Gender and Transgender – III

Five years ago, I wrote a post about gender confusion and my dissatisfaction with the abbreviation "LGBT." I used that post to air a perceived grievance that gay people and transgender folks are often lumped into the same category. In that post, I flaunted my cis-ness, and my privilege was on full display.

I think about that post often, and although I haven't written in this blog in years, it still haunts me to know the post is out there. I won't be deleting the post, because I don't care for revision of history, but I will be adding an appendix linking to this post, which contains my current view of transgender (which I feel has evolved and is less closed-minded), particularly as it relates to the LGBT movement. Let me affirm, loud and clear, that if you are a transgender person, you are a person foremost and therefore worthy of love, respect, and dignity. I apologize for that post from 2011. It was unnecessary and borderline hateful.

Nothing about me has changed in regard to my gender identity. Aside from a the occasional night out in heels, a skirt, and outrageous makeup, I have very little desire to be anything but what I am: a gay, mostly cisgendered male. As I've stated before, I've never seriously experienced gender confusion or a feeling that I belonged to a different sex.

Before, I would regard those who feel gender dysphoria or who identify as transgender with pity and confusion. Perhaps in my darker, less affirming moments, even disgust. But after years of learning and, most importantly, listening, I've purged those deconstructing reactions from my heart. It would be a lie to say I understand what transgender folks go through (because I could never), but the more I learn about the world, the more I realize that we're all just trying our best to do what will bring us and those around us lasting joy.

I currently sing in the Gay Men's Chorus of Los Angeles. My first season with GMCLA, the chorus spun off a separate group, called the Trans Chorus of Los Angeles. In doing so, these oft-marginalized folks—even within the LGBT community—were given a literal voice. After one half-season under GMCLA's tutelage, TCLA took off on its own wild hair, performing proudly at sports games, community events, and other very public opportunities. Some of these folks have fascinating stories, but some of them are just plain ol' folks, trying to do the right thing the best way they know how.
I'm not adding anything unique to the dialogue, but I wanted to set the record (that I wrote in 2011) straight: Trans folks are people too, and we're all doing our best with the tools that we've got. Regardless of the morality question (which I think is a dumb question – transgender isn't a "temptation" or a sin, it's a state of being), there's no reason for any of us to turn up our noses at other children of God. Like I said, not breaking any new ground there, but it's how I feel.

A friend with whom I recently reconnected had told me that she left the Mormon faith (and indeed all faith entirely), saying she now belongs to the Church of Don't Be an Asshole. Couldn't agree more, and once again, I apologize for not belonging to that church in 2011.

A ludicrously long hiatus: God's blessings continue

It's been months since my last post. Blogging here has become simultaneously tedious and risky, so I haven't seen much of the appeal behind it.

However, on recommendation from a friend who has always believed in my ability to "pioneer," I've decided to share a little about my life lately.

Some of you noticed that I wrote a blog post about the BYU-Idaho Student Honor Office a few months ago.  I decided to delete the post because I felt it was insensitive and petty.  I've rewritten it, but I can't decide if I'll post it. Time will tell, I suppose.

The long and short of that first deleted post was this: In May of this year, I was suspended from BYU-Idaho until April 2015, when I can apply to attend school in April 2016.  Effectively, I was removed from the school for nearly two years. I acknowledge my wrongdoing in being suspended, but I felt somewhat wronged by the school, that justice had been served with exactness and severity, but no mercy was extended. I could write a book filled with the negative feelings I had (and still have), but my message tonight is a different one.

I got 99 problems...

I remember when I realized that 99% of my emotional duress was directly or indirectly caused by that rift between God and gay in my life. This thought saddened me somewhat, as though I was incapable of feeling anything but cheated or conflicted or lonesome or what have you.

Well, my friends, I have proved that theory wrong in the last month.

I'm not going to lie, it's actually kind of nice to feel anxious or depressed about something other than being a gay Mormon.  It's nice to actually experience a breadth of emotion, rather than just being a lovelorn silly little thing. It's like when I had my heart broken the very first time: it sucked, but it also felt cool to know that I was capable of that kind of emotion.

