How to Help Me Stay?

There are no comments here on my previous post, but I have observed some Facebook conversations about it which made me think I definitely need to clarify.

I didn't write "How I Stay" so that I could get pity or compassion. I didn't write it to guilt people who happen to have intact and more-or-less working families, nor to tell people in wards that they're doing something wrong. I wrote it mostly to people like me: people who struggle and need some tools to fight harder for what they really, deep-down, want. But this one is to people who aren't struggling, and want to know how to help. I'm going to try my best to give you some tools to try.

The fact is that me and people like me KNOW we are different. There is nothing you can do to make us feel not-different. All your efforts in the world can't erase the pain we've felt as collateral damage in someone else's attempts to "be true to themselves" or whatever other reasons lurk behind our lives.

It's like I told a friend recently: you can't be responsible for other people's feelings. But what you can be is compassionate. And I think that's what the questions and comments are really getting at: how can you show compassion and make space for difference?

I have a few thoughts on that, but first I want to point out that "divorced people," or "people who have lost children," or "people who struggle with the Word of Wisdom," or "people who struggle with pornography," or "feminists" or whatever other category leaves someone feeling on the fringes, are first and foremost PEOPLE. Every single individual has individual needs or hopes. Don't take my word for what will help them. Ask them.

Secondly, don't expect them to tell you right away. Most of us are well aware of our other-ness. We often feel like burdens, and abhor the thought of being more of a burden. Granted, some of us accept as much help as we can get. I'm not one of those, and based on observations, I think that those who gladly consume others' resources are a vocal minority.

So, first search your own soul. Do you REALLY want to know what we need? Because it's probably going to cost you something, even if that "something" is nothing more than your own paradigm. If you really want to know what we need, you're probably going to have to ask more than once. You're going to have to show that you really mean it, and you're not just offering to assuage your own guilt at being more blessed/differently blessed/luckier than we are.

So with those caveats to what I'm about to say, here goes my attempt to give you some concrete tools. I'm not trying to share specifics of what I personally need in my situation as a divorced single parent, but to share more general tools to help approach anyone who doesn't quite fit into the standard Mormon mold. Please take what I say and apply it to whatever circumstances surround you. It may be that it doesn't help, but I hope it does.

Noblesse Oblige

I hadn't thought about it for years...decades, even. I was pondering something completely unrelated, and this image flashed before my eyes of an old, wrinkled Portuguese man sitting in front of a basket of wicker reeds smiling at me. I know who he was. He was the man my mother purchased wicker from. This was back in the mid-eighties and we were living on a tiny island called Terceira in the Açores, Portugal.

I was only a child, somewhere between eight and ten. My memories are not crystal clear, and of course I'm interpreting them now through an adult lens. I don't even know how accurate my memories are. But I remember his brown, wrinkled skin contorted into a smile. I remember his hands, callused from hours of working the tough reeds, softened by hours of soaking in water. All you had to do was take a picture of something made from wicker, give him dimensions, and he would make it for you. He was smiling because I had tried to speak to him in Portuguese, a language of which I remember practically nothing, now.

Female Power and Reaching for Perfection

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.

My Best Two Years

I have often heard people refer to their missions as their best two years. There is even a movie about it. And I've heard many people mock the idea of a mission being their best two years. Usually because missions are so hard and miserable. Who can honestly enjoy being rejected on an hourly basis, working so hard at something with so little personal reward? You've got to be insane, or brainwashed. Or brain dead.

To be honest, my mission is not the best two-year span anymore, though it was. That honor currently goes to my most recent two years. But directly after my mission, I would have said it was my best two years without any hesitation. Not because it was fun. It was actually pretty terrible. I would explain, but that would be a VERY long blog post. So I'll give a light sampling. Under my first mission president, incredible focus was placed on memorizing the discussions. We were even considered "greenies" (newbie missionaries) until we had memorized and passed off word-for-word the first discussion. (They still had the seven discussions, then.) Eventually, we were expected to memorize them all.

I don't memorize. Generally, I think memorization is a waste of time that undermines comprehension, especially with something like missionary discussions. Being who I used to be, I vociferously refused to do it. (My poor 19-21 year old district leaders really got a workout trying to be my Priesthood leader through the entire duration of my mission. Any of them who still wish to serve God in a priesthood capacity after experiencing mission-me really deserve some kudos.) I did eventually cave, but only because my mission president told me that while I didn't have to do it, it would really help my district leader if I just bent to the unnecessary rule.

The bulk of my mission under this president was an ongoing battle of wills between me, my district/zone leaders, and the mission numbers.

