THE JEFF ANDERSEN STORY

His face is a familiar one for many in the LDS-LGTBQ+ space. Several may even consider Jeff Andersen of @latter.day.stonecatchers their pseudo-Sunday school teacher—you know, the one who meets you in the parking lot (via Instagram) on days your actual Sunday School teacher has taken the discussion to a place where it feels necessary for you to walk out. (Why are there so many days when it feels necessary to walk out?) This is a question Jeff Andersen understands. While he currently has no personal “skin in the game” in the form of an LGBTQ+ immediate family member that he’s aware of, Jeff has made it his mission to catch the stones hurled and offer solidarity to so many who long to hear they’re loved, just as they are.

For several years, Jeff and his brother have competed in adventure racing. An outdoors enthusiast, Jeff loves any type of nature retreat; but adventure races bring an entirely different kind of competition to the forest. Over 4-24 hours, competitors canoe, bike, and run through a massive wilderness area containing several checkpoints. A compass and paper map (which they typically receive just an hour before the event) are their only guides. Jeff says, “You can go any direction you want, and sometimes we have to bushwhack through crazy stuff to find the checkpoints. But you just go and do the best you can while enjoying the beautiful but sometimes harsh wilderness you’re in.” 

It's a metaphor Jeff has relied on as he’s turned to personal revelation in lieu of handbooks over the past six years since he stepped into the open ally space. Born and raised in “Happy Valley” as a straight, white, cisgender male, Jeff did all the things: he served a mission, attended BYU where he got a master’s degree in accounting, married his wife Jessica in the temple, and they are now the parents of three children. But sometimes, Jeff hears things from the pews that similarly prick other families. Sometimes, Jeff ends up in the parking lot for car church himself, providing comfort, solace, and always Jesus’ teachings in his trademark rainbow-hued bowtie—a wardrobe choice he started about one year ago to present himself as a safe place to any who may need it. 

Jeff’s faith expansion first occurred when a job transfer to London opened his mind to other faith traditions as he fell in love with cathedrals and saw people connecting with God all over the world in different ways. He recalls, “Their faith was as beautiful and valid to them as mine was to me.” He hadn’t thought much up until that point about how church could be a struggle for some; but after returning to live in Utah again, a gentleman who Jeff had noticed was always showing up to serve the ward in any way possible, spoke up in Sunday School. Jeff felt a distinct impression: “He is gay. You need to invite him over for dinner.” Jeff and Jessica did just that and while their young children went out to play, the man broke down crying with gratitude at the Andersens’ kindness. He shared that since his difficult recent divorce to a woman, he had been having a difficult time. He loved the church and wanted to be a part of it, but it felt so impossible because others felt he shouldn’t be there. Jeff said this admission was a first for him and it “just felt sooo… wrong.” Jeff resolved he needed to do something about this—that if someone “wanted to be with us at church participating, they should be able to.” 

This launched Jeff’s quest to understand more about the LGBTQ+ experience. He read and listened to everything he could get his hands on. The pandemic of 2020 resulted in a welcome break from church for Jeff and family, as did their subsequent move to Virginia, during which they lived with his brother’s family, a situation that necessitated they continue home church longer than most. This sacred time of focusing their spiritual study on inclusive and loving lessons did not make the return to church seem too appealing, but then Jeff and his brother received a unique call to teach an early morning seminary class together. At first, Jeff was hesitant, but having learned of the recent statistic that nearly 20% of LDS youth and YSA identify as LGBTQ+, Jeff felt uniquely called to be a stone catcher among this young audience. He says, “I had an overwhelming feeling that in a seminary class of 20, 4-5 would be LGBTQ+ and needing to know God loved them… I felt really good about being there for them.” Throughout the school year, Jeff and his brother subtly displayed inclusive art pieces including Tara and Sage’s “God is Love” and J. Kirk Richard’s “Friends at Church” to make the visual point that all were loved and included in their class. While there was a family who pulled their child from the class, there were others who lamented the brothers’ departure year-end when Jeff’s job situation made the calling impossible. Jeff says one student came up to him and thanked him for displaying the pictures they did because it was the first time the student ever felt Jesus loving them as they were. Jeff says while that broke his heart to hear that, he felt so grateful the individual trusted him with that information.

While there were 20 kids in that class, Jeff left feeling like there are tens of thousands in his world who needed to hear messages of inclusion. “The thought that anyone might think God wouldn’t love them because of who they were was unbearable to me,” he says. This is when Jeff started his popular Instagram site and podcast, @latter.day.stonecatchers. He admits, “It’s grown a lot more than I ever anticipated.” While Jeff and wife have received pushback in the largely conservative wards in which they’ve lived—being told their expressions of Pride flags and rainbows are “too political” or hearing that they shouldn’t be considered for certain callings, they have taken the time to express to their kids why Jeff wears his bowtie every week: that while doing so puts a target on them, and possibly even the assumption he is gay, but hopefully makes LGBTQ+ people feel included and loved. Once, while driving to the temple with his kids, they considered the matter and asked if they, too, could buy a rainbow bow tie or earrings, willing to take risks in order to represent what they feel is a loving gesture.

One Sunday, there were some things being said in Jeff’s sacrament meeting that he didn’t agree with, and he walked out—wanting to find somewhere where he could feel God’s love. He retired to his truck with his scripture bag, and pulled out the words of Christ. He remembered someone on a podcast saying that in their car is where they often experienced their church on Sundays. Jeff says he felt a unique connection to all of these people throughout the world, sitting in church parking lots, trying to feel God’s love in a place that for many, made it hard to feel that. This is when Jeff’s alternate Sunday school messages began, and have since proven a respite for those seeking Jesus’ stone catching ways and words. Jeff recognizes how some genuinely feel the impression from above that it’s okay not to go to church, but for those like him who feel called to keep trying because the Lord “has things for (us) to do,” Jeff is dedicated to his ministry.

Jeff says he’s surprised at the massive variety of people he now hears from—most being LGBTQ+ individuals or family members. Many left the church five or more years ago, but are still seeking messages from the Spirit or want a relationship with God but don’t feel wanted at church. Jeff especially credits the moms of LGBTQ+ kiddos, saying, “I honestly believe LGBTQ+ moms are going to change the church. While it’s not happening as fast as it should, you ladies are amazing.” Jeff attempts to post messages that can be shared by more progressive members to their more by-the-book friends, but recognizes that some posts do push boundaries and he laments that some of his thoughts have resulted in a loss of followers. He greatly appreciates when he hears from people who are not quite in a supportive mindset yet–but are trying.

Jeff is often asked, “Why do you stay?” His response: “This is where I feel God wants me to be. I don’t think it’s the right place for everybody, but through personal experiences, I know this is where God wants me to be. If I did not know that, I would have left.”

Jeff says, “I think we need to be gatherers and not gatekeepers. We need to trust in the divine diversity that’s so evident in God’s creation, and have faith that each of us has been created with a unique purpose that no one else could ever fully understand. Rather than doubting others, we need to see their divinity within and know that God loves them just as they are.” Jeff struggles to see why, “for some reason we’re always trying to leave someone out. We need to knock that off. It’s evident in scriptures and our own church history. We need to trust and believe in God when they say everyone’s in. I don’t understand why we feel we need to prevent people from participating in sacred spaces, whether chapels or temples. God wants them there.”

The Ence Family

In February of 2020, Andrew and Tiffany Ence of Stansbury Park, UT were preparing for a trip to Italy, where Andrew had served a mission for the LDS church. It was the first time they’d be leaving their three kids (Winter—now 20, Matthew—17, and AJ-13) for an extended period. Tiffany went downstairs one Sunday morning to see if they were ready for church, and to talk to her oldest about expectations while they were gone. Winter started crying and said, “I don’t want to go to church.” Then and there, Winter dropped the bombshell that they were bisexual. Winter begged Tiffany not to tell Andrew. Tiffany reassured Winter their dad would be more understanding than they thought, while silently fearing what Andrew might actually say about the situation. She delayed the conversation, but a few days before their flight to Italy, Andrew told his wife he’d seen a text on Winter’s phone that she should be aware of. Responding to a girl who’d texted, Winter replied, “I feel like I need to tell you—I know you like me, but I’m bisexual.” Tiffany looked at her husband with trepidation and said, “What do you think?” Andrew’s reply was a massive relief: “We just need to love him.” (Winter, who is nonbinary, now prefers they/them pronouns.)

Unsure of what their next steps should be, Tiffany simply asked Winter, who was 16 at the time, to wait until they turned 18 to fully express their true self.  She was terrified of what the response would be from their very conservative community. She says, “A lot of that had to do with our impression of how the church would respond.” 

Then the pandemic happened, and the whole world shut down.

Winter was an essential worker as a cashier at a grocery store and struggled having to deal with difficult people at work all day, then come home and only be with their family, no friends. They fell into a depression. It was around this time that Winter came out as pansexual, saying “I love everyone,” and changed their name from the birth name they’d been called for 17 years to their preferred name, Winter. Andrew says, “As much as I said previously ‘Let’s just love him,’ I found myself pushing back on this, thinking how hard it would be, personally, to make those changes. We argued with each other and against each other as a couple.” Tiffany concurs, “It took us awhile to realize we were overreacting.” But it was hard for them to hear the phrase “dead name” be used to identify what they prefer to call the “birth name” they’d given Winter. Tiffany says, “All our kids have family names. When you say ‘dead name,’ you’re talking about the name of my Grandpa William.”  It took Tiffany and Andrew some time to understand that Winter didn’t feel the same way about the name.

Tiffany now laughs when she hears people talk about how wonderful home church was during the pandemic. “For us, it was not fun. It was like pulling teeth, it was so hard to get our kids together.” Tiffany found herself inwardly struggling as well, unsure of whether she could support the church anymore, feeling that the church didn’t support her child. Tiffany had been raised by parents who she felt never chose her—her mom was a recovering addict, and her dad died by suicide. “When I became a mother, I knew I would always choose my children, no matter what,” she says. Andrew, too, was wondering if he needed to put some distance between himself and the church.  It was at this time, in the fall of 2020, that Andrew got called into a new bishopric. Tiffany says, “I felt like that was Jesus grabbing the back of my shirt and saying, ‘Nope, we’re going to keep you here’.” Andrew, too, was comforted by the bishop saying he was aware of what the Ences were going through at home and thought they would have valuable experiences to share. These feelings were confirmed quickly by multiple friends and neighbors who were also experiencing similar challenges.

