Scars

I had an epiphany last night.  Or, as we Mormons like to call it, a personal revelation.

Three pregnancies in four years does a number on your body.  So much about my body no longer resembles what it looked like prior to embarking on this journey.  At the risk of sounding shallow, that was one of the hardest (and continues to be) adjustments for me.  Things just don't look the same.  My body doesn't feel the same.  And how could it?  It has grown, supported and birthed three beautiful little people.

I had read a blog post several years ago that has always stuck with me.  I wish I could remember who the author was, but that information has been lost, along with most of my vocabulary, compliments of baby brain.   The woman was discussing her heart breaking struggle to get pregnant.  Her desire for a child of her own was so great, it consumed all of her thoughts.  Finally, she and her husband conceived.  They were beyond excited and, as the baby grew within her, she developed a single stretch mark on her stomach.  Her sister had complained about her pregnancy stretch marks, but she loved this stretch mark.  It meant that there was a baby growing inside her.  Tragically, she lost the baby later in her pregnancy.  Her body mostly returned to normal, having escaped the more physically deforming aspects of pregnancy, except for that one stretch mark.  It remained.  And she cherishes it because it is physical proof of her baby.

Needless to say, I sobbed after reading that.  I have had many trials in my life, but conceiving a child has not been one of them.  It made me feel spoiled and selfish.

Since reading it, I have tried to have that perspective regarding my own body.  But it has been admittedly hard.  After a grueling workout last night (shout out to Amber!), I was laying in bed thinking about my exercise journey over the last six months and how no matter how hard I work, there will likely always be some extra skin on my stomach, certain scars that will never go away and a different shape to my overall body.  And that's when it hit me:

Jesus Christ has scars.  Scars on His hands, His feet, and His side.  Scars that could have been removed when He was resurrected, but He instead decided to keep them.  Scars that represent all that He did for us.  He literally carries reminders of us on His body.

"...yet will I not forget thee, O house of Israel.  Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands..."  - 1 Nephi 21:15-16

Profound, right?  Ergo, if I am to follow Christ's example, I should embrace my scars.  They are a testament to my precious children.  Even after they have grown and gone, my body has been forever changed.  I will always carry a reminder of them with me; every minute of every day.  Our bodies are living journals, each is completely unique and testifies of our lives.  Such a simple truth that has been drowned out by the world's unrealistic expectations of perfection.

I am going to recommit myself to having this perspective and seeing the negative feelings for what they are: the adversary's attempt to make me miserable.  How grateful I am for the whisperings of the Spirit!

Selma

"The time is always right to do what is right." - Martin Luther King, Jr.

Last Saturday, thanks to my mom, John and I were able to steal away for the afternoon to have lunch and catch a movie.  We debated back and forth on which movie to see...The Intimidation Game, Unbroken, but we finally landed on Selma.  We do not have cable TV in our home, so we had not seen any trailers for Selma.  But, after reading the description we knew we had to see it.

And I'm so glad we did.

First, a brief re-cap of the movie via IMDb:

"The unforgettable true story chronicles the tumultuous three-month period in 1965, when Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. led a dangerous campaign to secure equal voting rights in the face of violent opposition. The epic march from Selma to Montgomery culminated in President Johnson signing the Voting Rights Act of 1965, one of the most significant victories for the civil rights movement. Director Ava DuVernay's "Selma" tells the story of how the revered leader and visionary Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr and his brothers and sisters in the movement prompted change that forever altered history." (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1020072/)

The movie also explores the tensions between Dr. King's group, the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) and the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) as well as tensions in Dr. King's marriage, which were egged on by the FBI.  While I was familiar with the SCLC and SNCC, I was unaware of the tensions between the two groups, at least in Selma.  Additionally, I knew very little about Dr. King and Coretta Scott King's marriage, let alone the interference from the FBI.  To be fair, Dr. King was unfaithful, but the FBI added to the strains on their marriage in a variety of ways, aimed at creating additional turmoil in their home and sidetracking Dr. King.  Nothing short of tragic and, frankly, un-American.

It should be noted that there has been some debate regarding the portrayal of President Johnson in the movie, and one should be aware of that prior to viewing the movie, but that is for another conversation.

Although the movie is rated PG-13, I found the very realistic violence overwhelming at times.  John and I were both in tears at various points in the movie.  I just can't believe that these events happened, and just over 50 years ago.  It makes one think of all of the extreme evil that we don't see. 

