... with her talk. Normally I make y'all wait until after I've given it before I post it. But I decided to give you guys the first taste.

OK, so picture this with me. The first counselor's daughter gets up and talks about her pioneer ancestors, and pioneer day, and how hard all the Saints worked to get to Utah. I'm sure it'll be great. Maybe it'll even have some funny stories to it. Who knows. She bears her testimony. I'm on the edge of my seat. She finishes. I get up, and try not to trip. It doesn't work. I try to pretend like no one saw it. The bishopric adjusts the podium as a formality, even though she's not that much taller than me. I arrange everything the way I like it on the podium, then look up and see everyone staring at me. And for half a second, I forget how to speak.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I get the shivers, and that's when I know to begin...

I want to begin with a question. What is a pioneer? I’ve considered this question carefully as I’ve thought about the answer I would share with you today. And as I’ve studied the lives of men and women I’ve admired, both inside and outside of the Church, I’ve noticed that they share one common element that defines them as pioneers—their willingness to face challenges larger themselves in order to find and know the truth about their lives and their world. In that way, we are all pioneers for making the necessary sacrifices to be in this room today, but I was asked to talk specifically about the experiences of converts and modern pioneers. So after modifying my perspective, I found myself asking a new question: What does it mean to be a pioneer today?

But first, consider with me Saul of Tarsus, the Pharisee responsible for the persecution of countless Christians. He took Christian men and women and cast them into prison. He consented to the martyrdom of Stephen, and watched as this servant of the Lord was stoned to death. And in Acts 9, we read:

“Saul, yet breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord, went unto the high priest,
2 And desired of him letters to Damascus to the synagogues, that if he found any of this way, whether they were men or women, he might bring them bound unto Jerusalem.
3 And as he journeyed, he came near Damascus: and suddenly there shined round about him a light from heaven:
4 And he fell to the earth, and heard a voice saying unto him, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?
5 And he said, Who art thou, Lord? And the Lord said, I am Jesus whom thou persecutest: it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.
6 And he trembling and astonished said, Lord, what wilt thou have me to do? And the Lord said unto him, Arise, and go into the city, and it shall be told thee
what thou must do.

The task of being a pioneer has not changed. Mankind has been fighting the same wars with himself and those around him for thousands of years, observable in the questions we ask ourselves every day. Think of the last time you faced a decision or a problem that seemed beyond your ability to handle. After, “Why me?” and variations of that question we use to communicate how helpless we feel, we eventually come to the point where we finally ask “What should I do now?” And it’s at that point we have the opportunity to become like Saul and the pioneers we celebrate today: the pioneers who made the decision to change their lives, forgive themselves for who were before and what they had done, and to listen to the Lord when He speaks to them. That was the decision that Saul had to make when he chose whether or not to obey the Lord’s instructions, and go into the city. It’s that decision in our every-day living that makes us pioneers.

8 And Saul arose from the earth; and when his eyes were opened, he saw no man: but they led him by the hand, and brought him into Damascus.
9 And he was three days without sight, and neither did eat nor drink.
10 And there was a certain disciple at Damascus, named Ananias; and to him said the Lord in a vision, Ananias. And he said, Behold, I am here, Lord.
11 And the Lord said unto him, Arise, and go into the street which is called Straight, and enquire in the house of Judas for one called Saul, of Tarsus: for, behold, he prayeth.
13 Then Ananias answered, Lord, I have heard by many of this man, how much evil he hath done to thy saints at Jerusalem:
14 And here he hath authority from the chief priests to bind all that call on thy name.
15 But the Lord said unto him, Go thy way: for he is a chosen vessel unto me, to bear my name before the Gentiles, and kings, and the children of Israel:
16 For I will shew him how great things he must suffer for my name’s sake.

Imagine if you were Ananias. You’ve just been instructed by the Lord to help someone you know has hurt, killed, and imprisoned members of your Church. I find it interesting that Ananias was told to enquire in the house of Judas, considering Judas was the apostle that betrayed Jesus to the Romans. All around, this situation doesn’t look very good to Ananias based on everything he has ever seen and learned on his own. Do we ever question whether ALL men can be pioneers in their own lives? Do we hesitate when we see that Heavenly Father invests faith in someone else that we may doubt? Do we ever say of someone we know, “I cannot speak to him or her about the Church because he/she would NEVER accept the truth I have come to understand” and refuse to give that person a chance to prove us wrong?

17 And Ananias went his way, and entered into the house; and putting his hands on him said, Brother Saul, the Lord, even Jesus, that appeared unto thee in the way as thou camest, hath sent me, that thou mightest receive thy sight, and be filled with the Holy Ghost.
18 And immediately there fell from his eyes as it had been scales: and he received sight forthwith, and arose, and was baptized.
19 And when he had received meat, he was strengthened. Then was Saul certain days with the disciples which were at Damascus.
20 And straightway he preached Christ in the synagogues, that he is the Son of God.
21 But all that heard him were amazed, and said; Is not this he that destroyed them which called on this name in Jerusalem, and came hither for that intent, that he might bring them bound unto the chief priests?
22 But Saul increased the more in strength, and confounded the Jews which dwelt at Damascus, proving that this is very Christ.

