From Esquire

Garett Smith sits in Kyle Cranney's lap, laughing and clapping, as Drag Donald Trump emcees at the Fire House Bar & Grill. We're at a drag-show charity event in St. George, Utah, to raise money for the cancer treatment of the mother of a gay man in the community, and the Fire House is one of the few venues in town that hosts LGBT events.

"Put your hands together if you're Mormon," Drag Donald shouts. "Do we clap?" Garrett asks. Their letters of resignation from the Mormon church had been submitted five months earlier; soon after, they received confirmation from the Church that their names had been removed from the membership records. Kyle shrugs and they both put their hands together.

Linda Stay, their close friend and future wedding officiate, walks over and gives both men large hugs. She's a "mama dragon," a term the Mormon community uses to describe mothers who fiercely advocate for gay rights. "I think every gay Mormon child wishes for a mom like that," Garett says wistfully.

Minutes later, the lights dim and a belly dancer jumps onstage, slinking about with a yellow snake around her neck while Britney Spears' "I'm a Slave 4 U" blasts in the background. Kyle and Garett sip on hard cider, whisper in each other's ears, and sneak quick kisses throughout the night. Kyle nearly loses his voice from all of the supportive whooping."There's no pride center or gay club or place that unites us," Kyle says as he walks out into the night. "We don't see them a lot, but these people are our family in St. George." He estimates that there are a few hundred LGBT people in the area, with about eight hundred allies who come to special events they organize. Kyle and Garett often fly to Salt Lake City to feel surrounded by a stronger LGBT community.

Garett points to a postcard of Jesus taped to the windshield of a car parked at the venue. "This is where we live," Kyle adds with a halfhearted chuckle. They don't even feel comfortable holding hands in public-"unless it's Sunday, when most people who wouldn't like us are at Church," says Garett.On the drive home, they pass the local Mormon temple. "People tell us not to think about the Church and leave it alone," says Kyle. "But it's everywhere you look." He's visibly frustrated. Dejected. Garett places his hand over Kyle's. They keep driving.

On November 5, 2015, Garett received a series of distraught texts from his mother, Linda. She wanted her son to know that, for once, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints did not reflect her views, and that her faith-until then unflappable-was being tested.

A policy change to the Handbook, the manual Mormon leaders use to enforce doctrinal consistency across the Church, had just been made public: Mormons in "same-gender marriages or similar relationships" would be deemed apostates at risk of excommunication. Children of same-sex parents could not be blessed, baptized, or ordained into the priesthood until they were eighteen, and only if they first disavowed their parents' relationship and all other same-sex marriages. (The policy was later clarified to apply only to children whose primary residence is with same-sex parents.)

This put children of LGBT couples at the same level as children of those who ascribe to a practice long ago abandoned by the Church: polygamy.

The new policy puts children of LGBT couples on the same level as children of those who ascribe to a practice long ago abandoned by the Church: polygamy.

Garett was horrified. It had always been challenging to be gay and Mormon. The Church had often fought against the rising tide of marriage equality; its members were major financial backers of 2008's Prop 8 in California, which briefly banned same-sex marriage in the state before being overturned.

After more progressive Church members voiced strong disapproval, Garett, like many Mormons, believed the spiritual leaders were warming to gay rights. The Church had been taking small but significant steps forward, acknowledging that being gay isn't a choice and that families should accept their LGBT loved ones.

Their support for 2015's "fairness for all" legislation in Utah was praised by the LGBT community both in the state and across the country. Church spokesman Eric Hawkins says, "the Church is on record repeatedly supporting rights for LGBT people, including in the areas of housing and employment."This new policy, however, caused some serious existential whiplash.

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Garett remembered the day the Obergefell decision was announced. It was June 26, 2015-a crystalline morning in St. George, Utah. He was at home, aware the Supreme Court was releasing the ruling, refreshing his Twitter feed every few minutes. Kyle, his partner of nearly three years, was doing the same at his desk in the offices of SkyWest Airlines, where he was a systems-support supervisor. (Cranney was simultaneously working on his master's in communications at Southern Utah University; his thesis was on the Church's opinions on LGBT issues.)

When the decision came down, legalizing same-sex marriage all across the nation, Garett felt an emotion he didn't often feel as a gay Mormon man: vindication. He read Justice Anthony Kennedy's majority opinion over and over. Kyle remembered being so overwhelmed that he took a fifteen-minute break to walk around the building-he referred to it as his "equality lap." He came home for lunch with Garett, a daily ritual, to find their entire meal-the cupcakes, sure, but also the grilled chicken and spinach-decorated with rainbow sprinkles.

