My Faith Journey: The Beautiful In Between - Part 2 of 4

Life is an epic journey, full of failures and successes, ups and downs, light moments and dark. It reads like a novel, with many chapters and infinite opportunities.

Like a bookmark or turned down page, November 6th will mark one year since I openly announced the ending of one chapter of my life. I haven't shared the details about my faith journey with many people, because many have not asked. Now, here, in my little corner of the internet, the time has come for me to share my story. I do so to give myself a moment of reflection before I turn the page, and so those who care about me can better understand why I walk my current path.

___________ ____________ _____________ __________

THE BEAUTIFUL IN BETWEEN

At the age of 20, I became a Mormon.

If you know much about me, you know that I'm Type-A, maybe a little bit of a perfectionist, a worrier, and a serious rule follower. I like to make lists and check off tasks; it makes me happy. That aspect of my personality allowed me to continue my headlong dive into becoming a fantastic Mormon woman. If I'm going to do something, gosh-darn-it, I'm going to do it well! So I did.

I went to three hours of church every Sunday. I went to many hours of Institute classes throughout the week. I went to firesides, learned from incredible people, made enduring friendships, read my scriptures, prayed often, took out my extra earrings, got a Patriarchal Blessing, kept quiet about my love and acceptance of LGBTQ people, didn't mention my uncertainty about certain pieces of the gospel, watched Church movies, went to the temple, fasted once each month, and attended weekly "Family Home Evening" activities. I did all the things. I became Type-A Super Mormon. I out-Mormoned my Mormon boyfriend. Finally, when he decided to serve a full-time mission for the church (to my great relief!) he also decided we should break up for real (to my horror!) and stay that way.

Yes, a little over a year after my baptism, the boy who was my impetus for joining the LDS Church was no longer MY boy. By then, the church had become MY church, so I stayed in and stayed strong. I found peace in faith. I prayed to God frequently, we became close friends, it was beautiful. I dated other Mormon boys, I did all the Mormon things, and learned as much as I could. I attended General Conference in Salt Lake City, twice. I dragged my father and aging grandpa around church historical sites in Kirtland, Ohio. I believed it, and lived it, and loved my religion.

I graduated college (I received my BS in Biological Science with honors, because YAY! Science! AND because I'm a good kid!) and moved home to live with my family while I went to school to earn a teaching credential. Attending church and institute in this town was new and different because I didn't have my support system of amazing Mormon friends or even more amazing Mormon roommates. Still, I pushed through my initial shyness and found a lovely LDS community here, made new enduring friendships, and found a new space for my faith to grow. I continued to do and believe all of the Mormon things, dated other Mormon boys, and I was happy.

Then I met a young man at church who asked me on a date and thoroughly confused me. He didn't walk the walk, talk the talk, or wear the right clothes. He was raised LDS, went to church sometimes, but wasn't fully-believing or fully-practicing. I called him The Cowboy, but he wasn't really a cowboy either. We fell in love, like young people do, and I suddenly found myself in an old situation with the roles reversed.

How could I marry this man since I was Mormon and he was not? We broke up many times and it drove me batty. (Does this all sound familiar? If not, go back an entry and read Part 1.) Then, finally, I decided if he meant so much to me, God would understand and sort everything out. So I loved this Cowboy fiercely with all of my heart, and we got engaged. I still believed in my religion and did all of the Mormon things. I went through the temple to be endowed (It's a sacred rite in the LDS church that involves wearing white clothes and making covenants.) because I wanted that for myself, whether my future husband ever wanted it for himself or not. Meanwhile, The Cowboy started to do some of the Mormon things too. I watched with curiosity and pure delight as he began participating more at church.

Two years after we officially began dating, we were married civilly, in a church building surrounded by all of our friends and family. It was fabulous! The following morning we attended church so that my brand new husband could be ordained an Elder in the Melchizedek priesthood. We were serious about our faith. We went to church every Sunday, we read scriptures together, we prayed, and we were sealed together for eternity in the Oakland Temple a few days after our first anniversary. Life was good. I was happy.

The one picture from our rainy sealing day.

I believed all of the Mormon things, and did all of the Mormon things, but those things changed after we were married. The LDS church wards I went to when I was single were congregations of young, single people. It was socially and mentally stimulating to be surrounded by peers of the same age group. The leaders that presided over us were older, married men, but they always made sure to have fun, spiritual, and exciting activities planned for us congregants. Once The Cowboy and I were married, we started attending a local family ward, designated by the area where we lived, and church was different. Gone were the fun, uplifting weekly activities. Now we were supposed to do those at home with our families. Gone were the evening Institute classes where I could learn more about the history of the church, the scriptures, and the doctrine. Now we were supposed to get all of our study done at home with our families. I'll tell you what that did for this Type-A Mormon, checklist loving girl - It put the pressure on me and my husband, and it was not pretty. To be more clear, I put the pressure on my husband, and it was not pretty.

