Showing posts with label the LDS Church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the LDS Church. Show all posts

Mar 5, 2016

Moments





This weekend, my last baby was blessed, and my first son was baptized.

We were given a paper to write on, to put in books for baptism memories.

All I felt today, seeing my wonderful eight year old son who still impulsively gives me kisses on the cheek, who can't stop talking about MineCraft and electronics kits, who can't keep his hands off his baby sister because he loves her so much, who has theories about the way the world and all its parts work, who says the most hilarious things in all seriousness so I have to stifle chuckles, but who still smiles at me when I accidentally let one go... seeing my son be baptized...

I felt that feeling you get when you know you're experiencing that perfect moment and you wish there was a way to capture it--more than a picture or a movie, but a moment you can immerse yourself in and come back to any time you want.

Moments.

Today little Fern was blessed. The men who blessed her were all people who loved her, who loved the priesthood.

I love the priesthood.

That's what I felt today, seeing my son get baptized and my daughter get blessed.

Apr 6, 2015

The earth's elliptical rotation (hint: it does not revolve around you)



This is a weird title for this post. It's something symbolic, though, for me. I used to think the earth turned a perfect circle around the sun, and when I realized the orbit was in fact more elongated, it was hard for me to conceptualize. I like things orderly. I like things to come out even. Eliptical just seemed disappointing.

It was even more disappointing to find out that the earth isn't perfectly round; is in fact, slightly pear-shaped. Did you know that? Is your mind bending just a bit?

This weekend was my church's big bi-yearly meeting. Every six months, at the beginning of October and the beginning of April, we meet for two days to hear our leaders speak. We spend a total of ten hours or so if you count the sessions for the women of the church and the priesthood meetings. I love these meetings. I feel a lot of peace--perhaps more than I feel at any other time. I also, suddenly, seem to find perspective, which is hard for me, sometimes--I am often very stuck in the moment and stressed. Being able to see and feel a more long-term, gestalt perspective of my life, of why I'm doing what I'm doing, being reminded of how much I love what I believe to be true and how much I appreciate and am grateful for all I've been given, is so refreshing and important. I wish they had general conference every three months instead of every six.

I used to be a part of an online community that took in LDS people from many different perspectives, mostly the off-beat among us Mormons. Radical feminists, disaffected members who still wanted to be part of an LDS-cutlure-based-community, members struggling with feeling sidelined because of things that had happened to them like divorce, or same-gender attraction, or infertility or whatever else gave us a need to go someplace to feel included. For a while I felt like Mormon Culture did not know what to do with me, a divorced 22 year old woman with a child. I went there to feel like I wasn't alone.

I loved being a part of this community for a short while, but I quickly realized that this community had its own standards of inclusion and non-inclusion. They were talking, one day (sorry, this is a bit gritty but it's my example) about female genital mutilation in Africa (a terrible thing, which I have read and thought a lot about because I knew I'd be adopting girls from Ethiopia. BTW my girls are fine.) Anyway, I brought up male circumcision. Jeffrey and I have had a lot of discussions about this, and we read a lot of information on both sides of the issue, and I wanted to discuss how our cultural expectations/norms also brought us up against something similar. In other countries, you see, they don't do it. But we do. Why?

I was pretty much kicked out of the discussion. Angrily sent on my way, in fact. I tried again a few times, and found that the same thing happened... kicked out, ignored, mocked even. It was strange, to me. If LDS culture has been so hurtful and non-inclusive to this particular collection of people, why the heck, after feeling all of that, experiencing it firsthand, would they turn around and do the same to others?

I had kind of an epiphany yesterday as I was watching Elder Packer talk. For those of you not familiar with Mormon stuff, Elder Packer is the most senior of the LDS apostles. He often speaks on the topic of difficult moral questions--pornography, marriage, etc... all the hot button issues. And he does it unapologetically. So he gets some flack.

Lately he has been very ill. In this last conference, I couldn't understand what he was saying. He was tired. He was struggling. I felt a great deal of love for him... the man's personality might not be mine, or mesh well with mine, but what he has to say has a great deal of merit. I remember one conference a couple of years ago, a talk of his that just struck me as powerful. It raised the hairs on the back of my neck. I may not understand him well as a person but he has valuable things to say.

Anyway, just out of curiosity, because I'm like that, I went over and peeked at this website I've stopped following. They often take conference talks and dissect them, discuss why they disagree, etc. Often, Elder Packer has been the butt of a lot of angst on this site. But seeing him struggle, with so much courage and humility, to deliver his conference address, nobody could possibly make fun of him, right? Because we're kind people. Even if we don't agree with the man, we're decent human beings.

Well, I shouldn't have looked. The thread on his talk was all about his garbled speech, making fun of him for a word people had mis-heard, talking about how they're ready to take offense because of all else he's said, etc. It made me pretty sad and pretty angry.

I shouldn't bother myself with this stuff. I know that. But this, for me, speaks to an overarching theme that disturbs me a lot. I see examples of it everywhere.

People think they're the center of the universe.

I've been thinking lately, about leadership and why it's hard. I was given a calling in my church a couple years ago (still plugging away) that involved an element of leadership. I got to know my bishop pretty well, and he'd talk to me about the struggle of being a leader and also being a principal. Jeff and I have been watching some star trek. You won't believe me but, if you want a good treatise on leadership and what it means, go watch a few episodes of Patrick Stewart in the role of Jean Luc Picard. I've learned a whole lot about being Young Women President from Jean Luc Picard. I don't think anyone ever thought that sentence would exist.

I've had a lot to chew on, thinking about leadership and what the job really is. Do you know what it is?

Making people upset.

Ok. Not on purpose. A leader shouldn't go out of their way to offend, to sideline, or to disagree with those who serve with them. But the thing is, the hardest part of leadership... the part of it that is the front-line, the part nobody else can take on no matter how much you delegate, is that very thing: having to make decisions based on careful consideration of all information, all opinions, all situations brought to your attention. I've learned that you have to expect that whatever decision you make will make a few people unhappy. Because that is just how it works--a collection of people with all different ideas of how something should, or could, or ought to or it would be nice!, to have it done this way, is just not going to agree. And so that's what a leader is for. To listen to everything and then make a decision. And then, the way it's supposed to work is, everyone accepts that decision and works together to bring about the common goal.

Of course, in order for that to work, all the people have to trust that their voices were heard, and that the leader is capable of making wise choices. That's the other ucky part about being a leader... you have a sort of obligation to try to get people to trust you. It's not about being liked, it's about giving whatever group you're trying to bring together confidence in your ability to make the choice that's best for the whole.

And generally speaking, it works out ok. There are a few who aren't all that glad, but they come along and work good-naturedly alongside everybody else and then the next time, it'll be their idea that gets put into practice. It balances. It comes around again. Everybody gets heard and eventually, everybody's ideas will be implemented and everybody's causes given attention. In an organization like the LDS Church, we fully expect that everybody who is there is there for a reason, and God will inspire each individual with something important to the whole.

The problem is, this doesn't always work. Do you know why?

Because there are some people who really struggle to see another's perspective. Their ideas are more important than others' ideas. Their cause is the most important cause. Their perspective is the only perspective.

It's like some people really struggle to see the universe as anything but revolving around them. THey see through their eyes, and feel with their feelings, and see the world around them as being only that way--the way they see it. They struggle to notice or give importance to anything but their feelings, their needs. And that even goes so far as spiritual feelings. One leader will have their heart touched, hard, by a certain issue or a certain individual they have stewardship over. Another person will have another set of needs and ideas come into their heart. A good leader will make sure each issue and each need and each individual is eventually addressed, but as there is only so much time and only so many resources, unfortunately all can't be addressed at once. Some understand this, and others see it as their ideas and promptings going ignored or being pushed aside as unimportant, no matter how you reassure them their issue is important to you as a leader.

In the case of General Conference, there are people out there who are hurting. I'm one of them. I really struggle with priesthood authority, with the issues of single parents, pornography addictions, and children in need. So when those issues come up my heart is extra-sensitive. THere have been times when the speaker went the direction that didn't necessarily nurture and help me, and if I wanted to, I could take offense and become angry and feel unlistened-to and hurt. Or.

The OR is this: Or I could realize that the Mormon faith is made up of many, many individuals with different and sometimes contrasting pains, hurts, and needs. I need to remember: the leaders of my church lead everybody. Not just me. The issues they address are everybody's. NOt just mine. A woman struggling with years of infertility might feel a lot of heartache over a talk about motherhood. But another woman, struggling with severe postpartum depression and feelings of inadequacy, needs that talk.

