Tony’s Story (Unworthy Series)

I am a 3 year exmormon (intellectually) and a 1 year exmormon (activity).

I was all-in in the Church. I was willing and working to go as far as I could spiritually in this life. I read my scriptures every day for 4 years straight while I was a teenager before my mission. I woke up every single day on my mission at 6:30 except for 2 times when my alarm didn’t go off. I believed in following the letter of the law, and then going beyond the letter in following the spirit of the law.

I was crushed by guilt during the decade surrounding my mission. As a teenager, I found myself unable to avoid masturbating. I’d wake up in the middle of the night with my hand down my pants. My dad, and then bishop, told me, “If you have to duct tape your hands to the bedposts, do it! I’ve excommunicated people for these types of sins. If you don’t stop, you’re going to have to tell your mother.” I seriously considered cutting off my penis after reading Jesus say “if thy eye offend thee, cut it out, that it doesn’t pollute the whole body”. Luckily I didn’t, but at the time I thought that God had told me what I was supposed to do to be rid of the sin, but I was too weak and had too little faith to follow through. This made me feel more guilt.

On my mission, I strove to make my eye single to the glory of God. Every day, every minute, every thought I would check to see if what I was doing or thinking was helping to lead others to come closer to Christ. If I were ever in a situation where I couldn’t help others come unto Christ (3 other missionaries watching Resident Evil with a guy and I can’t leave because then I’d be leaving my comp), I would make sure that I was feeling guilt over breaking the rule. If I was forced to break a rule, maybe God would have mercy on me if I didn’t enjoy it.

I knew that God was perfect and that he would not abandon me if I held up my side of the bargain. When no one cared about my message, when no one felt anything special when I shared it, and when I didn’t feel any power when I shared it, I felt abandoned and could only conclude that I was not doing something good enough. I felt deep guilt at my incompetence, weakness, and unworthiness. I wanted to kill myself but I knew that that would only make me more unworthy in the afterlife, so I hated myself instead.

Guilt is probably the best word to summarize my adolescent and adult experience in the LDS Church.

Where I am now–I don’t believe in any anthropomorphic god. I stopped believing in God before I stopped believing in Mormonism (yes, that was a bit of cognitive dissonance to deal with), and it basically boiled down to 1) acknowledging that there was no way to source my spiritual experiences outside of my own head and 2) the world making more sense without an anthropomorphic god.

I’m generally pretty happy, but can face depression and anxiety. My cognitive dissonance is very much improved, but now I’m working out a new ethical structure for my life. While “don’t be a dick” and the golden rule is a great start, I’m still faced with some moral uncertainty. I used hypothetical reasoning (yes I just made that term up) to get my mind out of Mormonism, and I feel like it is probably a good tool to break through other delusions I have.

When I use it, I come to some really hard conclusions. I think I probably shouldn’t use oil, shouldn’t eat meat, shouldn’t use more than a small percentage of my income on myself.
I have a hard time coming to peace with the world. Often I think of this world as extremely hellish. This existential rant is the dark side of my thoughts.

The bright side of my thoughts is built on hope through humanity. Yes, the world is still disgusting and horrible in many ways, but it’s better for humanity in general. We’re working to give women rights, minority races rights, and gay people rights. War and disease are diminishing. It’s a slow improvement, but I hope we’ll get to a beautiful future.

(This is part of a series on shame and unworthiness.  Read more people’s experiences here)

Judy’s Story (Unworthy Series)

When I was in my early teens I decided it was time for me to gain my own testimony. I buckled down and started reading my scriptures daily, praying fervently, and making an effort to be more kind, reverent, patient, meek, etc. When I got to the end of the BoM, and knelt down to fulfill my part in Moroni’s Promise, the response I got was…. nothing. Not a single thing. I still couldn’t look myself in the mirror and say, “I know the church is true.” I had a hard time even saying I believed in God, because I just didn’t know.

Over the next decade or so I fell into a cycle. I would make an effort to finally gain the testimony I so desperately wanted, lunging fully into all-out Molly Mormon mode (starting each cycle with an act designed to get me focused on the gospel, as benign as covering an entire bedroom wall with scriptures and quotes from prophets/apostles I liked, or as insane as transferring across the country to attend a church school). After months of reading my scriptures for hours a day and praying long into the night, I would come away with that big pile of nothing. I would then become severely depressed, because I knew I was doing all the things I was supposed to do, and God still wasn’t answering my prayers. I thought that must mean that I wasn’t being what I was supposed to be, that I was so inherently flawed that the Holy Ghost had abandoned me long ago. Between the ages of 14-20 I attempted suicide three times because I felt so absolutely worthless that I thought if I could just die and go to the Telestial Kingdom then at least the self-loathing and guilt would go away.

