Choosing words carefully

“Many have fallen by the edge of sword; but more have fallen by the tongue.”

In the past several months, I’ve had the opportunity to witness the power of words—both for good, and for bad. Growing up as a gay Mormon, I learned early on to choose my words carefully—to protect myself and hide who I really am, to not draw attention to myself, and having been hurt by the words of others, to ensure I didn’t do to others what had been done to me.

When I was a young boy, I had a dog that I loved with all my heart. She was my gentle, loving, unconditional companion. I remember one day distinctly, playing in the back yard with my GI Joe, and my pup grabbed Joe out of my hand and ran through the yard, me clumsily chasing after her and growing angrier by the second.

Eventually I caught up with her, pulled Joe from her grip, and in my anger unleashed a torrent of harsh, scolding words that fell like sharp knives. What pulls painfully at my heart about that day is the hurt look in my beloved companion’s gentle eyes at the sudden, violent change in me.

This life lesson taught me that words are a powerful gift, and we must choose them wisely. After all, if my little pup could be wounded by words, what do angry outbursts do to the people in our lives who understand every nasty word?

Obviously how we choose our words impacts our relationships. “Saying what we mean in the moment” versus “saying what we really mean” can, over time, erode the core of trust in a relationship and eventually destroy it altogether. Equally important, is how our words affect our own spiritual well being—for I believe we cannot willfully harm others repeatedly without suffering some internal damage of our own, which will eventually move us away from being our best and most genuine selves.

This isn’t easy: we’re all human and fallible, and I am, most certainly, among the least of these. When attacked, I want to return a hurl of verbal assaults—the allure of scoring a momentary hit is a strong one, indeed. Yet, more often than not, I am able to pause when I’ve been hurt. And in that pause, I’m able to think more clearly about what I truly want to say in response, rather than speaking words out of anger that I might regret later. Often, I feel prompted to keep the focus on myself, and am able to be honest about how the remark made me feel, rather than toss another insult back and have the anger spiral into a full blown argument—from which recovery might be long, painful or impossible.

It is not my responsibility to list the shortcomings of my partner or friend, even if I am angry. While I may disagree with some of your choices, it is my responsibility to speak up about that in a gentle way and let my feelings be known through kindness. It is never, though, my responsibility to judge you, to condemn you, to tell you what to do and demand that my solution is the only acceptable one to what I see as your shortcoming or challenge. My job, as your partner or friend, is to walk beside you as you learn the lessons life has to teach you—and to lend you a hand up when you stumble. The true spirit of love we have for one another is kind, patient, and doesn’t demand its own way. It doesn’t scold, condemn, or criticize.

The next time someone hurls a verbal insult at you, I encourage you to pause for a moment. Bring the focus back to you, and how it makes you feel. Give yourself a choice before you respond. You may choose to insult back, you may choose to speak your pain, or you may choose to walk away. But recognize you have a choice. You do not have to perpetuate a hurtful situation by causing wounds yourself. You have the opportunity to realize and understand that how we speak to others tells the world much more about us, than it does about the person to whom we’re speaking.

What do you want your words to tell the world about you?

To whose voice will you listen?

Over the holidays, I had the chance to visit with an old chum from high school. Like me, she grew up in a tumultuous household, and walked out of such carrying old wounds with which she will likely grapple for her entire time on this earth. One of the outcomes of her childhood dysfunction is struggling with addiction (yes, it happens to Mormons, too!).

She bared her soul to me and shared that as of late, she’d been slipping some, despite what seemed to be her best efforts to maintain her course. Granted, here we were some years older, this woman now with a family, children, a beautiful home, and a husband who loves her very much—yet still bedeviled by a past where unsettling voices never cease to quiet.

I can’t cure my friend, but I can offer her a compassionate ear. I can speak to her kindly, give her gentle encouragement, and help her focus on the things she has succeeded in—like the mere fact that she has recovery is a gift from our Savior, and nothing will take away those years of sobriety. The key, for my friend, was willingness to go back to the very first step, and—like a child leaning on a parent, allow our Savior to guide her easily and carefully back to where she needs—and wants—to be.