That so few family members called them that day was an emotional blow, but they were able to cordon off that pain. Now, just four months later, the Church deemed them apostates and threatened their future children. How far would this go?

LDS VS. LGBT

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Kyle wrote his first resignation letter from the Church in 2011 after watching a documentary about its involvement in Prop 8. Furious, he printed the letter on crisp paper, carefully signed his name at the bottom, and put it in an envelope. But he could not bring himself to mail it.He'd do so twice more, redating the same letter, each time not sending it.The LDS Church, headquartered in Salt Lake City, has 15.6 million members globally, with 6.5 million residing in the United States. (Some critics say these numbers are inflated since resignation is intentionally complex and many of its members are inactive.) Statistically, that means that the Church has hundreds of thousands of gay followers. Its official policy toward homosexuality is that "acting" on one's desire is a sin and that same-sex marriage is against God's will.

Kyle, twenty-six, and Garett, twenty-four, have had a long, complicated relationship with the religion into which they were born. Both of their Mormon heritages trace back to the original Utah pioneers in the mid-nineteenth century. Growing up, they were extremely involved in the Church, attending three-hour services every Sunday, participating in Church-related activities for two hours or more each week, undergoing many hours of extracurricular Church-education classes during high school. They grew up in Utah towns with populations of fewer than eight thousand-Kyle in Vernal, Garett in West Haven-and their main interactions as children were with the Mormon community. Garett remembers pitying the non-Mormons in his town, thinking they didn't know what they were missing out on. Neither of them associated with or even knew any apostates.

The Church's official policy toward homosexuality is that "acting" on one's desire is a sin and that same-sex marriage is against God's will.

Kyle, the youngest of eight, started feeling disillusioned with the Church at a young age as a reaction against how predetermined his future seemed. A Mormon man's life, especially in Utah, often followed the same structured path: baptism at eight, priesthood at twelve, missionary work at eighteen or nineteen, marriage upon returning home. As Kyle became increasingly aware of his sexuality, he rejected this life plan more and more.

At fourteen, he asked friends and family to stop calling him by his first name, Matthew, and insisted on going by his middle name, Kyle. "Matthew had all of these expectations," says Kyle. "Matthew was going to go on a mission and marry his best friend, Hanah, who lived up the street." In becoming Kyle, he took the first step toward shedding such unwanted expectations.

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For years he continued acting as a dutiful, devout Mormon son. When his family moved to Bolivia so his parents could serve as missionaries, Kyle helped baptize new members. All the while, he silently disassociated from the religion. A year after returning to the U.S. and just before his nineteenth birthday, he moved out of his parents' home and stopped going to services. It took him years to shake the feeling that he had sinned against the God his family believed in but whom he no longer could.

Garett also was weighed down by the burden of familial and communal expectations. He's one of six, and the son of a bishop. He struggled with his sexuality and his religion when he was younger, even contemplating suicide. "I would pray that God would delete me," he says.

Garett felt like two of his identifying qualities-religion and sexuality-were at odds, engaged in a tug-of-war that left him little choice but to lead a double life. He became closer with friends outside of the Church, finding common ground with non-Mormons.

At seventeen, he told his parents he had "same-gender attraction." Before doing so, he asked his mother to write a letter detailing how much she cared about him. He wanted tangible proof of her love, should religion ever cause her to change her mind.

While serving on his mission in the Philippines in 2012 and still in the closet to all but a few people, Garett felt exhausted by his double life. He asked to be sent home from his mission, and when Church leaders resisted, he revealed that he had had a physical relationship with a boy back home. He was brought back right away.

Upon his return to Utah, Garett was summoned to appear at a Church disciplinary council, colloquially referred to as the Court of Love. He faced four Church leaders, many of whom he'd known for years, who asked Garett to disclose intimate details about his former relationship. Garett felt humiliated, telling the men things he wasn't comfortable sharing with even his closest friends. Despite their pressure, he refused to repent and would not apologize.

Garett was told the spirit had moved the leaders to rule in favor of disfellowshipment-just one step below excommunication.

Some months later he returned to St. George-before his mission he was studying for an associate's degree-to go back to college. He got a job as a surgical technologist, and he is currently applying to medical school.Three months after moving, he met Kyle on Twitter through a mutual friend.

Garett struggled with his sexuality and his religion. "I would pray that God would delete me," he says.