Here’s the thing – during this decade of vicious self-hatred and guilt I never once broke the Word of Wisdom. I never even got so far as a french kiss with a boy. I always dressed modestly. I didn’t swear. I paid my tithing. I went years at a time without missing a single day reading my scriptures. I was president of all of my YW groups, president of my seminary class, and on the Institute council. I went to church every week, and to all my activities. I wasn’t doing a damn thing wrong, even by Mormon standards.

But every time I told someone – a family member, a friend, a church leader – that I was feeling depressed, they told me it was because I wasn’t close enough to God. They told me that if I just put a little more effort in to Choosing The Right then I would feel the comfort of the Savior. Their first question when I said how I felt was always, “Well, are you reading your scriptures? Are you saying your prayers?” It was reinforced again and again that the fault was my own. However hard I thought I was working, I should be working harder. “Jesus is knocking on a door without a handle,” they’d remind me. “It’s up to you to let him in.”

Finally one Sunday afternoon, in my mid-20s, I was sitting on my bed looking over all the notes I had taken in Sacrament meeting and Sunday School that day (as I did every week), writing into my journal yet another idea about how I could finally gain a testimony this time. A thought popped into my head. I don’t know how it got there, exactly. It was just a simple idea – four tiny words – that changed my life forever.

“I’m a good person.”

I had never, EVER thought that about myself before. I was suddenly flooded with warmth. My breath caught in my throat. I let myself think it again. “I’m a good person.” The next thought in my head was likewise unexpected. “I bet if there’s a Heaven, I would get to go. If God is who the Mormon church says he is, I want nothing to do with him.”

I immediately grabbed my Bible. I decided right then and there that I was going to shift the direction of my spiritual studies. I was going to learn all about God – who he was, what he wanted from me, how I could know him – and I wanted to start at the beginning. I opened up Genesis, Chapter 1, and started reading.

I made it 27 verses before shutting the book and saying aloud, “This is all bullshit. I don’t believe in any of it.”

Two minutes. After more than 10 years of torturing myself trying to be better, better, better, all the time, it took less than two minutes for me to abandon religion completely. That tiny spark of self worth – “I’m a good person” – was hot enough and intense enough and bright enough to burn down my entire belief structure, and the thing that rose from the ashes like a phoenix was a new way to look at life. “I’m a good person. That’s what my religion is. To be good. To be nice. To basically not be a dick to people – and especially not to be a dick to myself. To love myself, warts and all, and know that my desire to be kind to others is worth more than any empty promise a God could give me.

(This is part of a series on shame and unworthiness.  Read more people’s experiences here)

Unworthy – a Story Series

The day after I posted the “Unworthy” article was one of the happiest of my life.  I spent all of Friday morning reading people’s comments and replying to them – everyone was saying they understood, or they had gone through the same thing, or “I didn’t know others went through this.” 

As I drove into the Walmart parking lot and a driver almost cut me off, I nodded to them and thought, “We all do it.”  While shopping, I whistled the entire time and genuinely enjoyed thinking about the lives of the people I passed–the little girl who let out a five-second scream as loudly as she could and the father who desperately tried to stop it–and when I drove home I got a hit of euphoria as I hit the gas peddle to get on the freeway.  I was enjoying every moment.

I had been worried about posting the article, worried about how others would respond, worried because of some of my past experiences with writing online, thinking that my inner thoughts would be ridiculed or criticized.  Instead, I was welcomed into the hidden world of the Unworthy and told I belonged, I was asked if others belonged there too, and I felt accepted with all the parts of me I had been afraid of expressing.

Expressing those inner thoughts was therapeutic for myself and for others.

That’s why it wouldn’t be enough for me to just post my own story and move on.  Others sent me their stories in response to mine, and they were potent.

Today, I bring two stories – one from Judy and one from Tony.  If you’d like to submit your own for consideration (whether you’re active LDS or not), please send me an email.

Unworthy – a Story Series:

Shame and Vulnerability – Brené Brown TEDx

The response to yesterday’s article was . . . unexpected.  I wrote the first part to this article about a month and a half ago, slowly working on the wording and the way I presented my story, with a consistent struggle to stay real and not try to be strong.  I kept thinking of different ways people would be able to poke at me through my words to show how my decisions were based on a weakness or misunderstanding or something else, and I had to fight consistently to not include preemptive defenses to things people might say.  I wanted to stay honest, and just express myself, and that was difficult.  I’m so glad I did!

Doing so seems to have resonated with a lot of people, which makes me so sincerely happy.  In spite of my fears, I have not, as of yet, received one negative comment (though I’m fully expecting it, still.  I guess I’m a little jaded).

I’d like to talk about this topic a little more – shame and vulnerability.  One commenter on Reddit asked if I had read any Brené Brown, who has done years of research into shame and vulnerability, and apparently has some amazing things to say about it.

