The End

I never thought it would happen, but I’m not going to be going to church anymore. This has been a very hard decision for Chris and I. We love our ward family. We love our bishop, but after the recent actions the church has made concerning married gay people and their children, we don’t feel right attending or supporting this institution anymore. I can’t even go into a church. I’ve always said that no matter how weird a Mormon I was, I would still continue to be one so long as it continued to make me feel good. 

Two weeks ago it stopped making me feel good.

I came home to find an article stating that the church was releasing new rules in their handbook. Gay people that are married are now considered apostates and are to be excommunicated. Their children are not allowed to be members until they are eighteen, living outside of their parents’ home, and disavow the practice. At first, like many, I thought this must be a joke. A lie. Then I started checking every news site I could think of, and they all were reporting the same thing. Understanding slowly started to fill my body. It started in the pit of my stomach and spread to my limbs. It was a cold, numbing burn that felt like it was being carried through my veins and into my extremities. My whole body felt limp. Then the tears came. They started as a trickle and moved to a downpour. 

This was so so very wrong to me.

There are so many reasons why this resonated inside of me as wrong. In the coming days the church and members began to explain away most of them—trying to rid themselves of cognitive dissonance, I’m sure. But no matter what excuses I was given, that’s all they were. Excuses. Rationalizations. Trying to make everyone feel better for this whole handbook provision. I judge no one, honestly. I love everyone from my ward. I love my friends back home. I love you all. But I can’t rationalize, and I can’t get rid of the ugly feeling inside of me. This post is to explain why, and to help people understand things maybe a little differently than they understand in their worlds. This is to help all those I love understand me, and maybe keep them from judging my husband and me in a negative light. So here it goes.

I’m bisexual. 

A lot of people look at this word as an ugly word. It doesn’t really exist to them. It’s not real or it’s just a weird phase teenagers go through. Or whatever. They will read this and think it doesn’t apply to me because I am married to a man. This isn’t a new revelation. I’ve known I was somewhere on the spectrum since I was a kid. Chris has known since we were dating. It’s not new for him either. I never “came out” so to speak, because I think coming out is silly. Why should we have to do that? Bring home your date. Show them to your parents.  Whatever their sex. Be done with it. That’s how it should be.

I have always known how the church feels about homosexual relations, but there was one difference between then and now. It was up to the bishop to decide the “punishment,” so to speak. People weren’t automatically excommunicated. It was up the bishop’s discretion. I’ve known many bishops who wouldn’t do anything. They wanted these people to continue to be included. They were welcomed with open arms, or just left alone, or whatever. And they weren’t automatically referred to as apostates. I took issue when people were excommunicated because of their sexual orientation, but again, it mostly depended on the bishop. I could handle that, and mostly looked at the positivity the church was making with the LGBT community. I attended the wards that I felt good in. I didn’t attend those that made me feel bad.

But now we’ve label them as “apostates.” An ugly word by our definition, only given to those who have abandoned their deepest sense of morals. They are pushed away. Oh yes, I know they can attend church if they want to, despite not being a member. But let’s be honest. Once someone is excommunicated, they are not usually welcomed with open arms. They are scoffed at. I have experienced this more than once. So while the idea behind the practice might be one based on love and dignity, the realism behind it is one of shame and self-doubt. Why would someone want to return after that? Do you know which groups of people aren’t automatically labeled as “apostates?”

Murderers. Rapists. Child abusers. 

In fact those groups of people are in the maybe-give-some-discipline group of the handbook. So in essence we are calling two people whose only “sin” is loving each other worse than those people who do things out of pure hatred or control. And now their kids aren’t allowed to be members either, due to something that they have no control over. They can attend church, yes, but again I looked at the realism behind this idea.

Kids are mean.

What happens when a little boy or girl is in a class and everyone else is getting baptized, but he or she cannot? What happens when the other kids ask why so-and-so isn’t getting baptized like everyone else? Someone is going to reveal that it is because so-and-so’s parents’ are married and gay. There will be talk, and that talk will follow them through church. They are going to feel bad when they can’t be baptized. It will come up again when they can’t get the priesthood. And again when they can’t do baptisms for the dead. And again when they can’t get their patriarchal blessing. And again when they can’t go on a mission. In essence, we’ve painted a big, red target on their backs that will follow them through life. I know what the idea behind the rule was. But realism and idealism don’t always match up.

And lastly, in order to become members, these kids cannot be living with their parents and then they must disavow gay marriage. More problems in my mind. What age were you when you fully didn’t need the support of your parents’ house anymore? Were you 18? I wasn’t. I was much, much older. Then we make them disavow the practice. They may not have to use their parents’ names, but that doesn’t matter. Their parents will know that in order to become a member they said gay marriage is a sham, and therefore are going to feel very hurt as the loving providers and caretakers of this child’s entire life, because in essence, their marriage is being called into question. This doesn’t feel loving. It feels horrible. How would you feel if the tables were turned?

But wait, my friends say. How many people actually want their kids or themselves to go to church when the church so obviously doesn’t fit in with their “lifestyle?” I know of several friends who are in this boat, and are now horribly hurt because of this ruling. We don’t know anyone’s life. We don’t know what they want or need. Just because someone doesn’t fit our mold perfectly, that means they can’t want to be a part of something they consider beautiful? I’m pretty much agnostic, but I have always loved the teachings and the community of the LDS church, so I attended faithfully. I have never been able to say I “know” anything is true. I’ve never even been able to say I “believe” anything is true. What I said is that I “wanted” it to be true. I planned on having different rules at home than the church taught. There are tons of members with different guidelines at home than the church teaches. I grew up with different rules than the church taught. It was fine for me. Kids aren’t stupid. They are resilient. Why are we okay, but children of gay people are not? And I wasn’t a true blue Mormon, but people still wanted me to be there. 

Or so I thought.

So how does this all come together? Why does this have anything to do with my being bisexual you ask? Clearly I’m in a heterosexual marriage, so why do I feel hurt? Because that night, I realized something. I realized that if you kept everything else constant about me—my personality, my silliness, my loving nature, my want to follow Christ’s teachings—all the things that people say they are glad to have from me in the church (including my atypical Mormoness), and changed the sex of the person I love (which could have definitely been a possibility), I would suddenly be labeled worse than a murderer, a rapist, a child abuser. I would have been an apostate, and nothing else would have changed about me. I would no longer be the primary teacher everyone is glad to have their kids going to. I would no longer be the cute ward hairstylist that everyone wants to go to. I would no longer be that girl that everyone is excited is still going to church, despite the fact that she is atypical. I would be an apostate, and my kids and I would be barred from membership. I would no longer be good enough to be a member. Not only that, but I would be lower than a murderer. Just because of the sex of my partner.

