Sometimes We All Need a Little Love Note To Keep Us Going.

I don't know if it is just me, but there are days when everything seems to just fall apart and all that you can think of is giving up. The easiest thing to do would be to let go and forget everything and everyone. In fact, there are days when I wish that I could forget everything and start over; a tabula rasa in my mind would sometimes seem the salve to soothe a tired mind. There are days, like the past four, when I just want the world to stop its revolutions. Then, the most amazing thing happens; the universe gives me a glimmer of hope and love to keep me going. And I am grateful for that glimmer of hope and love the universe deems necessary for me at that point in time.

Over the past four days, I have often thought about the loneliness I seem to be stuck in; the holidays have a tendency to give me that little reminder. I go to work and then come home to an empty bed and am reminded of just how alone I am. At that moment, I just wonder how cursed I must be to find myself alone without a glimpse of the loneliness ever changing and I want to crawl into bed and never get out. Those moments bring on the feelings of wanting to start life over or for the world to stop turning. Those moments are the times when I want to give up and stop trying.

But, I keep going. I keep waking up and I maintain the cycle that seems to be the meaning of my life. I try a
little more. I get myself out of bed and right before I hit the breaking point again, the universe deems me worthy to have a glimpse of hope and love. At that point, someone I haven't heard from in a while messages me and tells me they love me or someone invites me over for Thanksgiving dinner with their family. And the glimmer of hope and love spark a renewed desire for life.

Today, when I was feeling sub par and irrelevant, I received two very important messages from two very special people. First, I haven't talked to my cousin Megan in a very long time. In fact, I can't even remember the last time I actually sat down and caught up with her and her little family. However, today, out of the blue, Megan messaged me and said that if I didn't have plans for Thanksgiving, I was welcome to come and join her and her family for their meal. Then, as if one love note wasn't enough, one of my favorite teachers and mentors, commented on one of my posts saying, "Love you, Micah."

And with a dinner invitation and a message of love, I was reminded of how blessed I am with such loving friends and family. The universe saw fit to send me these two love notes. I am truly grateful for the little love notes the universe sends me to keep me going. I am grateful to Megan and to Karin for their simple but loving messages. I am grateful to know that no matter how alone I may feel, I always have family and friends surrounding me. Thank you all for your love and your light.

Happy Birthday, Grandma: Gratitude and Love to a Great Woman

At the end of day seventeen, I need to send out a very special thank you to the woman that made my life and my dad's life possible. Today is my grandmother's birthday and she deserves every bit of recognition I can give her. Along with the recognition, I owe my grandmother the most deserved thank you. Without her, I could not be and without the way she raised my dad, my life would be very different.

In all of the days I have known this great woman, part of them with her other half and part of them

Grandma with Aiden, Ashlan, and Kaly.

without him, she has worn her faith on her sleeves and has shown a great example for her children and grandchildren. Grandma always went to church when should was able. She and Grandpa served a mission, and no matter how busy she was, she was always looking after the people--especially the people of Pioche, Nevada. Service with a smile was one thing that I learned from Grandma. No matter how busy she was with family, she always had time to help someone out. I am grateful to her for her example of faith and service. 

I am very grateful to Grandma for raising Dad to be a man of faith and a noble and loving man. The way Grandma raised Dad was shown to me in the way Dad raised me. Through her teachings to Dad, I learned to honor the name I bore; I learned to show kindness in word and deed; I learned to keep my word; and I learned to love without exception. The person that I am today is in part due to Grandma who raised the man that raised me. I am grateful to her for raising Dad the way she did. I would not be the man I am if I didn't have the son she raised to be my dad.

I could go on and on about the many things I owe to Grandma and for all of those things I owe a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid to one of the greatest women I know. My words will never suffice and will never be able to repay her for all that she has done for me. I will never be able to repay her for the example she has set for me. I just want my grandma to know she is amazing. I am grateful to her and for her everyday. Thank you, Grandma. I love you and owe you so much.

Giving Thanks: Seeing Beyond Consumerism During the Holiday Season

This month, at many retail stores, we start to see Christmas trees, wreaths, red and green ornaments, and Santa Claus statues roll out onto the floor to remind consumers of the obligation to buy gifts for loved ones and neighbors. However, the one holiday that should mean more than some consumer-driven holiday is forgotten. Many people forget Thanksgiving and its purpose. No! That purpose is not to eat, drink, and be merry. The one thing that the holiday gets right is family; however, we forget to give thanks daily for the blessings we are given.

This holiday season, I am going to give thanks, daily, for something that I have that I am grateful for. If I can see beyond the consumer-driven holiday that has become of Christmas and remember the various reasons for the season, perhaps, the magic of the holidays will come back and the wonder and joy that once suffused my childhood memories will return and give back what has been lost.

I am a day late so I will have to start out with the two most important aspects of my life that I am grateful for and the number one thing I am grateful for this holiday season and every year past, present, and future is my family. I have been blessed to have one of the most loving families. At my brother's wedding last week, I was able to see all but one of my siblings. I could feel the love in every hug and in every attempt to see how life is going for each one of us. We are lucky, as siblings, to be so close. As the time comes for our parents to go on a mission, we will be tested on how close we are and how close we can become. My family is truly a blessing in my life and a blessing to be counted among the ones for which I could never pay the universe back.