Wow, I’m so glad he or she did so.  Here’s a 20-minute TEDx video that you need to watch.

 

Early next week, I’ll be posting other people’s stories about feeling shame, guilt, and unworthiness within the LDS Church.  I’m hoping for stories from both ex-Mormons and Mormons – what it was like, what led up to it, and how things got better (if they did.  Maybe they didn’t, which is fine as well).  I’ll also be posting something I wrote a few weeks ago, which I didn’t think I’d share for quite a long time . . . as part of an effort to become more vulnerable and genuine.

If you’d like to do share your experience, click here to send me an email.  If I post your story, I can do so anonymously or with your name, whichever you’d prefer.

Happy vulnerability, friends!

Unworthy

I had done it again, and somehow she knew.  Call it mother’s intuition, inspiration, or just luck, but here she was, knocking on my door, four hours in to one of the most depressing moments of my life.

“Jefferson?  Are you there?”

There was no way of hiding it, no way of concealing the tears, not in my voice if I spoke or on my face if I let her in, and I didn’t have the willpower to lie convincingly anyway.  There was only one thing I could do so I answered and she came in and sat next to me and told me she had felt she should come talk to me.

From the second floor to the basement, where she rarely came, she had come out of concern for me, not knowing why.

I didn’t want to talk to her about it – looking at pictures of naked women and getting off to them isn’t exactly on the list of “comfortable mother-son conversations” for any teenage kid.  All I knew is that I felt as dark and low as I ever had before and she was here because she felt like she should be.  Maybe God had sent her to help me through this.

I told her and she hugged me and said words I’m sure were wise but which I don’t remember and I knew she loved me and cared for me and didn’t judge me.

I said I had been trying to stop for so long and I knew it was wrong but I kept doing it anyway and I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to stop.  And then I said the series of words that ripped through her, words that would define the next decade of my life, words which, I didn’t know at the time, had defined much of hers as well.

“I just didn’t want to feel so bad about myself anymore.”

For all the darkest things of this world, guilt is there to add fuel to the fire of our own self-destruction.

In the LDS Church especially.

The Greatest Guilt-Inducing Doctrines in The World

I’d like for us to do an experiment together, you and I, one entirely accomplished in our imaginations.  I’d like you to imagine a boy (preferably a nephew, son, or grandson – someone you love) – he will be our test subject.  Together, we’re going to place him in a controlled environment where we can manipulate the thoughts, ideals, and dogmas of all the people around him – a Truman Show setting, but for social science instead of entertainment.  Look around the earth for potential dogmas to give to the child–there are so many to choose from.

As the boy grows up, tell him he’s extremely special and important: of all the creatures on earth he’s part of the only species with a soul–he’s a human, a child of God–but that his uniqueness and specialness goes far beyond that common human trait; that of all the people who have ever been born, lived, and loved, he was held back to be born at this particular period of time, exactly when he was, so that he could have the truth and take it to others, and so he could help prepare the way for God to come to earth again.

Tell him he is part of a “chosen generation,” chosen because of how valiant and faithful he was eons ago, before God had even created the world.  This idea will appeal to any child, given our natural desire to hear good things about ourselves, but we’ll want to confirm it with countless speeches, sacred texts, and emotion-filled statements by those he trusts.  Have the adults, those who are in the usual place of respect in any society, tell the boy that he and his peers are better than they were as kids, that this is evidence that God is coming soon and that they’re so proud and excited to see the things he does.  When those ideas give him that familiar warm feeling of righteous pride, tell him God is speaking to him, confirming the truth of what he heard.

Let’s not stop there.  It’s important that this child really believes what we’ve told him about who he is – the rest of his life hinges on it.  Have an elder in his society give him a special blessing, and tell the boy that the words the man says come directly from God.  Use this moment of trust and openness to tell our boy that he will be a leader, that he will represent God in everything he does, that he will bring many people to baptism and that those people will be grateful forever for what he did, that he will personally participate in the second coming of Jesus Christ and that he must prepare for that event by walking uprightly before the Lord every day of his life . . . .

Evey day of his life.

Teach this boy he can be forgiven when he messes up.  Tell him he can become perfect, but not in this life.  Also tell him his spiritual power depends on his good choices.  Tell him that if he’s slothful in his duties, he will be held accountable for those he might have saved, had he done his duty.

Tell him that miracles are possible, that he can move mountains, baptize many, heal the sick, and whatever else God wills, and that the main thing that holds him back is a lack of faith, righteousness, and from not following the promptings of the spirit.

Give this child people he loves who he especially needs to save – his father, sister, and a few friends will do nicely.  Watch how this affects how hard he pushes himself.

Do this and you will have created me.

19 and ready to save the world!

19 and ready to save the world!

