Faith in Christ can sweep our guilt away and sins away. (see enos)

What

You know, a lot of people view the guillotine as some sort of barbaric torture device. It’s quite a simple machine really, a large metal blade suspended in a wooden frame waiting to be release so gravity can drive it down into the neck of the waiting soon-to-be corpse. There is a thud, and—well you get the idea. After all, the guillotine only plays a small part in our story. A much larger role is played by a teenage boy, a certain kitten, and the boy’s mother.

I must confess, I am the teenage boy. We always seemed to have a surplus of cats growing up. Not that I minded. It started shortly after we moved into our house located on the edge of town a street that is now, as it was then, a farmer’s field. I remember we kids begging the parents for a cat. Our old one had come on the move with us, but decided she preferred her previous home and left. I was about eight. Dad called us all in for a family meeting. We had just gotten a new Siamese cat, and needed a name. My siblings and I thought long and hard, suggesting many names, finally deciding on Black Paw. An amazingly original name if I’ve ever heard one.

Black Paw was a normal enough cat. She ate mice, left mice as gifts for her masters and fought off dogs neighbor dogs when they’d come after her litter. We, her diminutive masters, took great care of her, lugging her around the yard, taking her bungee jumping off the fort, and even baptizing her in a puddle after a rain storm. We may have been a little rough on her, but we didn’t know it at the time—well, we might have known, but we didn’t hate her, we were just young boys. Anyways Black Paw didn’t seem to mind and she always kept us in with a fresh supply of kittens. However the never ending stream of kittens, from Black Paw and her successors was the problem. We just didn’t know it.

Through the years, our family grew to five boys and one girl, the house grew to accommodate and the litters grew. We pick up our story again when I was the oldest boy at home, after my older brother had left to play ball at the College of Southern Idaho. The matriarchal line of our kittens was unbroken. Foxes, disease, and old age took some of the cats, but we always replaced them. Our names got better as well. We had, What, Akomode, Anakin 1,2 and 3, Fatso and The Cat That Threw Up, among many others.

The best part of having so many cats was there was always one around to grab and hold. One night I grabbed What and headed down to the basement to watch a movie. While I was sitting in the beanbag, rubbing What’s belly I felt a sticky liquid. It pooled up in my hand. What was salivating, and not just a little, it was like a spigot had been turned on. I quickly wiped my hand on the beanbag, took What outside, and returned with Meow Meow, selecting a different chair. My brother came down and was excited to see the vacant beanbag. He launched himself quickly into the beanbag, and—well lets move on; he’s just a minor character.

The problems weren’t just confined to What. We had other cats with problems, none as bad as the continual salivating. One would per as loud as an engine, but only when he as mad. One had a leg about twice as long as the others, but soon died. As best as we can tell, the same tomcat had been the father, for so many generations the DNA got all screwy. Whether or not that is the case we had some messed up cats. What had her first litter shortly after she turned on her mouth faucet most of them were stillborn.

What got worse. When I picked her up her hair would fall out. The drool as so incessant holding her was a chore. Then tumors started showing up. By this time What had another litter of kittens in her. She was clearly in pain. My heart ached as she tried to move around and get food. I knew she wasn’t well.

It was a fall afternoon. I came home from football practice and walked into the kitchen. Mom was standing there, her normally cheerful face creased with lines. But at least she was still making some yummy cookies. She told me What had tried to go into labor, but a tumor had kept the kittens from exiting. It was sick. I didn’t want to go anywhere near that cat. I wanted to throw up when I got close, and could see the fetus’ head sticking out. Then Mom told me that I needed to take care of it.

Me? Why not Dad? Why can’t we just take her to the vet? Why was Mom, who wouldn’t let me take hunter’s education, asking me to kill my cat? I guess, because I was the oldest home. I was the man of the house. The one who did what had to be done. Dad was out of town and this needed to be taken care of now, before the younger kids saw her. I’d never felt that responsibility before. I’d never felt like I was where the bucked stopped. But that day it did.

“It’s time,” she said. I was left, not only to do the deed, but to figure out how. I looked down at What. How do you kill your pet? Maybe I’d drive out to the Arco Desert, and leave her. She would be dead in a day or two. It’d be easy. I looked down at her. Two days was too long. A bag! Yes I’d get an old potato sack, put rocks in it, and throw What into the river behind our house. But drowning? I looked at what. I picked her up. I didn’t care about the saliva that got all over my arms. I could tell she was in pain. We didn’t own a gun. I thought about getting my friends and shooting her, but what if I missed? What if she didn’t die right away? I needed to honor What in the way I ended her life. She needed to know that her master wasn’t looking for the easy way, but for the best way.

Then I remembered something I learned at school. The guillotine was actually a revolution in execution. People look at it as and think its dreadful, but in a time when one might be drawn and quartered, or burnt at the stake, the guillotine offered a quick death, with only a split second of pain.

I looked at What in my arms. I carried her with me as I went to get the shovel. Then I carried her to our back berm and dug her grave. I picked What up, stroked her a few last times, and placed her on her back, looking up at me. I said a few words, placed the shovel where it needed to go, and pressed down hard.

I felt strange walking back to the house. I don’t know how one should feel after putting down their pet. Somber, morose, come close. There was also a sense of honor that I had taken care of my pet. I didn’t leave it to some veterinarian. Nor did I abandon her in a hopeless situation. I knew what needed to be done, and I did it the best I could.

I didn’t talk much the rest of the day. I didn’t go down the basement to play Nintendo with my brothers. Mom told the other kids what had happened. And while I missed What, I remember sleeping well that night

New friend

Not really, i added another straight guy to my group who knows. Went well. He's a good friend, i find the more people I tell the less power I give SGA to make me feel like crap.