A woman who is divorced or single and struggling for perspective may be hurt by a talk about the importance of marriage, but another woman, contemplating marriage with a great deal of fear because of events in her life, perhaps parents or a sibling who has endured a painful divorce, needs to hear that message--that marriage is wonderful and important.

A man struggling with a pornography addiction may feel horrible during a talk about the damaging nature of pornography, but there are twelve year old boys who need to hear it, to have that salient in their minds as they negotiate the difficulties of junior high school and cell phones and sexts and free videos and all the stuff.

We all have very real needs and we all look to those who lead us for comfort, reassurance, and validation.

I think that the thing that has helped me most, is to *look* for those things in what my leaders say. Be on the lookout for those messages of peace and validation that speak directly to my heart. Expect to come away with a handful of messages that were meant specifically, specially, personally for me. I need to see and feel the love in that: this is a big church, 15 million people, and Heavenly Father, and my leaders, took the time to say these few, special things, just for me.

I remember how emotional and grateful I felt when President Hinckley, addressing BYU during the time I was there struggling as a single parent, mentioned divorce. Mentioned single parenting. How it was so hard. How he knew that those of us going through it spent long hours sorrowing. He said Heavenly Father knew our sorrows, and that he also knew our sorrows, and sorrowed with us.

Heavenly Father knows me and my sorrows. And the leader of my church was aware as well, and sorrowed with me. That's something I have cherished in my heart ever since. And I've cherished the countless other times when this has happened.

General conference is not just for me. The earth revolves in an ellipse... it moves in response to all the different forces pushing and pulling on it. And it does not revolve around me.

One popular phrase I find very frustrating:



Yes. Well, only from your perspective.
To someone else, It is something else.

This applies to more than just religion and religious discussion and policy. It applies to politics, policies, issues. It applies to Stuff. All Stuff. People struggle because they see out of their eyes and feel from their bodies and think from their minds and forget that other people, just as smart, just as caring, just as wise, are feeling and seeing and thinking from another place entirely and so they see something different. And both are important, valid, real, intelligent places to think and see from.

I hate guns.
You love guns.

I have eight children.
You are passionate about the environment and feel large families are irresponsible.

I am very religious, and I believe the gospel I've been brought up in holds important and necessary keys to salvation.
You believe that organized religion causes unecessary pain and conflict.

You think our country’s on the brink of socialism.
I feel frightened of the hysteria that seems to have gripped our nation on the topic of socialism.

We’re both here for a reason. Every human is born with passion and perspective, and over time all gain experience. We are all here to create what needs to happen and to be, together, what needs to be.

And that takes *All* perspectives. Yours, mine, the guy ranting in your politics class. The REAL killer in our society is apathy.

We need to step out of our lonely solar systems, where all the planets seem to pass around us in perfect symmetry and circumference and we're standing there on the sterile, lonely ground of our own making, and start seeing the universe for what it really is--a balance of so many crazy elements and objects and forces that we really can't even begin to understand how it all works together (though some really enjoy trying, and I dig that). To truly enjoy life we must enjoy the richness of a home, a church or social group, a society, a country, a world, made up of everything you don't understand. And we need to fully comprehend how every different perspective plays a part in that, even if we can't fully comprehend every perspective.




Nov 7, 2014

California Adventures day 3&4: The Captain and the Cowboy and random graveyard stalking





Yesterday was crazy. I decided to allow my mother's car's GPS to guide me down to where my grandfather is buried, in a cemetery in the town where he grew up. We found the grave


and also 4g, on our phone. In the middle of nowhere between Marysville and Sacramento. We haven't been able to get full bars or 4g anywhere , not even in Grass Valley or Nevada City. Apparently farmers really like Sprint, but Hippies are more T-Mobile types.

While down in Wheatland, I decided to travel to the county assessors office as well, in Marysville, to see if I could find anything on any of my ancestors here. I looked through stuff from the late 1800's on up to the mid 1900s and found one thing, in the twenties. A notice of decision of judgment. No deeds or anything that would help me know where properties are located. But on my way home, I took a route past Smartville and Beale, where my family owned some land before the government took it for the air force base. I also drove out on Mooney Flat Road, where my great, great, great grandfather and grandmother ran a boarding house in the mid 1850s, taking in mostly 49er gold miners, of course. I don't know where that was located either. I need addresses.... but my mother is in China, so.

IN any case, as I drove home I felt a deep sense of nourishment. It was like I was one of those dusty oak trees, finding my native soil again. Honestly. It sounds cheesy, but it's how I felt and I always feel this way, coming back here. It's kind of hard to brush off six to eight generations of ancestors. I grew up right here... right where my family settled after coming over on the boat from England.


We then headed up to Nevada City (after picking up my sisters at the high school).

We saw lots of fanciful and beautiful things, as is usual in that town. I wanted to take more pictures of people but worried it would be offensive... you'll have to take my word for it that literally half of the people who pass you by are fancifully hippie-like. Black berets galore. Colorful hair, or dreads down past the shoulders, woven hats colored in rainbow hues. People with long beards and curling golden locks.

It's my town. And there's noplace like it... except perhaps in the thick of the redwoods, or in southern Oregon.

\

My kids were climbing the walls at that point (quite literally)


so the walk was nice. But I was too exahusted when we got home to do much blogging.


Today we took it easy. We went to the park again
and to a beautiful local cemetery

(Where I went grave-stalking because I am weird that way)
which is across the street from the old Indian Springs School. It operated in the mid-late 1800s and later moved down the road, combined with the Rough and Ready school and became Ready Springs School, where I attended elementary school.

On the way out to the park and cemetery, we got a flat tire, and were helped by two samaritans, the (self-styled) Captain and Cowboy. They admitted they were working off the aftereffects of a night of overindulgence and told me I was lucky they were, because it meant they had to take a day off work, and therefore had time to help me. I'm quite thankful for the Captain and the Cowboy and their overindulgence, though I cannot condone it.


See how nice they are? And they live on my road. They informed me that this incident was proof that our road hasn't gone completely to sh*.

And they were right. It hasn't.

After the park and cemetery outing we went to pick up my sisters at school and came right home, which I am glad about because my kids still haven't quite slept off their aftereffects from our previous days' travel.

This morning before we left I spent time at home, doing research on FamilySearch and making phone calls. I found out from a lady at the Sonora County Library and Museum (she's a researcher for the Tuolomne geneological society) that the library does indeed have a file on my family, the Silvers (Silveira-Pereira) with a lot of information.
I'm going over there tomorrow. It's a 3 hour drive, one way. With four kids.

Pray for me. (and my kids)

Anyway, I am really excited. These are graves (if I can find the cemetery where they are buried) that my mother has never seen. This place, Shaws' Flat, where they settled in the mid 1800s and where my great, great, great, great grandfather passed away in 1910, is a place where my mother has never been. The contact at the museum is a sort of miracle--I got it because I'd been doing google searches on the Silvers, and found an article written by the genealogical society, for a magazine they put out. In 2011. I contacted the woman who wrote the article, and she said that there was a lot of information on my family. ANd now, two years later, I'm going.

I also connected with a man on Ancestry. He is a distant cousin, descended from another branch of the family line who took a different americanization of the name "Silveira." Instead of "Silver," they go by DeSilva. Anyway.... he happens to live 20 minutes away from my parents, where I am staying right now. I emailed him today and let him know I have several family photos he may want. I asked if he would like to meet. I think he's worried about me being Mormon-- he granted access to the family tree and then it was revoked soon after. It's not an uncommon thing for people on these sites to be put off when they find they are corresponding with Mormons. They worry we're going to try to baptize all their ancestors. Which isn't the case, of course... we're not supposed to baptize for those who aren't our direct relatives without the permission of other direct relatives. We can lose our temple privileges over this. But you can't expect people to know that after all the sensationalism present in the popular media. And of course there are a few who break rules and ruin it for the rest of us.

It has been strange. I have felt compelled to go to Sonora to see the graves. It's been a little unsettling, how strong the feeling is. I was tempted, as i drove south yesterday, to keep going. The only thing that kept me from throwing caution to the wind was the fact I needed to be back in time to pick up my sisters from high school.

So I guess we'll see tomorrow.

I'll just leave you on this note (a sign I drove past in Nevada City, with an accumulation of random objects underneath it):


Shanti, my friends. Shanti Shanti.
(I hope I didn't just curse you)

Jul 29, 2014

How to Weather Hard Winters




One of my favorite books ever, like in my list of "top five", is The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder.

