things we don’t know and God may not be exactly how she understood as a child and young adult. “For us to think we know all the things right now and to claim this won’t change, it seems naïve. The eternities are vast – I think this is just a blip.” Abby says people ask her how she does it, how she stays in. When she was 15, her brother passed away and she says that likely out of fear, she decided then to assume the church was true so she could see her brother again. But that experience, along with other family challenges, make it impossible for her to “go back to putting her head in the sand because now, I have such a bigger heart. I think about things differently than the way I was raised. I see all people now more as my peers.” Her family often teases her about her plethora of “gay things” which includes rainbow pins, ribbons, books, etc. she collects to give to others. She says, “I wear the rainbow pin not as a protest, but as a symbol of inclusivity and safety to anyone of the LGBTQ+ community, whether they are out or not. I believe when I bear my testimony, particularly in my calling when working with the youth or leaders, my testimony rings differently, albeit the same, when there is evidence I’m an ally. I want all the youth to know they’re loved, they’re wonderful, and that they matter, are needed, and have a divine purpose.” 

In her calling, Abby says she tries to share her personal experiences when she gets asked about things, especially when people present being inclusive as an antidote to “teaching the truth.” She says, “There’s always that clause. So while I’ve thought we might disagree on what the truth is, and my personal revelations might be different than yours, we can all agree we are called to love and not judge. And that the plan is a personal journey between us and God; that’s it. We tend to ostracize and get uncomfortable with people in church who don’t fit the mold. We feel like we have to save them, or they’re evil or done or have crossed that line, and can’t come back. But that takes away our agency and thus makes the Atonement null. Throughout history and scriptures, that’s not the case; Christ died for us all so that all of us can come back.” 

THE MARANDA THOMPSON FAMILY

“Did you know?” It’s a question so many parents of LGBTQ kids field, and Maranda Thompson of Kaysville, UT is no exception. She and her husband Jacob didn’t fully know their son Riley, 22, was gay until just last year. But Maranda says they have always known Riley was “highly intelligent and super anxious. He was always very obedient, great in school, a rule follower and so easy to parent. Riley was always a happy, good kid.” Their first inkling about his sexuality occurred when Riley was 14 and admitted to viewing gay pornography. Maranda says, “Looking back, how dumb were we?” Riley began therapy for his anxiety around that time, and Maranda pulled the therapist aside and asked if he thought Riley was gay, wondering “what are we dealing with?” Maranda says, “I love how the therapist didn’t lock him in a box with gender and sexuality at that age but said he might be fluid. And just to wait and see. Looking back, I’m grateful for that.”

In high school, Riley enjoyed choir, swim team, and he seemed to like dating girls. But right before he went on a mission, Riley told his mom he might be bisexual. Maranda replied, “When you decide to get married, if you marry a girl, just make sure you’re 1000% in.” Riley replied, “Of course,” and they didn’t speak of it again for the next two years while Riley served his mission in Roseville, CA. A lover of languages and linguistics, Maranda says Riley spoke Spanish “like a boss. He seemed to thrive on his mission – he’d always been the kid in high school who showed up to every youth activity, was 1st assistant in his priest quorum, was super righteous and churchy.”

After Riley came home, he began his schooling in St. George where he studied computer science. After hanging out with his roommates and dating girls for about six months, his anxiety spiked again, which his parents attributed to school, but always wondered… what if? One night, Riley called and again said, “Mom, I think I’m bisexual.” Maranda asked, “Riley, who are you attracted to?” He replied, “Men.” She said, “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me. Riley, I do not support celibacy and loneliness, and I expect an amazing son-in-law. Your dad is waiting for you to tell him, too.” Maranda says, “Of all my parenting moments, that was a good one. But it was the first time in my life that something came out of my mouth that 1000% went against church teachings. But I felt very inspired that’s what he needed, and in that moment, I chose my son over anything else. Our path forward since has been that we choose him; nothing gets in the way of that.”

About a month before Riley came out, Maranda’s close friend introduced her to the Questions from the Closet podcast, but Maranda waited to dive in until her son had come out. “That first podcast, everything in me opened up; it was an insane blessing. The work Ben and Charlie are doing is straight from God.” She was excited to share it with Riley and when he listened to it he found validation, love and a path forward.  Then, Maranda found the podcast At Last She Said It. “I loved it. It helped me understand and gave me vocabulary for so many things I was feeling as I entered a complete faith crisis. I told my husband, ‘These ladies are keeping me in the church’.” Maranda also found her way to Lift and Love, where she says the early podcasts made her feel “so seen and heard and ok.” The year Riley came out, Maranda logged 22,000 minutes on Spotify, thanks to her podcast grad school education.

Of this time, Maranda says, “This was the most painful, heart-opening experience of my life. I immediately started questioning church. I picked my kid, and thought, ‘What the hell is wrong with the church?’ I went through a grieving process, always wondering am I going to stay? Early on, in my soul, I felt that not everyone can stay, but if everyone leaves, it won’t get better. I felt I could be one of those people who could stay. I’m not sure how, but I think I can, and I’ve tried to hold on to that.” Maranda feels her own faith crisis has contributed to her ability to bond with Riley, who has been very open with his parents. “As he shares his feelings going through this, I’m able to understand what he needs and where he stands spiritually.”

Maranda says if their kids want emotional support and comfort, they come to her. But if they want logic, reason and great solutions, they go to their dad. “I tell Jacob he’s the best gay dad ever to which he replies, ‘Stop calling me gay dad.’ But Jacob’s my hero. He’s kind, stalwart and straight forward. A few weeks after Riley came out, he called us panicked and said, ‘I don’t know what to do next.’ Jacob said, ‘Well, go on a date.’ and followed up with practical and loving advice. After we hung up, I said ‘How’d you know what to say?’ And he said, ‘I just told him what I’d say if he was dating girls!’ I was like, ‘Oh, ok, that makes so much sense’!”

Maranda had moments where she was scared how people might treat Riley, that the world might be unkind. When he decided to room with a bunch of fellow returned missionaries at Utah Tech, she wondered if he needed his own room. But she laughs that he replied, “Mom you are so old.” She’s relieved that his generation is “so accepting, they’re cool with it…”  Maranda says people her age have also been wonderful.  They seem to be committed to saying, ‘Ok, we’re going to do this better than our parents did’.” Maranda says, “My faith in humanity has gone through the roof.”

Under her own roof, came the moment in which each of Riley’s three younger brothers would find out he was gay. Tyler—18, was a senior at the time Riley told him and he seemed surprised at first. Maranda said, “Think about him in high school.” And Tyler (the ”cool, ASB kid”) laughed, “Yeah! He was the token gay kid, with all those girlfriends. And he made cakes. Mom, do you know how much street cred I’ll get for having a gay brother?” Slightly younger and more aloof, Noah—16, was “a bit clueless even though we’d been talking about it around the house for months. One night I said, ‘Noah, you know Riley’s gay, right?’ to which he replied, ‘What? Mom, you have to tell me things. Wait… does this mean Riley has to leave the church’?” 

Maranda says, “That’s so sad that that’s the message we’re sending. I told Noah that whatever path Riley took, we’d support and continue to honor his personal revelation.” The Thompsons youngest, Dallin—10, who can be “mouthy, funny” has taken to gleefully weaponizing the word homophobic in a humorous way around the house. All the Thompson brothers love and support Riley, and while Tyler now gets a little flack on his mission (in the Dominican Republic) for having a gay brother, “he can handle it.”

One of the most dissonant moments of Maranda’s life were the months between Riley coming out in February of 2022 and Tyler getting his mission call in April. “I spent those months in faith crisis, supporting one gay son and mission prepping another. On Riley’s mission, I’d written him letters full of quotes by prophets—I was so adorable. When I write to Tyler, I focus on loving those he serves and building a personal relationship with Christ—I just can’t with prophet quotes right now.” She says reading Brian McLaren’s book, Faith After Doubt, calmed her soul. Maranda says she was “brutally honest” in her recent temple recommend interview. When she talked to Riley about it, he said, “Mom, I can’t say those things in an interview.” Maranda replied, “But your mom can!”  Tyler jokes that Maranda had better hang on to her recommend in case she needs it when he gets home.  Jacob has never entertained the idea of leaving the church and is also fully supportive of Riley and what he needs to thrive and be happy. Maranda feels kids need more black & white thinking when they’re little, but “they get a free ticket into nuance when they are ready if their parents are nuanced.” 

Riley says he doesn’t regret a single thing about his mission and still goes to church, although it has become very difficult (“He’s always loved God so much”). He did ask to meet with a therapist this summer to process religious trauma. Maranda says Riley attends Encircle and has found that the general consensus among his peers there is that those who are openly queer do not last in the LDS church. Riley’s been dating and still feels comfortable going to the temple. Maranda says, “He calls himself the most emotionally well-adjusted gay man he’s ever met.” After he returns from a date, he’ll joke with his mom about the “trauma bond” he and his fellow gay male date shared, and she’ll ask, “What was his trauma level?”

“Every time we talk about his dating, Riley thanks me. He is often astounded by the way other parents have responded to their LGBTQ children. He says, ‘You and dad being the way you are has made it so much better. All my queer friends want to meet you and hug you.’ I reply, ‘All we said was find a good husband. He knows we’ve got him, church or not. Whatever he needs. He’s such a great human.” 

Maranda believes representation matters. As a junior high math teacher, she loves when her students recognize her low-key rainbow jewelry, especially when they complement it in a way in which she knows it also means something to them. Last June was her first Pride month knowing she had a gay son, and Maranda noticed how much it meant to her to see rainbows everywhere.  “I realized, that was one more place that is safe for my son. That home, that business, that family is safe, they get it.” Every week, she shows up at church with her rainbow bag from the REI outdoor Pride line, and recently, a friend stood up from across the chapel to show Maranda a large rainbow bag of her own. “It meant so much. She doesn’t even have a dog in the fight; she’s just all about love.” After Maranda mentioned her feelings about seeing rainbows to her therapist, the next time she showed up for a session, she was touched to see a framed rainbow art piece hanging on the wall.  

Maranda calls her town a bit of a Mayberry and says people do try really, really hard to be nice—including the “good, kind, loving” people of her ward who she says all love Riley. They have sat through a few uncomfortable lessons at church, one in which someone said you can’t fly a Pride flag or pay for a gay wedding. Afterwards, Maranda met with the bishop (who she calls the kindest person on the planet) and told him they could do better. He then prepared a talk and sent it to her to prescreen, in which he outlined all the good, supportive things church leaders have said about being kind and loving toward LGBTQ people.

Of her journey, Maranda says, “I thought I was a loving person, but had no idea how much more I could love. It’s been a wild ride… I took this year to learn and calm down-- just get to a place where I could start listening and teaching with patience. Recently, I had a conversation with an older man in my neighborhood in which he expressed some hurtful views about LGBTQ and I put my hand on his arm and gently said, ‘You know my son’s gay? The way you’re saying things is so hurtful.’ This transitioned into a 20-minute loving conversation led with courage and love and understanding, where six months ago, I was so fearful and hurt. I’m getting there – getting to a place where I can be an ally and be useful in this space. I’m ready.”

THE AMANDA SMITH FAMILY

On weekday mornings, Amanda Smith of Rancho Mission Viejo, CA can often be found guiding a quiet room of clients through a yoga practice, encouraging them to bend, breathe, and just be as they sort through the stresses and traumas that can bring one to child’s pose—a position she has often needed to fold into herself. 

Amanda’s oldest child, Lynden (now 11), was diagnosed with cancer at age seven in 2019, and luckily survived after a six-month battle of chemo and radiation. In 2020, shortly after Lynden was pronounced cancer-free, Amanda’s mother tragically took her own life, after battling mental health struggles. After processing each of those immense trials during the pandemic, Amanda felt it was time to undergo certification to be a yoga instructor as well as finally reckon publicly with her orientation—something that until now, she had largely eschewed in an attempt to please others.  But with remarkable strength, the married mother of three has learned to exhale, and summon the desire to share--if only to make the path slightly less difficult for her fellow sojourners.

Amanda Smith was raised in Idaho and then Minnesota during her teens, where she was surrounded with a conservative mindset both in the church and with her family. They didn’t attend church much, but made it very clear that it was not okay to be gay. Amanda thus grew up in a state of shame, always feeling like “something was wrong with me,” as she had sensed she was attracted to girls from a young age. Of her teen years, she says, “I tried to overcorrect. I had all these boyfriends and was actually quite mean to people who I found out were gay or lesbian—like some sort of defense mechanism.”

When she was 19, Amanda told her family she was gay and would not be hiding it anymore. They refused to meet her girlfriend of nine months at the time said they wanted nothing to do with having a gay child. While living with her girlfriend and another gay male friend, Amanda said she assimilated to “an awesome LGBTQ community” and “finally felt I was being true to who I am.” While Amanda says that felt so good, looking back, this was a sad time because of the guilt and shame she carried and the fact that she couldn’t maintain a relationship with her family who believed this was “just a stage” for Amanda because she had had several boyfriends in high school when she was trying to be something she wasn’t. She’d been raised in a house where she was continually reminded by her mom, “I just want you to marry a nice Mormon boy.” Through this, Amanda maintained a testimony, but it came with “so much guilt and shame.” She started making dangerous decisions and spiraled to a dark place. But once she hit rock bottom, Amanda found her legs and knew she needed to make some changes. 

Amanda moved to BYU approved housing where she could start a fresh life on the “straight” and narrow, trying to pass as straight in her newfound anonymity. She wanted a relationship with her family and the church again and felt those both were impossible if she dated women. She’d had several leaders pound in the point that, “As you get closer to Jesus and make correct decisions, it will get easier over time.” Looking back, she now acknowledges they may have meant well, but had no idea or experience in what she was dealing with. She tried to date a few guys in Provo which only made her feel like she’d rather end up alone.

At that time, a family friend casually mentioned she had a brother in California, and she thought he and Amanda might get along. The friend knew of Amanda’s past of dating women, which at the time Amanda outwardly played off as a phase or that she was bi. She says, “I let them believe what they wanted to.” Amanda met the brother, Dan, and something sparked. The two started dating. Eventually she moved to join him in California.

She says, “This was the first guy I’d ever dated who I thought, ‘I really like this person’. My sexuality aside, I knew he was an amazing person.” She thought she could make it work. Dan knew of Amanda’s past with women, but was willing to look past that. So they decided to tie the knot and set up shop in southern California. Four years into their marriage, right after their second child, Ledger (now 9), was born, Amanda became consumed with the thought she was lying to her husband. One night they went out to dinner and she told him, “This isn’t a phase. I’m lesbian—queer.” Dan replied that he figured, and that as long as she wanted to be with him, he didn’t care. That was an aha moment for Amanda, where she finally for the first time felt a brief respite from the shame and self-hatred she had carried for so long, after trying everything to change this part of her. “I’d married a man in the temple, had callings, had leaders say, ‘It’ll get easier as you grow closer.’ But nope, this is who I am.” Amanda has continued to battle those feelings of shame and in the past year, she’s put in a lot of healing work to try to come to a place of full self-acceptance. 

Taylor Swift’s song lyric, “Shame never made anyone less gay” played through Amanda’s head as a mantra, and she decided she didn’t like this elephant in the room. She was tired of sweeping it under the rug. She’d have moments where she’d come out to a close friend, and it would make her so emotional she’d started crying. She hated how she’d tried so hard to have this taken away, but she just couldn’t change it.

It was about this time that Lynden was diagnosed with cancer. Amanda says, “During that time, things were so hard—it was terrible, but I had a distraction and didn’t have to think about myself. I got to shelf it for awhile.” After Lynden finished treatment, Covid hit and two weeks into quarantine, Amanda got the devastating call about her mother’s overdose. As the national political fervor also swirled, headlines thrust LGBTQ issues in Amanda’s face, and friends and family often shared their negative views of LGBTQ people while around her. It got to be too much--everything on her shelf came crashing down.  

In 2022, Amanda told her husband she needed to open up and publicly share that she was in a mixed-orientation marriage with a man she loved, but her attractions toward women were still an undeniable part of her identity (though she has never pursued an interest in anyone else since being married). The nudges continued, and Amanda started coming out publicly on her social media feed, which had garnered a significant following prior when she had shared the details of Lynden’s cancer treatment and her mother’s death. Adding the words “in a mixed orientation marriage” to her Instagram profile did thrust Amanda in the court of public opinion, and she faced naysayers on all sides. Some friends and family really struggled at first, assuming this meant she was leaving her family and the church. But they’ve since seen nothing’s really changed, now they just know this about Amanda. Some in the LGBTQ community also criticized her for not living “an authentic life,” by choosing to stay with her husband and in the church. And some parents reached out to ask Amanda to speak to their gay kids to try to promote mixed-orientation marriages as an ideal option for their kids, to which she’d reply, “It’s not what I’d prescribe.” She recognizes that Dan is one of a kind, saying, “Most won’t find a spouse who is super loving, supportive, and doesn’t need them to be super sexual. It’s hard. Even for me, who has an awesome marriage and partner, it’s still so hard.” She acknowledges that if she had been a young adult now in today’s climate, some of her decisions might have been different. She appreciates that her bishop and Relief Society president both reached out with support and said they’d have her back if anyone gave her trouble.

