Month: April 2020

The Busy Mormon Life

Over a month ago I had one of those annoying-but-not-a-big-deal moments with Mormonism. Obviously, living in a mixed faith household means it happens on occasion. When it does, I inwardly roll my eyes and let it go. Not a big deal, it’s just something that comes with the territory.

Except, over this last month I kept thinking back on it. The thought would pop back into my head and I’d have to sigh and roll my eyes again. I guess it wasn’t as small as I originally thought.

Almost six weeks ago we were told to shelter in place. That same week an email came from the stake president to everyone in the stake. I skimmed it, just to know if there were any changes about to impact my family.

It was the usual rhetoric about having faith and being in God’s hands. There was even particular praise for the bishops (but not the Relief Society presidents) and instructions from the general authorities about monthly sacraments. One paragraph, however, caught my eye. I’m going to paraphrase it because I want to keep what little shred of anonymity I have. 

Basically, Mr. Stake President urged members to not “idle away in front of the tv, video games, social media, and other unedifying entertainment.” We should all remember to seek after those things which are “honest, true, chaste, benevolent, and virtuous.” Now is especially not the time to sit back.

Perhaps it was because I was coming down from a day of utter exhaustion and stress, but all I could think was “REALLY?? What the fuck do you think I’m doing over here? Do you honestly think everyone is treating this as a vacation?”

It felt like a slap in the face. Nobody I’ve talked with was treating this as a time to relax and take it easy. Nobody was saying “Finally! I can now watch ten hours of Netflix and scroll to the bottom of reddit.” That’s just not reality! Everyone I know was stressed to the max. Everything had turned upside down in the matter of days, if not hours. We’re home, but there’s no way we were relaxing.

Of course, it’s not just this tone deaf message that irked me. Something much deeper within me was touched. When I was a Mormon, I was endlessly busy with the checklist of living the “good Mormon life.” There was always more I should be doing—more praying, more studying the scriptures (not just read them, mind you. I had to STUDY them!), more visiting teaching (now called ministering), and more fulling all my callings. On top of all that, I should make time to regularly attend the temple (at least once a month), organize weekly Family Home Evenings, write in my journal, and do my share of family history work. 

Are you exhausted yet? Because I feel exhausted just remembering it all. 

It was a never ending stream of “have-to’s” and “I should be.” 

I have to read my scriptures. 

I should be planning my next lesson. 

I have to listen to this conference talk.

I should be at the temple. 

This pressure came with weekly reminders every Sunday. Lessons, talks, testimony meeting… Most Sundays I’d come home either feeling reinvigorated to get more done, or feeling like I was failure because I had yet to establish a nightly family scripture reading, do any visiting teaching, and start my family history. All these things had to be done on top of the normal, everyday living tasks most humans do—plus all the things I really wanted to do in my life. Whatever I did was never quite enough, but I needed to do these things. I had been promised again and again that God would bless me and my family. If I didn’t, blessing would be denied us.

Looking back, I think “Is it any wonder that I constantly jumped between overwhelmed, discouraged, and frustrated?” Of course, I never showed those feelings as they were pushed far, far down inside me and what came out was depression. It was always me that was broken, never the system. If only I get my act together and do all the things God wants me to do, then I’d be happy and fulfilled.

It is this part of my past—those memory, ideas, and feelings—that touched me again when I read the stake president’s email. It was also the implication that because church wasn’t happening that meant all the “church things” were also being relaxed. I can only imagine how I would have felt if I read those words while I was still a believing Mormon. On top of the stress and tenseness of everything around me, I would suddenly have a heap of guilt. It wasn’t enough to survive the day, I need to also keep up with all the church things. 

Those first few weeks of sheltering in were hard for our family. On top of the fear and anxiety of the situation, we struggled with work schedules, home schooling, canceling major plans, and missing friends. We walked through each day in a half-daze as we bounced between keeping it all together and watching the news. We weren’t “doing much” but each day ended in exhaustion. Our “down time” was bingeing Netflix or playing video games. It was our way to cope and decompress. Were they “edifying?” Probably not. I don’t care, it was what we needed.

Life is busy enough without the “Mormon checklist.” At a pivotal point in my faith crisis, I asked myself “Do you want to be a good person, or a good Mormon?” I laughed at first, thinking “isn’t that the same thing?” But in the silence that followed, I realized that wasn’t true. 

