Gay Underwear

Daughter Tries Big Girl Underwear

Long, long ago in the exotic and dreamy land of Texas, my wife and I raised 6 gorgeous daughters. Our third child was almost done with diapers. She was so ready. It had not escaped her notice that the 2 older sisters wore something very different around their waists. Not a clunky diaper like her. Something big kids wear. Something she was determined to wear, too. One day, this bouncy ball of energy confidently strode into the living room. No baby underwear this time. As an eager & innocent child, she had plundered her sisters’ underwear drawer. There she was, regally sporting plural panties. That’s right. Not just one pair, but three, pulled up on her little body. But, wait, there’s more. My cute toddling girl didn’t quite have the knack. She had put both legs through one leg hole and pulled all three panties up over her waist. Her wide & properly proud smile, was met by my ear-to-ear grin. I was working with all my mightiest might to not break out laughing. I’m chuckling as I write. Chuckling at the vision of two tiny legs in one hole, with the other openings dangling at her side.

My daughter’s first attempt at new, big girl attire, was memorable and fun. With a slight correction from mom, she got it right from then on.

This past Sunday, I made my first attempt at something I’ve wanted to do for over 12 months. Probably, like my little girl from years ago, I got it a bit wrong, on my first try. Hopefully, with a little help from mom, I’ll get it right from here on.

Supreme Satisfaction

Over one year ago, a decision from the U.S. Supreme Court legalized gay marriage in all states. My church, the Mormon Church, believes that marriage should be only between a man and a women. It had actively, and for a while, effectively, campaigned against gay marriage. Lots of money and muscle were poured in.

A few weeks after this landmark decision, our highest church leaders sent a letter to every congregation in the United States. Instructions were given to gather all the adults together on a specified Sunday, have the letter read, and then open the floor for questions and discussion.

When the designated day of discussion arrived, a distinguished visitor did too. In the Mormon Church there are a number of high leaders called General Authorities. Only a few years have passed since one of our own was called to this lofty position. A marvelous man by the name of Gifford Nielsen. He and his sweet wife had lived in our neighborhood and raised their kids in our congregation. They are beloved and well known by all. By the way, we refer to a General Authority as ‘Elder.’

The letter was read. Questions were raised. Elder Nielsen stood to direct the discussion. It was all good. Interesting. Informative.

As we considered issues regarding gay people, my heart became heavy. I wanted to do something, but didn’t know how. So, I asked a question that resembled a statement:

“Over the years, several of my friends have been gay. But, at the time, I had no idea. They may not have totally understood where they were at, either. In every case, we lost touch. They just disappeared from sight. Years later, when we reconnected, I discovered that they had come out as gay. Some were divorced. Some never married. Some were still married. All had suffered from rejection, depression, shunning, fear and loss. In every case, I regretted that I had not been there to support my dear friends during this dark, difficult, and lonely period. But, none of them had any confidence in the loyalty of church friends. I don’t want that to EVER happen again. Somehow I want to send the message to all in my circle of acquaintance that I love and accept them if they are gay, no matter what!”

Elder Nielsen’s response was beautiful and direct, “That’s exactly the message the church is sending, that we love everybody.”

His words have haunted me for these past 12 months. What I desperately wanted to do was send a message of love and acceptance to all in my circle of association. Someone, that I know is gay and has not come out yet. I don’t know who he or she is. But, I want them, to know, without any doubt, that I am a true and loyal friend. Gay or straight has no bearing, whatsoever, on my affection and respect for them. Never again, do I want to see a friend suffer alone because he did not trust the faithfulness of my friendship.

Rainbow Ribbon

Ribbonized

And, then, a way forward materialized. Some weeks ago, a few women with concerns like mine, encouraged as many as they could, to wear a rainbow ribbon to church. Its purpose would be to send the very message that Elder Nielsen had voiced last year. The same message that the church wants to send. Hopefully, these good tidings would especially be seen and sensed by those who are struggling to figure out their identity. My church attire now contains the comprehensive color of my rainbow ribbon.

Dad Tries Big Boy Underwear

I took the ribbon one step further. Like my daughter’s donning of 3 pair of underwear, I might be about to, metaphorically, cause a similar comical stare. My first attempt to address a large group of friends, with the hope of giving hope to the hopeless.

In the LDS church (Mormon Church), the first Sunday of every month is reserved for a special type of service. It’s called Testimony meeting. No one is scheduled to speak. The sacrament (communion) is served. Then, the balance to the meeting is open to anyone who wishes to share their spiritual feelings.