Amanda’s also immensely grateful to have the support of Dan, who she says is “the best person I know.” She continues, “Even though I am queer and attracted to women, I feel God put my husband in my life for a reason. He’s the best person in the whole world; he’s so incredible. We have such an amazing relationship and so much trust and love for each other. There are times I’ve wondered is this sustainable when there’s not that passion other marriages have, but there’s a lot of trust, respect, love, and friendship we have that other relationships may not. It’s hard for both of us, and probably harder for me because I perhaps could have more of a passionate relationship with a female. But it’s also hard to think I could ever connect with someone the way I connect with Dan. I have no desire to lose that.”

While the Smith household has made it clear to their kids, which now include another son, Pierson – age 4, what it means to be gay, and that they’d be fine whether they developed crushes on boys or girls, Amanda has only opened up about her orientation to Lynden, who is now 11. One day, she confided that her first crush was Princess Jasmine, to which Lynden replied she only thought that was funny because Jasmine was a cartoon. “She knows, and it’s no big deal—we’ve made it normal.”

Amanda says her extended family is now more supportive of her, but she often wonders if the reason people are so loving is because she’s still going to church and married to a man. While she likes attending church for “the feeling” there, she definitely still struggles with stances on many topics that pressure people to be a certain way. “I just truly believe God is a God of love… If something were to ever happen to Dan, I know I wouldn’t try to go find another man to be with. And I don’t think if I chose to be with a woman, God would say, ‘Well Amanda, you did a great job doing all those things but then this? Sorry, no heaven for you.’ I know He’d know and understand my heart and would embrace me the same.” 

While Amanda has married “a good Mormon boy” and did so because she loves him, she now confidently recognizes that she’s not still with Dan just for her family or the church’s expectations. She’s shed the shame cycle that would keep her in a relationship for reasons of expectation and says if she wanted to leave, she would. But Amanda says, “I love my family and I’m at peace with what we have, and I don’t want to tear my family apart. It’s not perfect by any means (as no family is), but my life is so good and I’m happy.”

THE LESUE FAMILY

In a small town in southwest Missouri, about an hour from where the new Springfield, MO temple will be built, there’s a busy, bustling home wherein you can find the Lesue (pronounced le-sway) party of 11. Ben and Rebecca Lesue’s nine kids range from ages seven to 23. Rebecca home schools on top of teaching group piano lessons to 36+ students from the community, so rare is the quiet moment. But they’re used to happy noise. Rebecca’s the oldest of 12 kids, and Ben’s the oldest of four. They met in the middle, plus one, when their grand finale was, surprise – twins! “Our lives are measured by before twins, and after twins; they rocked our world,” laughs Rebecca. Luckily, Ben, an English teacher as well as an officer in the Army National Guard, is often around to help manage the chaos at home as well as take the older kids along on outdoor adventures as he strives to meet his goal of climbing the highest peak in every state.

The peaks and valleys of the past few years have also included a pre- and post-2020 mindset for Ben and Rebecca as devoted LGBTQ+ allies and advocates. In April of that year, one of Rebecca’s younger brothers, a returned LDS missionary, came out as gay.

“Immediately, this changed our hearts,” says Rebecca, of her family’s views on LGBTQ. “Before, there had been cousins and nieces who identified as LGBTQ, but they lived far away. When it’s someone in your immediate family who you know up close, then you realize how many stereotypes aren’t true.” Rebecca’s entire family responded with love toward her brother. About a year later, after Elder Holland’s address to BYU in August of 2021, both Rebecca and Ben felt compelled to increase their understanding of LGBTQ issues. They binged books and podcasts including Tom Christofferson’s book, That We May Be One and the Questions from the Closet and Listen, Learn and Love podcasts. The Lesues were especially moved with how the Christofferson family resolved that nothing would take Tom (or his partner) out of their family circle of love.

In November of 2021, Rebecca started reading Charlie Bird’s book, Without the Mask. Out of nowhere, she felt impressed that their daughter Ana also needed to read the book but Rebecca didn’t know why. Ana had moved about an hour away to attend a community college, and her parents knew she had been struggling with some anxiety for a few years, but they could never pinpoint the source. Rebecca says she felt inspired to write Ana an email in which she asked, “Is there a reason I should be worrying about you?” The next day, Ana replied that Rebecca’s worries weren’t baseless because she had been feeling “a little more sad than usual… I was reflecting on how many times it has felt like God has stood me up… I’ve accepted myself as part of the LGBTQ+ community.” More specifically, Ana identified herself as nonbinary and queer. She said she didn’t want to go to church anymore because “the church doesn’t make a place for those who are queer.”

Rebecca admits she had to google the words “nonbinary” and “queer.” She says, “Truthfully, it might have been easier if she’d come out as gay or trans, because I had zero context for ‘nonbinary’ or ‘queer’.” When asked what those terms mean to her, Ana replies, “In the simplest terms possible, being non-binary and queer just means I don’t identify with gender or sexuality as society has defined them… For me, gender is complicated. I feel connected to it very deeply, yet I don’t at the same time. I’ve experienced a lot of dysphoria in the past about being seen as a woman, but I like being a woman sometimes. Other times, I know I’m not just a woman. Gender is fluid and ever changing to me, so narrowing it down to one very specific label didn’t work. It’s the same way with my sexuality. Being non-binary and queer just means I’m pushing away what I thought I knew about gender and sexuality, and I’m letting my feelings be my guide.”

Of their learning curve, Rebecca says, “Ana was patient with us, and gave us the benefit of the doubt that our questions were because we wanted to understand and not because we were trying to attack her.” Ben observed that after Ana came out, she was much happier, as if a weight had been lifted. “Her great smile, which we hadn't seen for a long time, was back. It was a relief to see her being herself again. It occurred to me how awful we are as a society that we don't allow people to be their authentic selves -- that we force the LGBTQ community to live lies. It's an integrity thing--we expect people to be honest, yet we don't allow them to live their truth by shaming, criticizing, discriminating, and othering people who don't fit the mold. That is why I work for inclusivity now, especially in the church.”

After Ana came out, Ben was 100% ready to be an ally, an activist, and a protector for Ana. But Rebecca was worried about pushing Ana to define herself too soon or blocking her into a corner by being public. And Rebecca needed more time to process the whole situation. She says, “For me, our daughter leaving the church was harder than her coming out.”

At the time, Ben was serving as a counselor in the bishopric and he was moved by how supportive their bishop, a close friend, was and how often he consulted Ben on LGBTQ+ issues that arose in the ward. With their stake president’s support, they planned a ward LGBTQ-themed fireside to educate the members in order to create more safe and inclusive spaces. They faced pushback from some ward members, but they concluded that was just more evidence they needed to move forward.

That bishopric has since been released, but Ben wears his Dragon Dads pin to church, which sometimes leads to uncomfortable conversations. But Ben says, “That confirms it’s important for me to wear it.”

Besides loving to hike and climb with her dad, Ana, who describes herself as a shy kid who “talked more to (herself) than to friends growing up,” loves reading fantasy, romance, mystery and sci-fi novels and comics and storytelling, as well as communicating with sticker covered letters to several pen pals. She also loves “watching zombie TV shows, obsessing over stationary and little trinkets, and thrifting Hawaiian shirts that are much too big for me.” Ana started homeschooling in high school, after being bullied through middle school. In hindsight, her parents feel the choice to home school may have saved their daughter’s life.

Before coming out to her parents, Ana had already confided in some online friends, an LGBTQ+ cousin, and two of her sisters. She says while her parents seemed “blindsided,” they have been supportive and she says she “never had to question whether I’d be safe, accepted, and loved, and for that, I’m very privileged, but my anxiety still made it hard to talk about it.” She came out publicly in a social media post on October 11, 2022, National Coming Out Day, and says she received many heartfelt messages of love and support from extended family and friends. Ben and Rebecca remained on standby to field any unkind responses.

Ana stopped going to church in 2021, which felt complicated considering her roots. She says, “My mother's family has members going back generations and my father's mom was one of the first members ever in her small community in Mexico. My family and the church seemed inseparable. That saddened me deeply... I didn't know how to reconcile my blooming identities and shifting testimony with the picture-perfect plan I had made with God in mind. I prayed a lot without any answer, so I learned to figure it out on my own… I can of course appreciate some of the good values I got from the church, but at this point, I don't know that I'll ever revisit it. That is, not until God decides gay couples aren't an attack on the family and lets them get married in the temple at the very least.”

The rest of the Lesue family still attends church and their oldest son is preparing to serve a mission. But Ben says, “This all caused me to question a lot about the church for a while; it was pretty negative and caused some strife. But as I continued to read, I learned about faith transitions and recognized that as what I was experiencing. I think I’m coming out on the other end of that process now with a deeper, albeit a different faith that’s more strongly rooted in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ than maybe the church itself. I am active, though, and feel I need to stay in to advocate and hopefully bring about some change – which is easier to do from the inside.”

Rebecca says she is more careful to honor the personhood of each of her children and tries to parent by principles rather than arbitrary rules. She focuses on leading with love with their kids. She advocates for LGBTQ+ by sharing positive comments and experiences, and by speaking up if someone says anything negative. She says, “I think we can quietly be an advocate to one person at a time.” Rebecca’s also received the prompting to “Stand ye in holy places,” and has found comfort in increasing her temple attendance and trusting the Lord will work out all the details of where everyone fits into the plan. “I believe it’s beautiful; we just need more revelation”.

Rebecca says that for a long time before Ana came out, she had wanted to put a tag on her Facebook profile that she supported LGBTQ+, but she wasn’t sure how it would be perceived – would it be offensive to her conservative friends and piano clients, and/or possibly to her LGBTQ+ friends who might sense that she was posturing but not actively advocating? But after a podcast episode on which Charlie and Ben spoke about how meaningful it was to them if someone wore a rainbow pin, she decided to add that support sticker to her profile. She says, “Ana came out to us just a few weeks later, and I was so glad I had added it. And since then, several of my LGBTQ+ friends have told me they feel happy and supported whenever they see it. It is a small thing, but it is meaningful.”

Of this experience, Ben says, “I’ve grown to be more compassionate, whereas before, empathy and compassion weren’t big strengths for me. Our family is more openly loving toward each other. We realize that having an LGBTQ child wasn’t a curse or a trial , but a gift that teaches us how to love better, in a more Christlike way. We’re more unified as a family – our kids are each other’s best friends. The older four especially hang out together, go shopping and attend KPOP concerts.” Rebecca adds, “You can tell when Ana is home because there’s so much happy noise in the house – laughter, jokes. She’s such a gentle, loving soul and a great big sister. I know she needed to move out to grow up and all, but I miss her – the spirit she brings into the home. She’s a gift to our family. If anything, we just feel honored that God trusted us with her and blessed our family with her.”

THE RIDDLE FAMILY

CONTENT WARNING- SUICIDE AND SELF-HARM

“Absurd times call for absurd amounts of love.” This quote is prominently displayed on Piper Riddle’s Facebook page and it only takes about two minutes with Piper, a school principal in Heber City, UT, to see that she is expertly trained and positioned to deliver the absurd amount of love needed in her home and community.

Piper and her husband, Rod, have four children who have opened their hearts to the many hues of expansive love. Their oldest daughter, McKay (26) is married to Aaron and they are the parents of two little boys. On being a grandma, Piper gleams, “You cannot oversell it. It’s the best.” Piper and Rod’s oldest son, Lander (24), was diagnosed with Asperger’s in elementary school and was the first to expand the family’s views on many concepts including mental health, neurodiversity, and their family’s place in the church when he expressed his doubts regarding the faith in which he was raised. He has since sought truth and meaning in many religious ideologies. The Riddles’ third child, Lucy (she/her, 21) came out as transgender right before the age of 20 and is now “a brilliant and brave substitute teacher” in the very Wasatch County high school she struggled to attend as a teen herself as she battled anxiety, depression, and loneliness. Calvin (14) is a newer addition to the family; his adoption just became final in December 2022. The Riddles became his surprise foster parents over three years ago after getting to know him during Piper’s tenure as his principal at Heber Valley Elementary. Calvin had lived with many foster families in the county before Piper felt nudged to bring him home. “Raising Calvin has created an opportunity to expand our parenting skills, particularly for children who have experienced neglect and trauma.” The Riddle parents have come to an understanding that, while they continue to teach and guide their children to make healthy decisions, their children may not choose traditional paths. And the Riddle kids have indeed taken their parents on various paths they did not foresee.

Piper and Rod have been married for 29 years and raised their children in the same church in which they were both raised. Around the age of 15, Lander approached them and admitted he no longer believed the church was true and he was going to disengage. Piper says, “Lander is a really good kid; he’s kind and quirky, and has always struggled with depression and anxiety. The church just wasn’t working for him.” This was the beginning of Piper and Rod seeing the church and its membership in a broader context, which helped prepare them for what would happen eight years later.

In 2021, Lucy, who was assigned male at birth, approached her parents and said, “I’m a girl; I know it doesn’t make sense to others, but it does to me.” They didn’t necessarily see this coming, though they knew she had struggled over the years with depression and body issues. Once Piper learned about body dysmorphia, she finally understood. Piper says Lucy had friends in elementary and middle school, but as high school came and people sorted out their social cliques, Lucy found herself alone and struggling. “She was a sharp dresser and people assumed she was a gay male; this was frustrating to her.” Lucy’s depression peaked through her teen years.

Though Lander had stopped attending church, Lucy was actively engaged in church activities throughout high school. Piper says, “She was a believer. And she was doing all the things she thought everyone wanted her to do.” This included getting her patriarchal blessing from her grandfather, as well as being set apart as an Elder in the church. She was following the track. Piper describes the moment their child stood to be sustained in their ward as an Elder as an awkward moment, because quietly, they knew she was starting hormone therapy. Piper admits thinking, “Oh my gosh, we’re going to get struck down. Yet, Lucy really wanted to do this and she knew it was important to Rod and she didn’t want to disappoint him.“ Rod had been excited about this progression for their child in the church, as their oldest two children had not prepared to serve missions. Piper describes Rod as pretty traditional and says it takes him time to not see things as so black-and-white. Of Lucy’s transition, Piper suggests Rod may have wondered whether Lucy was going through a phase or if this would stick—maybe getting the priesthood would change her mind?

The same Sunday that Lucy was set apart as an Elder, she gave one priesthood blessing—to her father, at his request. Piper said it was very emotional, as Lucy was able to express some powerful sentiments that would have been difficult to say face-to-face. Of witnessing the blessing, Piper thought, “I don’t know if this is right or wrong, but it is what it is. I thought at that moment, if nothing else – for Lucy to have this heart to heart with her dad and express things that were tender to her and to give assurances that Rod needed to hear, then perhaps this is what they both needed. After that blessing, Lucy said, ‘That’s the only blessing I’ll ever give.’ People at large might judge us for Lucy’s ordination, but we navigated the situation as best we knew how, given the timing of the circumstances.”

Lucy’s transition has taken the Riddles on an educational path together as Lucy is now transitioning under the medical oversight of doctors at the University of Utah transition clinic where Lucy says the “doctors have been amazing.” She also has “a great therapist” through Flourish. Piper says, “It’s important to Lucy and to us that she is fully informed as she works through this. I’ve been glad she has taught Rod and me so much about gender and gender identity – the various layers and how gender and sexuality are separate and more complex than we first understood. She’s learned a lot and we’ve learned a lot through her. It’s helped us be more accepting of everybody.”

Piper continues, “When people say, ‘I don’t know how you support a child who is transitioning; that must be so hard,’ I think, no–hard is going to bed every night not knowing whether your child will be alive in the morning. In high school, Lucy experienced cutting and suicide attempts. This space, where our daughter is finding joy and self-acceptance, is way better than the many years of worrying about her self-harm.”

Piper grew up in Boise, Idaho where she felt people could be loved for showing up as themselves in her home ward, and she says the Utah culture in which they’ve raised their kids for the past 24 years has been different than the acceptance she felt as a youth at church in Boise. While Piper and Rod have both had leadership callings over the past 18 years they have been in their ward, they now sense they are the subject of ward council conversations. The bishopric recently asked the Riddles if they would like to include Lucy’s “preferred name” on the church roles. Piper thought, “Lucy is not her ‘preferred name,’ it’s now her legal name. And if I asked Lucy her thoughts, she’d probably say, ‘Just take my name off the rolls.”

