Laurie’s Story

Laurie has always known the gospel to be true, but that hasn’t made things easy. In fact, her knowledge seems to have made many of her life-altering decisions that much harder. However, by passing through all the trials and tears, she has found that she is dedicated to the Savior and His gospel.

Laurie’s Personal Story

My name is Laurie Campbell, and I now live in Oceanside, California, with my husband and son.

I am a copywriter for advertising; but I just go take my chair and sit with my laptop by the beach, and I have an excellent ocean view, so that’s my office. Much to the chagrin of my medical family, after four years of microbiology, I switched to art, went out to California, and went four more years to the art center.

Honestly, it was kind of soothing, to tell you the truth. You know, the mental health was really tough and those tile projects that I just kind of decided to take on literally helped save my sanity. When I was in high school, I had a lot of depression and anxiety, so I got into drugs and alcohol; and I had my first real strong crush and it was for a coach and a woman, and you know, it was never reciprocated and I figured I’d never act on it ’cause you know, I’m Mormon.

I knew God was going to help me, and so I prayed for Him to help me, and I wouldn’t get anything. I’d pray for one thing and something else would happen, or I can’t go one more day; and I’d have to go one more day. By the time I got to college, I was just tired of feeling guilty. I started dating women, and you know, that felt good. I ended up with a woman who I fell in love with, and I felt like I wanted spend the rest of my life with her, and it felt right. But there were still times where I had this feeling that God did not want me in that life. You know, I had a gun to my mouth more than once ’cause the conflict of being so in love and having such intense feelings for a person, and then feeling like you need to break up, like God doesn’t want you … that split is so hard.

It’s like the two things that matter the most in life, and they appear to be this dichotomy that’s so hard to face. It was just … I don’t wanna live. Getting sober was so much work, and it was so hard, and there was so much time spent failing at it. I went to A. A. for a while—that whole idea of putting God first and turning it over to God, help me, and I decided I wanted to start going to our church again because this is what I believe. There was just this literal flicker of light, like Christ was holding up a candle. Like a tiny candle too, right? It was just this hint of, “You can do it. It’s not going to be pretty, but you can do it,” and He’s right. It wasn’t pretty. I still was totally in love with her and wanted that life, and I said two things I believe in: I believe in our relationship, and I believe that God doesn’t want me in this relationship. And I said, I’m just gonna go with God on this. It took a lot of faith with me to start dating men, and that was the problem: I would date men, and like oh my gosh, I am lesbian.

Like, I can’t … That was such a bad experience! Help!

I feel like sexual orientation is a way of kind of categorizing people, and it’s important for many, and for me it was a hindrance. So, I didn’t want what I felt like was a label. What did not help, even back then, were the people that would say, “You know what, well, the Church is just going to change and they are just going to accept same-sex relationships.” And that was crippling for me because it’s like, well okay, if that’s just the truth then I should just stay with Tracy. What strength do I have to move forward?

What helped the most for me was a bishop who was understanding, and he said, “I’ve never dealt with this, but you know, let’s figure how to do this.” For three years, for three years he met with me. Friends, the Church, were important; praying, reading scriptures, and I’ve finished up the manuscript all about my life, and a friend of ours just started coming back to church. We just did stuff for fun, and you know, he didn’t try to be physical, and I didn’t really give any cues for him either, so that went perfectly.

Aside from being in love with Tracy, I also enjoyed being alone, so I assumed I’d be celibate. Then one day he said, “I’m hoping this can go further.” And so I panicked. I go over and I have this 150-page manuscript of my life, and I said, “You know what, I think you need to know a little bit more about me. Why don’t you take it and read it?” My friends teased me the whole weekend, because they’re like, “Okay, you gave him the book so he would leave, huh?” And I said, “I’m not sure.” So I plopped these 150 pages in his lap and I said, “If you still want a relationship after you read this, come to dinner Sunday night and meet me here at six o’clock. And if you don’t show, I totally understand.” I said, “You don’t even have to call, if you don’t want. It’s fine.”