The second thing I am grateful for is the life I have. There have been many times in my existence that I have wished for my lungs to stop breathing and my heart to stop beating, but as I grow older and as I draw closer to truth and understanding, I see the blessing that is life. I am blessed to be able to live a life and experience existence. Life is never easy and it can definitely be a stressful event, but there has always been someone there to help me with my troubles; I want to be able to be there for someone who needs it too. So, I am grateful for every beat of my heart, every inhalation and exhalation of my lungs, every emotion I feel, and every moment of firing neurons.

I encourage everyone to give this challenge of posting, tweeting, or blogging about the things you are grateful for a try. I want the reason for the season to not be lost in gadgets, clothing, shoes, food, et cetera. We are truly blessed in the nation that we live and we need to show that gratitude in word and in action. Let's bring back the joy and the magic of the season. Be grateful and give thanks. Namaste.

Engaging in Simple Conversation: How a Few Questions Can Change a Person's Perspective on Love and Life

I took two weeks of paid vacation in September and because I don't have tons of extra money, I wasn't able to go on an extravagant vacation to Hawaii or a cruise to the Bahamas. I was, however, able to go and spend two very busy but joyful weeks with my family in St. George. Today, I must share one of the best moments of my vacation. Though there were many special moments to chose from, including a surprise birthday party, this moment sticks out the most.

Some of you may not consider a vacation defined by babysitting; doing yard work; and just spending time with your family. But, I had a great time and enjoyed every minute of my time with my family. I even enjoyed being taken care of when I got sick the first week in. Every moment of my time with my family was wonderful and felt like a break from what has become the norm; a break from the norm is a vacation for me.

During these two weeks, my little sister, Jaclyn, who is always looking for ways to improve her home, wanted me to help her with her front yard. The grass has died and she has grown to dislike what has become of her front yard. So, we dug up grass; moved rocks; planted new plants; and had a good time working together. She seemed very grateful for the help I was able to give her; though, it wasn't a lot of time.

During the last day of helping her, we were pulling up grass to add edging and a walkway from the front door to the driveway. We started talking about life and the paths we took. Jaclyn asked me if I wished I was on a different path and regretted where I was in life. I told her that we all have things we regret in life, but why regret what is? I cannot change the paths I  walked and I don't regret the path I walk because it has brought me so much joy with some pain. I told her that I still believe in God and Christ, but the Church's (the LDS church's) sway has been lost on me.

The next things that came out of Jaclyn's mouth almost made me cry. These tears were not tears of sorrow but of joy. Jaclyn asked me if gay marriage were ever to become legal in Utah, would I ever marry. To which I responded that currently, whether it's legal or not, marriage was not an option. I stifled the tears that threatened to flow because I hate to cry and look all puffy and gross after I do cry; so, I avoid crying at all costs.

That was not where the conversation stopped. She surprised me when she asked if I was dating someone. I again had to stifle tears to respond that I wasn't seeing anyone. I was taken aback by her broaching of the topic. Very rarely, if ever, does my life extend passed friends and work. The gay aspect of me is never discussed. It is taboo. Part of this sexlessness or lovelessness to my life has made me feel less than and broken. But the fact that someone I love actually asked about dating and marriage with me made me feel human and made me feel unbroken. I was part of the conversation that touched on the outward aspects of me. The conversation with Jaclyn approached and touched on more of, if not all, of me.

I turned to her and said, "Jaclyn, I have to thank you for asking me about this. I think you are the only one that has asked about my life beyond work and friends. So, thank you."

She said, "I was just talking to James (her husband) about this the other day. I said that just because you chose a different path than we did doesn't mean that you don't deserve to be loved too." I almost couldn't breathe.

Our little brother is getting married in October and shades of depression have been coloring my mind because I never thought I would be able to share my love with my family and that made me feel very alone. But this conversation with my sister, has sparked a new sense of home and a new sense of belonging that I had previously felt excluded from.

I must say thank you, again, to my little sister for allowing this simple conversation to make me feel like I belong; to make me feel more complete; and to make me feel love. Who would have thought that understanding and engaging in conversation would or could spark this flame within me. Thank you little sister. You have done more in two simple questions than you could ever imagine. Thank you for loving me unconditionally. I love you. Forever and always.

I Am Second Class No More

Tonight, something happened that has forced me to evaluate my standing in the bubble in which I live. Mind you, tonight's event was not the first time I have been forced to see life and my placement in it, but it was the catalyst to make me want to change my standing.

I was at some friends' apartment and we were just sitting around hanging out. One of my friends received a text saying their other friends, co-workers, were coming over. The other friend told me that I wasn't going to get along with one of the people that was coming over, so we should go somewhere else; however, I like to think I am a tolerant person. I was wrong unfortunately.

It all started out just fine, but then the phrase that makes me angry was thrown around; "That's so gay" was used one time too many and I got up and put my shoes one. I walked toward the door and said, "Ya'll need to realize that there are gay people in the world." I opened the door and slammed it behind me.