This is about me

You, dear reader, are already having one of many possible reactions to this article.  Some of you are looking for weaknesses, for ways to point out where I’m wrong, and you’ve no doubt already found some.  Since you’re also the only people who can do anything about the reasons I felt unworthy, I need to ask you to stop viewing me as an enemy.  I come to this article with one intention – to portray what became the largest trial of my young-adult life – an unquenchable feeling of unworthiness in spite of my best efforts.  Your experience of LDS doctrine may be different.  This was mine.

Five People

It would have been a strange scene for others to walk in on – me in a dark basement, alone, pedaling on a stationary bike while watching a movie and crying.  I was at the end of Schindler’s List and what I had just seen filled me with fear.

The Alliance had beaten the Nazis and were going to soon arrive in the area where Schindler’s factory was located.  Throughout the war, Schindler had, through flattery and bribes to some of the worst people history has known, purchased a Jewish work-force of over 1100 people, saving them from concentration camps and putting them to work creating pots, pans, and faulty ammunition.  Now his workers were hours away from being fully liberated, but Schindler himself had to flee or face the risk of being charged as a war criminal.

He’s outside the factory, preparing to get into his car, and his workers have gathered around.  One of them, a close friend, brings him a gold ring some of the workers had made for him.  On it was inscribed a message from the Talmud: “Whoever saves one life saves the world entire.”

This message, at this moment, overwhelms Oskar Schindler.  He leans towards his friend and whispers the words that are burning his conscience, “I could have got more out . . . I could have got more.”  He begins sputtering about the things he could have done differently–he could have made more money or wasted less of it–and his friend tries to console him without effect. He looks around him at the things he still has–his car, his suit, his Nazi pin–and tallies up what he could have done if he would have sold them.  “This car.  Why did I keep this car?  Ten people right there!  Ten people.”  He looks at the pin on his lapel and says, “Two people, two people right here.”

Pedaling in my basement, his intense guilt fueled my imagination.  What will it be like, I thought, after this life, when all the people I could have helped see me and know I could have helped them – that for one uncomfortable moment I could have given them the greatest truth this world had, but that I balked, and they had suffered? 

A Cycle of Guilt

I often wonder how our stories affect us.  Our best movies and books usually place extraordinary adventure on ordinary people, showing how the weak overcome the strong, and how the good always win in the end.  I wonder if that fuels some of the dissatisfaction we have with our own lives – whether we’d be more content if all our heroes were more normal. 

And if regular stories, which we know are fictional, affect us, how much more do stories we believe are true affect how we deal with life?  If a boy is reading a story about a righteous man who really believed in God, sacrificed everything for him, and was able to perform miracles, what will the boy think when he is unable to do the same?

A cycle of guilt begins, one which I experienced hundreds of times in the two short years of my mission:

  1. I believed all things were possible, through faith.  God had prepared people to accept His gospel, and he promised that amazing miracles could happen if we exercised faith – we were the only ones stopping miracles from happening!
  2. I prayed and set goals based on faith, rather than past accomplishments.  I was great at setting goals and planning–a gift from my mother–but these plans relied on a loving God to make up the difference between what I could do and the goals I set.  When my companion and I set goals at the beginning of a six-week transfer, we believed that the goals we set were inspired by God.  “Eight baptisms, even when we don’t have anyone remotely close right now?  Hey, it’s possible.”  We didn’t stop there – we’d set smart action plans, things we could do to be in the right place at the right time, to come in contact with a lot of people, to be prepared to be led to the right people, and to more fully “consecrate” ourselves to the work.
  3. I’d work my ass off.  At the peak of my mission we bought black running shoes so we could “turbo tract” for an hour every day (something my brother had done – running from door to door instead of walking); one day a week we would leave the apartment in the morning and not come back until night, packing a lunch and walking or biking everywhere so we could meet a lot of people; we’d invite a member to every single appointment; we’d do “inspired tracting;” we’d study specific topics; we’d role-play to practice our teaching skills; we’d wake up on time and do our exercise and eat better and not come in until 9:00 even if it meant tracting in the dark and we wouldn’t think about home and we wouldn’t allow contention and we would make p-day a little short because that was the only time that one person could meet but maybe they were prepared.
  4. Eight baptisms wouldn’t come.  Hell, one baptism wouldn’t come.
  5. Then I’d do what every good planner does – analyze the results, learn from my mistakes, and set new goals.

The problem with this cycle is that one key competent was missing – God.  The success of all of these plans was based on the existence and intervention of a loving and all-powerful God, the God who had sent me to earth at this specific time for this specific reason, the God who had guided Ammon, who had guided the Nephite missionaries and converted entire cities of Lamanites, the God who could do anything and wanted to save as many people as possible, the one I read about three times a day in the scriptures.