The Fifth Day: The Book of Mormon

"On the fifth day of Christmas,
my true love gave to me
five golden rings."

I don’t often bear testimony of the Book of Mormon because we members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints often bear testimony of little else. But I am so thankful for the Book of Mormon. There is no end to the stories I could tell about how the words and meanings in that book have supported me.

I love the Bible, and the Doctrine and Covenants. But there is something about the Book of Mormon and the stories of the people that lived then which calls to me. They seem more personal, somehow. Often, the Bible seems to moralize, every story has a purpose. Even the D&C often has a specific point to each revelation. But the Book of Mormon is about life, about the principles of the gospel in the rough and stark lives of the people.

Futility of Morality

"Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;
earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
change and decay in all around I see;
O thou who changest not, abide with me."
—Hymn #166, Abide with Me!

It is discouraging to try again and again to do the right thing, to follow the teachings of Christ and, again and again, look around and see those who act for themselves prospering.

I have been reading a little Nietzsche lately, and while I know he is chock-full of the philosophies of men with almost nothing of God in his words, somehow what he says about the master- vs. slave-morality resonates with what I observe. I feel the pull of just letting go and doing what seems best for me, rather than trying to act as I believe God would wish.

Job, Jeremiah, David and even Joseph Smith witnessed the seeming triumph of wickedness over good. It is hard when you have done everything as thoughtfully and carefully as you can, have turned the other cheek and forgiven, have tried to rise above life's disappointments, but your life is nothing like what is promised. Either there is something wrong with the system, or there is something wrong with you. And deep down, I can't believe there is something wrong with the system.

I want to clarify that I'm not looking at specific lack of blessings. I'm just looking at an overall trend of what I have accomplished or been blessed to receive versus what I have been promised.

But despite repeated failure, there is something deep in me that cannot concede defeat. I know what path I have chosen, and I know there is no option of going back now. Even if I fail to teach my children morality because they are surrounded with immoral success, even if I conduct the rest of my life alone, even if I never succeed in overcoming my personality flaws that keep me from realizing happiness (alone or not), I will trust my Savior.

Oh, Thou who changest not, leave me not comfortless!

Biology vs. the Bible: To Have Joy

Wow. Just wow. Rarely has a blog post left me so glad to have read it as this one from Nathan Richardson. Something I have always known is suddenly given words and thought.

Thank you for a most powerful insight into the nature of an eternal perspective.

The Maverick of the (Sanity) Ward

A very interesting conversation over at BCC hits close to home for me. They are asking members to be a little kinder to those who do not agree with them, a little more thoughtful of the "outliers". While I completely agree that a little more kindness, a little larger place would be nice, I feel I have something to say from the bottom of the pile, so to speak.

I am currently absolutely furious about a situation in my ward as it concerns my family. I won't say I'm rationally furious, as it does not come from rational thought but from a wellspring of pent up frustration and loneliness. Most of my fury is focused around a man who happens to be the current leader of the ward. In complete honesty, I can say that I admire him. He is a good, plainspoken man. He has a very homey way about him completely free of guile and manipulation. As a person, I like him very much. Unfortunately, I don't think he understands much about me or my life. This isn't for lack of trying to communicate on either side of the issue, but it is there, all the same. Hence, the frustration.

In other words, I am the recipient of some very biased attitudes. Much of it is my fault for being who I am, much is just the fallout from the situation.

But I want to say that, while I would appreciate (and HAVE appreciated) little acts of kindness from members in my ward, I can recognize how much I have grown from the struggle. Because the people around me are imperfect, I can get a little more perfect. If everyone around me was perfectly kind and accepting of whatever I did, I would have no reason to change, no reason to examine myself and my actions. I have been able to weigh my lifestyle, my pride and comfort against my faith, and decide what is truly important to me.

Therefore, I recognize my fury as pointless and temporary, and can appreciate the chance to learn and grow, even if I don't like it, and even if it breaks my heart.

After all, it is a broken heart which God asks of me.

I Believe in the Father, Son and Holy Ghost

Articles of Faith #1
[I] believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.

I don't remember the first time I felt God. I remember coming home from Sunbeams class (the first LDS class of religious studies, entered at 5 years old), and telling my parents what I learned at Church that day. "God loves me."

My father asked me how I knew that. The answer to my five-year-old mind was clear, "Because my teacher told me so." My dad, always pushing his children to develop their faith further, even when we were so young, said something to the effect of "That's good that you listened to your teacher, but how do you know?" He then told me I should pray to feel it myself. This I did and gained knowledge for myself that God is there and loves me, personally.