He showed up at six o’clock with tears in his eyes. He was crying and he said, “I am so sorry you had to go through this.” And he said, “That’s horrible.” And he said, “I wish I could’ve been there with you when you were young. I wish you had somebody to talk to.” And I just melted. He just held me and he just put his arms around me and cried, and I just cried and it was like, of all the reactions he could’ve had to that book that talked about, you know, drinking and drugs, and relationships with women, you know, all the reactions he could’ve had … We held each other, and it was that sense of oneness that I have never felt with another person. Not a woman or a man. It was like nothing else I have ever felt, and he said, “If you’d still consider a relationship with me, I’d consider it an honor.” And it really was a miracle.

To think that, oh, marriage and family, I’ve come to the end of all my problems. I still feel so silly for thinking that, you know, that anxiety/depression hold whenever anything went wrong with the kids. That’s occurred because of being married and having kids. Some people say to me, “Well, really, you’re just a lesbian, and you’re married to a man, and you’re not living true to yourself,” and I understand where that’s coming from because I’ve felt that way before. But now, what I thought was truth before for me was not the whole truth. I have to accept that it’s going to be challenging no matter what and just trust where the Lord is going to take us.

Laurie’s Story Continued

I realized I was attracted to a female high school coach of mine back in the mid-1970s, back when gays and lesbians were called hurtful and degrading names. Few people came out of the closet because it hurt too much. Playing sports in high school helped me because I had several lesbian friends. I wasn’t attracted to any of them, but I felt more comfortable hanging around them than anyone else.

I felt guilty at church because when I was 10, I was sexually molested by an older cousin and also raped by a man who was a “family friend.” Then came the onslaught of Church lessons about the law of chastity, shooting at me in rapid-fire succession as if from a firing squad that had found me guilty. “Once you lose your virginity, you can never get it back.” “Which would you rather have, a used car or a new car?”

Our “family friend” pedophile convinced me the rape was my fault. He insisted that if I ever told anyone, I’d be in trouble. So I didn’t tell anyone. And I felt guilty—horribly guilty—since I assumed I’d committed “the worst sin next to murder.”

I played sports in college too and spent most of my time with friends who were lesbian. Because of my testimony of the gospel, I avoided dating my freshman year. However, by my second year of college, I’d quit going to church altogether and was drinking and using drugs. I’d grown weary of feeling guilty. And since I wasn’t going to church or obeying the Word of Wisdom, I figured I might as well date women too.

I went into it all figuring it was probably just a phase. I thought that at some point down the road, I’d quit dating women and start going back to church. Then something unexpected happened: I fell in love with a woman I’d been dating. It surprised me because I didn’t really think I’d fall in love (although I’m not sure what I thought would happen since I was dating women). But despite the fact that my feelings for her were so strong, my testimony carried a great deal of weight too—both in the sense of a strong conviction of the gospel as well as the weight of the conflict.

After we’d been together about a year and a half, we broke up. I dated more women in an effort to get over her, but it didn’t work very well. When I moved out of state, I had this feeling—this impression—that I should find out what ward I lived in and go talk to the bishop. I wasn’t even sure what to say. I just felt like it was important.

In hindsight, I can see why. By the grace of God, that bishop was truly Christlike. He used the power of the priesthood in my behalf, just as the divine plan had been designed. He lived the scripture “No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned” (Doctrine and Covenants 121:41).

That bishop met with me for almost three years, even when I got back with my girlfriend for a while.

When I messed up, he’d increase his patience and long-suffering and love unfeigned.

Being in love with a woman had a very strong sense of “this is right,” and there was so much good in that relationship. So the impression “this is wrong” was difficult to believe, much less act upon. Really, what felt right was wrong, and what felt wrong was right. At times the conflict would rage, and I’d consider suicide. I feel blessed to still be alive.

