Why Talks on the Family Proclamation are Hard for Me

I sat on a chair in my parents’ living room while my dad placed his hands on my head to give me a priesthood blessing at 23 years old. He didn’t know that two weeks before I had come out for the first time to my two best friends. He didn’t know that questions about my faith and my orientation were constantly swirling in my head. Then as he gave me the blessing he said, “You will be saved in the highest degree of the celestial kingdom.” I thought, Oh shoot!

I know this might sound jarring, but the highest degree of the celestial kingdom does not seem like heaven to me. Being married to a woman isn’t something that appeals to me now, and it’s not something that appeals to me for eternity. 

In October, Elder Rasband gave a talk on the family proclamation. It was authoritative and it was clear—the proclamation is doctrine. Nothing he said was new or surprising. It was similar to many talks given on the family proclamation from the same pulpit, and I know it was given with love. And yet the talk filled me with dread, a dread I have experienced before. 

I know that I’m in the minority. Most men marry women and the doctrine that they will be together forever brings peace and hope. But I am not most men. I am not oriented toward women. Dating, holding hands, and kissing women were things I forced myself to do in my 20s because that’s what I was taught to do. Based on Church teachings, marriage to a woman was my only option. When I was 24 and dating literally one of the coolest women I’ve ever met, I thought of our possible future together (married with kids) and instead of excitement I felt immense dread.

22-year-old me

That dread filled me throughout my 20s. The kind of existential dread that made me want to cease to exist. The kind of dread that made me want to do anything possible to escape. The kind of dread that made me wish I could die young from a sudden illness so I wouldn’t have to marry a woman. I know this sounds extreme, but it’s true. And this kind of existential dread has a name—passive suicidal ideation. 

I stopped dating all together when I was 30. Praying, pondering, and honestly taking stock of my life led to this choice. And I felt peace. The existential dread vanished and I felt actual hope for the future. The fruits of my choices were clear: trying to marry a woman made me want to die, choosing to be single made me excited to live. 

Elder Rasband’s talk dredged up emotions that I don’t usually feel anymore. The pains of the past of feeling trapped, scared, and dreading the future were brought into my present. His talk was the first talk of the Saturday afternoon session. I spent the rest of the session curled up on my bed wrestling with the cognitive dissonance I was feeling and only half-listening to the other talks. 

When the session ended I was in panic mode. I didn’t know what to do so I put on my shoes and went on a walk. I just walked and walked and walked (like pioneer children, but without the singing). I thought of the hundreds and hundreds of gay Latter-day Saints I’ve known over the last 12 years. Most of them have left the Church. As I was racked with dread I wondered if maybe that was the right choice for me too. The tension between my lived experience and the teachings of the Church was just too much. 

As I walked I wondered, “Do I even belong in this Church?” I know that if Church leaders heard me ask this question they’d answer with a resounding yes!, but it was hard to feel in that moment. How is there a place for me in a Church where I don’t fit this fundamental doctrine?

Elder Rasband had counseled those with concerns about their place in the family proclamation to pour out our hearts to God. So I offered a prayer from the depths of my soul. This wasn’t the first time I had done this. Every few general conferences there is a talk that focuses on “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” where the speaker emphasizes the essential nature of marriage between a man and a woman for everyone, and that feeling of existential dread bubbles up inside me again. But even with all the pain and fear, after each of those talks I kneel down and pray, “Heavenly Father, do you want me to marry a woman? If that is what you really want for me, I will do it. I will do whatever you ask me to do.” And I truly mean it. Then a peace washes over me that feels like God replying, “You are on the right path. Stay the course.” 

So I prayed and talked honestly with God as I walked, “This hurts, Father. I believe in the Restoration. I know the Book of Mormon is true. I know you are real and that Jesus is the Savior. But I don’t know how I fit with the Church’s teachings on marriage. I just wish this was all made up so I wouldn’t have to deal with this dissonance. I feel lost and afraid. What do I do?” As I prayed I felt a familiar peace wash over me. A feeling that said to me, “Focus on what you know now.” 