To be a good Mormon, I had to check the checklist and follow all the rules. I lived the letter of the law, thinking it would bring me all the happiness I lacked. 

To be a good person, I got to decide where to put my energy and time. I could focus on patience, empathy, and kindness for my fellow humankind. I could just “be good” without the feeling I was lacking something. It was enough to be kind, generous, and…well, myself!

When I said, “I want to be a good person!” I suddenly felt a sense of relief. I didn’t have to read my scriptures, pray every day, and do all those Mormon things in order to be considered “good.” As I stopped judging myself on the yardstick of Mormonism, I saw how quick I was able to outgrow it. I no longer needed Mormonism as a measure of my worth.

So, Mr. Stake President, please know that I’m busy and I’m not idling away in “unedifying ways.” My life is filled to the brim. It’s full of the wonder and awe of experiencing who I am and of knowing how powerful I can be. I’m secure in my worth and not the worry of “being enough.” I am doing those things which are most needed, even now during a pandemic. If that involves a stupid amount of mobile games, then so be it!

And the best part? I’m passing those thoughts and ideas onto my children.

Photo by Willian Justen de Vasconcellos on Unsplash

This Unruly Child

“Even those who, like a headstrong, unruly child, become angry with God and his church, pack their bags, and storm out the door proclaiming that they’re running away and never coming back.”

Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Apostle for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

Let me tell you the tale of an unruly child.

This unruly child was born into a faith-filled home. Growing up, church wasn’t just a place to go every Sunday—it was a way of life. This unruly child was very concerned about being everything God wanted her to be. She faithfully prayed and diligently read her scriptures. She listened to her leaders and obeyed her parents. Tithing was paid without complaint, as well as attending early morning seminary, dressing modestly, and working hard to achieve her Young Women’s Recognition Award. As a young adult, she attended BYU and was sealed in the temple to a worthy priesthood holder.

This unruly child was never a “checklist” type of Mormon, but she checked all of those boxes anyway. She did it because she knew it was what God wanted and God promised it would make her happy. Be a good daughter, receive exaltation.

This unruly child was actually pretty happy. Life worked out very well for her.

This unruly child also had some concerns. While she had received her spiritual confirmation that this church was true, some topics made her squirm. Why would God deny black people the priesthood? What was the real purpose of polygamy? If men and women were truly equals, then why didn’t it feel that way?

But those things only bothered the unruly child for short amounts of time. After all, she knew this church was true and there were just some things God hadn’t allowed us to know yet. One day, God would make everything crystal clear and the church would be on the right side of history. She was as certain of it as she was certain the church was true and the Book of Mormon was the work of God. 

So, the day she stumbled upon the church essays, this unruly child was overjoyed. Here would be the answers she faithfully waited for. This unruly child was careful to never delved deeply into church history. Anything published outside of the church was tainted and couldn’t fully be trusted. Here, though, was something from the very church she loved and it would shine a light in all the dark corners she always refused to explore. 

By the time this unruly child was done reading, she was heartbroken. How could this be? It wasn’t just the new information. Actually, a lot were things she had heard before but always dismissed as anti-Mormon literature. Except, all those dismissed things were actually historical facts. If she could be this wrong about something so near and dear to her heart, what else could she be wrong about? What else had she dismissed as “anti-Mormon” were actually true? What else had the church never told her?

This unruly child sat with her doubts for a long time. She didn’t know where to turn. She tried to read apologetics from faithful church members, but they left her feeling even more confused and uncertain. The arguments couldn’t stand up against her logic and reason. What could be explain, wasn’t explained well. They didn’t hold the answers she desperately needed. 

The more she researched, the more stones she overturned. Every stone brought with it another uncomfortable truth or fact. It seemed that every aspect of her beloved church held a different version than what she had been taught in church, seminary, and BYU. Nothing felt safe or sacred anymore.

This unruly child laid awake at night, listening to her husband breathe and wondering what was better: divulging her doubts, fears, and worries to her husband or silence for the sake of keeping the only life she’s every known. 

This unruly child chose three years of silence. 

