Episode 75: Challenging tradition and ignorance with Mark Steele

Welcome, everybody. I’m so grateful that you could take time out of your schedule and join me today. I’m here with my guest, Mark Steele, who is a fellow parent of an LGBTQ+ kiddo—actually, I think Mark has more than one, and I’ll let him share about that in just a minute. I believe we met in an LDS group that supports families with transgender and nonbinary identities. I’ve appreciated getting to know you, Mark, and I’m thrilled to have you here. Your story is such a beautiful one, and I don’t want to take away from it, so I’ll turn the time over to you.

Sounds good. My wife, Peggy, would have joined us, but she’s dealing with some health issues. We both grew up in Southern California, and we’re in our early seventies now. Growing up in California meant the late fifties and sixties—an interesting time to say the least. We were both raised in very active LDS families and participated in the church from the very beginning.

I served a mission to Germany from 1970 to 1972. Peggy and I met soon after, fell in love, and got married. Since then, we’ve lived in several places—California, Utah, South Carolina, Saudi Arabia, and Samoa. We taught in the church schools there for a couple of years. After a few years of struggling to have children, we adopted two Samoan babies while living there, and later had three biological children—so five kids in total.

Career-wise, I started out teaching English as a second language, which is part of why we lived abroad. Eventually, I shifted gears, earned a degree in instructional design at Utah State, and spent most of my career developing training programs for software companies. I retired a little over a year ago. Now we live in Cedar Hills, Utah. All of our children live in Utah too, which is wonderful. We have five children, eleven grandchildren, and one great-grandchild.

That’s incredible. So your first two kiddos were adopted from Samoa, and then you had three biological children. You’ve had such a rich life—so many experiences with different cultures and faith expressions. I’d love to hear how those experiences influenced your faith journey.

My wife and I have both been lifelong members of the church, and we continue to be active, believing Latter-day Saints. Let me share a little from early on, when things felt less complicated.

When I first began my mission, during language training, I remember realizing the weight of what I was about to do—asking people to change their lives completely. I felt I needed a deeper, more personal testimony to teach with confidence. I spent time praying and studying, and one night had a very personal, powerful experience that confirmed my faith.

Later, while riding a bus in Munich, I read the verse where God says to Oliver Cowdery, “Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?” That really resonated with me. I recognized that same peaceful feeling as the witness I had received. That sense of peace has carried me through a lot over the years.

Living in different parts of the world also expanded my understanding. In Samoa, we learned to appreciate cultural differences within the church. In Saudi Arabia, where our ward consisted entirely of expatriates from around the world, I developed a deep respect for people of other faiths—especially Islam. I didn’t always agree with how things were administered, but I was genuinely impressed by the sincerity and devotion of the people.

When our fourth child came out to us shortly after high school graduation as bisexual, we were surprised. We hadn’t given much thought to LGBTQ issues before, and we didn’t know how to respond. We had to ask ourselves—what does this mean for our understanding of the gospel, for our relationship with our child, and for how we live our faith?

We wondered if we should reject our child, stay neutral, or open our arms in full unconditional love. We went for a walk one day at the Gateway Mall in Salt Lake to talk it out, and we felt drawn into a Barnes & Noble bookstore. Almost immediately, we were led to a display for Carolyn Pearson’s book No More Goodbyes.

We sat there for about an hour reading and then bought the book. It opened our eyes. It shared stories of families—some who left the church, some who rejected their children, and others who stayed and loved them fully. Carolyn ended the book with a plea to Latter-day Saints to “circle the wagons” around their children and keep them close in love. We felt that call deeply.

We weren’t perfect. In fact, one of the first things I did was look up organizations that claimed to help people “overcome” same-sex attraction. I eagerly showed that to my child, and they said, “Dad… that’s not what I need.” I realized how wrong that was. I was embarrassed, but I learned.

About a year later, our child came out again—this time as transgender. That was another learning curve for us, something we knew even less about. They were at Utah State at the time, and I remember struggling even to write their new name on care packages. I’d just put their initials. It took time—months—to open my arms fully and embrace who they were. But I did, and we have a beautiful relationship now.

Our child was patient with us, pointing us toward resources and gently reminding us when we slipped. They later married—someone who knew they were transgender from the start—and now they have a two-year-old child. We love them and fully support their family.

That journey naturally changed our relationship with the church. We still attend and participate, but we don’t share all the same beliefs. We fully support same-sex marriage, for example. It hasn’t pushed us out of the church, but it has shifted how we understand our faith.

You said earlier that when your child first came out, you and your wife agonized over how to respond. That word—agonized—really stood out to me.

It’s true. That came from tradition and ignorance. It’s what we grew up with. It’s all we knew. LGBTQ topics weren’t part of our world, so we just didn’t think about them. When it happened in our own family, we were suddenly face-to-face with it.