In any case, money is tight, school is tough, the workplace is a scary and unforgiving world, and I have no idea where I will be or what I will be doing in three months.  It's pretty awful. And friends.  Friends are hard to come by lately. I feel as though I'm burning more than a few bridges and I don't know what to do to stop it.

But, like I said, it is downright refreshing to be thinking about something besides being a QueerMo.

Rock on, muthafuckas.

The 25th year, come and gone!

Today's my 25th birthday!  I'm officially an adult in nearly every metric, given that I can now rent cars for cheap.

It was a great day.  School started today, which is a blessing, because I do love learning.  It will be a great semester.  I have good people in my life and I am working towards something that's important to me.  My birthday, while somewhat uneventful, was peaceful and quiet and filled with friends and laughter and ice cream.

The tiger in me is satisfied.

Tiger

One of my favorite animals is the tiger.  They're strong, regal, graceful, fierce, and lethal. They own their territory, patrolling it each day, always mindful of everything that goes on inside their domain. They're also beautiful creatures, long and lean and with those striking stripes. I really love tigers.

I had a pen pal who once asked what animal I would choose to be if I could be an animal; obviously, a tiger.  His reply kind of struck me and has stayed with me ever since.

"I can totally see you being a cat. Large and imposing. But thoughtful and reserved. Very independent and at times distant. But strong when you need to be."

He knew that tigers are solitary creatures, that they don't share their space with other tigers often, and that they almost never interact with each other.

Last night, tigers came up again, this time in a conversation with a friend who needs to remember that she can do hard things.  She likes to be compared to a lioness, so I told her to go and be the lioness she wants to be, and to own her situation and make it her bitch. I promised her that I'd try to do the same, and she asked what kind of animal I'd like to be in my situation.

I replied tiger again, because right now, that's what I aspire to be.

I'm not going to be so dramatic as to say that there's no one out there for me, but romantically, it's been a hard few months. I haven't been dating at all, but I've just wondered what my future looks like in that regard. I've been lonely, although things are going well in a lot of other areas, so I can't dismiss them altogether.

So, right now, I want to be a tiger. I want to acknowledge my own academic and professional badassery and blessings. I want to be independent and strong and reserved and thoughtful. I want to get shit done and move on to the next item of business. I want to own my life and make all my own decisions and do what's best for me, and I want to forget about being linked to another person, at least for now.

Of course, this is all easier said than done, because what I really want deep down is for that perfect individual to tell me that I'm the one and live happily ever after (barf). What I really want is to be wanted by someone who I want back. I want to be high on the priorities list of someone whom I prioritize. I kind of shudder to think of what I'd give up if it meant I could be involved in something that looks like love. That's not something a tiger would ever do.

But I'm going to try and change.  I'm going to be the tiger I know I should be right now. I'm going to try really hard to put off love and let other things fall into place. Cuz I'm a tiger.

(Maybe if I keep saying it, it'll become real.)

Love letter

Dear you,

I'm a little tired of waiting.

I know it's a little ridiculous to expect so much of life at such a young age.  I'm not even 25 and I have all these grandiose expectations of what life should be. I should be totally self-assured, I should be graduated from college and have a decent-paying job. I should be out of debt, have a decent savings fund, and I should own a nice little house with a workshop filled with an old BMW, two motorcycles, and a Tacoma 4x4.

I should have something resembling love in my life. Be it an understanding and dead-sexy wife and two kids or some devilishly handsome architect and our shelter-rescue mutt, there should be someone I'm sharing my life with.

But instead, I'm renting a small (admittedly cozy) apartment that I share with five other guys (all of whom I like a lot). I'm in debt, I make a pittance at my part-time job, and I'm doing pretty poorly at school. And at night, I get into my twin bed alone and fall asleep.

Don't get me wrong, I'm fine with where I'm at (except for my poor grades and debt, perhaps).  I've got good friends and I like the place I live. I kinda like school and I enjoy learning new things. My family loves me (you should see the care packages I get on the regular). Life's good. I even love my car. Like, LOVE my car.

I'm good with waiting, but at the same time, I'm ready for you to come around, open my eyes to the world of fulfilling, expressive, passionate love.