I've read that she originally titled it "the Hard Winter," but her publisher had her change it, because he felt it was too harsh, the concept of "hard" vs "long."

As many of you know, the stories Ingalls wrote were autobiographical; what we'd call "creative nonfiction," nowadays, though she is such an accomplished writer, they read like novels. This particular section of Ingalls life-story stands apart from the others in the "Little House" series because it depicts a very difficult time for her family and for her little town. In The Long Winter we read about what it is like to go through near-starvation, death of exposure, being isolated on the Dakota prairie, during a wild and terrible time, from every help except for what the settlers in their little town could provide each other.

Therefore, we read of bravery. Sacrifice. Blind, dogged courage. I have two favorite parts of the story. The first is when Almanzo Wilder goes with a friend into the wilderness, under threat of deadly blizzards, to find food for the citizens in the town. The second is more relevant to what I'm writing about today: when Pa goes into the Wilder boys' store and offers a quarter for some grain he's savvy enough to know is hidden in their walls. He doesn't ask. But he also doesn't fight for it. He goes in, quietly, humbly, and tells them to fill his bucket with wheat for a quarter, so his family can eat for another few days.

Laura is the able-bodied member of her family. The Ingallses didn't have any sons, and so often it is her, going out with her father and helping him with the necessary tasks. She works hard to help her family survive.

And they do. In the end, the train gets through because of spring melt and the help of hordes of men shoveling off the tracks, and they get their Christmas turkey several months late. This story sends a very clear message--to survive, you need to pull together. You need to support each other. The very best and the very worst sides of human nature come out when people are fighting to survive. And those who make it are those who support and serve each other and accept service in return. Pa was a proud man, but he went into the Wilder boys' store with a quarter and an empty bucket because he had children to feed. Almanzo was going to get through the winter just fine, but he went off into the dangerous wilderness to find more food because he knew he would not be able to watch his friends starve around him.

....


I think back on some hard times of my own. I think one of my biggest failings has been my inability to ask for or receive service. It is a matter of pride. Some of us have pride that involves comparison to others' appearances, possessions, residences, professions etc. That has never been my problem. I personally wouldn't mind living in a cardboard box on the side of the road if I had to, if my family were still happy and healthy and well fed. Some of my friends could attest to that... I have a mild (or not so mild) obsession with tents and camping and backpacking. What I love is the simplicity of carrying all that you need with you. Not needing much at all to get by. I've been very blessed, however, not to have to live that way as a necessity. Perhaps my perspective would be different if I did.

However that is also my problem and my own personal brand of unrighteous pride--that sense of simplicity, of being able to get by on my own; priding myself in independence from others. I have struggled, in my life, to accept service because I feel frightened at the thought of not being able to get by on my own. Of having to depend on others. What if they fail me? And what if I can't give them anything back in return? Does that make me a broken, incapable person who always takes but never gives? Does it make me selfish and self-centered, that people serve me?

I have, however, gone through seasons in my life just like that hard winter the Ingallses weathered, where accepting help was necessary to my survival emotionally, physically, etc. And I wouldn't have been able to accept it even then, if it weren't for Loli.

for Loli's sake, I accepted a lot of things.

After everything fell apart and I found myself a divorced single parent, full-time student, part-time employee, I realized I literally could not do it on my own. I needed, for instance, someone to watch her while I finished my degree, and while I earned the money necessary to feed, house, and clothe us. And even then, I didn't make enough money to do so on my own. My parents bought a condo, which I lived in, rent-free, for two years.

During this time, I had a difficult schedule--get up at 4:45, drive Loli to Santaquin (because it was the only childcare we both felt comfortable with), get to work by 5:45, work with dozens of women struggling with tragedy, emotional upheaval, overwhelming anxiety and depression until 6pm, drive back to Santaquin by 6:45, get home by 7:30, play with Loli for an hour and give her dinner, get her to bed by 9. That was three to four days of my week.

The other days I spent trying to take care of the "everything else", taking care of my little girl and focusing on her during the time I had with her and also on bills, car maintenance, cleaning, shopping for groceries, and, eventually, dating my husband.

I look back on those years and the feeling I get from them is just.... emergency. I was constantly high-strung, constantly putting out fires. Like when our only car broke and the shop told us it was a new head-gasket (turned out they were trying to get money... I took it somewhere else and they bled an air bubble out of the radiator for free), and I was at work trying to focus on my job while trying not to worry about transportation and trying not to worry about Loli and how she was doing and whether she was being treated right and whether she was eating and whether I was spending enough time with her.... you get the picture.

I look back on my own "hard winter" and wonder what it says about me.

I learned how to accept a little bit of help and service--the stuff I had to accept for bare survival. I wasn't, however, always the best employee. I was too stressed out. Stressed to the max. And in an environment where everyone is professional... where maybe a few are enduring their own "hard winters" but everyone keeps it all to themselves... it's not quite the same, I don't think. It's not a community pulling together. It's a few people floundering to themselves in a mass of humanity all trying to figure out how to be best at what they're doing.

I didn't do as well as I could have. Well, the thing is, I did as well as I *could* have, in the situation. But people I worked with didn't get the "best" me, if that makes sense. And neither did Loli.

I look back on those experiences and wonder how I could have functioned better. I think it would have involved going to people for help instead of staying stubbornly independent and to myself. The Lori Hacking story broke during that time. And I was feeling some very strong fears, angers, and grieving. What if I had gone to my supervisor and talked to her, instead of staying behind the nursing station all day and isolating and not talking to anyone, including the patients I was supposed to be helping? What if, instead of presenting a hard, blank face to the world and keeping a wall between myself and others, I was being honest and open and vulnerable. Like "here is what I have to do this week. Just so you know." And then letting people talk back about their own stuff, and commiserating, and strategizing together... that is the stuff of which friendships are made. Of which functional, supportive communities are made.

The thing is, it has been a hard journey for me to be able to be open that way. I think my problem is, if something difficult is going on in my life, my default is to blame myself for it, to believe that I deserve it. So I feel shame, and keep it to myself. I am working on that.

I have realized, however, that some people also do not welcome vulnerability. They would rather stay in their shells and struggle alone. They feel threatened by others' sharing.

And some want to serve, and not be served in return. To them (and to me, I'll admit it) being served is giving up too much control. When someone does something for you, what might be their motive? What do they expect from you in return?

You can think of it that way, or you can see it as a symbol of something much more powerful and important. We are all the vessels of God's grace for each other. Sometime, at some point in your life, you will go through a season (more likely multiple seasons) of needing the service of others. You can either accept it and be whole, or push it away and struggle and not be as whole as God would like you to be.

In order to be strong enough to serve others, you need to accept service yourself. That is the beautiful, (sometimes, it feels like, horrible, but really, like anything really difficult, it's redeeming), truth to it all.

And how do you think someone feels about you after they serve you? Let me tell you from experience. They love you more. ANd they love you in a way that is Godly--they love you as someone they have served. It's a sort of love that runs deep, that infuses your relationship with forgiveness and mercy and longsuffering.

As anyone who has read the LIttle House series knows, Almanzo Wilder eventually married Laura. And I have wondered... how much of that feeling, that warmth he had for her that lead him to court her, came from the incident of filling her father's empty bucket?





Jul 18, 2014

Moving On to the Next Great Thing



I have been having babies for a while, let's face it. I had a brief respite between marriages--Loli was four when Jaws was born. Jeff and I filled in that gap pretty thoroughly by bringing home two girls meant to be in our family that were born in another country when I couldn't have them myself. Yeah, some would object to my describing it that way, but that's how I feel things happened. Bella and MayMay are most certainly my daughters. The first time I saw their picture, I knew they were my daughters, and the sisters of the girls I had given birth to biologically.

Heavenly Father has a way of blessing you doubly when things have to come about through a veil of pain. These two girls ended up in my family where they belong, but along the way they collected another family who loves them dearly, and a rich, unique culture, which flavors and spices and blesses our family as well.

Since Jaws, though, I really haven't had a break. I've had a child under age two for the last solid eight years. And I haven't started realizing until recently, exactly how difficult it is to have children so young. They take all your attention. All of it. When they're infants, it's because you are holding and feeding them constantly. When they're a little older it's because you are making sure they don't die by rolling off stuff or falling down stairs or choking on things or drowning or being taken by people or gashing themselves with knives (several of my toddlers have had a fascination with knives.)