With the help of the bishop, I started reading scriptures every day and attending church more often, even though my faith was difficult to maintain. Many times I was unable to feel God’s presence. Prayers seemed far more like monologues than dialogues.

I’d always been certain there was a limited amount of pain each of us would have to endure in this life. We’re told we won’t be given more than we can bear. But when I reached the point where I was convinced I couldn’t bear any more, that’s when the deepest pain—a kind of defining, refining pain—worked on me in a way nothing else had. I began to gain the strength necessary to exercise my agency and choose the gospel plan.

Still, it was a difficult choice.

The prospects did not look good. I had no desire whatsoever to spend a lifetime with a man—much less an eternity.

So that left me with just one option: to remain celibate for the rest of my life. It did help that I’ve always enjoyed spending time on my own, especially writing and photography.

I knew the Book of Mormon was true. I knew the gospel of Jesus Christ was true. I knew we had a living prophet on the earth. So I continued moving forward in that direction.

I was frequently uncomfortable at church, though. I didn’t know anyone. I was still smoking and drinking and doing drugs, and I kept my sexual attractions hidden. I knew I wasn’t living the “righteous life” that I assumed everyone else at church was living. I felt alienated, like I was visiting a foreign land.

In addition to the bishop, I finally found a friend at church. She was assigned as my visiting teacher. Her love, acceptance, and support helped me feel more comfortable. I finally had a friend at church who knew who I was, including all the things I’d done wrong, and didn’t think I was bad or evil or perverted.

It took several more years for me to gain sobriety with regard to drugs, alcohol, and tobacco and to find heartfelt comfort without another woman in my life. By the time I turned 30, I was prepared to go through the temple. I assumed I was making a commitment to be chaste for the rest of my life, and I had the faith I could pull it off.

But I felt I should work on dating men, which often pushed me the other way, causing me to think I was definitely lesbian and could never be with a man. After a while, I met a man whose company I enjoyed. He was very bright and interesting to talk with. We remained friends until he said he wanted a relationship. Because I’d been writing a book about my life at the time, I handed him my manuscript that talked about all the worst sins I’d committed.

I thought I might not ever see him again. But he showed up for dinner that Sunday night.

Not only was he okay with my past, he was deeply moved by it.

Crying, he apologized for not being there when I was young and not being able to help.

I was truly amazed and deeply moved. My feelings for him changed in that moment. Ever since then, I have known he is the right person for me. And he’s a man, which has been the most astounding part.

To this day, I let people in certain situations know about my background when I feel a need to educate and inform, to help increase understanding about same-sex attraction and LGBT Latter-day Saints who are looking to find a sense of belonging among the community of Saints. I do get treated differently sometimes, even avoided or shunned by a few. More often, I’ve gained greater friendships and found I have more in common with others than I thought.

I admit, I have a difficult time when some people say, “Well sure, you can live righteously because you got married. It’s easier for you.” That bothers me because I’ve had more recent trials with PTSD and with raising our three children who have each struggled with certain challenges. And that has proven even more difficult for me. It has been worse to endure my children’s pain than my own. “Please, hurt me if you must, but not my children!”

I’ve grown in faith in so many ways. At least now I know better than to assume I have necessarily seen my most challenging times. I’m grateful I have a husband who loves and supports me and has done so through so much. I do know he has made life easier for me as we have raised our children together, challenges and all.

My faith is more seasoned now. I depend on the Lord in all things and have grown to trust that somehow, someway, all of this truly is giving us experience. Even though the very jaws of hell have seemed to gape open wide after me at several times throughout my life, I do have a perfect knowledge that it is for my good (see Doctrine and Covenants 122:7).

My love for and dedication to the Savior and His gospel cannot and will not ever be broken again.

Dallas’s Story: Laurie’s Husband

Dallas always wanted the same type of relationship he saw his parents have. He just didn’t think it was possible—until he met Laurie. Her past certainly shocked him, but Dallas quickly realized that if Laurie was able to accept him despite his imperfections, he could do the same.