I guess, until then, I'll save my love for you. I've got a lot of it to give. I look forward to surprising you with flowers or chocolates or a night out just because I felt like it. I look forward to driving home from work, proverbial tail wagging because I'm excited to see you once I get through this traffic. I'm even looking forward to fighting, to hating you for a few minutes before I cool down. I look forward to traditions and anniversaries and birthdays and holidays and kids and pets and a messy house and grey hairs and probably some balding (heaven forbid).

I think I've mentioned this before, but I'm reading Love in the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel García Márquez. And yes, I have been reading it for almost a year.  Books are slow-going for me.

In any case, I'm really enjoying it.  The first half or so was ridiculously romantic, written in such a syrupy, overwrought style that I secretly love, but then, it evened out by about midway through and became much more self-possessed and realistic.  I love it.

Anyway, I've been thinking about love as much as usual, maybe more so because I've been reading this 60-year-long love story, and I decided to write a love letter.

It's been awhile

Two holidays, three holiday destinations, a new vehicle, the end of an internship and the start of a semester, and one cross-country move later, and I'm still alive.

Dallas was amazing.  I had a great time making new friends (and a not-so-great time making enemies out of my roommates) and my internship was everything I wanted it to be. I enjoyed Dallas in a lot of ways and I learned a few things about myself, but it was also a brutal, brutal four months.  I'm not going to lie, I'm not sure if I can remember being more miserable than I did in a few moments down there.  But like I said, I learned a lot professionally and had some fun times as well.

The biggest thing I learned was how to be alone.  That sounds super-duper dramatic, but it wasn't really.  I had a hard time initially because I lived so far away from the other interns and didn't get along with my roommates, but after not too long I learned to fall into my work and to make friends and to enjoy my time to myself.  I spent one or two weekends locked in my room alternating between Netflix and hot chocolate and I occasionally got lost in downtown Dallas and found things to do.  It was a really, really nice semester.

I also tried dating. It sucked.  Not so great at dating, probably gonna put that on the back burner for a looooooong time.

Anyway, I'm alive and back in Rexburg, eager to throw down on another semester and achieve some giddy little heights for my last half-year here.

¡Paz afuera!

Labyrinth

I was introduced to a new religious archetype this weekend, the labyrinth.

Some friends and I were exploring the grounds of Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee and we found ourselves at the Scarritt Bennett Center, a religious institution and retreat.  We followed the signs toward the garden and found a labyrinth set into the ground with paving stones. It was in the center of a lovely courtyard with trees dropping vibrant yellow and red leaves onto the grass below. The air was fresh with just a nip of cold in it, something that I didn't realize I missed, having spent my fall in humid, rainy Dallas. It was a lovely, affirming morning.

But it got even better.

The labyrinth is an interesting icon. Anthology has taught us that it was an important symbol in Greek myth, Tantric Buddhism, Native American mythology, and Egyptian culture. Many people use it the word synonymously with "maze," but they are not the same thing.

I started at the beginning of the labyrinth, sort of as a lark, but with each turn, I got more and more emotional until I was almost in tears by the time I stepped into the center.  It was such a beautiful experience. My friends and I discussed it and made a few realizations.

The first is that if you look at the center or the other paths, you're going to be confused when the path you're on changes course unexpectedly. The best move, for motion-sickness-avoiding sake, is to look as far down your own path as you can and look for the turn ahead, then look for the next turn after that, and so on, and turn by turn, you'll eventually get where you're going.

The next is that there will be times when you're really close to the center, but your path will suddenly bear farther away for a few moments. It's actually really frustrating being one bank away from the center one moment and then four banks away the next.  But that's how it goes.

The final thought we had is the difference between mazes and labyrinths. As the plaque in the SBC's courtyard explained, a labyrinth has no tricks or dead ends.  There is one path and it always leads to the center if one presses forward long enough.

Do you remember the experience I had with my Heavenly Father a few weeks ago? When His soft, gentle voice told me that it would be okay someday, even though now was shit?  Since then, my life has been exponentially easier.  Don't get me wrong, it still sucks being me in a lot of ways (and it rocks being me in just as many ways [US Grand Prix was this weekend and I was there :) ]), but through it all, I have hope that it will be okay, and the mere presence of that hope makes all the difference.

That's what this labyrinth was to me.  It was proof that life turns out okay, even if the path you're on is circuitous, serpentine, and inefficient.  If you press forward and only look as far ahead as the next turn, you'll get there eventually.