And that’s how I live my life. I move forward as a happy single person not worrying about what my marital status will be like in heaven. I don’t believe in a sad heaven. I believe heaven will be more glorious than I can imagine. I don’t think I’ll get there and God will be like, “Ha ha! Tricked you! Now you’re going to be in a relationship you don’t want to be in forever.” That’s not how a loving Heavenly Father operates. 

I’ve come to understand that my marital status matters much less than who I can become. Getting sealed in the temple wouldn’t take that long, but becoming like Jesus takes a lifetime. Whether I’m married or single it won’t really matter if I don’t become like Jesus. So I focus on developing Christlike attributes and building His kingdom. 

I have regularly studied the family proclamation since I was teenager. I memorized it as an adult. I’ve been to countless lessons on it (some of them taught by me) and I’ve found a lot of inspiration in the truths taught in that document, especially the teaching that we are all children of heavenly parents and that I have a divine nature and destiny. 

The future rarely terrifies me, but when it does I choose to live by faith. The essence of my faith is trusting that all will be well because, and despite all the unknowns, I know I am loved by God. 

Provo Canyon

The day after Elder Rasband’s talk I was still feeling emotionally fragile after my three-hour existential crisis. Concerned that President Oaks might end the conference by talking about the family proclamation, I decided to listen to it alone while walking in Provo Canyon, hoping the trees, mountains, and river would help me feel calm. When President Oaks started his talk by stating, “The doctrine of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints centers on the family,” I started to panic. I didn’t think I could handle the previous day’s emotions again. My heart started beating faster and as I walked through the trees I prayed out loud, “God, please help me. Please, please, please help me. Help me be okay.” 

And God answered my prayer. This talk felt different than other talks I’d heard about family. President Oaks got emotional as he talked about his father’s death more than 85 years before. Hearing sadness in his voice from the pain of his father’s loss was healing for me. It helped me acknowledge I’m not alone as I grieve the loss of my mother earlier this year. And sharing that he was reared in circumstances that weren’t ideal, raised by a widowed mother and grandparents, gave space to those listening whose families also aren’t ideal (which is probably all of them). 

President Oaks’ talk didn’t cause me existential dread, but instead provided a place for the Spirit to speak to me. When he quipped that families turn on when technology turns off I immediately thought about Charlotte, the 91-year-old widow I’ve lived with for the last seven years. I thought of all the time I spend scrolling on my phone when I’m in the same room as her. I felt an invitation to focus my attention more on her. Charlotte may not be who would traditionally be considered my family, but she is. We live in the same home, every evening we talk about our days together, we share meals, we tease each other, we’ve comforted one another in really tough moments, and we’ve celebrated together so many times. 

Just after arriving home on my dad's 81st birthday

I also thought of my immediate family who all live in Washington, and I felt a desire to connect more with them. I called my dad and asked if he wanted to go on a cruise this summer. He didn’t (wah wah), but I did make sure I could be home in Washington for his birthday this year. 

Instead of pain and dread, this talk by President Oaks on the family proclamation invited me to deepen my existing relationships. And that is something I can do and an invitation that completely fits with my life circumstances. I was not expecting his first address to be so personally meaningful to me. I’m excited to see what other unexpected moments are in store during his time as President of the Church. 

Talks on the family proclamation will likely continue to be hard for me because they are a reminder that I don't totally fit. They remind me that even though I’ve ultimately decided to be single, that doesn’t seem to be good enough. They remind me that my eternity will either include a future that is unappealing to me or a future with a new me that is so radically different I feel unrecognizable because being gay has been such a fundamental part of my discipleship. They remind me of years of pain and fear and dread that usually only exist in the past. 

And yet, sometimes a talk on family reminds me to not have such a limited view on family. Yes, I have my parents, siblings, and nieces and nephews. But I also have Charlotte. I also have people who I have met on my sojourn through mortality that have become family. Sometimes an inspired talk reminds me that everyone I see is a child of God. They are part of my family. And treating them like our older brother Jesus would truly matters.

I might not see how I fit in the family proclamation. And that’s painful. But I can do my best to emulate Jesus with the family I am blessed with.