Keeping it real

There's a line in Twenty One Pilots' song "Kitchen Sink" that used to confuse me, but now I feel like it is a perfect representation of how I feel most of the time.

"Here's a prime example of a stand up guy who hates what he believes and loves it at the same time."

I'm going to be pretty frank and open with this post. I believe in being authentic, but a lot of time when I write my posts, I write about the strength of overcoming and commitment, and less about the day-to-day confusion and frustration.

So, here's the dealio. I believe that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is God's church. I believe it with all of my heart. Every time I read my Book of Mormon, the Spirit testifies to me of it's truthfulness. And, I have a strong testimony of President Nelson. I believe that he speaks for God and he is leading and guiding this church as God would have him. I believe that Joseph Smith restored this church, and that this is the same church that Christ established when He was on this earth. Above all else, I believe in my Savior, Jesus Christ. He is my Redeemer. Through Him, we have the Atonement, which provides us with God's grace, to strengthen us and to redeem us. These are truths I can always fall back on, and because my faith is secure in these foundational truths, all other teachings and principles of the church slide into place.

Now, here's where things get tricky: sometimes, I don't want to live according to those teachings. Sometimes, I think too much has been asked of me. Sometimes, I feel like God has required too much of me, to require me to bridle my passions. I want to be with another woman. I crave that relationship and companionship. There was one night, I got home from work late. It was about 12:30 am. The day had been a little bit frustrating, as well as the day before. I was worn out, emotionally drained, and, more than anything, I wanted a person to go to. Instead, I came home to a dark apartment. My roommates were in bed, which was to be expected, and I'm not super close to them, so I don't know if I'd vent to them about my day anyway. When I climbed into bed, all I wanted was someone to be there with me, to hold me, to comfort me, and to support me. All that week, I felt a profound emptiness inside of me, because the companionship that I was craving was so much more than just friendship. I wanted a person to be with me. I wanted to be intimate with someone - emotionally and physically. And I wanted that person to be a woman.

In these moments, I become so frustrated. And, I become weak. Sometimes I do things I'm not proud of, because of my vulnerability. I try to justify things. Lines become blurry. I feel like my burden to bear isn't fair. Isn't God perfectly just and merciful? Where is the justice and the mercy in being alone for the rest of my life?

Of course, there will be the people who's gut reaction will be to say, "Well, you can always have a boyfriend. You can still have a husband." Yes. You're right. That is always a possibility. And, granted, it is more appealing than being alone for the rest of my mortal probation. But, it also is really hard. What man is going to want to be with a woman who isn't physically attracted to him? Those rare occasions when I go on a date, I usually come home with the thought, "Yep, definitely don't like dudes." Dating and marriage is hard to begin with. Add the complications of different sexualities? It gets so much more complicated and messy. It is rare to find an individual who can work with all of that. I know to some of you it may sound like a cop out. To you, I'm sure it seems more like a toddler stomping her foot on the ground and yelling, "It's not how I want it, so NO!" But it's so much more complex than that.

So, some days (most days, every day, depending on the week/month) I hate the fact that I'm so committed. I hate the fact that I care so much about my temple recommend. I hate the fact that I have this burning testimony. I hate that I know the truth. Because I want to give it up. It'd be so much easier. And, while I know it wouldn't be an eternal commitment, I would be happy. I would be able to keep living a lifestyle that is still similar to my current lifestyle. It would just add a relationship that would make me happy. I get angry. I get desperate. I feel so many things inside of me that I don't know what to do.

But, then, there are other days. Days where I feel God's love being poured down upon me. I know He doesn't like that this is so hard for me. I know He would provide an easier way, if that were the best thing for me. I know He yearns for my lasting happiness, and that He provides things, people, events in my life to help me be happy. And I AM happy. But I'm also often miserable. And I know that, despite my frustrations and misery, there is an eternal perspective, and that eternal happiness is waiting for me.

But, goodness, do I hate that eternal perspective, sometimes!

So, I'm writing and sharing this, not because I want people to feel sorry for me or to praise me for sticking to my faith. I don't want either of those things. This is just me. This is how I am. This is my lot in life. It is what it is. But, this perspective has made some things clear to me.

One: No matter how confident I am feeling, I cannot say if I will remain faithful at all times. I am mortal. I am committed, but I may also hit a breaking point. If I hit that point, I know ultimately, I will feel guilty. But I sure as hell won't need anyone to point out my mistake or make me feel even more guilty. Because it will be my decision to make. No one else's. If I choose to walk away from the Church and its teachings - or even just some of its teachings - what I would hope from people is the Christlike response: love. To be accepted, regardless the choices that I'm making. Not to be the gossip of the group, because I would still be me. One of the most touching moments I had when I was visiting some friends in Utah was when my friend told me that if I decided to pursue a relationship with another woman, I would be welcome in her home, and she would want to meet her, that nothing would change in our friendship. That is what I would hope from everyone.

Two: I cannot judge another person for walking away from the church, or for willingly breaking a commandment. I don't understand what they are experiencing and what drove them to that decision. I have no place to judge them. My place is only to love. We are all sinners. We all willfully rebel, at some point in our lives. The role of a disciple of Christ is to live the Gospel to the best of their ability, love others, teach, accept, and invite. This does not include browbeating, pushing, forsaking, and turning your back. This does not include gossiping, fake friendships, or avoidance.

Three: Everyone you see at church is a sinner. Your bishop. Your relief society president. Your Sunday school teacher. They sin. So, if someone shows up, and you know they were at the bar every weekend for the past month, love them and just be happy that they are there. If you know someone is smoking regularly, but they still are at church regularly, be happy that they are there. Now, obviously, that doesn't mean you don't teach the Gospel. You teach true principles, but don't point fingers and don't hold anyone to the standard of perfection - because you can't uphold that standard, either. The only one who could was Christ, and when He met sinners, He didn't point out their many flaws. He just loved them, spent time with them, and taught them when He could.

So, I guess my message is that I am vulnerable. We all are. I have no intentions of walking away from something that I know to be true. But I also can't say that I never will. But, it also is why I've started going to the temple every week, why I do my very best to read my scriptures every day, why I will go to a ward that isn't my own, because I can't go to my own ward because of work, and why I seek people who fill me with the light of God's love. Because, despite how much I sometimes hate the fact that I'm so committed to Christ and His Gospel...I am committed. I've made covenants, so I'm doing what I can to ensure that I keep them. In the end, I know it will be worth it. But I know that I am weak, so I may end up making mistakes - I have ended up making mistakes. And that's okay. That literally is what Christ's Atonement is for. We have access to grace - to help us repent of those mistakes and to help us withstand our weaknesses. Grace is the only way to keep it together through vulnerability.

 It's okay to be vulnerable, it's okay to be weak, and it's okay to be confused and uncertain. What would this mortality be without a some strife and angst - and the ability to choose despite everything we know and feel?