THE SORENSEN FAMILY

Eli Sorensen grew up the favorite (and only) baby brother in his Idaho Falls-based childhood home. His two older sisters were 10 and 14-years-old when he was born, but his mom Joy says, “Eli was not an oops or a mistake, just a long-awaited blessing. He always has been.” Growing up, Eli was active and successful in cross country, swimming, and school. He had plenty of friends. Joy now laughs that her biggest concern was that he “might end up in a relationship with an unwanted pregnancy situation because he had so many girls flocking to him.”

Just before eighth grade, Eli and his mom were watching TV one night when he turned to her and said, “Mom, I need to tell you something. I might be gay.” Instead of feeling shock or surprise, Joy says instead she just felt an overwhelming surge of how much she loved her son. She felt her only priority at that moment was to resolve to showing him the proper love and support moving forward. Her husband Phillip was their ward’s bishop at the time, and Eli wasn’t sure how his dad would take the news. But Joy encouraged Eli to go upstairs and tell him. Joy joined him and the three had a positive conversation in which his parents said they’d follow his lead and help him along whatever path he’d choose, whether that be counseling or keeping it quiet. Eli said he was still trying to come to grips with it all, and told his parents he wouldn’t need his parents to come out for him—ever, even to his older sisters. He would handle that. 

Joy remembers a peaceful feeling that night as she went to bed. In her personal prayer, she says she pled, “Heavenly Father, tell me what to do.” The answer she received was to “always love your child, support him, and keep him alive. I love him and I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry.” Over the next few years, Eli remained active in the church and “lived his life as a typical kid.” While the Sorensens didn’t completely put the conversation behind them, Joy acknowledges they didn’t bring it up much. 

Later in high school, Eli made a few close friends in cross country who he felt comfortable opening up to. Unfortunately, one of these “friends” took it upon himself to spread Eli’s news with others, which turned out both “horribly and perfectly,” according to Joy. It was hard for Eli to fear how his friendships would shake out, and to hear certain unwelcome comments from some, like that he “must not deserve a miracle or God would have taken this away” or to “just live your baptismal covenants and then in the eternities God will take care of this.” But largely, the response of his peers was positive and supportive. Joy says, “I love to see kids just accept other kids these days.” Joy says Eli had a wise, supportive English teacher at the time who assigned her class to write an essay about something they wanted to share. While knowing his essay would be peer-reviewed by someone in the class, Eli still felt the need to finally share his news in his own words. One of his close, female friends from cross country was assigned to read his story, which made Eli’s heart drop, not knowing how she might respond. But she and her family have since become some of his biggest allies. Joy says, “I can’t say enough for the friends and teachers in the school who encouraged him to be who he is.”

Still, many in the Sorensen’s ward were unaware Eli was gay as he attended high school outside their stake boundaries. But during his senior year, right around his birthday, Joy discovered Eli had come out on Instagram while sitting at her desk at work. Her phone started to blow up with supportive texts. She realized her son was finally ready for his burden of secrecy to be lifted, and she felt so grateful. Eli continued to attend church with his parents, “more out of respect for us,” says Joy, but his parents observed it was not in his heart, and they weren’t sure where he’d land. He didn’t feel the need to attend the local LGBTQ+ support group for families (not organized by the LDS church, but consisting of several of its members), but Joy and Phillip found great support walking into a room of familiar faces who were willing to open up and share similar experiences about their own kids who had come out. The Sorensens also say they found support through resource providers like Questions from the Closet, Listen, Learn and Love, and Lift and Love. 

His own son coming out was a turning point for Phillip, who had grown up experiencing a more painful reality many in the LGBTQ+ community have faced. Phillip’s brother Randy was gay, and both he and his partner succumbed to AIDS and passed away in the 90s in Seattle. Joy says, “Back then in the 80s and 90s, it seemed being gay was a lot about casual sex. A lot of men got sick and died. I don’t think we’re at that point anymore.” Joy met Randy before he passed and remembers him being “such a nice man. He was brilliant. He had a doctorate in Chinese geography, though he was also a bouncer at a gay bar, even with his fancy degree. Now, things are different, and he would have been known as just a really smart, gay man.” Joy says, “I think we have to have pioneers in the field. He would have been one if he were still alive. I believe we have help from both sides.  I know Randy’s so proud of his nephew.”  Joy says it took some time for Phillip to get over his fears that things would be different for his own son.

Indeed, Eli is off to a great start in his early adulthood. After high school, Eli went to Boise State, where he is now a 21-year-old senior studying computer science. Having just completed an internship in Virginia, he loves coding and plans to work in tech. Eli designed an app called Mixtaper which was recently released on the Apple App Store and helps users create cover art for their Apple Music and Spotify playlists. Joy says, “He’s wonderful; he’s amazing. When he wants something, he goes for it, and we support him.” Eli looks forward to starting a family of his own one day, and his mom laughs that he wants to make a lot of money first so he can adopt some kids. “He’s the best uncle ever,” says Joy. 

Eli’s in a happy relationship with a young man who attends his same college. Eli’s older sisters (Whitney-35, and Cassidy-32, who is married to Cody Jardine, and they are the parents of Baylor-4) are both very supportive of him, after each discovering he was gay several years ago in separate instances. Joy’s parents and their relatives have also been very supportive, which has been made easier as Joy has several LGBTQ cousins and family friends. “It’s been eye-opening to see how many of us have this connection, all being linked through these awesome kids of ours.” Joy works at a school where she proudly wears a rainbow wristband, giving a safe visual token to students who may worry and wonder things about themselves similar to what she imagines Eli once considered. While Eli is no longer affiliated with the church, he supports the activity level of his parents, who have taken it upon themselves to speak out when needed to promote messages of love and inclusion.

Before Eli was out, when Phillip was serving as bishop, a woman in the ward approached him with her suspicions that there were two lesbians in their ward. She wanted to know what they should do about their relationship. Phillip replied in the gist of, “What we should do is make them feel welcome here; where else should they be?” Joy says while she knows Eli has a great life purpose, whether in or out of the church, she wants the church to become a place where people like him would feel comfortable coming back. Joy currently serves as her Twin Falls (specifically Kimberly), ID ward’s Relief Society president, where she says “I’m never ashamed to talk about my son being gay. I bring it up; I want people to know.” Whenever she posts affirming messages online, Joy says she inevitably gets a private message from someone in her church community who says, “Thank you so much, I need to talk to you. I need someone.” Joy says, “I know a lot of people leave the church. We feel super strong about staying in the church, but I still speak out on my soapbox. So many people don’t know what do with it.” 

The Sorensens are grateful for other trailblazing rainbow families in their area as well as past missionaries who have served in their ward before later coming out and showing up to dinner with their eventual husbands/partners. She appreciates how they’ve paved the way and give advice when needed. While Eli did not serve an official LDS mission, Joy feels their family has been called to serve a different type of ministry to those in their midst.

“None of us knows what eternity looks like. Growing up in my generation, it was about wearing white in the temple. But my eternity will have some color – and I hope it does. I don’t need to change doctrine. I just love all of God’s children. No one should be denied that for any reason. The God I know and believe in loves everyone.” 

THE PHILLIPS FAMILY STORY

When Landon Phillips was an 18-year-old freshman at BYU Provo, he told his parents he was experiencing gender dysphoria. But first, he had to explain to them what that was. This was new territory. Landon was the second oldest child in Monica and James Phillips’ line-up of five kids (Luke – 28, married to Lindee, Landon – now 26, Anya – 22, AJ – 20, and Zach –16). Monica and James grew up in different regions of California and met while attending institute classes as students at Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo. Raised Catholic in a part-member family, Monica didn’t get baptized until she was in college.  She and James married in the Los Angeles temple 30 years ago and raised their family in Orange County, CA. Landon realized he felt different than his peers at a young age, but it wasn’t until he went to college that he finally had the vocabulary and insight to realize he was experiencing gender dysphoria. 

In the winter of his freshman year, Landon put in his mission papers.  It was while he was waiting for his mission call to arrive that he finally came out to himself.  He remembers looking in the mirror and saying to himself for the first time, “I’m transgender.”  Being assigned female at birth, Landon had to decide if serving an 18-month mission where he would have to wear dresses daily was something he could manage.  He decided he could and considered his dresses his daily missionary uniform.  He knew the Lord was in the details when he got to the MTC and received a name badge that said “Soeur Phillips” (pronounced Sir Phillips), which in French means Sister Phillips.  Landon served in the French-speaking islands off the coast of Madagascar. 