Andrew recalls Winter’s last couple years of high school being rough, with them starting to push back on the typical rules parents place on teens.  It felt like every weekend was a battle with Winter.  Sundays during this time just didn’t rejuvenate them the way they once had. Andrew remembers one such Sunday during this time, where a friend on the high council greeted him and asked about his weekend. The friend saw through Andrew’s, “It’s fine,” response and recommended a Liahona article that had come out a year before in July of 2020 called “You Love, He Saves” by Krista Rogers Mortensen. 

Andrew and Tiffany say that article changed everything for them. They’d go on their nightly walks and talk about all they were experiencing and that they were in agreement of what to do but unsure how to do it. That article taught the concept that their only duty as parents was to love their children; it’s Christ the Savior who saves. Andrew says, “It changed our perspective. We didn’t have to stress anymore over them going or not going to church. We could just be in the right place to show love. That’s what has driven us since.” 

In her work life, Tiffany started to wear rainbow pins on her lanyard at the charter school where she taught, indicating she was a safe space. She freely shared her experiences about Winter to her coworkers.  After hearing some troubling comments about LGBTQ+ kids from teachers at her school, she asked if she could give a ten-minute presentation at a staff meeting to educate others about the trans and nonbinary community and preferred pronouns, and the importance of being open to just listening and not inserting your religious or political opinions. This opened a lot of conversations she feels have been productive.  One coworker, whose child had just come out as trans, was struggling because her husband had responded with an, “I will choose my temple recommend first.” The friend asked if the couples could go to dinner, and Tiffany’s friend was so relieved that Andrew was able to speak to her husband about how he had been processing everything in a more supportive way. The husband was able to learn what the Ences had learned – he just needed to love his child.

Tiffany now teaches first grade in a public school, and feels she has to be more subtle about her advocacy, but she still wears rainbow earrings and hair clips. Tiffany feels, “If you can’t be a safe space for all, that’s a sad thing as an educator. By all means, send those kids to me. Like if a kid has disabilities, you wouldn’t say, ‘That person just needs to learn how to talk or walk differently.’ Why would you make any negative comments about anyone on the margins?” As her county has lost more than a few LGBTQ+ kids to suicide, Tiffany feels strongly about speaking out and would love to turn that into a career.

Tiffany and some friends went to a presentation Ben Schilaty did at a library, and afterward, asked Ben if he’d come speak to their stake. He said he would as long as their stake president was on board. Tiffany feared it would be a flat out no from the stake president, but was surprised when he considered the prospect, saying in the seven years he had been in his role, no one had ever approached him about having a presentation like this before. After thinking about it, he said he’d like to start by having the Ences be the ones to share their experiences with the high council to gauge their feelings on the topic. The high council agreed, and the next step was for the Ences to present their story with the stake leadership at large.  Right before this plan was executed, the stake presidency was released, and a new stake president was called. Tiffany approached the new stake president a couple months ago to ask whether he was aware of the plan and was told to send an email. Every time he sees her, he says, “Waiting for your email, Sister Ence.” She still feels it’s an important endeavor to help educate people so families like theirs don’t feel alone the way they have, but hesitates at the process of putting herself out there, knowing the opposition she may encounter: “Even me five years ago would have judged me, ‘Well, she must not have been doing this with her kids…’ I used to think that way, too, but I’ve learned a lot.”

Reflecting on when Winter first came out, Tiffany says her mama bear heart just wanted to protect them. Winter had a few negative experiences at church and with a seminary teacher who said something, which led to them walking away. “They feel like an enemy of the church, that they are not wanted there.” But both Winter and their partner Jo, have expressed support of Tiffany and Andrew’s efforts to share their story and be there for others. Andrew has worn an “I’ll Walk With You” CTR-shaped pin every week to church for the last two years.  When he was asked to remove it once after the bishop received complaints, Andrew responded, “If this is sparking conversation, then that’s a good thing.” The Ences’ younger two sons have also stopped attending church. They say, “Sometimes we feel like we’ve failed as LDS parents; but we’re just going to love our kids.” A friend at church once told Tiffany, “Don’t worry, someday we’re going to get a letter in the mail about Winter’s mission call.” Tiffany says she thought, “You can live in that fantasy world, but I’m choosing to love my kid. I’ll support them whether this is a phase or not. I just hope they can look back and know ‘my parents loved me’.”

Andrew and Tiffany say Winter has always been a loving and loyal child who stands up for what they believe. When they were in elementary school, the Ences got a call that Winter had gotten into a playground brawl because a kid was making fun of their cousin. Andrew says, “I know it’s one of those experiences where I’m supposed to be upset, but I was so proud of Winter standing up for their cousin.” After school, Winter’s uncle rewarded them with a Gamestop run. Musically inclined, Winter’s fourth grade teacher taught them the viola which expanded when a middle school band teacher encouraged Winter to also learn the clarinet, saxophone, guitar, and banjo. Winter always had an easy time making friends, and Tiffany wonders if this is what made them first identify as pansexual, feeling they wanted to love everyone across the LGBTQ+ friend group in which they identified. 

The Ences recently attended the Gather conference and appreciated meeting other people who are in their same boat, and not just on social media. They were especially touched by Bree Borrowman’s presentation about what it takes to look in the mirror and get to a place where you like what you see. Andrew says, “To hear Bree’s experience and then to see the challenges the world puts on people just trying to do that.  They are just trying to be happy within themselves.  Four or five years ago, I might have thought that was silly, but now, I get it.” 

Reflecting on their experience and progress, Andrew and Tiffany say, “We think we understand the path and game we’re playing of ‘holding to the rod.’ But there are still potholes that come. You can still twist your ankle. We may have felt that the church couldn’t support us in our choice to love our child and who they are becoming; but now, we see our experiences have value and a purpose and that’s why we’re here. That we as parents in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints will love our children through the challenges and changes.”

THE JEAN & ALLISON MACKAY STORY

At 16, Jean MacKay is already an accomplished pianist, singer, and composer. He’s also a stage actor who played Mr. Macafee in Bye, Bye Birdie as well as the challenging role of Man in Chair in The Drowsy Chaperone. A serious academic, Jean has been taking college courses through ASU, and will graduate early from high school later this year. Intrigued by the bio-medical side of psychology, Jean hopes to become a forensic psychiatrist and study how various substances affect the brain to hopefully help rehabilitate people who have gone through the criminal justice system. 

Considering all these remarkable attributes, Jean (he/him) says he becomes frustrated with often being reduced to his identity as a trans person. “That’s a facet of me, but it’s not all of me. It’s okay to celebrate one’s identity—that’s fun, but try to see the person before you see the label.” 

Jean grew up in a family that moved around a lot. When asked about his home life as the oldest of six kids who homeschool, he smirks, “There’s a lot of screaming.” An early childhood illness kept Jean out of the first grade for an extended time, and he realized he preferred doing school independently. This kickstarted his online/charter educational path. As the MacKays would move for his father’s job, Jean says he often felt like an outsider navigating the social hierarchy of places like Utah and southern California, where his family now resides. But he says while his social development has perhaps been stunted, charter school has been worth the tradeoff.

For Jean, being trans was “never really a thing for me—I always just thought, ‘I’m a person’.” Jean first heard the word “trans” at age 10. When he looked it up, he thought, “Oh yeah, that’s me,” then didn’t think about it for awhile. Jean’s mother, Allison, said that even as a young child, Jean never gravitated toward baby dolls and playing house like their other children assigned female at birth. He always preferred to dress up like characters like Lightning McQueen, Indiana Jones, or Anikan and play with a Mickey Mouse doll. “He was never on the path of ‘I’m going to be a parent someday’.” But it wasn’t until puberty that Jean began to feel very uncomfortable in his body. Allison says that first he came out as aromantic, then nonbinary, then queer. “It’s a process. He’s still in process. I’m trying to hold space and be open for that to happen.” In the meantime, she marvels at his academic interests and ambition that so strongly juxtapose what she was most interested in at that age: “I was having way too much fun to want to graduate early,” she laughs.

Allison says that each time a new aspect of Jean’s identity comes up, like when he decided to change his name, she’s gone into her prayer closet and pleaded, “Show me how I can relate to this and understand. And every time I’m shown—oh yeah, this was always that way. I just imposed my belief system onto it. Or I just never thought of it that way, but it is true.” Allison says she’s now able to better navigate a journey of endless possibilities “because we let them be.” When Jean was younger, he cut off his really long hair to donate it to a foundation for leukemia. A few years ago, he chose to do the same; and this time for Allison, it felt like an important milestone, like, “I’m never going back to that little girl; I’m leaving her behind. It felt like layer after layer of cultural and familial expectations were removed.” 

Many members of the MacKay’s extended family first expressed that calling Jean by Jean seemed to come out of left field. But Allison would clarify, “No, Jean’s been doing this since he was eight. Jean’s always had issues with clothes. Now, he has his own style and everyone comments how much they love how Jean dresses.” She’s grateful he’s shed the black, baggy clothes that seemed to characterize his mood for awhile.

Jean says, “I used to be part of a church that was not necessarily accepting of people like me, and I didn’t like what puberty was doing to my body. Those two things made me spiral, and I was pretty depressed for about a year.” Now Jean is more comfortable expressing his identity as both trans and asexual. He says when his parents first gave him the traditional “sex talk,” he thought, “Yeah, I never want to do that.” Being asexual while being raised in the LDS church environment was “not the worst thing in the world because with the law of chastity, people were constantly telling you, ‘Don’t do this’,” says Jean. “But what bothered me was the expectation I had to get married and be a mother and have kids. Most of the stuff they taught focused on marriage and family, which are not bad things, but they’re not for me. This expectation was frustrating—I felt like I was being diminished. To have my worth identified by things I don’t identify with was not interesting to me.” Jean says the things that interest him most in life—career and music—are what he wishes to be the most identifying parts of his life. 

