“We are now entering a period of incredible ironies…we shall see in our time a maximum if indirect effort made to establish irreligion as the state religion. Irreligion as the state religion would be the worst of all combinations. Its orthodoxy would be insistent and its inquisitors inevitable. Its paid ministry would be numerous beyond belief. Its Caesars would be insufferably condescending. Its majorities—when faced with clear alternatives—would make the Barabbas choice, as did a mob centuries ago when Pilate confronted them with the need to decide.”

—NEAL A. MAXWELL- MEETING THE CHALLENGES OF TODAY- 1978

After my resignation, my problems were not all magically solved in a moment of wand waving. My story did not go away as I’d hoped. My side of events, despite the media now having it, was never told. Perhaps the untrue narrative, the scandalous, hateful officer story, was too juicy to give up. Perhaps the fabricated story fit someone’s agenda a little too well. Either way, the national and international media were taking their turn evaluating incomplete facts.

Although my name had not yet been released publicly, everyone I knew realized that the male officer who had resigned must be me. Even some of my distant family members disbelieved my side of the story when told. Some of my cousins stopped talking to me. Many close friends deleted me from their social media. I got it. I understood. They had to be thinking, Why would the police department lie? Representatives of law enforcement stood on the steps of a building dedicated to truth, justice, and the enforcement of order, and called me a bigot. It must be so.

And so I hid. I hid and I worried that today was the day that the investigative journalist released my name. My bills, like my anxiety, remained a constant issue. I needed money. I found odd jobs. I mowed lawns. I painted. I approached my church for help with food. Never in my life did I think I’d ever need church welfare to make ends meet. I thought, If I don’t find a regular, full-time job soon, I’ll wind up at the very homeless shelter I once patrolled.

Court subpoenas plagued me. I was no longer an officer, but I still had to go to court to testify on all the arrests I’d made. Usually, twice each week, court proceedings swallowed my day. They paid me a paltry $18.50. Not $18.50 per hour. No, $18.50 for the entire day. I was not an officer, so I was not paid as an officer while at court. I called the city prosecutors office to let them know I was in a hardship, scrambling to provide for my family, and this consumed my time, preventing me from focusing on full-time employment. They didn’t care. One prosecutor over the phone said, “I’m sorry, it’s the law. You must show up.”

So I did, because I feared I would go to jail if I refused a summons. I received over seventy subpoenas to my home address, delivered by constables. Every time the doorbell rang, my heart pounded its familiar ode to anxiety. During one court case in Salt Lake City, the defense attorney said, “Are you the officer who was involved in not wanting to be in the Pride Parade?” Sitting on the stand, I recoiled in shock and horror. “Objection,” the prosecutor said. “This has absolutely nothing to do with a DUI.”

The defense attorney said, “And isn’t it true, Mr. Moutsos, that your faith doesn’t believe in drinking alcohol?” I glanced sideways at the judge, thinking that he would somehow save me from these questions. The judge looked and said, “Answer the questions.”

They forced me to defend my religious faith in court regarding what I believed to be the pitfalls of alcohol. I said, “I believe people have the right to drink, but don’t have the right to drive drunk, just like your client was that night.”

Despite the difficulties of our new life, there were tender mercies and literal angels, seen and unseen, helping our family. That summer, our air conditioner broke. We didn’t have the money to fix it, so someone paid to have it fixed. No notice, no warning…just paid and had it done. More credit card debt accrued. But from time to time, we’d get an anonymous letter with small increments of cash. God was with us.

That same, sweltering week before the A/C was fixed, we were nose-to-nose with our portable fans by day, and sleeping atop our beds at night, sweating, when our family dog of over a decade died. “I’m sorry, kids, we have to have Ramen noodles for dinner again.” “I’m sorry, kids…” Despite the increasing financial difficulty, there were ongoing moments of obvious grace, moments when I knew God was looking out for us. We experienced one small miracle after another. Just enough to keep me–us–going.

