Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Even though I don't know you, even though we may never meet, I sincerely, truly love you.

To everyone: I'm sorry.

To all the gay community, and their friends, family, and millions of supporters, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I don't have the courage to stand up for what's right.

To my fellow church members, I'm sorry I don't have the patience to try to help you understand why it is that I feel the way I do about the Church and it's stance on gay marriage.

To my parents, I'm sorry I've been living a lie for the past few years, unwilling to see the shame on your face if I were to tell you how I really feel and what I really believe.

To my grandchildren, I'm sorry that you have to be ashamed of your grandfather's inaction during a time of inequality that you won't be able to understand.

To the activists that would judge me based on my religious affiliation, I'm sorry for the actions of the Mormon Church that has forced your first impression of a Mormon like me to be filled with distrust and disgust, even when some of us actually sympathize with you and truly do love you - and I'm sorry we're the slim minority in our Church. I'm sorry I don't have the guts to walk away from an institution I have fundamental disagreements with; I'm sorry that I'm afraid of being caught supporting equality; I'm sorry that it's the powerful pressure of the Church that makes me afraid of associating with you.

To the millions of noble Californians who turned out on Election Day determined to make a stand for civil rights, for equality, for freedom, for love, I'm sorry that I couldn't do more. I love you. Even though I don't know you, even though we may never meet, I sincerely, truly love you. I'm sorry there isn't a better way for me to express the gratitude and compassion I feel for you for all you've done to stand up for dignity and civil rights.

I'm sorry that I cave into pressure. I'm sorry that I've been pressured into going to BYU next year, where I won't be able to voice my opinion. I'm sorry that I've been pressured to serve an LDS mission when I turn 19, preaching for a church that fought to continue discrimination, violating its own principles to push members to support an intolerant agenda and contribute millions to a political campaign based on deceit and fear. I'm sorry that I'll most likely continue to hide in the anonymity of the internet to voice my opinions, too afraid of attracting negative Church attention to myself.

I'm sorry that I'm not brave, like you.

But maybe someday, that'll change. Maybe someday we'll meet - maybe at a rally; maybe at a celebration on the day gay marriage is made legal in the U.S. - and I'll be able to proudly look you in the face, no longer with shame, no longer with fear, no longer prone to pressure, and then I'll finally be able to say, I did it. I stood up for what's right.

'till we meet,

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