This unruly child did her best to keep it together. She served her callings, turned a blind eye the tithing leaving her bank account, and continued praying. She would read the scriptures and conference talks she felt could be comfortably read. She taught lessons, being careful in her wording to only teach the things that felt true and necessary. She was determined to carve a place for herself in this church. Except, the more she chiseled, the more she realized she was actually chipping away at her soul.

Funny how this unruly child only became “unruly” when she stopped being silent. 

When this unruly child started packing her bags, she did so carefully and purposefully. This wasn’t easy on anyone, and she knew it. Kindness and love were her words of choice, but not everyone was receptive. Some dismissed her and said cruel things. No one asked her why, though. They all said they were sorry to see her go, but if that were true, wouldn’t they try to find the answers she so diligently searched for? Wouldn’t they try to better understand her decisions and build a bridge between her disbelief and their belief? Or was she only of value to them when she stayed silent and pretended? Was her contribution to this place worthless now that she chose authenticity over painful silence?

Of course, I am this unruly child and this stubborn, unruly child didn’t leave in a knee jerk reaction of emotions. I did everything I could to make this work, even in the face of cruelty and willful misunderstanding. I kept my mouth shut and called it respect.

But you know what? If being the unruly child was the only way to be heard, then that is a badge worth wearing. Being the headstrong, unruly child means seeing the world and heavens for what they are and not through the filter of someone else’s glasses. Speaking up and demanding to be heard means opening that door for others. For every voice that screams out, others nod in agreement, silently whispering “That’s my experience, too!” 

You may call me headstrong and unruly. You may say I’m just a petulant, ungrateful child throwing a tantrum. You may brush aside my demands as unreasonable or “too much.” You may do all of those things, but I am the one who holds truth in her hands. I am the one who picked up the pieces of my shattered faith, looking at each one and carefully rearranging them into a beautiful stained glass window. I am the one who shined a light into the dark and scary corners of my belief. What I found there wasn’t a monster, but a woman with more strength and integrity than your little finger. Because it took courage to speak about what was happening to me and it took strength to steady myself in your whirlwind. Not only did I do it, but I did it with a heap of kindness, love, and patience. You cannot rewrite the version of who I am to best suit your needs. It’s not my fault you cannot see the things I had to offer while you minimized everything I’ve gone through. You are the ones who refuse to understand and accept me. 

So, to the headstrong, unruly children of this world: keep at it. Silence was a heavy price to pay for love, but the greatest, most authentic love I experienced only came after I was deemed “unruly.” I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Photo by Manthan Gupta on Unsplash

Dear Mormon Friends, your spiritual and overly positive texts aren’t helping

Earlier this week I was sipping my coffee, looking over my children’s daily lesson plans, and writing out my never ending to-do list when my phone buzzed. I quickly noticed my friend texting me. That’s not an unusual occurrence right now as sheltering in as made me fastidious texter—much more than I was before.  

This particular text was different. So much so that I let out a long sigh and rubbed my forehead as my thoughts centered somewhere between “ugh” and “Welp, there goes the morning.”

The text was from my very devout Mormon friend and it was…strange. More strange than the usual “spiritually uplifting” texts Mormons like to send. Anyone who has left the church recently (or not so recently) knows what I’m talking about. They know the feeling I’m trying to explain when a text comes in full of scriptures and Mormonisms. It’s the type that instantly makes your stomach tighten and heat form in your chest. 

The text started out as a “check-in” that quickly went from a Book-of-Mormon-scripture-share to an overly positive “Look how good I’m doing. I just LOVE all this extra family time” then ended with excitement over General Conference. I had to read it a few times because the whiplash was so bad and I was trying to figure out what, exactly, was the point of this text? Although, I could very well guess.

It’s text likes these that makes me reevaluate my friendships with my Mormon friends. I’m sure this friend had genuine concern over how my family is faring, but I also very clearly saw how she’s mixing that concern as a “missionary moment.” She might’ve thought it was subtle, but I assure you it wasn’t. Just because I left the church doesn’t mean my memory went with it. I remember the ploys, tactics, and anecdotes that were shared over the pulpit and in lessons. Those tips and tricks were passed around frequently with eager nods as if sending a spiritual text or inviting someone to participate in a church activity would be just the thing to bring people (back) to the fold.