With that being said, I left the movie feeling hopeful and admiring the bravery of people working towards what is right.  The battle may be long and arduous, but in the end good does prevail.  I love knowing that there are people in this world who feel so strongly about correcting injustice that they are willing to make great sacrifices.  How can you not be hopeful knowing that there are unyielding people on the side of righteousness? 

And while there are many more obstacles people of color (I would also add women and religious minorities) have to overcome, the sacrifices of those who came before us were not in vain. They accomplished much and created a foundation for future generations to build on.  They continue to be an example and source of strength for people in their time of struggle.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about this movie since we viewed it. I find myself drawing parallels between recent events, including the Charlie Hedbo attacks in Paris coupled with the anti-Muslim and anti-religion backlash that has ensued across Europe.  I certainly do not condone the terrorist attacks in any way, but nor do I condone the French's attacks on religious individual's rights to be able to express their faith via religious clothing and symbols.

In short, get out and see this movie.  It is nothing short of moving and will hopefully continue to spur conversations regarding the protection of freedom and justice. 

Gypsy

You may have wondered to yourself why I chose to name my blog "Modern Mormon Gypsy".  Even if you haven't, I'm about to explain it! 

Modern:  I like to think of myself as a modern woman (*gag*, I kind of hate saying that), doing my best to raise a healthy and happy family while maintaining some semblance of my own individual goals and aspirations.  I've come to terms with the reality that you can't "have it all" all at once without making some sacrifices.  This has been a difficult realization, one that I believe many women have experienced.  I've decided to take the "times and seasons" approach to my life. 

I think the Mormon part is obvious:  I'm a practicing Mormon and my faith informs many of my decisions and the lifestyle I choose to lead.  I decided not to leave this aspect out of my blogging because 1. it's just too large a part of my life and 2. there are a billion misconceptions about Mormons (some of them well-deserved) and I like to challenge those misconceptions, offer a safe place for non-Mormons to pose questions without feeling pressure, and show people we're just a little bit (not a lot bit) crazy. Okay, in my particular case I'm a lot bit crazy.  But that is for many other reasons beyond my faith.

Gypsy: I have serious wanderlust.  I blame most of this on inherited genes from my ancestors who couldn't seem to keep still.  I love traveling and living in different places.  The moves have not always been easy (turns out a large life change is one of my depression triggers!) but they have always been completely worth it.  I love a good adventure and can't help but wonder what new things I will discover in a new place.  There are just too many things to experience!  And, you know what?  I want to experience everything.

My means have not allowed me to backpack across Europe, go on safari in Africa or take a grand tour of the Orient (Wait a minute...can I say "orient"?  Is that racist?), but I have made my way up, down and across the U.S.  Luckily for me, this country is DIVERSE.  The world travel will happen for me, just not in this season of my life (Bucket List Goal #3 - Visit all 7 Continents).

Growing up, we moved a lot around the Phoenix area.  I attended 7 different elementary schools.  Once I was in junior high and high school, I did attend the same two schools for six years, but we lived in three different houses during that time.  It was hard, but I adapted to starting over and making new friends.  Staying in one place too long became boring.

The thought of attending college in Arizona after high school did not make me happy.  I viewed that time as an opportunity to experience a life I couldn't have in AZ.  I did seriously consider college in AZ, for financial reasons, but with the help of my uncle decided the only place I could go to school was the University of Washington in Seattle (GO HUSKIES!).  By some miracle, I was accepted and moved to Seattle in July of 2000, just over a month after I graduated high school.  And thus begins my state-hopping adventure. 

After one wedding (more to come on my 1st marriage in upcoming posts), multiple rain coats, and a bachelor's degree, I made my way back to Phoenix for four years.  In that time my first marriage came to an end, I became roomies with one of my favorite cousins in Tempe, reconnected with John after not speaking for five years and bought a house with my sister.  During this time I experienced many ups and downs of singledom, many of which are now quite funny.



Contrary to popular belief, Hawaii is much farther from the mainland U.S. and no where near Alaska.

John and I decided we needed to at least be in the same state to find out if our relationship was as serious as we thought.  There was so much agonizing over what to do until I was laid off and the choice was made for me.  My sister and I sold our home, I sold my car, gave away most of my belongings and moved to Honolulu.