I should have listened to my friend when he told me I wasn't going to get along with their other friends. However, as I thought about it, I was brought to the conclusion that my energy and those two people's energies needed to meet. We needed to come together and clash. My outburst needed to happen because they were not taking into account the many different kinds of people that exist. They weren't taking into account that saying "that's so gay" is derogatory and hurtful. Although it is a colloquial way of saying something is stupid, it is substituting the way a person identifies themselves for something that someone considers stupid or dumb. Those two men needed to understand that and I needed to stand up and say something.

I have stood by for much of my life, being the whipping boy. I have stood quietly as other students have called me fag, faggot, queer and, yes, gay. I have refused to be confrontational and, in refusing to stand up, have simply continued on in my role and my standing as the whipping boy. I have refused to say anything to my family, to my friends, to co-workers, and to complete strangers. In doing so, I have refused to stand up and say that I am equal. I am more than just a joke. I am more than a homosexual. I am more than the man you see (or don't see, as is the case with my blog) standing before you and wanting to be noticed. I am more than skin and bones. I am more than just emotion. I am more.

In my life with my family, now, my life consists of work and solely that. I used to be a student and, therefore, they were able to add one aspect to my life to the small talk when they asked how I was doing. I remember a time, quite vividly, when I went with my little brother to see my grandma. We were sitting in the living room of her apartment near the St. George temple. Stephen sat in one chair and I sat in another. Grandma turned to me and asked me, "How is work?" and then followed it up with, "How is school?" After I responded, she turned directly to my little brother and said, "How is dating life? Are you dating anybody new?"

It was a direct slap in the face. I knew that my life would never be the same the day I told my family I was gay, but I didn't know that knowledge of my life would be limited to work and school. I didn't realize I would never be asked about people I was dating. I didn't realize I would become a second class member of our family.

When I was visiting my brother and his family in Eagle Mountain, we were contemplating watching a TV series with James Roday in it. One of my nieces came up to me and said, "Micah, do you know James Roday?" I told her that I knew of him. She then asked me if the actor was dating his co-star, the female detective. I told her that I wasn't sure, but that I didn't think so. She then got a serious look on her face. She said, "Is he --?" I knew what she wanted to ask me, but waited for her to finish her question. She looked at her feet, stomped and said, "Is He G-A-Y?" She couldn't bring herself to say the word. I told her that I didn't know, but then said, "You know, you can say the word." She told me she couldn't bring herself to say it and she had a look of disgust on her face. It hurt.

I know she is still very young. But I also know she knows what is going on in the world. I know she knows what the LDS church teaches their congregations about homosexuality and about being tolerant of us. However, I know the feeling she is feeling towards gay people because at one time in my life, I felt the same way. It took me years of realizing for myself who I am and learning to love myself rather than hate myself that I could understand life.

I try to understand the reasoning behind my family not wanting to know about my dating men, but my understanding does nothing to soften the blow in the moments when I am reminded of my status within the family social grouping. I am reminded in these moments that I am second class. I am reminded of my path to hell in their eyes. I am reminded that because I am gay, I will be separated, per their beliefs, in the life to come; they will be in the Celestial kingdom of heaven and I don't know where I will be. I will have a second class status in the afterlife as well.

I understand that, living in Utah Valley and Utah state, I am second class. I am an outcast. I am a black sheep. I understand people don't understand homosexuality except in the context the Bible has given to them to understand it as a sin and an abomination. I understand that, because of that naivety and that lack of understanding and tolerance, the people have a hard time seeing that people that are unlike them exist. Because of this lack of knowledge, they make comments that offend and hurt, and, though their comments may not be of the intent to hurt, it does not negate the fact that it still does hurt.

Tonight, however, I am deciding to take a stand on being silent and refusing to let the world (and myself) see me and other homosexual people as a second class citizen. I am refusing to let people use "that's so gay" in place of something that is meant to mean stupid. I am standing up for me and people like me. I will not be a second class family member and I will not be a second class citizen. I will stand up and I will say, "I am here too."

I don't deserve to feel second class anymore and neither does anyone else in the world. We are equal and we should treat each other as equals. Abraham Lincoln said, in the Gettysburg Address, "Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal." Let us not treat our neighbors, friends, family members, or complete strangers as second class citizens because "all men are created equal." Namaste.

Finding Comfort and Joy in Sangha and Dharma: A Prayer of Hope for my Loved Ones

It is a true act of love and support for any one of us to do the opposite of what we currently believe to show support for what our loved ones believe. Today, I am blessed to be tested in my support of my nephew who, at the age of eight, is being baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My own views of life and spirituality have shifted from the days of my childhood. Life has given me a different way to see the world and the way I see organized religion. However, as I talk about my own disdain for organized religion, I see the need for the community of belief and faith.

In Buddhism, the community is called the sangha and is a necessity for the seeds of faith and belief to grow and flourish. It is a place that is meant to share, communicate, and discuss the teachings and beliefs or the dharma of those who went before us. So, this test for me to enter, or re-enter, the Mormon sangha is an immense test, but I love my nephew; I have decided that in spite of my own beliefs, he is important and I would rather he believe in something than wander in a darkness of disbelief and confusion. I am happy for him though I no longer fully believe as he believes.