I took a video of the path.  Feel free to watch and experience it through my eyes.

Snapchat and religious devotion

I've got a friend at work who likes to organize little employee lunches.  We all grab a bite at some dive, gossip about work and our social lives, laugh, cackle, guffaw, etc.  Sometimes, it's just me and her at these lunches and I like those lunches better than most.

This girl swears like a sailor in her odd, Texas-meets-New York accent and her topics of choice usually include who's banging who, trips we all should take (usually to Vegas or Winstar Casino), good concerts coming up, and so on.  She dresses well too and is always put together.  In all respects, she's a pretty typical young American woman.

I can wait.

About a week ago, I was on the receiving end of some pretty sad emotional wounds. Church is hard, dating is hard, family is hard, and I'm just not adjusting very well to life away from what is familiar.

The straw finally came on Wednesday when I found out that a friend of mine had been lying about stuff to avoid hanging out with me. I felt betrayed and cheap and sad and I immediately started weeping bitterly.

As a sidebar, I often feel as though God chooses to love me in a passive-aggressive way.  I feel incredible guilt when He blesses me, but when life is difficult for whatever reason,  I always interpret it to be a manifestation of His anger.  I'm not blaming any of this on Him, but I can't seem to ever feel His love.  I always feel like He's either dangling blessings in front of me and then guilting me when He gives them, or He withholds love from me like a petulant child.  Unconditional love is not something I understand.

As I cried silently into my pillow, I prayed that if God knew the end from the beginning, then He knew how my story was going to turn out.  I asked Him to tell me if things ever got better and if I'd ever be happy somehow. Almost immediately, I felt calm and tranquil and knew that my happy ending would come, even if I didn't know how or when.  I knew that God knew, and without putting any qualifications on it, He gave me that knowledge to calm me down and help me feel peace.

I was still sad, but the tears stopped flowing and for the first time in a LONG time, I felt humble. I said, out loud, "Okay, I'll wait.  I can wait for things to be good."

Things aren't good.  But they will be good.  And that's enough.  I can wait.

Another General Conference blog post from a Mormon blogger

You can't be even slightly Mormon without posting something about General Conference this weekend, and I certainly don't want to be left out!  Remember FoMO?

I didn't attend conference in real time this year. My internship provides for plenty of travel opportunity and I certainly won't be missing out on the chance to visit any major city I want over the weekend. So instead of going to conference this year, I went to New York. Truth be told, I was pretty excited to not go to conference.  I'm going inactive pretty rapidly; I haven't attended my own ward since I moved to Dallas (although to be fair I've been visiting my brother in Austin each weekend and attending church with his family), but nevertheless, I haven't even met my bishop or fellow ward members yet.

Even so, I woke up this morning a few hours before my alarm and decided to watch a session. I've been enjoying it thus far.  It's nothing earth-shattering yet, but I hear this session has some gems, so I'm looking forward to hearing it.

I'm trying to reconnect to the spiritual side of myself. I feel pretty dead inside lots of the time, like God doesn't really care about me or any of us.  I wonder more and more each day if religion isn't anything more than that great opiate, something to make us feel better by believing that there's someone out there listening, someone who loves and knows and appreciates us.

These are fleeting thoughts; they pass quickly and are replaced by that familiar testimony that Jesus Christ lived, died, and lived again for all of us, both collectively and as individuals.

[EDIT: The talks by the lovable ones (Uchtdorf, Holland, Monson) are the ones that get remembered, but I think the talks by the no-names (in this case, Ulisses Soares) are the ones that have the most doctrine on more specific topics.]

That's all.  Go do something cool now.

Go do this now. This is better than the Internet.
Source

FoMO: Strategies to overcome it

Ever since I was little, I have had a serious, legitimate fear of missing out (FoMO).  It permeated everything I did.  Going to bed was hard because I was sad I'd miss out on parents' or siblings' conversations or activities. Having to choose between two sports that practiced on the same days was brutal because what if the one I didn't pick ended up going to the championships? And I recall many a Scout camp that was cut short because I talked my parents into picking me up and bringing me to the family reunion that was the same weekend. And even now, I make the rounds every New Year's Eve and then stop at the best party for midnight (in theory at least). Hell, I can't even order food at a restaurant, because what if I like my (male) date's food better?