After six months of draining my savings (Hawaii is a notoriously difficult place to find work for "mainlanders", beyond waiting tables), I decided it was time to pursue a master's degree.  John and I applied to five different schools in five very different parts of the country and decided to attend the University of Wisconsin - Milwaukee.  Oh, how I love Milwaukee!  It was there that we finally became engaged, married and pregnant with our first boy, S.  It was a busy two years.

Once we graduated, the job search began.  John took a position with a government contractor outside of Boston and we moved to New England.  We have loved living in Massachusetts; the combination of history, culture and natural beauty have made it a great fit for us.  Although, I will admit it is seriously lacking in cuisine beyond Italian food and seafood. 

And now, with Baby #3 on the way (debuting in July 2015!), we are at a crossroads once again for various reasons.  Our hope is that we will remain in New England but, truly, only Heavenly Father knows what our future holds.  There are days when I feel like I could spend the next 30 years here and others where the "itch" kicks in and I want to know what life would be like somewhere completely different. 

I don't know that I will ever feel completely settled. Certainly, our goal is to make life as stable for our children as possible, but I would certainly not object to selling everything we own and living in a Winnebago once we retire.  Nope, scratch that.  We're going to backpack across Europe, go on safari in Africa and take a grand tour of the Orient. 

Tender Mercy? Try Miracle!

We are fortunate enough to own two cars: a 2008 Jeep Patriot and John's Kia Race Machine aka a 2001 Kia Sephia he bought brand new when he was 18 years old. 

There is nothing innately fancy about the Kia Race Machine.  It has a standard transmission, you have to manually unroll the windows and unlock the doors.  It's at a point in it's life where the radio doesn't always work, so you get the opportunity to drive around in silence.  Particularly fun with children or an overly-talkative person in the car!

This car has nine lives.  Sure, it's got dings and knicks crunches, but it keeps hanging on.  Everyone close to us has experienced the Kia Race Machine.  This last year it has had a number of issues, all that we've fixed, but the fear is that it may be on it's last leg.

The Kia Race Machine:  Keep on keepin' on

We had to take the car into the mechanic yesterday and leave it over night.  As a consequence, the boys and I woke up at 4:00 am to take John to work.  As many of you with toddlers know, this can be a terrifying experience.  The boys were in good spirits all the way to John's work and did not freak out when he left.

On our way home, I talked with them about how "it is still night night.  When we get home, we need to lay back down and take a little rest before breakfast."  They weren't thrilled with that plan and they made sure to let me know.

Upon arriving home, I wrestled them upstairs and back into their room.  The whole time I kept thinking, "S has preschool at 9:30 am. How am I going to get these boys back to sleep so they are not wrecked for the entire day?"

I put them in their beds, they cried.  I gave them cars, they cried.  I turned on night lights, they cried.  I sang to them for 20 minutes, they cried.  Finally, I asked them to say a prayer with me.  I prayed and said something like this: "Heavenly Father, I know you can help these boys return to sleep.  We have such a big day ahead of us and I want them to be happy.  I want them to have fun.  I know you love them and you want them to have a good day as well.  Please help them to return to sleep."  After closing my prayer I decided to have faith that Heavenly Father would help me and the boys.  I KNEW He would help them sleep, and quickly banished any doubtful thoughts.

I shut the door, entered my bedroom and, this is not a joke, within 60 seconds heard complete silence.  S and L share a room and typically spend at least 20 minutes playing, laughing and/or screaming.  Not this time, though.  Not a peep.  They slept for the next 2 1/2 hours before I woke them for breakfast.  If this wasn't a miracle wrought by the hand of the Lord, then I don't know what is.

I know God hears our prayers.  I know God cares about the small things in our lives.  I know He is ready and willing to bless us with miracles when we are in need and have faith.  I know God loves us.  I know God loves you.

I just hope He loves the Kia Race Machine enough to pull it through its latest malady.  :-)

The boys reading their favorite periodical: The Auto Trader.  They're always on the look out for our next vehicle.

*Update* The Kia Race Machine is back on the road and ready to party!  Two miracles.  BOOM.

Milestones

Yeah, I know, it's been a while.  I began with a "Look at me!  I'm starting a blog!" burst of energy, which clearly waned, but I'm back for now.  I may not have been writing (because I just don't have the time and/or energy most days), but that doesn't mean I haven't been thinking or taking note of all kinds of things to write about.  I really need to carry around a journal to record my thoughts as they come to me.  Actually, I *need* an iPad, but that's a whole other story.