He clearly wasn’t the problem here.  He could do it.  And that meant the finger could point in only one direction – toward me and my companion.

And there was always something we did in a six-week transfer that we could blame for our failure to accomplish our goals. I never swore, I never masturbated, I never looked at pictures of naked women, I never allowed myself to become really homesick, I never woke up late or came home early or snuck out at night or swam in a pool or anything like that.

Like Schindler, I stood looking at the fruits of my efforts, thinking of the car I could have sold but that I didn’t.

So I’d get up earlier, pray more fervently, knock on more doors, turbo-tract more often, try to burn away feelings of laziness by working harder, harder, harder.

And I never felt like it was enough.  I was never enough.

“The Best . . . “

And that’s why I didn’t know what to think when he said it.  I hoped it was true, to be sure, but I didn’t see how.  Sitting in the chapel at the transfer meeting, looking around at all the other missionaries who were moving to different areas in Illinois, I sized myself up, but I just didn’t see it.

Yeah, I thought, clearly I work harder than him.  Him, yeah.  That Elder is just really awkward, not that that’s any fault of his own, and I’m glad God has given me the talents I have – it’s Him, not me. 

And the next thoughts were never uttered, not even to myself, but were felt nearly every time I was in a meeting with other missionaries.  That Elder is a lot better than me. 

“You are unworthy.”  “You are not good enough.”  “You’re not working hard enough.”  “You aren’t taking every opportunity you can.”  “You don’t have enough urgency.”

“You fall short.”

Those were the fears that punctuated my mission.

They were the obvious conclusions to the results I had been achieving, results that caused my mission president to say the words I didn’t believe on a phone call before transfers, words which didn’t comfort me, but gave me guilt for the temporary pride they gave me, words which made me kick myself for wondering whether he was about to make me an Assistant and then wonder about my motivation and then ask God to not let it happen because I obviously wasn’t ready for it.  Words which didn’t stop me from feeling what I always felt, eventually.

Why I Left the Church

If you were to ask me why I left my religion, I would probably say it was the doctrine, and that would be true.  I can point out all the logical inconsistencies that slowly frustrated my mind, the moments of feeling betrayed and lied to, and the ways the Church asked me to perpetuate their own half-truths or misrepresentations.  But how much do I really understand about the decisions I make each day?  I’ve seen so many people do things and then later think of the reason they did it, and I’ve done so myself, so I don’t fully trust the objectivity of our reflections about ourselves – they seem highly prone to change based on our current world view, self-image, and so on.

Of the six or seven people who have listened to all the doctrinal reasons I left the Church, some were affected, and others didn’t seem bothered at all – subjects which tore at my conscience for months were met with flippant shrugs of shoulders as if they weren’t important.  I left for doctrinal reasons, but I really have no idea why those doctrines troubled me and don’t trouble others.  There was obviously something that prepared me to interact with those doctrines in a different way than I had before – some life experience that made me open.

I think I left the Church to survive.  I think the unworthiness I felt in the Church was too much to handle, and my brain, in an effort of self-preservation, started looking for something that worked.

To put it simply – I left the Church because the Church didn’t work for me.  In fact, the Church was destroying me.

I mean that quite sincerely.

Becoming Evangelical

Slowly, the words of the mid-westerners around me on my mission started to seem more and more right.  I started seeing the beauty of their raw acceptance of grace without any caveats.  Doctrines I had heard mocked since childhood, without understanding what they meant, now started to become clear as I grappled with defeat and guilt.  I saw that when others said, “I am saved and nothing can change that!” they didn’t want an excuse to sin – they were fully admitting that they were always going to fall short of perfection and that there was nothing they could do to change that.

And so I started reading Mormon authors who seemed on the brink of becoming Evangelicals themselves–Robert Millet, Stephen Robinson, and others–and I loved it, for awhile.  But eventually, all the unfortunate doctrines of the Church became a burden to keep reinterpreting.  I couldn’t go through the temple anymore and believe all the things done inside had to be done for every single person before they could enter the highest degree of heaven–all these rites and ordinances and things we had to do in order to have the full saving grace of God in our lives, and then hundreds of things afterwards to live righteously.  The LDS Church just didn’t work within my new worldview of grace.

I became an Evangelical for many other reasons as well, but this was among the most important, and perhaps the fuel for all the others: I connected with their portrayal of Christ as my savior in ways I hadn’t with Mormonism.  Theirs was a Savior without caveat, without a footnote of “Do all you can do,” without the “You will be held accountable for those you might have saved,” without the “You’re the only thing holding back miracles from your life.”  Their’s was one that accepted that life is difficult and at times unbearable, that we will never be able to be everything we want to be, and that God not only knows it, but that he expects it, and that he loves us and accepts us anyway and gives us good things in spite of our failings.

