On Nov. 19, 2016, less than 24 hours before the dedication of the Hartford Connecticut Temple, I stood outside that building holding a brand-new selfie stick, convinced I was about to document another chapter in my criticism of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I remember looking at the temple and thinking, “This church could never love someone like me.”
At the time, I was one of the directors of Hartford Pride, helping organize events, committees and marches throughout Connecticut. I had considered organizing a protest outside that very temple.
If you had told me that less than a year later, on Aug. 19, 2017, I would be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I would have laughed.
If you had told me that one day I would hold a current temple recommend, serve in stake communications in the Hartford Connecticut Stake, and help with the Giving Machines as part of the church’s #LightTheWorld campaign, I would have thought you were completely out of your mind.
But none of us can predict a future that might just surprise us. And for every one of us, life also has a way of humbling us.
What I misunderstood about the temple
Looking back, I wasn’t rejecting the temple because I knew what happened inside. This was something I had never experienced that I was attacking.
For years, I believed the temple was secret — but I was wrong. My experiences in the temple were sacred and beautiful. And sacred things are set apart because they are holy, not shameful or embarrassing.
That realization changed my life. Today, whenever a temple open house is announced, I encourage everyone, whether you’re a member of the Church of Jesus Christ or not, to attend.
Walk through the building. Ask respectful questions. Learn for yourself.
Don’t stand where I once stood — convinced you already know what’s inside.
Because I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The invitation I didn’t want to accept
When my friend Andrew Earl first invited me to Palmyra, New York, I had no interest in going. At the time, I believed every stereotype I’d ever heard about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Why would I spend part of my vacation visiting places connected to a church I had already decided was racist, sexist and homophobic?
Honestly, I went because I ran out of excuses and I didn’t want to offend my friends. So I said yes, and then immediately began wondering how I could get out of it.
On the drive between Palmyra, New York, and Susquehanna, Pennsylvania, on July 17, I was still resisting the idea of visiting church sites.
With nothing else to distract me, I turned on the old-fashioned radio. The first song that played was “I Can Only Imagine,” by MercyMe — the same song played at my younger brother Darin’s funeral after he died from a drug overdose.
As the song played, my heart changed. The anger disappeared and tears came, along with one unmistakable impression that settled into my heart: “Join this church for our salvation.”
At the time, I didn’t even understand what that word salvation even meant. But I felt God had answered me.
The next day, my friend Audrey walked me around the outside of the Palmyra New York Temple. As she explained why Latter-day Saints perform sacred ordinances by proxy for loved ones who have passed away, my thoughts immediately turned to my younger brother, Darin, then to my grandparents, aunts and uncles.
For the first time, the temple began to feel like a place of hope — a moment that also reminded me that it’s dangerous to judge something we’ve never sincerely taken the time to understand.
Do I really belong here?
Before I entered the temple to receive my endowment — a sacred ordinance where we are taught and make promises to God — I wasn’t sure I was ready and truly worthy.
When I told this to the temple president, he didn’t hesitate — looking me in the eyes and saying: “Stop it. You are worthy.”
I’ll never forget those words.
God knew every reason I believed I didn’t belong. And He invited me anyway.
That’s grace.
The first time I entered the temple, I felt like I was home.
When family history became personal
As I later performed sacred ordinances on behalf of family members I had personally known and loved, family history stopped being names on a page.
They became people — individuals I had loved and still miss.
I cried, not because I was sad — because I felt peace. But for the first time in years, I felt safe in the presence of the Lord.
Years later, while attending the Washington D.C. Temple open house, a sister serving as an usher quietly hugged me and whispered, “You belong here.”
She probably doesn’t remember saying those words, but I will never forget them.
More than welcoming me into a building, she was reminding me of something Jesus Christ had been trying to teach me all along.
I belonged long before I believed I did.
The covenant I carry with me
Today, I wear a CTR ring on my wedding finger. Most people know CTR stands for “Choose the Right,” but to me, it also means “Current Temple Recommend Holder” — a daily reminder that discipleship isn’t about perfection. It’s about making and keeping covenants with Jesus Christ.
Over the years, I’ve met other gay Latter-day Saints who also hold current temple recommends. Like countless other single members of the church, we’re striving to keep the law of chastity and our covenants with Jesus Christ.
Our stories may be different, but our discipleship is the same.
“I belonged long before I believed I did.”
— Dennis Schleicher
Looking back, I really would have thought you were crazy in 2016 if you told me I would one day hold a current temple recommend.
The greatest miracle isn’t that I entered the temple. The greatest miracle is that I wanted to.
God didn’t lower his standards to make room for me. He changed my heart until I wanted to keep his commandments.
What if you’re as wrong as I was?
If you’ve already decided what The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints believes without ever asking one of its members, maybe it’s time to learn a little more.
Don’t take my word for it — or someone else either.
Ask God. Not Google. Then listen.
Less than two years after standing outside the Hartford Connecticut Temple convinced I didn’t belong, I walked through its doors carrying the names of people I love.
The temple was never keeping me out. As I learned for myself, Jesus Christ had been inviting me to come unto him all along.