Just a little nervous, I sat in the pew with my colorful rainbow pinned in prominent contrast to my black shirt. I had not planned to ‘bear testimony.’ As I sat with the grand kids and listened to the heartfelt testimonies, my heart started to thump…in my throat! It was urging me on, to not let a prime opportunity pass. Elder Nielsen’s message of love rattled in my brain. Off to the podium I confidently strode, with all my queasy uneasiness.

I related the Supreme Court’s pronouncement. Told of my friends who had come out. Shared our General Authority’s concise and comely counsel. Quoted the Book of Mormon, “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings, ye are only in the service of your God. Quoted Jesus, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me.” Not unto the richest, or most respected, or best looking, or most popular. Unto the LEAST. Then we have done it unto Jesus.

Then this, “I love these teachings of Jesus. And, I’m sending a message with my colorful ribbon, that I love everyone in our congregation. No matter what your situation. No matter if someone comes out as different from others. I’m here. Never again should one of us suffer in loneliness. We are all a loving people. I love and support you.”

It’s a simple message, right? A message needed so badly by a somebody so precious. A treasured somebody, who I may never know. A somebody yearning for a glimpse of healing hope.

Now, I hope that my mom, or my friends, will help me make necessary corrections to my message. My little girl got her undies right. I want to tidy up my good tidings. And convey them over and over and over again.

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

Empty Chairs

“There’s a grief that can’t be spoken

There’s a pain goes on and on
Empty chairs at empty tables
Now my friends are dead and gone.

Oh my friends, my friends, forgive me
That I live and you are gone.
There’s a grief that can’t be spoken
There’s a pain goes on and on.”

Friends have left and friends are leaving.
Why, oh why, am I so sad?

For five years, a good friend sat at my side as counselor to me, his bishop. Years later he came out. No friends he could count on. Now, he’s gone.

My close siblings with gay children. November came. Now, they’re gone.

Ten years ago, a leader’s baptismal talk touched me. Passionate, poignant, & perceptive. I still remember what he had to say. Recently, hidden facts of history came out. Now, he’s out. His wife and he are gone.

Twenty-five years ago, I was bishop. A single man, returned missionary, came in to say he was gay. My clueless counsel was to “keep coming”. My clueless action was to take none. Every Sunday, I watched for him. Any Sunday I saw him, my heart melted with joy and relief. He’s still here! For twenty-five years he managed to stay. November came. Now, he’s gone.

A former bishop & his wife, members most of their life. Hidden facts of history came out. Now, they’re out.

This weekend I saw an old friend from 20 years ago. History came out, her husband’s out. Out of the church, not the family. She stays for her kids. But, for how long? I’m concerned that like her husband, she’ll soon be gone. Nowhere, nowhere, nowhere for her to discuss, and for that she longs.

Several more examples, I could give, of friends and family who have left. And, left in just the past 2 years, many since November’s veer.

Why does it sadden me?

That they have chosen a lesser path? No, I don’t believe that. If there is a heaven to get to, that’s exactly where my friends who have gone will go. I wish them joy & godspeed on the road they have chosen. This is a happy thought for me.

But, tears well up. I miss the days when they were reliably in neighboring chairs and tables. Chairs of instruction. Tables of counsel. Chairs of service. Tables of camaraderie, community, & cordiality. Now, empty chairs at empty tables. My friends are gone.

Perhaps, I’m sad from seeing little done to help my friends stay. Questions and doubts must be halted and hidden. “A grief that can’t be spoken.” Or worse, a grief dismissed as if merely token. That is, if they muster the courage to be outspoken.

It’s definitely sad, that one’s orientation is better undisclosed. Love spoken for those closeted unknowns, is proscribed from our expression. After all, in the church none are homosexual. Another “grief that can’t be spoken.”

It makes me sad that I can’t do more to ease the emptying of chairs at tables.

In reality, I am THE only part of the puzzle that I can direct and control. My sadness is causing me to drastically reform my thoughts and actions. Stand silently on the sidelines?…..No Longer! I’m going to stand up for what I have been taught is right, all my life. What I believe in my heart, is right and just and fair.

I’m willing to discuss, to empathize, to understand, to reach out. I’m willing to follow Jesus and love unconditionally. At least, attempt to love in His way. More of my friends are going to leave. That’s OK. But, I want them to know that neither one of us has abandoned the other. We are still friends. Probably, better friends for having supported each other, wholeheartedly, in our respective journeys.

Oh my friends, my friends, forgive me
That I STAY and you are gone.
There’s a grief that can’t be spoken
There’s a pain goes on and on.