I recently returned from a trip to Phoenix where my youngest sister, Brandy, graduated from high school.  I can remember being in the hospital and holding her after she was born and now she has a high school diploma and nose piercings.  Ca-razy.



Siblings

It was blistering hot the whole time I was there, but it was fabulous to visit with a small group of family and friends.  If you're reading this and thinking, "Umm, I didn't see you while you were here!" consider this my formal apology.  I really tried to get around as much as I could.  However, I didn't have my own car, there are a lot of you and one of me and I was truly there to celebrate Brandy's graduation.  Love you!

John took the week off of work and stayed home with the boys.  We had originally wanted to go as a family, but that small issue of being able to afford it kept coming up.   This worked out great because, although I missed the boys terribly, it gave me a break and it gave John some precious time alone with his guys.  They went to the park every day, played cars, got dirty and I'm sure bathing was limited.  Of course, in true John fashion, when I returned home I was greeted with flowers, everything was immaculate and there was freshly baked banana bread on the stove.  You don't have to tell me how lucky I am (I was married once before, remember?).  John is constantly doing things like this without ever being asked.  We certainly have our differences and conflict, but it is truly minor compared to what it could be.  Despite that, I sometimes feel like a failure when he seems to "outshine" me.  This sounds incredibly petty and self-centered on my part.  It's not so much that we're in competition, because we're not, it's that being home with the boys full time is difficult for me most days.  I guess I just want to know that John has his parenting struggles too. 

The older the boys get, the more fun we have and the easier it has become for me.  I still have moments every day where I want to run screaming from the house, where I can't bare to change another poopy diaper (we had six SEVEN poopy diapers today alone), and I end the day completely wiped out.  To quote a good friend, having really little children is really, really hard.

And that brings me to a hypothesis I have formulated.  I do not believe this is an original thought nor may it be applicable to everyone, but it certainly describes my short 2 1/2 year stint in parenthood thus far.  Here it is:

A person will be subjected to the highest emotional highs and the lowest emotional lows throughout the parenthood experience. 

This is not to say that one cannot experience euphoria or despair outside of parenthood, because you certainly can.  I know I have in my own life.  But the frequency and the ease with which you experience this range of feelings within parenthood is unique.  This is why parenthood is so hard, but also so rewarding.

I believe my hypothesis is supported by statements found within the book, The God Who Weeps: How Mormonism Makes Sense of Life by Terryl and Fiona Givens.  Beautifully written (many passages read as prose), this book delves into some of the most basic and difficult questions humans have about God: Is there a God?  For what purpose did He create us?  Is He a harsh and cruel God, or kind and loving?  Does He deserve our love and adoration?  Do we, as humans, cause Him pain, or is He above suffering?

Among other things, Brother and Sister Givens come to the conclusion that "humans and their world do matter to God" and that, as His children, "His heart is set upon us".   God is not above suffering, nor can He avoid it.  They continue:

"God chooses to love us.  And if love means responsibility, sacrifice, vulnerability, then God's decision to love us is the most stupendously sublime moment in the history of time.  He chooses to love even at, necessarily at, the price of vulnerability...His freely made choice to inaugurate and sustain costly loving relationships is the very core of His divine identity."

Furthermore:

"...it turns out...that God is not exempt from emotional pain.  God's pain is as infinite as His love.  He weeps because He feels compassion.  As the Lord explains to Enoch, 'unto thy brethren have I said, and also given commandment, that they should love one another, and that they should choose me, their Father; but behold, they are without affection, and they hate their own blood...and misery shall be their doom; and the whole heavens shall weep over them, even all the workmanship of mine hands; wherefore should not the heavens weep, seeing these shall suffer?'  It is not their wickedness, but their 'misery,' not their disobedience, but their 'suffering,' that elicits the God of Heaven's tears." (Emphasis added.)

If God feels such infinite pain because of our misery, why then, would He have created us at all?  He created us and loves us because the joy He derives from our successes, our progress and our happiness exceeds all of the costs associated with loving us.  And this is parenting.  This is why I choose to be a parent: the love I feel for my boys and the immense happiness I feel simply because of their existence outweighs the difficulty, the pain and the heartache. 

As I type this, L is sitting in his high chair, eating pizza and making farting noises with his mouth, completely oblivious to anything else that is going on in the world.  His ability to make me laugh make all the poopy diapers totally worth it.

Here's L with puffed rice stuck to his face.  Classic L.

