I do not remember the first time I knew that God was real. It seems to me that knowing Him is something I've come to over a life of fighting to reach out to Him, an infinite series of small miracles and preponderance of evidence. I know He has spoken to me, typically, through thoughts and feelings, sometimes through the actions of others, sometimes in still and mighty words.
Debate over the authenticity of the Book of Mormon has been rampant since before it was even removed from the stone-covered box in the side of a hill. I've read and heard it all, how it "cannot be true" because of ABC, and how it "cannot be explained as a lie" because of XYZ.
Despite many people saying "no one can know," I assert that their declarations are useless, for under their definition, no one knows anything. I know that it is true because after extensive testing, after seeking knowledge and pitting that knowledge against the hard rock of experience, I have heard the "song of redeeming love," and tasted God's power.
"The Twelve Apostles are special witnesses of the Savior. I don’t know how many of them have actually seen a personage. They don’t talk about it. But they don’t have to, to receive their special witness that can come by the Holy Ghost."
This post addresses my thoughts regarding, not only the recent policy clarifications in Handbook 1, but the overall nature of the doctrine of Christ, our place within it, and what we can expect as disciples of the Sacrificed God.
It is not meant to be kind, or empathetic, or consoling. It is an exploration of Christ's doctrine as I understand it. I hope it can help someone, even though I expect it will be harsh in places.
In watching (mostly) the discussions going on about the policy changes, one thing is clear. So very, very few of us understand doctrine. I'm not claiming to any special understanding, but I have studied the scriptures long and hard, pondered them, and applied them to times in my life that nearly broke me. So I do know a few things about struggling to reconcile my life with God's word and the policies of the Church. I'm going to get a bit personal here, in the hopes that my experiences can inspire someone to seek understanding, rather than justice.
Last Sunday, for the first time in several months, I had to get up and leave Relief Society. It wasn't because I was upset, it was because I was angry. The well-meaning woman in the front of the room, addressing the concept of woman's ordination, chose to mock the entire idea. Met with laughter from other sisters in the room, she declared, "Who wants the priesthood? I have enough to do!" She went on to suggest that the OW movement was stupid, faithless, and foolish. I finally left when she started listing all the "access" that single women have to the priesthood.
It would probably take some who only know me online by surprise that it bothered me as much as it did. Others are probably convinced I'm a sympathizer and agree with Ordain Women, though previous posts of mine should make it clear that I'm not. But while I am no sympathizer to the Ordain Women movement, I am an empathizer. Many of the same things that have led these women to "supplication" at the doors of the Tabernacle are things that I have felt.
As a single woman, I've experienced cradling a sick child in the middle of the night with no one to ask to give her a blessing. As a married woman, I experienced asking someone to offer a blessing only to be refused. I've been summarily overridden, my perspective and revelation in my stewardship discounted because I was not one of the ultimate decision makers. As a sister missionary, I've been subjected to ever-increasingly creative verses of "Sisters are Stupid," a song set to the tune of "I Often Go Walking" because the prevailing opinion was that sisters shouldn't bother themselves with priesthood duties such as sharing the Gospel. I've been judged and rejected for not being enough of an appendage. While none of these things SHOULD have happened under a priesthood organized as it is, they all did at least partly BECAUSE of how it is organized, giving those so inclined to interpret women as less-than.
I know the sting of possessing no organized authority in the Church of my Savior.
Recently, I listened to Kate Kelly's podcast where people were invited to "ask her anything." Listening to it, I changed some of my opinions about Kate Kelly and the movement, and others were confirmed. I may have nothing more to add to the discussion that has been going on around her and the Ordain Women movement. But I have felt the Spirit prompting me to write. Even as I type these words, I'm not sure what exactly I'm going to say.
"A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead." —Luke 10:30
Have you ever noticed that not many of Jesus' parables have an ending? We don't know what ultimately happened to the good Samaritan. Was he rewarded for his deed? Did the wounded man heal? What about the five virgins who were turned away? And the man with the one talent? Did he learn from his mistake?
