Seattle Part 8: Hymns on a Houseboat

November, 2014

Ironically, it was the Mormons who provided safety.

With my hour commute to work and my hour commute home, and with the long and very exhausting days of doing therapy, I had very little energy in the evenings. Often I would exercise, or walk along the lake and read, or go jogging. But after a period of time, I didn’t put much effort into dating any longer. I grew weary of getting stood up, endless chats, or misaligned intentions, and I got tired of the gay club scene very quickly. I was traveling back to Utah one weekend per month to see my children. That left three weekends to explore.

Seattle never lost its magic. I could see plays, live music, public readings by authors, art galleries, shopping districts, and restaurants any time I wanted. Then again, after a few months of that, I realized that Salt Lake City had all of the same things to offer. It only felt differently here because I had more free time.

I needed friends.

My roommates were busy and aloof, rarely keeping any commitments to hang out or do anything together. I worked on building casual friendships with a few guys I met in the city and their friend groups, but some were only looking for sex, some enjoyed drinking and partying far too much, and others just already had active groups of friends, and didn’t seem to have a lot of room for one more. On top of that, overwhelmingly, they had far more disposable money than I did. Child support, rent, travel to and from Utah, insurance, gas, and occasional leisure left me very strapped, and things like eating out were a huge luxury. Ironically, despite my years away from my own origins, I felt like I was too Mormon for the men I was meeting in Seattle.

Then again, I was far too ex-Mormon for the Mormons I was meeting. Still, they were the most welcoming. Although Seattle wasn’t drowning with gay and ex-gay Mormons like Utah was, there was still a healthy and active friend group of gay Mormon guys and girls here, some of them transplants from Utah itself. Most of them still went to church every week, in a ward where the bishop lovingly embraced them for being gay, and they had social activities outside of that often: game nights, pot lucks, birthday celebrations. I was invited to a few of the parties, and I started making friends.

There was the architect, the engineer, the chef, the model, the design specialist, the government agent. There were couples and single individuals. I was one of the few fathers in the bunch. I was part of them, and yet separate, but around them I felt safe in a strange way. I could laugh, relax. It felt like my youth, with my Mormon friends playing board games and watching movies yet without alcohol or cursing.

The group even convinced me to attend church with them on a few Sundays. After coming out of the closet, going to church felt dangerous, threatening, like I was entering a space where I couldn’t breathe. The long suffocating three-hour blocks of church, with six prayers, the hymns, the testimonies, the lessons about obedience and sacrifice. I was back in church, yet I was sitting among other gay Mormons, ones who wanted to be my friends. Among them, I was the only one who had officially left the church, my name off the records, yet among them I found just a touch of safety.

Over a period of weeks, I felt my old demons start to quiet, the ones that resented Mormonism, that raged at my upbringing. I began to find a space of healing within me, a place where the parts of my upbringing that I loved could dwell. The pain, the rage, the hurt, they were all still there, but I could separate all of those out from the parts that I loved. I hated the lies, the impossible expectations, the homophobia and misogyny and racism of Mormonism. But I began to realize that I loved the community it provided, the consistency, the music, the safety, the heritage.

I started to wonder if maybe I could own the word Mormon again. I would never be part of the Mormon church again. But could I use the word Mormon, as an adjective, as a bookend for myself, honoring my roots and my upbringing. I am gay, I am Mormon, I am a dad. I’m a writer, a helper, a teacher. It’s one word among many that can fit in my being and simply dwell there. I could redefine the word that had hurt me so much and make it part of me. I was Mormon, but on my terms. Everything to do with heritage, and nothing to do with religion.

My greatest healing took place on the houseboat, the one where my dear friend Mary lived. When people asked how we knew each other, I gave the simplest answer I could. “Mary is my ex-step-sister-in-law.” Or, the slightly more detailed answer. “My mother used to be married to her ex-husband’s father.” I grew up looking up to Mary, who had a sense of style and social justice about her. She styled herself after Clara Bow and silent film stars, and she exuded love and confidence as she sang sweet melodies as her fingers moved up and down the piano keys. My sister Sheri grew up playing her music on repeat, songs over and over again, till they became familiar parts of my adolescence.

Mary was remarried now, and her sons were teenagers. She lived on a houseboat with her British husband. And she was, of course, allied to the LGBT Mormons that she knew and loved. She began to host monthly singing nights on her houseboat. As the structure rocked back and forth, the gay Mormons sat in circles, on chairs and couches or on the floor, and we sang the hymns. The songs that had touched me so much as a youth took on new meanings for me now in this circle.

The morning breaks, the shadows flee, lo, Zion’s standard is unfurled. 

Count your many blessings, name them one by one, and it will surprise you what the Lord hath done. 

Though hard to you this journey may appear, grace shall be as your day. 

Sweet hour of prayer, they wings shell my petition bear. 

Peace and plenty here abide, smiling sweet on every side, time doth softly sweetly glide. 

Forward, pressing forward, as a triumph song we sing. 

I was singing again. I was getting in touch with those parts of me that I’d left behind after coming out. I was beginning to realize that the me then, the one that had hurt so bad for so long, he wasn’t something that I had to escape from. I didn’t need to completely redefine myself. I didn’t need to be someone new. I just needed to be someone who loved himself. I could leave the painful parts there, and reclaim the parts of me that I loved.