Monica says that during Landon’s mission was the time in their journey that she and her husband “stuck their heads in the sand,” hoping and praying that Landon’s complex feelings might change. As Landon wasn’t out to anyone else yet besides his parents and sister Anya, Monica said that those 15 months were lonely and scary.  She had no one to talk to and no trusted resources to turn to.  

When Landon returned from his mission, his parents quickly recognized his feelings had not gone away. They took him to LDS social services where he met with one of the only therapists who was considered an LGBTQ specialist. She referred the Phillips to the upcoming North Star conference, and a few short weeks later, Landon and Monica found themselves sitting in a venue with hundreds of other LGBTQ+ individuals who openly shared their experiences of what it was like to navigate their same-sex attraction and gender identity within the framework of the gospel.  Monica recalls both she and her son stepping into the elevator at the conference’s conclusion with smiles on their faces, filled with hope for the first time in a long time—thinking they may not have to choose between their faith and Landon’s health. Monica also felt a sharp rebuke from above, imploring her to reexamine her thoughts about LGBTQ people and to consider whether she’d “unintentionally added to their burden.” She remembers feeling, “This is something I needed to learn about because something’s not right here. It was a pivotal moment in my journey.”

After returning from the conference, Landon shared that he didn’t want to have to continue to live in secret in their own home—he was ready to come out to the rest of his siblings. At the time, their youngest was just a fifth grader. Monica put Landon in charge of their family night that week.  She loved how Landon was able to share his reality with his siblings, saying, “It was the most beautiful thing to see the acceptance of his siblings; it wasn’t even a problem. They hugged and accepted Landon and went off to bed.”

But Anya lingered behind. With Landon there for support, Anya opened up and shared that she was attracted to women. Monica says Anya remembers the evening a little differently than she does. Monica recalls asking her daughter if she experienced gender dysphoria, too, to which Anya replied no. Monica said, “Oh good, so you’re just gay?  We can handle this then,” which she now recognizes as “not my proudest mom moment.” Monica says, “At the time, I could not imagine navigating anything harder than gender dysphoria in the church. But now, I recognize they’re different, but equally tough to navigate.”  Anya was 17 when she came out to her parents, but did not publicly come out until a few years later. 

Not long after Anya’s announcement, Landon had decided to begin socially transitioning and the Phillips announced they’d be moving to Mesa, AZ. While their “extremely loving, supportive, and kind ward and stake” in Orange lamented their move, worried they might not find the same support elsewhere for Landon who they’d all loved since birth, Landon was looking forward to starting fresh in a new environment with his new name and pronouns. While Monica acknowledges some of Anya’s story coming out as lesbian gets overshadowed by the complexities of Landon’s experience with gender dysphoria, she marvels at her daughter’s strength and the extremely tight bond the two siblings share.

Anya has since finished her associate degree in floral design. Now, she and Landon are roommates (with another transgender friend), and the brother and sister work in different departments at a floral wholesale business in Mesa. All five of the Phillips kids have stepped away from the church for various reasons, but Monica appreciates how they still support their parents’ activity.  Monica believes that families need to “stick together,” feeling that “Our Heavenly Father put us together to do life and that’s what we’re going to do. That includes the good, the bad and everything in between. We love our kids and honor their agency. We want our kids to honor our agency as well, which they do.” Regarding her children’s paths that have led them outside the church, Monica says that as she converted at age 21, she feels, “I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t allow them their own journey for their own growth. We’ve had mutual respect in that area.” 

The Phillips family has become involved in the political scene on a small scale, as they spoke out last year in favor of equality and fairness for all as part of a coalition that has advocated both in Washington DC and Arizona—the same coalition the church showed support for, equally seeking religious freedom. The Phillips attended a VIP tour of the DC temple with a bevy of religious leaders and LGBTQ advocacy groups, and one thing that stood out to Monica was when  Elder Gordon Smith, then a member of the 70, encouraged all of them to “keep up their ministries.” She says, “I loved how he was talking to me as a parent, as well as to a Jewish rabbi, and to a representative from the Trevor Project. Every individual there had an important role in a ministry to love and respect others and to create rights for as many humans as we can.  It felt validating to have a church leader consider what I do a ministry.”  Monica and James were both able to meet with the White House’s representatives over LGBTQ and religion, who they say were moved to tears seeing religious parents advocating for their LGBTQ children’s rights. At that time, Landon, who worked with the Equality and Fairness for All Coalition, would take various sets of parents (many who were LDS) of LGBTQ+ kids on tours to legislators’ offices to share their stories and why they needed and deserved equal rights. “This whole thing has taken us on an adventure, doing things we’ve never dreamed we’d do. We never imagined our life would be like this. I’ve met the most amazing people,” says Monica.

Landon’s story took a different turn last Christmas when his mom bought him a Nebula Deep Dive DNA kit after Landon said it might be fun to try. While the tests returned all types of health-related results, it was the gender finding that most shocked the Phillips: Landon’s test showed he had XY (male) chromosomes and an intersex condition. They consulted with a friend who is a doctor and who also happens to be intersex, who helped them decipher the results and check the genes affiliated with sexual development. (The Phillips family explains more about their genetic testing experience on the recent episode #673 of Richard Ostler’s Listen, Learn and Love.) Monica acknowledges that they were excited to find a cause that explains Landon’s experience with gender dysphoria, but that they didn’t need to have this piece of information for Landon’s transgender experience to be valid. 

Monica currently serves on the board of directors at North Star, representing parents and the transgender community.  Monica and James recently gave a presentation on gender identity, geared towards church leaders. They shared how we can improve our ministry and create spaces of belonging through increased understanding.    

As they reflect on their journey, Monica says they’d like people to know, “Families can navigate this together with love. Over the years, I have sat with many parents who are trying to figure out how to stay true to doctrines and teachings and also love their kids – it’s an inner wrestle. I encourage parents to stay in the wrestle until they find the way. Heavenly Father will make that possible.”

Monica and James both agree that their journey with their LGBTQ kids has expanded their faith in beautiful ways. “We thought we knew what it meant to love, to mourn with those who mourn, and to comfort those who stand in need of comfort, but we realized how much room we had to grow. We feel like we’ve leveled up in these areas. If we could, we’d take all the pain and heartache away from our kids, but we wouldn’t change anything for ourselves.  We love who we are becoming and feel like we have become better disciples of Jesus Christ.”  

THE SCOTT MENA STORY

It was the 90s, and he didn’t have words for it quite yet, but Scott Mena remembers the first time he had a feeling that he was “different.” While six-years-old, he looked at a two years older boy at his Cortlandt Manor, NY elementary school and felt a little funny inside. As he continued to grow, Scott knew something about his childhood crushes didn’t line up with the majority of his peers. It wasn’t until a few years later when a girl said, “Why are you so gay?” that Scott asked, “What’s that?” She explained “gay is when two boys like each other.” At age 10, Scott finally heard a label to describe how he felt. And one year later, at age 11, he was handed a pamphlet at church full of labels that indicated that how he was feeling was wrong.

Hoping (and praying) it might just be a phase, Scott rejected the pamphlet’s advice to talk to his bishop. He did open up to one of his two younger sisters, who asked him how he knew he was gay. He confided he had a crush on one of the Backstreet Boys, largely because of the “Quit Playing Games with My Heart” music video. He swore his sister to secrecy, but the next day, their mother called him in and mentioned Denise had said something about Scott liking boys. Scott went into immediate denial mode, saying, “Why would she say something so disgusting?” Hurt by this breach of trust and still committed to this part of him going away, Scott didn’t confront his sister or broach the topic again for some time.

But once Scott hit puberty, he realized nothing was changing. His family moved to Florida, where he submersed himself into pursuing theatre and film and tried to stay as busy as possible as a distraction. “The good thing about theatre is I was able to have an outlet for what I was feeling, and I could pretend to be someone else.” But that escapism was only a temporary fix. As Scott avoided his actual issues, he found himself also distracting himself with a new fixation: pornography. Ultimately, he says this habit just made him even more closeted and fearful. During his final year of high school as he began to think about the mission he’d soon be serving, he harbored a terrifying thought: what would he do if one of his companions was also gay and they ended up being attracted to each other and getting excommunicated? These types of ruminations plagued Scott and resulted in stress-induced eczema, and at one time a crying fit in the literal closet, where his mother found him curled up in despair. 