Today was a reminder that God knows me and has a plan.

Every good gift comes from Christ

How Can I Expect Them to do in Four Months What took Me Eleven Years.

Eleven years. That is the time between when I first allowed the thought, “Am I Gay?” and when I finally got the courage to tell my parents.. I still remember, I was on my mission in Virginia, and Elder S. and I were wrestling. There was an incident, (yeah, you know what I’m talking about) and I was mortified. I told the mission president at my next interview, spent time wondering when I would be condemned to Hell, expecting the mountains to fall on me. After I finally got it out, our lovely old president, hugged me, said he loved me, and set up an appointment to see a counselor with a LDS Family Services therapist. The counselor had dealt with this before. We had about a two-hour meeting, in which he asked me a series of fifteen questions to determine if I was gay. Afterwards he pronounced me straight. I met with him several more times. I went on my way, enjoying the mission. I remember my eyes constantly scanning for hot guys. I remember during a windstorm worrying about dying condemned. I continued to be frustrated by my urges and preoccupations.

I came home, went to I-Y and yo-yoed between being happy go lucky RM and basket case waiting for a house of cards to fall down. Truth be told I wasn’t really doing anything heinous, but I felt it, every time I checked out a guy, and when I went to interviews. I didn’t always label it gay, in fact I started to call it OCD. Obviously I always thought about guys because of a mental disorder.

I dealt with several Bishops and therapists during my time in Rexburg. They had differing takes on what I was experiencing. It didn’t help that I didn’t use language that conveyed romantic feelings. While their takes were different, their love for me was a constant between them. The Bishops, confused as they were, cried with me, and saw my eternal potential. We muddled through the confusion together. I’m grateful for their friendship.

The counselors also had different ideas, but the key I took from them was to continue building good things in my life. Don’t obsess over that lack of female attraction. Build a life, filled with love and service. While I haven’t done that perfectly, I think it was inspired advice.

Now this isn’t supposed to be a full review of my past decade or so on this earth. Eventually I moved to Provo, and still went back and forth on the whole, gay vs. OCD debate. Depression was huge, I saw more counselors. Finally, almost a year ago to the day, I posted a question on the 100 Hour Board at BYU. I told of my loneliness and despair, and wondered how I could go it alone. From that I was led to NorthStar and the Matis firesides, and have made some good friends that I can rely on.

And I have begun to confide in friends and families of my struggles. First I told my best friend from high school. Then my parents, and then Dan, a great friend I have written about before. As in the past their responses have been different, but supportive nonetheless.

Which finally brings me to the point of all this. My mother called me today. She is a great lady. Telling her and my dad was one of the best things I could do. She has been pushing me very strong to get married. And I want to get married so badly. When I see my nephew and nieces I ache for the chance to have a family, and I know she aches for me too. I have gotten to the point where I just agree with her marriage pep talks and leave it at that.


Well today she finally came to the realization of something that took me eleven years to come to. She had been reading a book by Shari Dew, and realized that Sister Dew isn’t the “typical Mormon”. But she has steal led a life of faith, and has been an example to so many in the world. My mom said, “Jake, if you don’t get married you can steal live a life of good, filled with service and love.” It meant so much to me. To see my mom has come to the same place that I am after only four months of dealing with my same gender attraction. I haven’t given up on marriage. Ty’s recent engagement give many of us hope, but I have realized if it comes it’ll be on the Lord’s time. And so has my mom.

So often we are frustrated when those who know about our same gender attraction, or homosexuality, or whatever word you use to describe it, don’t immediately come to the same realizations and attitudes that we have. This is folly. It took me, seeing hot guys, and wanting them daily, eleven years to come to terms with it. How can I get frustrated when it takes those I love some times to grasp it. How can I get mad at them for having attitudes that I had in my own life. How can I use my same gender attraction as a wedge between the dearest people to me on earth, because they, who are not constantly reminded of the trial, take time to get used to it? I could withdraw hoping they would see my withholding of friendship as a sign and take their lumps, swallow their pride, and conform to my worldview, or I can continue to love them. Build on the common life we have shared, and show mercy to people who struggle like I did for eleven years.

I choose to keep the connections open. I love them, and we can disagree without being disagreeable, keeping those bonds of loved that formed in the womb, and on the knee, and in the backyard, strong.

I doubt I’ll ever regret doing so.

Matis Fireside This Sunday

Sunday--Sunday SUNDAY

This Sunday is the Monthly Matis Fireside. These meetings are great. One hug from Brother or Sister Matis and you'll fell love like you've never felt before. Great chance to see other members of the Church who share the many of the same questions and feelings you may have with same gender attraction. These firesides have been a great relief from the stress of life for me over the past year.

This month they have a guy Jordon Jantz from the Portland Oregon area coming. He is a recent LDS convert, and formerly lived a gay lifestyle. I've heard him described as rough around the edges but with a heart of gold. Looks to be good.

The fireside is April 11th at 7:00 pm the driving directions are below.

Driving Instructions

1. Drive on I 15 (South if coming from north of Lehi or North of coming from

South of Lehi).

2. Turn East off of I 15 on to highway 92 ( Alpine /Highland road at

Thanksgiving Point) .
3. Turn right (south) at the second stop light (Center street-3200 North).

4.Drive south down Center past the Ivory Ridge complex on your left.

5. Continue through the round about at 3200 North , Center St).

6. On the left hand side of Center you will see the Chapel
7. Park in the second drive way.

8. There are several chapels in the area. Don't be confused. The chapel you want is the 28th Ward chapel on Center St- 3200 North.