Allison embraces a set of beliefs and practices about the divine feminine and Godhead that differentiate her from many mainstream members of the LDS faith. Being verbal about this as well as some aspects of church history that troubled her led to her excommunication several years ago, which she now sees as a blessing because it gave Jean a safer place to land at home when he made it obvious the church didn’t work for him.  “Jean saw me going through that process publicly, and it allowed him to have a safer space to talk about it at home. So in some ways, I see how the experience I went through made it safer for Jean to leave – and I would take the flack for anyone needing to do that. Because there were months we didn’t know if Jean was going to be able to stay here (on earth), if I can even make that one thing easier, then that’s ok.”

Allison was raised in a traditional LDS home and has learned unique lessons with raising each of her kids. But regarding Jean, she says, “I’m so grateful God would soften my heart to this child so that he could teach me who he is, and open this sphere of possibilities of who we are as humans, because before, I wouldn’t look. I was just doing and believing what I was told. I wouldn’t look and ask for myself. That was so wrong. I am so grateful Jean was courageous enough to show me that, and preserve our relationship. And I know Jean will teach me so much for the rest of my life.” 

Jean’s father and some of his siblings still attend church, and Jean himself was expected to go until age 14 when the family realized it was in no one’s best interests to mandate that anymore. He had struggled to connect with many of the church milestones over the years, including at age 11, going to the St. Louis temple for the first time with his dad, which was not quite the experience he had anticipated it would be. But Jean says, “The thing that broke my shelf was going to seminary. I got it into my head that I could tear down all the things in my head by tearing down my seminary teachers and their classes. But I realized trying to tear down a religion by mercilessly tormenting seminary teachers isn’t going to help—or produce anything besides tormented seminary teachers. I don’t have a problem with people being a part of the church—it’s not a bad thing; it’s just not for me.”

Nowadays, Jean says he’s in remission from any religious PTSD he may have faced, but says spirituality isn’t really a part of his life anymore. While he considers the term “atheist” as useful shorthand and lets people know he’s not really interested in those discussions, he says he’s probably more agnostic, though he doesn’t love how that term essentially “puts him on the bench, and that’s not it.” Jean says, “What does matter is the things we do in this life and how we treat others.” Jean says he’d like religious people to know that the reason so many may perceive atheists as “angry” is perhaps misguided. “They’re not angry at you, the religious person, but angry at themselves. They feel tricked. Now that they see closer to their truth, they’re frustrated by harm they faced. They’re not trying to tear down your faith nor are they possessed by the devil, but frustrated because they don’t want others to be hurt anymore, the same way they have.” 

Regarding the current political landscape, Jean advises, “No amount of anti-trans legislation will stop people from being trans; but it is going to result in dead children. So if you’re really pro-family or pro-life, please stop it. We need to foster understanding. I get it, if you’re unaware of what being trans means, it can sound scary or confusing. But my advice would be to talk to trans people and see how and why they feel the way they do.” 

Upon reflecting on her experience getting to raise a child as unique and special as Jean, Allison advises, “Parents, set aside what you ‘know’ and listen – our kids are such amazing teachers. They are so smart.” Allison now believes Jean’s bravery might be paving the way as one of the oldest of 40 cousins. She wonders, “How many of those kids might one day say, ‘Ok, Jean did that; I can do this.’ And how many will sleep on our couch if their parents kick them out? Those who come after Jean won’t have to be alone. Jean can shine that light.”

THE LAUREN JONES STORY

Lauren Jones has spent much of her life running. “Running always felt like a safe place for me,” she says. “I was always the skinny kid who was never picked for other sports, but who could run fast. I never felt like I belonged with the boys. Once I started running, I no longer felt lost.” With a father in the military, high school was spent in Germany and then Norway where Lauren first signed up for a cross-country team. In a 2018 feature story on athleteally.org, she shared, “I fell in love with running because I’ve always been an independent person, and I love that running is all about doing my best as an individual.”

During that time, Lauren was struggling with her identity, and while she did not yet understand what being trans meant, she knew she felt more comfortable with the girls’ team. “I kept feeling like I wasn’t competing in the right category as a boy. My race performance was affected, because I was not racing as myself and instead with a mask I never wanted to wear.” Despite that, Lauren was fast enough to sign with New Mexico State University’s men’s team where she competed in the 5k, 8k, and 10k. Lauren has run six marathons, her fastest at 2 hours 52 minutes. She hopes to qualify for the Olympic trials one day.  

In college, Lauren struggled with her mental health, saying she found joy when winning races or doing well in school, but that she never felt truly happy. She began exploring her identity in secret, but was scared to come out because she wasn’t sure if or how she’d compete as a trans athlete. “The last thing I wanted was to lose access to the sport I loved.” Toward the end of her sophomore year, Lauren injured her knee around the same time her beloved dog passed away from cancer. Not being able to run, her depression worsened, and Lauren says she’d cry herself to sleep every night and considered ending her life. When she was finally able to run again, she summoned the courage to find community with the LGBTQ group on campus. After meeting a nice friend who listened to her story, Lauren finally realized, “Yes, this is me; I should do me.” She started to come out to her close friends, all of whom were supportive. Valuing her integrity as “an honest person above all else,” Lauren told her friends she would never race without knowing her hormone levels and making sure they were within the required range for trans athletes.

Lauren had grown up Catholic, and when she expressed her desire to transition to her parents, they were not supportive. Their response, “Go to church and pray about it,” turned her off from religion for a long time. Lauren says she suffered a lot of physical and emotional abuse and trauma in her development years, which likely affected her choice of career path. After studying counseling and minoring in history, Lauren completed her undergrad and moved to Arizona for grad school to work toward a masters in general counseling. There, she found a group of trans runners who helped her find confidence in her ability to compete “as who I truly am.” Lauren has found most competitive runners to be open-minded, saying, “They really don’t care too much about what one’s orientation is. Whenever there’s a competitive sector, more pressure exists on where one’s hormone levels stand.” During this time, ASU did a research project and documentary segment on Lauren, as one of the first competitive runners to transition. They found that her heartrate did indeed drop from circulating 140mL of blood to 80mL on testosterone blockers. (link to doc available in stories) This important study revealed much about trans athletes and how hormones affect performance. Of transitioning from male to female, Lauren says, “You lose so much strength and speed—you are not the same at all.”

Around 2019, Lauren was working as a counselor and had undergone HRT (hormone replacement therapy) for quite some time. Battling her eating disorder, Lauren was put into a residential treatment center where she met a Christian woman who she says, “didn’t understand LGBTQ, and I didn’t understand religion and why she’d read the Bible all the time in the common area, but we became friends. We’d wake up every morning and sing ‘Do You Want to Build a Snowman’ together and would laugh and joke so hard at the dinner table until the employees had to tell us to stop.” After they exited the program in 2020, the two stayed close friends, and Reagan invited Lauren to church. But when she told that church she’d like to be baptized, Lauren was told, “Well, you know what the Bible says about this and this…” She, “Okay, no.” 

After visiting the University of Utah for a doctor’s appointment for a gender-affirming surgery, Lauren fell in love with mountains similar to the ones she’d loved as a teen in Europe. She decided to move to Herriman, Utah in 2020. Lauren got a job working as a therapist in Logan, UT and had her surgery in 2021. Everywhere, her friends and coworkers would tell her about the LDS faith. “All the people I met were so nice and had similar values—they were kind, cared about others, wanted to help. They weren’t into cussing or substance abuse and all that, and they didn’t just go to church, but maintained what they learned in church. They weren’t hypocritical.” 

Lauren asked a physical therapist whether she should look into the church and requested some missionaries. Elders came and said they’d send sisters, but they never did. Finally, Lauren went on the church’s website and requested sister missionaries. Two came and Lauren is still friends with them today. “There was no talk of LGBTQ, they just handed me a book.” Lauren read the first few pages that night and thought it was just what she needed. After having a “deep talk about LGBTQ stuff” with the Relief Society president who Lauren loved, she says they “tried to get me into a building.” Lauren was too scared the first few times, and a job transfer moved her back to Arizona where she met with new sister missionaries. They invited her to be baptized, but church policies required Lauren (who had transitioned) meet with the mission president and bishop who would have to write the first presidency of the church a letter for approval for her to be baptized.

Lauren waited from January until June to hear back. “It was radio silence.” All that time, Lauren says she spent with her new “chosen family” (of close friends who love and treat her well), reading her Book of Mormon, going to church, eating Korean food, and listening to her beloved KPOP and Taylor Swift music. The wait became too much for Lauren’s mental health and she had to go to the hospital for a few days. There, the sister missionaries and Relief Society president visited her, and Lauren was touched by their desire to help. One day, Lauren got a text from the missionaries telling her to call them, they had some news: “Guess what, you’re going to be baptized!” Lauren didn’t want to wait any longer and chose to do it that Friday. She says, “It was really cool to know the prophet knows who I am and accepted me.” Lauren bought a white dress, and was baptized by the bishop, who she says was “a sweet older man” (who unfortunately has since passed away). He gave her a calling on the activities committee, and then met with the stake president to be able to get a patriarchal blessing. Lauren finds her blessing very helpful and affirming.

The church honored Lauren’s name and pronouns on their records when she was baptized. While she says she’d like to go through the temple and serve a mission, she says she doesn’t want to bring it up because of the anxiety she’d endure, not knowing if it’s even possible. “I had to wait six months just to be baptized. I think I know the answer to whether I could go inside, and it’s not upsetting to me because I feel church with friends and people, not with buildings. But I do like to drive to the Mesa temple grounds just to read, which is nice.” Of joining the YSA ward, Lauren says, “I knew this was my group of people and still do, but sometimes it’s really hard. I’d go every Sunday, to all the events with a group of friends. Everyone wants to hang out with me and go to lunch and get Swig. I can talk to anyone, I picked the right profession,” Lauren laughs. “It was hard having to wait, but in the end, it worked out and the prophet heard me, God heard me; they felt my testimony.” 

Lauren currently lives back in Las Cruces, New Mexico where she got a job working as a therapist with kids via telehealth. She is on the records in a family ward, where she is the first trans person in their ward. She wants a calling and hopes they will give her one soon. 