After high school, Scott says, “I prayed to Heavenly Father—you’ve done miracles for Noah, Moses, all these people. Can you please give me a miracle of making me straight?” He didn’t know what to do anymore. After another prayer in which he surmised, “I’ll leave this in your hands,” Scott remembers hearing a very clear voice tell him he needed to talk to his bishop and to his mom. The bishop was brand new, and remembering his former lie to his mom about this topic, neither option seemed appealing; but Scott finally decided it was time to open up. After leaving a voicemail for his bishop with a request to meet, he called his mom into his room where they ensued a guessing game until she finally asked if what was troubling her son was that he might be gay. Scott confirmed and explained how he’d tried so hard to change, to date girls, to do all the things to get on the track of being straight. He says his mom didn’t recall their earlier conversation from years prior, having trusted what her son had said to be true. Now she said she didn’t understand everything but said she loved him, was there to help, and asked if he’d talked to the bishop. 

After that conversation, Scott was feeling immensely lighter until he heard wails of sorrow coming from the room nearby. While knowing why his mom was crying, he ran out and acted as if he didn’t in fear his grandma might ask about the source of her tears. Scott found his grandmother comforting his sobbing mother—who had just shared his news. Scott was worried his devout Catholic grandmother might sprinkle some holy water on him as a cure, but instead she hugged him and said, “You know what, Scott, I don’t care if you’re gay or not. And I won’t even share this with your uncles.” Scott laughs at this, saying his grandma could be quite the gossip. His mom then said the bishop had called back, wanting to talk, but they decided to give it a day.

The next day, Scott’s mom joined him at the bishop’s office. The conversation started with the bishop commending Scott’s recent performance as the character “Mrs. White” in a community theater production of the play, CLUE: The Musical. He said, “You played such a convincing woman.” Scott laughed and replied, “About that…” He continued to spill. Scott’s mom then had a front row seat to the deleted scenes about his past with pornography and concerns about being able to serve a mission as a gay young man. The bishop replied it would be best to hold off on the mission until Scott had sorted through some of his mental health struggles and his pornography addiction—which Scott says he had also been treating with a little denial. But with the recommended help and resources provided by two different therapists and faithful attendance at the Addiction Recovery Program, Scott embarked on a path that culminated with five years of processing and healing until his therapist finally asked, “Scott, do you still want to go on a mission?” It had seemed so long since he first started his mission papers that it didn’t even feel possible, but Scott replied yes, he would. The counselor sent along her recommend to the stake president and a few weeks later, Scott was opening his mission call to the Denver, CO North mission in front of a few friends. 

Scott left for the MTC with a sense of guilt as he had relapsed with his addiction, but with the help of his MTC leader, he was reminded how to get things off his chest and to move forward with faith and conviction. He says he felt his burdens lift and continued on his mission, though he said his five years of therapy and ARP certainly came in handy as he was often tasked with supplying communication and support skills with other missionaries who were struggling with their mental health.  

Scott had come out to his father and sister Denise a few months after he told his mom and bishop. Denise also didn’t remember his earlier confession. While Denise was very supportive during all his years of therapy, Scott says his father adheres to some traditional views and it has been more difficult. But Scott says he is “trying to understand.” After his mission, Scott told his younger sister Kimberly, who at first didn’t believe him but then became a great support as well, and the two would talk about their crushes together. After his grandma passed away in 2019, Scott became closer with his mom. One day after church, she suggested his feelings of being gay would be temporary and to keep brushing them away. This sounded like something his father might say, and it hurt Scott. He cried in his room, and the next day his mom apologized. With time, Scott was able to work with his mom to create a more open conversational flow where they now can talk about everything including his dating. Scott also eventually opened up to some current as well as former high school friends.

While living in Florida, Scott visited a couple gay dance clubs there with friends including the Parliament House before his mission and later, after his mission, the Pulse Night Club in Orlando--shortly before the mass shooting there that took 49 lives and wounded 53 more. He had moved to the Bronx with his sisters when it happened, and he remembers the devastation he felt, thinking of what had happened at a place where he remembers having a good time out with his friends. Before his mission, Scott told his therapist he hoped to one day work in a way where he could help other people who’ve walked similar paths. Now he had even more resolve.

Scott made a short film that received an award in Spain, and his mother and grandmother encouraged him to go and attend, which took him on a trip through Europe. There, he loved seeing how LGBTQ+ people could openly be themselves. When Scott returned to Florida, he faced a deep depression and dealt with suicidal tendencies as he considered how he could live his life in a church where he could never be with anyone, or leave the church he loved and be with someone but always feel guilty for leaving the church. His mom advised him to speak with his bishop, who recommended he return to the ARP meetings. At one meeting, Scott felt a strong impression that his days of being in the closet would soon be over, and he needed to start sharing his story. So, he did. Those early experiences largely went well, as he received support from family, friends, even his former seminary teacher who in turn shared things with him. Through sharing, Scott saw that many also opened up about their own experiences with having LGBTQ family members and friends, and their own encounters with suicidal ideation. 

In 2020, Scott joined PFLAG online and for the first time, in a zoom chat, told a room of strangers that he is gay. This was a “Wow, I’m saying it out loud” moment. After his mission, Scott had started his Scott Mena YouTube Channel to post his short films and projects. In 2017, he used it to introduce himself as Theater Guy, and there, he reviewed movies, books, and concerts as a likeable, relatable character. On June 1, 2021, Scott decided to use his Theater Guy persona to come out to the virtual world, saying he wanted to be there for his community and help all of God’s children feel comfortable being who they are. He was met with hundreds of comments of support, including many from church members.

A year ago, Scott was asked to be his ward’s mission leader. He felt good about accepting the calling but also felt he needed to share some of his journey about being gay over the pulpit. He expected the bishop to turn off the mic midstream, but “thankfully that didn’t happen.” When one member of the congregation later told him he felt his announcement was inappropriate, Scott took it as an opportunity to explain he had felt led by the spirit to say as much, even though he wasn’t sure why. The man seemed to soften at this.

As Scott has become more active with both his LGBTQ+ and LDS communities, he has experienced a variety of unique experiences. He went to Tallahassee two times, most recently to film and photograph the Drag Queen March and stand together with performers showing their support against bills targeting Drag shows. Prior to that, he went to support gender-affirming care legislation, and found a hot mic in front of his face as he was given 30 seconds to share his thoughts on the issue, pleading with the legislature to recognize that real people with unique needs are affected by their blanket proposals. He also has had the experience of inviting the missionaries serving in his area with him to help with the Deland Youth Social for their PRIDE Prom. He said when the elders walked in with their tags, some of his peers questioned, “Who brought them?” But in the end, it was a positive experience for all. Scott frequents drag shows and has become friends with many drag performers who have shown him that for the most part, drag is a longstanding artform and a chance for people with complicated backstories to express themselves artistically and find community. 

Recently, Scott himself was called up onstage to perform as a contestant in the Deland Pride pageant. Encouraged by his peers to compete after a year of filming such events for the organization, Scott agreed. He rallied the help of several friends (with backup dancer potential) and drew upon his numerous years of experience with production design and musical performance skills to put together a moving talent performance in which Scott reenacts his complex feelings as an LDS missionary for two years before trading in his tag for his “theater guy” costume and persona. He ends by sharing how he ultimately came to learn that God loves him for who he is and it’s best to let your true self shine. After his brave and authentic performances throughout the night, Scott was awarded first place and crowned Mr. Deland Pride. “It was a really special moment.” 

The next day, Scott went to church where he didn’t expect to be singled out for his achievement as he had kept posting to a minimum, but he was touched when his bishop’s wife, among others, came up and whispered “congrats.” For Scott Mena, life remains a complex balance between the gospel that he loves and the unique communities he now boldly embraces, but his favorite character to now perform is himself.    