I'm realizing all this because we're sort of coming to the end of our planned family, Jeff and I. We talked, at the beginning, of having six children together. We're there. Another baby would make six for us since we married in 2005. (Nine total, of course.) And right now, I'm getting to that point of thinking of starting that process again--another kid. Possibly the last kid. Pending prayer and answers to prayer, of course.

In my religion, we believe that there are spirits up in heaven waiting for bodies. That to raise children right, with values, and love and covenants and saving ordinances inherent in our gospel, is the most important job we do. So for me, and others with my theology, the decision to *stop* having children is a very serious one. Perhaps stressful. Some are comfortable stopping when they feel their family is complete--they just feel good about it and don't question that. For others, it's an agonizing decision. And some feel that "stopping" isn't an option... they need to allow as many children to come as Heavenly Father will bring them.

Thus, Mormons and large families. (btw. I'm being honest and vulnerable here... no judgy comments about birth control or population control, please. I will delete them all!)

For me, the decision to be done has a bit more of an edge and urgency. My mother and i share a genetic condition that renders pregnancy dangerous. Because I knew about it before I started having children, I have been able to take preventative action and not suffer from the sorts of things my mother did having her children. But it is still dangerous. And the danger kind of multiplies with age. My mother had her last biological child at age 35, and nearly didn't make it. Her stake president, who was also her obstetrician, told her she needed to think seriously about permanent preventative action, because she needed to be around to raise her family.

I am grateful for my stake president.

I have had a strong feeling, from the time I was thinking of such things, that I also need to be done at thirty five. I turn thirty four this year. Do the math--one more kid. It works out nicely with the feelings Jeff and I have had on the issue.

But it makes my heart break a little, too. I was the two-year-old who would nurse her dolls, who though often about having babies, about motherhood. I couldn't wait to be a mom. And I have enjoyed my babies so much. If anyone is going to suffer from residual baby-hunger, it's me. I tell myself it won't be so long and I'll have grandbabies to enjoy, but it's not quite the same. It's not that symbiotic relationship--just a small, helpless, trusting creature and me. A piece of my heart, smiling whenever I smile at them, whose favorite thing in the world is to be close, to lie for long hours on my chest. Little hands. Little feet.

It came across to me really strongly this last week. I have been feeling, for a while, that I needed to put DavyJones on formula. And he has taken to it well, and it has made important things possible--I have needed some time in the temple, for instance. I have needed to spend a bit longer at my calling than an exclusively-nursing baby would allow.

And I needed to go to girl's camp this year.

It was a good experience, but my milk is now dry. My baby boy is no longer nursing. It breaks. My. Heart.

What if, I think to myself, this is the last baby boy. What if I never nurse another baby boy for the rest of my life. What if this precious experience is now over. There is something about my baby boys--they have the most "mushy" part of my heart, as I was explaining it to Loli the other day. (She responded with, Mom, I'd much rather have the strong part of your heart.) (Anyway.)

What if this is done.

Well, it will be done, soon. I'm into my "lasts," last time trying for a baby. And it will turn into, last time experiencing morning sickness. Last time getting that middle-trimester burst of energy, last time with a growing stomach, last time with those crazy, overwrought emotions that make me cry during cheesy commercials but have actually been welcome because often, I struggle to feel my real feelings. Last time waiting for labor, for a baby to be born. Last time holding a soft, damp, newly-born person close to me, seeing them look up into my face for the first time.

I plan on savoring it--all these "lasts." It's the only way I'll be able to move on; if I savor every single moment.

But there are also other sorts of thoughts I've been having. Like... Gee. It will be nice to be able to work outside for an hour and mow the lawn. It will be nice to go out and pick up the trash that blows across from the high school. To plan a garden, work on it every day, weed it, pay attention to it and have a chance at real vegetables. To take a bike ride when I need one... and to be able to bring all the kids with me. To be able to go on hiking trips and camping trips and to be able to take my kids swimming (projecting a few years into the future here) without having to keep an anxious, uninterrupted watch over at least two of them.

To be able to take time to have talks with my teenagers.

To not be so exhausted in the morning I can't function..... or at least, to be exhausted for different reasons. Staying up to talk with teenagers who come home, rather than being constantly interrupted to nurse.

Instead of being confined to the house with a baby who isn't going to be happy outside for long,to be able to go out and find Jeff, and whatever project he's working on, and work alongside him. And to have our children join us.

I'm leaving behind something very special... but moving on to something else Great, and equally special. This, I think, is the time we figure out who we are as a family. Develop our traditions, our way of relating to each other, the activities we enjoy doing together, getting big projects done together, being silly together... this is really, in a way, where some other things I have always looked forward to, begin.

Loli came into the Young Women's program this year. And as it always is with our family, once started, things happen fast... Bella next year. MayMay the next. Two years later, Jaws. We're moving on.

And it will be great.


Jun 24, 2014

RE Feminism: Sister Oscarson, Kate Kelly, and Small, Tired Me.


I’m sad about this Kate Kelly thing.

It is hard to be a moderate feminist in the church. Some people tell me I shouldn’t label myself. A long time ago I wrote a post about why I call myself a feminist.

I feel like moderate feminists are in a tough spot right now, because of Kate Kelly and Ordain Women and other movements that basically sideline more moderate views. I feel like I have been called a lot of things lately by these more extreme feminist elements in the church—oppressed, ignorant. Uneducated. Unaware of church history, etc. All those things are inaccurate. Up until a couple of years ago, I participated occasionally in a large, well-known forum where women from the church gathered to discuss women's issues. I liked about 30% of what I read there, struggled with 30% and got sick of the drama that was the other 40%. I left that group when someone told me how wrong it was that I had so many children and that I must not know how to use birth control. (I don’t think anybody who says that truly realizes what they’re saying. Which of my children are you saying I should wish I don’t have?)

And so it is hard to find opportunities to discuss these things that are so important to me (how to help women worldwide, help for the spouses of pornography addicts (often women), help for women who are abuse victims, help for women who struggle with eating disorders, how to prevent these sorts of things from happening to the rising generation of young women, who I love with all my heart) among the general population of the church, without being sidelined and labeled as an extremist myself.

I think it’s hard to be a moderate anything these days.

I feel badly for Kate Kelly.I feel badly for all the women who are struggling because of this, feeling small, like they can’t speak up and be heard. That frustrates me. You CAN speak up and be heard. You CAN have opinions. As Kate Kelly’s bishop said (in the private letter provided so willingly to the media) the problem is not how you feel, what you wonder about, what you wish could happen, or your own answers to prayers and personal revelation you feel you’ve had. The problem is when you start telling people that your opinions are the right ones. When you start ridiculing others for disagreeing with you. When you start to accuse people because they aren’t giving you exactly what you want, right now, and you start talking to others about why this is a bad thing and stirring up peoples' doubts, fears, and pain to gain followers for a cause you've adopted in opposition to those who are actually in charge of figuring these things out church-wide. Personal revelation: that's yours. Revelation for the church? It'd be chaos if everybody decided suddenly they could receive revelation for the church.

In the wake of all this, I feel like things have gotten disingenuous. Sorry. I know that I’m judging. But I feel like some of the actions—providing everything to the press, not going to your own disciplinary counsel and instead submitting hundreds of letters from “followers” and a legal brief detailing exactly why church discipline doesn’t stand up to some sort of contract concocted by someone who’s read some version of the church handbook and extrapolated to create “rules” nobody has agreed to—show that a person isn’t much interested in remaining. It shows that you're finding plenty of support and fellowship from followers, and that is what is important to you. I might be wildly wrong, but that is what I feel burdened by, reading all this stuff.

I guess I’m mostly frustrated with a phenomenon, not a particular person. In short: NO I don’t want the priesthood. And I am fine with how the church is structured, I believe it is inspired, and I do my level best to manage my own heartbreak and pain over very real events that have damaged my trust in priesthood holders. And that does not make me ignorant, oppressed, or uninformed. I have had too many experiences with priesthood that are significant and real to not have a testimony of it. I have had answers to prayers that are unequivocal. That is where I’m at.

I’m OK with where you’re at, wherever that is—extreme on either side, moderate, or even ambivalent or not needing an answer. And what I wish: that we could all be ok with where we’re all at, and not judge each other. From any side. When I choose friends, I don’t look for a set of beliefs that match mine. I look for genuine people who are compassionate. I do enjoy certain traits: people who work hard, people who don’t complain, people who are open-minded. But those aren’t requirements for my friendship. I enjoy people, period.