When Saul was doubted by those that knew of his past, he redoubled his efforts to teach others about Christ, improving his world and changing himself. And eventually, his name changed from Saul to Paul, and he became not just a disciple, but an Apostle for the Lord. And because of Paul, we have almost all of the New Testament, in the form of letters and teachings to the Romans, Corinthians, Galatians, and Ephesians; the Hebrews, Philippians, Thessalonians and Colossians. He was a great teacher, an essential pioneer in the hands of the Lord, and a great example to us in this day on how to be a more saintly society, a people of pioneers in body, mind, and spirit.

I have a great testimony of the changes that we take upon ourselves when we become members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to the fullest of our abilities. These changes we are making are essential to reach our fullest potential, and to achieve the greatest good.

I testify of the Word of Wisdom, and the changes it has allowed me to make in my own life. I did not always feel this way. Although my attraction to the Church was instantaneous, my willingness to be obedient was not. I drank coffee and tea, I had my ears pierced multiple times, I wanted tattoos, I ate what I wanted, wore clothes that did get me much respect, and I viewed my body as something that I could use and abuse in any way I wished because it was mine. This I did, for many, many years and yet I saw no reason why I should change. I did not see how these sacrifices were connected to becoming a better person. But I knew the Church was true, and that meant ALL of the Church—every part—and to be a convert meant I was going to have to be a pioneer about this part too. And as I took each change, studied it, applied it to my life, and disciplined myself to seek the value in what I was being taught, I found the wisdom of the Almighty in every commandment. By obeying the Word of Wisdom, committing to the Law of Chastity, and challenging my perception of my body, I had to face appetites within myself that had always controlled me, and I learned I had the power to fight back. I learned that before I could make any other changes to my life, before I could even think of teaching the Gentiles like Saul, I had to stop acting like one of them, because it wasn’t enough anymore.

But dealing with physical appetites is only the gateway to the challenges of becoming the kind of mental pioneer Church members have to be in these latter days. In order to be pioneer of mind, we take upon ourselves two essential tasks: the discipline of our thoughts, and the pursuit of knowledge. By the time we face our physical appetites, we discover that we must be aware of all of our thoughts all of the time in order to control them. We have been instructed by numberless prophets, apostles, local leaders, and brethren of all ages, from all ages, to beware of the things we put inside of our heads. We have been cautioned about our language, our music, our literature, and anything that engages our mind because of how difficult our thoughts are to control, and how permanent can be the damage to them. And we might think, “That’s easy for a bunch of old men to say. They were born into completely different circumstances than me. How could anyone so out of touch understand my pain?” I spoke to a member of the Church not long ago who said he was embarrassed to have to introduce his friends to our Church because it is led by a bunch of old, white men. But rather than judge him harshly, I decided to go out of my way to prove him wrong. I found something that is a little long, but I want to share it in its entirety because it shows that even our prophets share in the challenges they invite us to face today. The following was written by President Spencer W. Kimball:

"No peace had yet come, though I had prayed for it almost unceasingly. . . . I turned toward the hills. I had no objective. I wanted only to be alone. I had begun a fast. . . . My weakness overcame me again. Hot tears came flooding down my cheeks as I made no effort to mop them up. I was accusing myself, and condemning myself and upbraiding myself. I was praying aloud for special blessings from the Lord. I was telling him that I had not asked for this position, that I was incapable of doing the work, that I was imperfect and weak and human, that I was unworthy of so noble a calling, though I had tried hard and my heart had been right. I knew that I must have been at least partly responsible for offenses and misunderstandings which a few people fancied they had suffered at my hands. I realized that I had been petty and small many times.
I did not spare myself. A thousand things passed through my mind. Was I called by revelation? . . .
If I could only have the assurance that my call had been inspired most of my other worries would be dissipated. . . .I knew that I must have His acceptance before I could go on. I stumbled up the hill and onto the mountain, as the way became rough. I faltered some as the way became steep. No paths were there to follow; I climbed on and on. Never had I prayed before as I now prayed. What I wanted and felt I must have was an assurance that I was acceptable to the Lord. I told Him that I neither wanted nor was worthy of a vision or appearance of angels or any special manifestation. I wanted only the calm peaceful assurance that my offering was accepted. Never before had I been tortured as I was now being tortured. And the assurance did not come. . . .
I mentally beat myself and chastised myself and accused myself. As the sun came up and moved in the sky I moved with it, lying in the sun, and still I received no relief. I sat up on the cliff and strange thoughts came to me: all this anguish and suffering could be ended so easily from this high cliff and then came to my mind the temptations of the Master when he was tempted to cast Himself down--then I was ashamed for having placed myself in a comparable position and trying to be dramatic. . . . I was filled with remorse because I had permitted myself to place myself . . . in a position comparable, in a small degree, to the position the Saviour found Himself in when He was tempted, and . . . I felt I had cheapened the experiences of the Lord, having compared mine with His. Again I challenged myself and told myself that I was only trying to be dramatic and sorry for myself.
. . . I lay on the cool earth. The thought came that I might take cold, but what did it matter now. There was one great desire, to get a testimony of my calling, to know that it was not human and inspired by ulterior motives, kindly as they might be. How I prayed! How I suffered! How I wept! How I struggled!"