THE DAVID DOYLE STORY

David Doyle has become a familiar name at the LDS-LGBTQ intersection. Some may have heard his poignant thoughts as a guest on a gamut of podcasts or at his Instagram site, @nerdygaymormon. Many have read his essay about how to better support the marginalized in Christian Kimball’s recent book, Living on the Inside of the Edge. And Lift and Love followers may recognize him as the facilitator of the Over 30 LGBTQ+ monthly support group. As a 52-year-old single gay man who serves as his Florida stake’s executive secretary, David appreciates that his unique status has granted him a plethora of interactions with general authorities—some after stake meetings, and some via invitation for David to meet them at church headquarters. While he doesn’t lead such introductions with his orientation, he says it doesn’t take long for it to come up when he’s typically asked about his lack of a wife and kids. And he doesn’t hold back when asked to share his thoughts about being asked to walk an extra difficult path in the church. David recognizes these interactions seem to be beneficial for both parties as he is able to share his unique perspective, and in turn often feels ministered to. He’s grateful that most with whom he speaks grant permission for him to share his notes from these “sacred conversations” in an effort to improve understanding.

David did not come out publicly until a 2017 blog post went viral that he now calls “the most important moment of my life.” In it, he shared that when he first came out to Elder Joaquin Costa, he was told, “Dear Brother, the church has much to offer you, and you have much to contribute to the church.” David decided one thing he could offer was his personal experience. While speaking to member of the Seventy, Elder Vern Stanfill, David explained how he is not able to complete the covenant path, and that has affected how he worships. He explained his observation that many in the church see Jesus as a secondary means to an end who allows them to be sealed to their spouse and see grandma again. But David shared, “For me, since I can’t be sealed and have those promises made to other members, I focus on Jesus. Seeking a relationship with Him first has been transformational for me. I also shared that queer people in the church hear a lot of negative, rejecting messages. We’re children of God and we deserve to feel hope and love and hear good news; that doesn’t happen enough.”

When Elder Kevin Hamilton asked David what he thinks his life and eternity will look like, David expressed that people seek answers to questions like that by coming to church, but queer people find far fewer answers. “I believe I’m included in God’s plan, but not so much the church’s version of that plan.” When David was then told that authority knew several people who “changed and no longer experience same-sex attraction,” David explained how he, too, had grown up being taught that if he had enough faith, God would change him. “I tried my very best, but my best was never good enough… I was always deficient, and it felt so defeating. I felt like if I couldn’t be good enough, then what was the point? That was very damaging. But fortunately, I got an answer to my prayer: ‘You are not broken’.”

David has always been impressed by the loving heart of Elder Dale Renlund, and how he invites his wife to join him at many speaking engagements--even turning the mic over to her entirely when the audience is predominately female. David is related to Sister Renlund, and at a recent lunch with the two when David asked their opinions on supporting LGBTQ friends and family members, Elder Renlund replied, “I can go to a gay wedding to show I love and support them. I’m not there to participate in that choice--I’m not marrying a man; he is. I’m going to show up as my authentic self, and I expect them to be their authentic self. I prefer to meet with people who are being authentic and not pretending to be someone they aren’t.”

Of all his conversations with general authorities, David says perhaps his favorite happened when one top church leader excitedly told him how a distraught father had approached the leader and said he didn’t know what to do when his daughter came out as a lesbian. The leader proudly told David he responded to the father by saying, “It’s going to be alright. I have a friend named David who taught me that love is what’s important. Keep loving her as you always have. She’s the one who has to make hard choices. Don’t make your relationship and love another difficult choice for her.”

While opening up to leaders and his very affirming stake president (who is the father of a gay son and hosts a bimonthly LGBTQ support group at his home) have been positive experiences, David says it hasn’t always been sunshine and rainbows. David’s parents met at BYU, married in the temple, and raised their seven kids in the church. His family moved often in David’s youth, forcing him to rely on family over friends as constants. While David sensed his attractions from a young age, he says his family never said anything supportive of gay people and tended to not talk about hard things. To keep his sense of safety intact, he stayed quiet, only confiding in a handful of people. 

When David finally came out publicly at age 46, some family members were immediately supportive, while others expressed more conditional love, saying that David’s continued church attendance would affect his affiliation with their individual families. David’s parents are supportive of his life in many ways, but this is still a subject they tend to avoid. David thinks this is probably because his mother sees his orientation as an upset to her vision of eternal families. Several of David’s nieces and nephews have engaged in conversations and asked him questions, especially as they have queer friends; and he loves to be there for them.

After earning his MBA from the University of Florida, David took as a as a research administrator at the University of South Florida in Tampa, where he has been for 18 years. David says, “It’s fun to work at a beautiful campus with a fight song, mascot, and team to cheer for,” and he likes knowing that what he does goes to the greater good of acquiring and spreading knowledge. But living in Florida, David has felt the political tension as of late as the governor has championed anti-LGBTQ legislation. He says, “The last two years, it’s felt like we’re moving backwards and many don’t feel safe… if we continue on this path (of stripping DEI programs and minimizing rights and protections), I worry what the future holds. I feel like we have to be on guard now.” David joined friends at a drag show recently, and for the first time, saw protestors outside, and observed his friends were checking out evacuation routes at the venue, just in case.  

David recognizes that the church can be a wonderful community for those who fit the mold but, “being a queer member is a hard space in which to exist.” He says this is why it took so long to come out and begin exploring his identity. “Before being out, I spent a lot of energy and time worrying about if I said or did this or that, would people pick up that I’m gay. But now I can choose clothes I actually like to wear or do activities I never would have considered before. I used to experience a lot of dissonance because of how differently I presented myself to others compared to how I viewed myself, but once I was out – that difference went away. I became more confident, and people seemed to notice. Also, now I know people like me for me, and that’s a huge relief and blessing. I used to worry that if people knew the real me, they would reject me, which meant even the friendships and love I had from others always felt tenuous. Being able to authentically be me and express my thoughts and feelings is so freeing.” David also values now being able to meet with health professionals to seek help for a variety of conditions he’s suffered over the years including low self-esteem, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, internalized homophobia, a social anxiety disorder, and an eating disorder. “Being out meant I could begin healing.” 

David takes seriously his role as an unofficial consultant to several ward leaders in his stake who have asked how they can be more inclusive and sensitive to the needs of LGBTQ members. When queer members contact David directly, he says, “I do my best to try to be the person I wish I had in my life when younger. I try to express God’s love for them, and encourage them in their path forward, whatever that looks like. Sometimes just having a person who truly knows what its like to be you is important.” David feels his stake’s LGBTQ support group is an exceptional strength and opportunity to commune with others who understand. The group includes gay members even in their 70s and 80s who have chosen to remain active in the church, and is an opportunity for the stake’s queer members to feel seen and supported and to find friends who understand their experience in a way few others do. 

When David was processing his internalized homophobia in therapy, he consulted with his stake president about the possibility of dating men while maintaining his calling and temple recommend. Together they went through the church handbook to be clear which lines, if crossed, could alter his church status. They determined that the same opportunities and limits extended to an unmarried straight couple apply to David. But with dating, David says he has often felt “like a teen in a man’s world because it’s not LDS-land here in Florida, so I tend to just stick to first and maybe second dates.” David says if he did find love one day, he would pursue it.

Through all this, David says, “I’ve become more and more certain the two great commandments are what’s really important in life. Being vulnerable and seen, binding hearts together and treasuring each other, building each other, being there for hard times – that’s the hard work. We need to see the humanity and divinity in each other. Zion is a community, and we need to extend the borders of our community to be welcoming and inclusive of all our Heavenly Parents’ children.” 

THE FRAZE FAMILY

Mell Fraze’s childhood home was one in which the Bible sat on the bookshelf beside the Dao De Jing, the Pearl of Great Price, and a myriad of philosophy books. Raised by a scientologist mom and a universalist dad who attended a “new agey Christian church,” she was instilled with the ideology that everyone has a different path in life, and it’s the individual’s job to ask the questions and do the research to find which path works for them. Mell was an apt audience. As a neurodivergent individual, her brain is wired to ask questions. Now as a mother of six kids (ages four to 16) with her seventh due in August, she likewise encourages her children to explore how when something’s not working, to consider what might fit better instead.

For Mell, the LDS church entered her orbit in 2007, when she chose to get baptized one month after she married Cliff, who was born and raised in the church in Modesto, CA. 15 years her senior, Cliff was raised at a time when church culture didn’t understand what to make of his family. His three siblings had several Cerebral Palsy and uninformed members often wondered “what sin of the parents brought this upon them.” Cliff was raised with traditional church beliefs, but his family was largely marginalized by their congregation. Mell’s peers asked how she could go from her free-thought upbringing to being Mormon, but Mell said nothing about her inherent belief system actually changed—she just learned a new vocabulary to identify her beliefs. She says, “I finally found the one Christian denomination I could feel comfortable in, that didn’t raise the hackles on my neck and wasn’t teaching something in opposition to my lived experiences.” Their union set the stage for raising their own kids.