Of course, I’m now an atheist.  I now find my grace and hope in literature, in other human beings, in the knowledge that I’m one of billions who experience many of the same things in this crazy and complex thing we call life, from the first humans to those who will live thousands of years from now, and I feel united by this, and accepted by the common humanity I share.

I still feel guilt and shame.  I still feel like I’m not enough, sometimes.  Two weeks ago I wrote in my journal about how I’m afraid I’m not going to become what I want to become in life.  Sometimes life sucks.  That’s just the way it is.  Now I feel more human, more connected with others, and more humble when I feel that way.  And even though it’s hard, I love it.

Interesting tidbits

  • Schindler’s List closing scene on Youtube: 
  • It’s risky to say “The real reason I left was ___,” because many LDS people often say that about those of us who leave instead of listening to us tell our own stories.  If you’re thinking that, here’s a good article.
  • If you’d like an excellent, balanced (and somewhat liberal-Mormon) explanation of the grace/works debate between Mormons and Evangelicals, I strongly suggest How Wide the Divide.  There are about 45 excellent pages dedicated to it.

Nathan and I on the Gay Mormon Stories podcast

A few weeks ago, my brother and I were interviewed for the Gay Mormon Stories podcast by Daniel Parkinson.  It was a lot of fun and I’m so grateful to be a part of it!  We talked about what it was like growing up as Mormons with a gay dad (who lived in another state), how our family has developed over the years, our eventual path out of the Church, and our new relationship with our dad as activists for homosexual equality.  The podcast went live this morning – Part 1 and Part 2.  (Update – my mom’s interview is now up as well – Part 1Part 2, and Part 3.  My dad’s is up as well – Part 1 and Part 2)

As you listen, I hope you’ll consider some of these questions:

  • “What would it be like for a 10- and 13-year-old to find out that their dad is gay?”
  • “How would that knowledge affect their Mormon faith and their relationship with their dad?”

Within a few weeks, my mom’s podcast and my dad’s podcast will also be available.  My earnest hope is that this conversation will be helpful.  I’ve become a little cynical lately by how difficult it is for us all to understand each other, impossible even (see Sunrise).  I hope you’ll listen, try to see things from our perspective, and then consider what you think about it yourself.

One thing I want to make clear is that you don’t need to leave the Church to accept gay people – many faithful Mormons already have.  Nathan and I are, however, the personal witnesses of the damage narrow doctrine can cause to families and we talk about that quite a bit in this podcast.  That was our experience.

Also, Nathan and I didn’t leave the Church because of doctrines about homosexuality, though they did challenge us in important ways.  We simply feel closer to our dad after losing the belief that he couldn’t be happy without the gospel.  Please understand that what I’m talking about here is sincere pain I felt while growing up, feeling that my dad was a bad person for choosing to be gay.

What I want to see is more Mormons who embrace the gay people in their communities.  So many gay Mormons are still ostracized by their families.  In fact, 42% of homeless youth in Utah are gay!  Many of them were kicked out of their homes by their Mormon families in a “My way or the highway” sort of way.  How many others have committed suicide?  Or lived in depression?  Or thought, for the majority of their lives, that they were wicked or “depraved?”  Or developed psychological problems or been pushed to “greater sins” as a result of losing everything because of their family’s response to their sexual orientation?  Whether or not you believe homosexuality is OK in God’s eyes, the way Mormon culture currently approaches it is hurting a lot of people, my family included.

For the sake of all the young Mormon boys who will tell their fathers, with strained voices and watery eyes, that they like boys instead of girls (and for the sake of the lesbians and bis and transgenders and everyone else too), please –  let’s drop our differences for a minute and talk.

Gun laws, gay marriage, Obama-care, all the polarizing topics we argue about every day, let’s cut it out for a minute, look around, and see things through other’s eyes for a minute.  Let’s realize that while we bicker, each as confident in our own positions as we were when we acquired them 10 years ago, others around us are experiencing a very real pain.  They need friendship, they need understanding, they need loved ones who listen and don’t judge, who don’t trivialize their inner struggles, who don’t assume things about why or what they do, but who just listen to them and trust them.

So here you go – you have an opportunity to sit back and listen for a bit, to see the world through our eyes as we talk about our past.  I hope you’ll take the chance, and then I hope you’ll help me see through yours by responding.

Much love,

Jefferson

Update:

My mom’s interview is up!  Click here to listen.

(ps – If this is your first time to this blog, please read 2012 in review for a good overview of what this blog is about.  Also, here’s the philanthropy blog mentioned in the podcast.)

Sunrise

This morning there was a beautiful sunrise and I saw myself in it, my own insecurities and anxieties reflected back in a way that helped me understand myself. I thought about society and public opinion, about history and fame, about why none of us really understand each other.