Piper continues, “This has all made me want to carve space for people not having to define where they’re at in regard to their church membership. I can have a close relationship with my Heavenly Parents and Jesus Christ that may or may not be reflected in my attendance at church. Currently we attend church sporadically and get a lot of ‘Oh, I’ve missed you,’ which is nice, but it can sometimes be a lot.” She explains there are moments at church that trigger sensitivity, like a deacon passing the sacrament, which draws the memory of the first time Lucy, as a young deacon, passed the sacrament to President Uchtdorf, who was visiting their ward—an experience the family always thought was so neat and cool. But this memory now pains Piper, knowing there is no longer a place for Lucy in the church. “And then there’s those well-meaning friends who say, ‘That’s not true. Have you read this? There are so many things ‘they’ can do.’ And I think, but there are so many things ‘they’ can’t. And the fact that they will always be ‘they’… in a gospel that’s all about change and evolving progression, it seems ironic that we can be so absolute about mortal things… I feel there’s so much we simply don’t know.”

Many in Piper and Rod’s extended families have also struggled to understand Lucy’s transition. Both Rod’s and Piper’s parents have questioned their parenting choices and one has linked their children’s depression to being in the “grips of Satan.” This has obviously been painful.

At the same time, there are also members of the extended families that do understand: Piper’s aunt is a lesbian and the Riddle children have nonbinary and bisexual cousins. Of those who don’t understand, Piper says, “There are those who might say that ‘so many LGBTQ coming out is a fad.’ I think the truth of the matter is that this generation is willing to be brave and authentic, even if it’s uncomfortable for themselves and other people.”

Coming from a difficult background of his own, Lucy’s adopted brother Calvin had no problem accepting her transition and was one of the first to start using her preferred name and pronouns regularly. Calvin has questioned the existence of God before to Rod and Piper, by asking how a loving God would have allowed him to go through all the difficult things he did as a child. Piper replied, “I know there is a God, because how else would you have become part of our family?” She believes God’s hand was involved in Calvin’s placement and adoption, just as His hand has been felt in many of their unique experiences as a family.

Of their approach to parenting a variety of children with different viewpoints and experiences, Piper says, “Rod and I didn’t do anything but provide a safe space for people to live authentically. I’m not going to have a missionary child and I’ve made peace with that. I have kind children who make positive contributions to the world. The expectations we once had while raising our kids in the church might not come to fruition, and that can’t be where I find my self-worth. Rod and I believe that our children’s worth and our value as parents cannot be dependent on our children’s outcomes. Yes, we love seeing them do good, but we also love them when they take unexpected paths – much as we believe our Heavenly Parents do.”

She continues, “I go back and forth in regards to whether I want to leave the church. I know I don’t want to distance myself from Christ’s gospel. What’s sure for me is my relationship with my Heavenly Parents and my Savior. I believe Christ’s gospel aligns with our family values… At the end of day, our call is to love. Our responsibility is to leave space for people to be present and not have to question whether or not they’re an accepted member of a ward family. I yearn for a space where people aren’t labeled inactive or falling away--a space in which it’s ok for people to be in these undefined spaces in relation to their church membership, and that the only definition they need is to be a child of God.”

MEGHAN DECKER

At 11 years old, Meghan Decker was an observant Catholic who loved the faith in which she’d been raised. Then she had a powerful experience with God in which He invited her to “enter into covenant with Him in the LDS Church.” And so she did.

A few years later, as a teen, Meghan recognized she was attracted to girls. It was the late 1970s, a time when some extremely vitriolic dogma about homosexuality was being shared over pulpits and in print. Meghan says, “I knew there was no place or way I could acknowledge my attraction to girls and stay in the Church. But I knew that God wanted me to stay in the Church and close to Him. So I buried my feelings under a mountain of denial and shame for 40 years.” 

When she moved to Rexburg, Idaho to attend Ricks College (now BYUI), Meghan observed that her roommates were consumed with getting married, but she lacked the same interest. Guys she’d date would tell her they loved her, and she’d reply with a polite, “Thank you.” And then, “I met David,” Meghan says, “and all of that changed. Here was a man I could love back. When I came out to myself years later, this was hard to understand until I read Lisa Diamond’s book Sexual Fluidity, which explains that people with a fixed sexual orientation can indeed have an unexpected and genuine relationship outside of that fixed orientation, whether it be a lesbian having a relationship with a man or a straight person having a same-sex relationship.” She read that these relationships could be long-lasting and sincere. She realized she was not in denial about her marriage – that she could and did love her husband, David, while also being attracted to women -- and that sexual fluidity is not subject to intent or control; she could not decide to be attracted to a man and make it happen. But the attraction she feels for her husband is real.

Meghan and David raised five daughters (Rachael, Mary Beth, Ruth, Elise, and Rosalind) in the church, and she served in “all the ways Latter-day Saint women serve.” Meghan has been a Relief Society and Primary president, as well as in the Stake Relief Society, a seminary and gospel doctrine teacher, temple ordinance worker and public affairs director. She says, “I was all in. But I always felt I was fundamentally broken even while in denial, refusing to admit my attractions for years. I knew I had a fatal flaw. Whenever someone would compliment a lesson, talk, or presentation I’d given, the narrative I heard on an unending internal loop was, ‘You don’t know me. If you really knew me, you wouldn’t say that’.” As Meghan listened to the voice in her head, she also battled depression that would spiral at times she now traces to moments in which she felt crushes and attraction toward women. Meghan became suicidal on more than one occasion.

These experiences led to Meghan working with Betsy Chatlin to co-author one of Deseret Book’s first books on mental illness, Reaching for Hope: An LDS Perspective on Recovering from Depression. At the time, Meghan says depression was viewed as such a shameful thing in the church culture and society at large. She interviewed other women for the book, one of whom admitted she feared her bishop might excommunicate her because “good Mormon women don’t have depression.” As therapy helped Meghan to recover, she wanted to hide her own diagnosis of depression and leave it behind her forever, but felt “the Lord now invited me to share my experience with others, so that they could know they are not alone and have hope for better days to come.”

Years later, she faced another coming out. After wondering whether a female friend might be gay, and realizing she really hoped so, Meghan wondered why she’d wanted that to be true. In that moment at age 53, the mother of five and now grandmother walked into her bathroom and faced her reflection. She said, “It’s probably time to admit you’re attracted to women.” She settled in with this knowledge, but had no intention to share it with others – especially her husband, as he was the last person she wanted to know about her secret. She pleaded with God to take away the promptings she was feeling to tell her husband, but they persisted.

On Christmas Eve of that year, Meghan found herself sitting on the floor next to David in front of their Christmas tree in their Kalamazoo, Michigan home, enjoying the solid place in life at which they’d arrived. All their kids were grown, and they were spending the holidays elsewhere. David was serving in their Stake Presidency and Meghan was teaching Gospel Doctrine and Institute classes. Their kids were doing well, and there was a feeling of contentment in their lives and relationship. Meghan felt safe enough in that moment to confide, “I have something to share with you – I’m attracted to women.” She says David was blindsided. This was very hard for him to hear, and it took the couple a long time to hold that as part of the reality of their relationship. Shortly after Christmas, Meghan traveled for a month to stay with a daughter having health problems, and after she returned, they seemed to set further discussion aside. In fact, it would be five years until it would later resurface. 

At that time, Meghan found a video series called Voices of Hope for Latter-day Saints who experienced same-sex attraction. She found there were other women in the Church with experiences similar to hers. She also credits Laurie Campbell’s book, Born that Way, (about a gay Latter-day Saint woman), as crucial in her journey. She also shared her situation with one close friend, who met her with acceptance and love.

Five years after coming out to herself, Meghan says she “read Brene Brown’s observation that the antidote to shame is to speak our truth and be met with empathy and compassion.” It struck her that was what she needed to do to improve her mental health. Meghan felt compelled to tell two friends about her attraction to women, and they each responded with that essential empathy and compassion. One happened to be her stake president, who was also a close family friend. At the time she was teaching an Institute class for young moms, and it meant a lot to her that as she left her meeting with the stake president, he said, “I trust you; you’re good.” She says that’s the first time she didn’t hear her inner voice creep up and say, “You wouldn’t say that if you really knew me,” because this man, this friend, did know Meghan. She says, “Having one person who knew me fully in the room when I was teaching eliminated the imposter syndrome, because that one person truly saw me, and they still loved and accepted me.”

About this time her second oldest daughter, Mary Beth, offered a confidence of her own: that her female friend she was preparing to move in with was actually her love interest. Mary Beth was in her early 30s and feared she might be rejected by her family if she came out. Over the course of a few conversations, Meghan said, “Mary Beth, there’s something you need to know about me…” She says, “It took that for her to believe that in spite of all my assurances, I wasn’t really disappointed in her. I remember feeling if this is the only reason I’ve ever experienced this, then that would be worth it.”

Shortly after Meghan started opening up to a few people, a friend confessed she’d developed romantic feelings for Meghan. “When she told me, it blew my world apart.” Meghan had depended on weak boundaries—primarily secrecy—and that boundary wasn’t going to work anymore.

At this point, Meghan felt she had to tell the rest of her kids, and all of them, including Mary Beth (who was otherwise supportive and proud of her mom for acknowledging her truth), struggled with the notion that this could break up their family and cause their parents to divorce. Of her husband, Meghan says, “He leveled up to be the husband of a suicidal woman…then me coming out as bi and SSA, then gay – he’s leveled up and responded in an unbelievably supportive way, never pressuring me. We often want to influence others’ behavior to divert our own pain. He could have done that at a couple inflection points, when I was debating ‘Can I stay in my marriage? Should I be with a woman? Is there a place for me in the Church?’ But he gave me absolute space to make my own decision. That space he’s given me to choose for myself without pressure has made it possible for me to stay. My LGBTQ friends think he’s wonderful; they love him. Friends join us for dinner, and occasionally he gives them blessings. He’s opened his heart to this community of women in a kind way. And those are the people who could threaten my marriage, in terms of who I’d potentially get involved with. But he says, ‘I’ve chosen to trust you’ That relieves me from having to hustle for his trust every day, which would become unsustainable. I can focus on me, not trying to manage his feelings.”

Their children were worried about David – especially when Meghan announced her plans to come out publicly, which she first did as a guest speaker at a North Star convention. But before that, her husband encouraged her to share her news face-to-face with the YSA branch in which David was serving as branch president and Meghan as Relief Society president. One week, after church ended, they invited people to stay for a few minutes, and Meghan came out to her branch. “They were amazing,” she says. Her 98-year-old mother’s reaction was also reassuring. Meghan’s mother said when she prayed about it, she heard the Lord say, “Just love her.” After talking to the branch, Meghan came home and started sending emails to many friends and former students, as well as members she had served with in various ways over the past decades. She wanted to tell her story fully and in her own words.

Within a month, she was a guest on the Questions from the Closet podcast. She worried about the impact of a public podcast that her children’s friends might hear, but it ended up being a healing experience for some of her daughters.

As the family adjusted to her feeling called to be open about her experiences, she dropped another bombshell – she’d be writing and releasing a book, Tender Leaves of Hope: Finding Belonging as LGBTQ Latter-day Saint Women (available in paperback, Kindle, or Audible, with links at meghandecker.com). As part of the writing process, Meghan started interviewing women of all backgrounds – single and celibate, women who were dating or in committed relationships, polyamorous and trans women, and women in mixed-orientation marriages (where one partner is straight and the other LGB). As she tried to develop as much understanding as she could of this space, she saw how sharing these stories could help both LGBTQ women and those who love them. 

Meghan feels her kids balked because it was so much at once, and they worried about their dad. But she felt a divine hand push her forward. She wanted others to understand they weren’t alone and that they are deeply loved by God. She trusted that God had good intent for her and her children, and if He was asking her to write, He would work in their family’s life for good. As time has passed, relationships have started to heal and strengthen.

Now many women in similar experiences approach Meghan, sharing their reality. She sees that under different circumstances, she might have made choices similar to theirs. “If you change one data point, my life could look completely different. If I’d married another man, my story would be different.” But she feels that she is living an authentic life which includes all of the truths about her: her orientation, her love for her family and her husband, and God’s invitation to join Him in covenant.

In 2020, Mary Beth had plans to marry her girlfriend. The details of their ceremony were altered by the Covid travel restrictions to Canada, where they lived. But Meghan’s family expressed their support of the union, and they enjoyed a large belated celebration in person. At David’s exit interview, when their stake presidency was reorganized, David mentioned his daughter’s upcoming wedding to visiting General and Area Authorities. One of the leaders in the room said, “You are going to that wedding”—more as a statement or instruction than a question. David replied, “Of course.” It was good to have that encouragement, but they didn’t need a leader’s counsel to know they were eager to share that celebration with their daughter and new daughter-in-law. While Meghan and her daughter have made different choices regarding their marriages and religion, they have the ability to hold those differences with love.

Meghan and her husband continue to be engaged with the Church and teach youth Sunday school in their ward. Meghan says, “My therapist said a high percentage of LGBTQ members who grow up in the church experience PTSD. The things I heard about myself as a kid continue to reverberate. I’ll hear something, like a speech at BYU, that knocks me down for a few days and makes me wonder if I’m fooling myself to believe there’s a place for people like me in the Church. After some time in pain, I feel the Lord inviting me to get back up and meet Him in the ward building or temple and to serve his children in this space. My daughter needed to step away – for her well-being. She’s extremely happy. The reason I’m still engaged in the church is because people have made space for me. But a lot of my LGBTQ friends who want to be here have been pushed away.”

Last year, Meghan and David decided to make the move from Michigan to Provo, UT – a move she “never saw coming.” They moved in response to a feeling that God wanted them in Utah. They feel blessed in how they’ve been embraced by their ward. Meghan is now an admin for the women’s LGBTQ community forum at Lift & Love. Since it started last June, she says it has grown into “a vibrant, active community that welcomes women who may have felt they were alone or isolated but want to find people who understand them.” The group has a private Facebook page and meets the second Monday of each month on zoom; those interested can sign up at liftandlove.org. Meghan will also be speaking at the upcoming Gather conference, which is a Christ-centered gathering for Latter-day Saint LGBTQ individuals and those who love them. It will take place in Provo, UT September 15th and 16th, 2023.

Recently, Meghan went to the desert by herself for a few days on a much-needed solo retreat. She was feeling fractured in the church because “it’s not often welcoming to people like me. And I felt fractured in my marriage – a gay woman married to a man. I feel most at ease with my LGBTQ community, yet I still love and embrace my husband and the Church. I tried to empty myself of every expectation of what I thought God would say to me, so I could understand what I really needed. I walked and prayed and asked, ‘Where can I be whole? I’ll go there.’ I came back with the understanding that I’m whole in Christ. Wherever I am, I can have wholeness – whether in the Church, my marriage, or the LGBTQ community. It’s not so much what’s around me as my experiencing Him and being filled with Him and His love.” 

She continues, “The constant in my life is coming back to God. When I was 11, He called me into an imperfect place to experience Him and serve His children. I’m still there, and way beyond frustrated sometimes, but I trust in His wisdom and love.“

LEVI'S STORY

We’d like to thank Dave and Kimi Martin for graciously sharing the precious life and story of their child, Levi, with us this week. Levi would have turned 18 on March 19th 2023.

*CONTENT warning: suicide*

Levi is our intersex, transgender, gay son who was assigned female at birth. While he was raised as a girl, we didn't know that his DNA was male. He had a condition called Swyer's Syndrome.

Levi's death by suicide had many reasons - a major one was his terror over how society treated transgender people. The recent actions of several states to ban transgender care for minors validates the fear he felt. Unless you have proximity, you have no understanding of how awful these bans are and how many precious lives will be lost.

Kimi and I share Levi's story, (he was too afraid to come out in his mortal life), in the hope that those without proximity to transgender people might gain understanding, and thus, compassion. Our call as humans is to learn to love better, not judge better.

Here is Levi’s story as given in his eulogy:

I want to tell you a story. A love story. And nothing to do with a Taylor Swift song about Romeo and Juliet, but about our son Levi. Like any good love story, it begins with love and in the middle, there is difficulty, hard times, and even tragedy. But like any good love story, it ends in love. With a love that doesn’t end but keeps growing and moving forward.

We hoped we were done after six kids. We were pretty sure. Not totally sure. Surely God would agree that six completed our family. We were tired, busy, and old (in our 40’s). However, the thought our family was not complete was constant, even though Kimi did her best to ignore it. We had to pray about it. And we did. And then we weren’t sure.  So we decided to move forward with faith.

Well into Kimi’s pregnancy, we had a very bad week and all got sick. Following the admonition of James, we sent for the elders, in this case our friend, Quinn Millington. to receive a blessing by the laying on of hands. He gave each family member a blessing. Then he began to bless Dave, and part way through the blessing, he fell silent, a silence that went on and on.  When he concluded the blessing, he explained that he had been overcome by a feeling, that it was almost like a massive wall or building that descended on him, that it was so large he couldn’t put it into words for a long, long time.