As I sit here in support, I am trying to remember how I used to believe and I am trying to remember the day that I was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. But memory escapes my grasp. My parents and one of my sisters say they remember my confirmation. They say I must have really been feeling the Spirit of God because I was weeping and they have never seen an eight year old cry like I was. It makes me wonder what feelings I was really feeling that day. I wonder if it was the Spirit or if it was something else entirely. Like I said, however, memory remains a fog of forgetfulness and mystery; the mystery, I suppose, will forever remain.

In spite of my lack of memory and my disdain of organized religion, I have a deep residing hope today that my nephew may retain his memories of this time and I have a hope that the God he believes in, as his Heavenly Father, will keep the promises given my nephew in the form of blessing, given to him through my brother. I have a hope that he can continue to believe and live a life that is free of suffering and pain. I know we all suffer, but may his and all my other nieces and nephews' lives be as free of pain and suffering as possible. May their lives be full of the promised joy and happiness through their beliefs and hopes. And may they be blessed with their memories, so they may walk through those memories with constant remembrance, free from the foggy banks of mystery. Finally, I hope they embrace the sangha and the dharma of the Church and may the dharma and the sangha of the Church embrace them back, keeping them in that embrace. Namaste.

Happy Anniversary to the Greatest Parents I Am Blessed to Have and Know

Yesterday, my parents celebrated their anniversary. My dad was on the Church History Tour; he takes high school graduates to different historical sites of the LDS church. My mom was with my sister. Though they were apart, which is not different than most years, they acknowledged their union and their love. They renewed their vows, in a sense, by celebrating all the years together.

As they celebrated their love together, I also got to celebrate the initial start to their journey and the eventual beginning of my own life and path. Without their union, I would not be here as I am and I would not have walked the path I am on. Though, in the past, it may have appeared that I was cursing the life I have lived, and I may have been at the time. However, as I look at who I am and where I am, I have come to realize that I have been blessed to be a part of an exquisite family. A family who loves me and blesses me with that love every moment of every day.

The anniversary of my parents' wedding reminds me of the many, many generations that it took to create two  of the most wonderful people I have been blessed to know. I am graced by the many unions in the past who have brought the formation of my body and the blood that flows in my veins. My soul has found its home in flesh and blood because generations on generations fell in love and created the two people who fell in love, created their family, and I am blessed to call them Mom and Dad.

I cannot find words sufficient enough to thank the two people whom I love and care for deeply. Thank you just doesn't seem like enough. Thank you will have to be sufficient for now until I discover the actual way to best show my indebtedness and my gratitude.

Body, bones, and blood are not the only gifts given to me from my parents union; they are simply the physical gifts and, though sometimes I complain and joke about being the garbage dump for all the bad genes, I truly am the person I am because of them. Their examples of loving devotion show me the kind of relationship I deserve to have and be in. I see how they treat each other, with respect and adoration, and I know that that is what I want and how I want my relationships to be.

The combination of their personalities has created me. They have a joy of life and an ability to see the humor in things that makes me see life differently. Their love of life has allowed me to see life from their perspective when life seemed bleak, unimaginably uncertain, and painful.

I am a blessed man because two people fell head over heals in love. I am blessed to have lived thirty-two years with the most amazing parents someone could be lucky enough to have. I don't know how to thank them for all they've done or for all they are. Together they are complete. And I love them more and more everyday for the love they share.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad. You truly are the greatest parents a kid could ask for. I hope for many, many more years of celebrating your lives together. I love you and could not ask for more than you have already given me.

To My Beautiful Mother on This Mother's Day

On Sunday, we have the privilege of telling our mothers how much we care for and appreciate them for every sacrifice they made in their lives for their children. We will be able to say "Thank you" to the great women who gave us life and who, at the risk of their own lives, gave us form and breath. Three days after we celebrate our mothers on Mother's Day, I get another day to celebrate the birth of my mother. And with whatever material gift I decide to give her, which is usually another flower to add to her yard because she was the one who gave me my love of all things beautiful, I've decided that I will give voice to the memories that occasionally find their way to remind me that among all the people in my life, Mom is the woman who has shown me what it is to love without condition and who taught me that love is, as the Bible says, patient and kind.

Her love for me, my siblings, her sisters, her parents, strangers, and my father has given me hope that when the darkness is at its worst and I feel like I have no one to turn to, I will always have her as my safe haven of love and light. And with these small memories, i hope to show to those who only barely know her that a goddess has blessed me with love and life. She has never given up on me even when I have made decisions in my life that she hasn't agreed with. Mother is love.

I wish I could bring memories of my infancy about, but I was not blessed with this gift; however, as I watch her care for her grandchildren, I get a glimpse of how she was with me and my siblings. She is always making sure she has cookies, Popsicles, ice cream, crackers, and healthy snack options for my nieces and nephews. She is right there to make sure they are okay when they fall. She holds them when they cry, even though it hurts her arms and back. She seeks to find resolution and peace when they fight with their cousins or siblings. And she makes sure they feel like they are always welcome with a hug, a kiss, and a welcoming smile as soon as they walk through the door. I know when I see this, all of these moments of shared affection, that when I was an infant to my teenage years, and even now, she did and does the same for me however and whenever she can.