The Fraze children are given room to grow and explore in their Sacramento home, where Mell has home schooled them since 2015. Every member of the Fraze household of eight is neurodivergent, with all of them having ADHD and several identifying on the autism spectrum. Mell and her husband Cliff found their children’s various needs, which are often also in opposition to each other, were not all able to be met in traditional school, so they’ve brought the laboratory home. This has resulted in their most significant time with peers taking place at church, which has also proven difficult for many of the children who identify on the neurodivergent and LGBTQIA. While the youngest two find Primary fun, church has proven a challenge for some of the older kids.

Evie, 16, (they/them) identifies as nonbinary, asexual, and panromantic and is not interested in dating and marriage. Liam (15) also does not currently wish to pursue dating. Frequent lessons about temple marriage have repelled them as it’s not something they see in their future. When leaders respond with phrases like, “When you grow up, you’ll feel it,” it further offsets the two and makes them feel misunderstood. As the Fraze’s 10-year-old son’s neurodivergent needs are also not able to be met in the church environment and Mell says “I’m unable to clone myself and be in every classroom where my kids need me,” Mell has found it difficult to make church work. For the past year, while Cliff shows up and fulfills his calling in the Sunday School presidency, Mell stays home with the kids who are most comfortable there. Home has also become the most comfortable place for Mell to feel authentic. She says, “I cannot show up on the defensive all the time, because then I’m not getting anything from church. And my child’s mental health is more important than their body being at church.” A big believer in autonomy and agency, Mell believes in letting her children choose whether attending church or serving missions and the like is what’s best for them. She let her kids choose whether getting baptized at age eight was the right choice for them, and some delayed that until they felt more ready.

The bishop in the Fraze’s ward had served as a high councilman prior where he was tasked with collecting helpful church resources for LGBTQIA families. At the time, he turned to the Frazes for resources, and they engaged in several hours of conversation. While Mell says her bishop has tried to be an ally, and some of the youth leaders are “great people who really try to show love and respect,” others don’t have a frame of reference for how to support kids who don’t fit the norms.

In the summer of 2022, with her bishop’s permission, Mell joined Evie on the stand during a fast and testimony meeting to share how the youth theme statements could be worded to be more inclusive of all gender identities. Evie had expressed to their parents a couple years prior how they felt different in regard to their assigned gender, and a felt a more gender-neutral identity fit them best. Mell supports her oldest in this, while also loving the “Gender is essential” phrase in the Family Proclamation that so many instead use to weaponize against people like Evie. Mell says she sees this idea of gender being essential, combined with Moses 3:7, to mean that everything is created in the spirit form first. “When we speak of bodies being perfected in the resurrection,” she asks, “doesn’t it make more sense that who you are as a spiritual being that your body would be changed to match your spirit, and not the other way around? In the resurrection, we don’t believe everyone’s going to be six feet tall, skinny, and blonde. We understand there will still be a diversity in perfected bodies. So why, when someone who experiences gender dysphoria and feels their body doesn’t fit their spiritual being, why would the spirit change to match the body instead of the other way around?”

Because her kids school at home, Mell shrugs off the current sound byte rhetoric of “LGBTQIA social contagion.” She says, “My kids aren’t hearing, ‘Oh I heard this and that and want to try it out.’ They’re coming to me saying, ‘I’m different and I don’t know why’.”

While their shared testimony bearing was an important moment for the two to honor this part of Evie’s reality, Mell breaks down as she describes how Evie, on the stand, witnessed how the members’ faces in the room turned from engaged smiles to stone-faced, disapproving looks. That, followed by an uncomfortable talk on the Proclamation shortly after, was the last time they attended. In the one year she has stayed home with Evie and younger children who need her, Mell says only three people from their ward have reached out to try to understand the difficulties her family faces with current church doctrine and policies. Hurtful comments have also been said, including one youth leader who said, “Satan is making kindergartners confused” and a primary teacher who told Mell, “Gays cause problems in society.” As such, Mell tries to speak up as much as she can about the extreme mental health duress and increased suicide rates that occur for kids on the LGBTQIA spectrum.

She says, “I would like to be able to stay in the church and be a voice of allyship and safety, but I’ve been called an apostate by a member of my ward for speaking up against rhetoric that’s harmful. I’ve also been told, ‘Sometimes you need to step away from the church,’ but I hate that alternative. When you point out that your choice is to live as a portion of yourself and feel hurt in the church, or to walk away to be able to live as a whole, authentic human being, the response people are conditioned to give is, ‘Don’t leave the church, try to stay, turn toward the Savior.’ But there’s no room or support to do that. I’ve taken to calling myself Schrodinger’s Mormon. Depending on who you ask, I’m either exactly what people hope members can be, or I’m a terrible apostate who should leave because if you don’t believe, why would you stay?” Mell says it goes back to people not understanding the breadth of the perspective she comes from, and the religion, anthropology, and various philosophies she studied as a youth that examine humans holistically. Mell stays in LDS parenting chat groups online, hoping she might be a light in the dark for someone in need, and hopes to help parents new in their journey. While Evie is considering resigning her church membership, Mell says, “They let me in; they’re going to have to kick me out!” of her membership.

“I already knew I was a divine, spiritual being before joining the church. I’m Christian; my philosophy is humanist and unconnected to any particular religion. I care about the environment, social justice, humanity – the same things I cared about before. I get closest to the Savior from listening to people’s lived experiences, and understanding their truths are just as valid as mine. All of that has prepared me for having queer kids, where other parents in the church might struggle. None of my spiritual identity depends on the church, which I recognize is different from my husband’s experience.” She acknowledges their marriage and co-parenting can be a difficult balance, but says, “He knew who I was before we married. He has no interest in changing me, but often doesn’t know how to deal with others’ responses to me being a fierce, vocal advocate for our children.” Mell, who identifies as queer herself, also recognizes she comes from a place of privilege, being in a perceptively cisgender-heterosexual temple marriage, a person “who happened to get lucky that my person is a cishet man.” She thus chooses to first present herself foremost as an ally in the LGBTIA space.

Of the changes she hopes to see in the church, Mell says, “People make choices all the time that slow the ‘in the Lord’s time’ phrase. They can make choices that speed the ‘in the lord’s time’ to be more inclusive and loving. There are stories of wards out there who have done this. And then there are wards who have sacrificed people because they were too afraid to change, to ask questions, to push boundaries.” This is where Mell hopes to make a difference. “It’s a horrible truth but as a church body, members are choosing to sacrifice their children for the sake of tradition. I absolutely refuse to sacrifice my kids because someone would rather follow tradition than the prophetic example we claim to follow of asking prayerfully and seeking inspiration.”

THE DEBRA OAKS COE STORY

This week’s family story is written by Debra Oaks Coe, who works as a volunteer on suicide prevention and is the founder of Of-Worth.com. Her husband Don Coe is a retired Army Officer, and the two are the parents of 5 children and 8 ½ grandchildren. Thank you, Debra, for sharing your story.

I always considered myself a good Latter-day Saint Mom who taught her children to “choose the right.” Among other things, I taught them not to drink, not to smoke, and not to be gay.

My husband, Don, has always had a strong sense of seeing everyone as deserving of the same respect, dignity, and compassion. It was important to him to treat everyone as equals. Over time he began reading about LGBTQ issues such as the higher suicide rates, the minors rejected by family, neighbors, and members of their church congregations, and the disproportionately high percentage of homeless minors that are LGBTQ, etc. He began to understand the huge need to include and love them.

He shared this information with me, and I started doing some of my own research. But we did not know anyone who was LGBTQ, nor did we know anyone with an LGBTQ family member so it was easy to stay uninvolved.

By the summer of 2014, Don felt strongly that both of us needed to reach out to the LGBTQ community simply because it was the right thing to do. It went with his strong belief that all are loved and valued by God. I had no interest in adding to the other things I was already busy with my master’s degree, helping our oldest son who was chronically ill, and in the process of getting my elderly parents moved out of their home and into assisted living care.