I've always been one to try it all and then pick the best at the end, and when all the options aren't available to me, I get nervous and panicky. I hate having to choose, having to miss out on one thing in favor of doing another.

The same thing applies to navigating the rift between my faith and my sexuality.  What if I choose gay and then get to the end of the line and find that I made the wrong choice and will then have to miss out on Celestial glory with my Heavenly Father, the one who is supposed to be able to love me most perfectly?  On the other hand, what if I choose the church and then get to the end and find that God wanted me to be happy as long as I was good and kind, and therefore have missed out on a lifetime of joy with a man who I loved?

Tonight I was confronted with my FoMO pretty rashly.  I missed out on an intern event because I had to work later than expected, and of course, my car doesn't run so I couldn't meet them up later.  So instead, I went home and logged onto Facebook (which is like steroids for the FoMO virus) and saw another group of interns I wish I was friends with at some cool restaurant here in Dallas.  So, for the first time I googled "fear of missing out" and found a raft of resources to help people stop fearing.

The first thing I have learned to do (and will start implementing ASAP) is to stop. Just stop.

I'm fond of passing this video on to my friends when I want them to stop doing something.  It's always a joke, but damn! Bob Newhart's advice is good! I can't deny, it fits here too.

So the next time I'm fearing I'm missing out, I'm going to stop. I'm going to evaluate myself, my surroundings, and find out if I should really be regretting that I'm not somewhere else.  Tonight, I sure as hell would rather be at the state fair or some restaurant with people I'd like to make friends with, but on the upside, I get to be at home alone and to blast some really sad music and indulge my misery and really enjoy it.  There's something enjoyable about misery...

This article quotes Emily Dickinson, the agoraphobic depressive recluse, when she says, "To live is so startling that it hardly leaves time for anything else."  And dammit, she's right.  I'm alone tonight. BFD.  I'm alive and I have some good music playing and I have a drink in my hand and the air conditioning is blowing cool breezes through my hair and I'm gonna go to bed early and sleep really, really well.  And tomorrow, I'm gonna get up early, walk to work alone, and enjoy the hell out of my life.

Bam. Fuck you, FoMO.

A Voice

I feel silly for even bringing this up.

I have a whole blog, a semi-captive audience, upon whom I regularly force my voice. My opinions, fears, concerns, etc.

But I can't deny that for the past few weeks I've felt that voice squelched and silenced. It seems that I haven't been able to find the words I need to say and that the moment has never been right to say them. There have been weddings, births, school and work...just a slew of events where being whatever self I am doesn't seem appropriate. I can't talk to friends or family because there are precious few people around whom I feel safe right now (if you're reading this, I promise you it's not you I'm talking about) and I dunno. I feel like I need to say something.

But it's not there. I open my mouth to say something deep and emotional but then I crack a joke or quote John Mulaney or take an Istagram instead.

Life in a Vacuum and other random thoughts

I'm trying so hard to distill something in my head.  There's something there that needs to come out, but I just can't access it right now.  I don't know what the deal is.

I guess I'll just tell a story.

I went on a first date the other night with someone I really like. We have amazing chemistry and we look so good together and we have similar senses of humor and mesh really well without having nothing to talk about, etc.  He's just an all-around good guy who I like. He's also deeply religious, so we have that in common and really can explore faith together. Obviously, I feel guilty whenever we spend time together, because the LDS doctrine is still deeply ingrained in my head, which is the result of either brainwashing or testimony, depending on who you ask. If you asked me, I'd have no idea how to answer.

In any case, back to the date.  It was thoughtful and low-pressure and romantic without being silly, but we both knew it was going to be a heavy night from the get-go.  It most certainly was. Within a few minutes, we started talking about his emotional traumas from the past and my near-crippling fears about the future. I had tried to ground him whenever his past haunted him, but it was exhausting and I felt myself becoming emotionally dependent on him for my own happiness. The more I tried to hold him in the present, the more frequently I slipped into the future, worrying about every option and fearing both bitter loneliness and consequences of sin. And, try as he might, he couldn't ground me the way I could him. He just couldn't.