I received a letter from Colorado. I didn’t recognize the name at first, or address. The letter said:

Eric,

I am so sorry for what has been happening. I have experienced a similar situation and want you to know God is on your side. Don’t lose hope.

Sincerely,
Jack Phillips
(Masterpiece Cakeshop)

In the envelope was $500 in cash. My legs buckled. I knelt, weeping and thanking God for this man’s kindness. Jack Phillips was the man who’d been in the news for offering to sell anything in his shop to a gay couple, but refusing to make them a personalized wedding cake on the grounds that he did not want to feel like his art was being used in something he disagreed with.

  Jack had not wanted to participate in a gay wedding. Elements of the government wanted to force him. I had not wanted to participate in a gay pride parade. Elements of the government wanted to force me. I called Jack and thanked him. We promised to stay in touch.

Christmas approached and we put up the lights and decorations. We managed to buy each of our children one gift. The space beneath our tree appeared so empty compared to years past.

One day, my eldest daughter, Ava, handed me something. A dollar. She said, “Here, Dad, I want you to have it.” I knelt and embraced my selfless daughter. I struggled to suppress my tears.

On an evening in mid-December, someone knocked at the front door.I peeked out the window, relieved to find that it wasn’t a constable with yet another subpoena. I didn’t recognize the guy, so I opened the door slowly, cautiously. “Are you Eric?” He reached his right arm behind him. I tensed. My heart galloped. Was he reaching for a weapon? People had made disparaging, even violent remarks in the comments online. I positioned my right foot back in a fighting stance and made fists, ready to let loose and defend myself and my family. Time slowed. I leaned forward. His hands came up. My hands came up. He held out a shiny, red card.

The man said, “A few of my friends heard about what happened to you and wanted to give you this for Christmas.” I stared at the card. I blinked at the man’s face. He smiled. “Who are you?” I said. “I’m Dan Olsen.” We shook hands. “Where are you from?” I asked. Dan shrugged. “Canada, actually.” I flinched. “Canada?” “Merry Christmas,” he said, returned to his car, and drove away. I took the card upstairs and told Stacey what happened. I opened the card and found $800. Stacey and I stared at each other with wide eyes and mouths dropping open. “Canada?” she said. “Dan from Canada,” I said.

We didn’t know what else to do, so we said a prayer, thanking God for the kindness of a man named Dan from Canada. On December 23, 2014, we arrived home from dinner at my parents’ house. As we pulled into the driveway, our headlights illuminated three or four shiny, colorful boxes, all gift-wrapped and each the size of various large appliances. The boxes blocked the front door.

The kids leapt out of the car, screaming and laughing. I jumped out, too, and we all dashed to the front porch. I stared in awe and glanced at Stacey. Her mouth hung open and her eyes glistened. I dragged the boxes inside. The boxes held smaller boxes. A lot of boxes.A hundred presents. I couldn’t speak. Each present had a name. Our names.We’d never had a Christmas like this. We never discovered who had done this amazing kindness to us.

If you happen to be reading this, thank you. Not long after that memorable Christmas, I heard a radio broadcast from my church’s officials. They were calling for legislation to balance the rights for religious freedom and also for the LGBT community.

“We urgently need laws that protect faith, communities, and individuals against discrimination and retaliation for claiming the core rights of free expression and religious practice that are at the heart of our identity as a nation and our legacy as citizens,” the church spokesman said. “We must find ways to show respect for others whose beliefs, values, and behaviors differ from our own while never being forced to deny or abandon our own beliefs, values, and behaviors in the process…Every citizen’s rights are best guarded when each person and group guards for others those rights they wish guarded for themselves.”

Later in the news, I learned that the Utah legislature was trying to craft a bill for their next session that would deal with balancing religious freedom and gay rights. When I had heard the broadcast from my church, I began to feel a clarity that I had not experienced before. Maybe the purpose behind my trial was beginning to emerge. Now, some LGBT activists were trying to convince lawmakers that a religious freedom bill was not necessary. No need for discussion. No religious rights to conscience were being violated. There was not a single case of religious bigotry. Only gay people needed protection.