Perfection

L turned one year old last week and I can hardly believe it (side note: we'll be celebrating this weekend, so there will be pictures to come).  This year truly has gone by so fast.  This may sound negative, although that is not my intent, but S's first year of life seemed to go by so slowly.  I counted every week, keeping track of his exact age constantly.  I tracked every milestone and checked them off in my head as he grew.  But now, having two Goobies, I barely have time to get them into clean diapers let alone track how many months, weeks, days, hours and minutes L has lived.  With S, I was terrified that if I didn't obsess track his progress he'd somehow never cut teeth or figure out how to walk.  With L, I am so much more relaxed, despite being even more busy, and it has proven to be a much more pleasant parenting experience.  And, without my obsessing tracking, L is cutting teeth, on the verge of walking, and feeding himself just fine.  Progress achieved.




Happy Birthday L!
 

I believe all new mothers experience this to some degree.  But, it is also a fact that obsession attention to detail is makes up the very fiber of my being.  I can't help it.  After some time in therapy as a young adult, I learned that my need to control and "keep up appearances" stemmed from my feeling out of control as a child.  As the oldest child, I was already predestined to become a perfectionist.  Being surrounded by a chaotic environment just added to my desire to control and protect.  This served me well in academia, but it did not serve me well in my first marriage nor in other relationships.  My desire for perfection, which does not enable me to admit failure easily, kept me in an abusive marriage for longer than I should have been.  In fact, it was some of those same reasons that put me in that marriage to begin with, ignoring red flags and other's protestations. 

I also have a very bad habit of internalizing others' problems to the point where it begins to affect me emotionally and physically.  In my mind, obsessing over something makes me feel like I'm doing something.  If I think about it long enough, I'll be able to solve whatever the problem is.  The issue with that is I end up obsessing over things I have absolutely no control over and I end up getting sick, frustrated, overwhelmed and depressed. 

I learned a great exercise in therapy that helped me to understand what I was doing and how to re-train my brain.  Choosing to not obsess over things that are outside of my control does not mean that I don't care, that I don't love, that I don't have charity.  It means that I am going to find the things I can do, do them, and not allow myself to be torn down in the process.  In a way, it's exerting charity towards myself.  Here's the exercise: you get two cups.  Label one with your name (in my case, "Brooke") and the other with the name of Jesus.  Every evening, write down on individual slips of paper what you are worried about, bothered by, stressing out about, etc.  Then, one by one, assess what you have written out and ask yourself, "Do I truly have control over this?" If you do, it goes in your cup.  If you don't, it goes in Jesus' cup.  You are allowed to pull items out of your cup one at a time to form action plans.  Anything in Jesus' cup, you can't touch.  You can't even think about it.  You have turned it over the Lord and it now belongs to Him.  If you try to retrieve that problem for yourself, you are stealing from the Lord and NO ONE wants to be guilty of that!  Every time I began to obsess about something I'd say to myself, "This belongs to the Lord.  Stop stealing!" and then I'd strive to refocus my thoughts.  Sometimes this required prayer, and that was totally within the rules.

The foundation of this exercise is having faith that Jesus can do what He's promised to do.  You have to believe that He can heal all afflictions, all infirmities, and that He can make all right.  You also have to accept that your time line does not necessarily line up with the Lord's time line.  And, the hardest part of all (for me, anyways) you have to accept and respect the free agency of others.  Individuals have to make their own choices and you can't force anything otherwise.  (But, let's be honest, it would be nice to be able to revoke someone's agency for a short time now and again.)

And, now, here I am: a perfectionist among toddlers.  Talk about irony!  While it has been a bumpy transition, S and L are teaching me so much and John's love and support have been invaluable.  I've had to let things go: the house can't be perfect all of the time or even most of the time, there will always be food one someone's clothes and the dogs have to go longer in between their baths.  Sure, we all stink, but I'm not flipping out anywhere near as much as I used to!  Progress achieved. 

Delish!

Sacrifice

Sacrifice – to give up, to forgo, to forfeit, to surrender, to let go

Wednesday was Ash Wednesday, which kicks off the Lenten Season.  But, wait a minute here, Brooke!  You’re Mormon!  Mormons don’t observe Lent!

Yes, officially, that is true.  However, I’m not exactly sure why because the entire idea behind Lent, a season of sacrifice preparing us for Easter and the celebration of Christ’s Atonement and Resurrection, fits perfectly into our doctrine and teachings.  We fast from food for 24 hours once every month and use the money we would have spent on food to donate to the poor.  We fast from food when we are seeking answers to questions, when someone is sick or afflicted in some way, when we simply want to feel closer to Heavenly Father.  Fasting should always be coupled with prayer and meditation, giving one the opportunity to feel the whisperings of the Holy Ghost.