As I walked away from that conversation, I began to think about the nature of compassion. Why does it seem relatively easy to be compassionate with someone we care about, yet when we find fault in ourselves, and notice ourselves slipping back into patterns we thought we’d eradicated, we’re the loudest critics in the room?

I was able to experience this first hand upon my trip home. A long forgotten character defect began to rear its ugly head again in my life. At first I ignored it, denied it, and pretended it wasn’t as serious as it was. Soon, my Savior granted me an opportunity to see not only how this behavior was harming me and was leading me where I didn’t want to go, but also showed me how this defect hurt other people—especially those I care about.

Fortunately, I was quick enough in my spiritual soundness to recognize this as a “God Moment:” a turning point, where my Savior knows me well and loves me enough to keep me on a short leash in some areas, and give me opportunities to correct myself. For that, I was grateful.

Yet, despite my gratitude, I launched into a silent campaign of self-criticism, self-condemnation, and self-hatred. How could I have been so stupid to not see this? How could I be so arrogant to think that I could engage in something that was so clearly a problem for me in the past—and get away with it? Moreover, who could possibly love me—my list of human frailties is lengthy on my best day, and I’ve chosen to add to them with poor choices. Who would ever want that as a partner, a friend, or a companion?

Then it dawned on me: I had become my friend back home, who’d reached out her hand to me for a realistic viewpoint on herself. And I, in turn, reached out my hand to another trusted friend. Consequently, I wound up with a more sensible view of myself—a struggling, striving child of a merciful Father who wants me to return to him, and loves me enough to present me with opportunities to do just that. What a great blessing it is to know He loves me enough—and knows me well enough—to have a plan just for me.

That still left me with the uncomfortable issue of that condemning voice in my head. It certainly wasn’t the voice of my Savior—He would never talk to me that way. It wasn’t the voice of my friends or family who love and care about me and want me to succeed. Clearly, the author of that voice was someone entirely different—and someone who has a vested interest in seeing me fail—and in seeing every one of us fail.

You, too, will find yourself in a situation in which you’ll hear that voice—such is the nature of our existence here. This voice will condemn you, criticize you, fault-find, and diminish your hope. It will erode your confidence, esteem, and tell you that you cannot succeed.

And here, you will have a choice. You can entertain that voice—or, you can recognize to whom that voice belongs—for it does not belong to any who love you. It does not belong to any who cherish you as the unique and precious individual you are in the eyes of your Savior, and in the eyes of those who love and care about you.

Upon that recognition, you can choose instead to listen to the voices who do love you. They will guide you, encourage you, and lead you to higher levels of spiritual and secular achievement. It is, after all, through listening to these gentler voices that we are brought closer to being the best we can be, made more genuine versions of ourselves, and move more closely to being the kind of sons and daughters our Father knows us to be.

I will spend more time with myself than anyone else on this earth. Let me be the kind of person I would like to have as a friend—let me encourage myself, be patient with myself, and be as gentle with myself as I would with the person I love the most. Today, I will pay special attention to any voice inside me that speaks lovingly. For after all, that is the one that will help me succeed.

To whose voice will you choose to listen today?

Bearing the seemingly unbearable

Each of us, at some point in time in our lives, will bear things that are seemingly unbearable. The reconciliation of our own spiritual truths with our sexual orientation; the loss of someone we love and whose soul has become intertwined with our own; bad news from physicians that predict dire outcomes for us or those we love.

I am no exception. Like you, I have had to endure things that, in the moment, seem unendurable. It is during those times, I believe, that our true character shines through. We have a choice—we can be bitter about our circumstances, make ourselves victims to life itself, or we can choose to be thankful for our trials. The choice is ours.

I wish I could say it’s easy for me to choose gratitude in the face of difficult circumstances. Often, it still is not. But I have found, though, that focusing on the gratitude not only makes the unbearable bearable, but it also helps me to grow in my faith, in my confidence in myself, and most importantly in the assurance that I am—regardless of circumstance—never without my Savior.

Each and every one of us has dealt with suffering. And, we can be sure we will again—such is the nature of this existence. But we have the opportunity to do more than survive difficulties—we have the opportunity to allow them to help us thrive.

