"I don't love you, but I always will..."

These two songs express completely how I've come to feel about the church.

Some Thoughts on Friendship

Today I talked with a friend that recently returned from her mission (like four days ago), and filled her in on everything that's happened since she left, which has been quite a lot. It sent me thinking about friends and the purpose of friendship and the type of friend that I want to be.

I had a really, really close group of friends throughout high school. I felt like I could talk to them about anything and everything. When I was feeling down or lonely, I would always go to them first. Their letters and encouragement really kept me going through some of the harder moments of my mission. I was so excited to be back with them when I got home. And then... things started to change. As I went through my personal emotional crisis in regards to my sexual orientation, I felt like I couldn't turn to them anymore. Talking to them about it made things awkward, and they seemed to avoid the subject as much as possible. And that really hurt. More than anything, I wished so badly that they would reach out to me and help me. I was in so much pain, and I needed so desperately to talk about what I was experiencing and what I was going through. I almost felt betrayed that the people I had trusted so deeply seemed to suddenly be gone when things got difficult.

Since then, I've made a lot of new friends. One of the very best has been there for me through all of it. She was with me in China when things first started getting bad, and she listened without being judgmental at all. It was such a refreshing difference from my other friends, who all seemed to have the agenda of maintaining the status quo of their understanding of me and of our relationships. I've also been able to talk to two of my roommates in depth about things, and they've been really supportive, and it hasn't changed anything in our friendships.

Through this all, I've learned a lot about friendship and about the type of friend that I want to be to people. I don't blame my old friends too much for the way they acted--they had no idea how to handle the situation (and frankly, neither did I). Though...it would be an untruth to say I wasn't bitter at all. It really felt betraying. But I'm so grateful to those friends who were willing to just listen. And I think that's the mark of a true friend-- someone who's able to listen without judgment and who helps you come to your own conclusions. And I think it's important that listening isn't a passive act--I mean the act of actually trying to understand people, which involves questions and really wondering what the person is feeling and thinking and going through. I think there are few better ways to express love for someone than to wonder. 

And it really hurts when people don't wonder--especially people who care the most. When I've talked to other gay people, for example, there seems to rarely be greater pain in their eyes than when they say their parents don't want to talk about it and just pretend it's not there. We can't pretend away other people's problems. And trying to is selfish. Wondering enough to ask questions and intently listen and trying to understand what people are going through is, in my opinion, one of the greatest ways to show love, and the best way of being a friend to someone who's going through a hard time.

Suffering

In the last few days I've had lots of really good, deep conversations with friends and family members about pain. I've realized more and more that suffering is universally a part of everyone's lives. No matter how great people's lives seem on the outside, on the inside, suffering is a core part of their being.

If this is true, then what's the point of it all? If God is real, all powerful and all loving, how could he create a world with this much pain? We all have those moments when we pause and feel the reverberations of a nihilistic emptiness pulsing through our bodies--when life feels devoid of meaning and time seems to stand still, almost mocking us by refusing to move forward and past the moment of greatest grief. When I feel completely covered in loneliness I often notice a deep irony. One day I was walking back from campus, and feeling that deep sadness slowly returning, and I looked up to notice the clouds. A setting sun had given them a deep, pink fringe that contrasted so beautifully with the blue sky behind it. I couldn't help but think, how can the world persist in being so beautiful when all my heart seems to persist in is pain?

I've noticed before that the natural world almost can't help but be beautiful. Even the most gnarled trees are beautiful. Even the stormiest skies have a sort of beauty to them. But it's a cold, uncaring beauty. Sometimes I wonder if God isn't like that-- a cold, uncaring being who can't help but be awe-inspiring and beautiful at the same time. But I still really feel and deeply believe that He is something more than that. Somehow, buried behind all of this pain, there is a sort of meaning and purpose.

The true test of life, I think, isn't to eliminate pain, but to find joy in spite of it. And let me be the first one to say that I suck at that. But even though I get caught up in my own frustrations so often, moments of peace and clarity are also there. And there's something transcendent and beautiful in them.

There's so much deep pain among gay members of the Church. There are so many broken hearts that need to be healed. I hope that anyone reading this who's going through a hard time knows that my heart hurts with yours.