My Uncle Marc called today to invite me to a movie with a Jewish theme. "It's a real gut-wrencher. It'll pretty much throw you on the floor and stomp on you," he said.

"I think I'll pass on it this time," I said.

"Alright, but I just want you to know that I am looking out for the Jewish side of you," he said.

"I appreciate that. I'm glad there is someone in this valley doing that for me."

He laughed. "Tell me about it; I have to remind myself I am gay every once in a while."

I laughed too and suddenly realized how lonely that must feel- to move from a society where every part of you is fully accepted, to one where people may not hate you for part of yourself, but they probably at the least, really, really don't want to hear about it.

And then it dawned on me. I'd forgotten to pass along some big news to my uncle. "Hey, speaking of that, Abbie and I both had our names officially removed from the church register, in protest against the LDS church's involvement in Proposition 8."

"WHAT? Really?" He was clearly stunned. I don't know how I managed to not realize this would be his reaction.

"Yup. We both wrote letters that said that we were leaving for this reason and that history would prove them wrong in this, just as it has on several points in the past, like the ERA."

"Seriously? You and Abbie both, huh?" He was still stunned, but bordering on elated.

"Yeah, there was a website that gave directions on how to do it. It was sort of a mini movement."

"Wow, well there you have it. I guess they'll leave you alone now."

"Really? I thought this was when they send out the troops."

We said good bye and it sounded like he was going to go ponder this. And I left, vowing to do as good a job paying respect to the gay part of him as he pays to the Jewish part of me.

Removing my name from the rolls of the church was anti-climatic, given that I emotionally removed myself from the church when I was 20. I created my own ceremony then, and I told close friends and family that I no longer believed and was leaving. For a while, I intended to remove my name, but I couldn't stand to bring myself to the attention of the missionary program. I had made my peace with it and I didn't really care what anyone else thought.

Fast forward 9 years. I haven't thought about my name being on the rolls for a while now. It seems we are all on the rolls here. Abbie is and she probably hasn't been inside a church since she was 8 and baptized by non-believing parents to please the grandparents. My "non-Mormon" colleagues, it's the same thing. They were baptized at some point to please someone or other and they stay on the records for the same reason. Abbie nearly didn't remove her name because she was worried about what her grandmother would think. "Is removing my name going to make me happier than it will make her miserable? Is she going to lie on her deathbed worrying about me? Because this doesn't mean THAT much to me, but isn't this the way it is with statements?" she asked me. To which I shrugged, profoundly. I was just amazed she was moving ahead with it. I was worried still about all my aunts and my grandma doing genealogy work and seeing me off the records. We tried to determine whether they would find this out, but gave up after researching for a few minutes. It turns out neither of us know anything about the mystical term "genealogy work".

The next day after this discussion, Abbie forwarded the letter I had helped her write. I sent it on to Leonard. His response was, "What? You mean you are still Mormon? I thought you had yourself removed a long time ago."

And suddenly I felt ashamed, like I was living a lie. And I realized I couldn't really stand to be considered Mormon anymore. Particularly not when I was horrified at what their involvement in California had just caused.

I printed off the letter and ran to mail it before I chickened out. And somehow, in this 24 hour period of contemplating and then carrying out this act, I never realized that I had one family member who would be as touched by this act as another would be hurt.

Driving home today, I remembered the moment I gave up worrying about having my name be removed from the list of members. I was speaking to my Jewish-Israeli Hebrew professor who was married to a Mormon. "I just wish I could get over being Mormon," I said to her. She laughed, "Linsey, you will never "get over being Mormon" any more than you could "get over" being American. This is something that will be a part of you forever."

What's funny is that thinking about this makes me teary, not because I am finally no longer a Mormon- even technically, and I have come to terms that parts of me will always be influenced by how I was raised. And not because since November's election I am a proud American for the first time in a long time, and I finally stopped wanting to "get over" being American. But because I wonder, does the same thing apply to the Jewish side of me?