Contrasted with the stories we tend to tell each other today, where sacrifice is rewarded and sorrow is always temporary, we are left wanting to know what's next. There is some primal part of us, deep in our psyches, that yearns to know that the good guys "lived happily ever after." Walt Disney built an empire on it.
My life isn't an "okay in the end" kind of life right now. I'm being held in a liminal state, where I know where I want to be, I think I know where God wants me to be, but I have no idea how to get there. It is sheer agony for someone who has always worked for a goal, tried to become something.
That happy ending seems impossible from this end of the very long, dark tunnel. So I've been digging deeply into my heart, learning to let go of tomorrow's ending so that I can dive into today's opportunities to minister. I'm not very good at it yet, but the seeds of true charity are starting to sprout.
Some argue that men and women are essentially the same, that only a happenstance of biology categorizes them as one or the other. But to me, that same happenstance of biology gives men and women a unique perspective on this mortal life.
Whether or not there is something deeper than mere genes that determines gender, I don't know. Indubitably, there is some gray area when it comes to our mortal bodies and how they express spiritual, eternal gender. That isn't a challenge I've had to struggle with in any significant physical sense. Though I was unashamedly a tomboy as a child, and certain aspects of my physiology make me distinctly unfeminine, I have never struggled with my identity as anything but ultimately female. Perhaps unorthodox, but definitely woman.
But it is not the liminalities of gender in this life across the eternities I want to discuss. Nor is what I write supposed to define how women SHOULD approach their gender relating to the Gospel. It is descriptive, not proscriptive. Perhaps I am self-centered, but this blog is to share my journey, and right now that is learning to explore and trust my perspective. Rarely do I feel prompted to tell others how to act.
I've been thinking a lot about toxic people and negativity. If it isn't already obvious, I've had a really hard time the last five years. I've been that toxic person everyone tells you to stay away from.
I destroyed myself trying to become the wife my husband wanted me to be, dealing with having to abandon my child every day and work while watching our money vanish without knowing why. I found out my husband had a vasectomy after "trying" for several months to have another baby and fearing our failure was my fault. I subjugated all my hurt and insecurities in order to support him through our couple's counseling, thinking our marriage was getting better and healing, finding out his surgery worked and I was pregnant again, only to have it all blow up in my face beyond any redemption. I went through a divorce that completely undermined any shred of self-esteem I pretended to have.
I made a nuisance of myself to the few friends who would listen...until it got too much for them and I learned to shut myself up. I fought far beyond the limits of my own strength to preserve my faith, pretend to be strong for my children, stabilize my finances, deal with stress-related health issues during my pregnancy, try to heal from that, and finalize the divorce. Once I got through that, I had to navigate the leftover effects of fear, and the attempts at emotional onslaught through and to my children.
By a little over a year ago, it mostly settled out and I thought my efforts finally met some success and peace. But then my job went crazy, and I lost it, tried to take that loss and turn it into a chance to go back into my first field, discovered that wasn't possible, and found a (very good but not dream) job, where I have been ever since. I haven't even touched on the emotional turmoil I have gone through with trying to overcome my fear and open my heart to dating.
Now that I'm on the other side of all of it, it feels a little easier to forgive myself. It also seems impossible that most of that could have happened in only five years. No wonder the last year has found me almost completely without motivation to try with ANYTHING any more. There isn't one aspect of my life that hasn't been a fight.
Listing it like that shows me the amazing protection I have had from my Father in Heaven, the support I have had from my mom and a couple of friends, and my inner strength that I can't see when I just look at today. I am very aware of how much of a burden I have been to people in my life, how events and my struggles have left me largely stripped of all close friends but my parents, and how my normally slightly cynical but ultimately optimistic personality has really taken a beating.