I clenched my teeth. No, I thought, there’s at least one person harmed for voicing their beliefs, and there will be many, many others. What about all the people who have silently endured without saying a word? I knew I had to tell my side of what happened, though the idea terrified me. Things were just beginning to die down in the media regarding my story and my name still hadn’t been officially revealed.

I got a new job in law enforcement in a smaller department for a short time. The sheriff had hired me because, as he put it, “God told me to.” He was, and is, a great man. But he soon retired, declining to run for reelection. Difficulties with the new job arose. My anxiety was almost too much to handle. I couldn’t sleep. I began to wonder if I wanted to be a cop anymore, anywhere. Plus, as great as it was to have a job again, it never quite paid the bills in the smaller department. It was around a twenty-percent pay decrease to go to that new agency. In the end, we just couldn’t do it. Plus, I still had some things I needed to say, and I imagined it would be safer to say them as a civilian.

Stacey and I discussed the idea of leaving law enforcement for good. We agreed that it might have consequences, but it was the right thing to do. This law they were discussing, and others like it, would affect us, and our children, and their children. What kind of world did we want for them?

I called a few friends, asking who in the media I should approach. Around the end of February, we had an interview lined up. The night before I was scheduled to speak to the media and reveal my identity, I said a prayer. I explained to God that I had made a choice to tell my story and that I was going to give my name to the world, come what may.

“God, please let me know if this is the right choice. I absolutely need to know.” I went to sleep with confidence that I would get an answer. Somehow.

In my dream that night, I was at complete peace, something I had not felt in a very long time. Everything in the dream was so bright, so vivid, a world of greater color and intensity than the one I knew. I ascended up a verdant hill. Hundreds of families dotted the landscape, all gathered together in individual family circles, sitting on the grass. At the pinnacle, I saw the brightest, most beautiful building I had ever seen. I couldn’t begin to describe the glowing whiteness. I couldn’t quite tell if I was walking or floating towards that structure, but the closer I came, the stronger the feelings of peace and love. Each of the families stood as I neared, then passed them. One by one, they thanked me for what I was doing.

I awoke at 3:30 in the morning. I smiled blissfully and slipped back into a peaceful, restive sleep. I knew, in my heart, the dream had been God’s answer. I thought I would be afraid during the interview, but I wasn’t. I felt a confidence that wasn’t normal for me. I sat in my chair and my heart beat normally. I didn’t have a script. I didn’t try to think of what to say. I would speak truthfully and from my heart.

The reporter began. She asked her questions. My mind felt sharp, faster than normal. After the interview, I knew I had done the right thing.

Over the next few days, media outlets from Los Angeles to Washington, and many in between, contacted me. Surprisingly, even many super liberal outlets, like Salon Magazine, came out with articles that sided with me.

People from all over the country filled my Facebook with brief notes of gratitude and support. I wept as I read each thank you. Only two out of the hundreds of messages received were negative towards me. Two! I left law enforcement. I found other work. Not long after the interview, several Utah lawmakers contacted me, requesting that I testify at the Legislature. I sat before state representatives. I answered their questions. I felt that this was exactly where I was supposed to be at this time in my life, something that I rarely experienced. I

I met a man named Jeremy Lund. Jeremy was a man suing the State of Utah to try and legalize gay marriage. As we talked, I quickly realized he seemed to be different from many of the activists who believed the way he did. He was extremely down to earth, not the angry, closed-minded radical I’d met on other occasions. He was sympathetic to my story. We exchanged numbers and he followed up with me, asking how I was doing, something I found remarkable in light of our differing opinions. Our exchanges gave me some hope that we could all differ in our opinions and manner of thinking while still respecting one another.