She often travels to Tempe, AZ where her “found family” and YSA friends live and is currently there recuperating. After a long morning run, Lauren suffered a heart attack a few weeks ago, so she is taking some time now to get healthy. While she was in the hospital for a week, she was again touched by the many LDS members who came and visited.  

If Lauren could go back and offer advice to her younger self, she’d say, “Don’t be afraid to be you; just be yourself. Try not to worry about what people think.” She reflects, “If I hadn’t been so worried about how transitioning would affect my running career, or worried about my parents’ reaction, I would have transitioned sooner. But also… things happen when they happen. I just want people to know me as a genuine, honest, loving, and kind person. I’m so grateful for all the friends I’ve had through all this. There were moments I wanted to give up, but life is better just being myself. I’m tired of hiding.”

THE ELLSWORTH FAMILY

(Content warning: suicidal ideation)

Gina Ellsworth’s first tip-off occurred when she and her daughter Lila were leaving to go to church. Lila’s phone connected through bluetooth to Gina’s car, subsequently streaming the “Questions from the Closet” podcast episode entitled “Am I Gay?” into the quiet space of their garage. Lila quickly fumbled to shut it off. Sensing her panic, Gina didn’t press. But Lila offered that her seminary teacher had recently recommended the class listen to such podcasts to try to have an open mind and understand different perspectives—something Gina found refreshing and “pretty cool.” But when Gina soon after emailed the seminary teacher to say as much, his “not sure exactly what you’re talking about?” response revealed that perhaps Lila had discovered this podcast on her own. 

Shortly after, Gina was again in her car leaving the house when once again Lila’s phone connected to the car while Lila was up in her room. This time, another podcast episode started playing that proved Lila had a vested interest in the LGBTQ space. Gina didn’t say anything to Lila, but later brought up the incident to her husband, Matt, who reminded his wife about the times in middle school when Lila had obsessed that if she phoned or invited her female friends over too often that they might think she liked them in a “different way” – a fear they found odd. As Lila struggled with anxiety and intrusive thoughts at the time, they just assumed this was her way of worrying too much. 

A few months later, Gina decided to make her and Lila’s upcoming road trip from their home in Gilbert, AZ to Salt Lake City, UT one in which they could really talk. Lila, who was 17 at the time, was being recruited to play ice hockey at the University of Utah and was excited to go meet the coaches with her mother. Gina was anticipating this alone time in the car to hopefully ease her 

daughter’s mind and reassure her that she was a safe space—with whatever might need sharing. Once on the long stretch of highway, Gina told Lila she wanted to ask her something. Lila had a look of fear in her eyes but said ok. Hesitantly, Gina asked “Are you gay?”

Lila was quiet for a moment, then her face turned bright red and tears filled her eyes. She said yes. Gina immediately reached for her hand and held onto her tightly. Gina told her how much she loved her and that love would never change. Lila had just finished her junior year of high school, but had planned to wait to tell her parents until she had left home for college. Gina was relieved she finally knew the truth, but also heartbroken to know that Lila had carried this all by herself for so many years. Gina says, “She had the mentality that if she did everything perfectly with the church, this would be taken away from her.” 

For the rest of the road trip, Gina and Lila were able to finally talk openly. When they got to Utah, Lila asked if they could go to Deseret Bookstore and get some books. They took turns reading Ben Schilaty’s and Charlie Bird’s first memoirs about LGBTQ inclusion. When Gina called her husband to confirm Lila’s news, he simply said, “Tell her I love her.” 

The following year, Lila’s senior year, was probably her hardest, Gina says, having to deal with conflicting views as her parents and only one extended family member knew she was gay—a relative Lila said her mom could tell because, “Being sweet, she wanted me to have some support.” Lila would go to seminary and church where several peers would say things about LGBTQ+ people that “only amplified how she was feeling and made it hard for her to feel good in her own skin.” Terrified what might happen if she revealed that their comments were directed at her, Lila remained quiet. Gina was also struggling at church and in their community with things people would say, and she often deliberated whether speaking up about how she really felt would subsequently out their daughter before she was ready. 

Lila asked her mother if she’d be okay with her dating, and Gina replied with support: “As long as they’re a good person and they respect you, then of course.” Matt was more quiet about things, which was sometimes perceived as a lack of support, but when he did have a heart to heart with Lila, he assured her again he loved her and was proud of who she is. 

During her sophomore to senior years of high school, Lila played on the only girls’ travel hockey team from Arizona, and they achieved their goal to make it to Nationals. Gina loved going on hockey trips with her.  It was a great bonding opportunity for the two of them and they had a blast together. “But then we’d come home and I’d be up all hours of the night with her as she’d curl up in the fetal position, sobbing that she’d rather be dead than gay. She was terrified people at school and church would find out who she was,” says Gina. “When we were on those trips, Lila had one focus and that was hockey. When we would come home, the reality of being gay would set in. Lila never attempted, but she was scared she’d hurt herself. Luckily, she’d reach out to me and talk about it.” On one particularly dark night right after coming home from an amazing hockey trip where Lila’s team qualified for Nationals, they were both exhausted after an especially long breakdown. Gina says, “I remember her crying and saying that she didn’t want to live anymore. That broke my heart to hear. I replied that ‘I could never be mad at you, but I would be so sad if you took your life, because I’d miss you so much’.” Lila replied, “Then I’m going to live for you this week.” Gina remembers feeling like, “That was a win. But that that’s all she felt she had to live for was so sad.” 

Attending church had been hard for Lila long before her parents knew she was gay. She especially felt her dad’s pressure to go, but they had no idea they were pushing her into an unsafe space. Gina says, “It was hard to see that in a place she should feel safe, she wasn’t.” Despite the off-putting comments of peers in seminary, during her senior year, the Ellsworths were given a gift by way of Lila’s first female seminary teacher--one who was remarkably helpful and understanding. Lila’s attendance had been pretty sparse, but Gina felt she could only tell the teacher that she just wasn’t doing well and struggling with some things. The teacher was concerned and expressed love for Lila. Lila felt prompted to tell her teacher that she was gay. The teacher helped Lila by switching her scripture buddy when her first one said too many hurtful comments, and then later helped facilitate Lila being able to complete many of the assignments online so she could graduate. This same teacher invited them to attend their first ALL Are Alike Unto God LGBTQ+-affirming conference in Arizona, something the teacher also attended and supported. Gina says, “It was amazing to be in a room with that many people striving for the same thing.” Lila wasn’t out and Gina asked her how she’d feel if they ran into someone they knew, to which she replied, “At least we’ll know they're a safe person.” They loved the conference, which overlapped with their stake conference that weekend, and Gina says, “I felt the spirit and love so much more at ALL than at the stake conference, where some of the talks at the Saturday adult session put me in tears. But at ALL, we all belonged.”

Lila was accepted at the U where she now plays on the women’s hockey team along with her girlfriend, who was also on her travel team in Arizona. While her girlfriend is not religious, she has attended the YSA ward and activities a few times in Salt Lake to support Lila so she doesn’t have to show up alone. Her girlfriend recently attended the Gather Conference with Lila. She has been a huge support to Lila on this difficult journey. Gina says, “It’s amazing that Lila is able to date and feel what it’s like to love somebody, but she still battles the shame that she’s ‘acting on it.’ Trying to stay affiliated with the church has been hard for her.” 

Since day one, Gina has found support through listening to the Listen, Learn and Love, Questions from the Closet, and Lift and Love podcasts, and more recently, she’s been touched that her husband has agreed to tune in here and there. This last year, he was eager to attend ALL with her and made it a priority. They’ve been able to join a quarterly parent group, where she has smiled with affection, listening to him proudly introduce them: “Hi, we’re Matt and Gina Ellsworth. We have a daughter who’s 19 and gay.” Gina is so grateful for this group where they can openly discuss their lives with people who understand both their painful and positive experiences. Too many other things have proven difficult for Gina, like most recently watching general conference where she had a hard time with some talks, but could find hope in others. Gina has also felt the need to pull back from some people to try to preserve her sense of safety and minimize the feelings that her family is being judged. “It’s hard to be in this space and explain it to those who haven’t—it’s hard to feel understood. It just feels very heavy and isolating.” 

Recently, Gina has decided to pull back from attending church. “It’s been really hard going and seeing things through a different lens now. Yet, I’ve gotten so close to God because I truly feel like I don’t have anyone. Even though my husband and I are on the same journey, we deal with it differently. He still goes, saying the gospel is what keeps him strong and reckoning he can 

support the church and his daughter. I feel a lot of sadness; I don’t know where Lila fits in all of it. I have the belief that when we’re done on earth, God will be gracious enough to know Lila’s heart and mine and things will work out in the end – but I have a hard time feeling it at church now.” 

Gina has had unique experiences of peace at the temple where she has had strong confirmation that Lila is perfectly made just the way she is. Overall, she recognizes her daughter’s coming out as a blessing, saying, “I do feel like my love for people in this space has expanded so much because of Lila. Stepping into these spaces with conferences, parent nights, and support groups, we’ve gotten to hear all walks of life speak of their experiences. We’re better for it. I have a lot of peace about who Lila is. I wish the rest of the world could have that love and peace. The most important thing I can do is love.”

THE BRYCE AND SARA COOK STORY

Bryce Cook is a name many in this space may recognize after having stumbled upon his 2017 landmark work, which can be found at mormonlgbtquestions.com. His comprehensive essay impressively details the history and evolution of LGBT policies in the LDS church and presents the rationale for a more inclusive path forward. His personal experience, along with that of his wife Sara, as the parents of not one but two gay sons, only lends to the family’s credibility on the topic.

Bryce and Sara are founding members of ALL (Arizona LDS LGBT) Friends and Family and co-directors of the annual “ALL Are Alike Unto God” conference held every April in Mesa, AZ, that has before included guest speakers such as Steve and Barb Young, Terryl and Fiona Givens, and Richard and Claudia Bushman. But when Bryce considers the parents they were two decades ago, the parents who were stunned in disbelief at their oldest son’s admission to them that he was gay, and sadly acknowledges that up to that point he was “homophobic,“ his story provides hope that all have the potential to evolve on this issue.