It has also given me perspective to reanalyze everything I believe about God, and my relationship with Him and His children.
When I was a teenager, my family moved to a town within the Mormon Corridor. (Western-ish U.S.) For the first time in my memory, I lived among a significant percentage of fellow Mormons. During this time, a friend of mine accused me of several things that I did not do. While no one at school believed her, some of the members of my ward did. They would whisper in the bench behind me, calling me Jezebel. My lessons in Young Women were pointedly pro-chastity. I was called into the bishop's office for a detailed interview. Fortunately, he believed me. He was the only one (besides my parents.)
This was the first time in my life that I was the target of someone's concerted manipulation of others to hurt me. Church was a nightmare for me, and I grew to hate it. But I knew that not all Mormons could be like that. A desire to prove it to myself contributed to my decision to attend BYU. There, I learned what I went to learn, that Mormons are not as cookie-cutter as people like to think, and that there were others like me who believed as I do.
But that feeling of being an outsider has never quite faded.
The title is a bit of a misnomer. I would like to address repentance after becoming a victim of any kind, not only of sexual assault. But sexual assault is perhaps the most deeply paradigm shifting of any brand of victimhood.
For any who have not followed my blog, I was in an abusive marriage. In that marriage, I experienced emotional, spiritual, and even mild physical and sexual abuse. Through a long process guided by my relationship with my God, my relationships with my family, and serendipitous divine intervention, I was able to heal.
So I plead with you to hear what I'm saying, and not only what you expect to hear. I have been a victim myself, so I know something about healing. If you are someone who is currently caught in the dark whirlpool of emotion that comes after assault of any kind, especially sexual assault, please know that I do not judge you in any way. I've been there. I know that you share no fault in the hand you have been dealt. But it is a hand you have been dealt, and it is up to you to shake off the last chains that your attacker has put on you. No one else can do it but you.
Those of you who do not believe in God may find my advice less helpful. But I can promise you that in my faith, I have found healing. Take a second look. Through Him, you can find the strength that you lack right now.
Almost every day, I have to sneak a handful of paper art out to the recycling bin. I just don’t have enough space to keep every scrap that enters my house, no matter how lovingly it was created.
In that stack of paper is usually at least one princess drawing. Ever since my oldest daughter learned to write, there is often a card saying “I love you MOM.” Right now, the papers have a great many eggs. Colored eggs cut out carefully and arranged in basket cut-outs, still dripping glue. Tissue paper eggs, glitter eggs which shed all over my car seats and house, string art eggs, eggs painted with tempura paint. There are bunnies, too, some of which are bunnies only because one daughter or other declares it to be so.
The bunnies and eggs are for Easter. Springtime. A time when the world comes to life, and the Savior broke the bands of death. I try and fail to find the reality of death, rebirth, and life eternal in the colorful and sparkly symbols. It is hard for me to put how I feel about Jesus Christ in words.
As I am certain my parents would attest, I am big on asking questions. Even now, I have little shame in probing into the how and why of everything from human motivation to scientific knowledge, though I would hope I've developed a little more tact than I once had.
It is my parents' fault, of course. One of my earliest memories is, as a 3-year-old in Sunbeam class at church, sharing what I heard in Church that day only to have my dad ask me why I believed it. Because of that gift of a questioning spirit, at eight years old I was fully prepared with a testimony of the truthfulness of Jesus Christ, the Book of Mormon, and the story of Joseph Smith's vision. I had actually read that book myself and prayed as he did.
That is a gift that every parent should try to give their children. I only hope that I do half as well as my parents did with me.
That burning need to understand, to experience and know things for myself, is a huge part of what draws me to internet discussions. There are fewer social courtesies online, things can be discussed that many people would hesitate to share in person. My beliefs are questioned and challenged, and I thrive on that.
Questions help me delve more deeply into myself, help me reach out to my God more fully. They keep me from ever being satisfied with what I know and who I am.