And that hurts so deeply I cannot even describe it. 

 

My poor children, who chose nothing, would be left out. And in order to be accepted they would have to declare my marriage, my loving relationship, my raising of them a problem. A sin. Unholy. A sham. It was hard enough to think of other people going through this, and then when I thought of the very real possibility I could be one of them, I collapsed. It hurt so much to think that the institution I loved so much would throw me and my family out. And that, did not feel like Christ’s teachings. It didn’t not feel like the God I’ve been taught to know and love. It felt ugly. And that is how my husband and I feel about going to church now. And that is why we won’t be there anymore. Stepping into the building feels like endorsement, and we can’t endorse something we feel this ugly about. I would be a hypocrite. And I won’t be a hypocrite.

We place no judgment on those that stay. Your religion is your religion. It’s personal. It’s your choice. If you feel good there, you should be there. We love everyone from our ward family, and we hope that people stay in touch with us. We know that we will lose friends over this, but we hope that those that we’ve felt real love from will continue to love us. I love my primary class. I love all of the wonderful things that my ward family has done for me over the years. We love our family. We love our friends. We still love all of the beautiful teachings the church has to offer. If this ruling changes, you may see us in your halls again. But right now, we do not feel any spiritual uplifting from those halls and we have to stand for what we believe is right. If anyone feels the need to talk to someone, because they are having issues too, we are there for you, objectively. We know this step isn’t for everyone, but we also know it’s nice to have a non-judgmental ear. If you want to talk to us about why we should stay, please refrain. We’ve made our decision, and we feel good about it.

I love you. I hope this helped to clarify things.

You Know.... I Don't Know What to Call This One

 Just as I have problems with people in my faith looking out and judging others, I have a problem with other people looking in and judging us. I think in the very few postings that I have done, I have made it clear that I am odd and different and try to stand for something other than what my religion is stereotyped to be. I talk about being hurt from within a lot, but I am also hurt from the outside as well. Today I have nowhere else to go to express this.

As a hairstylist, I get to meet a lot of different people every day. Hundreds of people have been through my chair; I hear hundreds of stories. We get to know each other, become friends, form relationships. I laugh when your children have said something funny. I cry when you're going through something hard. I love you. I don't care about all the things the world might care about, and I would never ask prying or rude questions into your life. I also would never judge you for life choices. That is not my job, and I hope that I receive the same courtesy from you.

My three years in Ohio tells me that this is not always so.

I meet lots of beautiful people with sweet intentions, and lots of not-so-nice people with less than desirable intentions. Whoever you are, I ask a series of questions to get to know you.

1. "Do you live around here?"
2. "Are you originally from Columbus?"
3. Do you work or go to school or....?
4. What are/were your plans this weekend?
5. Do you have any kids? /A spouse?/ Siblings?
6. Do you have any brothers and sisters? Is your family nearby?

I have way more than this stuck up my sleeve, but this tends to be how I start talking to someone I've never met before. In turn, I get asked the same or similar questions, and I can pretty much write you a word for word script of how the introduction goes.

Me: Are you originally from Columbus? *scrub scrub lather lather*

Them: (settles into shampoo chair and smiles) No, I'm from (Dayton/Eastern Ohio/Cincinnati/ Cleveland)/ Yes, born and raised.

            Are you?

Me: (slows) Nope. I'm from out west.

Them:(Confused) Where out west?

Me: Utah (Pause)     (Pause)

Them: (Eyes opening wide) ARE YOU MORMON?!

I am going to take a pause right here. No matter your intent, which I can sometimes read, I find this question to be incredibly exhausting, not to mention rude, at this point in the conversation. If you heard I'm from Utah, don't drink, don't smoke, don't go out on Sundays, etc, then it might be polite to be inquisitive and ask, "Ohhh... are you Mormon?" But upon hearing I'm from Utah, and the only thing you know about Utah is that Mormons grow in hives there, asking me (someone you've been talking to for about 3 minutes) about my religion can sometimes get a little overwhelming. I have this conversation with every single person that comes through my chair. I would never ask you if you were Christian with no other knowledge of you than being from the bible belt. I wouldn't ask if you were Catholic after finding out you're from Vatican City, and I definitely wouldn't assume you were Muslim, just because you were from the middle east. In fact, I probably wouldn't ask at all, unless we were close friends and I was trying to understand everything about you.

I gotta say, at first I was not annoyed by it. I loved describing my weird background as none other than "Mormon Lite" (a term I coined myself). "Dad was a Mormon, Excommunicated. Mom was a Jew, Converted. I'm not quite a Jack Mormon, but I'm definitely a liberal one!" But quickly after I first moved here, I often started to feel JUDGED and ATTACKED for laying any claim to this "devil" religion! Sometimes I want to lie and tell people I'm from my husband's city. I'm still trying to come up with a good way to detour the conversation, so we don't sit and talk about me being Mormon for an hour. There are so many more things about me, even religiously/spiritually. I also celebrate Hanukkah and Passover. Sometimes I go to the synagogue. I've been to more churches than I can count. I love spirituality in all its forms. I love the feelings of community, culture, passion, and loving understanding that are taught in many churches!

Honestly, it gets really disheartening, to be told what I believe from someone who thinks they know everything about me. Or for someone to judge me upon hearing me say "yes" to that question. I get anxiety now to admit it, because sometimes people shoot me a fleeting look of disdain. Sometimes they laugh. Sometimes they look as though they pity me, because I'm stuck in this patriarchal society, and my husband will never respect me and I will have to be a boring stay-at-home mom and how unfulfilling for me (or whatever they think). And it sucks. And it's tiresome. But not much gets me heated or perturbed. I laugh and do my job. Silly Non Mormons, stereotypes are for kids.

Not much gets me feeling hurt until today.

A man whom I can only describe to you as Bret Michael's wannabe stalker comes into my salon, 50's 60's maybe, Bleach blond hair, light washed jeans, cowboy boots, and crying because he did not bring his signature cowboy hat. Hasn't had his hair cut over a year-and-a-half , but wants me to take off only a weeny inch. He sees me and he makes a judgment about me from only what he sees.

And it is that I wasn't Mormon

He smiles and says, "I was hoping they wouldn't put me with someone that looked like everybody else." What I think he his referring to is the fact that I have vibrant purple and teal hair... Every other part of me is dressed up in black salonwear. I'm wearing red lipstick. I have pink cheeks. The only thing that stands out is my hair.

We got to talking at the shampoo bowl. I started into my questions. He followed the usual script.