“Mom and Dad, I know this will come as a shock to you, but I am same-sex attracted,” were the words that first launched the Cooks on their journey. Penned in a letter by their oldest son, Trevor, who was a freshman at BYU in Provo at the time, Bryce and Sara were completely stunned. Bryce thought, “How could this be? We were a faithful Mormon family, we had regular family prayer and scripture study, we had a very loving relationship with all our six children. And how could this happen to Trevor, a young man as honest, upright and moral as any young man I knew? It just wasn’t possible!”

But as he kept reading, Bryce saw the great turmoil his son had endured for years—feelings of guilt, self-loathing, failure and shame. Bryce’s mind then clouded with the painful reality that their son had not felt he could trust his parents with this information sooner. “He wanted to bear the burden alone, to spare us the grief.” Trevor had been afraid to admit he was a “failure” as a son, to acknowledge he was “one of those awful gays” he had heard his father reference. Bryce admits that until that moment, he’d held very un-Christlike views toward gay people and had likely contributed to the silent agony his son had suffered for so long. Bryce reflects, “By the grace of God, he had not been driven to suicide, as too many gay LDS youth have.”

While the Cooks were initially shocked and saddened by their son’s news, they let him know that no matter what, they loved him. Bryce confesses that at the time, they secretly held the hope that somehow, some way, he might be able to change. “The change, however, occurred in us.” An immediate change was the Cooks’ attitudes about gay people, thanks to their deep dive study into scientific research, evolving statements by church leaders, and the numerous experiences of LDS gay men and women. Their conclusions were threefold: 1) Being gay is not a choice. 2) Sexual orientation doesn’t change. And 3) Being gay is not just about sex—any more than being heterosexual is just about sex.

As the Cooks became more familiar with their newfound knowledge, they became more comfortable with who Trevor was, and no longer felt a need to hope for things that were not meant to be. They watched in wonder as Trevor chose to serve an honorable mission and finish his studies at BYU, and then continue to live a closeted life for 11 years before he opened up to anyone outside of his parents. During that time, Trevor watched as countless roommates loved life, dating, and making out with girls while he silently struggled to understand their heteronormative affections, knowing it wouldn’t be fair to force a relationship with a woman. On a trip to China to visit Trevor where he was working at the time, Bryce and Sara listened as their son said, “Mom, Dad, I want the same thing you two have—a companion, love, a family. I want that with someone who I can love, and that’s what I intend to do.” While they expressed their support, on their nightly couple walks, Bryce and Sara continued to ruminate on the “why us? Why our family?”—recognizing those thoughts now as just what their culture had taught.

Finally, at the age of 26, Trevor felt ready to share his news with his siblings and extended family. They all gathered together at the appointed time, wondering what it was that Trevor wanted to tell them, and in such a formal way. Sara remembers noticing that their youngest son, Tanner (a recently returned missionary who was attending BYU Provo and who joined the gathering via Facetime), had a “deer in the headlights” look upon hearing Trevor’s big announcement. Within a few weeks, Tanner told his parents that he, too, was gay and only had the courage to tell them after seeing the family’s positive response to Trevor’s announcement. When asked if Trevor and Tanner have a special connection, Bryce says that actually, all six of their children (who range from ages 32-38 and include Carly, Lindsay, Tyler, and Kristen, as well as several in-laws and seven grandchildren) share a close bond. Most of the Cook kids live near their parents and still gather for weekly Sunday dinners, where Bryce does most of the cooking. The Cooks are eager to have their family grow with two new official members. Trevor is marrying his partner of eight years, Ben, this November, and Kristen is marrying her longtime boyfriend in Cancun next year. Tanner is working as a physician’s assistant.

After Trevor opened up to his family, and soon thereafter, to his YSA ward, Bryce and Sara, initially wanted to keep this personal family information on the down low—especially in their ward. But Bryce could not ignore the persistent, strong impression that they must use their voice and the knowledge they’d gained to help those in their church who didn’t have a voice and who were facing a similar situation. Frustrated with the lack of resources they’d been able to find, Bryce began to research and compile all he could. The couple did a big Facebook post in 2011 in which they “came out” as the parents of a gay son. They helped start the ALL Arizona support group, they attended LGBTQ conferences, worked for anti-discrimination legislation, and came to know and love hundreds of LGBTQ people both in and out of the church. After being immersed in this world for several years, Bryce kept thinking someone needed to write a thorough treatise, from an LDS perspective, of all the arguments for inclusion that could be made. He kept hoping and expecting that someone would do it, but as time kept passing without anything emerging, he decided to take on the task himself. And with that decision, a creative muse showed up that guided and inspired his thoughts and writing over the course of a year as he worked an hour or two each evening until he completed his work in 2017.

Before making the essay public, Bryce sent drafts to various LGBTQ friends and church leaders he knew to obtain their feedback. Although he believed the essay took a respectful and even-handed tone with respect to the church, he was concerned that some church leaders still might find it critical, and thus faced a possible risk of church discipline. However, the initial feedback was uniformly positive, with one progressive stake presidency member telling him, “We’ve been waiting for something like this!” The essay went live on the website in March 2017 and was also published in the summer 2017 edition of Dialogue, a Journal of Mormon Thought. The website and essay garnered lots of attention and positive feedback, with Bryce being asked for interviews on a number of Mormon-themed podcasts. But in addition to the positive responses, he learned that the essay had also come to the attention of the church’s highest leaders, some of whom were displeased with it and thought it required an opposing response. Bryce couldn’t help but wonder whether the October 2017 general conference talk of a certain apostle (who spoke pointedly on the family proclamation) was directed his way.

Over their many years in the church, the Cooks had served in most of their ward’s leadership positions and were looked up to as strong, faithful members. But as they continued to speak out on behalf of their LGBTQ family and friends, they began to sense an uneasiness from some of their fellow members (even though the Cooks were never confrontational or disrespectful of the church or those members). On one occasion, after Sara opened up to her visiting teaching companion (a member of the primary presidency and the wife of a stake presidency member), sharing her heartfelt concerns and questions about how church leadership was dealing with our LGBTQ members, Sara was quickly released from her primary teacher calling without any explanation. From other experiences like this, the Cooks began to feel more and more like they didn’t fit in, which ultimately led to their deciding to move out of their very politically and religiously conservative ward to a less-LDS-concentrated area with a little more diversity.

Like many families in their situation, the Cooks’ children have also had to grapple with their relationship with the church, with five of the six deciding to no longer participate. While Bryce and Sara’s relationship to the institutional church has evolved over the years (particularly after the 2015 exclusion policy), they enjoy their local ward and serving in Primary (where he’s the pianist and she’s a teacher).

As a forensic accountant who testifies as an expert witness on financial and economic issues, Bryce is grateful for what he’s learned from his other role as an advocate for LGBTQ rights and inclusion, and most especially for the many friends he and Sara have come to know and love. Although six years have passed since he published his groundbreaking essay, it still attracts new viewers every month and continues to be widely shared. When asked if he thinks the church might change its position on LGBTQ issues in the future, Bryce can only offer a “Who knows?” but says, “You’d think if the church is going to survive, both in terms of attracting new members and in retaining the younger generations, it will have to change at some point. Where would the church be now if there was no 1978 revelation that overturned the race-based ban on priesthood and temple? It would probably be a strange little sect that no one paid any attention to. If it wants to grow and remain relevant in the world, I think it will have to change with respect to both its position on LGBTQ issues and on giving women an equal voice in leadership.” But he doesn’t think anything will happen under the church’s current senior leadership.

Given where Bryce and Sara are in their lives with respect to the institutional church, they are no longer bothered by what happens in Salt Lake, except to the extent it hurts their fellow LGBTQ members and their families. For that reason, they still try to share their voice and do what they can to bring about positive change among the members. Despite the difficulties and challenges they faced in their early years as orthodox members with gay kids, they say they wouldn’t change a thing about how their life has unfolded. Bryce says their hearts and minds have expanded far beyond what would have ever been possible had they not embarked on this journey.

Bryce Cook’s essay can also be read here on the Lift+Love website

THE MEAGAN SKIDMORE STORY

Meagan Skidmore of has carved out her space in the hope and healing industry. With her podcast Beyond the Shadow of Doubt™ and work as a Life Transition Coach, she specializes in helping queer youth and their families of conservative faith backgrounds cultivate their inner authority and move forward with confidence, clarity, and compassion. As the mother of a trans masculine son, Meagan has a personal stake in the field and knows it is often difficult terrain.

Meagan comes from deeply rooted pioneer stock. Parley P. Pratt is her 3rd great maternal grandfather; paternal 3rd great grandmother, Jane Johnson Black, was a midwife who helped deliver eight or nine babies the night the Nauvoo saints were forced to cross the Mississippi, an event that triggered labor for many women. Meagan was baptized at eight, president of her Young Women’s classes, served a Spanish-speaking mission to Houston, attended BYU, and met her husband while getting her master’s degree in school counseling. After her husband, Micah, finished his second year of BYU Law School, an internship took them and their two-week-old, Abi out of state. A year later, he accepted a full-time offer.  AJ was born almost three years after Abi, and Meagan enjoyed staying home, raising her kids and staying active through 12 years of service on the PTA board.

When he was in the seventh grade, Meagan noticed AJ gravitated toward anime shows where the characters seemed ambiguous in gender. That year for Halloween, AJ requested his visiting grandmother sew him a gender-neutral character costume. Meagan didn’t want to make it a bigger deal than it was, but she continued to notice some curious clothing preferences and photos AJ would upload to the cloud. One day, Meagan saw a text to a friend that indicated her youngest (during a time where he was not yet aware of his trans identity) identified as lesbian. Meagan was in shock and shared it with her husband. She recalls this as the beginning of “a terrifying journey. I felt so lost, all I had to go on was what I had been taught. I had access to personal revelation from God, but it was really hard to give myself permission to feel okay about it when stuff would come up that seemed contradictory. It was a really confusing, painful time.”