Nature is like poetry in that way–vague and ready to be interpreted for our own use–but I don’t like to stretch symbolism farther than needed. What follows is simply an attempt to describe what I saw while watching the sun rise and the scattered thoughts that followed.

Sunrise1

Silhouetted trees, black with no leaves, set against a stark orange background of a large cloud, waves across its surface. The sun is at just the right angle that, much like the sand of a beach when the sun is low, the cloud’s low points cast shadows across the rest.

Sunrise2

It’s the small things that are so impressive, the things we usually don’t notice and that don’t last long enough to give us a second chance. Here you see loose fog at the bottom of the cloud, closest to me in the picture, that will soon be burned upwards or will become invisible once the sun is too high to reflect through it to my eyes.

Sunrise3

Each phase of this sunrise lasts only a few minutes. The waves on the bottom of the cloud are gone, the sun having risen behind and becoming only an orange glow, and the cloud now blocks most of the light from reaching my eyes.

Sunrise4

Wispy clouds high in the atmosphere now have their moment.  Invisible or unnoticed before, they are now bright, intricate, and delicate, set against a blue sky and above a dark red. These clouds now pull my eyes upward, halt my breath, stretch my mouth into a smile, move my hand to the camera, my finger to the zoom, and cause me to take eight photographs to try to capture their simple but intricate appeal. This is the signature of 7:30 AM.

The rest has been beautiful and unique, but this is my favorite. I can’t explain exactly why.

Sunrise5

Sunrise6

Sunrise7

As the sun rises more, the orange glow begins to disappear, the sun now almost completely darkened behind what has become a very large cloud. Above, the light’s reflection is too much for the intricacies of 7:30 – it too becomes indistinct, the light blending too much for detail.

Sunrise8

New clouds form above the large cloud, bright on the bottom and dark on the top, dotting the sky in a diagonal line.

Sunrise9

Sunrise10

The sun is now finally visible above the large, low-hanging cloud of the early morning.

Sunlight

These clouds were beautiful, but wouldn’t have been anything special without the low-angled sunlight passing through them. In fact, many of them were in the sky before I woke up. Had I looked out my window at four in the morning it isn’t likely I would have felt impelled to get my camera and go outside to capture the view; any clouds would have been dark, gray, or unseen. During the short time of sunrise and sunset the colors are so unique and fleeting that we have to either look at them or admit that we’re out of touch with nature.

Even these clouds were the only ones I noticed among hundreds of others within my view, and even then I only focused on the most brilliant among them for a few short moments before the sun, followed quickly by my eyes, shifted its gaze elsewhere.

Scattered thoughts

I am a lot of different things at once, and so are you. Since I don’t know you, and you don’t know me well enough to speak for me, I’ll speak of myself and hope you can understand. That’s the difficult thing – to be understood. Everything I am influences the way you hear me.

I’m an atheist ex-Mormon. To some, that fact brings an unexpected twinge of curiosity: “There must be a great story here.” Hours of friendly conversation follow. To others it brings genuine emotional pain, a feeling of loss, a felling that a friend is now an enemy, an ally now a critic: “Oh how and why did he do that? He was so faithful and strong.” To others–perhaps to the more insecure or controlling–it brings anger, and results in biting remarks most often unheard by me.

Religion, along with politics, is a topic where most people expect misunderstanding and conflict.

I’m also philanthropist. You are too, most likely – it’s not an exclusive term reserved for the rich or the hipster, it’s just about doing good for other people. I write my honest thoughts about poverty and nonprofits in a way I hope is helpful and interesting. Most find this inspiring: “That’s awesome, I want to do something like that too.” Other people are, as surprising as this has been to me, sincerely offended. I ignored them until I realized they really believed the words they said about me, and then I lamented our inability to be heard correctly and recognized how oversensitive and callous our society is at the same time – ready to react defensively but excited to criticize when we can: “This racist, pampered, pretentious fool actually thinks he’s making a difference. This slum-tourist, this sheltered naive prick, this self-absorbed idiot.” Still others are defensive and distrustful. Within their vague responses I hear what they mean to say: “Would you please just not ask as many questions or discuss our programs so openly? You might mess something up.”

I’ve felt misunderstood at many times in my life, but usually I’ve been able to explain it away. These reactions to writing about philanthropy were startling.

I’m a lot of other things too, some of them controversial, some boring, all of them important to the way I’m heard. I’m a banker for a large bank at a time when large banks are hated; I’m an American; I’m white, tall, blonde-haired and blue-eyed; I’m a man; I’m bilingual; I’m liberal; I live with my fiance; I’m talkative when with friends and content to people-watch when with strangers. Each of these things–and thousands of others like them–are seen in a different way by every person who sees them.