Many years and experiences later, I had to learn that lesson again. I sat across from my mission president while he asked me the question: "Sister R, do you know that God loves you? Really know it?" Even now, a lump comes to my throat thinking of that moment. At the time, I had forgotten the lesson my father had me learn when I was five. I no longer knew that God loved me, though I still knew He was there. I was fighting my way through my mission, thinking I had something to prove, that somehow I had to earn His love and approbation. It was several days before I could bring myself again to kneel and ask Him to show me how He felt about me. He did. I have never been the same since.

These experiences taught me that I had Father in Heaven and who He is as the Father of my spirit. A relationship with Christ, in a way, is and was both easier and more difficult to build. Christ follows our Father in all things. He is the Father of this earth, and the Father of salvation. He, in essence, is the Father of our third life, that life where spirit and body become inseparably connected. He has become so by obeying and following our Heavenly Father in all things. After my experiences with God the Father, knowing I could ask Him all things, I could pray about them and ask for a confirmation of their veracity in my heart.

These facts about Christ, and even a conviction of them, have not been enough to develop a personal relationship with Him. For that, I have had to pore over accounts of His dealings with past people in the Bible and other scripture. I have read accounts of His life and teachings. I have had to listen to others' accounts of His dealings. In the end, I have had to live. It is only through life—through experiencing the pain and evil of this life Eve chose for us—that I am coming to know and understand my Savior. In raising a daughter, I have learned what it means to love someone enough to do anything for them, even give life. In learning compassion for and unity with my husband, I have learned what He feels that has led Him to forgive all the pain I have inflicted on Him by my imperfection. And, in learning to forgive myself, I have learned to forgive others in humility, gratitude and deep caring for them, rather than just out of indifference.

The Spirit is an even more intimate relationship in many ways. He hears the thoughts of my heart—both ugly and beautiful. He is the one who ties me together with my spiritual siblings. All my convictions rest in his incorporeal hands. I been trained as a horse is trained, with love and firmness, to rely increasingly on His guidance. His presence is like a cozy down comforter on a cold winter day. I am deeply grateful for His guidance.

I am also grateful for the witness of Joseph Smith, who saw God the Father and Jesus Christ standing side by side. I am convinced in heart and mind that his account is honest and true. I'm glad for the surety and solidity of our doctrine on this matter. One in purpose, though separate in being, my LDS view of the Godhead is a model for how I should strive to unite with my fellow man. Like a family, each member fills its purpose to contribute to one great whole. May we, mortal children of God, and heirs to His glory, also achieve such unity. Together in God, our power is limitless.

Becoming One With God

I understand that my outlook on this may be controversial, but I feel it lies at the core of my beliefs and at the core of the person I have become. Oddly, we use the phrase "one with God" frequently in Sunday School settings, but I don't think we really think about what it means.

The first step of becoming one with God is baptism. As missionaries, sometimes we get so caught up in the event of baptism, we forget the purpose of it. It isn't only to be washed clean of our sins in preparation to receive the Spirit, though it is certainly that, too. It is also a covenant to stand as God's witness all the time and to act as His hands to all His children. Essentially, it is a covenant to become one with God. We are symbolically killing the natural man to be reborn as a disciple of the divine. We are then given the gift of the Spirit to help us do that.

Becoming one with God means shame from "the world". Since I was fourteen or so, I have made some decisions that guide my behavior for which I've been mocked, and even persecuted, often by those who love me most. One of these decisions, for example, was to no longer watch PG-13 or higher-rated movies. I have my reasons for this decision. For some reason, my refusal to watch these movies strikes a cord of derision in many. I have been mocked for allowing a secular rating system determine what I watch. (For the record, I have walked out of PG movies before, so it's not as arbitrary of a decision as it seems.) I have been laughed at because I watch only "kiddie shows". I have been verbally pummeled by people wanting to share a particularly good movie with me. I have been tempted frequently over the last decade to break that decision and watch "just one". It was hardest that first year, but after the first flush of effort, it hasn't gotten much easier over the course of the next several years. There is no "happily ever after" with such things during this life.

Becoming one with God means to always have His Spirit with you, and to always be thinking about Him. Some find the thought of always having God in mind rather oppressive, or even unhealthy. Although I'm sure we have all met people who are overly pious, defining everything in terms of what is proper (much like the Pharisees), restricting laughter and stringently restricting behavior, that isn't what I believe is meant by these scriptures. God is a whole God, a balanced and complete God. The more He is in your thoughts and heart, the more balanced you become. There are no words to describe this wholeness. It purifies and sanctifies laughter and joy, as well as somberness and sorrow. Everything becomes deeper and more meaningful. Fun is more fun, sorrow is more pure. I have tasted this feeling, though I am far from completely achieving it. It is the key to the end of my depression. It is the key to my ability to forgive others of devastating blows. It is the key to true joy. It is my ultimate goal for this life.