Quinn shared with us what he could at that time, and recently shared even more. He said, “There was a sense of deep gratitude and love that burned in my heart. I believe the Lord wanted to express His deep trust, gratitude and love for you and Kimi for your willingness to bring another of his precious children to earth. I also believe he wanted you to know of his deep love for Levi.” 

On March 19, 2005, in Montgomery, Alabama, this child was born. We named the child Emma. Because we didn’t know. Our son Garrett had older sisters and one younger sister, and he desperately wanted a brother. He and our newest bonded quickly.

The child was different from the first day. Most babies are loose, relaxed, uncoordinated, and need a lot of support. This baby was tense and triggered by stimuli. As early as the second day of life, he could tense up so thoroughly that holding him was like holding a stiff board. He showed early signs of anxiety, even as a newborn. If Kimi held him facing out while walking down the stairs, his little body would tense up until his arms were raised above his head. 

He was so loved. His siblings fought over who got to hold him. We weren’t sure he would ever learn to walk.

When Levi was eighteen months, we moved to Massachusetts. Our surroundings are information, and too much happens in them for us to take it all in. But this child seemed to take in far more than average. He would not wear jeans nor new clothes—everything had to be used, broken in, smooth. We later learned that one of Levi’s challenges was Sensory Modulation Disorder which basically means a condition in which non-painful stimuli such as types of touch or certain sounds or volume are perceived as abnormally irritating, unpleasant, or even painful.

We lived in a house with an in-ground pool, and he loved the pool, loved swimming, loved the feel of cool water against hot skin on a steamy summer day. He wrote these words at age 13: “Swimming, to me, is very peaceful. When you go fully submerged underwater, you feel warm and comforted from all the pressure around you. Most of the time it is very quiet underwater, if not completely silent, and you can make sounds that nobody can hear. Because I love music so much, I sing songs and vocalize songs from shows and movies and games. Whenever I get out of the pool, all that I want to do is go back into the peaceful water. It is almost like nothing exists.” As he grew older and his body began to change, he did not like swimming in front of other people—he was self-conscious and felt the eyes of other people on him.

He learned to read at a young age—not sight words and picture books. Kimi recognized that he was ready, she had taught his siblings to read, but with Levi’s independent nature, he didn’t want any help. She set him up on a computer program and he was reading within a matter of hours, prior to starting kindergarten. He learned to read deeply, and it became critical to how he processed the world. In fourth grade, he read Huckleberry Finn. In Sunday School, his teachers gave each child chances to read. He grew impatient with those who could not read big words, struggled to sound out words, measured their words awkwardly. His mind raced and chased ideas in circles and spirals. We could not name a topic on which he hadn’t researched and for which he had no opinion.

He took piano lessons from various teachers, and he gained a sound early mastery, but he came to hate performing. In time, he asked to be able to stop taking lessons even though he loved to play. His social anxiety made them too difficult. When he gave up piano lessons, he continued to teach himself piano on his own. Sometimes, we would leave the house and come back to find him playing beautifully on his own. We hated to announce our presence because he would stop—he did not perform.

Yet, for all his reluctance to perform and to be seen, in school and elsewhere, he was a constant chatterbox, and one with no filter. The words he inhaled from reading books and articles online had to find their outlet, and he spoke them without regard to the audience. In school, he talked constantly to whoever was seated next to him, and frequently, the two of them got into trouble. Further, even at the earliest ages, he challenged everyone on everything if he was convinced he was right. He pushed teachers with incisive questions, argued with points he believed to be false, almost never backed down.

In third and fourth grades, it was too much, and we home schooled him. Academically, he soared, and he was relieved without the social strain, but keeping pace with him and giving him social opportunities to develop generated new challenges in the family, and eventually, he returned to public school. Whether at home or at school, his grades were impeccable: straight A’s. But socially, everything was a strain. His constant chattering ultimately led to people shutting him down and out. It hurt, and he withdrew and became more suspicious of people.

And then, seventh grade.

We did not know, and we could not see the big picture. When you live with someone, changes creep up on you, and you amalgamate them into your understanding of a person without necessarily seeing how dramatically something has shifted. In seventh grade, he began to struggle to complete homework. He appeared uninterested and unmotivated even though the work was intellectually easy for him. One would not think that B’s would signify much—they typically don’t. But what did was the apparent lack of effort, the tendency to have assignments slide by with no recognition that finishing them was important.

What do we think now? Based on what we now know, what should be happening in puberty was not, and the disconnects in identity were probably starting to create foundational strains.

In Church, he remained talkative and challenging. One of his Sunday School teachers described him as “savagely smart” and “the smartest kid I’ve ever taught” (to the chagrin of his siblings whom this teacher also taught). This teacher emphasized that students must try to stay ahead of him, and he sometimes sent home subjects to research. He needn’t have bothered—our child had been researching everything all along, and Levi didn’t bother with these. 

In eighth grade, we were finally able to find him a therapist. After a few months, the therapist indicated that he might be a threat to himself. We had him admitted to a psychiatric hospital, and he enjoyed it—played Phase 10, talked openly, did outdoor activities. He came home with a series of medical appointments and diagnoses. He was ADHD, prone to severe depression and anxiety, capable of dissociation. He went back to school, took on medicine and therapies and disliked all of it. He spent much of his time in the counselor's office, completing school work there. Kimi also spent a lot of time there, working with the counselor to determine which classes could be dropped, and which needed to be continued to avoid a failing grade. 

He was convinced he would die young. He read up on all his diagnoses and added his own—he became convinced he was on the autism spectrum. Later, another doctor would diagnose him with borderline personality disorder.

One day, a friend’s mother called to tell us that he had been cutting and had drunk a small amount of nail polish remover. We explained to him that he had to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital again. This time, the experience was a slog in a drab building with lots of boredom.

No, he told them, he wasn’t suicidal. Yes, the program was helping. No, he was not a threat to himself. No, he would never cut again. Yes, he would seek out therapy and ask for help and take his medicine and talk to his parents and do stress relief and exercise and meditate and journal and relax. Could he go home now and not come back? Of course.

His ninth-grade year started out well. Because of his poor grades in the spring, the school wanted to lower the rigor a bit, but he argued with the school to let him take honors classes, showing that he was impossibly bored in standard classes, and that he could manage honors classes. He wanted to handle it himself, seeking out the guidance counselor without letting Kimi know what he was doing. He had to argue hard and long for honors classes. He prevailed. And then, he didn’t or couldn’t keep pace. We did not understand. We wondered if it was lack of willpower, failure to manage mental illness, lack of desire. Meanwhile, his ever-bright brain burned hot, and he researched and researched, endlessly chasing ideas. There were no definitive answers to the questions he asked because there were always more questions beyond them. 

When he was in tenth grade and just as the pandemic was developing, a friend of ours had a son come out publicly as gay. This friend stepped away from Church leadership positions. On Sunday one day, this friend went to the pulpit and gave his witness of the love of God and the need to love all our brothers and sisters. He affirmed the dignity of LGBTQ+ people. As our friend walked away from the pulpit, our youngest looked at him with a huge smile and made two huge thumbs up. We should have known something. But changes creep on us. We fail to connect details to the narratives of our lives. Or we shape the details to fit the narrative we have formed.

“Emma” should have started having her period but hadn’t. So doctors resorted to hormone therapy to help trigger them. Sure enough, we found our youngest wasn’t taking the medicine. Kimi challenged him and insisted that the medicines had to be taken because failure to do so could be dangerous. The performative non-performer looked at Kimi and said, “Well, the thing is, ha ha, I’m trans.” Kimi was unmoved. “Throwing something like that at me isn’t going to change the fact that you have to take the medicine.” This time he was more serious, “Mom, really, I’m trans.”

Kimi accepted him. He didn’t want Dave to know. Dave had been a Latter-day Saint bishop and a member of stake presidencies. He followed rules and obeyed Church authority. 

Dave proved to be surprising. He accepted our youngest as he was, and he began to read and research. He was a Sunday School teacher, and soon he was giving lessons on what the Bible had to say about helping the marginalized.

A few months later, when developmental changes were still not happening, our youngest underwent a battery of tests, and soon, much greater information emerged. Through genetic testing, we gained an understanding we never had.

All of us are both profoundly similar to each other and all of life, and yet, we are also completely unique. This is a duality, and dualities exist everywhere. 

Our youngest had Swyer Syndrome. Swyer Syndrome describes a series of genetic mutations that cause an individual to express female anatomy, while the person is genetically male. In other words, our youngest had all the body parts associated with females except he wasn’t female.  He had XY chromosomes—if he were to die and have to be identified via DNA, a medical examiner would say he was male. In our youngest’s case, he was his own special brand of unique: doctors at Boston Children’s Hospital had never seen his particular mutation in the portfolio of Swyer cases they had dealt with. Ours was literally a sample size of 1.

Levi reacted by doing what he always did—he researched. In short order, he was more expert on intersex conditions than most medical professionals. Doctors would begin to discuss something with him at a simpler level, then say, “Wait. I forget that you are you,” and they would switch and begin to speak with him as a peer, as if he were a medical resident.

DNA is what makes us both unique and similar. It should not be a surprise that it is a duality of sorts, itself. In 1953, Dr. James Watson struggled to understand DNA’s shape until he had a dream in which he saw intertwining snakes with heads at opposite ends (other accounts indicate he also saw a double-sided staircase).

We asked our youngest how he identified himself, and he said that he was “intersex, leaning toward male, and gay.” We asked what name he should go by, and he originally selected “Twine.” We didn’t understand and thought it a curious choice. He never explained, and in short order, he came to dislike the name and would eventually discard it. Intersex individuals with Swyer often select the direction they wish to go, and many choose to honor the anatomical presentation and proceed with female-related hormone therapy. Our youngest did not feel female and did not believe he had ever been meant to be female. He began early steps toward transition.

We asked if he might wish to cut his hair, and he declined. We asked if he might wish to discard his dresses, and he said, “No, I might still wear them.” The duality was powerful and also almost entirely misunderstood by everyone.

When we are born, we begin to die. And most faiths view death as a birth into a new life. These, too, are dualities. When we felt that there must be another child, we accepted, as well, that we were birthing a child into both life and death.

On Sunday, December 18, 2022, we had finished preparing dinner and we called to our youngest, our only child at home. No response. Dave went to the basement. The door was closed tightly, and a note had been placed there. It began, “Don’t open Door. Call Police.” It was a small act of grace that preceded the pouring out of the years of pain and fears that he had experienced. He apologized and expressed his love. He feared turning eighteen and trying to navigate as an adult. He explained that he could not get himself to do anything and couldn’t see being able to do so. He couldn’t live as a woman but be a man; he couldn’t bear to come out even to some family members, though he knew he was loved. In his words, “I … can’t take living like a girl, being the way I am, yet I am too much of a coward to come out to my siblings, or to do anything to make my body match my mind more. I am terrified of how society treats transgender persons.” He made clear that the decision was his and no one was at fault; he indicated that the media and what he read or saw should not be blamed. His final sentences state that “This is not the fault of any of you. My brain is just faulty. I’m excited to finally be free.”

Ultimately, he signed his letter. His signature is clear, certain, and confident. For it, he used a name he had recently come up with and had asked his parents to use. Its origins are Hebrew, and in the same way that twine’s first dictionary definition is “a strong string of two or more strands twisted together,” his new name means, “united, joined, adhered to, joined together, or joined in harmony.”

We don’t know if he chose it deliberately, but Levi is the perfect name. 

We are here today to celebrate the life of Levi. He was spunky, sassy, feisty, and confident, until he wasn’t. He was funny, intelligent, quirky, argumentative, loving, stubborn, and kind, always.

We are here to mourn Levi. This is a tremendous loss in so many ways, not just for our family or for all those who knew him, but for the world. He had so much potential. His future contributions, whatever they would have been, are lost to us now.

We are here to acknowledge Levi’s pain. Being transgender in this world was too heavy a burden for him to bear. He suffered tremendously until he just couldn’t suffer any longer. We like to think of him as happy now, something that we haven’t seen in a very long time.

This story of Levi reminds me of sentiments expressed in a song from the musical, Wicked. These words have proven true in my life and I think in each life we connect with, especially with those that are different from us.

I’ve heard it said

That people come into our lives

For a reason

Bringing something we must learn

And we are led

To those who help us most to grow

If we let them

And we help them in return

I know I’m who I am today

Because I knew you

We will never meet again

In this lifetime

So let me say

So much of me

Is made of what I learned from you

You’ll be with me

Like a handprint on my heart

And now whatever way my story ends

I know you have re-written mine

By being my dear child

Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?

But because I knew you

I have been changed for good

Who can say

If I’ve been changed for the better?

I do believe I have been changed for the better

Because I knew you

I hope the world has been changed

For good

Now we are at the end of our story. But the ending goes on…

We are here to show our love for Levi, forever and always. And keep sharing that love so other racial, sexual orientation and gender minorities in our path will not endure the same pain Levi did.

Conveying to each of us a greater ability to love one another as they are and be less judgmental is Levi’s legacy.  Be free and live on in peace, Levi.

THE PEPER FAMILY

In 2019, Michelle Peper was called to teach early morning seminary in her hometown just north of Spokane, WA. Colville is a small town of about 5,000 mostly conservative residents, and Michelle’s class included 20 high schoolers, one being her youngest daughter, Madi – then 15. Almost immediately after receiving the calling, Michelle felt impressed that it would be important for her to ensure that any LGBTQ youth in her class felt loved and included. Just as she had a few years prior when the Black Lives Matter movement initially surged and Michelle felt compelled to dig into resources that shared human experiences different from her own, Michelle likewise felt it was time to learn about the LGBTQ community to better support them. As such, she dove into resources including Richard Ostler’s Listen, Learn and Love podcast and book, as well as the podcasts Questions from the Closet, Beyond the Block, and Called to Queer. Michelle committed herself to making her classroom a safe space. Both she and her husband Bob also stumbled upon Lift and Love, from whose online store they bought rainbow pins and began wearing them to church, signifying to all they were a safe space.

Michelle says, “My quest to listen, learn and love this community was powerful and I was all in. I was so vested in loving them that I started thinking there must be a more personal reason God had guided me on this journey.” Michelle and husband Bob’s two oldest children (Delaney – almost 30, and Riley – now 32) had both already married and she felt confident that Madi, who ended up being in her seminary class all three years, was also straight. Michelle thought, “Maybe one of my grandchildren would be? All I knew was that I had received a powerful witness that LGBTQ people were treasured children of our Heavenly Parents and I didn't doubt that.”

One morning in December of 2021, as Michelle was cleaning up the classroom and preparing to head home, she noticed all the students had left but one. Madi had stayed back and was just watching her mom scurry around. A senior with just six months left before graduation, Madi finally stepped in front of Michelle and said, “Mom, I need to tell you something… I think I might be gay.”

Thinking back on her youngest daughter’s affinity for all things ballet, girly girl, and pink since the time she was a toddler, Michelle says she could point to none of the stereotypical clues or signs her daughter might be lesbian. This was not the coming out Michelle had expected, but as she shared in an Instagram post, “Because I was already prepared to love and accept her, the conversation was fairly easy and quite beautiful. We both shed a couple of tears, but I think they were tears of joy more than anything. The spirit filled that classroom and we both felt peace and love. My husband and I fully embraced her from the second she came out, as did her older siblings. Nothing in our family has changed in any way. Our family is still intact, and each member feels honored, respected, and whole.”

Michelle appreciated the promptings that prepared her for that moment; they reminded her God is in the details. That Christmas season, after Madi shared her news, Michelle fondly remembers her joining Bob and Michelle on the couch to watch the new Christmas comedy, “The Happiest Season” (which features a gay couple), and together the three of them laughed and bonded over a story line they could now relate to.

The Pepers are grateful Madi (now 18) sidestepped internalized shame and trauma and experienced a soft landing when she came out, both at home and at her high school where there was a very accepting LGBTQ community. Michelle loves that, “She has been able to live a healthy, normal, adolescent life. She never had to hide in the closet or be ashamed, which is what I want for every LGBTQ kid.” Madi started dating girls her senior year, and found with her newly announced orientation, her parents became open to the idea of coed sleepovers, but Michelle joked that the ones with girls had to stop. 

Madi graduated at age 17, then took a gap year in which she headed off to Santaquin, UT to live with her older sister and her husband and work as an electrician’s apprentice until the Deer Valley ski resort opened, which is where she now works as a ski instructor. “She is living her best life, thriving. She has a group of about ten friends she hangs out with, and she’s out and proud and doesn’t hide. She also doesn’t wear all the pink, frilly tutus anymore,” Michelle laughs. Madi will begin her college studies in the fall at the University of Utah with an academic scholarship.