I feel like this whole thing with Kate Kelly had been very hard and painful to watch. And I hope the aftereffects don’t make life harder for people who question. Because we need questioners in our church. Questions are how you get a testimony. If you have nothing to bring to God, you can’t get any answers in return.
I also hope the aftereffects don’t make life harder for people who willingly obey. Because it is no less hard for us—those journeys of testimony. We’ve had struggles, too. We’ve had our moments of wanting to give up. We’re not ignorant or uniformed, and we’re not close-minded.

This video by Sister Oscarson, our General Young Women president,exemplifies to me how we should act toward each other, no matter what our beliefs and circumstances are, no matter what sort of testimony we have. No matter what our standing is with the church (or outside the church. This isn’t just about church members, it’s about EVERYONE.)


May 13, 2014

Goals are sometimes very very hard



This blog has become a semi self-documentary on my recovery. I'm not sure why that is. I think I know why, actually. I used to put blogging and journaling aside in times of turmoil, because I have this strange relationship with the concept of honesty--I feel like if I'm writing only about the things in my life/events that are happy and funny and impersonal, I'm not being honest. ANd others who are struggling will come read about my life and feel miserable because they'll be like, why is HER life so perfect? I must be a crappy person to have to go through so much stuff.

I admit a small, immature part of me feels that way in the presence of people who seem to always be living happy little lives full of scrapbooky stuff.

In the past (before this last year or so) I would deal with that sort of dissonance (what do I blog about when I'm going through significant struggles) by leaving the blog alone and not writing at all. But that made me feel bad, too. I love writing on here. And I don't want there to be giant gaps on here in my childrens' development, in my life. So here we go, writing about everything. I guess.

I've gotten some judgy comments on a couple posts. I guess that happens when you open yourself up by writing about personal stuff. There's a facebook meme that goes: don't want to be judged? Then stop putting your personal crap all over facebook.

Well, I feel like putting my personal crap (enough to be real, but not so much that I feel like I'm sharing things that I can't come back from emotionally if people criticize) on the internet actually helps me, because I think of myself ten years ago, and how it would have helped that girl to be reading about someone's recovery. It makes me feel like there might be a purpose to all this.

So in my last couple of personal-crap posts, I talked about how I'm trying to open myself up and trust.

It's really hard. What I *want* to do right now (particularly walking into church meetings) is to sit by myself and glare at people. So instead of doing this


my heart seems sometimes to be pulling me in the direction of this.


some things have happened that really haven't helped. I won't talk about them here.

One thing I've realized lately is, I really, really do not trust easily. It is so hard. It's like weight lifting--I have to actively force myself not to assume things. My mind bends itself into a hundred twisty assumptions whenever something makes me insecure in an interaction with another person. My struggle is, I worry all the time that I'm offending others accidentally. I have to actively work to unbend those thoughts. Sometimes I need to do that without even asking questions or clarifying. A person I'm talking to lately said it like this: take everything at face value. Don't read anything into what people say or do. Yes, sometimes that will come back to bite you. But what sort of life is happier: a life where your'e always assuming you've hurt others all the time and being right a fraction of the time, or assuming you're at peace with everyone, that people are fine with you, and being wrong a fraction of the time?

It's a powerful concept.

One that is sometimes very difficult to apply in real life.

I feel like I'm a person who really has been mostly knotted up tight inside--so tight, I did not even know what I felt for a while. And now, I'm still unknotting. I probably do seem quite spiny to people at times right now. But I am doing my best, and so I need to forgive myself for that. You can only do so much at once.

We've had several weeks of sickness in our house. I love my children, and am grateful I get to be the one to help them. It is also exhausting. To me (I am coming to realize) the most exhausting thing in the world is to feel stuck and unable to do things. Like clean, or finish projects, or continue to plug away at projects. I got a total of 4,000 words in last week--I have to remind myself that I was taking care of a sick baby, so that is OK. My time was legitimately spent. It is OK that I spent hours on end looking into my baby's face and enjoying some down time. Maybe I *need* down time and that is why my family got sick. I don't know. Heavenly Father has a funny way of making important things happen.

Goals are great. We need to forgive ourselves when we can't do it all at once. We need to remember that a destination is important, but the road is where we spend most of our time. And that is OK. And we need to have peace in the journey.



Apr 29, 2014

On the Pain of Hope



I think that Heavenly Father is very merciful. Obviously, He is. But I mean this in a way that I don't often hear about preached over the pulpit. I think often Heavenly Father shows mercy by protecting us from ourselves. From our weaknesses, when we aren't yet capable of resolving them. I don't know about you, but it would be tortuous for me to know of a weakness I have, and to not be able to fix it. I think often Heavenly Father has kept me in check so that my weaknesses don't become destructive... until I am ready to resolve them, and then he allows them to become destructive so that I will want to resolve them.

I think that includes the wounds that come from things we don't cause ourselves... the hurts we carry because of the poor choices of those around us.

And... even deeper... the ways our own weaknesses contributed (however slightly) to the hurts.

In my case, it was a weakness of self-esteem. I felt something, with my first husband, when we started dating, that I had never felt before--acceptance. And a knowledge that (at least one person on this earth) thought I was a wonderful person. I latched on to that immediately and clung. It was such a better place than the one I was coming from, where (and this is not necessarily the fault of my family... in childhood and teenagerhood, your perception is often skewed. And often when there is trauma involved, you end up with a completely inaccurate picture of your life) I felt like I was a pretty terrible person--unattractive, unlikable, awkward, embarrassing. Gross.

Another weakness that contributed to the things that happened was my saving-people complex. My ex husband was lonely. He'd had personal tragedy. He got depressed about where his life was headed. And Nobody Else saw what a wonderful person he was and appreciated that... they all judged him as weird or awkward or unattractive (and thus the spiral of over-identification, leading to some unhealthy co-dependence, which lead me to impulsively ask for and agree to an engagement that kept me from dating my first year away at college, and kept me from examining the relationship too closely when I should have noticed several red flags.)

These weaknesses of mine are things I can apply to my current relationships. That's the nice thing. I know how they lead to my pain (very slightly, because it was still my ex husband's decisions that destroyed our marriage and cut through my life--codependence does not deserve unfaithfulness, deception and attempted murder)and to some bad decisions and some difficulty in my relationships.

But before I could see and acknowledge these things, I had to feel like I *didn't* cause what happened to me. And know that for a fact. And that took a lot of loving counsel (counsel that I had cut myself off from before, because bad experiences with priesthood leadership and therapists and husbands had made me distrustful and afraid).

Right now I have a good friend going through this. Going through the experience of trauma and difficulty and scary things happening that aren't his fault, and his bishop is, for whatever reason, unable to support him the way he needs. He has been blogging about it lately, and I have been reading his posts with a breaking heart.

Who knows why this bishop is unable to support my friend. It may be that the situation taps into some of the bishop's own traumas (as was the case with my difficult experience). It may be that this bishop is not meant to help my friend--he is meant to help the other person in the situation, and my friend (being spiritually strong, capable of emotional self-reflection, and also being supported by many others)is trusted by Heavenly Father to be OK and to be able to handle not being supported by his bishop for now. It may be that this bishop is not paying attention to some spiritual promptings he should be, and is just being a judgmental person who has already decided my friend is bad (and in that case, we still need to forgive. Because a bishop is like any other person--imperfect. And as members of the church we are expected to support and love imperfect leaders. And be that soft place to land in the face of others' imperfection.)

But what to tell my friend right now, while he is struggling with the terrible feelings that come when you struggle, but feel unsupported by those who you've always looked up to as a safe place to go--a place for compassion in times of trouble and turmoil, a place where you trust to be judged fairly, helped and loved.

I feel like I am watching him be put through everything I went through, and took ten years to recover from. And it hurts. Like watching someone pull wings off a butterfly. Sorry for the sappy analogy.

Heavenly Father has added another layer of recovery for me, right now, that apparently I am ready for (?) and that is the knowledge that what happened to me, happens. To people. It wasn't an isolated event, it happens sometimes and it will happen to those that I love.

And it is my job to use the empathy I have to help, instead of shrinking away and making it an addition to my own hurt and trauma. I need to have a strong heart about this and reach out. And be the example of someone who has healed from this sort of pain, and become stronger in my testimony and compassion because of it.

Lately, things have been hard for me at church. Whenever you're given a calling where you're supposed to coordinate the efforts of several people and coordinate those overall efforts with several different organizations, all coordinating the efforts of lots of people, you are going to end up making people upset. And one thing that has been very hard for me is trusting people I am not close to. For a while, I was trying (unconsciously) to resolve that by *becoming* close to people, but that wasn't the answer.

The answer is, Heavenly Father expects me to trust. As a default. Until I learn someone is untrustworthy, I am supposed to trust.