When we lived in our old, old, old, old house, the house I was raised in and the first home I knew, Mom strove daily to make life an adventure; she strove for all of us to be happy. Though the house only had three bedrooms, and, granted I was only a child, I never felt cramped or felt like there was not room for me among my nine siblings. The boys slept together in one room, the three youngest girls in another, and my oldest sisters had their own room, while my parents had a bed in the living room downstairs. The house, at the time to me, felt massive and when I would get lost or scared in its expanse, I always had Mom to turn to for comfort.

Mom used to wear silk pajamas and a navy blue robe with colorful flowers all over. In times of fear or pain, when I needed her presence to comfort me, I would turn into a chick, hiding under the wings and legs of its mother. I would latch onto her leg and refuse to leave her side. I would hold the silk material between my fingers and rub that softness between my fingers and I would suck on my left ring and pinky fingers; I would relish in her loving, protective presence. I knew as long as I was there everything would be fine. My fears were quelled in knowing that Mom would protect me.

As I grew older, though still in diapers, I began to venture away from under her wings. I would play outside in the always manicured lawn, running through sprinklers, playing in the ditch, or hiding in the hole in the lilac bush. As Spring came every year, the flowers Mom planted would bloom and the garden that she and Dad planted would grow. I loved to see the flowers, smell their perfume, and play in the dirt from which they grew. Nothing was off limits in my play.

I knew Mom loved her flowers. I knew they added to the beauty and welcoming feeling she was trying to provide for her family and friends. I knew Mom loved them so much. So much so that one day, I went out and picked all of the blossoms of the flowers in one of her gardens and brought them to her. "Look Mom, I picked you some flowers," I said grinning. 

Though her once full flower garden had been innocently robbed of its blossomed beauty, and though it marred the outward beauty of our home, Mom didn't raise her voice and yell at me; she didn't punish me. She simply smiled and, smiling, took the gift from me. She sent me off to play once more. I'm sure she mourned the loss of the flowers in her garden, but she loved the innocent child who robbed the garden of its beauty. She showed his importance to her over the flower garden. Her children were always more important.

When I was two years old, I suffered through some agonizing pain because of a birth defect dealing with a muscle growth near my left kidney and my ureter. I don't remember much of this pain; I assume that I blacked out so many times that I forgot. What I do remember is the care my loving parents gave me. Mom says that I used to be in so much pain that I rolled around on the floor and wouldn't let her hold me until I passed out from the pain. I can only imagine what it had been like for her to watch her child suffer and not be able to do anything.

They eventually found out what was wrong and surgery fixed it. All of this is lost in memory; however, I do have one distinct memory in this time. I remember going in to get an X-ray. Mom held my hand as the doctor poked me with a needle to inject me with the iodine for the contrast X-ray. The doctor had me lay on my back on a cold metallic table; the only thing keeping me warm was the thin cotton gown and my underwear and socks. 

The doctor took Mom behind a door with a window while he took the X-ray. I remember Mom protectively watching as I shivered on the table, trying to remain still. As soon as the doctor was finished, Mom was at my side, caressing and holding my hand. She did what she could to calm my fears. She was always calming my fears and always at my side when I needed her; she never failed.

As I grew older and we moved to a new house, Mom always maintained a beautiful pristine home. She filled the house with the aroma of homemade bread, freshly baked cookies, and good home cooking. The menu was always changing, but the aromas of Mom's cooking were always inviting. I imagine the cartoon hand coming from the food and, reaching my nose, beckoning me to the dinner table. I always looked forward to Mom's cooking; I still do.

One of my strongest memories of my Mom, besides her welcome embrace that calmed my fears and dried my tears, is her guitar and her angelic voice. Mom always had a song on her tongue, be it a jingle, a hymn, a country song, etc. She was filling the world up with her joyous melodies. My love of music and the necessity in my life for music stems from the ever present musical notes that filled our home. When the aromas of her baking and cooking weren't filling the home, her melodious voice filled the void. Sometimes the mixture of the two was the most pleasant and joyous part of life as a Campbell. Mom made and makes life joyous.

In her late thirties, I'm sure due to the stress of a large family, Mom went grey. She was still very young and beautiful, but for some reason, the grey is a marker of being a grandmother and not a mother. We would be walking into the grocery store and a stranger would bend down to ask me, "Oh, is this your Grandma?" To which I proudly responded, "No! This is my Mom." I always knew that this comment from strangers would hurt her, though she never showed her hurt.

Mom started to dye her hair so that the grey didn't show and so no one would ask if she was my grandma. But, no matter her hair color, I was always proud she was and is still my mom. I always thought she was beautiful and as I grew older, I would start to ask her why she dyed her hair because I thought she was beautiful no matter the color of her hair. Eventually, she stopped coloring her hair and now she has the most beautiful white hair to match the perfection everywhere else.