In this excerpt, we see a Prophet of the Lord have to endure what many of us have to do on a regular, maybe even a daily basis. We find ourselves overcome with negative thoughts in which we question our ability to face the responsibilities Heavenly Father has given us. But the Holy Spirit tries to reach out to us, reminding us of the truth we may have forgotten in a moment of frustration or despair. We are invited to remember that God does not expect us to do anything alone. Like President Kimball, we have the choice to remember all we have been taught—that we are precious sons and daughters of a great promise, that we have power and potential beyond our ability to imagine. It is true that we have many tasks ahead of us in the days to come, but we cannot afford for the Adversary to plant fear, doubt, and lies in our minds… because if you let him, he’ll be able to reach out and touch your heart, and he’ll be able to take anything and everything from you then. Discipline your minds; do not let him get that close to you, my wonderful brothers and sisters. Have the courage to face his lies and deceptions and say, “For Zion’s sake will I not hold my peace, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest, until the righteousness thereof go forth as brightness, and the salvation thereof as a lamp that burneth.”

But in a society that turns parents against their children and children against their parents, that praises those who share hatred, but not faith, that teaches Man to love himself instead of others, and that money—not knowledge—is power, it can be hard to navigate the pessimism of the natural man today. And when we keep the standards of the Lord, it can feel as if we have lost our place in this world. I literally watched as my friends and family pulled away from me because they had an idea in their heads of what they thought a Mormon was, and I guess they feared that what I knew was contagious somehow. My mother tried to sabotage my efforts of coming into the Church. I would go to school, and my teachers would treat me differently because of what I am. They treated my principles like they didn’t matter, and would make jokes and accusations about the Church in front of me because they didn’t know what else to do. I would come home, and because of Mitt Romney, or the Fundamentalists in Texas, or even that LDS guy on American Idol, suddenly everybody was an expert on the Church, what we think and who we are. News analysts, journalists, and documentarians who don’t even know us try to speak for the Church and for us. They mock us for our faith in our prophets, and they treat the most sacred aspects of our religion with scorn and disrespect. They use our own history against us, twisting facts to sell stories and attract viewers. And the chilling part of all this is that it works.

And we could turn a blind eye to the way we are treated. But that is no longer enough, which is why Elder Ballard has encouraged us to join the conversations that take place about us, especially on the internet. He realizes that for many of us, this is asking us to face reservations we may have about speaking to others about the Gospel. This is asking us to commit to being well-versed with our scriptures, our doctrine, and our history down to the most specific details because that is what it will take to undo the damage that has been done.
I testify that if we will be willing to be vessels for the truths we’ve been taught, we can and will change the way people see us. My mother went from trying to chase me out of the Church to defending me from others at graduation parties and family functions. My friends respect me for the sacrifices that I’ve made for my faith, and they now feel comfortable enough with me to express their desires to have more faith in their own lives, which has opened the door for missionary opportunities—just like we’ve been taught to expect.

We are taught to be pioneers in our minds because it allows the truth to sink deep into our souls where it cannot be touched by doubt and deception. We will be blessed to feel more secure in ourselves, and this peace of mind will show in everything we do. Only then will we truly begin to approach the spiritual richness of being a Latter-day Saint.

When we act in a way that reflects our divine nature in the truest sense, we approach the holiness that is our potential. We become pioneers for the Lord, with hearts so fertile, He can plant any truth or commandment inside of them, and obedience will grow. That kind of faith is difficult even for Saints with strong testimonies to achieve. Elder Gerald N Lund spoke in April’s General Conference about God’s relationship with our hearts and spirits, saying,

“The Holy Ghost is a personage of spirit, which allows Him to dwell in our hearts and communicate directly with our spirits...

The heart is a tender place. It is sensitive to many influences, both positive and negative. It can be hurt by others. It can be deadened by sin. It can be softened by love. Early in our lives, we learn to guard our hearts. It is like we erect a fence around our hearts with a gate in it. No one can enter that gate unless we allow him or her to.

In some cases the fence we erect around our hearts could be likened to a small picket fence with a Welcome sign on the gate. Other hearts have been so hurt or so deadened by sin that they have an eight-foot chain-link fence topped with razor wire around them. The gate is padlocked and has a large No Trespassing sign on it.

Individual agency is so sacred that Heavenly Father will never force the human heart, even with all His infinite power. Man may try to do so, but God does not. To put it another way, God allows us to be the guardians, or the gatekeepers, of our own hearts. We must, of our own free will, open our hearts to the Spirit, for He will not force Himself upon us.”

Are we preparing our spirits to meet our Heavenly Father? Are we taking advantage of the opportunities we have been given to face our fears, to become the pioneers we covenanted to become when we were baptized? I encourage us all to ask ourselves those questions the next time we feel lost, afraid, alone, or broken. I pray we will remember that “the Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit” because he doesn’t ask us to be perfect. On the contrary, he invites us to be broken because:

“It takes broken soil to produce a crop, broken clouds to give rain, broken grain to give bread, broken bread to give strength. It is the broken alabaster box that gives forth perfume… it is Peter, weeping bitterly, who returns to greater power than ever.”