I did reluctantly agree to attend a documentary being shown at BYU’s film department about what it was like to be an openly gay student at BYU. It was my first exposure to hearing a gay person’s lived experience. That documentary was eye-opening to me and tore at my heartstrings. For the first time, I became aware of the numerous unique challenges they faced. Over the next several weeks we had the opportunity to hear several more personal stories of pain and agony because of how they were treated. Many had attempted suicide, and many had friends who had completed suicide.

While we had been reading peer-reviewed, scientific research on many aspects of being LGBTQ, these personal stories had the most powerful impact on us.

Soon we became involved with LGBTQ students at BYU and Utah Valley University. Their off-campus support group was comprised mainly of returned missionaries wanting to find their place in the church. We began hosting monthly dinners to provide better emotional support. Our conversations during those dinners and the gratitude we experienced confirmed the importance of treating all of God’s children with respect and love.

Not long after we had gotten involved, a woman told my husband, “If you don’t know anyone who is LGBTQ, it is because they don’t trust you enough to tell you.” Two months later, our youngest son came to us privately and said, “I can’t believe you are supporting me, and you don’t even know that I am gay.” Some parents suspect one of their children might be gay, but we did not. It was a complete surprise for both of us.

We had already educated ourselves enough to know that our initial reactions were critical. We knew not to blame him, not to blame ourselves, and not to blame each other. We spoke only of our love for him. We realized that he was the exact same outstanding son we had always loved and were proud of. As I hugged him, I felt his body trembling inside and recognized that I had hurt him as a young vulnerable teen – this very child I was given the responsibility to protect and nurture. I loved him more than my own life, yet my words had taught my son to hate himself.

Throughout his life, our son had done everything he could to be worthy of God’s love. His behavior was nearly perfect – unusually so. As a teenager, we called him “Mr. G-Rated” because of how careful he was with his viewing habits. When driving, he followed all the rules and would not drive even one mile over the speed limit no matter how late he was. He was like this in every aspect of his life.

I wish someone had told me years earlier that you cannot just teach your children not to be gay. It is not a choice. I wish I had always shown unconditional love toward LGBTQ people, been less judgmental, and reached out much sooner. I had no idea it was my own son I was hurting.

Although our son was out to our family, hardly anyone else knew he was gay and he remained a faithful member of the church.

In the summer of 2015, in reaction to the Supreme Court decision on same-sex marriage, things were said in our son’s ward and stake that went well beyond supporting “traditional marriage.”  Thoughtless, hurtful words that demonized LGBTQ people were said to our son and others. These were things none of us would have said directly to someone we knew was LGBTQ, especially not an active faithful member of the church.

Hoping for less hateful comments at church, our son finally moved to a new area to change the ward and stake he lived in. Sadly, it was no less painful and he realized that he need to protect his mental health. Our son then stopped attending church because of so many painful things being said in his ward and stake that vilified and marginalized LGBTQ people. He didn’t step away from the church--he was shoved out of the church by people who did not understand.

The biggest problem seemed to be people simply not being aware of all the church statements and information that has been provided. Our son’s experience, along with the experiences of the students we helped and some of our own experiences, caused us to start looking up all the positive quotes we could find from church leaders. We then started sharing those with parents and with our own local priesthood leaders. We’ve found these invaluable in helping Latter-day Saint families stay unified.

Fortunately, our stake president offered to start meeting with us periodically. He did not know our son was gay, but he did know that we reached out to the LGBTQ students from BYU and UVU. We cannot overstate how helpful these meetings with him were. It gave us needed support and a safe space to talk about the difficulties we faced. Following Church leaders and doctrine, our stake president worked to help our stake be more Christlike.
 
As mentioned earlier, our oldest son, Marshall, was chronically ill. He knew his time on earth was limited to only a few more years. He hoped to be worthy of the Celestial Kingdom. During this time, he was confused as to how best to react to his brother. The confusion increased in the spring of 2016 when our gay son announced his engagement to a man at a family dinner. After the announcement, Marshall stormed out of the room upset. Navigating this was truly a whirlwind of enormous velocity for our family.

Later that week, we met with our stake president and bishop. This was the first we told them that our son was gay. They both expressed great love for our son and the desire to help. Our stake president said he wanted to make sure our son knew that he would always be welcome in his home ward whenever he was visiting. I teared up when he followed that with, “How do we ever expect him to want to come to unto Christ if we can’t be Christlike to him now?”

Several of us consulted with our bishops and stake presidents and shared their positive counsel with Marshall, but nothing changed.

A few weeks later at stake conference, our stake president gave an exceptional talk based on the story of the sick man’s bed being lowered through the roof so Christ could heal him. He used the analogy of “tearing the roof off” to make room in our chapels for everyone since we all need the Savior’s healing power. 

Our visiting authority also gave a beautiful talk stating that God loves all His children, and we should, too. Afterward, I shook his hand and shared some of our story. He then took several minutes to give me positive counsel I knew would be helpful I went home and shared everything with Marshall.

The next Sunday was Mother’s Day and the whole family came for dinner. Marshall continued to stay distanced. But he must have thought about what I had shared. After dinner, his brother and his fiancée were the first to leave. Just as he was getting in his car, Marshall jumped up, bolted out the front door, and gave his brother a hug, telling him how much he loved him. Then he said, “You can’t leave without me hugging my new little brother,” and gave our son’s fiancé a big hug.  It was a unifying moment for all of us.

Exactly one week later, Marshall unexpectedly passed away from his chronic illness. That hug was the last moment he saw his youngest brother and his fiancé. The peace that last hug brought our family is immeasurable.

Our son was engaged for about a year. Over the next twelve months our stake presidency shared many messages of love from Jesus Christ’s teachings such as the parable of the Good Samaritan. These were done in both ward sacrament meetings and in stake conference. While seemingly small, this emphasis had a huge impact.

When our son did marry, we had a huge outpouring of love from our ward and stake leaders. A surprising number came to the wedding reception to express their love for our son. We are sure none of them thought gay marriage was acceptable in our doctrine, but they understood the importance of reaching out to our son and his husband by showing the Christlike love that we talk so much about. All who attended expressed their love for our family and made it one of our best experiences in the church. It drew us closer to our ward family and to Christ’s teachings.

Sadly, not everyone has such a positive experience. My husband and I long for the day that as members we first practice “loving one another.” We pray that we will all remember who our neighbor is just as in the parable of the Good Samaritan. Demonizing and marginalizing people, for any reason, are not part of our gospel and have never been part of Christ’s teachings.

I now work on suicide prevention, education, and helping people learn what it means to love your neighbor as yourself. I do this in several ways including writing articles and through my website of-worth.com.

I have also come to realize that there were better ways that I could have taught my children instead of just emphasizing all the things not to do such as smoking and drinking. I now see the importance of emphasizing the positive instead. I now focus on healthy living and that loving yourself and others is the most important part of mental, physical, and spiritual health.

THE SHARP FAMILY

trigger warning: suicide attempt

Jordon and Liz Sharp of St. George, UT, will never forget the day they stopped to pick fresh raspberries. It was a day that felt intentional, and in hindsight—inspired. A day that would ultimately affect the trajectory of their lives. At the time, Jordon had just been called as a young bishop for their ward while going to school to get his doctorate and working full time, while Liz was working part time as a registered nurse and raising their family. As the parents of then four young children, there were literally not enough hours in their day to check all the required boxes of duty. So, Liz was surprised at Jordon’s invitation to join him for a spontaneous and rare day date to go on a drive and hand deliver items to city leadership in the nearby town of Enterprise, UT. On their way back, they saw a sign advertising fresh raspberries and stopped to buy a flat. Upon arriving, the farmers shared that they could simply purchase the raspberries or pick their own. Per usual, Jordon was in a hurry and wanted to quickly buy the fruit and go, but Liz convinced him to pick up a basket and start picking, feeling this would be a peaceful and worthwhile experience to share together. Jordon begrudgingly complied. 

While walking through the rows, they got to know the farmers who owned the field and turned out to be the grandparents of the Sharps’ longtime neighbors, the Mitchells. The discussion quickly turned to the Mitchells’ teen daughter, also named Jordyn, who often worked with her grandparents on the farm. Jordyn (14 at the time) was a spunky, vibrant, “tomboy type” who grew up with the Sharp kids. It was a serendipitous meeting that would soon become significant. As soon as Jordon and Liz returned home, they were met in the kitchen by their distraught daughter Chloe and Jordyn’s sister, Jocelyn, who ran in and said that Jordyn had fallen in the garage—possibly from her skateboard. She was hurt and “there was blood everywhere.” Jordyn’s parents weren’t home, and the kids told Liz to bring her nursing bag.