Honorifics: a complicated prayer to a complicated god

Can-We-Change-God’s-Mind-with-Prayer

Oh God, the Eternal Father, hallowed by Thy name, Thy oh so many names.

Oh Elohim, Yahweh, Yeshua, Adonai, el Shaddai, Jehovah, Allah, Jesus, El Roi, El Elgon, Immanuel.

Oh great I Am, I Am that I Am, I Yam what I Yam and that’s all I Yam.

Oh All-Powerful, All-Seeing, All-Knowing, Unattainable, Unreachable, Unknowable, Unfathomable, Incomprehensible God

Oh Holy Trinity, Three-In-One, All-In-One, One True God, One-and-Only, One is the Loneliest Number.

Oh Abba, Heavenly Father, Father in Heaven, Everlasting Father, Son of God, Son of Man, Dad, Dada, Daddy, Poppa, Pops, Pop-Pop, Pappy, Sire, Paterfamilias.

Oh Creator, Comforter, Mediator, Savior, Judge, Jury, and Executioner.

Oh Lord of Hosts, Host of Heaven, Hostess with the Mostess.

Oh Alpha and Omega, Beginning and End, First and Last, One Eternal Round, Sideways, Up, Down, Upside Down, Downside Up, Within and Without, Around, Over, Under, Inside, Outside, Inside Out, Outside In, In Every Heart and yet Bigger than the Universe.

Oh Lamb of God, True Vine, Living Water, Bread of Life, Bacon-Wrapped Supreme Deep-Dish Parmesan Cheese-Stuffed Crust Meatlovers Deluxe, Hot Fudge Ice Cream Sundae Pretty Please with Sprinkles and a Cherry on Top.

Oh King of Kings, Lords of Lords, Prince of Peace.

Oh Light of the World, the Word, the Word of God, the Word of Life, the Word to your Mother.

Oh Bridegroom, Good Shepherd, High Priest, Rock of Salvation, and also Paper and Scissors of Salvation.

Oh the Resurrection and the Life, the Way the Truth and the Life, Great Life Insurance Policy for the Hereafer.

Oh Master and Commander of Vast Hosts of Archangels, with whom Thou canst wipe out entire cities that look at Thou funny.

Oh Greatest of Patriarchs, Thou who puttest men on top and says women belong to their husbands and should always be pregnant and beautiful and in the 1950s like immortal Donna Reeds.

Oh Great Married God, Thou who never discusses Thy wife (or perhaps wives because polygamy is in the Bible, and also perhaps daughters because incest is too), Thou who hast created billions of children to populate Thy blue planet, go Thou.

Oh Great White Bearded Old Man in the Sky.

Oh Great Heterosexual God.

Oh Rich Wealthy God Who Has All the Things.

Oh God Who Created Man in His Image, which is only one image and that is why there is only one gender, one skin color, one sexual preference because Thy children are all exactly the same, just like Thou.

Oh Fickle God, Maker of the Cute and the Ugly, Crafter of the Rose and the Thistle; Designer of the Bunny, the Panda Bear, and the Spiny Lumpsucker; Crafter of Lemonade and Ludefisk; Maker of Hawaii and Nebraska.

Oh God who blames the Devil for all the bad things that happen, but then Thou created the Devil in the first place, so…

Oh Lover of All Thy Children, Thou Who Brings all back to Heaven as Long as they followed Thy rules like getting baptized or accepting Thou in their hearts, and as long as they give Thee lots of money.

Oh Great Tease in the Sky, Thou Who Hast Created Pornography, Sex, Drugs, and other Tempting Things and then said ‘Thou Shalt Not Do These Things’.

Oh Great Master of Selective Hearing.

Oh Great Utilizer of Tough Love, Thou Who Givest and Thou Who Takest Away, Thou who slappest Thy children and sayest ‘this hurtest me more than it hurtest you’ and ‘I did it because I love you.’

Oh God Who Can Do All Things, Except Maybe making a mountain even Thou can’t move.

Oh Great Venti Quad Shot Pumpkin Spice Cinammon Frappucino Soy Milk Latte in the Sky.

Oh Mighty Killer of Babies; Declarer of War and Bankruptcy; Giver of Cancer, AIDS, and Diarrhea.

Oh Powerful Bully who tosses over the chessboard when Thou art losing the game; Oh Stomper of Ants; Oh Great Hitler in the Sky, user of atomic bombs, plagues, earthquakes, famines, cyclones, tsunamis, droughts, hunger, hurricanes, and floods that kill billions of people when Thou feels grumpy (but thanks for that rainbow Thou gavest the few people on the ark afterwards, that was nice).

Oh Giant Narcissist in the Sky.

Oh Giver of the Best Invisible Hugs.

Oh Creator of Saddam Hussein, Sarah Palin, Judge Judy, Soulja Boy, and Khloe Kardashian.

Oh Giver of Truth, Thou Whose Name is used in Hundreds of Separate Religions, Thou who must get a kick out of each one saying they have the truth while Thou remains silent with a bowl of popcorn.

Give me this day my daily bread, then leave me the fuck alone.

Amen.