A FADING FAITH

Before the apostate policy, it was easy for Garett and Kyle to play down the threat of the Church's views on LGBT rights. But they have always wanted to start a family, and this was too much. After many late nights and long conversations, they decided to resign from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints together.They met Mark Naugle, a Salt Lake City lawyer who assists clients with this complex and often painful process, through an ex-Mormon support group on Reddit. Naugle's approach-as middleman between his clients and the Church-helps prevent Church leaders from reaching out in an attempt to change his clients' minds. Prior to the apostate-policy release, Naugle says he processed around three hundred resignations in five years.

He received almost two thousand emails in the first seventy-two hours after the new policy became public.

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Since then, he has facilitated nearly nine thousand requests to leave the Church. A mass resignation was staged in Salt Lake City on November 14, 2015, during which fifteen hundred Mormons submitted paperwork to Naugle. He and other organizers helped protesters fill out resignation documents. Some people stood in line for an hour and a half, holding rainbow flags and signs with messages like "LDS: Love Doesn't Separate." Many people walked over to the nearby temple and deposited the letters in a public mailbox outside the temple's office.

Neither Kyle nor Garett wanted to hurt their families with their actions, but they also wanted to leave with a higher purpose. "We wanted to make sure our resignation was counted in the number of people leaving so they would know it was related to this policy," says Garett, looking at Kyle as he speaks. "I felt a strong obligation to be out there for other gay Mormons to see."

"It was an act of protest," adds Kyle, locking eyes with Garett and nodding resolutely.Their decision did not come easily, but once they submitted the paperwork-on November 10-they felt relief. That night, they met another gay Mormon couple at Olive Garden for a celebration over pasta and a bottle of white wine.Save for Kyle's brother and sister-in-law, they did not tell their families. They still haven't to this day.

COGNITIVE DISSONANCE

Kyle's and Garett's relationships with their families are forged from delicate balances, unspoken arguments, quiet tensions, and deep familial love.One morning in April, Kyle and Garett visit the Smiths at the West Haven house in which Garett grew up, 350 miles northeast of St. George. It's Sunday, and Garett's parents and four of his siblings have just gotten back from church. They're waiting for Garett and Kyle to arrive before digging into the enormous meal Garett's mother has prepared, which includes a dish called "funeral potatoes"-potatoes, cheese, cream cheese, and onions- she made especially for Kyle.

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The only sibling not present is Logan, who is in Georgia-the country, not the state-as a Peace Corps volunteer. He is also openly gay, but unlike Garett, he is celibate. His religion and his homosexuality are equal parts of him, and he says he doesn't want to put "either identity in the closet." He doesn't rule out eventually dating, should he meet the right person-man or woman (he's dated both). If he's excommunicated as a result, he will continue on with his personal Mormon faith practices.

After coming out to his family in 2012, one of his biggest fears was how Garett would react to his decision to remain active in the Church. Sure enough, Garett was devastated. In Garett's mind, Logan's decision to remain religious devalued the work he'd done to get his parents to accept him. Garett could only assume that his parents believed they had one gay son who stayed celibate in order to best serve his faith, and another who abandoned religion to have a meaningful relationship.

Logan has never wished to be seen as the good gay son. And no one, including his parents, Linda and Shawn, has ever said that's the case. They used to think of Garett as gay and Logan as having "same-gender attraction," as if one is a more serious form of the same medical condition. But now "I've learned that being gay is not something that they choose," says Shawn. "I'm so glad my eyes have been opened," says Linda."Garett really began to live when he found Kyle," says Shawn, fifty-three. He and Linda, fifty-one, huddle together on the couch to talk.Shawn and his family remain active in the LDS community. They all hold positions in the Church, pay tithing, and wear Mormon garments.

Shawn was disappointed by the November policy, which affected not only Garett but Logan, too. At 5 a.m. after the policy was released, Shawn, unable to sleep, sent his thoughts to his wife and two gay children: "How do I reconcile with my faith or Church when it is distancing itself from my sons and me? I believe in inclusion, not exclusion. You say, 'That's easy, just leave your Church.' Is it? What about the other children I have that have the same beliefs and practices as I? How will it not rip us apart?"

Logan has never wished to be seen as the good gay son.

Linda, like Shawn, was devastated by the policy, seeing it as yet another door being shut in her sons' faces. Over time, they've reconciled their family with their faith by viewing the policy as a clarification of a position on homosexuality the Church already possessed.Linda says sometimes people ask her how she can be part of a Church that doesn't accept her sons. "I say, 'How could I not?' I need to have that to get through the hard times." She tears up when asked about Garett's and Kyle's spiritual futures. Apostates, after all, do not ascend to the highest level of heaven. Shawn puts an arm around her as she struggles to regain her composure, but her voice still breaks. "That's really what keeps my faith. I just hope that in the next life it will all make sense. I have to have faith that my God is a loving God."