Liz ran over and encountered a much more dire scene. Jordyn was unconscious from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the mouth with blood quickly pooling around her. Jordon secured the gun and removed the children from the scene while Liz aided Jordyn and called 911. As the ambulance took Jordyn, Liz stayed behind with the kids and Jordon met the family at the hospital. While kneeling and praying with the Sharp and Mitchell children in their living room, Liz remembers a peculiar, yet piercing thought entering her mind: “If this has anything to do with my church, we have a real problem that needs to be fixed.”

Reflecting on the day, Jordon recalls the evident hand of a loving Heavenly Father facilitating certain events: allowing them to know and appreciate Jordyn and her great spirit from a young age; meeting Jordyn’s extended family the day of the incident; enjoying an unexpected moment of peace with his wife right before the terrible episode; and most importantly, arriving home early from work, and placing the Mitchells’ bishop and a nurse first on the scene. Before heading back to surgery, there was a small window to offer Jordyn a priesthood blessing. Amid the chaos, Jordyn’s father asked Bishop Sharp to offer a blessing of healing. Jordon remembers sharing specific and powerful phrases directly from a loving Heavenly Father for Jordyn and her parents to hear, some of which did not make sense at the moment—that she would live, that she would fully recover, that she was made exactly as He intended her to be, and that she didn’t need to change. At the time, the Sharps didn’t realize Jordyn was a closeted gay youth and they personally “didn’t have a dog in the fight,” but this experience seared in their minds and hearts a desire to be a part of the change they wished to see in the church to prevent further tragedy. Sadly, this would not be the only suicide attempt of a loved one close to the Sharps stemming from being an LGBTQ member of the church and the feeling of not belonging.

Yet, this experience prepared the Sharps for the moment a few years later when their oldest son, Sam, who was 14 at the time, sent his parents a text that laid it all out: he was gay. He had shortly before tested the waters, telling his mom, “I have a friend who might be coming out, and she’s scared to talk to her parents.” Luckily, Liz replied that it would be a good thing for their family. Jordon says of Sam’s coming out, “We knew our son, so we completely understood his profound desire to do what is right, keep the rules, and never disappoint. We recognized if Sam was telling us this, it came from a deep, real, and honest place. It was something he would never have chosen for himself due to the perceived harm, judgment, and challenges it could cause. But his coming out has brought the pure love of Christ into our home in a way that nothing else could have.”

The Sharp family has experienced many difficult times including losing Liz’s mom unexpectedly, a niece being diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, the death of a nephew, another nephew suffering a traumatic brain injury, and suicide attempts by loved ones. However, Liz says what she loves most about the church is how their faith community shows up for families—providing service, delivering meals, and mourning and praying with those in need. But with Sam’s coming out, they quickly realized this experience would be different. It became clear that many members, despite their greatest intentions, did not know how to include LGBTQ people in God’s plan. Liz, a former Relief Society president, says, “We are told to love all people, but due to our church policies and traditions, many members feel it might be against our religion to fully embrace LGBTQ people in our lives. It is common for members to discuss if LGBTQ members should be allowed into our homes, if they can associate with our kids, or if we can attend LGBTQ weddings. But we have learned how embracing the LGBTQ community has greatly enhanced our life and strengthened our love for Christ’s Gospel.” 

Jordon says, “If we truly believe in the Golden Rule, everything we hold dear for ourselves—family, religion, healthcare, children, freedom—we are commanded to desire for all people, regardless of if we agree with them or not.”

Embracing their own growth in this and other areas, Jordon, who’s the VP of Marketing and Communication at Utah Tech University, says that through the recent rebranding of the university (formerly Dixie State University), they were able to witness the growth that comes from listening and striving to understand others’ experiences. “But the most important part,” Jordon says, “is to then believe the experiences and insights being shared. There is great power in realizing none of us has all the answers, but as we open our hearts and minds to other perspectives, our lives will be greatly enriched and blessed.” 

Jordon says, “When I found out Sam was gay, I first thought, ‘Is Sam sure about this? How can we make this work within the church? How can I change him to fit this box?’ But that didn’t work, and he quickly spiraled downward. It wasn’t until Sam truly opened his heart to me one night, that a loving Heavenly Father corrected me, speaking deep into my soul, saying: ‘Don’t do anything to place shame on my son. Don’t try to change him. This is who he is. This is how I made him.’ I realized when you try to change people or force them to bury who they are and their talents, they can’t multiply them. As we get to know each other through telling our stories, we find proximity and clarity. It expands our tent and allows us to learn.” Jordon continues, “Research shows that this next generation is rejecting religion, but not because they’re unrighteous or unspiritual. They are service-oriented, kind, and long for spirituality and community; but they refuse to make anyone a second-class citizen. They won’t do it. If the door is not open for all, they don’t want to walk through it.” 

The Sharps have had unique opportunities to share their experiences with church authorities at the highest level, and they feel they were met with a sincere desire to learn and to do better. But their most sincere request for church leaders is to simply give members permission to love our LGBTQ brothers and sisters and share that they belong. Liz says, “Currently, to belong in the church, LGBTQ people are required to change their very being in order to fit in. However, true belonging is coming as you are and knowing you are welcome just the same.” At the local level, the Sharps say they have felt immense support and compassion from their leadership, which they recognize is not the case for everyone. They credit this support, which includes their stake president wearing a rainbow pin to church, as the reason they have been able to continue to show up.

Although Sam was the kind of kid who got up early every Sunday to help dress and prepare the other kids for church, his cognitive dissonance between the church and his identity increased. Even after Sam came out, he served faithfully in his quorum leadership, ministered to his assigned families, and played the organ in Sacrament Meeting and Primary. Sadly, however, due to the constant focus on areas that didn’t apply to him, weren’t achievable for him, and didn’t include him, Sam began to experience panic attacks at church. After many years of attempting to find the balance between his spiritual and mental health at church, Sam met with his parents and shared that he would no longer be attending with them on Sundays. 

Although the Sharps expressed how the gospel and their faith community have been everything to them, they likewise understand it’s best for Sam to not attend a non-affirming space if he so chooses. Liz says, “And sadly, our other children (Chloe—15, Phoebe—12, Charles—8, and Annie--4) have become acutely cognizant that our family does not fit into the typical church box, causing discomfort for them as well.” Liz explains how Sam’s siblings look to him as a beacon for goodness and consider him the “glue” of their family. Liz continues, “What we hope for our other children, we hope for Sam. His desires are just as worthy as those of his straight siblings—to have a family, give back to the community, and embody honesty and integrity with who he is. Those are righteous desires that we don’t want him to stifle. We feel that’s what God wants for everyone. Our communities would thrive if we supported all people in their desires to grow, connect, and give back.” 

Jordon concurs, “If our family wants to feel love and goodness, we turn to Sam. If you were to tell one of my kids that Sam is broken or doesn’t qualify for certain blessings, their hearts and souls would reject that—they’d know it’s untrue. When we deny people love and companionship, which are the building blocks of humanity, it doesn’t help them fulfill the measure of their creation. Exiling people to a life alone doesn’t build their faith, doesn’t build the church, and doesn’t build society. I know the love I feel for my children, and I can only hope Heavenly Father’s love is much greater, and I am confident our Heavenly Parents desire love and connection for all of us.”

At 17 years old, Sam has now found a completely safe and loving environment at the Utah Arts Academy he attends, whose motto “You Belong” on a billboard screamed out “This is the place!” to his father when he first passed it on the freeway. Sam joins many peers in a positive and inviting atmosphere in which all types of kids are given space to thrive both academically and creatively as they are encouraged to be themselves. Jordon loves how the school asks, “Who are you? What talents do you bring to the table? Which tools can you add to the sandbox? It’s an experiment for how life should be—how every church should be. The church sandbox should be the most welcoming of all if we’re truly applying Christ’s teachings.” The Sharps believe that because Sam is accepted both at his school and in his family, he will reach his full potential. They regret that some of the brightest minds have been squashed “as we’ve forced them to hide and bury their talents.”