My initial thought was naïve—I remember thinking, “Well, my child can still get married. That will solve everything.” Of course, that was overly simplistic. It took time and humility to recognize how deep these experiences run.

Over the years, our youngest son also came out as gay. We’d suspected it for some time but hadn’t really talked about it. When he did come out, it was a much smoother experience. I think our growth with our first child helped us be better parents the second time around.

You’ve talked about how this changed your relationship with your faith community. What has it been like bringing these conversations into your church spaces?

I’ve found ways to bring it up, but carefully—mostly in Sunday School or quorum meetings, when the topic naturally relates. I’ll share our experiences without lecturing, just to humanize things.

For example, when my child first came out, they shared the news with their four best church friends. Each of them bore their testimony that what my child was feeling was wrong—and then they never spoke to my child again. That broke my heart. Fifteen years later, it still does.

So when I share that story, it’s not to scold but to illustrate that love requires presence. Walking away is not love. It’s a story I share when I want people to understand the real cost of silence or judgment.

That’s such a powerful example. And you’re right—it’s not about lecturing but about inviting others to grow.

Exactly. Parents and loved ones have a choice. When a child comes out, we can use it as an opportunity to learn and grow—or as an excuse to pull away. Sadly, some choose the latter. But I’ve learned that leaning in, even when it’s uncomfortable, is sacred work.

What would you say are some of the biggest lessons or struggles you’ve had in navigating this intersection—being a parent of LGBTQ+ children within a conservative faith community?

The biggest lesson is patience—with others, with yourself, with your child. You have to be willing to learn, to get things wrong, to try again.

If your child is angry at the church, or at you for staying in it, that’s valid. You can’t fix that for them. You can only love them through it.

If you misgender your child for the fifth time in a week—acknowledge it, apologize, and keep trying. Don’t beat yourself up, but don’t stop improving either.

Persistence, patience, curiosity—all of those are key.

That’s so beautifully said. Most of our kids don’t expect perfection; they just want us to keep showing up. When we do that, we build safety and trust.

Exactly. I’ve learned that my role as a dad isn’t to preach or persuade—it’s to love. Years ago, I used to think, What can I say that will make my kids come back to church? Now, I’ve let go of that agenda. I can still be a father and a teacher, but my primary role is to love without conditions.

President Ballard once said something that really stuck with me: “Please do not preach to your family members or friends. They already know the Church’s teachings. They don’t need another lecture.” That’s been my guiding principle. When I’m with my kids now, I just love them and enjoy them for who they are.

That’s so wise—to love without an agenda. And you’re right, unconditional love doesn’t mean being right or convincing someone. It’s allowing them to live their own life and honoring that journey.

Exactly. One of my ongoing struggles is knowing there’s no real space for my LGBTQ children and grandchildren in the church right now. That’s painful and sorrowful. So it’s even more important that they know they are loved, exactly as they are, and that they belong with us.

That’s beautiful, Mark. Thank you so much for your openness and honesty, for sharing your family’s journey and your heart.

Before we wrap up, I always ask my guests—what does it mean to you to live beyond the shadow of doubt?

I think doubt is essential. I didn’t always believe that, but now I do. Doubt keeps us humble, curious, and open. It helps us grow. The key is not letting doubt paralyze us, but letting it move us toward compassion and deeper understanding.

I completely agree. Doubt isn’t the enemy—it’s part of our growth.

Let’s close with a few lighthearted questions.

Would you call yourself an introvert or an extrovert?

I’m a little of both. I love connecting with people, but I definitely hit a wall at social events and need quiet time to recharge.

Do you have a favorite book?

Yes, The Bronze Bow. It’s a fictional story set in the time of Christ, and it opened my eyes to seeing Him as part of everyday humanity. Another favorite is Simple Gifts, written by hospice nurses about caring for the dying and the common threads of their experiences.

Are you a night owl or a morning person?

Definitely a night owl—I’ll stay up till midnight or one, but still get up by eight.

Favorite artist?

Probably Brian Kershisnik.

Celebrity crush?

Ha! My first was Hayley Mills, and then Julie Andrews. That probably tells you my era.

And what’s the furthest place you’ve traveled?

We once did a full around-the-world trip from Saudi Arabia to Hong Kong, New Zealand, Samoa, Hawaii, the U.S., and back to Europe and Saudi Arabia. It was an incredible experience.

Mark, thank you again for sharing your wisdom, your vulnerability, and your story. It’s been such a privilege to talk with you.

If anyone would like to reach out to Mark, you can contact him at accelan@hotmail.com (that’s A-C-C-E-L-A-N at hotmail.com).

Mark, this has been wonderful.

Thank you—and a shoutout to my kids: if I got anything slightly wrong, you can let me know! Love you all.