I loved my religion. I believed in the teachings of the LDS church, and at church we are taught that our feelings reveal truth. I felt spiritually moved many times at church, in the temple, studying scriptures, and praying. Therefore, I KNEW my church was true. One teaching within the church is that we always must be growing our religious testimonies, or they will falter. It was important to me to always be learning more, reading more, praying more, studying more, and trying more in my effort to do Mormonism right, but I kept feeling like I was falling short. I kept nagging my husband to help me, lead me, inspire me, read with me. He kept feeling nagged. I found it odd that my effort to be more perfectly religious, in a church that focuses on family unity, actually drove a wedge in my marriage, but I brushed it aside and added it to my shelf.

Do you remember my shelf? It was the space in my mind where I tucked away little things about the church that didn't sit well with me. It started with a few items: The church's teachings on homosexuality, earrings, the ONE and ONLY true church, Joseph Smith's First Vision, evolution, and the literal interpretation of scripture. Married life, parenthood, and some of my experiences in my family ward caused my shelf to grow more crowded with things like Prop 8 in CA, patriarchy and sexism, the lack of opportunities for learning and growth, marital wedges about who should plan Family Home Evening, and the fact that God NEVER answered my prayers for more sleep as the mother of young children.

Still, I loved the church. I knew it was true. I loved my relationship with God and the faith I felt. I believed it and did all of the Mormon things, I just felt bland and dull. I missed the luster of my early days as a Latter-Day Saint, when learning about the church was a continuous emotional and spiritual high. I longed to bring that high back into my life, and I had a plan to do just that.

TO BE CONTINUED...

My Faith Journey: In The Beginning- Part 1 of 4

Life is an epic journey, full of failures and successes, ups and downs, light moments and dark. It reads like a novel, with many chapters and infinite opportunities.

Like a bookmark or turned down page, November 6th will mark one year since I openly announced the ending of one chapter of my life. I haven't shared the details about my faith journey with many people, because many have not asked. Now, here, in my little corner of the internet, the time has come for me to share my story. I do so to give myself a moment of reflection before I turn the page, and so those who care about me can better understand why I walk my current path.

__________ __________ ___________ ___________

IN THE BEGINNING

I was brought up in a completely secular home. My parents were raised Catholic and Protestant, but their upbringing did not flavor mine. We only attended church when it was with friends or my grandparents. As a little kid, I had no knowledge of Bible stories. To illustrate this point, let me tell you a funny story... When I was in first or second grade, I looked up my name in the big classroom dictionary at school. It said something like, "Sarah: Hebrew for Princess. The wife of Abraham." and I thought, "Oh! Abraham Lincoln's wife was named Sarah!!!" What other Abraham was there, anyway? In my childhood home, we didn't read scriptures, never prayed, and we didn't talk of God or the Devil. My parents instilled in me a sense of right and wrong, I knew the merit of doing good for goodness's sake, and learned to trust in a reality that was proven by facts and science. Thankfully, I never tasted religious-inflicted guilt or shame, and I never feared the wrath of a vengeful god.

Life was beautiful and I was a good kid. Honest, loyal, moral, hard-working, did great in school, obeyed my parents, brushed my teeth, and did my chores. Sure, I enjoyed experimenting with foul language and could curse like a sailor (no offense to sailors!), but that was the extent of my experimentation, if you get what I mean. Sarah = Good Kid. Good adult too, but I'll come to that later.

I loved my religious friends and respected them, but had no desire to learn more about their faiths. By my early teens I was pretty sure I was an atheist. That was also around the time I met a boy. Not just any boy, but THE boy. He made my teenage heart go pitter-patter, and he was the first Mormon I ever knew. The boy and I dated off and on from the time I was 14 years old until I was 21. I loved him. I loved learning everything about him, but I didn't want to learn about his church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. However, spending so much time in close proximity to active Mormons meant that little pieces of Mormon info slipped through my carefully crafted walls. Family dinners at his home always featured a humble prayer said by his father, a good man whom I greatly respect. Sometimes the Mormon missionaries were also at dinner and shared a message afterward. Holiday celebrations in his home, like Easter and Christmas, focused on Christ. Once, I attended a play at the Oakland Temple with his family where I learned about the foundation of the church, but I never attended church with him, never read Church books or researched his religion with the intent of believing it. No thank you!

I did research it a little though, separate from him, during an Intro To American Religions class my freshman year of college. In my honors discussion group (See, told you I was a good kid!) we were assigned to attend a local religious service and write up a report. I picked the Mormons and attended an LDS church for the first time. It made me nervous and anxious. I watched it all with eyes open wide, trying to take in everything in a scholarly way. No, I didn't close my eyes when they prayed! I was in observation mode. I left that experience feeling like I learned a little about my boyfriend's typical Sunday, and that was that.