"Utah!" He says loudly, pulling his head up and out of the shampoo bowl. "Mormon town!" Oh good. He didn't ask.

"Yes. It sure is." Not out of the woods yet.

"From the way you are dressed...." No. let's not. 
".....and your hair....."  Uh oh.
"I can only guess that you aren't Mormon." Smile sheepishly. Look to the side. Maybe a good enough answer...
"......Or at the very least, you don't have anything to do with it." Uh.....

Me: .........I'm..........liberal.

"You at least drink caffeine?" He laughs. That's not really a thing. Let's not get into it.

Me: (laugh laugh laugh. He's so witty) Sure do.

Good enough answer for him. I'm Not Really Mormon. He settles back into the shampoo bowl and speaks slowly and wistfully, like a cowboy telling stories over  the campfire.

"I hate that damn religion.... because of its founder, that disgusting Joseph Smith."

Me: Mmmmm.

I know people feel like this. Hell, I sometimes have mixed feelings about that guy, but that was over a hundred years ago. I don't know the whole story. I'm not a hundred and fifty years old. I know that he could have been just a man. Or maybe he was truly a prophet, who knows? There are zillions of stories in the bible of God people doing really weird crap, then getting yelled at for it. I'm not surprised that this upsets people, nor does it make me want to leave my church.

"He was a pervert, a child molester, and a rapist. I find it disgusting that people followed him. Idiots."

Me: Silence. Heart beating faster. Stomach contents rising up into esophagus.

"Did you know they used to live here in Ohio?"

Uh... hello? What did you gleam from our conversation where I said I'm Mormon? Do you not think they teach us history?

Me: Yup.

"They were kicked out of New York for being terrible people. For taking wives and children."

Me: Wow. Feel this conditioner in your hair. So soft.

(At this point I'm paraphrasing, because I started to get dizzy and I can't remember exact words.)

"Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum were shot, because of this stuff. Because they were child molesters and rapists. They were just shot in the back, and they deserved it. I'da done it too."

Wow. That is really... offensive?

Me: Anyway, I just need to let this sit on for a minute. Can I get you a hot towel?

"Yes. Have you heard about how they were tarred and feathered? Whole lots of them." As he said this, he laughed. No, he cackled and guffawed at people being tarred and feathered. Not just a man he thought was a scumbag. He laughed at all the tarrings and featherings of all the members that experienced it. As an empathetic person, this tore my heart into little tiny pieces. I struggled not to let them bounce out of my skin, tried to mentally pick them up and scotch tape them back together. I don't remember much after this. Somehow, I succeeded at changing the subject, and then never spoke about this again. I remember feeling like he was applying his hatred to all of the people that had or ever would be Mormon. I remember that he said more than I can remember now. And I remember that I wanted to hide in a hole. It ate at me all day.

Because it's not that uncommon an experience for me.

I'm always trying to make a change from within. Members sometimes say stereotypical things that make me want to put an entire roll of masking tape over their mouths. But the thing is, people like this exist everywhere, in every facet of life. They permeate our existence. Stereotypes help us sort people, even ourselves, into tiny little boxes, wrapped tight with perfectly knotted bows, arranged in neatly organized rows of our thoughts about what they should be like. We like things tidy and neat with no overlap, because if there is overlap, then we have to open the box back up and make a new category of person, and this is far too exhausting and disorganized.

I teeter on the edges of two large boxes.
             I really want you to stop organizing what you see as character flaws.

Why is it that, when some people see me and think, "No way. Not Mormon" they talk to me like a human being, like a normal person? When they find out that I am Mormon, suddenly it changes everything some of them think about me? Their box of me opens up, and in their brains I'm picked up by some cold metal forceps and shoved into the box marked, "Mormon?" Suddenly I'm in a box that apparently a lot of people hate, and I am 100% like those other people. They need to walk on eggshells around me. Then, the moment I reveal that I am in the gray area, I'm just as suddenly out of that box, into another, and have become the person that they can say really ugly things about Mormons to. Just because I have some big issues with my church, does not mean that someone can spout hateful and judgmental words to me about it. You want to have a civil discussion about your problems and fears that stem from my church? Fine. Do you want to spew hateful, judgmental garbage about my friends, family, and ancestors? Can I do that to the people you love?

And do we have to have these conversations every time you hear the word, "Mormon?" I really hope not. I really hope that people can look past the word, and see that we are just people. All of us are on different paths. We are all in different places in our lives. Just because our leaders say one thing, does not mean we even agree with what they are saying. Could you maybe ask me my personal opinions on the matter, before assuming that I want to take away your rights/choices/beliefs? Do you assume that every catholic you meet is parroting the pope? Do you assume that every Muslim is a jihad? I really hope you don't.

I'm tired of hearing how much I hate gay people. I'm sick of people saying that I'm going to hell. I'm also really exhausted by people thinking that I am a brainwashed sheep, following every word coughed out by every single person who has ever spoken in a church or temple. I honestly don't have that much conviction. I know nothing. I believe nothing. I want to believe, and that is why I'm here.

I am here because I want to be here.

There are lots like me. I am part of a beautiful community of people who love and help each other every day, in ways I cannot describe. When I move into a new place, they are there to help me unpack. When I move out, they are there to help me repack. When I'm sick they sign up to bring me meals. When I'm sad, they stop by to show their love. When I'm not at church they send messages that let me know that I'm missed. And when I'm far away from family, they step up and become my family.

We are not just Mormons. It doesn't define all of us as people. We are millions of human beings, musicians, doctors, men and women with careers, writers, poets, stay-at-home parents, feminists, bikers, bakers, grad students, sales reps, IT people, gay rights advocates, hair dressers, tattoo artists, republicans, democrats.  We have all kinds. We have all thoughts. We are not one voice or one idea. We are all just trying to live our lives and be good people. I'm so tired of all the assumptions about a group of people that contains millions. It is impossible for all of us to be the same. If you absolutely have to create boxes, create a separate one for each of us. Inside those boxes will be every bit of ourselves, and "Mormon" will be written on a thin piece of paper, stuck in the smallest corner, mixed in with every other facet of our lives.

I'm tired of being worn down to be like whatever it is that people want me to be. I wish that others would just let people be who they are, and seek to be knowledgeable about someone as an individual before letting preconceived notions cloud their judgments about another person. If there is anything that I hope that people take from reading anything I write, it is simply that idea. People are amazing as individuals. They have so many stories to provide, if you would just let them speak. We can't do that if we turn off our minds before we even meet them, before they open their mouths, or before they really get the chance to speak. My message, as always, is that if we treat people with respect, if we just live with love, it might surprise us where we can find new friends.

It might surprise us where our minds can go.