When we become converts and pioneers for the Lord, there will be times when it seems like a never-ending test. You encourage yourself to move forward in good faith, but it feels like you’ll always have your back to the sunrise like the pioneers did as they moved West… having only the sun as a guarantee as it dips below the horizon in front of them, and the choice they’ll have to make the next morning. Do we turn our backs on another sunrise and keep going, or take the easy route and return to the life we lived before, and everything we had instead of the truth? And I agree with Sister Vance when she said that being a convert isn’t easy. It’s not. But every part of the experience is necessary, and it brings us all to a realization that is crucial for any Latter-day Saint.

We are a people that will always know great sacrifices, and we cannot be afraid of change. Changes in ourselves, changes in our lives, in our world, in the people around us, and in the things we love and cherish. We may not pull handcarts, or walk across plains, over mountains, and through valleys anymore, but I trust we’ve all felt the struggles of the pioneers in our own ways. We marvel at their strength for all they have achieved, but we cannot allow ourselves to doubt the value of the work we have been given in our own day, and the accomplishments we’ve already made. We must embrace change, because despite what people think about our conservative way of life, our principles and standards bring about the only change worth embracing—the change that brings humanity’s best efforts back into this world, and preserves the goodness of the Lord in the hearts of His children.

That is what it means to be a pioneer today.

In closing, I want to bear my testimony that I know the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true church of God, the only one of its kind upon the earth. I testify of Joseph Smith, our beloved prophet, and the divine origins of his mission. I testify of the Restoration that he gave his life to preserve. I testify of our scriptures, the Bible and the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price. As powerful as they have been through time, they will continue to bless us with understanding and truth. And finally, I testify of you brothers and sisters, and the goodness of your hearts. I have not known many of you for very long, but I embrace you all as my Church family, and I pray that you always know how much our Heavenly Father loves you.

Peace be with you all this day, in the name of Jesus Christ. AMEN.

Kneeling on the stone wall, my bare toes resting on damp earth, I weeded my boss's garden that she planted at the edge of woods on her property. I barely noticed as the sun continued to set as I threw myself into my latest task and avoided thinking about a lot of things.

At least, not directly.

And after two days of work in her four very large flower beds, I have had plenty of time to converse with Heavenly Father about many things.

I asked about my predicament--to understand how to better serve my friend who had entrusted me with a secret so far beyond my understanding, I have handled it with next to no grace at all.

And He taught me about weeds.

I noticed that weeds are usually simple to pull. Some are smaller than my finger in their youth, with barely any root at all. It's almost tempting to leave many of them behind when you look down the side of a house and see the daunting size of a flowerbed that is ridden with weeds yet to be addressed.

How much like temptation, came the whispered statement to my mind.

But the comparison of evil to weeds seemed so tired and subjective. What makes a flower so different from a weed? A few blossoms dictate which plants I am told to pull from the ground and throw into the woods, and which plants I will protect and nurture? Because I only have the task of tending to these flowerbeds because my boss's son doused them all in weed killer--he thought he was "helping,"--but I have to say: there isn't much of a difference between a dead flower from a dead weed from where I was sitting. It all seemed so superficial, but I held my tongue and let the whisper speak.

Weed pulling has been a two-day project. On the first day, I started in the large, stone flowerbeds that were built into the patio. The first flowerbed barely had anything for me to pull. As the most accessible bed, I could see it received the most attention. I probably plucked more dead heads (withered blossoms) than weeds. And when the work was done, seeing the flowers in their thriving, perfect corner of the world really was a pleasant image. Starting with that bed gave me an understanding of what it is I'm trying to create by getting rid of weeds, and the importance of the first thing I learned that day: always pull any weed you see, no matter how small. Chances are excellent (but not guaranteed) that weeding is easier when the weeds are small.

One of the elevated beds right up against the house was full of orange lilies of some kind. They grew so tall, I only noticed a few weeds poking up among the tops of their skyward blossoms. But when I pulled back their leaves, I saw them. They were everywhere. Clover, grasses, tiny vines. It was then that I learned my second lesson about weeds--always look for them, even if you think you won't find any, because part of their design is to go unnoticed.

The ground level bed next to the basement door was no pleasant task, but it was necessary. Just like the bed that received a lot of attention and represented the ideal, this bed was nothing but weeds and represented how inherently unruly and unappealing weeds are. You sit down to tend to them, and there's almost no way to tell where one begins and the others end. Pulling haphazardly does not get the job done any faster, even though you know everything has to come out anyway, because they all grow in different directions. In order to get them out, you have to go to each weed's source. Finding it can be the majority of the challenge, especially anything that spreads like a vine. But once you start pinching at the origin of tangles, instead of at the tangles themselves, you'd be surprised at how easily the entire thing comes out of the ground.

My least favorite area, and the most difficult area, was on the side of the house beside a stone path. The path leads to the driveway, and the crevices between the stones were dotted with many, many weeds. These had already been sprayed with weed killer, but that made them even more difficult to pull because the little tufts of grass--almost too small to grasp--would break off in my hands unless I gripped and pulled them just right. And the bed between the house and this path was no better. The ground was hard and dry with lots of rocks. The weeds were easy to see, of every size and variety, and were practically daring me to pull them. Even when I pinched at the origins of even the most unassuming weeds, they would break off in my hands because the roots were packed into the parched ground too tightly. I puzzled over what to do for several minutes as I rested, until I finally pulled a hose over and doused the ground. It didn't make sense--weeds need water, so why am I going to feed them in order to kill them--but that brought to mind the story of Jael in Judges. She fed the enemy, Sisera, only to drive a nail through his head once he was asleep. Likewise, sometimes weeds have to be tolerated patiently before they can be pulled. And because it was high noon by the time I got to this bed, I eventually moved on to one of the others without finishing.