There is a darker side to questioning, however, which I am beginning to see more clearly.
Some time ago, I addressed the parable of the ten virgins. Jim, an excellent commenter, presented some questions about the nature of stewardship and this concept of spiritual lamp oil. I can't promise to answer them the same way I would have then, but in light of a rather surreal and one-sided recent conversation*, I found it interesting when I ran into this old archived topic which I never addressed.
The essence of the topic is this: as we each have sole responsibility for our salvation, worked out entirely between ourselves and our Savior, do we not have a responsibility to invite others to Christ? Can we add oil to another's lamp?
There is a great deal of speculation about the nature of God. Some time ago, Clean Cut posted his view of the nature of God in several posts, and it was mentioned that I ought to do the same when I asked for post suggestions.
Some questions which people like to discuss include whether or not the Lorenzo Snow couplet based on the King Follett discourse is true ("As man is, God once was; as God is, man may become"), whether or not God and Jesus are one as in one person, not just one God, and just what exaltation means in an LDS context.
I've pondered and read some about this, and will continue to do so, since I don't feel complete in understanding. Though there is much I consider too sacred for an online forum, there are some things I know about God which I would like to share here.
"On the seventh day of Christmas,
my true love gave to me
seven swans a-swimming."
Eternal life is a tricky one. Most of us think of it as something we will get in the future, like an ultimate prize for righteousness. We love to joke about how much we can get away with and still "get into" heaven. Even within the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we often talk about "making it" to the Celestial Kingdom.
Eternal life is more than just living forever. It is living as God lives. Eternal life is His life. To live as God lives we must be willing to be what He is. That is not some prize to be won, it is something to become. And face it, we don't know all that much about God.
What we do know is nearly impossible to understand.
I wrote a post more than three years ago which continues to bring a significant number of people to this blog. That post was about self-hatred, a problem that I seem to run into again and again in myself.
Faced again with the same personality problem I so often have, a problem that threatens my friendships, my employment, and my relationship with God, I am trying to learn what I need to change to be liked and accepted for who I am. But I have not met much success. I pray and plead and struggle with the Lord, but the only answers that occur to me are things that I can't change without losing the good parts of myself. I know this, because sacrificing my personality to keep the peace and to be liked and valued is precisely what I did in my marriage that fed the abuse dynamic.
In the end, the only answer I seem to get from the Lord is to have faith.
Integrity: moral uprightness, the state of being whole and undivided
I have been putting off this particular value because it has always been my favorite, and because until fairly recently, I've been feeling anything but whole and undivided. Or morally upright, to be honest.
Apame at ZD just posted something about submission that I love. And I can't say that very often about blog posts.
This post puts an exact finger on some things that have been bothering me, that I have felt in my heart without being able to express.
Submission as an expectation cannot by definition be divine submission. It's not just ethical submission, in my mind, but Eternal Submission. There is something of the power of God in this, in how things submit to His will freely, in how His power flows without compulsion. Not only does that happen because God is good, but it is necessary for the power of God to act this way.
I think that is the major part of God's power that Satan does not and can not ever understand.
"There was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I should be exalted above measure. For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me. And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness."
In my last post, Howard asked a good question that I cannot simply answer in a comment. Knowing that I had begun this post years ago and never quite finished it, I decided to bring it out of the "Drafts" cedar chest, shake off the dust, mend a few tears with things I have learned since, and use it as my answer.
I am a fairly introspective soul. Using others as mirrors to see myself, I try to gain a more accurate picture of who I am and who I should be. Unfortunately, this has led to the poor character trait of letting others define me, something I'm having a horrid time shaking.
Of course, we should ideally use God as our mirror. As He said to Moroni, "if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness," and then He will make those weaknesses strong.