So, what started out as a lighthearted walk through City Park turned into both of us realizing that we're terrible for each other, but not in a dodged-the-bullet kind of way. No, it was more the tragic kind of way where you know that if one or two circumstances were different, it would be different. So, not a great first date.

Maybe that's how I'll figure things out. Maybe a string of long and tragic and emotionally exhausting relationships will make celibacy a much more attractive option. Maybe God's throwing wrenches into my occasional dallies outside the straight and narrow in hopes to trick me back into obedience.

I know I'm only 24 and that "it gets better," but right now, it sucks. I mean, kind of actually sucks the life out of you. I feel like there's nothing inside, literally. I feel inward pressure on my chest, like there's a vacuum of space in there and my ribcage is going to buckle like a sunken submarine at any time.

It's really kind of a farce. I have a really dark sense of humor, so I could totally see how this whole thing would be pretty funny to someone on the outside. And hell, we've all been there where it's so bad that the only thing you can do is laugh when it starts pouring rain on you as you walk home.
_________________________

One thing that my date has said before in the past (we've been excellent friends for about 8 months now) is that I need to connect with my sexuality in a healthy way or it comes out in unhealthy ways.  I've been pondering that more and more.  I've considered chaste dating, but chastity isn't really my strong suit so I don't know if that's a wise choice for me right now.

But I did have another idea that maybe I would start volunteering at something that has no political or religious agenda, but is still connected to that homosexual side. The first thing that came to mind was to work at an outreach for homeless members of the LGBT community, and the second was to volunteer at a testing clinic for AIDS.

I've always had fairly strong feelings about AIDS, even before I really knew I was gay. It is such an awful disease and although there are some who see it as a curse from God, personally, I believe that I could volunteer in some kind of clinical setting and still feel comfortable before God. Maybe that would be a good way to connect with my sexuality: by serving others with whom I feel an affinity, while still trying to maintain a high moral code.

Quick Update

I've been incredibly busy since getting home for the semester.  I've been shuttling around family members, fixing my broken-down motorbike and riding it home from Utah, and working a temporary part-time job before I move to Texas for an internship.

Here's a quick update: still Mormon, still gay, still skanking around and feeling guilty about it, still trying to make good friendships with good people, still not sure about my future.

Right now, however, I'm reasonably content. I have lots of worries and I'm pretty sure I screw things up royally on a regular basis, but it's okay.  It will be okay in the end, I think.  I might be making my path to that ethereal "end" harder, but it'll still probably turn out okay.

Also, I've started doing some side work doing some technical editing for Petrolicious, one of my favorite online automotive outlets.  I'm really excited about that. Good things are happening in my life and for that, I'm grateful.

I've said it before to many of my friends, but now I need to say it to myself and believe that it'll work:

Keep moving forward.

The saving power of a rainstorm

One of my close friends has a huge gaggle of kids.  They're a riotous, fun, loud group. It's an intense experience being with them, but they're the happy kind of high-energy, not the mischievous or annoying kind, so I enjoy spending as much time as proximity allows with this fun family.

They had visited my parents a month or so ago while I was at school. They attended church with them on Sunday. Driving home after the services was its usual blend of confusion over which kids were buckled up, juvenile chatter and the like.  They pulled up in front of my parents' home and the kids, noisy as ever, unbuckled and jumped out of the car to play in the oasis that is my mom's backyard. My friends went inside to help with dinner and chat with the grown-ups.

A few moments after they got home from church, a sudden rainstorm hit, not an unusual occurrence in Colorado in late June.  It was a welcome respite from the triple-digit temperatures from the previous several days.

Two hours passed and my mom said she thought she heard a little cry coming from somewhere.  They took a headcount of the children and realized that the three-year-old was missing.  They looked in the playrooms, the dress-up closet, the library (my parents don't actually have a library, but it is a room full of books) and finally the yard.  To my mom's horror, the little tot was still in the Suburban and had been stuck in her car seat since getting home from church.  She had been inadvertently overlooked amid all the noise and commotion and had been crying in the car for the duration.

They unbuckled her, rushed her inside and consoled her as the sheer luck of the situation began to sink in. Had it been one of the warmer days of the summer, she would have been in real trouble, even though the car was parked in the shade.  One rainstorm kept the car cool and her only problems were tear-stained cheeks and a sad little face.  Within 20 minutes, she was healed completely of those wounds, but had it been a day like the day before, she might never have made it.