Which feels, after what I have experienced, kind of crazy and dangerous. But really, it's not. Really, it's the only way to heal.

I need to be willing to put myself out there, and be disappointed at times. I need to have hope, and deal with the pain that comes when that hope is disappointed, and then *continue* to hope and to be willing to be disappointed. Because nobody is perfect, and if we just shut people out because they show their lack of perfection, because they've hurt us, well then, that's *us* judging and causing others the same sort of pain we struggled so long to recover from.

In this church (and in this world), we can either all go around letting our rough edges cut each other to pieces, or we can be that willing, soft place to land, and provide safe, healing places for others.

We can either let our difficulties harden us, so that we blind ourselves to others' needs, using the excuse that they might (or have) hurt us to justify our blinders, or we can let our difficulties soften us... give us greater empathy, understanding, and a willingness to look inward so we can correct ourselves and resolve not to be a source of pain to others.

There's a scripture about that somewhere. I found it once, and haven't been able to find it again... if you know it, please post it in the comments.

Anyway. Hope can be the most painful thing. But without it, what do we have? If we shrink from the pain of hope, we end up putting ourselves in a place of darkness. We trap ourselves. We shut out everything that gives purpose to life... and I'd call that depression: that feeling of purposelessness. Lack of hope.


Jan 25, 2014

Change of Projects, Change of Pace.



Lately I have felt worried about my writing career. LDS literature is what I've had published so far. It's what I have written that has been accepted and sent out there into the world to be read by people. And now people are kind of niche-ing me. Or starting to. I've had interviews lately on Modern Mormon Men and Motley Vision and Mormon Artist, and in each of these interviews I have been asked why I chose Mormon Lit as my venue. Well, it sort of chose me. That's what I've published so far.

Lately I have thought, well then, I need to make that my focus. I'll write three more LDS stories and give them over to my publisher. But when I'm done with those, I'm going another direction.

My feelings have changed suddenly. I have been editing two manuscripts. One of them is my sister's. One is a friend's. Both are fantasy.

See, my first love? It's fantasy.

Fantasy is what I breathed growing up. And it wasn't just writing, it was games in the backyard about fairies and monkey people and hags and good and evil and poor kids with magical abilities and rich people with lots of jewels, orphans with royal birthmarks, people who make their clothing out of flower petals.

Growing up, fantasy was my favorite. The Book of Three, the Black Cauldron. Dealing with Dragons. The Alanna books. The Ordinary Princess. The Wolves of Willoughby Chase, The Stolen Lake. And all those scholastic or apple paperbacks about wishes that come true or dragons hatching from eggs or teachers being aliens. So, I have written and lived in fantasy from the time I was too small to really be writing yet.

Up until I started writing seriously, with more focus and intent, giving myself a word count and everything, my less-than-serious forays into novel writing (three abandoned chapters, five abandoned chapters, sketchbook full of maps and character descriptions and drawings of characters and places and people, ideas that accumulated in word documents and then got scattered and lost because there were so very many word documents containing ideas) was all fantasy.

Today I got a great idea about how to start the fantasy novel I have been rewriting for the last fifteen years. I did my most recent rewrite of it after Lightning Tree, and Cedar Fort rejected it due to some content. I would have gone on to submit it elsewhere if I didn't know it still needed a lot of work (including the content Cedar Fort objected to. I'm still not sure how necessary it is to my story. Trying to decide.) But today, I got an idea that I think will solve all of that. You have to start a novel at the correct point in the story--that was my problem. I started it in the wrong place.

I also realized that I was writing the story like it was a YA fantasy. This story is an epic fantasy. Totally different. For one thing, an epic fantasy can be longer, so I don't have to think "Okay, how do I tell this entire story in the space of 350 pages." And for another, it's kind of expected that in epic fantasy you meet a lot of people and go a lot of places.

Try telling an epic fantasy in the space allotted to a YA novel. If you're a fantastic writer, you might be able to do it. I'm betting H.G. Wells could do it. I'm not a fantastic writer yet, however. I'm just a pretty-ok writer.

Anyway, I got this idea for a starting point, and the idea just boiled over in my head. And I felt, today, more excited than I have felt about writing in a while.

I kind of need to write this one, maybe. Next. Not after my butterfly story about the guy who ages out of the singles' ward and the third in my planned trio of Historical LDS novels. I've been saying that to myself for a while in the same way you say to yourself, salad first, then dinner, then you can have your dessert. But the thing is, if it's what I love to write most, and it's what's taking over my brain right now, why am I making myself do other stuff?

I am niche-ing myself and drying myself out as a writer. And I'm feeling discouraged because while the audience for LDS fiction is very loyal and wonderful, it's not very big. I can't go ahead and tell all my Facebook friends, "buy my book, you'll love it!" Because some of them wouldn't. I have tons of friends who love fantasy, and a smaller number of friends who love Mormon fiction. Not even most of my Mormon friends read Mormon Fiction.

And while I do love Mormon fiction, in fact, love it enough to write it even though I know I won't find a big audience, my first love really is Fantasy. And man, I need to get back into it.

So. Plans changed, I think. I'm going to launch myself back into the deep-blue of fantasy. I'm going to draw pictures and maps. I'm going to think about amazing places and impossible people and the mysteries of the universe. And then when I've finished this story, I'll probably enjoy going back to the funny, close dearness of an LDS contemporary fiction story or the driving curiosity and deep, aching issues and mysteries of an LDS Historical Fiction.

Am I allowed to do that? Write everything? Will that confuse people?

I don't know. I'm just writing what I need to write... sorry if that's confusing.


Dec 18, 2013

Sort of a part V-- Grateful Reflections in the aftermath of life explosions.



SO I've posted some difficult stuff lately. About struggles with my family, and ward, and bishops. Now that I've got all that out of the way, I want to fall back and enumerate some truly great things people have done for me and been for me. Nobody's perfect--like Oaks said, we're all imperfect appliances. But (as I've stated before) I have a truly great family, and my ward and also my bishop at the time of Paul, were/are also truly great people. I think they're due for some praise and gratefulness.

I'm going to number this just because it makes me think better sometimes to number things.

1) My Dad. Who I've talked about struggling with. Some wonderful things about him (other than what I've already said about him being brilliant, creative, funny, and someone who really loves me) is also an amazing piano player. One thing I always cherish with him is time when he plays the piano and I can sing. Want to know how I found my voice? (and it's a pretty belty voice... and has been since I was probably a 7-th grader). It's because I could sing freely while my Dad played because i know he loved me and our time together was special. While my dad's love language isn't the same as mine, he does do a lot of things to show people he loves them. He serves people, quietly, with no expectation of praise or returned favors. He also never, ever says things vindictively about others. He doesn't gossip. And if he has a problem with someone, he can still appreciate their good points.

2) My Mom. I've written poems about her. She is a person I'd love to be like. I like to call her a rennaisance woman. She can do anything creative. She throws herself into projects and is talented at just about everything she tries hard at. She is a woman (like I've said before) with a big heart and no chip on her shoulder--she'll come and clean poodle poo off your floor if you're wheelchair-bound and your six elderly poodles need cleaning up after. She is loyal. She is always on the lookout for the underdog, or for people who are lonely or are maybe in need of more help than others realize, and she does all she can to help. She helped nurse my great grandmother through the last stages of her life, even though it was not easy. She works really, really hard to make sure another of my grandmas, who is currently struggling a lot, is as happy as possible, and she takes the difficulties she faces silently, without returning hurt for hurt or feeling a need to defensively gossip. She is an inspiration to me that way. I wish I had her bravery to serve people without apology. She also is a master-organizer. She organized and put together and ran all the big events for my high school choir for years, and was willing to do even the hard jobs nobody else wanted to do, like chastise kids on Europe trips for buying stuff they shouldn't :) My mom is a rock star and she doesn't get a whole lot of recognition, except from those who love her and know her well enough to know who she is.

3) My sisters and brother. They are hilarious and brilliant and when I'm with them, I feel like I'm a member of some cool tribe. We have a sense of humor (my grandmother curtis's sense of humor) that is just its own flavor. Aaaand we do great things together. My siblings are very talented at a lot of things and they choose very interesting things to do in life and aren't afraid to dream big, or be themselves. Sometimes this has earned them some eyebrow raises or even disapproval--watching them do what they do and be what they are anyway, and still have very strong testimonies they wouldn't give up for any reason, or person, makes me feel grounded in my own love of the gospel of Christ.