I started on the bed next to the woods. After planting the flowers she left for me--my favorite calla lilies--I began to work my way down the wall, pulling weeds as I went. I quickly learned about the value of reinforcements--the weeds certainly had them. Worms, frogs, bugs, and plenty of other things that are "gross" and make me leap away from the bed in girlish horror. But not to be outdone, I drenched myself in bug spray (thank goodness for girl's camp leftovers) and continued for a little while longer. The sun was beginning to set, and I was beginning to feel the effects of the day.

And now as that next-to-last bed is nearing completion, I realize what this parable of the weeds has taught me.

Working against temptation is necessary, and it's always going to get your hands dirty. Calmly and patiently identify the source. Pull from there, and don't expect it to work on the first attempt. Watch out for outside forces. And for the love of all things sacred and holy, don't make it worse. Hacking away at your vices (or someone else's), even when it appears constructive, hardly ever is. You might just break off what may be your only opportunity to do the good you intended to do.

I know a lot about that because of the situation I threw myself into a couple of days ago with Boyfriend (henceforth to be called The Patient One, because he certainly has to be to deal with his problem, and all the ways I've made it worse.)

I don't know much about the weed he is facing. And part of me desires to do nothing less than to reach into his life somehow and just pull it out. I'm accepting more and more every day that I do not have the ability to do that, and that I shouldn't pretend like I do. It makes me put my expectations and my hopes in all the wrong places--mostly on myself. And since this was back before I knew anything about weeding, I approached it like I do most other things in my own life--fully prepared with a fully-loaded arsenal and a plan of attack. And when he wouldn't let me, I guess my thought process at 1 a.m. was to be more forceful, because the message--no the accusations I sent him were terribly lacking in respect, compassion, and tact.

Needless to say, he responded like anyone else would: in defense of himself and making accusations of his own about my imperfections. It was like yanking on a thorned weed with my bare hands, and then staring at the cuts in my hands and marvelling at the fact that they were bleeding.

And while I know I've hurt him deeply, and he isn't really speaking to me right now, I'm just hoping that The Patient One will be as forgiving as he has been patient with me. Because as clumsy and misguided as I have been with what he revealed to me, I am doing everything I can to accept it...

Who would have thought that believing it and accepting it would prove to be two different weeds?

When I got to church on Sunday, I was already feeling a little better. I had said my prayers, read my scriptures, taken advice from a friend, and played phone tag in order to make an appointment with my bishop. The storm had lifted, and the hardest, most disorienting part was over. But I had to choose a new heading, the direction in which I would go in the days and weeks ahead. I needed the guidance I knew only God could give me, so after attending two sacrament meetings (mine and the Young Single Adults), taking the sacrament twice (did you know the missionaries take it every time they're in a sacrament meeting?), and killing some time in the Gospel Doctrine class, I finally met with my bishop.

What I had to tell him wasn't as difficult to say as I thought it was going to be. And by the time I was sitting in front of him, I was sick of bearing the weight alone. I told him everything--about what Boyfriend had confided in me, how much I was struggling to cope and understand what I was supposed to do, and the mistakes I had made in the process. I told him a little more about myself and some of what I've been through so he could better understand where I am in my life. He was probably surprised to hear some of it--I know I don't look like the type to go to a headbanger's bash, to break the law of chastity, or to be self-destructive in general. But I knew I was doing the right thing by telling the truth, and I would only be hurting myself by keeping these things to myself at this point.

He advised me that I should encourage Boyfriend to talk to his bishop, and he told me that it would be possible for Boyfriend to do so without his parents knowing about it. Then Bishop gave me a blessing, which I was more than eager to receive.

...that I will more fully rely on my Heavenly Father and pursue my
relationship with Him...

...that I will always remember to say my prayers and read my scriptures
to more fully understand my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus
Christ...

...that I will feel their love for me and know that they care...

...that I will be able to pursue that which is good and noble in the
times ahead...

...that I will be willing and inspired on how to speak to Boyfriend about
going to see his bishop...

When I opened my eyes, I wasn't crying anymore. I felt the peace with which I had been blessed. And while I still had the task in front of me to talk to Boyfriend, I knew that telling him the truth would be the easiest thing for me to do, that the words would come easily if I told him exactly what was in my heart and what I had been prompted to tell him.

So I did. I sat down and wrote him a long message about all I had learned in the past few days from my prayers, scriptures, the people in which I had confided, and the blessing I had received. I told him that I would stand by him through all of this because I care about him. I told him that I'm glad he shared his secret with me, even though my initial reaction to it probably made him wonder if that was the right thing to do. But with each day that comes and goes, I feel better about what I've learned from this, and all the things he and I will learn together in the days ahead.

And while I have no idea where we're headed, and that scares the hell out of me, I guess it doesn't matter. He knows what He has planned for us. He made us promises before we came here, and He intends to keep them.