Soon after Madi came out, she opted to step back from attending church besides the one Sunday a month she was asked to play the organ for her ward’s sacrament meetings, which she still “sweetly agreed to do.” Pivotal in that decision for the family was a December 2021 Sunday School lesson on the Proclamation, in which Bob and Michelle took Madi to the adult Sunday School class with them, fearing the youth one might prove uncomfortable. It turns out the adult class stirred up a buzz of its own as the teacher spared no punches in making it clear she felt that gay people were “an attack on the family.” While the Pepers had pre-planned to stay quiet throughout the meeting, Michelle found herself shaking while Madi cried quietly next to her in her seat, and Bob was unable to resist going head to head several times with the teacher. “It got ugly real fast; it was so awkward and uncomfortable.”

That was the last time the Pepers attended Sunday School in their ward. Soon after, Michelle also replaced Relief Society for self-study via podcasts or reading the lesson on her own, realizing that she couldn’t sit through some lessons given by and for orthodox members without feeling that if she expressed her own thoughts she’d be upsetting everyone, which was not her intent at church. A former Relief Society, Young Women’s and Stake Primary president, Michelle now solely attends Sacrament meeting to be with Bob, who serves as the stake executive secretary. She is now ready to be more open about the spiritual journey she’s been on, as she’s decoupled all she’s been taught with certain aspects of church history and policy agitating her conscience. In a ward that for so many years she was extremely active in leadership roles, Michelle now laughs that she feels like “the project,” as well-meaning people invite her to church-centric activities that she doesn’t really feel like attending. “People know we’re not ‘all in,’ and surmise that we’re probably ‘lazy learners’ and ‘lost to the world’.” 

In this new phase of life as empty nesters who are also preparing to transition from the business they’ve owned for 25 years, Michelle is carefully considering her next chapter as she faces a “new freedom.” She’s grateful for a coed “clandestine book club” she and Bob have joined with like-minded friends from their ward, many who are in leadership and some who have stepped away. All in that group know Madi is gay and are supportive, though Michelle says they haven’t exactly told their whole ward yet. While her bishop and Relief Society president know and are kind, Michelle has faced open criticism from other local leaders who have commented or otherwise shown opposition to her Facebook or Instagram posts (@edge_of_inside_lds) that support LGBTQ. But Michelle says, “I would never let an institution let me know how to love my kid.” Bob, who recently served as bishop, has also faced criticism for his open support of the LGBTQ community. 

Michelle said in her last year as a seminary teacher she began to feel a bit like a fraud, knowing she was bound to a manual that she felt was heavy on temple marriage and transactional living and allowed no room for her to share some of her more nuanced developing beliefs. She decided to accept a new calling, working at the call center for The Trevor Project (a hotline for suicidal LGBTQ youth). Michelle completed the 40-hour training, and now fulfills her shift each week as a digital counselor on chat and text. She admits the work can be emotionally draining, as she frequently chats with youth for whom suicide feels imminent, and she stays online with them until she can guide them to safety. She used to work the night shift, but afterwards found she couldn’t sleep, feeling fury over the callers’ struggles, so now she works in the afternoons. Before each shift, she prays: “Please guide me, tell me what to say. I need Him, we need Him. He loves those kids.” 

In her deconstruction, Michelle admits there was a period she wasn’t sure anymore about God, but she built that belief back and now feels guided and inspired in her advocacy. “Sometimes when I finish a post, I feel that all this transitioning going on is intentional. I’m grateful.”

Upon reflection, Michelle says, “I may be frustrated with many things about the LDS Church, but I credit the Church with giving me many good things, including teaching me how to receive and embrace personal revelation. I will never doubt that the Lord’s guiding hand is in my life.”

THE HOLTRY FAMILY

“I’ll walk with you.” It started with a sticker stating those powerful words. The sticker was given to Brent and Jen Holtry by their close friends and neighbors, Monty and Annie Skinner. Brent had been tasked with coming up with the theme for their stake youth trek adventure that summer of 2020, and he loved the concept of “I’ll walk with you.” But like most great things, what would eventually become a revolutionary trek and movement for their Fair Oaks, CA stake was not without its growing pains and delays. In hindsight, the Holtrys are grateful: they needed more time. As the year 2020 progressed, it quickly became clear that the trek was not going to happen anytime soon with the shifting guidelines of the global pandemic. This gave Brent more time to think and cull and create the needed trek plan. It also gave Brent and Jen more hallowed time at home to tend to their youngest child, Jackson, who as it turns out, would need his parents to walk alongside him that summer of 2020, when he came out.

The Holtrys were enjoying backyard s’mores with some friends on a summer night when Jackson, who was 14 at the time, texted Jen and said, “Mom, come to my bedroom, we need to talk.” There, he told both his parents he was gay. Jen recalls they said, “Great, that’s fine, we’re supportive.” Jen had sensed this might be the case as early as when Jackson was in the seventh grade and first expressed a possible crush on a boy. At the time, Jen told him there was no need to label himself that young, and Jackson immediately said, “No, never mind.” And the conversation was forgotten. But now, Jackson knew he had his parents’ full support. He still felt worried to tell his siblings, Joshua – now 25 and in law school in Arizona and married to Lauren, and Hannah – who is now 20 and coming home from her Spanish-speaking mission to Orem, UT today (March 9, 2023). But both Joshua and Hannah were attentive to their brother and very supportive.

As were the Holtry’s friends, the Skinners, who had also introduced them to Richard Ostler’s podcast, Listen, Learn and Love, to Ben Schilaty’s and Charlie Bird’s podcast, Questions from the Closet, and encouraged Brent to read Charlie’s book, Without the Mask and Ben’s memoir, A Walk in My Shoes. The Holtrys had had some personal experience with gay family members prior to their own son coming out. Jen’s brother Joe had come out at age 20 when Jen’s parents were serving a mission and he had immediately left the church. That was Jen’s conception of what happened when someone is gay – that they naturally decide the church isn’t for them. So reading Charlie’s and Ben’s books opened them to a new possibility as they reconciled how to have a gay child and stay in the church themselves.

Digging into these resources opened Brent’s mind to new knowledge and ideas. He was surprised to learn that the church’s current position acknowledges that being gay isn’t a choice. He says, “Before we read those books, Jen and I were both loving and accepting but I don’t think we understood a lot of things. Before reading, I had no problem with gay people, but I didn’t like when they came out publicly. Those books helped me understand – now I welcome and celebrate when people come out.” Brent said he was filled with a desire to help LGBTQ people understand that they are loved and wanted, no matter what.

As Brent now had an extra year to consider the details of the stake youth conference and which mantra would keep the kids walking a Christlike path both on the trek and in life, he said a lightbulb went on: with statistics showing that so many youth and young adults are now leaving the church, what if there was a way they could instill a message that no matter what, they could always come back? That no matter how difficult life became, there would always be a place for them, and someone to walk alongside them, much like what the pioneers of the 1800s experienced. The Primary song “I’ll Walk with You” took on a new meaning. It all made sense.

Brent felt inspired to invite speakers to the trek who might not fit the perceived mold of an LDS congregation. As his research showed most people left the church over perceived misogyny, racism, and homophobia, he decided to invite a speaker who had been ex-communicated and later rebaptized and welcomed back into the church. He’d also invite a person of color who would not have been given the priesthood before 1978, as well as a single woman, and a gay man to speak.  Jen wondered if they could possibly get Charlie or Ben to come and was shocked when Ben replied within an hour via social media that while Charlie had a conflict, he would happily join them on their trek. But Ben also mentioned that he would patiently wait until their stake approved it because while he is invited to come speak often, he is also often “disinvited” by stake leadership.

The Holtrys assumed it would be no problem for their stake to continue with this plan. Brent says he naively thought, “All would be on board with these Christlike principles of inclusion and love.” In reflection, he says he had no idea what he was walking into. His idea to invite marginalized voices to share loving messages of how they felt included in the gospel was met with fear, murmurings, and a lot of worries from the top down. Brent heard some people were complaining and even crying about the event; he heard the term “the woke trek” being thrown around with disdain. Most shocking to the Holtrys was how only one person in the stake ever addressed their concerns about a possible “agenda” to their faces – they wondered what all was being said behind their backs. But after a conversation with the stake president and his wife to dispel any fears, the leadership got on board. And once they were on board, the stake president worked hard to get the rest of the stake there. At an introductory fireside, he expressed his support for the idea, and with that, the trek, “I’ll Walk with You,” marched forward. Planning commenced, and the Holtrys were touched that Papa Ostler took the time to give them a 90-minute pep talk before the trek commenced.

And it was a beautiful experience – better than the Holtrys ever dreamed. All of the speakers came and were excellent, but one – Ben Schilaty -- stayed all three days and marched along with the kids. The Holtrys were amazed by Ben’s genuine interest in getting to know everyone, and were touched when they saw him form bonds of friendship with many – including the kids of some of the toughest adult critics.

Brent says, “After the trek, no one complained at all, about anything that had happened. Ben gave an amazing concluding fireside to the entire stake and the stake president said, ‘We have more people here than we do at stake conference.’ It was so packed, and so powerful.” Ben concluded his fireside by saying, “I don’t live here – I won’t be here every day. I’m passing the torch to you, to listen to each other’s stories.” With that wise advice, Brent and Jen, along with the Skinners, decided to start an LGBTQ support group, @learn_of_me_lgbtq.

In November of 2021, they held the inaugural “Learn of Me” LGBTQ gathering. They call it a fellowship and ally group. Jen says, “We probably have mostly allies attend, and we have had such wonderful success.” 20-30 people come and while they have not yet been able to convince their stake to advertise it, they have had a member of the stake presidency come, and a bishop has come just to check out what they’re doing. “It’s been positive. We have a 5-10 minute lesson about Christ first, and then open it up so whoever wants to can share their problems, concerns, positive things.” Sometimes they have guest speakers who are LGBTQ, and it is these meetings that Jackson, now 16, is most interested in attending.

They’ve also recently started a gathering for LGBTQ youth called S’more Love and Support Youth Hangout. The parents step out of that group, welcoming the Skinners’ daughter and her husband and a local gay couple to run it. In that circle, they invite the kids to talk and share a hurt they recently experienced. It’s been brought up that some hurts can’t be fixed, and just how hard it is to attend church. Brent and Jen acknowledge this and have told their son it’s up to him what he attends. Jen told him, “Even if you leave, you can come back. Even if you stay, you can always leave. We will support you whatever you decide.”

Jackson is now a junior in high school, and just got his driver’s license. Jen says he likes being on the swim team and “is a typical teen – he likes to hang out with friends. He has a lot of church friends, and is comfortable with a lot of kids in the ward – moreso the girls. He’s comfortable with some boys in the stake, but most of his friends are girls. At school, he has a diverse group of really nice kids, and travels from friend-to-friend group. He’s very social.” Brent laughs that he recently had an interesting conversation with a dad from their ward as they talked about the irony of allowing the other dad’s daughter to have a sleepover with Jackson and how that dad said, “I never thought I’d be advocating for my daughter to sleep over at a guy’s…” Brent says, “Everything is so different. Growing up, we told our kids. ‘When you live here, you go to church, you’re active,’ but we’ve had to rethink things.” Jen says, “I’m definitely known for speaking up now. People probably roll their eyes now when we speak. I don’t care anymore. I’m over it. I feel so much closer to Christ and my Heavenly Father -- moreso than I ever have over the past three years.”

The Holtrys have experienced love and support from friends and family, though they say they’ve learned that many want to draw a line as to what they will support. Some are less interested in hearing how the church should change policies or how leaders could be more sensitive. Brent says he’d love for leadership to understand that, “Many members are incapable of separating between loving and condoning – that message backfires, because it’s impossible to do that. What’s heard by the marginalized is they’re not accepted. That message is so very damaging. They need to know – we just love like Christ did. When people say, ‘Christ loved but didn’t condone.’ Nope, that’s not true. He just loved them.” 

And in Fair Oaks, CA, that is the trek the Holtrys still walk as they invite others to “Learn of Me” and invite all into their circle where they commit to a mantra that now holds extra meaning: “I’ll walk with you.”

GRACEE PURCELL

It was fall of 2022 and Gracee Purcell had just arrived in Provo, UT to begin her first year at BYU. Not only was she excited about pressing play on life in a college town, but she was also feeling a bit safer after discovering the RaYnbow Collective—an LGBTQ+ coalition and resource provider wherein she could exhale and be herself. Their first initiative that fall was to fold and distribute 5,000 small booklets advertising LGBTQ+-friendly resources (therapists, safe housing, scholarship and event info, etc.) in the welcome bags that would be given to incoming students at New Student Orientation (NSO) with the hopes that the info would prove helpful to the (reportedly 13%) of BYU students who identify as LGBTQ+. But the day before NSO, the RaYnbow Collective received word that a unilateral decision was made against their contract with BYU and their booklets would be pulled and thrown away.

Gracee says, “It was disappointing and disheartening to hear about the decision, especially when a lot of the council remembers how isolated, lonely, and unsupported they felt when starting at BYU. I know I personally felt a loss of hope. I had come to BYU hoping for a fresh start somewhere I could do more. Having this happen on day three at BYU for me was hard. I took time to process and the next day when I went to NSO, I definitely thought about the missed opportunity to support the incoming queer students.”

However, Gracee says this provided her with her “why” and a renewed passion for advocacy, especially at BYU, “as well as the realization that maybe there’s nothing wrong with us. Maybe it’s just really difficult to exist within a system that was not designed to support spirits like ours. No student should feel alone. No student should feel rejected by their university because of their identity. I chose right then that I was going to lead with love.” While Gracee says she’d rather have seen those resources end up in the NSO bags, she’s grateful for the experience it gave her. Impressive wisdom for a 19-year-old who only came out as gay to her closest friends and a few family members one year ago. 

Gracee’s life thus far has likewise been rather impressive. She graduated from high school in Eagle, ID in 2021, and by that point, had already achieved her Associate’s degree from Boise State. Her father, Brandon Purcell, says she was a born leader. The oldest of six kids, Brandon says Gracee was just two when her first sibling was born and he remembers telling her she had a super power as the oldest child—that people were going to follow her. “In hindsight, that’s a lot to put on a young person. But we noticed in her toddler years, her future would be as a leader… I think one of the reasons she went to Provo was because there was an opportunity for her to both grow and lead. This year she’s found those. I see her doing a lot of fantastic, important and impactful things—not only for herself, but for others.” 

After high school, Gracee spent the first semester of a gap year in Mexico teaching English part-time at a school through an International Language Program. As a first-year student at BYU, she is now a junior credit-wise, and studying Psychology with plans to become a physical therapist for athletes. Gracee’s always had a heart for helping those in need, and since the age of 15, has helped train seeing eye dogs. Throughout childhood and her high school years, Gracee’s also loved sports. She played soccer, lacrosse, and even tried pole vaulting for a season to overcome her fear of heights. 

She also overcame her fear of coming out by doing so for the first time to her travel group in Mexico, six days in, which in hindsight she says was maybe not the best idea. But in a surprising turn of events, she was embraced and loved wholeheartedly by the girls in her group. She came home and went back into the closet but then started an Instagram and blog (@to_all_the_latter_day_gays) in which she shared her truth of being attracted to women. Soon after, she was invited to go on Richard Ostler’s podcast as a guest, at which point she felt it was time to tell her parents. 

When she came out to her parents, Gracee says there were a lot of tears on her mom’s end. She had never considered this might be a possibility. Later that night, she came out to her dad privately and he thanked her for telling him. Brandon says he recalls thinking this was a moment with a lot of gravity and he didn’t want to say something that would come across as unsupportive or unloving. “I think I expressed something to the effect that I was grateful she had shared this with me, and I’d like to just think on it for a bit and talk about it after I’d collected my thoughts.” Gracee says she knew it would take some time for her parents to wrap their heads around everything due to their strong faith in the church. She senses their faith has always been straight forward and that this was a nuance they perhaps didn’t fully understand quite yet. But she appreciates how they listened to podcasts like Listen, Learn and Love and Questions from the Closet and read recommended books. Still, there wasn’t a lot of conversation about her orientation at home in that time before she started at BYU, and it was Gracee’s choice to not tell her younger siblings or extended family members quite yet. 

Brandon concurs it took more than a minute for him to process that the future he’d envisioned for his daughter might look a little different, but that ultimately both his and his wife’s love for and hopes for their daughter to be happy and fulfilled haven’t changed one bit. Brandon hopes Gracee will “be everything she can be and have the types of connections that are important to all of us.” He appreciates the broadened experience he’s gained from listening to the experiences of others from the LGBTQ community. And he’s expressed to Gracee an impression he felt through the Spirit that while he doesn’t have all the answers to life’s complex questions, he knows one person who does. Brandon encourages his children to, “Stay close to the answers. Stay close to Heavenly Father, and He’ll guide you.”

Gracee had offers to attend other universities, but chose BYU for a particular major and to be closer to family. While she didn’t initially plan to come to BYU as such a vocal representative of the LGBTQ community, she has since realized the importance of the work that needs to be done there and is willing to be in the public eye, even under criticism, to try to create the changes necessary to make it safer for others—especially those who are not quite ready yet to be out. Gracee recognizes how important it is to find a support system and was very intentional about doing so, and thus joined the RaYnbow Collective as soon as she arrived in Provo. About 50 people serve on the council; Gracee has served as the website and design graphic design lead, and was just asked to take over as President in April. 