The boyfriend and I broke up several times because young hearts are passionate and fickle things. We broke up multiple times specifically because he couldn't see how we could eventually get married, since he was Mormon and I was not. It drove me batty. I didn't understand his logic. Then, after one such break up at the end of my freshman year of college, I decided that if he meant so much to me, and the church meant so much to him, maybe it was time I looked into it. Let me directly quote from my diary on September 8, 2002 - "I really hope that I can sincerely believe his church's teachings and be with him. I just can't let myself lose the real me for someone else. I'm a little afraid that I will."

I read a book, I felt spiritually touched, and I decided to dive in head first. I then read any books about the LDS church that I could find, which were all books written by LDS authors and published by a church owned publisher. I started reading The Book of Mormon and praying. I moved back to my college town and started attending church weekly, as well as an evening Institute class once each week. (Institute is a part of the Church Education System designed to teach LDS young adults religion classes outside of the normal Sunday services.) I decided to give it my all, play the part, and even close my eyes when I prayed. When in Rome, right?

The more I submerged myself in the Mormon experience, the more I felt moved upon spiritually. I felt a warmth and a goodness at church and institute. I met with the missionaries and was not surprised that their lessons made sense to me. Things I inherently believed were part of their doctrine: Of course families can be together forever, duh! LOVE is eternal. We watched videos with moving music and powerful visuals and I started to feel something for this man called Jesus. I also learned the lingo, moved within the culture of Mormon college kids, and I was so happy. Here were good people, kind people, who loved to have fun without getting drunk! (See, I TOLD you I was a good kid!) It was exciting! It was an endless emotional high of learning learning learning, while being embraced by a community like I had never known before. AND it meant my boyfriend and I could one day end up happily married? The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints had me. There were pieces that didn't fit well for me, but I placed them high up on a shelf in my mind, out of my view, so I could focus on all of the good that the church had to offer. Four days before my baptism I wrote, "I feel bad because there are so many church standards that I don't subscribe to. Some of them will just take time, others I may never accept, like their attitude toward homosexuality. Right. I swear. I have too many earrings. I feel bad about some of these things, but not about others" I went on to explain that I hadn't had a big spiritual confirmation that I should join the church, rather that... "I've felt good, but I've never been like "BAM! I Believe!" or anything. It just sounded right. Everything sounded comfortable, and good."

I wanted it, so I took the leap, and on February 15th, 2003 at the age of 20, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

Where were my parents during all of this? Quietly and kindly supporting me every step of the way. They attended my baptism. They might not have agreed with all of my choices, but they love me and have always supported me in the endeavors that matter most to me, thank goodness.


TO BE CONTINUED...

Update: JA and My Super Kid

Emma is amazing.

(I'm sure I've said that before, and I know for a fact that I'll say it again, but I just want to make sure you all know it.)

My freckle-faced Bean is going to start first grade soon. She is also in the process of weaning off of her arthritis medication. Again. (She has auto-immune juvenile arthritis.) Enbrel is her magical drug. It has worked to completely eliminate her inflammation every time we have used it. However, the goal is to not be on this stuff forever. The long-term effects of these meds really aren't known. So, when her disease is under control for a year, we say goodbye to the medication.

The first time we weaned off of meds, she had only eight weeks before her knee blew up like a painful, stiff balloon. The second time, she enjoyed five glorious months before the arthritis crept back into her joints. Once again, she has been in medicated remission for about a year, so once again, we slowly taper off of the Enbrel and check for any re-emerging signs of active arthritis. It will be a gradual process. Currently, I'm still giving her weekly injections, but I am under-dosing her. We'll see her rheumatologist in a few months and plan where to go from there.

I have a little bit of nervousness about this wean, because, you know... SCHOOL. I'm worried that without her magical Enbrel, she will eventually flare, and it will affect her school life.

Do you remember being a kid and running around the playground, loving your first grade teacher, coloring, and reading? Were you just trying to have fun, master the monkey bars, figure out those darn "rule breakers" while reading, and enjoy time with your friends? Wasn't it awesome, singing songs, discovering your skills as a writer, becoming a budding mathematician? Maybe you were different, or you worried you would be thought of as different and then not accepted by other kids. Maybe you had warts all over all of your fingers and you were afraid that kids would notice and then no one would want to be your friend. (Okay, that was me.) Maybe you just wanted to sit in the grass and talk with your friends without being chased by Richard who was trying to kiss all the girls. (Also my experience - those warts came in handy to scare him away after all.)

I want Emma to have all of that without hobbling around in pain. That's all I want.

Enbrel is my security blanket. I really don't mind stabbing my kid in the arm once a week to give her a shot. That's a freaking piece of cake compared to watching her limp every morning when she gets out of bed.

So, even though she is fine, fabulous, and so so healthy right now, and we aren't even off of the medication yet, my mind goes down the road and deep down inside, I worry.