You Belong

Below is a talk I gave in church last summer: 

When we were asked to talk about our favorite story from Jesus’ life, I thought about it, and thought about it, and thought about it. I overachieved, and reread Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John at one time. I’ve read them all before, but never in succession. I don’t know about you, but whenever I read about Jesus, it’s always for some holiday, or some class, or just picking and choosing a story to read. It’s just a verse or series of verses to convey a point. So yes, I had read all of these stories before, but there was something that really impressed me when I read it all in one sitting. And it was really hard to pick just one story. So I didn’t. I cheated a little. Christ continually and unselfishly helped everyone around Him. Verse after verse, chapter after chapter, He is bullied, berated, hated, and questioned by everyone. And verse after verse, He stops to help the people those that hate him, those that others call small and unworthy. He says He loves them, without even knowing them, regardless of everything they’ve ever done wrong, and in spite of what others see in them. And this is what I decided to talk about today. His love.

Really, that’s all that Jesus was. Just love. Just the pure love of everyone in the world ever, as long as the world is or has been in existence- every person you meet and see. He loved them. He loves them. But it’s a certain kind of love that I really admire Him for. He didn’t just love the people who were showing up to church every week, getting straight A’s, doing everything right, being sweet angels. He loved the the odd, the weirdos, the sinners, the harlots, the jerks, even the people that hated him. He loved people no matter how much they stuck out, or how much others said they didn’t belong. He took the opportunity to care for them and teach them. He invited them into church just the same.

So I will start with my first favorite story of Christ’s love. It is the parable of the sheep in Matthew chapter 18. For anyone who doesn’t know the parable, it says that if a man has 100 sheep, and one of them goes astray, he’s going to go looking for that sheep. He’s not just going to leave it. He doesn’t say, “Eh, I have plenty more where that came from.” He gets his hands dirty and gets that sheep back. And when that one sheep does come back, he’s going to be happier about it than even about those 99 that didn’t wander off. God will always welcome us back with open arms. We, too, get so many opportunities to help our lost sheep, to nurture them and help them come back to us. Do we always recognize those opportunities, or do we sometimes miss them, because someone seems too lost or out of place?

When I was about eight or nine years old, my father was excommunicated. Before then he had loved this church. He taught me about the priesthood. He served as a high priest. He had gone on a mission. He was married in the temple. But now, my parents were divorced, and he no longer had the priesthood.  I was confused, and nothing made sense to me, but he was my dad and I still loved him. I was told by my leaders that excommunication was an act of love, to help him start over. This comforted me immensely, but then I witnessed many of my neighbors, his previous friends, stop talking to him. They whispered about him in the halls at church.

It broke my heart. Wasn’t he still one of God’s children? Wasn’t he still my dad?

Several years later, he was in another area, now a nonmember. He had become angry and bitter towards the church. He turned away missionaries and invitations to attend, but he had a bishop that reached out to him. That bishop would visit and talk with my dad, and they became friends.  That bishop found out that my dad loved and missed being involved in scouts, and decided help a lost sheep. He then invited my dad to be a scout leader, and my dad was ecstatic. He had missed being a part of scouts so much, and he talked about it weekly. He made sure my brothers were eagle scouts. He took me camping, and made sure I knew how to tie all the knots, and start a rad log house fire. So, of course, he immediately began preparing lessons for these kids.

One day, he received another visit from the bishop, who told him there had been complaints, too many complaints, about him in the scout leader position. They had threatened to pull their kids out of scouts because my father was a nonmember, and they knew he drank alcohol in his home, and so the bishop had no choice but void his offer. When my dad revealed this to me later, all I saw was hurt in his eyes. It hurt me too, because he was my daddy. The bishop extended a hand towards my dad. He was being Christlike and loving, which he will never know I am so grateful for. He was trying to help get my father involved again. But it can’t just be one person with a lantern, saying “here, sheep. Here, sheep.” In our congregations we are all shepherds and we are all sheep. We need to bust out a search party and love that lost sheep to death.

While giving the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus delivered one of my other favorite lines, “Judge not, that ye not be judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged.” He asks the people how they can point out a mote, or a splinter, in their brother’s eye, but forget about the giant beam in their own eye. Christ, the only perfect person ever to walk the earth, the only person that honestly could place judgment on someone without hypocrisy, tells all his disciples that they shouldn’t do it. I take this thought with me to church every week. I think we can slip up sometimes, and look at someone and think, “Why are they even here? Why are they LDS? They do this and this and this. They don’t deserve to be here. They should just leave.” We forget that someone could look at us, and for whatever the reason may be, they could think the same thing. And I don’t know about you guys, but I really want to be here. Church can sometimes be my sanity, even if I’m snoring—Of course by accident.

                Recently, I read a blog posted by a Christian actress. I’ve seen it floating on a couple of other Facebook walls, so I know some here have read it. It seemed almost too perfect for this talk. It is called, “Three Immodestly dressed women walk into a church.” It contains a story about three women, and shows why we cannot and should not judge people inside of our halls.

The first woman is new to church and has recently discovered the gospel, after previously being rebellious and a little wild. This is her first time attending, but all she has is a skirt that stops above the knees and a tank top.

The second woman has recently gained a lot of weight, and all of her clothes fit poorly and are now too tight. However, she doesn’t have the money yet to buy new clothes.

The third is a young teen, still grappling with the idea of being “cool” and “modest” at the same time. An older woman tells her that she would never allow her child out dressed like that, that men in this church only want “respectable” girls. The girl hides in the bathroom the rest of the day and many Sundays after.

In all of these stories, we have a couple of choices. We can judge an outward appearance and assume these women’s inner reasons and feelings for dressing like they do, potentially blocking some kind of spiritually uplifting experience for both of us. Or we can open our doors and unlock our hearts and just love them for being here, for taking that step. Christ, in all of his perfection, told us in Matthew 22 that the greatest commandment is to love God, and that the second greatest is to love thy neighbor as thyself. Can we remember this and act with love towards everyone we meet? We never know why people do what they do. We never know what they’re going through. Perhaps our love is just what they need to feel the spirit, to feel whole.

President Uchdorf gave a conference talk last October called, “Come join with us.” It resonated with me. He said that there is room for all here, that we can find similarities in our yearnings, struggles, and hopes. We may have different upbringings, but, and I quote, “we need your unique talents and perspectives. The diversity of persons and peoples all around the globe is the strength of this church.” I would like to add one more thing to this already fabulous idea. That we are all children of God, and we should treat each other as such. What a new found respect for people we can have if we view them this way. How will it change our actions and thoughts towards them?