Gracee acknowledges the climate at BYU is hard, and prospects for dating as a queer student even harder as there is always a fear that permeates. She says LGBTQ students are aware of the different messages given to different students based on who their bishop might be—there have been instances where bishops have required students self-report to the Honor Code for any attempts to date. “It’s so variable between bishops. Some are allies, some aren’t. You just have to choose what you tell them.” There’s also the constant fear that fellow students may rally against your very existence, as a group of protestors did at a Back to School Pride event held just off campus. Gracee is grateful her psychology program is filled with wonderful, supportive peers and professors.

“I think that the ultimate path forward will be with compassion and curiosity. If we move forward in that way, I think hearts and minds will be more open, and there will be more understanding. It’s not about policy change, but people changing,” says Gracee. “There’s always hope. I don’t think God should be confined to one religion or a set of practices. You can find God anywhere. I don’t think we should put God in boxes. In the end, the ultimate problem we’re having is in the core teaching of Jesus, which is to love your neighbor as yourself. The designation of who your neighbor is has nothing to do with geography or orientation or our differences, but rather with our ability to see our shared humanity.”

In high school, Gracee started training guide dogs as a strategic way she could negotiate bringing an animal into a pet-free home. She has since brought up three dogs in the program and currently has a lab puppy living and training with her in Provo. The dog attends classes and events with Gracee at BYU, and is a visible reminder to many students that some people walk through life differently. Some have different needs. And sometimes, it just takes a little training and some resources to get there. Gracee Purcell is one young adult willing to make the personal sacrifices to help others to get there. To help others to see. 

BEN SCHILATY (Part 2)

Welcome back for part 2 of Ben Schilaty’s story. (See story posted on 2/16/23 for first half.)

After receiving his PhD in Tucson, Ben Schilaty’s path veered north, back to Utah, when he felt the timing was right to apply for the MSW program at BYU. And it was; he was accepted. While there in 2017-2018, Ben reached out to the BYU administration and said he wanted to be involved in LGBTQ causes. While initially guarded, they agreed to meet with Ben. Ultimately, BYU formed a working group of nine administrators and LGBTQ nine students who met once a week to talk about inclusion and the climate at BYU. This is where Ben met Charlie, and they became truly good friends. He also met Steve Samberg, the general counsel at BYU, who also became a good friend and set Ben apart as a High Priest. 

Ben says he felt safe at BYU. In this working group, he was able to open up and have raw, emotional conversations. He felt everyone cared, and knew he wouldn’t get kicked out. One time in a meeting, Steve made a comment, saying “I’m dating myself here,” to which Ben replied, “I’m a gay BYU student, I’m only allowed to date myself.” He says the group laughed; they got it.

In 2018, the group planned a campus-wide LGBTQ forum and a few thousand people came. Ben spoke on the panel, and at the end, one of the moderators told the group, “If any of you who are LGBTQ feel comfortable standing, we’d like to recognize your presence.” Charlie had said the opening prayer at the event, and now Ben looked down and watched him stand, for the first time timidly coming out publicly. Ben says, “Charlie watched that forum and said, ‘Maybe one day I could be brave,’ and now Charlie is braver than all of us.” Ben concluded, “I don’t want to do ten things, I want to get ten people to do one thing. If I can inspire someone like Charlie to have more courage, and people to be themselves, to share their lives and hearts, then that’s success.”

And now the big question: what is it like to work at the BYU Honor Code Office as an openly gay man? Ben says, “Life is really good; things are complicated. But I’m very secure in my life. People don’t like me on many fronts, but I have a really good life. When Sunday night would roll around when I was teaching middle school Spanish, I’d dread the week. But I’ve never felt that way here at BYU. My boss especially lets me soar.” Ben also works as an adjunct professor, teaching a class called Understanding Self and Others: Diversity and Belonging. 

In 2021, Ben had the idea to plan a big concert and call it BYU Belong. Kind of a LoveLoud, BYU style. Ben hoped as people came back to campus that fall, they could have a good time and celebrate their diversity. Eight video vignettes featured students and faculty who represented diverse experiences: international students, a woman of the Muslim faith, and a student grappling with mental health challenges. Each of them came up on stage after to a standing ovation. Performers included David Archuleta, Vocal Point, Charlie Bird (with the Cougarettes), and after Noteworthy performed, two of their members came out publicly. Three weeks prior, BYU had created the Office of Inclusion and Belonging, and the timing of all this at the university felt especially right and needed.

Ben says he knew LGBTQ students were afraid of the Honor Code, and he thought if he worked there, it might be less scary for them. He says, ”I love BYU, and I actually really like the Honor Code and the mission of BYU. I wanted to be a part of it. I have queer students come visit me – and on purpose, I ask them to meet me in my office so it’s less scary, and they can meet everyone. I take them to lunch. The Honor Code Director, Kevin, is the best. I find that queer kids fear the Honor Code because they don’t understand the process, who’s safe and who isn’t. But I experience no fear here in saying I’m gay because I follow the honor code.” Ben recognizes he’s speaking from a perspective of privilege. He continues, “I’m super confident and old and tall – I’m an authority figure here, which comes with safety – a freshman doesn’t have that. If someone’s unkind to me, I can call general counsel immediately and meet with dean. But the students can’t necessarily, so I understand their fear. I hope they know they have allies in the Office of Belonging and in me and many professors. Campus is a lot better than it used to be.”

Ben does occasionally field an off-putting comment or question, and he’s become known for the grace he offers back. “For example, a kid might say, ‘People are choosing to be gay because it’s cool.’ What I would say to that is, ‘Thank you for having the confidence to share that. Elder Ballard said the experience of same sex attraction is a complex reality for many people,’ or ‘According to this church leader these attractions aren’t chosen,’ and in my experience, that has been the case. I know hundreds of people who are LGBTQ, and this was not a choice for them. Having those quotes in your back pocket, and sharing your personal experience – people can’t discount that. If you share yours or your brother’s experience, at least they might walk away knowing this person didn’t choose.”

When LGBTQ families ask, is BYU safe?, Ben is in a unique position to offer perspective. “Physically, almost definitely. Will people say rude things? Totally. Can. You live in a world where people are rude?  Yep, that’s the world. There are jerks. There are 30k students here, you can find your crew. There’s the Office of Belonging, and a gay man works there, and he is amazing. And there are off campus organizations that are not affiliated with BYU, but they can provide support–like USGA, Rainbow Collective, Cougar Pride.”

None of this negates the fact that it is still difficult to be an openly gay man in the LDS church, and under the public lens Ben now lives under constantly as BYU faculty and a popular public speaker and author. Most weekends, Ben can be found doing a fireside or speaking on a panel, when not producing his podcast with Charlie. During Q&A’s, many ask the obvious questions: do you think the church’s policies will change? (Likely, as they always have.) Do you think your path is for everyone facing a similar reality? (Not at all. I encourage you to get to know the stories of the LBGTQ people in your life and support them as needed.) Will love lie in your future, as it did once in your past with a man you almost left the church for? (Remains to be seen. The details of this are also in his book.) 

While some may not understand how Ben does it, the path he’s forged and the trails he’s blazed to make it easier for others who might one day be taking a walk in similar shoes is rather remarkable. And in the midst of where the church sits now on this issue, Ben has found a way to be content with the in between. He says, “I live in this world where there hasn’t been resolution – the Holy Saturday – but I love living with hope. I love working in the temple weekly, I love living with my housemate Charlotte (Eugene England’s widow). I love reading scriptures. I love feeling God’s love. In the first verse of Book of Mormon – we read that Nephi feels he’s been highly favored, though he feels many afflictions. Things sometimes suck, but God is always there for me.”

BEN SCHILATY (Part 1)

At least once a week, there’s one particular professor at BYU who meets a student on campus for lunch. He’s exceptionally extroverted for an academic, and considers these lunches the highlight of his week. Over Cougar Eat confections, they discuss how to navigate life, love, and quite possibly, how to survive being gay at BYU. His is a story you may already know; his life is one most likely do not. But Ben Schilaty’s invited all to join him for a walk on his path in his memoir, A Walk in My Shoes: Questions I’m Often Asked as a Gay Latter-day Saint. Many wonder how does Ben do it? How does he live as an openly gay member of the LDS faith who not only observes the BYU Honor Code, but works within its office. But he does; and many who get to know him up close do walk away convinced he’s found a way to be content with a complex reality.

Every week, from a fancy Provo, UT  studio (aka Ben’s basement), Ben joins his friend Charlie Bird on their podcast, Questions from the Closet, to discuss the unique paths they walk as openly gay men who try to stay tethered to the church they both served missions for (Charlie in CA, Ben in Mexico), and the gospel that they love. 

Ben Schilaty was the youngest of four kids born to Seattle, WA-based parents who were active--both in the LDS church and in sports. His dad was a track star, his mom was a PE coach. His older brothers were basketball stars, and his older sister played three sports. Ben laughs that he preferred to play with My Little Ponies and watch TV. He appreciates that his parents supported his interests, and he remembers getting My Little Ponies for his birthdays and Christmas, and no one in his family heckled him for it. He was a child of the 80s-90s, and he also loved hot pink, but he would get teased by others for this, so he didn’t wear many hot pink things, besides a particular pair of pink and white-striped shorts he had to retire by age five when the heckling got too loud. Ben says, “My interests were different, but I don’t remember having crushes on boys as a kid. You were supposed to have crushes on girls, so I’d say I did. I had feminine tendencies and interests, but it wasn’t until I was around 11 that I noticed I was attracted to guys.”

In middle school, Ben would admire handsome, athletic guys, and at the time, he convinced himself he wanted to look like them or be like them, not like them. He was jokingly called Ben Gay (because of the commercial), and says, “That was terrifying to me; I didn’t want anyone to think that.” He says, “In middle school, guys are typically jocks or jerks, and I didn’t fit in with either.” As a youth, Ben loved animals and, going to the zoo, and he was an organizer “builder,” and the president of many clubs including a recycling club he started in his neighborhood. His family lived near the ocean, though they could barely see it through the Seattle trees, but Ben loved exploring his surroundings and going on hikes.

In high school, Ben was convinced he was just extra good and righteous, as he watched his friends around him having chastity issues with girls, and issues with porn—things that weren’t a problem for him. He found a friend group in the “brainy kids” he’d latched onto in eighth grade, and stuck with kids who were invested in learning throughout high school. He didn’t fit in as well with the guys at church, mainly because he didn’t like playing basketball in the church gym with them, but sometimes they’d hang out and play video games.

Ben flew through his worthiness interview with his stake president to go on his mission, and served in Chihuahua, Mexico. He recalls on his mission having minor attractions to one or two guys but says, “I didn’t let myself believe it was a real thing.” After he’d been home for one day, he was watching a reality TV show with a “bunch of hot guys and it hit me. Oh no, I am attracted to guys and my mission didn’t fix it.” That first night, Ben prayed, “Heavenly Father, I’m gay, I don’t want to be. Can you fix this?”

Ben found his way to Provo, UT, the land of plenty for dating and decided he would do all he could do find a woman to fall in love with—he only needed to find one. For two years, he tried and says he “felt pretty normal. I went on tons and tons of dates.” At one point, he found a woman he liked and after going on many dates, wanted her to be his girlfriend. She came over to watch a movie on their first date and during the last ten minutes of the movie, he held her hand. He was convinced that meant she was his girlfriend, but the next day she had to correct him and say that she felt they were just really good friends. She didn’t feel a spark. Ben laments, “I wanted a girlfriend so bad for the optics, and now I didn’t have one.” In his 20s, Ben says he went on 27 blind dates, went out with at least 100 women, and had a relationship with three women. None of these resulted in a wife. Ben says, “Outside, my life looked normal. But I was praying every day, fasting every month that God would help me be attracted to the daughters of God (and not the sons of God). After a few years, I prayed I could just be attracted to one girl. I was constantly thinking, how can I fix this. But I wasn’t in turmoil, it was an okay time.”

He says he’s one of the lucky ones. Ben has no recollection of being teased or bullied for being gay, and says that largely in part of the healthy sense of confidence his parents instilled in him, he didn’t experience any anxiety or depression which would make things worse. As his prospects for temple marriage stalled out, Ben invested himself in his education and career. After graduating from BYU in Latin America Studies in 2008, Ben taught high school Spanish in Washington for a year. Then he came back to BYU for a Master’s in Spanish Linguistics minor, then after another gap year in Washington, Ben moved to Arizona to attend one of the best PhD programs in the nation for second language acquisition in and teaching at the University of Arizona.

It was in Arizona that Ben for the first time faced the reality of his orientation. He says, “I lived in denial in my teen years. At 21-22, I thought I can fix this. Then, I can’t fix this, this is going to be part of me and that’s when I got depressed. The acceptance of that was real, and led to depression and passive suicidal ideation. I thought the only way out of this was death. That went away once I finally came out and accepted myself and was accepted by others.”

Ben details his full coming out story in his book, and he says it was a moment that was so important to him, he dedicated his book to his best friend from high school and his roommate who were both there. “People need to realize if you’re one of the first someone is coming out to, you never realize how important that moment will be forever. Even though my friends didn’t know that would be a moment I’d talk about the rest of my life, they were prepared for it. People don’t know when these life changing moments are coming–we need to just love people, and take them where they’re at because these moments come out of nowhere. We need to prepare before.”

After he came out, he wasn’t too concerned about his orientation, knowing he had the support of his family and friends, but still convinced he’d find a way to marry a woman. This was the time of the viral Josh and Lolly Weed story, and Ben says that post was sent to him probably two dozen times. He even recalls going to a wedding in Seattle and running into them in the temple marriage waiting room and fangirling a little.

But Ben chose to come out on a need-to-know basis, primarily from the desire to educate others. His first year in Tucson was the worst year of his life. At age 29, he felt he did not yet have the career or family life he thought he would, he lived in a bad part of town, and “everything was bad and I thought it would stay bad.” But the following year, Ben felt compelled to come out publicly. This terrified him because he was the only Ben Schilaty on the internet, and he knew the story would follow him forever and possibly impede his then-goal to work in admin at the MTC.

“That coming out blog post shifted the entire course of my life. What happened because of that--all these people who reached out and who had been struggling. I’d been doing it alone, with no window. Once I saw how many were alone, I realized, I can’t change the world, but I can change my town. I reached out to my stake president and said I want to start a support group. He assigned a high councilman to meet with me – we planned monthly meetings.  We started a group and three dozen joined. The institute director asked me to speak and 50 people came. This changed my life. Kelly Bower was on board for creating a place of inclusion. My last semester in Tucson, he pulled me in and wanted to thank me for all the work I’d done. He said a freshman had just come in to thank me for creating a safe place for people to be out and gay and active. I don’t know if people understand how important it is that leaders do those things, and create those spaces.” By the time he moved, Tucson had become Ben’s favorite place. The institute banner there now shows someone with a nose ring, people of color, and advertises that “everyone’s welcome here,” and they are. Ben says, “Tucson is not the most beautiful place, but it is to me because that was where I was able to be me for the first time – I thought, ‘This is my home. I can spend the rest of my life here’.”

But Ben didn’t. Next week, we’ll continue with part 2 of Ben’s story and follow him back to Provo where he’ll share about the work he now does as an author, speaker, BYU professor, and employee at the Honor Code Office.

Read part 2 of Ben Schilaty’s story here

THE PRIEST FAMILY

Growing up in Idaho, Gwen Priest spent more time at the racetrack with her family than at church. Her parents sometimes took her and sometimes didn’t. They sometimes drank, and sometimes didn’t. Because of this so-called “sinner” status, she felt a tension within her largely-LDS community. Some families wouldn’t let their kids play with Gwen and her siblings. But Gwen always loved the gospel teachings and the sense that when her family life wasn’t stable, the gospel was. 

One thing she absolutely learned from her parents was that Christ loves all equally. Her family hosted foster siblings, alcoholics, the homeless and other “lost souls” on their property through her younger years. Her dad had had a rough upbringing himself and taught her, “That’s what we do as Christians. If someone needs something, you help them.”

After moving out on her own, Gwen had a successful IT career in Utah. At 21, she was single, owned two cars and loved her job. People would constantly ask if she was going to serve a mission and she’d think why? I love my life. The older she got, the more she observed church felt like a competition; and eventually, she quit going.

In 2000, she moved to New York City with a friend from Utah and decided to give the Manhattan ward a try. She walked in and saw a man wearing a dress and full make-up. In the chapel, someone pointed out someone who was gay, someone who was trans, and in the corner, a group of BYU interns who looked scared and lost. Observing the diversity in the room, Gwen finally felt, “THIS is my church. This is how it should be, anyone and everyone showing up as who they are. I felt welcome and comfortable. It saved my testimony of the church as an organization.”