Months later, I received an invitation to Jeremy’s wedding. Yes, a gay wedding. After much thought and prayer, I responded by thanking him for thinking of me. I explained everything about my stance on gay weddings, which he surely knew already. I told him that I didn’t believe in what he was doing. However, after careful consideration, I would go to support him as a friend, as long as I wasn’t in the ceremony itself. He replied that, despite knowing how I felt, he would love to have me there, supporting him as a person, while disagreeing with the act.

I asked my wife if she would go with me to the wedding, but she had a prior commitment. I wondered who I could take. It hit me. I knew the perfect person. I grabbed my phone. “Hello,” my daughter’s dance teacher said in a flamboyant voice. “Who’s this?” “Randy,” I said.“Eric?”  “Yes, Randy, hey, I was invited to a gay wedding and I need a date. You want in?” “Oh, ya, baby. That sounds crazy fun.” I nodded. “Okay. I’ll pick you up at 2:00.” “Great.” “Hey, Randy…” “Hmm?” “You better look good.” He laughed. I chuckled.

At the wedding, I wondered what I’d gotten myself into. I felt horribly out of place, but I still felt like attending was the right thing to do. It turned out to be a nice day with incredible food. Randy seemed to have the time of his life. I was glad he came with me. So, I watched a friend get married in an order I didn’t believe in, but I still had love for him as a human being. Now what? During the ceremony, I thought about what I’d do if I had a child like Jeremy who also wanted a gay wedding. I would attend, but I would tell my child the same thing I told Jeremy. And because of Jeremy’s invitation, it helped me see clearer.

I reflected on my marriage to Stacey. We are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. We were married in our Holy Temple. We said our vows inside that sacred building, believing that what we did–marriage–was holy and ordained of God and lasts forever. When, as a married couple, we exited the temple, a diverse group greeted us.

There were many members of our family, extended family, and friends, who did not believe that our marriage meant what we believed it meant. They didn’t believe our marriage was eternal. They didn’t believe it would continue into the afterlife. They believed only in“‘til death do us part.” In fact, some believed what we were doing was a total lie.But they believed in us. I felt that this was what I had done in going to Jeremy’s wedding.

That following June, Salt Lake City Police Chief Cainam was forced to resign over the way he’d handled the sexual harassment scandal from last year, among many other things. I wish I could say that I didn’t smile like the Grinch who stole Christmas, but I did. Poetic justice, I thought. Almost exactly one year from the day that Chief Cainam condemned me, took my badge, and forced my resignation, the same was done to him. In fact, I heard after they took his badge that he tried to get into the building and his key fob didn’t work. Apparently, he had a huge fit and screamed at everyone. I heard several people laughed who watched it happen. The machine ate its oldest living child. Just like that.

That same month, I received a call from my old motorcycle sergeant, Jackman, the one who dropped me off at my house and collected my city equipment. “I’m in charge of the Gay Pride Parade this year,” he said on the phone.“Okay,” I said. “I wanted you to know that the LGBT group wanted the police to do celebration maneuvers and circles in the parade again.” “And?” I said, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, when the order came down, I called my lieutenant. I told him that I received his order, but, because of that religious freedom bill that was passed, I would have to ask the guys if they wanted to do the maneuvers or not.” “What did the lieutenant say?” “He couldn’t say anything,” Jackman said. “It’s the law now. Anyway, you should know that all five officers didn’t want to celebrate in the parade. Just had to call to tell you that.” I paused, unsure what to feel, what to say. Vindication? Triumph? I simply, but sincerely, said, “Thanks.” I hung up the phone and a small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

“No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good. A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is. After all, you find out the strength of the German army by fighting against it, not by giving in. You find out the strength of a wind by trying to walk against it, not by lying down.

A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later. That is why bad people, in one sense, know very little about badness — they have lived a sheltered life by always giving in. We never find out the strength of the evil impulse inside us until we try to fight it: and Christ, because He was the only man who never yielded to temptation, is also the only man who knows to the full what temptation means — the only complete realist.”

― C.S. Lewis