Between printing out homeschool worksheets and pressing play on YouTube lessons, I sat down to write out a response. It took most of the morning because I wanted to respond well. My complete text was devoid of snark, but I assure you it wasn’t far away. I somehow decided early on in my exit journey to be loving, kind, and patient for the sake of friendship and building bridges. Unfortunately, my Mormon friends make that very hard and are not making it any easier.

I don’t think my believing friends understand just how much work goes into respecting their beliefs. There is so much hurt and emotion that gets pushed down and away when it comes to interacting with my Mormon community. You would think it would be easy as I’m easily able to show respect to my Catholic, Muslim, and Jewish friends, but there’s not the same emotions connected with those religions as there is with Mormonism. When it comes to that community, it’s as if I get more still, more focused. I have to maintain a smile and good nature so they don’t think I’m a bitter ex-Mormon hell bend on destroying the church. Whatever anger I have inside me must remain there as I remind myself that I value connections over beliefs. I’ve had to slowly work up to setting boundaries and some are more receptive than others.

 Because the truth about all those texts that have scriptures, quotes, and invitations is this: We know those things are important to you, that they fill you with comfort and peace, but they do the exact opposite for those who live in the post-Mormon world. 

We know you’re excited about General Conference. We know that during this stressful, chaotic time that the thought of a higher power guiding and leading is calming to you. We even know you passing around scriptures and quotes is a way to spread the steadiness and peace you crave. We know because there was a time we lived and breathed it. We haven’t forgotten that time of our lives, I promise you.

The problem is that these texts and messages don’t serve as lovely reminders or comfort. Instead, it feels dismissive over the emotional journey we’ve experienced and the healing work we’ve done. Those messages don’t serve as a way to connect because most of the time the ones sending us those messages are the same ones who’ve refused to ask any questions about our exit.

If my friend had asked me why I left the church, she would’ve known that the Book of Mormon and General Conference fill me with sadness, hurt, and frustration. She would’ve known I highly value authenticity over positivity, that I’ve become a firm realist and prefer to acknowledge that it’s okay to not be okay. 

But, she hadn’t asked, even though I’ve sent the invitation and left the door wide open. She won’t ask, which makes this whole situation all the more frustrating. It makes me wonder, is she being my friend because she genuinely enjoy my company or is it because she’s more concerned with my status as a Mormon? Am I just a project to her? I hope not, but I fear it’s so.

I would’ve liked to have a real conversation with my friend. I would’ve liked to hear about her accomplishments and struggles, to talk about how she’s balancing all these new expectations, and what she’s doing to remain sane. I would’ve liked to hear about her exhaustion and how she’s taking care of herself during all this stress. How is she managing her children’s worries? How is she taking it one day at a time? Is she also going to the bathroom just to cry when it all becomes too much? Is she taking deep breaths and then moving on to the next expected task? What movies and shows is she watching as a way to decompress? What home projects is she working on? Or maybe, what home projects has she shoved off in favor of ice cream and tv?

I got none of that. Instead, I got a woman trying to hide all her worry and hair pulling moments with positivity and a sprinkling of Mormon theology. It doesn’t make me want to connect. Actually, makes me want to distance myself even more. How can they expect anyone to connect on a human level if they cannot be open and honest about their fears, worries, and struggles?

So, please, my dear Mormon friends, these messages don’t help. I don’t feel uplifted, loved, or accepted. I don’t feel that you are seeing the person I’ve become and how much joy I’ve experienced in finding and developing this person. Instead, I feel that you are trying to minimize and dismiss everything I went through, what I experienced, and how I struggled. That you don’t see the work and effort I put in to stay, and then gracefully leave. You don’t see it, not because I wasn’t willing to share, but because you refused to look and ask. I don’t need you to leave the church to be my friend, I just need you to be real with me.

After I sent my response to my friend, I realized how much I don’t want to deal with these types of texts anymore. With all that’s going on I just don’t have time or  the energy. If you can’t reach out with real love, concern, and friendship—without also having a secondary motivation to get me back to church—then I will leave you on read. Because, I see what you’re doing. You’re reaching out so you can pat yourself on the back and feel good about yourself. I am no longer interested in being the “feel good” project for you. Connect with me as a real friend, or don’t connect with me at all. 

