Trust

Today I told a stranger I was gay.  It was just the right time.  It surprised me how easy it was to say, how little I cared if he knew.  

“I wondered,” he replied.  “But I thought I was wrong because you were married.  So are you like Josh Weed and Ty Mansfield?”

“Why did you think I was gay?”  I asked.  So far most people have been surprised.

“I read people pretty well,” he answered.  I should have seen it coming at this point.  Maybe I did.

Because I asked, suspiciously, “How do you know about Josh and Ty?”

I saw it then.  I knew the look in his eyes.  I knew what he was feeling.

We talked for quite some time.  We shared a lot--the same beliefs and religion, the same attractions.  We had similar fears and cares.

Ten minutes, then fifteen.  Already we were sharing things more personal than I share with opposite attracted friends, friends I have known for many years.

That is my experience with those fighting this fight.  There is a bond of shared experiences and understanding.  But it is more than that.  It is as if we are connected or are able to connect at a level beyond words, beyond feelings.  

We parted ways but as the day wore on, an unease grew inside me.  It was evasive but prominent, slowly commandeering my thoughts but refusing to be clear.  Doubt, fear, guilt, shame.  They began to creep in.  

Finally the night came, the children were settled.  

“I need your clarity of thought,” I told my wife.  “Please?”  I pleaded.  “Now.”  I felt barely able to hold on to my sanity. (Wife-- I was standing up to go, just not as fast as he wanted me to. :) )

We sat on the bed and talked.  I recounted the events of the day.  Most she had already heard in scattered pieces between errands.  Slowly we stripped away the shadows, my defense mechanisms covering my true feelings.

Fear.  I was afraid.  Afraid because I could act out with another man.  And enjoy it.  There was a power there, almost electric.

Anger.  Anger at myself for wanting it.  For wanting to be close to another man.

Sadness.  Sadness for the same.  Sadness that I had to deal with this.

And she said it, then.  She always finds the core, the real reason.  Which is why I asked to talk.

“You are sad for him, aren’t you?”  And she was right.

It hurt.  It hurt so bad looking into his eyes.  Knowing what he was going through.  I didn’t want to feel it.  I didn’t want to feel anything.  I was angry at God for making anyone go through this.

“Go through what?” she asked.  “Go through something that will help them learn and grow and become the incredible, wonderful person they can become?”

But I still hated God.  I didn’t know how to let it go.

Trust me.  He whispered to my heart.

I can do that, I thought.

And the joy is back now.  The sweet feeling of being at peace.  It means hope for me.

“You have a lot to teach him,” my wife said.  “You know how to be happy in this.”

She’s right.

Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world...which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men, which would make them sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works, being led to glorify God.  (Book of Mormon, Ether 12:4)