Meagan says, “I had always felt compassionate for those who identified as LGBTQ+ and were faced with the reality of having to spend life alone without companionship. It didn’t sit well with me. It didn’t align inside. I remember thinking I’d never wish that on anyone. I’m someone who’s suffered from depression since my teens, and one of the antidotes to depression is companionship, relationships, intertwining your life with others who care. It sounded like a lonely, torturous existence to me.” As she prayed for guidance, Meagan remembers feeling the divine impression to “Just take it one day at a time. Or if you need to, one hour at a time. Or one minute at a time. That was the beginning of a completely different vantage point in both my spiritual and mental space.” 

That summer, Abi went away for three weeks to hike Philmont, and it was often just Meagan and AJ home alone at the house, working on a painting project for a bed for their loft. Meagan remembers having moments of being unable to catch her breath, so overcome with fear and panic. She says AJ also remembers this as a traumatic time in which he felt he couldn’t rely on his parents. Much of Meagan’s emotions came from the realization that this information put their family at risk, as they lived in a state with increasingly strict anti-LGBTQ+ laws. She did not know any other families with LGBTQ+ children and was unsure how to navigate it all in the Bible belt. Sure enough, a group text chain with AJ’s rec volleyball team which included most of his close friends became problematic after he announced his news, and felt the friends trickle away. Some close friends and families also made painful comments like, “We can still love them even if we don’t agree with their choices.” 

As AJ slipped further into the “othered” category, he really began to struggle with his mental health. About three weeks before school closed due to the pandemic, when AJ was in 8th grade, Meagan got a call from the school counselor asking her to pick AJ up. Some texts had been turned in to the assistant principal that revealed AJ had shared some self-harming thoughts with a classmate. He would need to seek professional help before being able to return to school. Luckily, Meagan was close with her own therapist and they were able to get him in for a session that same day. That relationship continued throughout the pandemic via telehealth, which Meagan credits as being a life-line. She is also grateful for the quiet of the pandemic where they could process in relative privacy. She could find solace and have one-on-one time with AJ since salons were closed, so she’d often dye his hair and they’d talk. 

One day, Meagan learned AJ had been self-harming when he refused to wear a short-sleeved shirt. Once school opened up again, AJ decided to remain virtual, to better monitor his mental health. In spite of this, the rest of his high school experience was difficult. He especially struggled after his older sister went to college. This was right as AJ officially came out as trans male, at the start of his sophomore year. While Meagan had noticed signs in his dress and appearance, this time she waited for him to share the words. 

Meagan says a gradual name and pronoun transition helped ease her in to their new reality. But several of AJ’s teachers and classmates refused to honor his new name and he/him pronouns. Meagan’s heart dropped when she received a text from AJ that said, “How do you share you really feel like a boy on the inside?” Meagan says, “I KNEW to my core, though I didn’t understand what this all meant and felt like, but I knew my kid wasn’t making this up.” The Skidmores continued to work with the school counselor, and it was decided AJ should graduate a year early. AJ was more than ready to be done with high school—and the church, as was his sister Abi, who said, “I can no longer associate with an institution that continues to hurt the people I love,” referring to AJ as well as several queer relatives. After a rocky few years, Meagan feels so grateful AJ earned his diploma, and has opted to have a little more time at home this fall as he’s still 17. He will begin college in January.

During the beginning of the pandemic, Meagan discovered life coaching through Jody Moore’s program, and began certification through the Life Coach School in September of 2020. This became a mental health lifeline for her. She created her own LLC in spring of ’21, and it’s been growing since. She has found her niche working with LGBTQ+ families of a conservative faith background, both in her area and online. In a highly conservative area, with laws that now mandate reporting for any child under 18 who begins the transitioning process, Meagan has her work cut out for her. She says several of the Christian churches in her area advise parents to kick their kids out if they come out. As such, many people do not talk openly about being queer. Even some allies are afraid to post a bumper sticker or wave a flag. 

Meagan volunteers and now considers herself a “hope dealer,” donating her 6-week course program to kids who need the support. She also works with the Cathedral of Hope (the self-described “largest affirming church in the world”) which is led by gay pastor Dr. Rev. Neil Thomas who was raised LDS in the UK and also made his way to Texas, feeling called to the ministry. Through these links, Meagan works with families with the goal of reaching a mutual understanding so the kid can move back home, and the parents can feel good about loving and supporting both self and child. “That doesn’t mean there isn’t a lot of work and mindset shifts needed; there’s often some grieving and mourning to do,” she says. “I’m doing my best to navigate a nebulous space. I’ve learned through my own experience and study that it’s easier to lean into uncertainty and leave it up to God to fill in blanks I used to try to fill in. I’ve learned how to better separate religion from spirituality.” 

For Meagan, God can be found in so very many spaces. She feels religion/church is a manmade construct that helps people grow closer to God and their own spirituality within a community where ideally one feels belonging.  She views her journey as more of a pivot than a faith crisis that she now actually labels as a faith expansion, saying, “I deeply feel we have so much more we have yet to know and understand about God and this world. I go back to the two great commandments—to love God and love our fellow man, like ourselves.  This is impossible if we do not first love ourselves. When I lead with love, I can feel good about the steps I take, knowing my intentions are in the best place. This journey has forced me to stop looking on the external to interpret, classify and label…all the things we use to define ourselves, and instead to see the heart. I like to say I’ve learned how to put on my eternal eyes and see people as God would—as the blessing they are to self, their family, community, the world. I would never trade where I’m at.” 

One thing Meagan has learned to be aware of through her evolution is to identify the emotions driving her thoughts and behaviors. “If it’s fear, that’s an immediate red flag for me to stop, step back, and assess what’s going on in each situation. I don’t have to rush to figure out all the answers. I break it down to figure out what’s going on right now and how can I see it through a more loving God-lens. I’ve learned more about the nature of God and it’s not the hellfire damnation god so many grow up believing in. God is so much more all-loving than I ever realized.” 

She continues, “I used to think I was a good Christian and knew how to love and not judge. I served my brains out, was a self-defined member missionary, I tried to do all the things… I’ve learned living a Christlike life has a lot less to do with all that than I thought. Very little, actually. Living a Christlike life is just loving. Love is an all-encompassing God-energy. It’s what we’re all striving to find and connect with, but so many things in this mortal life get in the way. On this road less travelled, my path has brought me closer to knowing and understanding the Savior than anything else. Scripture says he was often alone and acquainted with grief. I get that.” 

THE GEARHART FAMILY

(Content warning: references to the Club Q+ mass shooting and advocacy for victims of sexual assault and violence)

On Sundays, Jolene Gearhart of Colorado Springs is typically on call for a job that demands she sit with people undergoing unspeakable trauma—people who have found themselves suffering not in a church foyer, but in an emergency room or shelter or police car. As a volunteer victims’ advocate, it is Jolene’s duty to hold the hand of those who are often experiencing their very worst day—assuming they let her. As many of Jolene’s clients have just been rescued from domestic violence or sexual assault, physical touch is often the last thing they want. But Jolene makes it her mission to at least seek a moment where she can look them in the eye long enough to say, “This is hard work, but you are worth it. You deserve freedom, happiness, safety.” Jolene believes, “I can’t change the world, but I can try to give people hope.”

Last November, Jolene was called onto the scene of a horrific tragedy that hit too close to home. There had been a mass shooting at Colorado Springs’ only LGBTQ+ nightspot, Club Q, the night before Transgender Awareness Day. Three emergency rooms were swarming with people hoping to identify their loved ones on the lists of survivors. Jolene steeled herself to provide support to numerous families asking the toughest of questions. One family was unsure how to answer whether they were looking for a Jane Doe or a John Doe as their child identified as transgender—which ended up being an important distinguishing marker that night. Unfortunately, that family, along with four others, received the worst news—among the 24 injured by gunfire, their loved ones would not be coming home. It was a long week for Jolene as she worked alongside the care staff, hoping to do whatever she could to help her community heal. As a victims’ advocate, and the mother of an LGBTQ+ child, Jolene was uniquely qualified to serve in that unpleasant space—a role she says has only brought her closer to her Savior.

The Jolene Gearhart of six years ago might not recognize who she is today—an evolved figure of strength who works as an ally and advocate in spaces she once found foreign and uncomfortable. But when she looks back on all she’s learned since her oldest daughter came out, Jolene recognizes how far one can come to inhabit a space of love that also demands action. Just as she serves as a victims’ advocate, Jolene has taken it upon herself to speak out about how we can better love and serve the LGBTQ+ community--something she says she initially struggled to do, having been raised in an extremely by-the-book, LDS family.

Jolene and Thomas Gearhart’s oldest daughter, Alli (almost 24), broke the expectations of her conservative upbringing by choosing to not attend a church school after high school. Instead, she flew over Utah and further west to Laguna Beach, California, where she enrolled in the Laguna College of Art and Design. While Thomas was supportive of whatever school Alli chose, Jolene was anxious about who she might be surrounded by while taking comfort that at least, she’d have relatives nearby. Alli’s parents said they were thrilled to see her seemingly thriving in college. They were much less thrilled when Alli called them during spring break of her freshman year to tell her parents, “I think I’m bi.”  (Alli now identifies as lesbian.) Jolene says Thomas was very calm about it, but that she “cried and cried; I spent a week in bed. I definitely said some things I wish I hadn’t—I know so much more now.”

Jolene spent those initial moments reflecting on her daughter’s high school years—chalking up her lack of dating interest to the fact there were few LDS options, and anything else would defy Alli’s strict “only date LDS members” upbringing. But Jolene considered how Alli also hadn’t seem very interested in church dances, or girls’ camp. Her mother had always figured that was because she was a little more introverted. Now, this same daughter was telling them she’d seen a movie she really identified with that had helped her come to terms with her orientation.

Jolene says, “I felt like I was grieving like a kid had died. It was hard for me to navigate.” Alli had told her siblings (Claire—now 21 and married to Brandyn, Ainsley—20, and Rainier—15) her news six months prior to telling her parents, and the kids all reacted well and were supportive of Alli, though they were upset at the tumultuous homelife they experienced navigating their parents’ emotions at the time. But her siblings were the first to say they’d understand if Alli left the church if it caused too much pain. Jolene says, “We asked dumb questions about LGBTQ issues, and wondered if her coming out might be because she was hanging out with other LGBTQ people—myths we had trained ourselves to believe to get away from accepting the community.” But as their new reality settled in, Jolene decided she needed to learn a little more, and began to look for resources. She says she remembers feeling like “a dirty kid” buying Richard Ostler’s book, Listen, Learn and Love. But as she read it, something sank in—the feeling that Ostler’s approach of listening, learning, and loving made common sense. Now it’s a book she recommends wholeheartedly and often.