In the meantime, I plan on keeping mine. I gave Boyfriend my word that I wouldn't give up on him, and that when I arrived in Utah for college I would be glad to see him again. Somehow, I think we have a lot of things to learn and work through until then. But we'll get through it the same way we got through three years of being together with a giant secret between us.

One day at a time.

Boyfriend came back from Utah to visit for graduation. After several months of difficult conversations, loneliness, and such that I've faced with my closest friend being so far away, it was such a relief to have him home again.

After a week of spending time with me and his friends, he and I were sitting together on our friend's dock one day. He turned to me and said there was something he needed to tell me, but he didn't think he'd be able to say it. I encouraged him to talk to me. I reminded him of the trust he claimed to have instilled in me. Finally, fearing that his secret was one that perhaps ought not to be kept, begged him to tell me. Eventually, his silence got to be too heavy for me, and I gave up. We changed the subject.

Last night was very similar. We knew he would be leaving today, and tried to make the most of our remaining hours together. He was very close to me; asking me if there was anything I needed, always sitting close to me and reaching out to me with a ready hand. Perhaps that doesn't seem so atypical of a couple of teenagers in a relationship, but Boyfriend has never been like that. For as long as I've known him, and for as long as we've been together (about 3 years now), he has been very careful and conservative in ANY display of physical affection with me. It's something I respect very much about him, and have never questioned. So while I was, I guess you would say suspicious of the difference, I didn't think all that much of it.

Then he took me to the end of the dock, where we would share one of the most difficult conversations I've ever had.

We have never been afraid to be content with silence. We love to sit together and allow the beauty of nature to speak the thoughts we sometimes are unable to say. Last night was no different. The sky was a lovely pastel blue that blended like watercolor with the distant horizon, with a half-full moon poised perfectly at the end of the dock. And because the world was beautiful, I was afraid to ask him what he was keeping from me. But I knew that if I didn't ask him now, he might never tell
me. I suspected that for one reason or another he would be breaking up with me,
and I knew I couldn't allow something like that to go unsaid.

So I pushed the moment to its crisis. I asked him to tell me what he was keeping from me, and I'll never forget the way his face fell. He told me quietly that he could not bring himself to say the words. He told me that he hates himself for his struggle, that he didn't want me to think any less of him, and that he couldn't bare to see my reaction when he finally did tell me. I pleaded with him with all the yearnings of my heart--reminding him of how much he means to me, of what he has brought to my life as the person who helped me to convert, as someone I have trusted with more of myself than he will ever know. And after a pause and a silence that I swear could have cracked Heaven open wide, he restated his problem, and I repeated more of my desires to be close to him now, to help him with whatever it was.

This went on until the sun went down, and the moon rose higher and higher into the sky.

Finally, the silence cleaved us both in two. I cracked first, and he held me as everything spilled out from my secret hiding places. I told him of my weaknesses, how much I relied on him in so many ways to help me keep the pieces of my life together--how much I've struggled without him here. As I released my thoughts, gave them words, I felt as if I were casting stone after stone from my chest and watching them sink and into the murky depths of the Chesapeake.

I guess he must have felt something in my confession, because he finally let go. He took my embrace and allowed me to hold him as he shed tears that I couldn't understand. I crooned and whispered maternal nothings to him because it felt right somehow.

It's OK...

No, it's not.

You don't know that.

Yes, I do.

It's OK... It's OK... It's OK...

And again the silence.

I begged for the truth. I would not allow him to be Prufrock this time. I needed to know what he was keeping from me--what was keeping him from trusting me the way I had always trusted him.

Finally, the words escaped in such a wild fury I barely understood them.


"I struggle with same-gender attraction."


He leaped away from my shocked and breathless shell to the other side of the dock. He never saw me reel as my entire universe came to a grinding halt and my orbit changed directions forever. But because caring about him is the only thing my lonely little planet knows how to do, I returned to my sun.

"Look at me."

He refused.

"Please look at me, and see that I haven't changed."

Tear stained eyes found me and nearly broke my heart all over again. But I looked him in the eye until he smiled and knew that I would never leave him--not like he feared. Not like a secret, scared part of me wished I could.

"I'm so proud of you for telling me. Some people have gone their entire lives without being able to say what you have said."

I didn't know what to say after that, so I didn't say anything. I let the gravity of what he was telling me pull me into a new frontier where I had never travelled before. I thought of him--the jokes that everyone made about us with their talk of a marriage that I wanted to believe in. I thought of his parents, who have already "lost" one wayward son this week to the Marine Corps. I thought of his new life in Utah--how many times he had called it, and tried to make it "a new start."

And I thought of all the times I had made jokes about homosexuality, had given root to ugly prejudices, and I was ashamed of myself.

"I'm so sorry," I said through violent, trembling sobs. "I'm so sorry."

He understood that I wasn't giving him pity. He knew my compassion, and the apology that I hoped was also coming from Heavenly Father to His son for the cross he has already borne in secrecy. How desperately I hope that to be true.

But as I stood with him on the end of that dock, I knew if I examined my testimony, it would have a large crack. Fixable, but present. If only my dearest friend, someone who asks for so little and deserves so much, could say the same.

He had asked me before his confession if I would promise to still be his friend, to talk to him--essentially, not to abandon him now that I knew his secret. I gave him that promise, even though I have no idea how to keep it at this time.