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Over Skype a few days later, Kyle's parents say they feel similarly. They are serving an eighteen-month stint as missionaries in Colombia. Steve Cranney says he's hurt when he logs into Facebook and sees Kyle or Garett writing negative comments about the Church, so he hides those posts from his feed. He says he and his wife, Laurel, pray that Kyle's and Garett's hearts will soften and their animosity toward the Church will diminish.Kyle's family prefers to avoid conflict and confrontation. "I don't imagine the emotions or things they deal with are easy for them," says Kyle. "I still respect the relationship I have with them. We are still a tight-knit family, even though we have this wedge between us."

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Steve, seventy-one, and Laurel, sixty-eight, are matter-of-fact when speaking about the Church and homosexuality, which they consider to be sometimes at odds with each other without interfering with the profound love they have for their son."We love the Church; the Church is our life," says Steve."We love our kids," adds Laurel."And we do the best we can do with both," says Steve.

Kyle and Garett's relationship with their families is one forged from delicate balances, unspoken arguments, quiet tensions, and deep familial love.

DOUBLING DOWN

This past January, LDS Church Elder Russell M. Nelson announced that the apostate policy was determined to be a "revelation" from God. The intent of the change was to protect the children: If a child raised by same-sex parents wants to be baptized into the Church, which teaches that their parents' relationship is contrary to God's laws, there will inevitably be conflict. To many gay Mormons, this was spiritually crushing: Policies are guidelines, but revelations are divine.

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Mormons believe families are eternal, and when someone leaves the Church by personal resignation or through Church discipline, the future of their relationships is called into question, here on earth and otherwise. "The Church has given LGBT youth a very bleak choice," says Mitch Mayne, an openly gay Mormon and former leader in a California congregation, in response to the recent revelation. "Either choose a life of loneliness and celibacy and quiet desperation or be expelled from your family, your culture, and your church, not just for now but for all of eternity." Mayne explains that by saying the policy was "revelation from God," Elder Nelson elevated it to near-doctrinal status. "It's the ultimate way of saying that God hates gay people."

Adding to the heartache was the fact that for years LGBT Mormons had hoped that Church elders would use precisely this revelation process to redeem and accept their sexuality, just as they had in 1978 with a revelation that extended membership rights to "all worthy Church members," says Church spokesperson Eric Hawkins, thereby reversing a policy that excluded black men from the priesthood. (Women continue to be banned.)

Meanwhile, Kyle proposed to Garett in February at the Mystery Escape Room in St. George. He set it up brilliantly, telling Garett they were in for a fun evening with their friends. Kyle then pretended he had to leave for a work emergency. Garett and their friends headed to the event, during which they were locked in a room filled with puzzles they had to solve within sixty minutes to escape. Garett opened the last puzzle box and found a ring inside. "What's this?" he asked his friends. "Is that the way to unlock the door?"

His friends urged him to answer a knock at the door, but instead he insisted on trying to find a place to put the ring. Finally, one of their friends let Kyle in. Bedecked in a tuxedo, he got down on one knee, took the ring out of Garett's hand, and proposed."Of course," said Garett, who pulled his now-fiancé up, kissed him, and embraced him tightly.

A HEAVENLY WEDDING

The morning before the drag show, Kyle and Garett visit the amphitheater in Zion National Park where they'll be married in October, surrounded by views of dusty red mountains abutting the expansive blue sky.

Zion is a term laden with meaning in Mormon culture, a momentous ideal for the early Mormon pioneers, who headed west to seek a place of refuge. It is a unified state of being where "the Lord's people" can find peace. The irony is not lost on Kyle and Garett. "We might have a little different Zion than everyone else's Zion," says Kyle. "In a way, we're using Zion as a refuge for our marriage."

"People tell us not to think about the Church and leave it alone," says Kyle. "But it's everywhere you look."

They are unsure which of their family members will come. Garett says some of his extended family may intentionally leave behind their children. Kyle's parents will visit from Colombia, and he thinks all of his siblings will come, but it's unclear if they will bring their spouses.They are worried about rain, but not for the reason you would expect-Kyle says he doesn't want anyone thinking it means God's crying on their wedding day, a sign of divine disapproval.One thing is definite: "It's going to be a lot of people's first gay wedding," says Garett.

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Kyle and Garett now both identify as agnostic and are uncertain whether an afterlife exists, but they say they will work the Mormon concept of "for time and eternity" into their marriage vows.

"It's a Mormon doctrine: If you get married in a temple, you are married for time and eternity. If you get married in a secular way, you are married until death," says Garett.

No matter what the Church says, Kyle and Garett are determined to be married for eternity.