Okay, back to Lent.  John is the one who taught me about Lent.  Growing up Catholic, he’s observed it for as long as he can remember.  When he and I began to date again, I decided that I would join him in observing this season.  There are a couple of rules:

1.      You may not consume meat on Ash Wednesday or on Fridays.  From my understanding, this is supposed to be done in remembrance of times of famine.  It used to be that you abstained from meat for the whole 40 days, but that was later changed.

2.      You are supposed to sacrifice something in your life for 40 days.  John clarified this for me a few years ago that you may also add something good to your daily routine (in essence, sacrificing your time).

I know I’m missing details, but the point is to sacrifice something for the Lord since He has made the ultimate sacrifice for us.  I think it’s beautiful.  This year, John and I have committed to diligently reading our scriptures every day, without fail, in honor of Lent.  This is a goal of ours generally, but we typically fail.  Lent gives us the perfect opportunity and motivation to really stick with it.

This serendipitously coincided with my reading of a book for the book group I attend once a month.  This month’s book was No More Goodbyes: Circling the Wagons around Our Gay Loved Ones by Carol Lynn Pearson.  Let me start off by saying that EVERYONE should read this book!  Ms. Pearson is Mormon, and the book primarily focuses on being homosexual in the Mormon culture, but it certainly applies to anyone of any faith who wants to understand more; who wants to empathize with something they don’t quite understand and in the process become a better Christian.

The books is a series of true stories, some tragic and some triumphant. The description found on the back of the book is as follows:

In No More Goodbyes, Pearson revisits the challenging subject of religious people relating to their gay loved ones who are often condemned by their church and – many believe – by God.  Through stories gathered from the microcosm of Mormonism, it becomes clear how this emotional earthquake affects families of all faiths

Being a Mormon and having a gay brother (and many other gay loved ones in my life) has been a confusing tightrope walk.  On one hand, I love my faith!  I choose this faith and I have never regretted that decision.  On the other hand, I love my brother more than words can express and watching him feel as if he is being torn in two is heartbreaking and crushing.  It took me some time to realize that I don’t have to choose between the two!  I can have dissenting feelings about some of the Church’s strategies and decisions, support my brother in his struggle to find and acquire the life that he feels is right for him and remain loyal to both!

I personally believe that there is no detriment to the traditional family or our society by allowing gay individuals to marry.  Denying marriage licenses is not going to keep gay couples from building lives together, forming families, and being a part of our communities.  Coming from a faith with a history of non-traditional marriages (i.e. polygamy), I feel Mormons should be most understanding of all. 

There is one thing that is completely clear to me, regardless of your feelings about this issue, regardless of your religious beliefs or sexual orientation: the anger and the bitterness has to stop (I say this to heterosexuals and LGBTQIA individuals alike)!  The alienation has to stop!  The taking of one’s life because they feel unworthy, and out of place or rejected HAS TO STOP!   Life is a precious gift given to us by our Heavenly Father and we need to band together to help everyone make the most of this gift.  And by doing so, we will make the most of our lives.  Love and making the effort to understand, even if you don’t ultimately agree, is always constructive.  This applies to religious people who disagree with those who act on their homosexual feelings and to those who do not agree with someone’s religious beliefs. 

I think this entire issue also assumes that LGBTQIA individuals are not and cannot be religious.  That they don’t love God and that they don’t want to follow a faith.  This is preposterous!  There are many faithful and religious people with different sexual orientations and I know for a fact that Heavenly Father loves them all unconditionally. 

I believe that people should have the right to choose the life they wish to lead; what they feel is right.  Many people disagree with the Mormon Church, but I believe that it is true and this is the right lifestyle for me.  I want others to be able to make this choice for themselves as well because I believe in free agency.  I believe every person should feel welcome in any faith tradition since, at the foundation of every tradition, is the Golden Rule.  That we should strive to love individuals because they are Children of God and, as such, are our brothers and sisters.

I join my plea with that of Ms. Pearson: no more sacrifice of families, of people and of life.  I am committed to this and I hope you will be too. 

On a lighter note, here are some pictures of L and S playing at the See Science Center in Manchester, NH!

Chef L (I know, my camera stinks)

Chef S