I wish I had the ability to describe it. It is one of those things I think you have to experience to understand. I can attest to the fact that before I felt it, I had absolutely no idea that this was what the scriptures were trying to say. This is what the gospel is all about. It makes a "spiritual experience" merely a stepping stone. It makes your life into a spiritual experience.

Preach Principles, Live Love

Realizing I'd never tagged my posts, I went through them yesterday and tagged them all. I realized that many of my posts might seem rather preachy and that most of them deal with the seeming tension between faith and knowledge. There is a reason for this.

I'm beginning to realize that I'm a rather odd sort in that most of my life has been lived under extreme self-criticism. Although some of this criticism has been destructive (hence some of my sadness in the past), much of it has been beneficial in the sense that I am constantly examining my actions, trying to understand my motives and how my behavior might affect others, and then trying to figure out how to increasingly follow Christ and to make others happier. Sometimes, in doing this, I go through periods of pain and exhaustion when I just don't have the energy to keep trying so hard. I often find myself envying others who seem to be free to live their lives without the burden of constantly analyzing themselves, wondering what they are doing wrong and if they may have hurt someone's feelings. But in this process, I have changed so dramatically and found so much more joy and awareness that I long to share it. Even if it makes me seem foolish to most of those who read my words or listen to me, if I can inspire one person to try a little harder and to trust God a little more, it's worth appearing foolish. That isn't to say that it doesn't hurt when people make fun at my expense, but it is a price I've consciously assumed.

What comes of all this is an excitement for those principles I have learned which help me find peace. Specifically, finding a place between faith and my insatiable curiosity to know has come to the forefront time and time again.

I'm not a naturally obedient person (just ask my parents). I'm the sort that always has questions and is not afraid to ask them, ad nauseam (just ask my teachers). I spent years struggling with certain aspects of the gospel, struggling to overcome an almost genetic anger, struggling to preserve my uniqueness when surrounded by others wanting me to be the same, struggling to form real friendships when I had no faith in friendship and no time to try. I have spent years hating the concept of being "nothing more" than a mother staying at home and raising snot-nosed, graham-cracker-and-urine-smelling children. I am still struggling with postponing my own further education (I love school!) at the expense of furthering my husband's, though he isn't terribly excited about school himself. I served a mission when I didn't feel I had to—even the Spirit told me it was entirely up to me. I went through a few years of exploring other religions and faiths, trying to discover which was true. None of this is to brag, but just to show that I discuss the things I do because they are difficult for me, and I hope to share what I've learned with those who also find it difficult.

As I have slowly uncovered the truest principles of the Gospel in actuality and not only in name, I have changed in ways I wish I could describe. When I talk about faith and obedience, it is not in an attempt to condemn but to inspire. However, as important as obedience to the Lord and His Prophets is, charity towards God's children is the most important.

Here, I try to discuss the principles of what I have learned and found true. But when I'm done typing about what should be done to unify with the divine, it is vital that I leave the keyboard behind and live charity. I must try to apply the principles to myself while allowing others to do so in their own way and time. I am sorry if I have made anyone feel judged and condemned in writing out my quest for knowledge and understanding. It is far from what I wish to do. Faith, hope and charity are all necessary for salvation, but the greatest is charity.

I hope I never forget that.

What to Say?

I always feel strange when someone I know passes through the veil. I feel even stranger when someone who is a great influence in my life - who even drives it - passes through, especially when that someone doesn't know who I am. It leaves a strange sort of gap that feels as though it shouldn't be there, a gap-within-a-gap so to speak.

I am glad for President Hinckley. His time on earth is done. He has finished his course. I am also glad that the Lord has provided for such a smooth transition through a time that for most religions would be cacophonous.

President Hinckley, thank you for your life.

Of Autumn

I posted this at T&S, so I thought I'd post it here, too, so I don't lose it.

Cold kisses
thy
flaming arms,
silhouetting
the sky
with the iced pleas
of Lethe’s forgotten.

Soon shalt thou
shed
thy glory.
Crimson litter
to grace
the earth below
with thy faded life.

A final
blaze
before sleep.
A gift of life
laid down
only to be
taken up again.

Beneath my
feet
thy ending
whispers to me
of hope,
and speaks to me
of beginnings.