In one of my interviews, my first mission president asked me a question that has weighed on my mind ever since. He asked if I knew how God feels about me. The thought terrified me. Still terrifies me. Not long after he asked it, I tried to open myself up to understanding how God sees me. I succeeded somewhat, but I have not yet been able to truly let go and feel it. Perhaps a part of me is like the weak knights, who "ran away screaming" when they saw who they really were. Yet I feel that this is part of my journey to understanding charity.
Now, as a mother, I believe I understand something of God's love for me because of how I feel about my daughters. But there is a part of me that cannot accept that a divine being could feel that way about me. There is a part of me that is convinced I am not worth that, and I am afraid of the expectations that come with it.
Although I know, intellectually, that love towards me could exist without expectations of behavior, I have never experienced it. I have no framework for it. Now that I have children, I have a little framework for it from the other direction, but it is still inconceivable to me that I could be the recipient of such a love, though I know it must be so.
I am coming to believe that this is a large part of why I don't really want to try to find an eternal relationship. I know that until I learn to accept God's love, I cannot accept mortal love. That is probably why I allowed myself to accept a cheap substitute for love in my failed marriage. That is probably why real friendships make me nervous. I'm always anticipating my failure of the hidden expectations on the part of my friends.
I don't think there is really any way to prepare to look into the Mirror Gate. I know I can't do it when my children are around, and I've succeeded in busying my life to the point where I really have very little time alone any more. So in a week or two, instead of planting or weeding, knitting or sewing, dating or playing, I plan to take my journey.
Ephesians 6:13-17
"Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness; and your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God: praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, and watching thereunto with all perseverance and supplication for all saints . . . ."
I have been thinking about scholarship and its place in the framework of the Church. Many people try to dichotomize the tension, classifying people as those who ask questions and are familiar with church history, usually with issues about certain points therein; and those who simply soak in what they are told. There is a third option: those who are familiar with history but accept it without reservation.
Scholarship and knowledge seem to fit into the armor of God, in truth and preparation, but they are passive defenses. It is the girdle of truth and the shoes of preparation, not the sword and shield. Interestingly, these most active defenses are Faith and the Spirit. This seems to indicate to me that knowledge and scholarship are not to be used as weapons in arguments via "Bible bashing" encounters.
The interesting thing is that the next part of the scripture, Paul entreats the Ephesians to pray for him, not that he might be delivered, but that he would speak boldly. There is something to learn from that.
The drive to be perfect hurts. Yet, there is definitely a doctrinal imperative to strive for perfection. The most oft-quoted scripture to this effect is Christ's commandment to be perfect.
Often, we explain this scripture with the footnote, which seems to indicate that perfection is to be fully developed or complete, but as I've studied this concept, I have come to believe that touches only the surface of what Christ meant. If you read the context in which Christ made this commandment, you will see that He is discussing love as the climax of His new Law which will supersede the Law of Moses.
In that speech, He has just commanded us to love our enemies and to do good to those who despitefully use us and persecute us. In general, this seems quite easy. It is not hard to love those who commit day-to-day offenses and injustices. It quickly becomes difficult when we begin to apply it to those who truly and unapologetically hurt us. But this is when it is most important.
Take, for example, a Priesthood leader who is discounting or ignoring you. It is so tempting to become angry and frustrated, to rail against priesthood hierarchy or to turn away from participating fully in our religious community. But to be perfect—to follow the Father in Heaven's path—we have to push past that first, natural reaction and learn to love. We have to allow space for others' weakness and even for the evil in them. That does not mean to tolerate the evil, but it does mean to learn to see beyond it.
Believe me, I know how hard this can be. So hard, that I suspect it is only possible to achieve by cultivating a true companionship with the Holy Spirit. As we seek after this love, I believe it is possible to become perfect in this world. That doesn't mean without fault or error. It means perfect in love. In order to demonstrate this love without possibility for misinterpretation, God the Son came to earth and subjected Himself to our weakness and our evil.
This is the love that heals. It is necessary to develop this quality to truly be a disciple of Christ. And when we learn this love, we become perfect.