Ballroom Prophetess

Coming Out

It’s finally time for me to come out! I admit and take ownership. No longer will I be embarrassed by who I am.

Am I gay? Nope. Though, I do have many good friends who are gay.

Have I left the Mormon church? Nope. Yes, I do have many good friends who have made the choice to leave.

Do I . . . . ? Hold your horses!!! I’ll get there.

Secrets

For several years, I’ve been engaged in a hidden activity known only to my immediate family members; wife and later the kids. I was assiduous in concealing it from my wider sphere of family, friends and acquaintances. Fortunately, those who knew of my frequent furtive festivity, seldom even whispered of it. A blessing, indeed. I wasn’t ready for the world to know.

How often have friends regaled with their exotic exploits. Marathons & mountain climbing, fishing & flying, travel & triathlons, biking & backpacking, golf & guns. Some hobbies are pursued with wealth. But, mine was always pursued in stealth.

Here Goes . . .

BALLROOM DANCE. Ok, I’ve said it. I’m exhaling with a big sigh of relief. Now you know. And, I no longer need to hide my surreptitious avocation.

For the past several years, I’ve taken ballroom dance lessons. It’s challenging, fun and a great diversion. I love the music and the movement. Frustration, when I don’t understand and can’t get it. Exhilaration, when comprehension and competence finally come. Last year, I entered my first dance competition. Kind of scary. Dancing in approximately 60 entries, I was a bit overwhelmed. Waltz, foxtrot, Viennese waltz, quickstep and tango. Emotions all over the place. From, embarrassment, I’m going to quit, I hate my teacher . . to . . electrifying thrill! A level of euphoria that I have not felt since my teenage years.

Last Saturday was competition #2. This time, my better judgment, now colored with experience, kept me to a modest 20 entries. Emotions only ran on the side of, “Oh man, this is so fun.” Here’s a video of 2 heats, a waltz and foxtrot.

The Prophetess

Of course, ballroom dance requires instruction. Instruction requires an instructor. I have a great one! All wrapped up together, she is . . . trainer, coach, guide, tutor, mentor & drillmaster. But, most important, she is a Prophetess. At least to me.

I just read the paragraph above to my daughter and she asked, “What does that mean? It sounds like you are in love with her.” I’m not. She is 30 years my younger and a good friend to my wife and kids. In fact, my daughters question reveals just one type of judgment I’ve sought to avoid by not openly discussing my sport of choice.

But, what does it mean that she is a prophetess?

Well, in my church there are 15 men we sustain as prophets. We look to them for direction on many/most of life’s matters. When they speak, we listen. Not only listen, but we obey. “It’s not mine to reason why, mine is but to do and . . . ” We are to follow the prophet, even if he is wrong. And . . . no criticism allowed.

Ok. I recognize that the comparison of my teacher to the prophets is not completely parallel. But, last Saturday, something happened that caused me to spot a similarity. My 20 heats were about to start. For the next couple of hours, I would be totally occupied with the competition. Anticipation, electricity, excitement swirled in my mind. My teacher brought all of my wondering awe to an abrupt halt with 2 clear commands, “Sam, how long has it been since you went to the bathroom?” Methinks, ‘What kind of a question is that to ask a 63 year old adult.’ Me-speaks, “I’m not sure.” Teacher, “I want you to go the bathroom. While you’re there, blow your nose.” Obediently, Sam immediately complied. For good measure, I even washed my hands.

No Comparison

It’s true that I have had concerns about openly discussing my ballroom dance adventure. Mostly, because it seemed wimpy in comparison to Iron Man exploits. Plus, it opens me to a judgmental society.

I have personally seen the struggles of gay people and non-believing Mormons coming out to the world. For many/most/all, it’s excruciatingly painful. Fraught with judgment, confusion, anger, sadness, depression, loss and shunning.

Oh, how I wish it didn’t have to be this way. Things are changing. Changing for the better. The time will come when all Comings-Out will be as benign as that of a Ballroom Dancer.

Handicapped Heartbreak

Over 20 years ago, a wonderful woman was brought to church by the missionaries. During the preceding weeks, they had taught her the discussions. She was single, in her upper 40’s, an overall delight of a person, and . . . excited about the restored gospel. One characteristic set her apart from all other members of the congregation. She was wheelchair bound.

A baptismal date was scheduled for the next Saturday. The bishop was so happy to see such a quality person coming into his Ward. Her wheelchair was brought to the edge of the font stairs. Four Elders lifted and gently carried her down into the water. A beautiful and sacred ordinance was performed in a crowded and joy filled font.