I remember the commotion that followed when my oldest brother mentioned in a sacrament meeting talk that he had never heard our parents argue. Some people thought he was exaggerating. Others thought it couldn’t be done. Yet we couldn’t understand what the big deal was. Weren’t all parents like ours? I was used to an environment in which I knew Mom and Dad loved and respected each other, and we knew they loved us. I’m not sure how they did it, but it was a wonderful world to grow up in. With a good start like that, you would think that my life would have been outstanding. It wasn’t.

I had been home from a mission a mere 16 years when I met Laurie. A mutual friend introduced us, having just spent several months encouraging me to come back to the fold. I thought Laurie was very attractive and pretty hardheaded. She was no pushover. By that time in her life, she had gone through a long, hard slog to reclaim her faith and to go to the temple. She had learned by experience what was important. I wasn’t quite there yet.

We were on a “date-a-month” plan for a while. I enjoyed her personality immensely. She was different—a type of person that was new to me. After a few months went by, I continued to look forward to the time I spent with her. I guess at the same time she was figuring me out, and it wasn’t all positive. One evening she let me know she expected more, telling me how important the gospel was to her and her concern that we didn’t share the same perspective. That’s when I had a startling realization. As we talked, I suddenly understood that I could have the same kind of relationship with her that my parents had with each other. I’d never thought that before. I didn’t know it was possible.

I told her I was interested in something more than the current state. She responded by giving me some reading material: her account of her life. I promised I would read it while she was away for the weekend. However, I took it home and didn’t want to touch it. For 24 hours it sat there and bothered me. Finally, motivated by the feelings I had told her of, I opened it and began to read. (It wasn’t until then that I discovered she was also a very good writer.) What I read that night was the hardest thing I have ever read. How could someone I cared for deeply have experienced such tragedy and I not have known?

The book also talked about her feelings of same-sex attraction and her struggles with the Word of Wisdom. As I read on, I came across a phrase that was unexpected: “It doesn’t matter how comfortable, how convenient, or how contented your lifestyle is; if it doesn’t bring you closer to the Savior, it doesn’t matter where else it is taking you.”

If my regard for her was a wedge, then this was the hammer. The blow split the shell over my heart wide open, and I was exposed to life, the world, and pain. In clarity, I saw that I had a choice to make: I could continue on my current course and die, or I could choose life. I looked over the precipice, and with all my heart, I chose to live.

I knew at that moment I wasn’t worthy of or fit for a life with Laurie, but I knew I loved her. I tried to change as fast as I could. Change is a feature of the great plan of happiness. I am so grateful for the blessing of change.

Before we were married, there were moments of concern. Now that I knew her background, could I make it work?

I did experience some trepidation. I am a guy, after all, and she wasn’t too hip on guys.

Whenever I would start to worry, though, I would quickly be reminded that I wasn’t perfect and that I was grateful that she accepted me for who I was. If she was willing to do that for me, couldn’t I do the same?

I made a conscious decision that I would avoid worrying about her past, and I have stuck to that.

After two decades together, the surprising development has been that I have spent much more time wondering why I haven’t had to worry than I have actually spent worrying. It almost goes without saying that there hasn’t been a reason to worry—at least with regard to her past.

However, as we started our married life, we discovered so many other things to worry about: children, finances, children, health, children. The things we thought would be of great concern moved to the bottom of the list as the demands of family took over. Her experience establishing herself on the gospel path made her faith strong and very practical. I found her spiritual strength reassuring. It was devastating for both of us when, in the throes of depression (or whatever the several diagnoses), she lost that sense of feeling the Spirit. Still, she remained faithful against all odds.

I am blessed to be with Laurie. Our life together has been challenging but good. I haven’t quite reached the standard set by my parents, but I have tried. In our own way, we have found our world together. I am always secretly thrilled when I hear her say, “The gospel has not made me attracted to men. But it has helped me be attracted to one man.” That’s me. It is more than I could have ever hoped for.