When she asked her daughter why she didn’t say something sooner, Alli told her that due to the faith in which she’d been raised, it was all so off their radar, she never even thought she could know or explore something different than a heterosexual relationship. This is why Jolene tries to be an outspoken ally now and openly tell their story so hopefully, other LGBTQ+ kids will be able to learn and grow and process this part of them in their homes, under their parents’ tutelages, and not “after they’ve moved 800 miles away. Why are we sending kids out into the world to figure these things out? Adulthood is hard enough. I would have loved to have Alli by my side, and not having to figure this out on her own.” Jolene appreciates that in her former ward, there was a gay young man who the bishop took under his wing and designated as a quorum leader, embracing his authenticity. It’s sad to her Alli didn’t have a similar experience.

After facing a few tough years, Jolene is so proud that Alli has since graduated from college and is now working a “grown up job and can pay all her bills and live on her own. I never thought I’d be so thrilled to have a kid working, but I am. I love that she’s happy and busy working.” Alli tried to attend the singles ward near her college for a few months, but after a particularly painful talk on the Family Proclamation “broke her,” she ran out of the building crying and hasn’t been back since. Jolene says she’s fine with this now, but it saddens her how Alli’s at times struggled alone in California to figure things out. While shunning the idea of a loving God and sometimes struggling to share the interests of her family, Alli has joked she’s the “black sheep” of the family, having developed an affinity for crystals, tattoos, and is independently spiritual. Jolene says, “To me, to not believe in a Savior and Redeemer in life is heart-shattering and I worry. But she has a good head on her shoulders.”

Jolene says that now that Alli’s out of the church, she still recalls how “we judge people and what we think of people like her. Alli rightfully still fears that people discount what she has to say because she presumably ‘is following Satan.’ Alli grew up in it and says she values it, though it’s not for her.” Alli had always maintained a close relationship with her sister Ainsley, but things became a little awkward when Ainsley prepared to leave to serve an LDS mission to Mongolia in June of 2021. Jolene also felt a “ton of anxiety and conflicting feelings about Ainsley going. I’ve questioned why I’m sending a daughter out—though it was her choice—to preach and share the gospel when we now have very conflicting ideas? We say one thing and do another.”

Jolene found much comfort, though, and “felt seen by God” when Ainsley was called to a nametag-free mission to Mongolia where, rather than a proselytizing one, her mission emphasizes Christlike love through service. Ainsley is currently teaching English to kids and can only “missionary” if someone asks. Ainsley spends a couple hours each P-day on Facebook messenger with her mom and sisters, a time the women cherish. But church-centered experiences like these can still be hard for Alli—like when Claire recently got married in the temple and she had to wait outside. Jolene is very grateful more couples like Claire and Brandyn now prioritize civil wedding ceremonies in addition to temple services that can feel exclusive. She loves how both Alli and their son (who was 12 at the time) got to stand up and watch their sister exchange vows.

Claiming she “wears my emotions on my sleeve,” Jolene has found much comfort in talking with other mothers in this space about the best ways to support their LGBTQ kiddos. In the beginning of her journey, she frequented the Lift & Love online support meetings and still regularly recommends them to other friends and most recently a family member so they can join in community with others from across the nation and “be honest about how we’re feeling. In this space, we can find our way, preserve our authenticity, stay in our religion if we choose, and really help educate others so our kids can be who they are.” Jolene also reveres an experience she had visiting the St. George Encircle house with friends on a rainbow moms retreat and feels church should be more like that—a place where people can “be honest about who they are, bear each other’s burdens, and mourn with those who mourn. You can skip over the fluff and really connect on a deeper level in this space. People respond so much more to real experiences.”

Jolene has seen how being Alli’s mom has brought her much closer to the Savior and what really matters to her, which no longer includes the do’s and don’ts of shame-inducing outward behaviors like “overemphasizing dressing modestly and whether or not you smoke or drink coffee or tea”—practices that may just be a part of one’s upbringing or culture, and policies she has observed that in her past serving as a Relief Society president have led friends she’s deeply admired away from a church that should have been there to embrace and love them fully. “What kills me is we’re denying good people temple blessings because they smoke.”

While continuing to volunteer as a victims’ advocate, Jolene is concurrently working to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker. After learning she could study religious trauma and work as a therapist on a sliding pay scale so all could afford her services at places like Encircle, she resolved, “This is one thing I can do to help out in this space.” Jolene recently worked with a beautiful young woman Alli’s age who is an unhoused drug addict who’d lost custody of her young daughter. When Jolene handed the young woman a blanket, the woman looked at her and said, “You’re weirding me out because you’re being so nice to me.” Jolene says the woman had been raised on the streets and “couldn’t take an ounce of kindness.” Jolene realized that, for so many in privileged circumstances with support systems, how “blessed and ignorant we can be as to what’s really going on out there. Functioning people with healthy families are the minority.” Jolene says, “Both in respect to my job and institutions like church, I often wonder, how many do we exclude because they don’t meet our criteria? They don’t talk like us or do what we want them to, so we push them away. We can’t change the world, but I can try to give people hope and bring them in.”

Jolene often thinks of how her daughter must feel, being pushed out of a system that has no place for her. It’s a similar feeling to when she holds the hands of some of the victims she works with when authorities come in and force them to “answer ridiculous questions” as part of their investigation, shortly after a survivor has suffered assault. Jolene says, “The Savior wants us all to be victims’ advocates. We may not all have huge traumas, and I hope we don’t; but the Savior is there for all. He wants us to be there for each other.”

THE AUSTON FAMILY STORY

We are thrilled to introduce Darice Auston as our new Lift & Love Family Stories Coordinator and we are excited for her to share her story with us.

Darice and husband Darryl lead with love, and prioritize making their home a safe space for their girls (Bazel—20, Scout—17, Harper—15, and Sawyer—11) and all who enter there. With a professional background in communications and PR, Darice delights in connecting with people. When it comes to her passion of creating affirming environments for kids like her own, Darice is a pioneer armed with resources and personal experience, who works diligently to make her area of Colorado a more inclusive space.  

In middle school, Darice and Darryl observed that Bazel gravitated toward an LGBTQ friend group. They let Bazel know, “Hey, if you’re afraid to tell us this is where you belong, don’t be. We completely love and support you.” Bazel assured them this was just her friend group, not her identity. It wasn’t until after high school graduation that Bazel told her parents she was bi, which Darice says she understands can often be considered a “gateway identity,” for kids to test the waters. At this same time, in May of 2021, Darice was called to be her stake’s Relief Society president, which she feels was no coincidence. “It felt very much like God’s timing--that there are others also on this journey who need me to advocate for them through my service in this capacity. I felt such a strong call to reach out to those on the edge and champion belonging.”

That October, Darice and Darryl got a text from Bazel saying, “I’m trans and I want to go by she/her pronouns.” They were shocked. Darice says, “I was a very vocal ally—in and out of the church and on social media, but I felt we had a lot of work to do. For me, it took a huge leap as working with gender identity is a different ballgame than just attraction. There were a lot of questions I hadn’t thought to ask.” 

Darice has always relied on her husband to help process things and feels grateful they are generally always on the same page.  The evening of Bazel’s text, she and Darryl laid side by side, staring at the ceiling and thinking, “How did we not see this?”  She says, “It never crossed our minds not to affirm our child.  Acknowledging the complexities our child would face and how best to address them became our first priority.” As Bazel was away at college, they were grateful for the grace period they had to process this information together before welcoming Bazel home from college.  It gave them time to get up to speed about how to affirm their trans child. 

Especially with the current climate of hate toward the trans community, they worried about Bazel’s safety and how she would be accepted by her peers and by their friends and family.  They never tried to talk her out of it, but instead accepted her pronoun and eventual name change. Bazel was no longer participating in church, which made things easier in that they weren’t having to navigate the youth program with a trans child. They did, however, take their time sharing with family members and friends. To their relief, both sides of their families have been incredibly loving and inclusive of Bazel and her partner. And although some friends have shied away since this change, others have stepped in, eager to show love and support not only to their daughter but also to Darice and Darryl as parents.

Bazel chose to come home after a semester at school.  Although her time there was brief, it turned out to be fruitful because it was there she met her partner Bugs (they/them), who Darice says is a perfect fit and welcome addition to their family. Darice says, “It’s been amazing to have these two in our lives, teaching us about loving others and loving oneself.”  In a recent family discussion, they observed that being trans can be a way of honoring your body—helping it become something you love rather than something you hate.

Through experience, Darice knows that parents of LGBTQ kids go through all sorts of emotions when a child comes out, including grief as you mourn the child it feels like you’ve known and lost, “but it’s not the kind of grief people bring you a casserole for.”  Darice found this to be true—although friends were loving and supportive, many just didn’t know what to say.  She doesn’t fault anyone for that.  Darice just does not yet feel like we’ve have developed a good vocabulary for responding to news that someone has come out.  She says the best reaction her family received when she shared Bazel’s news was when someone replied with how much love they had for her child and for their family.  Darice also appreciates when people felt comfortable asking about pronouns and name changes, signaling they love and respect her child enough to honor these changes.  Darice says that hearing how friends express how they admire the Auston’s advocacy and acceptance of their child’s choices has meant more than she thinks people know.  

Darice has spent countless hours in discussions with local church leaders on the topic of LGBTQ inclusion and creating safe spaces.  She’s found it is evident that many still feel uncomfortable talking about this subject.  In hopes of demystifying the subject and signaling to anyone that they are welcome in her congregations, Darice wears a rainbow pin to church every Sunday. In talks and lessons, she’s shared openly about the complexity of having an LGBTQ child and although that has upset some, for others it has signaled a move away from shame and harmful rhetoric they unfortunately hear sometimes in church settings.  Taking what is sometimes considered a “taboo” topic and normalizing discussion of it has been a focus of hers during this journey.  Darice hopes to always advocate for belonging and reaching out to the marginalized.

