Some time ago I was told by a servant of God that I would be blessed with the ability to see things from the perspective of others. I'm now realizing what a curse that blessing was. Rather than simply gifting me with perspective, it was perhaps in some ways warning me of the many experiences I would have that were necessary for me to develop that perspective.
I have depression and anxiety. I have been married. And I've had that marriage annulled. I am a member of the LGBTQ community. I'm a graduate student at BYU. And I'm a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day saints. Sometimes these experiences have been blessings, other times they feel more like crosses to bear. But all have blessed me with an ability to see.
In some ways, looking back, my orientation was kind of obvious, so much so that when I first told my parents almost a year ago, their first response other than to show their love was to admit that they had already suspected as much. But for the one going through it, it was so much harder to see and to accept, especially in a culture where every expectation, hope, and dream is the opposite.
It was so much easier to think that I merely admired the women I loved, or to tell myself that I was simply not as emotionally driven as my twitter-pated peers, or to believe that I simply had yet to find that perfect man who who would set me off. And so I kept telling myself these things, because deep down I wanted, and still want, a family, and all the blessings we so often speak of coming with it. I wanted it so bad that I married a wonderful man, and had the painful opportunity through that experience of coming to terms with a truth, that in the very least for his sake, I should have seen before, and that I don't know I could have accepted otherwise.
What followed was honestly put, a faith crisis. I was angry at God for leading me to a marriage He must have known would not work. But more so, I was angry at His conditions, which I couldn't help but see as a bias toward His straight children, and a bar to those that aren't. In our Church's cannon of scripture there is one scripture, a revelation given to the Prophet Joseph Smith, that was hardest of all for me to swallow. The gist is that in heaven there are degrees of glory, and in order to obtain the highest degree of glory, you have to be married to someone of the opposite gender as husband and wife. I imagine that it is this notion, along with the Church's focus on the eternal family, that is so hard for so many of the LGBTQ members of the Church.
I know there are many wonderful single people out there, and my mother pointed this out to me, to show me that I wasn't alone, and also to say that surely God has a plan for them. I agreed, but I still felt a little trapped. I imagine these people who have desired their whole lives to marry but have simply not had the opportunity walking up to the pearly gates. I imagine God is there and greets them and then introduces them to a wonderful spouse. And then, hand in hand, they walk through those gates into their happily ever after. But then there's me, and all those like me, who do not have nor necessarily want a spouse. I imagine walking up to the pearly gates and God presenting me with a wonderful man. And then I'm stuck, because either I reject the offer and my opportunity to live in the highest degree of glory with God, or I accept and spend the rest of eternity with a man I may be incapable of loving on an intimate level. Either way, where in this is the happiness that is promised to the righteous?
It left me with a number of conclusions, none of which I particularly liked. Either my orientation was wrong and would therefore be fixed when I was resurrected to a perfect, celestial body, at which point I would gladly accept a husband and walk through the pearly gates OR there was nothing inherently wrong about my orientation: it was a part of my eternal nature and simply represented another one of the many trivial differences we deal with as humans, in which case I would be left with my dilemma at those pearly gates.
So either my very nature was wrong and sinful, but at least I might have a happy eternity OR there was nothing wrong about my nature, but for the rest of eternity it would be my cross. Perhaps it is now obvious why the temptation to leave my faith was so strong. And why it can be so hard for those like me who are trying to be both members of the Church and members of the LGBTQ community. It has taken me a long time to at least see how they do not have to be mutually exclusive, and to find the answer that works for me.
As far as BYU, Church, and nationwide policies etc, I don't have the answers, but what I hope is that we can all be a little more empathetic, and that if we can't at first bring ourselves to understanding, that we at least can begin to see.
Candidly,
Cookie
No comments:
Post a Comment