Having never been a part of a marginalized group themselves, Jordon says they’ve relished witnessing the love of the LGBTQ+ community, which “has been placed so far on the margins, that their capacity to love and accept others is like nothing we’ve ever experienced. I didn’t know that kind of love existed. It strips out all the things that don’t matter and gets to the root of what does, which is loving and supporting each other. Liz says, “I want people to know that I’m not sad that Sam is gay. I’m sad that the church and others are sad that Sam is gay. He wouldn’t be the person he is without these unique, God-given qualities.

As they have studied the New Testament in Sunday School this year, Jordon loves how one can apply almost any Jesus parable to turn LGBTQ discrimination on its head. “Christ shares these great examples of love, inclusion, and forgiveness to illustrate that He came to heal and love all, and ultimately, was killed in large part defending His radical form of inclusion. As we celebrate Pride month, I hope we can understand the idea of pride is to simply turn shame and exclusion into hope and belonging. When you know better, you do better, and now that we’ve met some of these (proverbial) women at the well—who are different and have something to teach us—our lives have been forever blessed and enriched.”  

THE CRUMP FAMILY

Kim Crump of Hooper, Utah was a foot soldier in the LDS faith she embraced as a youth. She attended seminary and many times took herself to church alone as a teen. Kim married her high school sweetheart in the Logan Temple while her parents stood outside, waiting. A few years later, they followed the tried-and-true path of bringing three children into the world who went to Primary every Sunday, were baptized at 8 years old, and did temple baptisms for the dead as soon as they turned 12. Kim and Justin Crump paid their tithing monthly, accepted every calling asked of them, and were diligent in holding FHE, family prayer, and doing genealogy. General conference weekend was a special event in the Crump household, complete with treat bags, blanket forts, and a countdown until the prophet would take the podium. Kim valued her testimony and the church’s positions on family, saying, “If there was a model of an active, strong LDS family out there, we were it.”

So during 2008, when Prop 8 was on the ballots and blowing up talk radio airwaves, Kim had an unexpected experience while sweeping the sidewalk one afternoon. Contemplating the pundit she had just heard saying, “What are we going to do about ‘the gays’? What are we going to do to protect marriage?”, she felt a clearly articulated voice in her mind speak to her heart the words, “Kim, what if someday you have a child who is gay? What will you do?” Kim stopped sweeping and stared at the sidewalk. After some thought, she came to the conclusion that of course she would go on loving them. That moment was added to her file box to be brought to remembrance later. 

Fast forward to December of 2018, when Kim’s middle child, Ben, who was 15 at the time, told his parents he was gay. At the time, they were heartbroken and full of worry. When Kim first sat down with Justin after Ben’s confession, she remembers the confused tears in her husband’s eyes as he talked of them not being a forever family anymore if Ben “pursued that path.” As Ben had not come out publicly yet, Kim found herself spiraling into a dark hole as she wrestled the news alone and plunged into a faith crisis. But she remembered that experience on the sidewalk, and the seed that was planted by the clear words whispered to her and the feeling to “just love them.” That experience helped her to understand Ben’s choice to walk away from the church because of his hurt and anger as members spoke of people like him as being “an abomination, broken, or less-than.” Kim also began to experience this hurt for herself and often found church meetings to be full of pain that often felt “like daggers to the heart.”

Nowadays, Kim is infinitely grateful for the experience of being Ben’s mother, and to have learned all that she has. She fully supports him in his path and rejoices with his happiness. She says she and Justin will eagerly welcome his future partner into their home much like Elder Christofferson’s parents unconditionally welcomed their son, Tom, and his partner to their home. Kim recognizes that she now feels a closeness and greater discipleship to Christ and a stronger faith in her Heavenly Parents but at the same time knows how church can be a place of continued hurt. Her testimony and beliefs have changed over the years and she has had to let go of things that she says just did not bring her or her family good fruits. She firmly believes that having Ben in their family is a gift that has allowed them to learn and love more than they ever felt possible. 

Kim has found many things to help her along her journey including community and support on the Facebook LGBTQ parent support site, “I’ll Walk With You,” where she joins thousands of other families in what they feel is a great work coming to pass. While Kim, Justin, and their youngest child, Kelsey—13, still attend church, their oldest child, Kaylee—22, has joined Ben in stepping away due to her feelings about the church’s discriminatory LGBTQ and patriarchal policies. Kim, who has volunteered at the Mama Dragons booth before at the SLC Pride March and offered mama hugs to kids who needed them, says, “Hate and fear are real and people resort to extremes. All we can do is advocate for our children, pray, and educate those in our neighborhoods, congregations, and families as we strive to be latter-day stone catchers.” 

While Kim waves a Pride flag near her sidewalk this month, she says going to church can be really hard. “I get treated differently. Some friends don’t talk to me anymore. I’ve made peace with it but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt me most days. If conversations go sideways in church classes, I’ll bring it back around. I always bear testimony that Ben is one of the greatest blessings in our lives, which usually leaves perplexed looks on members’ faces.”

Most important to Kim is that Ben knows how she feels and that she would choose him first if it came down to it. A few years ago, after reading the Trevor Project’s statistics on suicide (that children with at least one accepting family member are 40% less likely to die by suicide), Kim realized her own son was experiencing psychological turmoil and needed to know that he had her full support. “Once I let him know that, he completely did a 180.  The tormented Benjamin I was seeing, who wasn’t acting like the son I knew, melted away and he became himself again.” As Ben came back to life, Kim says he was able to have a wonderful high school experience as a near 4.0 student who excelled on the debate team. He found a tribe of supportive friends and attended his prom with another LGBTQ student. Kim was surprised but supportive as he chose to wear a dress and heels to the dance. Her Facebook post after helping him apply his make-up for prom included a proud picture along with the words, “I’ve come a long way.” 

Ben just finished his first year at the University of Utah and is excited to pursue his dream of becoming a lawyer. He loves shopping and often has more friends that are girls than guys.  He keeps his dating life on the downlow, but Kim says, “I’m very interested and want to hear about it when he’s ready to share.” She credits him as being one of the most thoughtful and loving people she knows, the type of kid who would sew her stuffed hearts as a child and who buys Valentine's gifts for all his friends and gets his Christmas shopping done in July—“always thinking of others.”

Because of her own history of being deeply entrenched in LDS doctrine and practices, Kim tends to understand when others are slower to learn or grasp what she’s experienced. Justin is on his own path with Ben. Even though his path looked different from Kim’s, she says he is coming along nicely, step by step. Kim says, “I think it can sometimes be harder for dads than moms when their sons come out, and I recognize that it may not be easy for them, and they just need grace and time.”  

Regarding her congregation, she says, “Sometimes people show up ready and expecting to mourn with me, but I don’t want them to feel sorry for me. I want them to know the amazing Ben that I know--that he’s a fantastic person and is going to do wonderful things. I’m so happy and proud to be his mom.” She recognizes that even five years ago, there weren’t the resources that are available now in the church and online to help people learn and understand. 

For parents in similar situations who may be struggling to process, Kim highly recommends seeking the help of a life coach. After hearing Jana Spangler on a podcast, she knew that’s what she needed—the help of someone affiliated with the church who could help her build a productive tool box to navigate a faith crisis. She says going through a faith crisis “is about as wanted as someone on an island wanting a tsunami to hit their town. No one wants it or searches for it, but it comes and shakes your world.”

Now Kim recognizes new meaning in the scripture, “A little child shall lead them.” She was pleasantly surprised at her youngest daughter’s response of acceptance and love to Ben coming out. After taking then 8-year-old Kelsey to a gay cousin’s wedding in 2018, Kelsey seemed surprised and a little disappointed to not see a dolled-up bride at the end of the aisle. This was a discussion that Kim was not ready to have but felt clearly it needed to happen.  She explained to Kelsey that sometimes two boys fall in love and decide to get married. Because of this discussion and experience, Kim was later able to more easily explain to Kelsey that Ben was also gay and that he might have a similar wedding like the one we went to previously.  But by then, Kelsey’s response was along the lines of, “Oh ok, what’s for breakfast?” Kim says, “My kids are leading me in ways I never imagined. Others might look and think, ‘That’s not from God’. But I think my kids are taking me by the hand and saying, ‘Mom, this is how you do this or that, this is how you love and accept people. I’m in debt to them for having patience with me on this journey and answering my questions. They know my heart and are so willing to help me along.”    

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.”