Understanding

Sunrise11Consider this cloud. I love how each smaller, individual cloud is pressed together into one large body. It reminds me of a hand-drawn map of an archipelago or the rippled sand on the shore of a mountain lake.

Still, it’s nothing compared to the scenes shown above.  That has nothing to do with the clouds themselves, it has only to do with the sun and I, standing at a particular angle to each other that other clouds are more brilliant and these are more gray.  To someone else though, farther to the north than me, these clustered clouds are in just the right spot to be colored beautifully by the sun.  What is gray to me is beautiful to someone else.

And that’s the truth I want to give here, the only words that really matter to this whole article: understanding is impossible. When I write something, the way it is received by others has far more to to with society and with the prior position of the listener than it does with the words I say.

Consider the scriptures. I used to read the scriptures and get a great spiritual feeling. Now I don’t read them at all, but when I do I notice all the destructive things in them, like the stories that glorify murder in the name of god or the verses that make all other lifestyles seem terribly unhappy, for example. How different my experience is now than it was before. The book hasn’t changed, I haven’t even really “changed,” but my perspective has. Now I get my spiritual feeling elsewhere.

We each interpret the world through our own experiences. What would a life-long atheist understand about the feelings of a Mormon boy reading the scriptures? He might become familiar with the doctrines and the scriptures themselves, but he wouldn’t understand what it was like, not fully. The imaginative and empathetic person can feel a little of what someone else feels, but that has its own limitations. If I had never felt good while reading scriptures, how differently would I view my Mormon friends? How much less would I understand them?

Likewise, how can Mormons understand me and my experience?

Consider politics. A conservative friend hears a speech about protecting the second amendment from “Barrack Hussein Obama” and it rouses within him a righteous anger against those who are attempting to “weaken America.” That feeling is real. I hear the speech and make fun of it right away, titling the speaker as moron, idiot, zealot, dogmatic, and ridiculous. The words we heard were the same, the simplistic meme was the same, but the response it received from me and my friend are completely different.

We’re prepared by society and by our former training to accept some things and reject others instantly. I could list a hundred other examples, but I don’t think we need to bore ourselves with repetitive detail.

If it sounds like I’m playing the victim, I am. I’m realizing now how impossible it is for us to all understand each other for how we really are. We are perpetually prone to misjudge. We’re each victims of our own training.

Being offended

Realizing that full understanding is impossible (with almost everyone) doesn’t relieve us of responsibility to explain ourselves well. Words are powerful – the smallest of them can change the tone of a sentence and affect the way we react to it. Ignoring accountability for the words we choose is silly.

I’ve heard the LDS phrase “It’s your choice to be offended” enough times to cringe when I hear it now, and this seems like a good place to rant about it for a second.

No, it isn’t my choice to be offended. Linguistically it doesn’t even make sense. It’s no more my choice to be offended by someone than it is for me to be slapped – it is an action done to me by someone else. It is my choice how I react to that offense, or whether I’d like to remain upset, just like it’s my choice whether to slap someone back after they slap me, but let’s keep the language clear.

I’m sure the person who authored this unfortunate LDS phrase didn’t realize it was going to be used as a license for members to say whatever they wanted without consequence.  They may have meant the phrase to be used to say a state of mind like “being upset” or “being angry,” in which case it is true that I choose the emotion of being offended.  But if you say something racist or homophobic you can’t toss your hands in the air, repeat this LDS phrase, and avoid apology. Nor can I, after watching people misunderstand me, simply throw my hands in the air and blame it all on how impossible it is to be understood.

So it is that there are two truths, existent at the same time: it is impossible to understand others perfectly and it is my responsibility to make myself as easy to understand as possible.

The best writing

The best writing is true, and that doesn’t necessarily mean people will like it. After all the frivolous words fade from human memory–the vain, the dogmatic, the pretentious–these true words last because people continue to be influenced by them across generations. I wonder which words about our day will survive the passing of time and how many of them I would have agreed with.

If I want to write something true, I have to strike a delicate balance between disinterest and interest in how society responds to my words. On one extreme I would constantly be thinking about how people might react and my writing would become fickle and easily forgotten. On the other extreme I could become pompously disconnected from reality, too sure about my own conclusions.

I think I’ll leave the flatness for politicians that need votes and just be myself. Maybe then I’ll say something true enough that others will appreciate it and it will last. Or maybe not.

Maybe I’ll be a cloud that will shine resplendently when society becomes aware of my words (and when I’ve written my best). Or maybe I’ll be there in the sky, saying true things but going unnoticed, a midnight cloud with no one to see or a mid-day cloud with few to care, while brighter clouds give porch-sitting watchers their morning thoughts.

All I can do is live my life honestly and explain myself clearly, as disinterested in the sun and the porch-sitting watcher as that 7:30 wisp was in me.

*******

Oh, and here are some more awesome Texas clouds 🙂