4) Bishops and ward members. Specifically at the time I've been outlining lately--when all went down with Paul.
Despite my struggles with the bishop (which were because of all the circumstances already related... everything so messed up and stressful) I have a lot of admiration for this person. I know him still, and have gotten to know him better over the years. We have some association because of common interest groups, online and in other ways. He is a very good person. He's had trauma of his own. He is very loving and giving and really, a very sensitive person overall. Who was thrown into a very difficult situation. The last interaction I had with him, he actually came to my home (some ward members were over and we'd just cleaned it, ready to move me to my new apartment.) He handed me a book--the compilation from the Women's Conference that had just ended. And he said, 'I feel like I haven't been the best bishop to you.' and I could see how much he wished things had worked out better. I do, too. He is a good man. And I know we both learned a lot from our time together.

Ward members: People were so kind to me. One person brought me by some Christmas pretzel chocolates right when I needed reassurance. People still involved me in baby showers and such. My home teachers, one of the experiences with them that was quite hilarious was when a big media van pulled up in front of my house, and one couple distracted them while I sneaked out the back & headed over to the other couple's house. It was a bit double o seven ish. To be able to laugh at something so stressful was a relief. We even turned the TV on to see the news to see if they were still trying to film my house. People let me visit teach them. One relief society, the teacher dispensed with the lesson (right after story broke) and said she thought we should just sing hymns the whole time. I felt that was for me. The sister sitting next to me told me what a beautiful voice she thought I had. I needed to hear that. I will always be grateful for my relief society president who came over and mopped my floor, and then took walks with me, both of us hauling our baby strollers. I appreciate them and a couple who lived next to them, who invited me over occasionally to talk to me and laugh with me.

And on top of that, I now appreciate all the people who have written me to express how they wanted to help, even though they weren't sure how, but that they were thinking of me. I know that made a difference. Maybe one plus in having my story all over the place was I had a whole bunch of people praying for me.

One sunday, I was informed that the entire provo police department was fasting for me.

So.... I guess what I'm saying is, difficulty is difficulty. We go through crap. People aren't perfect. But they are still wonderful. Even people who make things hard are wonderful. I'm sure I've accidentally (or maybe on purpose, I don't know) made things hard for others. I hope they can forgive me, and I hope that whatever harm I've done, can be healed eventually. I'm grateful for healing. I'm grateful for people.

I'm grateful for my voice teacher, who became my friend and who gave me blessings. And who taught me to find my voice again, and who has continued to be a wonderful friend forever.

I'm grateful to the people who watched Loli with such love and care, and who weren't awkward about it at all, who I felt were my friends.

I'm grateful for psych professors who didn't condescend to me or mention anything, even though I'm sure they knew who I was and what I was going through.

I'm grateful to a guy I dated (between Paul and Jeff) who helped me realize I was a desirable person to date, and a fun person to be around, and who helped me gain the courage I needed to date my husband when that happened.

I'm grateful for random ward members (especially ones who cooked lots of Indian food and gifted me with a homemade-cool ball thingie) (and later moved here where I can be their friends now still) who took Loli when I needed to go to the temple or some other appointment.

I'm grateful to teachers and classmates who expressed concern.

I'm grateful to the people at my work, and my boss, who put up with me not always being the greatest employee, and who moved me (illegally, using work vans) into my new apartment, on work hours. Because they wanted to make sure I was OK. They made me feel very loved and supported.

I'm grateful to my (now cousin-in-law,) who convinced me it wasn't selfish or inappropriate of me to try attending the singles' ward, where I met my wonderful husband.

I'm grateful to lawyers and therapists who worked with me, I suspect, partly pro-bono.

I'm grateful to a bishop who advocated for me, even though I wasn't supposed to be attending the singles' ward, and whose grin kind of split his face open when he attended Jeff's and my post-sealing luncheon.

I'm grateful for whoever anonymously donated 1000 as a "scholarship" for me one semester, and enabled me, along with some help from my grandparents as well, to buy a vehicle to replace the one that had so many bad memories, and also not very good gas mileage, and was safer to drive.

I'm grateful to a former YW leader for her show of support and help.

I'm grateful for Elder Groberg too, who I am sure prayed for me. And who, I'm sure, wanted me to make the right choices.

I know I've missed lots and lots of you. Sorry about that. It's like numbering grains of sand. I know you're there. I'm grateful for the warmth and support I stood on, and continue to stand on.

I'm just grateful, is all, and Merry Christmas to everybody. Love you all.

Parts 1-5 of this post:

Part 1



Part 2



Part 3


Part 4

Part 5

Dec 16, 2013

My Struggles With Priesthood Leaders and Mormon People Part IV



OK. I realized, reading all the comments and such, that I need to go ahead and finish this today. I just feel so self indulgent writing about it all and thought I should save it for another time & not expect people to spend hours today reading about me. But I think it's important. This is a thing that involves more than me, it involves my family, friends, a community, because of how publicized everything was and because of how hard it was on everyone who knew me and also Paul (who grew up in my stake.)

So Paul has moved on. He served 4 years, and married again, and had kids. From all I know, he's doing OK. And I'm glad. He wrote a letter during the cancellation of sealing process about how he was glad I'd found someone worthy to marry. He talked about how he knew I was a good person and was moving on and it was OK with him. I am grateful he did that, because I've heard of many circumstances where someone doesn't react that way. Clearly, the part of Paul that is Good really is there, and exists, and hopefully he is living a better, more peaceful, less addiction-burdened life and getting help for his struggles. Because I do love him, he was somebody very important to me and the father of my oldest child (who is, actually, in personality a lot like him.) (The guy I married before things went crazy.)

When I talked to the bishop, it was at a temple recommend interiview. I decided, with a lot of prayer, to approach it differently this time. Instead of saying, I have a problem. I really hate bishops (which didn't get very far with the bishop in Provo... perhaps understandably) I downloaded and printed the article (yeah. I'm already crying)Healing the Tragic Scars of Abuse, by Richard G Scott. I read it a few times, then went through and underlined a couple of sentences in the talk. And when I went to see the bishop to renew my recommend, I just told him, I'm really struggling. And it's not because I don't like the church, and it's not because I don't have a testimony. And I handed him that talk and said that the sentences I'd underlined applied to me. He took it and kind of looked across at me and said, "Sarah, I think this is important. You'd better come back and see me. I'll read it, thank you for the article."

So a week passed. I was in a play in town. The Man of LaMancha. I was playing Aldonza and it was a tough experience for me because, in this town, everyone's in the ward, the stake etc. And here I was doing something also vulnerable for me (singing in front of people, and having to say an almost-bad word! They toned it down, but they left one word in. And I was so worried about what people would think of me.) I had my picture in the paper again. I think it triggered something.

That first experience by the river was the first "anxiety episdoe" or "breakdown" I'd had. I had another one the next week, after the play was done. I called up the bishop on the phone. I wasn't very coherent. Mostly crying. & feeling really stupid about it. But he had me come in and see him. And I sat there, across the desk from him, and told him everything that had happened to me. I hadn't told anyone the whole story except, I told part of it to the singles' ward bishop (kinda had to, to have him feel OK about me attending the ward) and I told Jeff of course. But I hadn't told any other bishop or person. Except when people would ask about Jeff's and my time married, and look at me funny because Loli's older, then I'd say something like, I was married before, it was difficult, he ended up in jail.


Anwyay, telling the whole story was cathartic. And strange. And immediately I realized I'd chosen the right person to talk to, because my bishop didn't overreact, and he didn't act all bothered and uncomfortable to see me be pretty emotional, and he was able to express how terrible it was (it was) without making me feel like a terrible person for piling it on him.

he also knew that he needed to keep helping me. I felt pretty abandoned by my first bishop. This bishop un-abandoned me. He met with me weekly, and occasionally we messaged on facebook. when I had further anxiety episodes, he talked to me without acting all weird about it. A person going through an episode of intense anxiety or depression is not fun to talk to--he was patient with me.

I realized pretty soon how much I loved this person. My bishop. And being able to trust him and talk about stuff I'd always been really afraid to talk about was helping. My biggest worry was not feeling stuff. I couldn't "turn on" my feelings anymore, because they had been kind of shocked or killed, it felt like, into nonexistence, except when they'd rise up in these geysers of catastrophe--anxiety or not-able-to-get-out-of-bed level depression. But as I talked to this bishop, and as we grew closer, I began to feel again. It frightened me, how I couldn't feel much for my husband or kids sometimes. I'd have brief, wonderful moments where love would well up inside and I'd feel it, but mostly I felt blank and tired. I was starting to be able to feel love for my husband and kids, little by little, kind of like ice cracking maybe. Ice Princesses are that way for a reason. I mean, before, I went through the motions--hugging little bodies, Hugging husband, asking how his day went, etc, but mostly I felt so blank. And I was unable to engage in conflict because it was too frightening to me. My relationship with Jeff was more like that of a kind parent and daughter, somewhat. I didn't meet him on his terms or challenge him, and I constantly felt like I was a dissappointment to him. Which is really sad because it wasn't true.