But the lack of church-supported resources for LGBTQ families has been a source of concern for Darice.  She’s observed, “In the church, we offer a lot of support for families and individuals impacted by addiction, but when it comes to support for LGBTQ families, there is nothing (not to equate the two, except to show the contrast in church-run support). In the absence of church resources, we do our own work and build our own communities.” 

Together, Darice and her friend, Carey Baldwin, formed the support group Rainbow COnnection to kick off Colorado-based inclusion events. Their inaugural speaker was Dr. Ben Schilaty, who traveled from Provo to speak this summer. The event was successful, with a large turnout. Darice says, “Anyone who attended was so moved by Ben’s words and his spirit. You can’t listen to him and not feel uplifted.” Many in attendance, both LGBTQ individuals and their family members, shared how they are suffering in silence, desperate for support from their church community.  Darice sees the lack of resources as an opportunity to grow as a faith community and advocates for better training for leaders and members to feel comfortable showing love to all.

Darice says this year’s Come Follow Me studies in the New Testament have been eye-opening. “As I study Christ’s ministry, the parallels between the work of inclusion and Christ reaching out to the marginalized are everywhere. I also can’t unsee the parallels of leaders both then and now focusing on ‘the law’ over love of ‘the one.’ Having a trans child has brought a new perspective to gospel teachings that has been expansive and beautiful.  I’m thankful for the faith expansion I’ve experienced on this journey. I love the people I’ve meet while doing the work of advocacy and inclusion. Creating connections with people is my love language.”  

Darice is “encouraged by the progress we are making as a faith community and anxious to accomplish more in building God’s kingdom—one that reflects the divinely-designed diversity that is united (not uniform) in our Savior Jesus Christ.”

(For any willing to share their family story, reach out to @dariceauston or email darice@liftandlove.org)

THE JON ROGERS STORY

For any parent, the subject of coming out is a tricky conversation to have with your teen daughters. But for Jon Rogers of Idaho, the person needing to come out was him. Two years ago, the 42-year-old married father of two decided, under the weight of some personal events in his life, that it was finally time for him to share the news that he is gay with his daughters, after having just recently told his wife. In the same family discussion, he also shared that he and their mom would be getting a divorce, making this “the most difficult conversation of my life, seeing the heartbreak and tears in my daughters’ eyes is still so hard to think about today,” says Jon.

The past two years have been “filled with hurt, mourning the loss of our family unit, healing, and also hope” as Jon has come to embrace this part of him and live with a sense of authenticity that he says many others in his situation have never been encouraged to pursue. Jon has observed and admired the many younger LGBTQ+ people who are nowadays often highlighted in social media “which is great, and a product of where we’re at in society, where younger people feel more comfortable being themselves.” Jon also boldly shares his truth and story now, with hopes he can be a support to others like him who were born in a different era.

Growing up in the 80s and 90s, “being gay was very much not accepted,” says Jon. “It was considered a choice, and a wrong one. It was something shunned by church and society in general.” Jon grew up in a very loving, conservative, and active LDS family who “did all the things.” The Rogers went to church and mutual activities every week, watched every session of general conference, and had daily family scripture study and prayer. “I loved it—I still do,” says Jon. He says he’s “always been blessed with the spiritual gift of faith. I’ve never questioned the truthfulness of the church or any leader.” Jon recognizes this could appear confusing, as he is now living as an openly gay man who has gone through a temple divorce, and who now attends church with his boyfriend. But Jon says, “I don’t question the church. There are things we don’t know yet—maybe certain leaders have certain biases or have not had the whole plan revealed yet. We don’t know everything, but I believe there is more to come.” Jon says he has continually felt compelled to have patience through this journey. “It’s hard to understand why Heavenly Father hasn’t revealed more, when you see all the hurt and suffering people go through with this. But I try to rely on faith, trust, and patience. I believe Heavenly Father has so much more mercy than what we give Him credit for. He is more understanding and loving than we know, especially in this space, seeing how His LGBTQ children suffer so. That doesn’t always help in the day to day, but I hope and think everything will work out somehow.”

As a teen and into his adulthood, Jon says he never allowed himself to nurture thoughts that he was gay. He moved forward, believing that his only path was to marry a woman. He pushed away his attractions, and says he felt the shame, guilt, denial, and self-hatred brewing within, but was “scared to death to tell anyone anything and see that disappointment in their eyes.” Like many, Jon would pray nightly, in tears, “to remove this from me.” He wondered, “Why can’t I be normal?” Jon felt like he had the faith to make it happen, but says it never went away.

Jon attended Ricks College and served an honorable mission in Washington D.C. Before and after, he tried dating women, wanting the companionship he saw so many of his roommates and friends find, but he says he faced a lot of rejection while trying to date women. In April of the year he was 26, Jon met a woman he quickly grew to love, and they were married in the temple in December of that year. When his parents questioned the quickness of the romance, he reminded them they got engaged the week they met. “It runs in our family.”

Throughout his 16-year marriage, Jon says he never wanted to put his wife through the torment of his inner thoughts, hoping he could fix it with time. So, he stayed quiet. He says ultimately, it hurt her deeply that he had never felt like he could trust her enough to share. As a husband and father, Jon says he tried so hard to hide any sign he might be gay, trying to carry himself in an “extra manly” fashion. He verbally disparaged any gay themes in tv shows and music thinking if he could distance himself from it all, it would go away. He says this made it additionally hard on his girls, who were so confused when he came out, they had to then re-envision the father who had raised them.

After years of inner torment, before he could get to this place of being truthful about who he was, Jon first had to come clean with himself. This happened one night when he was cooking dinner. He had been listening to an interview with Al Carraway and Charlie Bird in which Charlie shared his coming out story. Jon felt the impulse to pray right there next to the stove to ask what his Heavenly Father thought of him being gay. He says he felt “God tell me He loved me no matter what and that I was created this way on purpose; I was not broken.” Jon dropped to his knees on the kitchen floor and cried. He had never prayed about this before (feeling it would be wrong to even think to do so, knowing the answer would be it’s wrong), and he says in an instant, “all the guilt and self-hatred I’d been carrying for years just vanished. I now have zero issues with being gay. I don’t care who knows it.”

Jon says coming out to his parents shortly after was another “scariest thing imaginable,” but he was overwhelmed with appreciation for their response. They told him several times they loved him and would support him no matter what. His mother mourned that she didn’t know how he could have gone that long, harboring all of this in secret, trying to still live the gospel. While Jon acknowledges waiting so long to come out was certainly difficult on his wife, kids, and parents, he credits the strength of his testimony as a positive byproduct. He’s not sure if that would have been different had he come out sooner. “Everything that’s happened has made me who I am today.” Jon’s two younger sisters and their families have also been supportive. (After coming out to them, one of his sister’s replied that she was not surprised.)

Prayer is now vitally important to Jon, who at age 44, says personal revelation is everything to him. He believes in recording the spiritual impressions he receives, a practice that he says increases the number of impressions that have come. When he doubts the nature of his spiritual confirmations, Jon returns to his notations and says every time, the flood of emotions of the original experiences comes back, confirming what he’s been told is true. One strong impression Jon had came after studying Exodus 14:14 during a Come Follow Me lesson. He was reminded that “the Lord shall fight for you, and you shall find your peace,” just as it had happened when Moses led his people to the Red Sea, which they had no idea how to cross. Jon says, “How often do we come across something so hard we don’t know how to get around it or go through it, and then the unthinkable happens? I’ve had that same experience, being gay in a relationship and in the church. But I’ve had the strong impression the unimaginable will happen.” Jon has had other experiences that confirm somehow, someway, in the next life, everything will work out. He trusts, “I was told to let go of my worries and give it to Him. He’s got this and loves me beyond anything I can comprehend. He is aware of what I’m going through.”

While Jon does not try to be prescriptive in any form to others his age on a similar journey, he encourages the gay friends he has in mixed orientation marriages to pursue personal revelation and follow whatever route is presented to them through prayer. 

Jon now cherishes spending time with his girls every other weekend. They all still live in the same town in Idaho, about 15 minutes away from each other. Jon credits his ex-wife with how she has handled everything, though admits it’s understandably been very painful. The two have a cordial relationship now, always trying to put the girls first. Jon says he tries to be loving, patient, and understanding with how hard this has all been for everyone. Recently, the girls agreed to spend a weekend with Jon’s boyfriend and his family, which felt like a huge milestone. Now, he’s excited they’re planning more time and vacations together.

Jon met his boyfriend Nate through Instagram, after letting a friend know he was looking for someone who was of a similar age, background, and career status, and who was equally committed to the LDS faith. Jon says once the friend presented a picture of Nate, “I was done.” Nate had also come out within the last decade. Jon reached out on the same day he saw Nate’s picture and says not a day has gone by since that the two haven’t communicated or spent time together. Nate lives in Salt Lake City, and as Jon works remotely as a customer success manager, it’s easier for him to travel to Nate’s hometown for their dates. He says when they attend church together, “sometimes people fall over the pews to shake our hands and welcome us. They know we’re together; we’re not keeping it a secret. His ward is very welcoming.” Together, the two love traveling, hiking, playing games, doing Spartan Races, and Jon, along with Nate, is very dedicated to weightlifting. They both hit the gym six days a week to stay in good shape.

In his past relationships with women, Jon says it was always hard for him to feel comfortable being affectionate as “it didn’t feel natural,” but now, he says there is a night and day difference, and the two love holding hands and snuggling on the couch. Jon says they’ve each had “spiritual impressions that we’ve been led to each other and to keep going and have faith in this relationship. It’s been amazing.”

Jon appreciates how there is now so much more understanding for people in his situation than there was 20 years ago. “I understand that everyone will have their different paths, and it’s important people find theirs through personal revelation and prayer. For me, I knew I couldn’t be alone post-divorce, and I felt strongly directed in my path to then find companionship. It can be confusing and hard, and it’s easy for someone else to tell others what’s right and wrong. But I’ve come to understand grace and love, and the importance of personal revelation.”

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.