And what luck that my mother happened to hear crying from inside the car while she was in the kitchen, which sits in the very back of our home.  It was miraculous.

I relate this story because my friend related it to me when I was talking with her about some of my concerns and worries.  She expressed how the moment she realized she'd left a child in a car alone made her feel like an unfit mother (and frankly, it was a moment of unfit parenthood), but the miracle of a rainstorm and a somehow-piercing cry saved the girl (and our families) from a sadder fate.

She said, "GMP, your rainstorm is coming, something that will save you. You're screwing up a lot now, just like all of us, but there's going to be a moment that God sends a rainstorm to cool you down and help you hang on."

I'm so grateful for the miracles our families enjoyed that day and I'm grateful for the interpretation my friend gave me.

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Post-Script: Parting

“You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place. Like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.”
       -Azar Nafisi

This quote is only 25% correct.  I might miss the people I love, but I will not miss the person I am at this time and this place, and I hope to God that I'll never be this way ever again.

This is why I'm excited to leave Rexburg more than anything.  I'm so excited to leave March-July 2013 GMP in the dust, and come noon today, he's dead to me.

Parting is such sweet bliss

I usually say that my least favorite thing to do in the world is to back my life into boxes, pack those boxes into my truck and drive, only to to unpack my truck and my life in a new place.  I'm a roots man. I tend to get attached to wherever I am, assuming that it will be where I'll live for the rest of my life.

But not this time.

My previous three months in Rexburg have been some of the worst (if not the) worst of my life.  There were many joys (therapy, work marriage, solo off-roading and motorcycling) but by and large, it's been hell.  I'm not going to blame Rexburg nor its inhabitants, but nonetheless I can't wait to turn my face away from this town and buzz the hell off.

I'll be back at BYU-Idaho in a few months and, God willing, I'll be in my right mind enough to enjoy my last two semesters in what I have been known to believe is the closest thing to heaven on this planet (yes, I'm serious, eastern Idaho is that good).  I'm looking forward to being back and snowboarding in the Tetons, jumping from bridges into the Snake River and exploring the snowy-then-dusty backroads in whatever form of transportation I have. I'm also excited to be here for more than one semester at a time so I can actually make some friends and deepen some relationships.

But for now, I can't wait to get the hell out of here, to leave the first six hellish months of 2013 behind and hope that my Coloradan/Bostonian/Texan horizon is a little better and cleaner and happier and filled with more progress.

Image source: Rexburging

His grace is sufficient, except for me.

This weekend was a rough one. I made lots of mistakes I'd love to take back. Obviously, it'd be inappropriate to detail them here, but suffice it to say, the worst parts of these mistakes weren't how they made me feel, the worst was how they made others feel.  I crossed boundaries with myself and with others and put people in positions that made them feel cheap and unloved.

A shameless plug for someone who flattered me

I am always so honored whenever I hear of how my story has changed another person.  I don't really like tooting my own horn (blogging on topics like this notwithstanding) but I'm grateful for those people who have reached out to me and helped me along my own spiritual journey as well. So this is a post that goes out to just about everyone who's ever commented, e-mailed, blogged, Facebooked, Buzzed, Blinged, tweeted, plus'd, Grinded (yes, even Grindr can have positive uses [this one's for you, BDA]), WHATEVER, in my direction. Hearing your stories have been a great help to me and I'm so thankful for your support and love.

The most recent example has been White Birch Girl. She is a member of another faith who is not gay, so having her reach out to me was something of an anomaly.  Nonetheless, she is a deeply sensitive woman and she has lots of thoughts worth sharing.

I'm not linking to her because she linked to me. I'm linking to her because I think she has an amazing viewpoint that deserves more attention than it gets.  Her blog is somewhat scattered, which is refreshing. She doesn't post about being a "birch" or being a "girl," she posts on whatever is on her mind.  I appreciate that so much. I especially love her post on suicide and math. She is a thoughtful person, not in that she's considerate (although I'm sure she is), but in that she thinks on things. Check out her blog. It's worth a read.

Photo copyright Susan Sweeny, inmygarden.org/, via Wikimedia Commons.