What do I do with the feelings I have for him? They're not platonic. They haven't been since I met him. I've only ever destroyed lingering feelings like this that I can't escape... I can't do that now. It would ruin our friendship, and he needs me. I need him...

A glaring truth amid tempests and cracking testimonies.

I need this young man in my life, and he needs me. He needs to know that there is a place for him in this world, and I can teach him how to find it. I know I can. And he can teach me how to stand on my own now that I feel like it's impossible. On our own, he and I cannot do this. But together, we will not fall.

"I still stand by what I said," I stated, referencing something I had mentioned earlier in the week from a different context. "You can't do this alone. So do me a favor and please talk to me more than you have in the past."

"It'll be easier now that half of what I say to you doesn't have to be a lie or a secret," he commented.

"Well," I replied simply, "make sure you take back all of your words."

I asked him if I could talk to my mom about this because I knew I needed her. I promised him that his secret would be safe with my family and with me.

That was when our friends came to find us. They continued to call us lovebirds like they always had, and I was grateful it was dark so they couldn't see how much it hurt me. I didn't walk with Boyfriend (who will be needing a new title), but I didn't allow myself to get too far from him...

That was two days ago, and it already feels like I've been bearing this weight for so much longer. Thinking of all the memories I've shared with him; the dances, the dates, the times I've felt separated from him even when he was standing right next to me, and it all makes perfect sense... I think that's what hurts now. All this time I've wanted the truth from him, and it has cost me everything I didn't want to pay to finally get it...

And of course, God has been as puzzling and quiet as ever.

But perhaps that's for the best. I admit, I'm so furious with where Boyfriend and I are right now, part of me wants to hate myself for ever putting my trust in a God that would do this to us.

I think of the life that Boyfriend will never have. No temple marriage. No children. No answers to why he should live this way--feel this way. A lonely, celibate young man with nothing to look forward to in a family's church. And it makes me angry. They've preached to us in EFY and Sunday School and Youth Conferences about how life is supposed to work--baptism at 8, mission at 19, temple marriage, children, grandchildren, repeat. And no answers as to where to go or what to do when that just doesn't work out.

I think of the future I wanted to share with him, and still would if there was any way. I think of the prayers I've said in the past two days, the scriptures I've read, the pleas for SOMETHING I can understand from my Heavenly Father, and all He has told me is that endurance is necessary and miracles are possible.

And I want to believe it. I want to believe it so badly, it brings tears to my eyes. But I don't know if I can right now. Not today. And I'm not the one who has to believe it anyway, so what does it matter? At the end of the day, I'm not the one suffering the most. I see that now. After holding Boyfriend's weeping, bowed head to my chest, I see now who suffers most.

And that's what kills me. That is what ripped and tore, and now aches and throbs...

So I have myself on auto-pilot right now. I cry when I have to (which is a lot), I pray when I can stand it (which isn't often at the moment), and I'm going to call and make an appointment with my new bishop for Sunday. The fact that he is a complete stranger will help me to throw up this part of my universe in front of him. I plan to ask him for a blessing, and hopefully I'll find some clarity in it. And not even for my sake, but for Boyfriend's... he's the one I care about right now.

(Funny how some things never change.)

I have to believe there's something we can do... some way out of this mess. Some hope for, if not what we planned, for something better than what we now anticipate.

Until then, I guess Boyfriend will just have to settle for being a Heretic like the rest of us who don't fit the molds that the youth in the Church deal with so much--those of us who pay a high price to be ourselves when we're taught every Sunday to be... something else.

P.S. I'm aware that some of my readership now includes people who know who I am and to whom I'm referring when I say "Boyfriend." I ask you to respectfully trust his judgment in keeping this a secret, should you ever feel inclined to tell his parents. I can promise that you would hurt more than you would ever help by interfering.

Simply because I feel like the world and I need a good laugh, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern do it best. They poke fun at Prufrock for goodness sake! What's not to love?

But had you asked me earlier today if even Rosencrantz and Guildenstern would be enough to help me drudge through my morning, I probably would have snarled at you unpleasantly--then begged you not to take it personally.

It's Finals Week, and after my William Blake project, my senior scrapbook, losing my French materials for the project I have to re-do, the Calculus final I don't have it in me to care about anymore, and participating in the great Mormon past-time (helping people move) all day Saturday, only to discover on Sunday morning that my adopted older brother (long story) was leaving for Marine Corp boot camp on Monday and he hadn't said anything to me about it; I have to admit, I'm tired. I realize full well that my problems are inconsequential--that's actually part of why I find them so tiresome. To be so busy with so many things I find so tedious, when there are so many better uses for my time--I don't understand how people can possibly be content with this constant state of going nowhere. And I feel no satisfaction in any of it, because as soon as one crisis is handled and conquered, two more fall into my lap.

I thought about all of that this morning with the empty two hours I had in English, and I knew I needed to sort through what I was feeling before I attempted to do anything else. So after hacking at a few pages with poetry that got increasingly more cynical the longer I tried to write it, I finally pulled my book of Mormon out of my purse and opened it to a random page.