One day later, the new convert was warmly welcomed into the ward, both from the pulpit and by the membership. One week later, the bishop was happy to hear that the new member wanted to meet with him. Unfortunately, she informed him that this would be her last Sunday at church. Being in meetings for any length of time was too uncomfortable. There were no handicap equipped bathrooms!!! An embarrassing accident was all too likely. This sweet woman was going to be denied all the benefits of church attendance because of deficiencies in the building’s toilet facilities. In effect, a person who was different from all others in the congregation was being excluded from church blessings. The bishop was heartbroken.

The existence of this problem was already known to the bishop. It just hadn’t directly touched him yet. One of the other wards in the building had a member with limited control of legs or arms. From time-to-time, discussions were had about bathroom difficulties. But, no action had been initiated to acquire handicap accessible facilities.

Now, that a new convert had been lost, the bishop sprang into action. His mission was to secure a bathroom makeover, ASAP. He contacted the Stake President, who seemed sympathetic. The high councilman over meetinghouse remodeling was assigned the task. Then, organizational red tape set in. Eight months passed. Calls were made, letters exchanged, discussions had, but no action. Finally, the bishop, in frustration and with a bit of anger, decided to take matters into his own hands. He was not going to watch another handicapped member slip away because of a potential bodily function mishap.

A bid was obtained to retrofit one of the building’s bathrooms. $16,000. Of course, this was way out of the budget bounds allotted by Salt Lake City. At the time, fundraising was only permitted for youth camps. This did not deter the bishop’s plans.

He called the construction department at church headquarters. With one of the head architects on the phone, the bishop made the following statement. “We have no handicap equipped bathrooms. I recently lost a new wheelchair bound convert because of this. In the other ward, there is a member who has limited use of his arms and legs. Bathroom visits for him are difficult and dangerous. Over the past 8 months, I’ve tried to get the needed remodel done through the proper stake channels. Nothing is on the horizon. I’m not calling to ask permission. Rather, I’m calling to inform you of my plans. The build out is going to cost $16,000. Two weeks from today, I’m going to start a fundraising campaign. I thought you would like to know.”

Less than two weeks later, a church architect crossed the same chapel threshold that the wonderful wheelchair woman was never to cross again. In three months, construction was completed with funds, design, and support from Salt Lake. But, it was too late. The convert, from 12 months prior, was not to return.

Fast forward twenty years. All the LDS churches now have handicap stalls.

However, there are still people in the church who are in a situation that sets them apart from all other members of the congregation. As a result, they are excluded from the blessings that can be found in the church. This situation did not exist until November of last year. Like the bishop of years ago, I feel heartbroken.

Oh, how I wish that I could just call the church construction department, describe the situation of members leaving, and then have a ‘policy’ architect quickly cross the threshold of my chapel. And . . . do it before more of my friends depart, never to cross the chapel threshold again.

Greetings World!

OK. I know it’s a pretty small world, with only one lonely inhabitant. Me. At least for the moment.

For a long time, I have wanted to put my thoughts down on paper, metaphorically speaking. Over the past couple of years, unexpected philosophical developments have shaken my life. They have been quite disconcerting. In October 2015, seven months ago, a friend suggested that I start posting my thoughts in certain social channels. I did. By golly, I found it to be delightfully addicting, cathartic and validating. It also helped me move forward and hone my life’s direction.

Over the past week, several people, in the groups where I post, have suggested that the amount of time I invest in composing would be better served by a blog. I love the Facebook communities. There, I know many and am known by many. The feedback is plentiful, interesting, and helpful in refining my thought processes. The posts by others frequently enlightens and uplifts. At my friends’ gentle nudging’s I’m following their recommendation to venture into a new world. One that is exposed to public scrutiny. No longer behind the protective blanket of closed groups.

For my blog’s theme, I’ve selected religion and spirituality. I’m Mormon. Was raised Mormon. At 19, I served a 2 year full-time mission to Guatemala and El Salvador. Married in the temple. Raised 6 children in the church. Have actively served in many callings . I’m still an active Mormon. But, my faith is transitioning.

For the time being, I plan to discuss changes in my belief, decisions I’ve made, and actions I am in the process of taking. My faith journey is by no means complete. Over the past seven months of posting, much mind morphing has materialized. I’m sure more will be forthcoming. This faith journey has been exciting and exhilarating . . . at times. At others, it’s been a source of frequent anger, sadness, loneliness, alienation, frustration, and depression. My friend who suggested writing was right on. It has been a great help to vent, think, contemplate and refine through the written word.

Now, off to the blogosphere I go.

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Tag: Gay