For me, the process of coming to terms with being a gay Mormon was one such “moment.” I found myself brought to my knees, both literally and figuratively. It was clear that my circumstances would not change: I would always be gay, that was never a choice. And I would always be a child of my Father in Heaven—that, as well, was never a choice. The one thing that could change, however, was my own attitude about my situation, and how I chose to understand myself and my Savior. For my Savior alone, the author and finisher of my faith, could provide the deliverance I sought. I had no choice but to place my expectations, desires, my despair as well as my joy, in the hands of my Lord.

And do so, I did.

Today, when I am asked to endure the unendurable, I remember that I am more than my problems. I have been brought through many struggles to be exactly where I am today—and I am exactly where I am supposed to be. My challenges have brought me a wealth of experience that I can put to use for myself, and for others who face similar difficulties. I needn’t fear the challenges of the future, because I know that with the guidance of my Savior I am—like you—capable of handling anything life brings me.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of viewing our lives as a tragedy when we’re contending with what seems unbearable. But if we so choose, we can regard anything that happens to us as a gift from which we can learn and grow. I challenge each of you—whether you’re facing the unbearable now, or in the future—to find something positive hidden within a difficult situation, and allow yourself to be grateful. I believe that, like me, you’ll be surprised at how much a little gratitude can help. 

“And I will also be your light in the wilderness.  And I will prepare the way before you if it so be that ye keep my commandments.  And ye shall know that it is by me that ye are lead.” (1 Ne 17).

Prop 8 appeals hearing speech

On December 6, 2010, I had the opportunity to speak at a rally held on the steps of the California 9^th Circuit Court of Appeals, just prior to the arguments being heard on Proposition 8 appeals. I kept my remarks brief, and was joined by many noteworthy activists in the cause: Kate Kendell from NCLR; Ryan Kendall from Marriage Equality Colorado; Jenny Pizer from Lambda Legal; and the Reverend Jesse Jackson.

Below are my words from the rally. I’ve attached a brief video of the opening, even though we lost the rest of the speech, it still gives a good flavor of the energy level of the crowd and the passion of the event.

What a great opportunity it was to be part of this event—and, I hope, part of helping shape freedom to marry for everyone. 

My name is Mitch Mayne. I am an openly gay, active Latter-Day Saint. I am a gay Mormon. And I am your ally in our quest for marriage equality.

Like many of you, I felt first-hand the sorrow around Proposition 8. But unlike many of you, I felt it from my very own spiritual family. Watching my Mormon brothers and sisters advocate for an issue that would keep me from marrying the man I loved, tore at my heart and afflicted my conscience. It was difficult to maintain my personal integrity and, at the same time, stay close to the home where I found my Savior.

Often, I feel like a man with a foot in two worlds that belongs in neither. But as I have grown in my testimony and my understanding of myself, I have come to realize that I am indeed a man with a foot in two worlds—and I belong in both.  

Being honest about who I am has seldom led to a positive outcome. Nonetheless, I have reached the point where I can no longer be silent. I have not mastered my fear of what might happen to me as a result—I have just come to believe that something else is more important than my fear—equality.

I now know there are many inside the church like me—both gay and straight—who envision marriage equality for all.  And while I have faced—and will face—some hard-heartedness within the church, I have also been blessed to find much unconditional love and support.

As an openly gay, active Mormon man who is willing to stand up as such, I have the opportunity to give a human face to the issue of marriage equality, both within my church and within my community. Through my continued faithfulness, I have the opportunity to demonstrate that, at our core, we are all very much the same: simply children of our Father, who are striving day to day to understand how to best do his will, and how to return to him. Through my continued faithfulness, I have the opportunity to demonstrate that this sameness weighs more than all the differences in his universe.

Therefore, my strength and my honesty are needed in the Mormon Church. And all of our collective strength and honesty are needed here, today. Each of us has a role to play here, and each of us has work to do on behalf of ourselves and those we love. 

Together we shall persevere as we seek to have the same benefits and recognition in the eyes of the law, that we already know we have in the eyes of our God. 

The "why" of what I do: Sarah's story

I knew this work, and my above all my honesty, would give me more than my share of detractors. I gladly accept that, for I believe it is through them that genuine debate is sparked, and hopefully hearts are softened and spirits become more receptive. Rigorous debate is a good thing, and, I believe, a God-given thing.