Gwen got married, had her first baby, and laughed when her parents said she became a “flaming liberal.” Soon she and her young family moved to North Carolina, where one became four kids. When Gwen’s third child, Maggie, was 10 years old, Gwen found her in her room crying. Maggie had always struggled with anxiety, but this time she could hardly talk when her mom asked her what was wrong. Finally, Maggie said, “Mom, I think I like girls—am I going to hell?” Gwen says, “I had so many feelings and worries, it was like a dam opened. I immediately started praying for the right words, knowing damage can happen in those initial moments. I asked God, ‘What does my daughter need to hear’?” The answer came immediately and Gwen replied, “Of course you’re not going to hell, where did you get that idea?” Maggie shared she had “heard some things” at church. Gwen thought of a few gay friends the family had and said, “What about (this person). Do you think they are going to hell? No? Well neither are you!”

When Gwen left the room and shut the door, her first thought was that her daughter was so young, only 10 years old. She hadn’t even really started puberty yet, how could she know this? But the answer Gwen received to her prayer was, “Just trust her and listen.” Gwen told her daughter she had a lot of changes coming up with her body, friends, and school. She advised Maggie to just take one day at a time and always remember that she had a loving Heavenly Father. She just wanted her daughter to be loved and happy. 

Gwen says Maggie’s effervescent, open, and loving personality drove her to want to be honest with a few close friends, even at her young age. Suddenly, Gwen observed Maggie experiencing the same thing she had as a child—other church families pulling away and ostracizing her. Someone in the ward told the Primary president to not let their daughter sit by Maggie. After getting her rage in check, Gwen spoke with the bishop and requested he be prayerful about the Primary teacher they chose for her daughter as she was still dealing with some depression and anxiety. Even with this setback, most of the ward, including the bishop, were kind and quiet about the situation, if not accepting. 

Maggie’s coming out to her siblings went well. She was put in charge of a Family Home Evening night where she got up and said, “Well, everyone, I’m gay.” Her older brother and firstborn sibling, Evan—now 19, said, “What?! I’m so confused. How can a member of the church be gay?” As a family, they all talked about what this meant and the fact that Maggie was still young. Gwen told her kids, “You’re still figuring out who you are. Stay close to God, say your prayers, and hopefully we’ll all stay close so we can support each other. We just want you to be happy.”

In 2018, Gwen and the kids’ father divorced, and Gwen decided it was time to live out her dream. She packed up the kids and they set off to backpack through Europe for six weeks. A friend who had LGBTQ kids of her own joined them for part of the trip. Gwen recalls one morning in Toulouse where at 5am she was packing up the car so they could quickly leave for their next stop. While shoving everything in the tiny trunk and looking for George’s missing shoe, Wren approached Gwen and said, “Guess what… I’m gay.” Gwen had no idea how to process this information, which she needed to do on a dime as they had to quickly depart. She looked at Wren and said, “Ok, um, let’s hug. Help me load the car and can we go for a walk as soon as we get to our next stop? I don’t want you to think this isn’t important but… uh….”

Wren (they/them) had been off on their own at a study abroad language immersion program and had just met up with the family. On Wren’s study abroad, they had fallen for another girl in the program. Upon learning this breaking news, oldest brother Evan said, “What is going on? Why are all my siblings gay?” 

A year later, Wren approached Gwen and said, “Actually I’ve felt for a long time I’m nonbinary and want to change my name.” Gwen says, “Of all the coming out that’s happened in our family, that was the hardest. As a mom, having raised this child from pregnancy, I didn’t realize how invested I was in their gender. In spite of how open you try to be, you still end up with these subconscious hopes and dreams for your kids. I didn’t even realize they were there until Wren sat me down that day and I had to start adjusting.” Gwen thought, “What does this mean for my baby? That was the hardest for me⎯letting go of my gender expectations for my child. I still have a lot of questions about gender identity, but I love the person Wren is growing into and I’m so proud of their resilience and strength.”

Gwen prioritized core principles throughout her children’s upbringing since they were tiny, including daily scripture study. When Come Follow Me was changed to “Come Follow Me Home” thanks to the pandemic quarantine, Gwen’s family started having tough discussions about how women were treated in the Bible, non-traditional marriage, racism, and how the scriptures talk about women who are divorced. It became a ping pong match between Gwen’s oldest, Evan, who took things seriously and supported the black-and-white policies of the church, and others waving the rainbow flag who made it clear they are loud and proud. “Some of those conversations were very scary. I didn’t want my kids to fight about these issues. I wanted there to be support and love in our home, but through these debates and discussions we made some major breakthroughs in our relationships, learned a lot about the scriptures, tolerance and love, and we are stronger for it.”

In 2021, Gwen, who now works as an author and poet (@leighstatham), married a wonderful man named Blake who had never been married and has no biological children of his own “but took us, and all of this, on without flinching.” Blake became a front-line witness to their very confused, elderly bishop seeing Wren walk into church in a fresh suit for the first time. Gwen says many in their congregation have been very supportive. The temple is the hardest thing for them, because of the gender policies. Wren says, “Basically, because I wear pants to church, I can’t go to the temple.” 

When Gwen’s youngest, George, was first able to go to the temple, the whole family—including  Blake and Gwen’s ex-husband—decided to go together. Even Wren came and sat in the waiting room. Gwen was touched by the fact that a couple of key people from Wren’s life just happened to be there that day and stopped in to say hi and make them comfortable. Still, this exclusion reminded Gwen of how many of her family members who aren’t in the church couldn’t be in her own temple wedding. “It’s poignant, painful, and makes you stop and wonder why you are doing this when it hurts those you love most. But then you remember, you’re doing it FOR those you love most.”

Wren only comfortably attended combined youth activities and avoided gender divided ones after coming out. One time, they didn’t want to go to an activity and Gwen did something she normally didn’t and nudged Wren out of the car for it. When she returned for pick up, Wren jumped in the car, excited, and told their mom there had been a 12-year-old trans kid present and if Wren hadn’t been there, they would have been all alone. Wren now lives in western North Carolina where they attend college and a family ward. They’re likely the only non-binary LDS member for 150 miles, but Gwen is so proud of how Wren walks a mile in the snow, then carpools with a friend from their university to get to church each week.  

Gwen told Wren, “If you’re not there for people to see and meet and get to know, then who will be? It’s hard because everyone usually leaves, but someone has to stay if we want anything to get better.” She continues, “Both of my LGBTQ kids have read the Book of Mormon their whole lives, prayed about it, they love the gospel, they know the scriptures, and they went to seminary. But they rightfully say ‘Where do I fit in?’ I tell them they’re the new generation of pioneers. I say, ‘Think of your ancestors in New England, Britain, Missouri, and Ireland in the 1800’s saying, where does our new faith fit into Christianity? I trust you’re following the path you need to follow. I love you, God loves you, we’ll see what happens. Because we never know.”

Evan’s very strong black and white sense of morality was thrown into an environment at home and at his arts school he couldn't have imagined. But from there, he learned that good friends can grow even if there are major differences of opinion and even within his family. He is currently serving a full-time mission and is applying his experiences to teaching in the field. Evan says, “Loving one another does not mean that you have to agree with every part of life with others. Loving one another means showing respect for others’ decisions or opinions regardless if you agree with them, and voicing concern if necessary.”

Gwen knows and wants her children to know, “Christ is eternal, and he loves us all. In the long run, everything will get worked out–whether you’re active in church or not, living in truth or not, Christ understands us, loves us, and it will be ok, as long as you stay close to Him in the way that is best for you.”

THE SMITHSON FAMILY

Nikki Smithson’s upbringing looked a little different from most of the LDS families who surrounded hers in the pews. In the 1970s, most couples at church were not interracial like her parents, but she has nothing but fond memories of the “great childhood” she experienced and of her “great parents” who are still married (and active in the church today). Nikki was very aware of the controversy mixed-race couples like her parents endured, but she says she has no recollection of learning about the LGBTQ community back then. It was something she was sheltered from, largely because her parents didn’t know too much about it themselves.

Until one day.  While at her aunt’s house in her teens, Nikki made a comment about lesbians and watched as her two aunts, Abby and Cindy, gracefully stood up and left the room. Her mom said, “Nikki!” Suddenly 2+2 made sense. Realizing she had lesbian aunts was her only experience with the LGTBQ community until adulthood.

Nikki was sealed in the temple to her high school sweetheart and they had three kids in a row. They bought a house, a Suburban, and as “babies having babies,” almost felt like they were playing house. But quickly, Nikki realized this marriage was one she would need to exit, which proved more difficult than she thought. She was advised by various church leaders that she needed to “stay with her eternal companion.” But Nikki knew she had to make the best decision for herself and her three small children (six years and under); she knew she’d have to navigate this alone.

This experience presented the first cracks in her testimony—not of the Savior, but of church culture. She put her three young boys in Cub Scouts and held callings and “did it all 110% if we couldn’t do it 150%” as a single mom. There were years of inactivity and many Sundays, including every Mother’s Day, where Nikki opted out, unwilling to listen to another lesson about eternal family ideals. Nikki says, “I did what I could to heal and progress forward and not be put in a box where I’d feel fear or judgment. But I always maintained my testimony of Christ.”

Eventually, she married Kurt, who was not a member of the church yet, and “our blended family grew to a total of six boys and one little princess, all under 18 years old at that time.” As her oldest biological child neared puberty, Nikki noticed a constant state of malcontent on their part. There was crying, depression, expressions of wanting to die, and overall, an inability to live an authentic life. Nikki didn’t know what to do, but was willing to explore any measures to help “fix” her child. She says, “Now I know there wasn’t a problem, per se. It was just a matter of discovering the right tools and resources to address their needs.”

The first step for Nikki was to call her ever-so-inclusive aunts, Abby and Cindy, who led her to PFLAG, one of the only LGBTQ support systems at the time near their heavily-LDS Gilbert/Mesa, Arizona hometowns. Nikki went to all the meetings, while Kurt held the fort down with the kids. At PFLAG, the Smithsons were thrilled to find amazing resources and support, though no trans-specific groups. They noticed there were other transgender kids showing up who had no support at all at home. Kurt frequently had to remind Nikki they already had seven kids already, and she couldn’t bring them all home with them.

After finally visiting a pediatric endocrinologist and gender identity counselor (as well as experiencing an affirming Halloween night spent dressed as a female), Nikki’s oldest (AMAB) child understood that their diagnosis of gender dysphoria entailed more–they were trans. Casey was ready to identify as female. The Smithson’s youngest, who was six at the time, was so excited and said, “I have always wanted a sister!!” 

Now 15, Casey began her process of transitioning—first working on her pitch through voice lessons, then hormone replacement therapy, and later taking surgical steps to achieve the feminine form that brought her a strong sense of peace with her identity. Almost instantly, while still a teen, her parents noticed an instant sense of confidence and happiness in Casey that had been missing for years. At age 25, @theCaseyblake is now a very vocal leader in the trans community and advocate for other trans youth. 

About a year into Casey’s journey, Nikki’s son, Michael, came out to his mom as gay. At 14, he was just starting high school. Nikki replied, “I love you unconditionally, I will support you no matter what. I’m sure I’ll make mistakes, but I’m here for you.” Once again, she turned to PFLAG for support. They advised not to ask too many questions, because sometimes kids don’t know just yet. Nikki says, “I wanted a checklist, wanted to ask, ‘What do you need baby?’ Because his path looked so different from his sister’s. I haven’t been perfect, but we’ve definitely tried to support each other.”

One year later, Nikki’s next biological child, Spencer, came to her and said, “Mom, I need to talk about my sexuality.” Nikki sat down and thought, “Ok. What else do I need to learn? Then, it was the sweetest thing – he was hemming and hawing, and I thought, ‘Baby just tell me, I’m going to love you no matter what.’ And he said, ‘Fine. Mom, I’m straight’.” Nikki laughed and said, “Let me tell you what I told your siblings – I’ve never had a straight son come out to me before, but I am here for you, and support you.’ And I wondered, ‘Where’s the checkboxes to have a straight son? I had no resources for any of these things’.” All this happened in just three short years, when Nikki’s kids were ages 13-15. She says, “I know how to be loud and proud for a trans daughter, a gay son, and now a straight son. We are all happy and living our authentic lives.”

Nikki considers herself a very black and white person. Accepting her kids for who they are came naturally for her, but she was very clear with their friends and family that there would be no level of “grey” tolerance allowed. After Casey first began transitioning, she presented an ultimatum: “You can continue to unconditionally love this child with the Christlike love you’ve always shown, or you can cause problems, stir up hate, and all the kids and I walk together. The choice is yours – run with it or not. It’s ok to have questions and to ask me questions, but don’t address them to my minor child. Come to me. I’ll look up the answers; I’m still learning as well, and I need you to allow that for myself.”

Most of their family chose to show love, and Nikki says that over the years, they have only experienced a few painful hate crime instances in their community. One being when someone drove by Casey at a gas station and yelled a derogatory phrase and threw something at her. The other being when Casey was called out by a security guard after entering the female bathroom at high school with a friend. This was during the height of the transgender bathroom debate, and Casey had been advised to use the gender-neutral nurse’s bathroom in the office. Casey  was humiliated by this experience, and never ventured into any bathroom at school again. Nikki became more staunch in her support of Target, one of the first corporations to state that patrons could use whichever bathroom aligns with their gender identity. 

Nikki’s family has expanded in love and diversity: Casey’s partner is a trans male, and her gay son, Michael, is polyamorous and has had a partner who continues to perform drag. The Smithsons are outspoken supporters of the drag community in several cities, especially as of late when so much national attention has been thrust toward the St. George, Utah community, in which they now live, due to political debate over HBO’s recent filming of a drag show there. Along with “the most amazing ally couple,” Pam and Gregg, Nikki co-hosts a parent ally group at the St. George Encircle house. Nikki stands united with the LGBTQIA community in their small town and supports several organizations including (but not limited to) Pride of Southern Utah, Mama Dragons, LGBTQ+ Chamber of Commerce, Affirmation, Southern Utah DragStars, Equality Utah, and the family has a side business on Instagram, @OurFamilyDesign, which creates merch for drag performers and other items. 

“I have a deep love for the LGBTQ community and I’m passionate about inclusion. We will keep fighting and seeking a fair and just community everywhere, not just St. George. I tell my kids, ‘I want you to be happy, healthy and safe – whatever that looks like for you’,” says Nikki. Her youngest daughter is 16, and “still figuring her authentic self out. I tell her, ‘Whatever it is, just do it and do it well. Be honest, safe, and we’re good.”

Religiously, Nikki has dreaded the question, “Are you LDS?” since she was first a single mom. She recalls, “I knew I’d need to define the religious journey for me and the kiddos. I originally said, ‘Yeah, but don’t judge the church off me or family,’ or, ‘I was raised LDS and kinda’… or ‘I’m kinda inactive’.” But recently, in the last couple years, Nikki has felt more confident saying, “I am unapologetically LDS.” She says this causes people to look at her and think “Ok, do I want to have a meaningful conversation or walk on...” 

But Nikki knows, “My Savior’s love has never changed; I’m not worried about my eternal family. Our bishops have been really good to me because I tell them, ‘This is who we are and I choose Christlike love–I don’t have to worry about the whole eternal perspective and who’s sealed to who. I just need to worry about what I’m dealing with now. In my perception, my family is forever because I know we are the same good people. I love our Savior, and I know our God is a just God.”

THE CRONIN FAMILY

Decades ago as Kaci neared high school graduation, her dad would often think back on her childhood and say, “Some people would say Kaci thinks outside the box, but I’m not even sure she knows there is one.” While being raised in an active LDS family with a father who was later called as a patriarch characterized her childhood, Kaci Cronin has always had an adventurous spirit open to new ideas. “The balance of that and being rooted in the gospel can be a great contradiction, but I try to minimize that. Even if you have strong traditions, you can accept the new.”

While Kaci was attending a ward for the deaf 25 years ago, learning the ASL she now uses daily as an ASL interpreter at a Mississippi School for the Deaf, she crossed paths with a Deaf ASL missionary. Kevin had also been raised in the church, and the two met, married, and eventually had six kids: Shea-22, Mylee-21, Liam-18, Tierney-16, Maelin-15, and Kennilee-11. The church has continued to be an important part of their family experience in the small town in which they now live, located “just far enough outside Jackson, MS that we don’t lose water all the time” (regarding the recent water crisis affecting the area).

After moving away to Alabama for five years, a couple years ago the Cronins moved back to Mississippi and into a new ward dynamic in which they found they had differing opinions with leadership that were initially hard to navigate. They chose to speak up. For the Cronins, having a Deaf dad means communication has to be deliberate—they don’t holler from the other room and all calls are FaceTime calls. When they feel something, they say something. The Cronins operate off a spirit of the law philosophy and choose to get excited by kids who choose to go to church. During their move, they experienced growing pains with other leaders who prefer more of a letter of the law mentality with strict modesty and morality policing. Rather than step away, Kaci and Kevin leaned in to try to make this environment better, not knowing yet how much their family would soon need it, when one of their own children revealed she, too, didn’t exactly fit in the box.