I loved this talk and felt that it pertained to me, like he was speaking right to me. I don’t look like a stereotypical Mormon. I have a very unconventional upbringing. Aside from my father, my mother is a convert from Judaism. I grew up with bits of everything and teachings from everywhere. My dad even experimented with Native American spirituality. As a lifelong Utahn, I often felt alienated at church, like I didn’t belong there, but I loved the beautiful ideas from the Book of Mormon, adding to and extending broad ideas from the Bible. When I was struggling the most with my differentness, my brother would tell me something I loved. Chris has now informed me that what he said is a famous quote, but I’m going to continue attributing it to my brother, because it made him seem terribly wise and thoughtful. He said, “Church is a hospital for the spiritually sick, not a rest home for the righteous. You deserve to be here just as much as the rest of us.”

When we moved to Columbus I was nervous—nervous that I would have to start all over again, proving that I was worthy to be here with everyone else, that people might not accept me because I don’t seem like a “typical” Mormon. What I found was the opposite. My previous ward, and now this one, welcomed with open arms. So many people extended love in my direction, taking me in, making me feel like I belonged. Two Christmases ago, I sang at our ward Christmas party in full hair school regalia—All black from head-to-toe, a school shirt that was too small, because that was the only size they had left, pants when others were in skirts, hot pink lipstick, and yes, even my purple hair. Afterwards, one of the girls came up to me and said, “I’m so glad that you are you, and that you are here.” I can’t tell you how much that meant to me, something so small she will probably never know. She could have looked at me and thought, “She doesn’t belong here.” She could have never talked to me or done her visiting teaching, because I looked like the kind of person that wouldn’t be into that, but she didn’t. She reached out to me with a Christlike love, and pulled me into the ward, bringing us both closer to the gospel and to Christ. She just loved me.

                So many in this ward have done the same, and I thank you all for your love. If there is anyone here that is worried they don’t belong, I urge you to read any chapter about Jesus’ life. He welcomed all. His church is for everyone, so please stay here with us. I love that we are all children of our Heavenly Father, siblings to our Savior, Jesus Christ, no matter what else we are, and I hope that we can emulate them and remember to love everyone, inside…and outside… of this building. I’m so grateful to be a part of this ward, and for the friendship that many of you have already shown me. Thank you.

I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Priesthood for Women- Inspired By Satan

I haven't written in a year. Life has gone on. But there's a new idea on the webz that has gotten me riled up as a BMC. Where else to write about it, but on a blog that nobody reads?

Subject: The Priesthood. Women be wanting it. Talk amongst yourselves.

For real though. My two cents on the matter is that I don't care one way or the other. I honestly don't want the priesthood. I don't want the responsibility. I don't want the pressure. I don't want people to push me to be a "better Mormon" because I have it. But some people do, and that's okay with me.

It's also okay with me if you don't think that they should have it. That's cool too.

Here's what does get my ass a little chapped: judging the women that want it. I have read the belief that they are doing the work of Satan. I have read that they are evil, that they "shouldn't be here" (sound familiar?).

Before I go any further, I need to address something that people keep saying that I don't understand. This is that the priesthood is equal to motherhood.

This doesn't even make sense in my brain, because Motherhood = Fatherhood. Well... sort of = Fatherhood.
Motherhood = getting pregnant, carrying a life inside of you for nine months that sucks the life out of you while it makes you puke, get hemorrhoids, causes constipation, fluid leakage, headaches, mood swings, etc., then pushing that baby out of a hole the size of  an edamame bean, in immense pain with more blood and fluid leakage, and (if you are all traditional and junk) being at the baby's beckon call until it's 56.5 years old. And yeah, It's a magical bonding experience, and you built a miraculous life inside you n'stuff.

(I really do love babies, okay? I'm just trying to be literal and realistic here)

Fatherhood = getting someone else pregnant and watching them throw up for nine months, then holding their hand saying, "You're doing really good, honey" while they squeeze that baby out of a hole the size of an edamame bean, and (if you're all traditional and junk) being the financial support of the kid until it's out of college.

I realize that these are both incredibly simplistic. I'm just trying to say they are roughly equal. Sort of. I think the part that women equate to the priesthood is the nine months of carrying the child/oxytocin release after labor part, which is the part that I find incredibly horrifying and completely unequal about the whole ordeal. I just don't understand the argument. Women take care of children. So do Fathers.

Also if you would rather switch roles, I would probably do it in a heartbeat.

And what about women that can't have children? What about women that can't afford to adopt? What about women who never have children because they are never married? Where is their place in this world? They don't have motherhood, so are they =/= priesthood? to other women? How do they receive the same blessings? I've read that they just have to wait until the next life, but that doesn't make sense to me. Why should I be so blessed now, and they don't get to be blessed until after they die? How is that logical? How can we be upset with them for wanting a place in the church?

I also keep reading that women who want the priesthood are trying to be above men. This is also incredibly simplistic. Wanting to receive priesthood blessings, in my opinion, is not trying to rise above men. All I can think about are the exceptions to the rule: What about women who are never married? What about women whose husbands pass away or leave them? Do they have no place?

We say: Call someone else to give your family a blessing. For some people, this is no easy task. Firstly, others are not always easily accessible. When your child has need in the middle of the night, on vacation, or when no one is available. It's difficult for some of us to even pick up the phone and ask. I know that when I was growing up, I had no priesthood holder in my home for many years. I never got the benefits of living with one. It wasn't often that I ever received blessings. Is it so wrong for these women to want this benefit even when a man isn't part of the home?

It doesn't make sense to me to try and cast these women off with the devil. None of the reasons above seem evil to me, nor even influenced by evil. It's not satanic to want something that might make your life and your children's lives better. I'm appalled by the sheer number of people throwing out the opinion of so many by equating it with Satan. We say this church can't change, but it has in numerous ways since its establishment. I don't necessarily think staging a protest is the way to go about it, but as long as it's peaceful, what harm does it do me? It's okay not to agree. It's okay to have differing opinions, but hateful statements just breed hate. Why not listen to what they are saying--- that they are experiencing a feeling of inequality and displacement--- and try to do something about that? What happened to empathy and compassion? There's more than just a lady's priesthood at stake here. There's a chance to listen to a plea and to reach out and show love. To just step back, and not condemn people, or chalk their actions up to a devily grasp. It's that easy.

I once had an RM say to me that he thought that women might one day have the priesthood. He didn't think it's that they couldn't. He thought it was that people weren't ready for it yet. I thought that was a nice thought.

Ladies

I salute you. This may not be something we are in total agreement about, but your efforts are courageous. I worry about peacekeeping. Please respect others, even if you feel they don't respect you.