Photo by Mario Caruso on Unsplash

What fasting says about the nature of God

My family didn’t fast on Sunday. Readers of this blog will know why I didn’t fast. My kids are too young, but my husband didn’t fast either. I’m not entirely sure why he didn’t. I know he received the same emails I did, both from church headquarters and from the wardd. However, he’s not much of a social media person, so maybe he hadn’t seen all the reminders. I never mentioned it to him because one of the many things I shedded when leaving the church was being responsible for his spirituality and church involvement.

Still, my thoughts keep turning back to that particular call to fast and pray. I have some things to say.

On the one hand, I see how it gives members a concrete action to take (beyond social distancing and washing hands). It’s a way to give hope and comfort for a subset of people during a troubling time. I can’t fault them for that. For myself, I’ve upped my meditation and podcast listening as a way to keep calm during this turbulent time. I’m sure fasting and prayer gave many people a sense of comfort and peace. It gives them a sense of control in a world that feels out of control.

But something is bothering me. Something isn’t setting right as I think about this fast. I don’t like what fasting and praying imply about the nature of God.

That fast, in particular, was for the physical and spiritual wellbeing of people during this time. That sounds nice, but it makes me wonder: is God sitting around, watching the global panic and uncertainty, and waiting to act only when enough prayers and fast are said and done? Is he just waiting to give comfort and relief only when it is asked of him?

I hope not because if that is true, then He’s a crappy father. 

To bring this down on a more personal level, I think about how my family has been faring during this time. We’re doing okay. It’s been tough, but we’re managing. We check in with each other and taking each day as they come. We remind each other to take breaks and time for ourselves and we do regular check ins with our kids.

The kids are doing as well as expected. From their perspective, the world turned upside down in a matter of hours. One morning they were going to school and excitedly talking about an upcoming field trip, and then in the middle of the school day their principal came into their class to tell them school would be out for whole month (and more at this point). They went from having regular play dates, homework, and after school activities to suddenly seeing their teacher in Zoom meetings, limited out of the house time, and a mother playing the role of teacher. It’s a lot to take in. 

This week one of my children started crying quietly to herself. I only noticed because I heard her big, snot-filled sniff from the other side of the room. I didn’t wait for her to call out my name or for her to walk over to me. I didn’t standby, ignoring her until she said some magic words or performed a special ritual. Instead, I went to her, knowing her and our situation well enough to know she needed a hug and validation. She needed someone to acknowledge her pain, fear, and loneliness and then feed her some comforting words. She didn’t need anything other than a sigh for me to go to her.

When I think that God is supposed to be a loving father figure who knows our hearts, fears, and desires, and is just sitting around, waiting for us to ask him for help, I can’t help but becoming upset. Why would he withhold blessing from us until we ask? Why would he hold back comfort and life-saving assurances until we deny ourselves food? Why is he waiting for a church that totals less than 1% of the world population to cry out for help in order to use Divine intervention?

After all, if the love I have for my own children is a small reflection of His love, then should I feed my children only when they cry out in starvation? Should I withhold medicine until it’s time to go to a hospital? Should I ignore their cries at night because they didn’t come and get me from my bed? 

Of course not. I don’t wait for them because, as the parent, I know I’m responsible for their needs. I can’t imagine withholding love, help, and assurances until the very last minute. 

I’m not flippantly asking why doesn’t God just solve all these problems for us with a flick of His wrist? I’m asking why is there this prevailing thought that God won’t act until we ask? I must we beg God for deliverance?

If isn’t true and God already has started taking care of us, then wouldn’t it be in the way of scientists and experts? Shouldn’t we more seriously take the recommendations to social distance and hand washing? Shouldn’t we also demand greater actions from our leaders, both elected and spiritual? Shouldn’t we invest more time and resources into this problem? If science is the way God is providing for us, why is there so much shrugging and distrust of scientist and experts?

And if God really is waiting for a certain number of prayers in order to take action, is this the type of God we want to worship? How can we say He’s a loving, compassionate being if He is unwilling to lift a finger unless we cry out in anguish?

God helps those who help themselves, they say. Maybe that’s a more subtle way of saying God isn’t really helping at all. 

So I guess that’s what really bothering me. It’s this conflicting idea that God is a loving, all knowing Being who continually helps His children, but only when enough people respectfully ask. What sort of God is that? And is that a God I want to follow? I think not.

As always, stay safe and please wash your hands.