There are times, admittedly, where I feel spiritually beaten down as a result of being outspoken about who I am and what I believe. Today was one such moment. Without fail, when those moments occur, I am blessed with a letter or an email from someone who’s thinking differently about the place of gays and lesbians in our Father’s kingdom as a result of something I’ve done. I do, in my heart of hearts, believe this is my Savior’s way of showing me His hand in my life, and His way of lending me courage again when I feel I have none.

These moments are a humble reminder that I am, indeed, only an ordinary man—placed into extraordinary circumstances. And as such, granted the grace to live up to those circumstances.

Below is Sarah’s story. How grateful I am she was willing to be an instrument in the hand of my Savior, and lend me strength when my own was faltering. I hope you find in it the same strength and beauty I did.   

Dear Mitch-

Thank you for your courage in your quest to establish greater understanding within the Mormon community with regard to our gay brothers and sisters.  You inspired me to have a conversation with one of my younger brothers about his being gay.  Joe has always been very private and self protective, and it was difficult for me to gather my own courage, find the right words and setting and give my feelings utterance.  The opportunity came when he stayed at my house for this holiday weekend.  All four of my siblings and their families attended events at my father’s place.  My father has a cancer diagnosis and will probably last a only few more months so people made a concerted effort to be here together.

I thank you for being an inspiration to me.  I have wanted greater closeness and friendship with Joe, but felt awkward in broaching the subject of the “elephant in the room” that my family is uncomfortable with.  I told him it feels strange to have a brother-in-law I have never seen.  He and his partner, Mike, have been together for 30 years.  We agreed that that would change when I stay with them in Portland on a vacation.

-Sarah 

I wish to express my gratitude to my Savior for the opportunity to play a small role to mend a thirty-year separation between a brother and a sister, and bring an entire family closer together once again—right where they belong. 

The blessing of this work, is, indeed mine.

Thinking critically--and why we must

A few weeks back, I made a comment on my Facebook status about how much I enjoyed teaching my Sunday School kids—thus grooming a new generation of Mormons with critical thinking skills, unafraid to ask questions. A good friend of mine (and non-member) sent me a message in private: “Mitch, I think if you teach Mormons to have critical thinking skills, there will be no more Mormons.”

Her message to me was tongue-in-cheek, but she raises a valid—and alarming—point.

As a collective, we Mormons are very good at following: We follow the direction of our church leaders. We follow in the footsteps of our forefathers and ancestors, and go on missions. We follow (or try to) the commandments of God. And all of those things, are, to a point—very good things. But where does following become dangerous, and cross the line from doing what is right to eliminating our free agency?

While following wise counsel is always a good thing, questioning counsel is equally a good thing. After all, our Father gave us intellects to help us discern what is right, and quite frankly, I think we disappoint Him when we fail to use them. Moreover, I don’t think our Father or our Savior are ever offended when we question their counsel to us—whether that counsel comes through the church general authorities, or whether that comes to us individually as personal guidance.

Truth is not offended at scrutiny—truth welcomes scrutiny. Truth welcomes thoughtful, provocative questions that seek to deepen our knowledge and understanding of what we think we’re hearing. For truth has nothing to hide—and it is through scrutiny and questioning that the veracity of any position becomes known to us all.

Conversely, deception loathes scrutiny. Deception discourages intellectual debate, and does its best to quell critical thought and inspire a blind following—through bullying, through threatening, and through group peer pressure. For like truth, it is through scrutiny that fraud is exposed—and its betrayal and dupery become clear.

When we follow blindly, we risk tossing aside our agency entirely—which flies in the face of what Christ’s ministry was all about. If we think about the invitation of Christ, it was just that—an invitation: “Ask it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened unto you.” What Christ’s gospel is not, is a mandate—at no time during Christ’s ministry did he demand we follow him blindly—he offered us a choice.

If we think about our entire mortal existence here, it is a plan based entirely on choice. The Great War in Heaven was fought specifically around this very issue. On the one hand, one plan proposed we have a life of agency, be free to question our direction, and have the freedom to choose whether we wish to follow our Savior, or choose another path.