Laurie’s Friend’s Story

Repentance can be a hard road to go down, albeit a necessary one. Laurie just needed encouragement—encouragement that only a friend, someone who would stick with her regardless of her current behavior or her subsequent decisions, could give.

I first met Rip—my name for Laurie—when she started attending our singles ward from time to time. I took a liking to her after a thoroughly entertaining testimony that she gave about a visiting teacher she had while still attending college. It was by far the funniest and most touching story I’ve ever heard about visiting teaching.

As fate would have it, it didn’t take long before I was asked to be her visiting teacher.

I quickly got to know her through her sense of humor. We became friends, and she routinely confided in me concerning her trials and frustrations. I listened while being compassionate and sympathetic to her diverse problems.

She strongly desired to stop her behavior on multiple fronts, including Word of Wisdom problems as well as a relationship she was in with a woman. Yet she found herself unable to do so, as she lamented many times.

I had a desire to be her friend, regardless of her current behavior or her subsequent decisions.

About a year into our friendship, I invited her to go to lunch with me. I had no particular agenda in mind; I just felt it was a fun way to visit teach. We both laugh about it to this day. After our order was taken, she complained about the numerous obstacles that seemed to keep getting in her way on her path to repentance. At one point she said, somewhat kidding, somewhat seriously, “Well, there’s no reason I have to repent now, right? I have years before this catches up with me.”

At that point, I got really quiet, and before I knew it, I told her that the time had come for her to stop messing around with the Lord and procrastinating the day of her repentance. I told her that the Lord expected her, since she was bright and had a thorough understanding of her commitments, to stop doing the things that were tearing her apart.

I was harsh—harsher than I would have ever been had it not been for an impression that she needed to hear what I needed to say. She didn’t touch her meal the entire time we were at the restaurant. I had never been that critical or incredibly serious with Laurie about anything.

I didn’t realize at the time how this would play out. However, I knew that I had cut her to the core. She hadn’t expected me to be so brutally honest with her and to call her out on her “I can stop and repent later” attitude.

There wasn’t an immediate transformation, although she took what I said very seriously. There wasn’t an easy road that lay ahead of her. There still isn’t an easy road ahead for her, now for completely different reasons. But she wanted to change, and she had finally realized that she couldn’t continue to talk the talk without walking the walk.

It took years, but I think in that moment she made the commitment to stop playing with words and start constructing new paths with life-altering actions that mattered and would last.

Whether she ever changed or not, we would still be friends, and she knew that. We’re the type of friends that can pick up right where we left off.

We both ended up moving from the area we were in and found that we had no way of getting in touch with each other since we both had new, unlisted phone numbers (this was before the social media age). We each tried to locate the other, but we were halfway across the country and it wasn’t easy. Rip finally found me (and still holds that over my head). I doubt there will ever be a time that we lose touch again. Seeing her again after eight years felt as if no time had passed at all. I have a deeper testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ because of her. She is a hero to me and someone that I admire and look up to.

There’s admiration and love between us, but we’d be hard put to dwell on that aspect of our friendship, since we are so adept at humor and joking around with one another. We laugh and tease and help each other. We listen to each other’s thoughts and respect each other’s differing points of view, all the while learning from each other.

I’ve also appreciated that there has never been any judgment between us—ever. She is a true friend. I have learned a multitude of things from her, and as I said, she would still be a true friend if she hadn’t changed one bit those many years ago. We have both grown and are still trying to get it right as we raise our families! She has answered my prayers more than once without even knowing it. She is amazing.

Rip’s desire to do what she believed was right overcame her desire to do the things she knew she needed to stop. If she hadn’t wanted to change, we would never have had that conversation over lunch. I wouldn’t have dreamed of telling her or anyone to do something or to repent of something that they didn’t want to repent of. As it was, I was shocked at what I had said to her that day.

As we all know, it’s not our place to judge another person or condemn them. Naturally, we have the ability to know right from wrong in order to make our own choices, but we don’t have the right to put our beliefs onto anyone else.

