I was raised by first generation, devoutly Mormon parents in the farthest reaches of the antipodes. What my parents felt they lacked in Mormon pedigree they made up for in spades through their tireless dedication to building Zion in their own humble corner of the world. They are good people. And I was their wayward daughter. I questioned everything. I was also deeply afraid that I might be Gay.

I left the Church when I was twenty-one and it was no longer tenable for me to stay. It wasn’t easy, but when I met and fell in love with my partner I felt like I had finally made it home. We have been together now for twenty-eight years and she still makes me laugh, every single day. We have a wonderful community of friends. Most of them are Atheist, and all of them are involved in one way or another in serving our human family. They are good people.

My Mormon Mother keeps a jar of coffee in the cupboard to welcome us all home. When my father died recently I sat with her in the living room while a group of Sisters from the Church that I knew so well from my youth and a core group of our Gay and lesbian friends worked together in the kitchen providing love, comfort and support, and I thought – these are good people – all of them.

To whom shall we go? We go where we are needed. We go where we are loved, and we go where we belong.

 

Anonymous in Dunedin, NZ

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