Finding Purpose--Finding Joy

Years ago, I was among a large group of relatives at a Christmas party. My uncle wanted each of us to tell something about ourselves. One family member declared that she was working on being happy. Being happy! What a strange thing to say. Just be happy, I thought. How hard is it? That was back at the age when I had everything figured out, under the age of thirty.

Life, since then has taught me a thing or two. Happiness seemed outside of my grasp, a decade or so after that party. The endless lump in my throat. The heavy chest. The tears only a blink away. The utter hopelessness. For me, that first depression was only a mild one, but it taught me what my relative meant. Happiness wasn’t as easy a thing to maintain as I had previously thought.

Now another couple of decades have passed since then and the happiness roller coaster continues. One of the tenets of my Mormon faith is personal revelation. And even though a quick search on LDS.org shows that personal revelation is talked about by our church leaders literally thousands of times over the years, it’s something that church members argue about. If you bring it up in Sunday School or Relief Society you will find that your personal revelation will be subject to scrutiny by other members. We judge each other’s personal revelation. But see, I don’t think we have the right to do that. By the very name of it, there’s only one person entitled to it—the individual. So if you think I'm off in left field, that's ok, that's your right. And it's my right to be me. 

I have no doubt that some members of my faith have wondered if I’ve gone off the deep end because I post so many controversial things, especially on LGBT issues. And then yes, there’s that other little thing—my feminist leanings. In the last year or two as challenges to feeling real joy have yet resurfaced, I’ve prayed for answers. Sometimes I would lie in bed at night and not be able to sleep because of the anxiety I've felt over the way my church didn’t have any real answers for the LGBT community. Over the years I’ve read a few things. I've listened to BYU’s Dr. William Bradshaw. I've read Carol Lynn Pearson’s books. I’ve listened to LGBT friends and parents. I've read about suicides attempts and suicides. My heart grew heavier. I had to take a break and step away from the church for a time. Attending caused me too much pain. The God I believe in would provide a viable path for his children--all His children--not just the straight.

One morning as I lay in bed, after another sleepless night. I was so sad. God doesn’t reject his children and neither should His church. While I was thinking about this an answer came. And it was very clear. “Don’t just mourn. Do something.”

Well, I’m no expert, but I know my heart. A few years ago, I didn’t dare post anything. I didn’t dare write anything on this issue. Even though I felt like it was important then, I didn’t want my name attached to it. But the great thing about personal revelation is that when you follow the spirit, He gives you the peace and confidence that you need to go forward. Finally, I understand that fear dissipates when you exercise faith. And as I am following my purpose and writing my blog, doing interviews, and attending meetings, my peace and happiness has returned.

A Little Pride

It was a simple thing to do on a beautiful Sabbath morning, but few things in life could prepare me for feeling a love so strong I thought it would knock me off my feet. It took everything I had to continue to walk instead of stumbling in a heap of tears on the Salt Lake City Streets.

A hoard of four hundred plus of us walked together to cheers fit for returning war heroes. There may have been heroes amongst our Mormons Building Bridges group dressed not in soldier uniforms, but ordinary clothes: skirts, or shirts and ties, donning signs that declared love for all, Jesus said love everyone, Equality, and All are alike unto God. Rainbow flags, and banners with emphasis on family inclusion, were held high. The heroes may have been the family there to support their transgender son, who declared not only love for him, but for all like him. Telling news cameras that they wished each family had the blessings that they have had to be able to support their child, and their brother. The heroes may have been the gay couple who marched, arms around each other. It may have been the eighty-year-old grandmother, or the family that marched as four generations of love, or it may have been the man in the wheelchair waving his small rainbow flag. It may have been the many parents who set aside exclusionary doctrine to simply love, as Jesus would have them love. It was hard to pinpoint the heroes amongst us, we looked so much like anyone else, but then that’s the whole point. We are the “alike unto God.”

In a strange reversal of roles I suspect the true heroes were not the marchers, though there were some, the true heroes were the thousands lining the parade route, shouting their love for us, applauding, cheering, crying, hugging, and high-fiving in a way that showed forgiveness, love, and acceptance--to us. The heroes were those who have faced and continue to face day after day discrimination and yet press forward with faith for a better day.  Dreaming for a time when “equality for all” actually means them. I will continue to dream along with them.