My parents taught me when I was very young not to judge the person who sits next to me at church who might smell of cigarette smoke, because it’s not our business. And we certainly don’t have the ability to judge the person who sits on the other side who might be telling lies. In other words, they taught me to not judge anyone, since we aren’t equipped to intelligently and equitably make those determinations. Not only are we not to judge; we are not to have an attitude of being judgmental. Rather, our job is to be courageous in our love for our fellowman.

I thank Rip and all those I’ve come in contact with who have different experiences than I do for allowing me into their lives to share life with them and to benefit from our association.

Laurie’s Bishop’s Story

Church leaders play an important role in helping those they interact with feel the love of their Savior. Understanding and patience are key. But most important is love—no matter what has happened.

In addition to my own story, I was asked to submit writings from family, friends, and Church leaders who were supportive during my journey away from same-sex relationships and back into full Church participation. The one person, in addition to the Savior and my Heavenly Parents, who had the most influence during that journey was my bishop. Because he has since passed away, it seemed important for me to write some of the things he did to support me and gently herd me back into the fold. Hopefully, this can help other Church leaders who desire to do the same with those over whom they have a very important and sacred stewardship.

The very first time I met with my bishop, I told him all about how I’d been in relationships with women, that I was currently dating a woman, and that I was abusing drugs and alcohol. We didn’t have a lot of time for our first appointment, so we scheduled a longer visit the following week. During that time, I think he talked with the stake president for guidance, because in our second meeting he asked different questions to determine the extent of my involvement. This was back in the early ’80s, so Church leaders had little to no information regarding those who experienced same-sex attraction. I felt unsettled by the questions. Fortunately, the bishop must have sensed it, because he paused, took a breath, and then allowed the guidance of the Holy Spirit to fall upon him. I don’t even remember much of what he said after that. Mostly I remember feeling the Spirit that emanated from him along with a very strong sense of being loved by my Heavenly Parents as well as my bishop.

He did say, “I don’t know much about what you’re dealing with. Maybe you can help me understand. I know the Lord loves you and He’s grateful for your desire to repent and change your life. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to help you come back.”

Neither one of us would have guessed that we would continue to meet almost weekly for almost three years. I’m not sure we would have been so willing to move forward if we’d known just how long and difficult the journey would be. Yet he never gave up—even if I did. He’d encourage and persuade me, providing hope when I couldn’t feel it myself. Much later, the bishop told me that no one taught him patience like I did. I also learned a great deal about patience myself.

In addition to being an incredible Christian who dedicated himself to my cause—to the Lord’s cause, really—there were several things my bishop did that helped me immensely:

1. We always prayed when we met, sometimes before and after.

2. Even though neither of us knew much about my journey forward, he moved ahead with confidence that the Lord knew what to do.

3. He did not rush in to judge me; rather, to gently persuade.

4. He remained patient, even when I’d get back with the woman I was in love with.

5. He concentrated on righteous actions I could do—like daily scripture study or weekly church attendance—rather than unrighteous actions I wasn’t yet able to control.

6. He helped build my confidence by commending those things I was able to do.

7. The Spirit always took the lead—he’d start to react “naturally” and then pause to allow the Spirit to take over.

8. He always read at least one scripture he thought would help, sometimes more as we spoke and he felt inspired to share.

9. He gave me blessings when called upon by the Spirit.

10. He prayerfully helped assign a visiting teacher who also became dedicated to my cause.

11. If I missed church, he’d call me and ask why, encouraging me to come the next week.

12. Most importantly, he loved me—no matter what I’d done or hadn’t done.

Over the years since my bishop’s death, I’ve had a strong sense of his presence on several occasions. I have no idea how things work on the other side. I do know that the connections we have with loved ones are not severed by death. I know we receive help from both sides of the veil. I, for one, am grateful the bishop continues to bless my life in unseen ways. The mysteries of God are marvelous, even as they remain mostly mysterious.