Back while mothering her first three young kids, Kaci figured she could write a book on expert parenting. All three were soft spoken, clean-faced, shy--the type of kids you could confidently take out of a high chair at a restaurant. She on occasion questioned why other peoples’ kids were bossy terrors. “Then I had my fourth and by necessity had to become an ‘Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, I’m her mom and I’m coming right now’ kind of person.” 

Kaci explains, “Tierney was wired differently from the beginning in all facets. As a child, she loved all things scary and intense, including shark attack books and her favorite flip flops with sharks on them.” Kaci says, “She’s still super fun and fills a lot of space wherever she goes.” Tierney loved sports—like, really loved them—and Kaci spent an extreme amount of time bonding with her daughter as she drove her to softball tournaments and basketball and track events.  

When Tierney was around 10 or 11, Kevin asked Kaci if she thought their daughter might be gay. Kaci now recognizes Kevin may have been more intuitive in this regard, as Kaci shut down those early thoughts. When Tierney was around 13, she confided in her mom that she was indeed uncertain about her attractions. She thought she’d had crushes on boys, but she wasn’t sure. Kaci observed Tierney didn’t seem to feel or act the same as her older (and later younger) sister did, but Kaci advised they put a pin in it, and just see what happens.

When Tierney was 15, her parents noticed she was spending a lot of time with a particular female friend. She’d come home with a new ring or stuffed animal, and when asked its origin would reply, “My friend gave it to me.” When Tierney wanted to go to dinner with her “friend” and Kaci asked if she needed money, Tierney replied her friend would be picking her up and paying for her. After a few months of this, Tierney said, “Mom, I need to talk to you. I have been dating…” Kaci chuckled and said, “Yeah, I’ve been waiting for you to tell me—it’s kind of obvious.” Later that day, Tierney also opened up to her dad over an ice cream date. 

Kaci felt gratitude their daughter felt comfortable with both telling her parents without fearing being looked down upon, and in pursuing a relationship in an authentic way. In a very short time, Kaci and Kevin had many conversations with each other and other supportive family members who all made rapid progress in understanding that they could support Tierney as they believe in a loving Heavenly Father whose gospel promotes hope and happiness. While being the parents of a gay child triggered more concerns related to the church culture and traditions (though not necessarily the gospel itself) for Kevin, Kaci says she came to the realization that, “If the church doesn’t bring us increased hope and peace, then I’m doing it wrong or someone else is.”

Determined to let this mantra both enhance and drive her spirituality, Kaci started to analyze various approaches and opinions to others’ perceptions about raising a gay child. While her family is also supportive of the couple’s dating, Tierney’s girlfriend was initially more hesitant to share her orientation with peers because of her Bible belt surroundings and different Christian faith that delegates some to hell for certain practices. Kaci appreciates that in her religion, at the very worst, anyone considered a dedicated sinner (not that she considers any of her kids as being in this category) would still achieve the lowest degree of celestial glory which, according to LDS doctrine, is “wonderful beyond imagination.”

The Cronins’ oldest son had a brief marriage around the time Tierney came out, which was also instrumental in causing the Cronins to reevaluate religious presuppositions. As the LDS couple was married with a plan to be sealed in the temple asap, from outside appearances, some would say they’d achieved something close to “the ideal.” But as the young couple lived with the Cronins, Kaci was a frontline witness to a toxic, difficult relationship that ended by necessity. In contrast, they simultaneously watched their daughter dating a girl, an LDS cultural taboo, but saw the sweet happiness in that relationship. Through this, Kaci has surmised, “You can find happiness, health and beauty in places you never thought to look. I’ve realized some of my goals are now much more primal for my children, in considering what is necessary on a human level to be able to function well. In the end, I want them to be happy, cared for, and to feel supported.”

During the pandemic lockdown, Tierney further surprised her parents by requesting a school and extracurricular change. Rather than continuing with her intense athletic commitments and the small, rural Christian school she’d attended thus far, Tierney wanted to shift to singing and playing the guitar and other instruments and to transfer to a nearby large public school where she’d audition for theatre. Kaci says, “Is there a box? No. When I posted about her not playing her lifelong sports the next year, it was kind of funny because that got more of a surprised response than her coming out. I’m proud that she’s grown and matured enough in her life already to make decisions for her own path, even beyond her sexuality. She’s realizing, ‘What do I want to invest my energy into to become what I want to become?’ I love her example that we have these things inside of us that we might not tap into if we’re not willing to try something new and go to new places to discover who we are. Because of this part of her personality, we all get to have these adventures with her.”

Tierney ended up landing the lead in the school play and when her school’s production advanced to state, she was personally named as part of the regional All-Star cast. She is still dating her girlfriend 16 months later.

When Tierney came out, Kaci was her ward’s Relief Society President. Since, their son Liam has gone on a mission where in the MTC, he was one of the trainees in his class who was unphased and supportive when their Spanish instructor opened up to the class about being gay. Kevin has since taken a job in Boston where he has surprised his progressively minded colleagues as “the guy from Mississippi who shows up wearing a rainbow bracelet.” The Cronin family are still part of the same ward, and they appreciate that their bishop has reached out to ask how they can make Tierney feel welcome, and no one has been confrontational or contentious about Tierney’s orientation or attendance at events (FSY, girls camp, etc.) that require bunkmates. 

Tierney recently did attend FSY and had an intense spiritual experience she was eager to share at the first opportunity she had to bear her testimony. Over the pulpit, she told her ward she went into FSY wanting to know if she was really loved by her Heavenly Father, as is. Tierney reported that she received a testimony that, “He loves me, He still communicates with me, he hears my prayers. I’m not cut off at all.”

The entire Cronin family has shifted their beliefs to center on the personal relationship they each can receive with divinity and the foundation that comes with that. Kaci says, “FSY was a turning point for my daughter as she received a personal testament that she has a place and is valued. My prayer as her mother is she’ll always carry that with her regardless of her standing and involvement with the church.” 

When it comes to parenting, the Cronins acknowledge that some out-of-the-box adventures their children have brought to their world are as unpredictable as the state of the Jackson, MS water supply. Some adventures are hard, and some are great. But Kaci says, “At the end of the day, that’s where the joy and connection come in our family–through continuing to show up for one another.”

KEN TAYLOR & LISA ASHTON

When she was four years old, Lisa Ashton and her older brother Joe took a walk around the block with their father. A walk Lisa would never forget. As they circled their Rancho Cucamonga, CA neighborhood, Ken Taylor assured his kids it was in no way their fault, but he would soon be moving out of their home. He and their mother were getting a divorce. After Ken moved out, Lisa took many walks around the same neighborhood over the years, but often by herself. Her brother was four years older and didn’t want to hang out all the time with his younger sister, and their single mother was often gone at work. 

Lisa spent years processing that her life just looked different from that of many of her friends.

When she and Joe spent every other weekend as well as vacations with their father, they observed Ken had a roommate they called “Uncle Ed” who lived with him for many years. Lisa remembers it being a little confusing. Ken and Ed had lots of other male friends they hung out with (some with kids of their own), and she remembers them giving disapproving looks when her brother once said “That’s so gay” in a derogatory manner. When Lisa was 11, Ken finally felt it was time. He told Lisa, “I have a lot of male friends who are attracted to men.” Lisa asked, “Would you be gay?”  With a deeply pained sigh of relief, Ken said yes. 

When Lisa turned 14, her brother had moved off to college and she was living alone in a big house with her mother, Teresa (who Lisa and Ken agree earned her nickname “Mother Teresa.”) By this time, Ken felt it was his turn to be the full-time parent and all agreed to the arrangement. Ed and Ken broke up shortly after, and Lisa and Ken moved into an apartment in Dana Point, CA. When Joe returned from his LDS mission, both kids lived with Ken for a short time before Lisa went to BYU and her brother returned to college. Of having a gay father, Lisa says, “It was the 90s; things were so different back then.” She knew her childhood was atypical. She wasn’t sure who she could trust with this information. As an adult, she now freely talks about her story and lessons learned along the way about unconditional love and acceptance learned from both of her parents.

Ken’s upbringing was also atypical. He was born in 1950 in Washington D.C., the seventh of eight kids of parents who were married in the temple. Due to his father’s job as a foreign service officer for the state department, they moved around internationally, spending time in Mexico, Austria, and Canada in between stints in the states. Ken said he was always active in the church, but he recognized that something about himself was different. While living in Vienna between the ages of 11-15, Ken was involved in an American scouting program there and dated girls like all the other guys did, but he found it interesting that the most popular boy in school came on to him. Ken did not want to resist and thought, “If he can do that, why can’t I?”

Ken spent ages 15-18 in Montreal, where as a high school student he met a fellow gay peer named Eric from Holland who was active in the LDS church and engaged to marry a girl. They eventually had six kids and later got divorced, then remarried, then divorced again. Eric now  lives in Holland with his boyfriend. But back when they were young, Eric had asked Ken to run away with him and forget about everything. At the time (1968), Ken couldn’t fathom doing something like that due to the church culture in which he’d been raised and was trying to make work. 

Instead, Ken went to BYU after graduation. His father had just retired and his whole family moved to Salt Lake City. It was 1968, and Ernest Wilkinson was president of BYU. In his “welcome speech” to the university, President Wilkinson uttered those now infamous words: 

“We [do not] intend to admit to our campus any homosexuals. We do not want others on this campus to be contaminated by your presence,” and invited them to leave immediately. At the time, Ken felt so deep in the closet, he didn’t admit he fit into that category; rather he was convinced the church would help him “get out of that.” He was surrounded by returned and preparing missionaries and decided he should take the same course. At 19, Ken was called to serve in eastern France and was excited he’d be able to put his Montreal-acquired French and German to good use.

Before his mission, his stake president asked if he was worthy to serve, and Ken said, “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” But the pressures of the MTC got to him, and feeling guilty, he went to an authority there to confess his history. The man said, “I don’t know much about this but you need to drive up to Salt Lake and see (Elder) Spencer W. Kimball,” who was an apostle at the time. Elder Kimball interviewed Ken in detail about everything he’d been involved with and said he’d still let him serve his mission as long as he promised to write him once a month, and warned that if he ever got involved in anything, he’d be sent home immediately. He also told Ken never to talk about this part of him again with anyone. Ken was petrified, and says he never did anything immoral by the church’s standards on his mission.

On his mission, Ken told just one companion about his attractions, and the companion told Ken that his father was also gay. This young man had gone on a mission hoping his parents would get back together, but his dad didn’t want to because he had a gay partner. He wanted to keep that relationship while still being a father. Subconsciously, Ken recognizes this became the first model for how he would later choose to live his life.

Ken wrote to Spencer W. Kimball month after month and never got a reply or any other type of support, “not that I expected it, knowing he was a busy man.” Shortly after he returned from his mission in France, Ken realized that he had many allies who supported him unconditionally. One was David, an MD, who became Ken’s best friend. When Ken came out as gay to David (they were 21), David’s reply was, “It makes no difference to me. I still love you.“  David and his wife have stood by Ken his whole life, sharing love, friendship, and even some much needed medical advice. When he returned, he went back to BYU. During his second year there, he met Teresa. Ken says he fell in love with her and had never loved any woman like he loved her. “She was very energetic, happy, positive, and I thought several times, ‘If I have to have a woman as a partner it should be her as she’ll be a wonderful mother and partner in so many ways.’ And she was.” But focused on her education and career, Teresa wasn’t looking to get married. It would be six years later of Ken dating some other women but holding out for Teresa until they got married in 1977.

Ken transferred to the University of Utah, where Joe was born. He served in a bishopric while earning degrees in French and Business Management. Ken and Teresa wanted many kids, but were only able to have two. The family lived in Murray, UT and it was in that house that Ken finally came out to Teresa after he started having long talks with a man he’d met while doing business. Ken felt conflicted in many ways – at this time, he was starting to seriously doubt the church after learning various stories about church history. He took a list of ten questions to Charles Didier, who had served as his second mission president, and now was a member of the Seventy. Charles had some written information sent to Ken that attempted to answer his questions about the Book of Mormon origins, first vision, temple, etc., but after the packet came in the mail, there were still holes in his testimony Ken couldn’t fill. Another leader around that time suggested gay conversion therapy, something Ken immediately rejected. As he worked it all out in his mind, he came to the conclusion that per the church teachings of the time, one could not both believe in the truth that they are gay and the truth of the church. He opted with the truth he did inherently know and had painfully tried for years to suppress. 

Ken says it was a mix of his pulling away from the church and being gay that ultimately ended his marriage. As this happened, Teresa told their stake president he’d moved out, and he was called in. The stake president said, “It’s been reported that you’ve been involved in homosexual activity.” Ken replied he would not be sharing details, that it was personal. The stake president said that as a high priest, he’d be summoned to a church court. Ken wrote a letter in response saying, “Whatever you do, it’s your choice. But I’m not coming to a court.” Shortly after, Ken received a letter stating he’d been excommunicated. In the first few lines, he was told he could still pay tithing though if he wanted, but only through an active member.

Ken and Teresa kept their divorce amicable, no lawyers. Both the initial distance from his family and the church created a sense of loneliness and isolation. Ken didn’t tell his kids about the rupture of his testimony until they were much older and asked. (Joe eventually also left the church.) One day Ken read a book about Carol Lynn Pearson’s marriage to a gay man, and they began to correspond. Through her, he connected with some other men in similar situations in his area and through an Affirmation conference in Palm Springs, he developed an off-shoot friend group of men who were also fathers and called themselves the “Gamofites” (gay Mormon fathers). Lisa remembers them having family pool parties and exchanging holiday cards as she also got to know her dad’s friends.

The Gamofites ran the gamut of church activity and belief, and took their shared skills of leadership and organization to create something that could uniquely fill their needs for fellowship. They eventually grew to over 400 men, and they had a mission statement, regional retreats, and talent shows (where sometimes church hymns were sung). Ken was the self-appointed librarian and still has binders from their meetings. He says, “Every retreat, the Gamofites came into play as people realized they’re in a safe place, and if we were to have a quorum, this would be one where we could belong to a brotherhood.” While many of them have moved on, he remembers those as “the best of times,” and thinks if to this day he called five of them and said, “Let’s have another retreat,” they’d still come.

Ken has had a couple more relationships since Ed, and currently is “madly in love with the mind” of a man named George who lives in Cyprus. They talk every day, and he has been to visit. While they’re distanced in age and proximity, he says they’re close in many ways and enjoying it for what it is. 

Ken recognizes the church instilled many good qualities in him including hard work and service, and says he doesn’t want to throw the baby out with the bath water. He acknowledges he had spiritual experiences on his mission and says, “Whether they were contrived or spontaneous, it doesn’t matter. I take them as treasures from a former life, but don’t want to go back. But I want my kids to make their own choices; that’s free agency. That’s a principle.” He has showed up to support Lisa’s three kids (ages 6, 9, and 11) at baby blessings and baptisms. When Lisa married her husband Rodney in the temple, they also had a civil ceremony so Ken could be a part of it, which was a less common practice at the time.

Lisa says her kids have asked why Papa Ken and Nana aren’t together but haven’t asked a ton of questions yet about why not; Lisa says she explains to them what she thinks they can understand at their individual ages and is appreciative of how times have changed. “For me, growing up in the 90s and 2000s it was a whisper, ‘My dad is gay.’ Now it’s more of a bold, ‘Papa Ken is gay.’ I used to always wonder when it was the right time to tell people about my dad; now it’s just easier to.”  Ken and Teresa are cordial and attend holiday dinners together. They’ve taken Lisa to Disneyland together several times on her birthday. When people ask if he has any regrets about his life, he says he has no regrets about marrying Teresa and having his two beautiful children. But he does regret following the advice of church leaders at the time to bury who he was, to not talk about it to women he dated, and not tell Teresa he was gay. For so many years, he was caught between that rock and hard place.

He says, “I realize I should have told her – it’s my responsibility and I was not being forced to not tell her. But in order to be accepted by Mormonism, I needed to marry a woman. When I finally came out to her, she wasn’t bitter or hateful. She said, ‘We’re going to work through this and find a way to get through this.’ I told many Gamofites, ‘If you have to be married, you should be married to someone like Teresa’.” Lisa concurs, “She’s been very Christlike and forgiving and never bad mouthed my dad. The only thing she’s said is ‘I wish he had told me’.”

Other family members did struggle with Ken’s coming out, one even saying she wished Ken had died of AIDS (it was the 80s when he came out). But Ken and Lisa are grateful that in their family unit of four, they accepted things for what they were.

The family members now lead their lives throughout southern California, where they still sometimes take walks around the block--together. Lisa says, “We’re doing the best we can in this situation. We stay close. We all talk every day in some form. We visit often and love each other very much. No one’s on the outskirts. While it hasn’t been easy, we’ve stuck together.”