A few years ago, my family lived under a scary cloud.

We’d keep our eyes lowered so we didn’t have to remember it was there.

But then it would rain. Thunder. Lightning. Hurricane.

And we’d have to confront it.

Conference weekend was, at best, a light rainstorm and, at worst, a devastating monsoon.

Because that cloud was the doctrine of straight, celestial marriage—and what it unlocks.

The only people who can get to heaven are straight people, married to the opposite sex, in the holy temple.

My brother tried his best to shake this cloud, faking and praying and promising and serving.

Ultimately, he landed where a lot of queer Mormons land. The only way to get out from under this mortal, temporal cloud is to hit that fast-forward button.

God will make all things right in the celestial kingdom. It goes against every cell in his body to marry a woman here on Earth, but maybe… just maybe… God will make him straight? Maybe God will find a way to let him be with the rest of our straight, cisgender, temple-sealed family?

He could choose to leapfrog out of this mortal experience, out from under this oppressive cloud, hoping against hope that God had it figured out on that end. That we’d all be together.

Or he could choose to live this life he had right here.

The cliff notes oversimplification is that he almost didn’t survive that dangerous, DANGEROUS storm.

“Thinking Celestial” almost cost him his life. It almost cost me my brother.

I tried “Thinking Celestial” for several more years, until I realized that it was NOT a party I wanted to attend. “Thinking Celestial” ain’t it once you realize how many empty chairs you’re gonna have at your table. (Can you think of anyone you know who will have no empty chairs? Not sure I can.)

This weekend I flew to California with my sister to surprise him for his birthday—thanks to his lovely, kind, talented, compassionate, and CHRISTLIKE boyfriend. We stayed in the home they share, meeting friends from every background and belief system. We got to see him happy and thriving in the life he’s built for himself over the past few years. Everything was bright, fun, comfortable, and completely telestial.

Every chair was full.

I looked up. And there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.