Once Upon a Time I Was Crazy

A year and a half ago, I was diagnosed with GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder). Many people don't understand this disorder. I know I didn't before it happened to me. Oftentimes people think that a person with GAD is just a person that worries. A lot. While this can be true, it's not the kind of worry that average people, in their every day lives, feel even in excess. The worry that a person with GAD feels is so severe that it is beyond control and it interferes with functioning.

Most of the time I feel like no one (except maybe my husband and those who've been through it) understands it. But, as is the case with any mental disorder or hardship, understanding from others is tremendously important to the sufferer's rehabilitation. When no one understands or even tries to empathize with another person's hardships, it is truly isolating, and that can be truly debilitating. I realize this might not fall under my blog title (it's not like anyone reads this anyway), but I just felt pushed to write about it. Probably because my husband just left on a plane (you'll understand later)

I have always been a worrier. Some of the ridiculous worries I get now I can remember starting when I was in elementary school. At twelve years old what did you worry about? I worried about falling off of mountains I didn't climb, getting so fat I couldn't leave my couch, rape, infectious diseases, and getting diagnosed with cancer (at my next doctor's appointment), just to name a few. After 9/11 happened, I wouldn't fly until high school, when the idea of going to New York City outweighed the possible consequences. Now every time I (or anyone else) get on a plane I think it's going to crash, be hijacked, or run out of fuel. At ten years old I worried about what it would mean if there was no God. Could I blink out of existence? What did that feel like? When I stopped breathing would I feel it? What if I died before I got married? What if I died before I had kids? What if I never got married, because I was too ugly to be loved and then I died and never got to experience life as a married woman? What if I got married but my husband died? How would I survive? What if I got married but I died? Would my husband think it was his fault? Would he get remarried? Would he love her more than me? Would that mean I didn't get to be with him in heaven? What if there was no heaven and I never got to see any of these supposed husbands ever again? What if I never got to see my mom ever again? What if she died?! Is my mom going to die soon?!

That's a tiny trail of thought from a 9-18 year old me. This was not fun, but as far as I know, it was not GAD. However, I did not go to therapists for fear they would send me to an asylum or take advantage of me sexually and no one would believe me, because I was nine years old.

Most people don't realize when this stuff is going on inside others' heads. We appear normal on the outside, either because we are very good and are worried (worried? who us?) about people thinking we are crazy, or because no one spends enough time with us to get a full picture of what's plaguing us.

Then two years ago it all came crash banging down.

It was after I moved home from Washington. There was a family crisis that consumed me, and my fear and worry about it became so intense that it started to rub off onto other things. Those worries became bigger worries which became bigger worries which became so consuming that I stopped sleeping. Doctors looked at my sleep, confused. Maybe I should see a therapist. I took Ambien for sleep and on it, I got about 2-4 hours each night. Each hour or two I would wake up, have a panic attack, and maybe fall back to sleep. All day I worried about how I would sleep the next night. My reaction time slowed immensely. I couldn't pay attention in class. Suddenly, what was once easy took me 10 hours to finish. My stomach was constantly on edge. What normal people feel when their lives are in tremendous peril (that butterflyish, stomach hurting, stress response) I felt all day long, sometimes for no reason at all. I had a panic attack at least once a day for several months. At one point I went catatonic for a few hours and my husband had to stick me into a hot shower to wake me from my stupor. Every hour felt like a day, and every day felt like a year.

Those thought trails I explained a few paragraphs earlier got worse. I was going to fail college (I had a 4.0). My husband was going to die every time he left the house (he had only been gone for 15 minutes, or he only had to drive 5 minutes to work). The school was going to have a shooting. Every plane would crash. My mom wasn't answering her phone---she must be in serious condition. If I didn't sleep I was going to die. I was never going to sleep again. I was too tired to exercise like I used to. I was going to become obese,  and my husband was going to stop finding me attractive. I was going to get pregnant (I was on birth control) and I didn't have money for a baby. We were going to become completely poor, because I would get pregnant, or we would lose our jobs, or my medications were too expensive, and then I was going to lose my home and be out on the street. If I asked my dad for help he was going to disown and hate me, because he would be disappointed that I needed help. My husband was going to get so tired of my anxiety he was going to leave me, divorce me, cheat on me. I didn't want to hang out with friends. I didn't want to go out. I didn't even have control over my outward expression of my feelings anymore. I developed a sleep deprivation induced depression. I began to hope for an end, not by my own hand, but by one of the accidents I feared. Maybe a car would hit me? Maybe that plane would crash? Maybe I could put my husband out of his misery. I told no one about this part, not even my therapist. I was terrified that my problems weren't really that serious, that I was taking much needed time away from other, more severe mental cases.

And where oh where was God in all this I would wonder? My journal is full of pages that say, "God please help me. Please help me stop feeling this way. Please help me be somebody different."

I almost gave up on ever being me again.

Then I asked my husband for a blessing (I guess this does have to do with being Mormon, but not on purpose), and as he was putting his hands upon my head he said that I would know what to do to help myself. And whether or not you believe in my church, or even God, is not relevant. I had a feeling. You can choose to believe it was God or believe that it was some power I had within myself. I choose to believe it was God, because I like that thought. My feeling said that I needed to tell my therapist that Something that I was hiding: The Ultimate Scary Thing. If I told him, all would be well.

After 6 months of the same thing day in and day out, after I finally admitted to my therapist that I was thinking that dying would be a good thing, I got the blessed diagnosis: I had GAD. It was blessed to me, because it meant that something could be done. It meant I could be in control of myself again. It meant I could live again. It meant I wasn't completely and totally insane (just a little insane). It meant there was something wrong with me, not just that I was "overreacting" or "a drama queen" like I was so often told. It meant that there was a REASON for me to be feeling the way I was feeling. It meant that I wasn't alone, because other people had this too.

I wasn't alone.

Isolation is a terrible punishment, but rising from its ashes is freedom. I started the medication I had been so against for months of therapy. When I told him what I was feeling, he said that he believed it was something I had to do, even if I was scared. Right away my body responded--- the key to my locked door. Within a week I was sleeping 6 hours a night. Within a month 8-9. This gave me hope. My brain actually needed a jump start. I wasn't just being hysterical for no reason.

After my sleep increased, the depression went away. The anxiety became manageable. It never went away like my depression (I still have some ridiculous fears and panic attacks every few months), but I will take manageable. After the medication, my head was free enough to finally use what I had been practicing all along in my CBTherapy. I finally began to feel like I had control over my own thoughts. I finally stopped worrying about what others thought about me. I could be more me than I had ever been in my entire life. My family noticed the difference in me, and after months of not "getting it," thinking I was just being lazy or overdramatic, something clicked inside of them. There had been something seriously wrong with me, and they knew it.