There are so many memories of my wonderful mother that I could write a biography and I would still never be able to encapsulate the woman I know; the woman I am blessed to call Mom. I will never be able to do justice to her beautiful being and soul. However, as we celebrate Mother's Day, I hope to have shown parts of the woman I know and show my gratitude to her. I wish you all could know the woman I know.

To my blessed Mother, I love you with all my heart. There is only one person that can fill your spot in my heart and that will forever be you. I am blessed everyday to have a goddess like you to call Mom. No one can or will ever replace you. When my turn comes to care for you and give you comfort, I can only hope to come close to giving you what you gave to me.

In the children's book Love You Forever by Robert Munsch, the life of a child is shown culminating in the birth of his own child. At One point in the book, the young man comes into his mother's house and rocking her, the man says, "I'll love you forever. I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living, my Mommy you'll be." Thanks for being you, Mom. No one could have done it better. All my love. Forever and always, "As Long as I'm living, my Mommy you'll be."

Nothing to Fear in Death

Is it weird that I do not fear Death? I have considered this oddity many times and find it different or abnormal from the beliefs of family, friends, and strangers. I haven't known what to think, but as I consider what is to come, I think, "What need is there to fear or dread?"

My sweet Grammy passed on last June. However, before she passed on, my mom, my mom's sister--Aunt Phyllis--, and I had a night of watching my Grammy suffer in pain. We held her hand as she laid in her medical bed Mom and Dad had set up upstairs. We told her we loved her. I was blessed to try to comfort her by singing. She always loved to hear my voice and this was my pleasure to sing to her; the tears, however, made it hard to get the words out.

As we gathered around her, I struggled to see her suffering, so I leaned in to her and, holding her hand, said, "Grammy-love, you don't need to suffer. We have had you long enough. It's time for Pappy to have you back. Stop fighting on this side. Let go." One of the sweetest ladies I know, looked at me and, through the pain, managed to say, "I love you."

For most of that night, the week previous, and the day she died, she continually said, "I love you." She couldn't go without it being understood that she loved us. The very next day, after we sat with her and I told her to stop fighting, the beautiful woman who I was blessed to call my Grammy passed on.

The night that I said what I did, after we were able to get Grammy to sleep, my mom asked me how I was able to say the things I said to Grammy. I told her that there was nothing to fear in Death. I said that if we truly believe in a just and merciful God, we have nothing to fear in Death. She still didn't understand how I said what I did and, sometimes, I wonder how I said the things I said.

The Truth is that I truly believe in a just and merciful God. I know that God will judge me on my heart not just my deeds. And I know that death is not final; Death is the beginning of the next journey. Death will inevitably come, so why fear death when I can celebrate life.

I used to often contemplate death. In fact, at one point in my life, I tried to take that life because I felt so alone. I often considered death to be the only solution that I had available to me because like was handing me so many cards; I didn't know how to play with the ones I was dealt. A common thought that ran through my mind was, "If I'm going to go to Hell for killing myself and I'm going to go to Hell for being gay, I might as well get it over with." It is sad to repeat those thoughts, but I think it is necessary to say because I want people to understand that what is being taught and being said to others, can make life a very difficult thing to continue living.

Because of what I was taught in church, I saw myself as an abomination and a mistake. Thanks to Leviticus and Romans, in the Bible, I thought that God hated me, that he made a mistake in me, and that I was going to burn in Hell. Because I was in so much emotional turmoil, I knew that I needed to kill myself and start suffering early because I felt that God was going to me punish me anyway.

The thought that I considered death daily is very sad and disheartening. I know that there is so much to live for, but at the time, I was stuck in an up and down cycle of despair with  brief reprieves of happiness. Now that I've found the solution for me and the strength within, part of which I think comes from the energy and love my Grammy gives me everyday, I am not haunted by the constant preoccupation with death and I know that I am not a mistake; the god I believe in loves me.

This preoccupation with death, in my past, has given me a lack of fear of the end of life. My acquaintance and fraternization with death has allowed me to see the joys inherent in life and has allowed me to see that, though death is but a journey, I don't need to fear its advent. I know that whatever is next, whether paradise or reincarnation, I know that my energy, my soul, will seek out and find my loved ones again and peace will find me. God, or whatever derivation of His title you decide to use, will judge with mercy and with love. And that is an encouraging thought. Namaste.

"Only I Can Defeat Me": Stopping the Cycle of Self-Defeat

The things children say really are amazing. If we listen to their pure honesty and their simple sayings, we can learn so much and humble ourselves. "From the mouths of babes," as the saying goes, we are enlightened and reminded of simpler times.

When I was in St. George for my weekend, my family and I were walking along a trail to a nature preserve that the city has built. Two of my nephews were racing each other, when Caleb told Zach, "You can't beat me. Only I can beat me." Sounds simple, but as I thought about it all day, the truth of what Caleb said started to sink in more and more.

In our capitalistic and consumer driven society, we word hard to excel and often to be better than everyone else. We buy bigger houses, bigger cars, and better electronics to show off how much better off we are than Jon and Jane Doe down the street. We push and push ourselves to not be beaten by anyone else because we feel some necessity in being better than others. This is the American Dream.