On the other hand, we had a plan presented that stripped us of our agency—of our ability to question—and compelled us to obey, but promised we would all return to our Father. We, as Mormons, know who proposed that second plan—and we voted before this existence to follow the first plan—Christ’s plan.

I think we need to proceed with extreme caution when we’re faced with any situation—regardless of the source—that discourages us from using the critical thinking skills we’ve each been blessed with. Whenever something changes Christ’s invitation from, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock,” to the mandate, “Behold, I stand at the door with a battering ram, and if you don’t obey you will be castigated and punished,” our guards should be raised. This sounds alarmingly like the plan we rejected so very long ago.

I remember back when the battle for Proposition 8 was waging hard here in California. One of the ads for this campaign told us that President Thomas Monson believed that marriage between those of the same gender was wrong. It showed images of heterosexual families praying together, and playing together. It ended with this question: “Will you stand with the Prophet?”

My response to this question—and any other that seeks to diminish my God-given critical thinking skills is this: I will stand with my Savior.

With whom will you stand?

“I’ve just learned the truth about who you are."

A few weeks ago, I was standing in the chapel foyer on my way to teach my Sunday School class. I ran into Harry, the Second Counselor in the Bishopric from the Oakland First Ward. (For those who are non members, a ward is a local congregation from a specific geographic area that meets together. A ward is presided over by a Bishop, the equivalent of a pastor in other religions. Two counselors serve with the bishop to help with administrative duties and also preside in the absence of the bishop.)

Harry greeted me with his usual warm smile—he’s a tall, wiry man who’s built very much like a runner. His eyes had an unusual sparkle that morning, and his handshake was even more vigorous and enthusiastic than normal. “Mitch! How good it is to see you!” I couldn’t help but return that kind of smile and enthusiasm, and responded with “Harry, it’s great to see you, too.”

“Do you have a moment to chat?” he asked. “Of course,” I responded, “as long as you’re not going to ask me to teach another class,” I said in jest. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well,” he said in a more solemn tone, “I’d like to speak to you outside.”

We walked onto the flagstone patio outside the chapel foyer together. Once outside, I turned again to look at him, and noticed that behind his glasses, his eyes had begun to fill with tears.

“I’ve just learned the truth about who you are,” he said, and his voice cracked with emotion. I couldn’t help but smile a bit when he spoke—knowing exactly what he meant—that I am a gay Mormon. “I want to let you know that I love you,” he continued. “I am so proud that you come here week after week and fulfill your callings in good cheer. It makes no difference to me whether or not you are gay--I want you here, and I want you to know that I love you for who you are.”

By this point, we were both tearful. I said nothing at first, and even with my hands full of materials for my Sunday School class, threw my arms around him and gave him a big, heartfelt hug. He returned my hug with the same enthusiasm with which he had originally approached me.

Here was Harry, a middle aged, white, heterosexual and multi-generational Mormon, from a small town in Idaho—offering me his unconditional support and love. In that moment I was reminded again that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, and exactly where my Father in Heaven wants me to be. I was reminded that I belong, I have something important to contribute to this church, and I that I am loved.

How grateful I am that Harry was humble enough to be an instrument in the hands of my Father, to deliver the message that I am on the right track. We spoke for a few moments more, and while it never became clear how Harry knew—some of my published writing, word of mouth—it matters not. What does matter is that he took the time to reach out and let me know how much he valued me—not for who he thought I was, but for who I actually am.

I ended our conversation by thanking him, and asked him as he considers who I “really am,” to be careful to never consider me a victim—because I am not. I am exactly as my Father in Heaven made me, and exactly where he wants me to be. Rather, I asked him to consider me a unique and valuable asset available to him in his leadership role within the Bishopric—because that is what I am: An ordinary man, blessed to be in an extraordinary circumstance. And, a man who is willing to bring that experience to bear to help others in my situation as they strive to figure out their place within the gospel, and within the Mormon Church.

I am a blessed man to be where I am, and to have the kind of support locally that I have—and I know it. Any success I have touching the lives of other gay and lesbian Mormons who feel disconnected from a church—and therefore the God of their understanding—belongs not just to me. My success also belongs to people like Harry, and most of all, to my Savior. How blessed and humbled I am to be an instrument in His hands, and to be surrounded by those who are willing to be the same.