I can honestly say that the last year has been the happiest of my life, and GAD made me that way.

A month and a half ago I went off of my medication. My anxiety has increased, but my sleep has not decreased, and my depression has not come back. Today, my husband got on a plane to go find us a new house where he will be going to med school, far away from everyone we know. I cried, because I worried that he would die and that I wouldn't be able to see him again. I can see some of my symptoms returning in anticipation of our new-and-huge life change, but I have also seen myself rise from the fire and return from a dark place once before. Even if I do have to go through it again, I believe that God was with me all along last time, waiting for me to figure things out, waiting for an opportune time to help me. I've got my husband, and a more understanding family, and I know the name of what I've got.

This time I will not be Isolated.

Private Club, No Non-Members Allowed

Yesterday, I read this blog about gay marriage. Later on I found out this is my friend's cousin; life is coincidental like that.

In summary, this blog is about a Mormon girl who "came out" in favor of gay marriage. She stated all of her reasons why in a very respectful manor. She never said anything negative about those that don't support it. It's a scary thing to figure that your opinion is an unpopular one, and then to go on and tell people about it. You would think that since she did this in a respectful way, she would have received respect in return. And while there were many people that did give her respect and politely disagreed, and those that said, "Me too, Lexi! <3 Gay Ppl!"...

                         ...there were also a lot of hateful comments posted by other members. One called her an apostate, but not just an apostate, a "Stage 2 Apostate." Oooooh that is some scaaaarrrry shit, Lexi. Seriously. Repent now. Another person said that she isn't really a Mormon if she believes that. There were over 200 comments so I can't quote them all, but I was severely disappointed with these rude, disrespectful, and hateful comments.

I began to think about it intensely. So intensely I decided to write about it for the first time in many months on a blog that no one reads (I don't have 300 followers like Lexi sadface). It's hateful, loudmouthed Mormons like those that commented on Lexi's blog that make my message so much harder to get across.

I too have "come out" in my support of gay marriage. Several years ago, during the whole Prop 8 fiasco, I said, "NO." I could not support something designed to take the rights away from others. I didn't live there. I couldn't vote on it. And still I received and onslaught of negative comments from my fellow members. A boy at my university told me I shouldn't even be Mormon. I should just "leave now" if I "couldn't support the leaders" of my church. The hypocritical friend from my other post called me "a bad Mormon." This confused me. I struggled with it intensely. Why was I being told to leave something that most members believe is the most wonderful message on this earth? Where did that line up with their beliefs? I thought this was a church about Jesus? Wouldn't Jesus let me stay with Him at church?

I was only slightly honest for a couple years after that. I kept a piece of myself hidden. I became recluse, as many "different" members do, with church activities and meetings. My husband and I moved to Washington for a summer and I was able to see what it was like to live somewhere else, somewhere a little more Liberal, somewhere a little more like me. I felt free and open, and loved my ward there, and when we had to move back I was devastated. I was terrified to move back to a place where people made me feel unwelcome in the spiritual place of my choosing. I became very unhappy when we came back. I had a breakdown (for more reasons than just my spirituality). I stopped sleeping. I went crazy. I went to therapy. After what seemed like a million months, I woke up from my certifiable insanity and stepped into the realization that I have to be exactly who I am to be happy. I stopped being quiet about myself. I wasn't apologizing for my feelings. If I love everyone then my message will still be true to myself without being offensive. I can and will be Mormon and be the weird person that I am.

A few months later I started this blog with that intention. I wanted other people to know that it was possible, that if this is what they wanted to believe, they didn't have to be a cookie cutter Mormon mom/girl with conservative ideals, who dreams to stay or stays at home with the gaggles of children she started having at 19 after dropping out of college, is overcompensationally modest, perfect, and proper (unless of course that is what they want to be---in which case I say GO YOU and have no qualms with you). The point is that we are all different and we all think differently and we all do different things.

And there is room in this church for everyone.

MY church teaches that church is for everyone. Does your church teach that? MY church teaches that church is a place of comfort and spirit, and that we should allow EVERYONE to feel it. We are not an exclusive club where only our ideally "perfect" people get to join. We are an open bar, a feeding trough to the hungry, even the runts, even the gluttonous, even those that have scars, even those that are different. MY church teaches us to follow the teachings of Jesus, and He taught that we should love everyone.

This has become my message, wherever I go, whomever I talk to. Lexi's blog won't let anyone post anymore comments, but if I could I would tell Lexi that the longer I have made this my message when sharing my differences, the more I've met people like me. For every nasty comment I've received about my being different, there have been several filled with respect and love, even when they don't agree with me. I have made friends I never thought I would have made four years ago, when my journey really started. Although I have still discovered those inside and out of my church that are disrespectful and not accepting of my inbetweeness, those people taught me who my real friends are, or will be in the future.

I am a Mormon. I will continue to be a Mormon. I have friends outside of the church that try to scare me into leaving now by telling me that I will be excommunicated (which I won't) for being different, or that I will be ostracized (which I'm okay with, because church is not a social call for me), or that I will be kicked off of church property (seriously do they even do that to people who haven't killed anyone recently?). There are people inside of the church that tell me I don't belong there (to which I say phooey, cause Jesus <3s me), that I am a sinner (I sure am! So are you!), and that I'm a bad Mormon (or am I the best kind of Mormon?). But as long as it ("it" being the doctrine, not the people) lifts me up I will continue to be at church meetings. A tiny piece of paper (a church record), callings, temple recommendations, and church attendance does not a Mormon make. A set of beliefs makes a Mormon (or a Christian, or a Muslim, or a Jew, or an Athiest, or a Democrat, or etc, etc). You decide that you're a Mormon (or a Catholic, or a feminist, or a stay-at-home-mother, etc.). And hopefully, that makes you a better person.

So don't let anyone else tell you otherwise.

Give me an H-Y-P-O-C-R-I-T-E!

hy·poc·ri·sy/hiˈpäkrisē/

Noun:

The practice of claiming to have moral standards or beliefs to which one's own behavior does not conform; pretense.

In high school I knew this kid who was the most laid back person I had ever met. I would even describe him as a "hippie." I had heard he fit the stereotype well, pot and all (He denies this now). We were close friends and I had this massive crush on him for years. He was a major gentleman, not too opinionated, just the sweetest kind of guy with some dark blond hair and rock hard abs (I digress). When I was dating his best friend who just so happened to be an ass hole, he stood up for me, tried to convince me to drop kick the kid far far away.