I don't know about the psyche of anyone else, but I know my own thoughts. I know now that I allow the success of others, even my own siblings, to judge my own self-worth. I defeat myself by allowing the success of others to define me. I look at my siblings with good jobs, houses, children, and spouses and think that God would bless them over me because of my black sheep status within our particular flock.

I have allowed me to put myself down because I have been weighing success on what I don't have; I am more concerned with what others have over seeing my own successes. I am allowing me to defeat me. But something needs to change. Something is changing inside me. I am learning that life is not a contest to see who is better than whom. I am seeing for myself that there should be no other basis for comparison other than myself.

I may not have all the things that my siblings have, but that doesn't mean I can't have them. My story is only coming to fruition. The pieces of my puzzle are only now coming together. I can't expect perfection from a picture with pieces missing. As I think about what Caleb said, I will do my best to remember that "only I can defeat me" and I am not going to allow my own self-defeat. I am a winner and I will not be defeated.

Good Parenting: Experiencing Unconditional Love

A good parent can go a long way. A great, loving parent can carry a child on a journey through the brambles of life when that child's legs won't carry them much further. Now, add another loving parent to that child's life and the load that child carries will be lessened that much more.

I have been one of the lucky ones to have two loving parents to have on my side and by my side during this perilous journey of life. At times, during those moments of growth when I felt so alone, I forgot that they were on my side and by my side. Sometimes, I think I took that fact for granted too often. And I fear, sometimes I cursed them for how protective they were of me. I didn't realize, during those times, that they were doing their best to shield me from the darkness they had seen in this world.

Today, I feel extremely grateful to my parents, who not only have my physical well-being in mind as they protect and have protected me, but they also have my spiritual well-being in mind. I don't know how often, as I've called home to talk, they have said, "We always have you in our prayers," or "we put your name in at the temple." If all else fails in this world, I know that I have two loving people who watch out for me and pray for me. I fear the day when their physical bodies are absent in my life. However, believing in something more than this life allows me to know that they will still be there in spirit and in my heart always.

It is thinking of my parents love for me that I wish with all my heart that every child could be this lucky. I wish everyone could experience the love of a parent. I wish children could experience the unconditional love a parent gives even when they disagree with where your life is headed. I know that not all people will agree with me, but in my wishing, I have a hope that people can see past sexual orientation when the well-being of a child is concerned and know that love is love. That child will be cared for. Whether by a mother and a father, two mothers, two fathers, a single mother, or a single father, that child will get to experience unconditional love. And that is a beautiful gift.

In one of the cover pages of Gordon Merrick's novel The Lord Won't Mind, it says, "I say, if it's love the Lord won't mind. There's enough hate in the world." And how can I disagree with this. There is so much hate in the world. I can't allow other's to suffer if they could have the chance to love and be loved, even if that structure of love goes against what society says is a "normal family." Because really, what is a "normal family?" Can anyone really say they have normal parents or a normal family?

The Clock is Ticking

My biological clock is ticking, and sometimes it ticks so rapidly that I think I am running out of time. Let me put it more plainly than saying, "My biological clock is ticking," because I am human and I come closer to death everyday. What I really mean is that I want a family. I want a husband and I want kids; one kid would be nice but two would be better.

I know it is not common for gay men to want kids. Some would argue, "Isn't that the point of sleeping with men, to negate the possibility of kids?" I suppose for some gay men, not having kids is indeed one of the perks of being gay.

However, for me, a family and being a devoted husband and a devoted father to my kids has always been important to me. In fact, I have been picking out names for my kids for years. (The current names I have picked out are Holden Alexander and Cadence Elisabeth.) I know, "How gay can I be?" But the heart wants what the heart wants. I have always known that I wanted to be a father. I just wish everything else in my life was so certain and necessary.

I want a husband to help raise our progeny. We could do surrogacy or adopt. I would love to see a little me running around and a little one who looks like my husband, whomever he will be. But, I also know that there are plenty of children in the world who need a loving home to go to when this world is cruel to them and they need someone who loves them to tell them they are loved and everything will be okay.

This is my dream that I dream and I know that it is possible. However, until I meet my future husband and we have a home to provide for children, I will continue to remain a dreamer and my biological clock will continue to tick away. Tick, tick, tick.

This Grudge

I hold grudges. This is not new, nor is it newsworthy, but it has recently become more evident as I think about my childhood and why I feel, about the Church, the way I do, that I am holding a grudge against the Church and God. The Church, which is actually used to signify the Holy Roman Catholic Church, but in this sense, I mean the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, has been like a sibling who needs all the attention and leaves the other kids wanting for affection from my father.

Before I keep going, I want all to know, who read this, that I love my father. I want that to be understood. He is a good man and a great example of what a man is and how that man should treat the ones he loves. He has always treated my mother like a queen and a goddess. When we disrespected her, in anyway, her only punishment for us was the mere mention of telling our father and we immediately apologized. I think fear of the wrath of a father is a pretty common childhood threat. And although he never actually struck us or physically hurt us, we were still afraid of him. Perhaps, afraid is not the right word because it leaves no room for the respect we had for him, but I will use afraid for now.