Bishop and I started talking about my childhood experiences and how they've fed into this. I talked about some things I've never been able to even fully realize in my head because they were too threatnening, like, what if I'm a bad person. What if I kind of brought on what happened to me. What if all those people who judged me were actually right. But in talking about childhood experiences (and he began sharing some of his, too) we quickly realized (bishop and I) that we have a whole lot in common. It was almost eerie. We began to feel related.

I was really kind of weirded out by this. I said a lot of prayers, because you're not supposed to get too innapropriately close to a bishop. I was starting to feel like he was my Dad. Which, if you're a psych major, which I was, brings up a whole slew concerns. But I prayed and got an answer, just like every other answer in my life, that I was supposed to trust it and let it happen. I was supposed to let this bishop help me, and talk to me, and be my Dad.

I have a great Dad. But he's in California. And he struggles with vulnerability. When everything happened with Paul, he couldn't talk about it to me. Or anyone, not even mom. He still doesn't talk about it. I had a bishop who didn't want to talk to me, and a Dad who couldn't.

When Jeff and I moved up here to where we live, we did so because the house and land were perfect. Exactly what we wanted. But I think Heavenly Father put us in this ward on purpose. I was supposed to meet this one family. I was supposed to let this one bishop become my Dad. And he has. It's kind of a miracle. I've cried with him, and talked to him, and become really good friends with him and trust him and am glad to have him. He's told his family that we're a part of the family. I love all of them. Even before I got to know Bishop/Dad, I had some random experiences going on walks with his wife and was drawn to her in a way I'm not usually drawn to people. And two of the daughters were the first people who came up to me and made friends after we moved in. There's something about those two girls, and me, that I felt like kind of clicked weirdly. We have the same kind of akwardnesses, the same kind of interests, and enjoy the same types of conversation... we all answer too many questions during sunday lessons....

yeah it was all getting a little bit strange. To the point where we were trying to figure out how we were related. Not *if* but *how.*

Dad started talking about this one ancestor of his. It came up because of the book I wrote (Lightning Tree) and the experience of my main character, who lost her family and then had her possessions taken and distributed. He had an ancestor this happened to, as an aftermath of the Mountain Meadows Massacre. I was pretty interested in this. So he gave me some manuscripts to look over, and some books to study and I learned all about Olive Olivia Coombs and her tragedy. I was getting more and more intrigued about this person, partly because I was working on a sequel for Lightning Tree and her incident happened in the exact year i'd chosen, in a place I'd planned on having my character be at some point during the story. I asked him if he'd mind if I included her story in my book. He said he thought that would be all right with him.

I studied the story more in-depth, to get details and history right. I looked everywhere online and found some additional accounts that Dad/bishop didn't have, and passed them on to him. This is a really rare line to be related to, and so not a lot of stuff had been written about this ancestor. Dad said that he knew of only four descendants today with connection to the family. He'd been in correspondence with a man who was trying to do research about this, and the man had only found four other people with information to add.

I was starting to really bond with Olive and her children, Emily, Bella, Ella and Olive. Bella, the second oldest, was the one related to Dad--his great, great grandmother. (or great grandmother can't remember how many greats). I was feeling a whole lot for them--I felt connected to them.

One evening, we were talking about something. Dad brought up a hymn in the hymnbook that he said he found special, "As the Dew From Heaven Distilling." My ancestor, Theodore Curtis, wrote that hymn. I didn't tell him that, I just asked him, "why do you find that one special?" And he said it was because he had family connected to it--one of his ancestors had written it.

Theodore Curtis is both our ancestors. And even more amazing. Olivia Coombs, who I'd been reading about? She was Olivia Curtis Coombs. My great, great, great something aunt. This woman I'd been reading about this whole time. I was related to her. I later found out that one of the four people this man had been corresponding with, trying to get information about the Coombs incident, was my own Grandmother, Patricia Curtis. It was pretty amazing, and emotional for me. And I understood the counter-intuitive answers to prayer I'd gotten. This bishop, and this family, were my family. There is something special about being a Curtis. I've written about that before. There aren't very many of us around.

My journey with Bishop (and Dad) has done a lot of miraculous things for me. And for him. I didn't know that, at the time I'd given him a jab about his scary bishop tie, he was going through one of the worst times of his life. Lots of stuff was going on, and he was pretty stressed out. Knowing each other, finding a new relative, being friends and most of all, allowing him to help me, has helped him, too. Kind of like how it is in a family.

So thinking back on bishop experiences before, particularly the difficult time when all that happened with Paul, I feel kind of like Heavenly Father has slowly been inching me in the direction of St. Anthony all of my life. I have family here, and He knew it. And He wants me to heal, and so he brought me here where I could. Where I could be "un-abandoned." And let me tell you, if you want to be un-abandoned, someone like my bishop right now is the perfect person to do it. As my relationship with priesthood authority in my life has improved that way, it's improved other ways. Dad's a good example in how to exercise priesthood. He's taught me about asking for blessings. He's taught me to lean on Jeff and not feel guilty for not being independent, but that spouses are for that--leaning on each other. He's helped me step up and be a wife, which Jeff has needed me to be for a long time. I can talk to this family of mine about kid issues and parenting issues and realize, I'm not a bad mom, only a stressed one sometimes. And I've been able to feel more and more for my family as a result.

Priesthood is an important influence in our lives. I think that Heavenly Father blessed me for not giving up. Not all bishops are going to be the ones I (or others) identify with or understand or can communicate easily with, and because I went through something so difficult, it was very hard for me to deal with that. But the thing we don't do is give up and leave, because someday, somewhere, Heavenly Father will come through and help you find peace. If you keep working at it, you'll find it.

I am still pretty vulnerable and scared and worried. Especially when I feel like people judge me or talk about me (which probably they do a lot less than I worry about.) Having your stuff in the papers and having good people believe things about you that aren't true, is a hard thing to get over. But I recently read a quote from Elder Packer (which surprised me. Who knew Elder Packer went through something like this?):

"A few years ago I indulged on one occasion in some introspection and found there were reasons why I didn’t like myself very well. Foremost among them was the fact that I was suspicious of everyone. When I met someone, I had in mind this thought: “What’s his motive? What’s he going to try to do?” This came about because I had been badly manipulated, abused by someone I trusted. Cynicism and bitterness were growing within. I determined to change and made a decision that I would trust everyone. I have tried to follow that role since. If someone is not worthy of trust, it is his responsibility to show it—not mine to find it out."

-Elder Boyd K. Packer, 1977

Here's the link if you want to read the rest of it.

And so step one, for me, was talking about writing in young women. And step 2 (admittedly a pretty giant step) was writing this blog, which I know is read by not only old friends, writing friends, and family, but people in my ward and stake. Ward and stake, I want to get to know you. I'm pretty awkward in person at first sometimes, but I'll keep trying if you keep forgiving me for awkwardness. I really do love people and want to trust them.

Thank you for reading this, everyone who has. I know I'm not the only one who struggles with this stuff. I hope people who read this, who might be on the edge of giving up like I was, can keep going until something great happens. Or maybe if you want, come talk to me. Or give another bishop a chance. As Elder Oaks says, "you don't stop believing in the power of electricity because of a faulty electrical appliance." We are all faulty electrical appliances, but I think we're all mostly trying our best.

About six or so months after that initial meeting with my bishop, and after getting to know him and knowing he loves me and thinks of me like family, and knowing I feel the same, feeling the security of all that, I was called as Young Women president in my ward. I know, I KNOW I could never do this calling without that support, and without healing enough to also accept support from my husband, and also being capable of resolving other stressful issues, with my kids, with the complications of trying to be a leader and not blame myself when things aren't always easy. It's meant I've had to give up the two support groups I was going to *instead* of my ward--a writing group and a homeschooling group. Heavenly Father's working hard on turning my heart back to trusting the people I should trust.

I guess Heavenly Father really does know what he's doing. And I hope someday I can say I'm stronger for this whole experience.



Parts 1-5 of this post:

Part 1



Part 2



Part 3


Part 4

Part 5