I’m not gay, but as I’ve worked to figure out my feelings about homosexuality, particularly in regard to the teachings of the LDS church, I’ve resorted to doing what I always do when someone else is wearing different shoes than I am. I try to imagine putting them on.  I’ve often played out the scenario in my head: What if I was gay?

Well, if during my pubescent years I found that I got goofy around cute girls, tongue-tied, finding excuses to put an arm around their shoulders or pat their arms, I think I might find that exhilarating and terrifying. If my lying-awake musings included only those of my own gender, I would probably enjoy thinking about them, stumbling through the ever-present teen yearnings as all my peers were, but I would have also felt ashamed. Broken. I would have tried to think about boys in the way I so easily thought about girls, but those imaginings would have fallen flat, felt hollow and forced, and I would have wondered why I couldn’t get in line.

If I’d had the courage to tell my parents how I felt, my dad would probably have clamped his lips tight and shaken his head, maybe left the room. My mom might have cried and wondered why I would choose to do something so displeasing to the Lord. “I simply can’t understand why you would want that lifestyle?” she might have said, as if I had told her I was going to cover my body in tattoos or adopt heroin use into my daily routine. Being gay was a page in their folder of “bad stuff we don’t do,” just as it still is for many members of the church. They would have prayed for my wayward phase to end and felt heartbroken that they had somehow failed as parents. To their credit, I know they would have always remained loving and supportive of me, but their vision of their daughter would in no doubt have been tarnished, and I would have always known it.

I would have been mired in turmoil, trying to line up the edges of my beliefs and my feelings, and always finding they would not match. I would have begged God to please let me like boys. I would have cried, and made excuses, and urged my inter-gender friendship feelings to be more than they knew how to be. At some point I might have gone to the bishop and tearfully explained my dilemma. He might have paused, wondering what to say. He would have assured me of the Lord’s love for me, but reminded me that homosexual behavior was a sin. His message of love might have been overshadowed by his exasperation and the subliminal message that everything would be better if I could just, maybe, try not to be gay. He might have directed me to a counselor, then gone home and prayed, “Lord, what do I do about this?”

At some point I would have realized that these inclinations were here to stay and I would have to choose between two very strong, yet seemingly opposing, feelings. I would have determined that I can either remain a faithful member of the church in good standing, giving myself to a life of celibacy and relative loneliness, or I could follow the nature of my genetic code and cut ties with the only place I’d ever known to find God. “If God doesn’t want me to be gay, why am I gay?” I would have thought. It would have been incredibly painful trying to navigate my path, knowing that whatever I chose I’d be missing out on something I’d always hoped to have. On top of the pain caused by this realization, I might have been shunned and ostracized by people I’d called friends, maybe members of my own family. I would have been horridly depressed.

I think most of all I would have wondered, what does God want me to do? I am how I am, but I can’t follow the prescribed LDS plan like this. Something’s got to give. I would pray. I would question. And I would cry some more because there’s no conference talk, no youth or Relief Society lesson, no scripture to tell me, definitively, “this is what God wants you to do if you are gay.” Everyone would wish, most of all me, that it would just go away, because no one, least of all me, would know what the “right” thing to do would be. Eventually I would have made a choice, and, knowing myself, I don’t know that I could have committed to a companionless life. I don’t know, maybe my faith could have carried me through. Maybe I would have found a reassurance from the Savior that I am valuable and beloved and that would have been enough. Maybe I could have found peace.

But maybe not.

I’m not gay, so who’s to say how my life would have evolved if I were. This scenario is only in my imagination. But for many of our brothers and sisters, being gay is a reality. The term “gay Mormon” has for many been an oxymoron, an incongruity that cannot be managed. I’m not one to make blanket statements, particularly when it comes to waters as deep as these, but I do know one thing; every child of God is valuable and beloved. Homosexuality is not a choice nor a punishment. When we know a loved one is in pain, do we not try even harder to express to them feelings of comfort and assurance? God doesn’t see people as “Us-es” and “Thems.” The God I believe in sees only Us-es. Until you’ve worn the shoes of those who’ve faced these questions, go ahead and throw your judgement loafers in the trash. I certainly don’t know what the “right” answer is for gay Mormons, but I know that the right answer for me is to show sincere love and compassion to EVERY child of God.