3 Nephi 8 was about the most destitute chapter I could have turned to. The first verse I saw began by describing darkness, and followed with the pleas of a damned, forsaken people that were trapped to their own iniquities. And of course, I had to give a dry laugh at what I felt was sarcasm from Heavenly Father; See? I can be depressing too. You know better than this.

But it still wasn't enough. I took out my MP3 player and tried to drown out my negativity. After a few songs, this talk from my first General Conference came on, and I finally felt the fog in my head began to lift.

Honestly, I don't know how I ever survived without having the kind of faith I do today, just knowing how I get sometimes with doubt, worry, and cynicism about myself and everything around me; just like Elder Perkins mentioned in his talk. But what should strike me even more--and it's finally starting to get through to me--is how foolish it is to continue trying to do everything on my own. Sure, Heavenly Father gave me experiences that have taught me to be more self-reliant than most, but that doesn't mean my hands are capable of everything I put them through. That's why Jesus Christ has the nail prints in his hands and I don't.

So here's to enduring better than I have been lately--less sullenly, and with more optimism amongst my opposition so I'm less likely to miss opportunities to hear the guidance of the Spirit. Otherwise, Heavenly Father might just smack you with scary imagery from the Book of Mormon. Because if there's one certainty I've learned to trust, more than anything else, it's that He'll do whatever's necessary to make a point;)

With numbers like glowing green pitchforks, 3:05 am radiated over my sleepless body as I tossed into yet another comfortless position.

The matriarch came forth from her bedroom. Her voice was unusually low, yet just as cross as ever. I can hear the seething in her voice as she speaks to my step-father in the living room. I wish I could save him, but I've learned the hard way that it's either him or me.

"You never do anything... lay around... work... find somewhere else to live..."

I don't want to hear anymore. It doesn't matter if she isn't yelling. She's tearing away at everything like she always does until there's nothing left, simply because she wants to be right.

Our family. What the hell are you trying to do to our family? Over some laundry?! Are you kidding me with this?!?

A tear gathers on my lashes. And another. And another. I sob gently. Someone has to be gentle around here, right?

I think of him sitting in the chair, staring vacantly ahead into the television screen--playing XBox. I know him, he isn't confrontational. I can even hear it in his defensive tone--he won't fight with her. He won't try to tell her what she refuses to hear anyway. He just sits there and takes it.

After eighteen years, I can't decide if that's bravery or not.

I see her too. Clear as day, it's what she always looks like--only anger in sight. Sharpened eyes as she wraps your mistakes around your neck like a tourniquet and pulls. Tighter. Tighter. She must really have him now, he's not even talking anymore!

And it's because she doesn't know. She just doesn't know.

She doesn't know that he talks to me more times in a week than she does in an entire month. She doesn't remember what our life was like eating spaghetti every day, before her Coach bags, and the laughter we have because of him. She doesn't care that she only demands the tasks of us that we are no more willing to do than she is; that he is not the only one not doing "his job," as she calls it.

And what she does not realize is the worst of all. She does not realize that because she is a walking contradiction, she is impossible to please, and that we have all given up on pleasing her.

But she tells him to leave, and this frightens me so badly I know I will not sleep. I need him here. WE need him here. And despite what she would have him think of himself right now, he wants to be here and that's why he stays.

She does not see the miracle that takes place every day that we all wake up and decide to stay with her, because she is slowly driving us all out of our minds. We walk into the kitchen while she's on a rampage, sigh without looking at each other, and then exchange half-smiles because we know. We know it isn't us--not really. It's her.

And we stay together, my sister, my step-father and I. We forge a bond from this every time it happens, and we find strength in our own insane attempts to alleviate and pacify her. Even if we don't get a family portrait, dinner eating, communicating sort of family out of it, we have something more than we had before. I know we do--I can see it!

So when I wake up this morning and I see him sleeping on the couch, I am almost afraid. But I think about the past eighteen years--how many thousands of times I've thought to myself I can't wait to get away from that woman, she's such a monster. And I know I wouldn't be able to blame him if he left. I still can't imagine why he would have stayed in the first place, knowing what she's like.

And yet he's here. Like a battered dock that has weathered many storms, he is still here.

How ungrateful, I growled to myself last night through scalding tears as I finally began to sink into restless sleep. All because we don't like going to do laundry with her--to be reamed in public--she's willing to destroy us all in a moment of anger... at 3 in the morning.

"You never put anyone before yourself. It's only about what you want," comes the growl from the living room.

I want to scream into my pillow. I want to get up and stuff that Joseph Smith quote about the great sin of ingratitude down her throat. I want to hog tie her and put her in a chair and tell her the truth about everything she has conveniently erased, re-written, and believed about us for all these years. I want to show her fear in a handful of dust!

I want to show her all of the ingratitude in her reflection.

Stupid Gentile.




But as always, I never say a word... only pour over my thoughts in my mind until I've made them clear, articulate, perfect. Then I strike each word like a tuning fork and let them echo inside my head until I can hear nothing else.

And as I walked past her bedroom door this morning, I struck the gong buried deep within myself that finally has a name--the most beautiful, powerful prayer that cannot, will not, be taken.

UUUUUUTAAAAAAAH. . .

And off to school I went, humming to myself with every care in the world ringing in my rafters.

Hopefully by the times it quiets, I will have learned something from all of this.