Now, getting back to my original subject of the Church and its status as a needy sibling, I will explain what I mean. When I was born, my dad was Bishop of our ward in Richfield, Utah. A bishop is the leader of a specific group of the flock (I use flock because Jesus said he is a shepherd and we are his sheep) within the city and he is under the Stake President, the Quorum of the Seventy, the Quorum of the twelve, and the prophet and President of the Church. A Bishop's job is never done. My dad was always at the church dealing with confessions of sin, activities with the youth, Sunday meetings that seemed to last all day, and so on. Because of my age and my need for the comfort of my mother, most of the time the absence of my father, at that point in my life, was only partially noticed.

The calling of Bishop doesn't seem like much, but I forgot to mention that my dad was a seminary teacher for the Church Education System (CES). A seminary teacher teaches the youth of the Church on more in-depth conversations of the Bible (The Old and New Testaments), The Book of Mormon, The Doctrine and Covenants, The Pearl of Great Price and the teachings of the latter-day prophets. My dad was gone all day with his job working for the Church and then, after dinner, would do his duties as the Bishop.

My younger, hungrier sibling, the Church, was not satisfied with this sacrifice and, soon, demanded more of my dad's time. During the first few weeks of summer, my dad, with other seminary teachers, began to take buses of high school graduates on tours of Church historical sites like Nauvoo, Carthage Jail, Kirtland, and the Sacred Grove, the site where Joseph Smith had his vision of God and Jesus Christ, telling him about the true church and his role in bringing it about in the latter-days. So, my dad became seminary teacher, Bishop, and tour guide for my hungry, needy sibling.

Every once in a while, there would seem to be a reprieve and the Church seemed well fed and sated, but the rumblings of the Church's belly began to ache with hunger and need. My dad, after being released as Bishop, was called to the position of Stake President of the Richfield Utah Stake. He was in charge of all the members of the Church in Richfield.

The Stake President was just a check in the balance of protecting the souls of God's children. When the sin was big enough that the Bishop couldn't take care of it within the power given him by God, he sought the advice of the Stake President, his counselors, and the High Council (a council of men within the stake chosen by God to overlook important matters.) So, the Stake President was needed much more often than the Bishop because his flock was much larger. Also, because the flock was human and always sinning.

My dad, therefore, was gone from dawn to nine o'clock at night. And my sibling, the Church was still very needy, but I had reached the point in my life where my mother's affection, though still important, was not enough for a growing boy. I needed my dad and, on the rare occasion that the Church didn't require him, got the chance to receive his affection.

However, I think now would be a good time to say that my family does not consist of me, the Church, and my parents. My actual breathing siblings consists of seven older siblings, Loren, Marci, Kirsti, Josh, Adam, Beth, and Kim, and two younger siblings, Jaclyn and Stephen. We are, what many people in Utah call, a stereotypical "Big Mormon Family." In fact, when people hear the size of my family, they always ask, "Did your parents not own a TV?" Anyway, not only was the affection of my father being vied for by my mom and the Church, but also my nine siblings. His affection, all to myself, was very hard to come by back then. He is a great man, but I'm afraid he couldn't work miracles and create more time in a day to give each one of us time alone with him.

My dad, the Stake President, husband, father, teacher, tour guide, and devoted Christian to the Church, gave what time he could to his family, but the hungry, needy Church required more and more and more. When I was turning twelve, the Church decided it needed more from my dad and gave him a promotion. I know what some might be thinking, "Geez kid, stop complaining. Your dad got a promotion with better pay to take care of you." I should have been happy he was promoted to Area Director of Seminaries and Institutes in South Eastern Utah, from Vernal down to Moab, and his office was in Price, Utah. I should have been happy, but my own personal hell was lived in that town. Often, I felt very much alone.

My family was uprooted from my home and birthplace, Richfield, to be moved to the armpit of Utah aka (well, at least to me) Hell on Earth. The most formative years of my life were spent in utter misery due to bullying and what appeared to be the absence of my father because the Church required him to travel a lot. Price is where my grudge and resentment towards the Church began. I did my best to survive Price and the bullying and still believe the Church's truth and importance in my life. However, the Church's stance on gays allowed me to loathe myself and the Church's demand for so much of my father's attention and affection made me a jealous person. My grudge had developed into a callus and a distrust of the Church, its teachings/doctrines, and the leaders of the Church, which demanded so much of my father when I needed him most.

Perhaps, now that I understand the formations and beginnings of this resentment that festers within me, I can learn to let it go. I can go forward and form new opinions of myself and the Church. I can learn not to cringe when I hear the prophet speak and learn not to cringe when my parents say that they know someday I will come back into the Church's arms and teachings. And perhaps, I can learn not to base my views of myself from experiences many years ago. I can stop loathing myself because the Church, that I once loved, taught it's flock that I am an abomination in the eyes of a God. Perhaps I can stop hating the Church and God who took my father from me to serve Him. Perhaps I can let go and stop allowing others, or the Church's opinions, affect me and my own opinions of me.

Perhaps...