After high school he didn't go on a mission, a fact which I am totally cool with. I think that the people in the LDS church put too much pressure on kids to go on missions. A mission is not for everyone, no matter how much you think it should be. If you have so much faith in and love something so much that you want to go out and share it with everyone, I admire you. However, I would not be one of those people. I would not make it, not only because I'm one of the weirdest Mormons you'll ever meet, but also because I have GAD and being in that situation would probably drive me to have a nervous breakdown. We can't force kids to go out and proselyte to everyone any more than we can force them to clean their rooms. My friend, we'll call him Sam, didn't feel a mission was right for him, and I supported him.

We lost touch for a while, except for via facebook, and I noticed a change in him. A one hundred and eighty degree change. A change that I still don't fully believe has happened. It was gradual for a little while and then BOOM one day he was a right wing religious nut job. Not to call all right wingers nut jobs. No way. This is a special type of right wing (or left wing) that is so far right (or left) that their ideas seem almost ridiculous *cough* michellebachmann *cough*. Not only did he become this special kind of crazy, but he now uses his religion to back it up.

I don't understand this.

I may have different views but I don't claim my religion tells me these views are correct. I say that I feel that they are right, but that my feelings could be wrong. I fully admit that I don't have all the answers, and sometimes I'm using my heart of hearts and my logic to determine what I think.

As a preface: Nowhere in the scriptures does it say that we should hate gay people. Nowhere does it say that we should dislike those who are different from us. In fact, if Jesus were still alive, He would love these people, talk to them, discuss with them, and NEVER force His ideas upon them.

So when I said that I didn't support prop 8 and that I supported the LGBT community, my friend Sam basically told me that I was a bad Mormon, and "how dare" I "disagree with the leaders of the church." He went on for a few minutes about the fallacy of my thoughts. If anyone else had said this to me, I may have just shrugged it away, but Sam and my sister were now good friends and I had insight into his life. Sam liked to go to bars with someone close to me and he also liked to feel her up pretty good. Neither of these bothers me by themselves. My friends drink, and I mentioned that I was a bit of a tramp in high school, so obviously I've got no issues with other people getting down and dirty. I do, however, have a problem with someone using the church against me or others, especially when that person isn't following his/her own rules to live by.

In order to attend temple sessions you have to do a few things. You have to pay tithing, you have to obey the Word of Wisdom, you have to respect your fellow man and treat them in accordance, you have to obey the law of chastity, and you have to support the leaders of the church. This is the gist of the temple recommend interview and every other church interview. For anyone who reads this who is not LDS the WoW basically says don't drink or partake of anything that is addicting or unhealthy for your body. This includes alcohol, tobacco, drugs, coffee, and teas that contain tannin (not herbal teas). The law of chastity is about not having sex or being a part of sexual acts outside of marriage--including unfaithfulness to a spouse, and all of the things I did in high school (oops. Repenting sucks.)

I have a temple recommend. I can answer "yes" to all of those questions asked of me by my bishop in a temple recommend interview.. To an LDS person the temple is the ultimate goal. It's a place of peace and wisdom, a place to think and ponder. It is a place to get closer to the Lord-- Sacred marriages are performed here, families are united forever. Again for those of you not in the church, or who haven't been, I'm sorry we don't talk about exactly what goes on inside the temple. I will discuss my thoughts on this later (basically the temple is beautiful. I love the celestial room. The whole experience is kind of...boring not in a bad way--just in an it's-really-not-that-big-of-a-secret way). To be allowed inside the temple means that you should be following the basic principles of the church, unless you lie.  It encompasses all of the most important principles. When it is asked "do you drink soda pop?" or "Do you have a disdain for gay marriage?" I will probably not go to the temple anymore...

My point is that I feel that I am doing a pretty damn good job. I'm not perfect, but I strive to be a good person and respect the wishes of my church. Sam judged me for an opinion, a feeling, that isn't exactly the same as everyone else's. I don't live in California. I didn't protest prop 8. I just felt that it was wrong. Sam, on the other hand, was doing things that are against the wishes of the church (things I don't give a rat's ass about) while judging me profusely and making me feel as if I don't belong in a church that teaches that church is for everyone. I don't care what he was doing. It doesn't bother me that he was drinking or getting busy with my friend. It does bother me that his actions were the very definition of the word hypocritical. Who is he to look anyone else and say they are not doing what the Lord wants? Who am I? Who is anyone? The difference between most of us and people like Sam is that most of us don't put ourselves on a pedestal while putting others in a deeply dug hole in the middle of the earth. When he decided not to go on a mission I applauded his bravery for standing strong on a very controversial issue in the church. When I announced that I don't feel it's right to disallow the gay population an equal right, he condemned and criticized me for my feeling.

The church I belong to stands for being there for people, for supporting them when they are feeling weak or down. Church is a place for those who need it most, those who are not perfect, those who are struggling, and those who need guidance. The people tend to make this not so. I'm not sure what makes some people so egocentric, unable to empathize with others. The people that need to be at church most are the people who are most belittled for being there, like it is a place of perfection, and your imperfect hands will taint the very walls with their sins. Women hear a young teenager is pregnant, and instead of taking her in, tell their children to stay away. Someone struggles with pornography and all avoid this someone like he or she is filled with a disease that could be spread on. A man cheats on his wife and people don't want him to come to class or teach their children in scouts, when that is the very place he should be to feel better, to learn lessons, to realize his mistake.

I've got news for you. We all make mistakes.

The only one that can tell you or I that something is indeed a sin is God. We have no right to judge the inherent rightness or wrongness of another person's actions, because for every commandment, there will always be exceptions. There will always be circumstances, and only the Lord (if there is one) knows what is inside our hearts. What if that pregnant girl was raped? What if she was coerced? What if she was just confused? Maybe you have heard about that person looking at pornography because he is trying to change. Maybe that husband is trying to figure out his life again, and the only place he feels peace and can sort out his feelings is in his position at church. My God doesn't push people away. The God I read about doesn't condemn us. He loves us. He is the perfect Daddy, who hushes our tears, and holds us after mistakes are made, to watch us cry and stroke our cheeks. My God, my Heavenly Father, loves us no matter what we do, and besides the individual, only He is the one that holds all of the keys to the situation, and our hearts.

So Sam, you now think that everything is so black and white, when really that would give us a very dreary world. In your Black and White world, you can never possibly be pure white, so I suppose you are the blackest black.  In my world there is color and progression and diversity. I am somewhere in the middle, working one step towards the white white white. Which world would you rather live in?

How can we judge another person's supposed flaws, when we ourselves contain so many things to "fix?"

hy·poc·ri·sy/hiˈpäkrisē/

Noun:

The practice of claiming to have moral standards or beliefs to which one's own behavior does not conform; pretense.