I was sitting on a bench at the dance studio, waiting for Malia's class to get out. Nothing out-of-the-ordinary; I do this a minimum of 3 times a week. I received a text from my little sister who lives in Utah. She tends to hear about these things before I do, due to geographic proximity. I clicked on the link and began to read.
My stomach knotted, and I felt an overall feeling of "yuck." My usual jovial conversations with surrounding moms ceased, and I read the article over and over. Something about it didn't sit well with me. This is not a feeling I am accustomed to when I hear things from the leaders of the Church. I began a frantic google search on my phone for other sources or official statements. The internet at the studio moves at a snail's pace. I gave up and stared at the wall in front of me as the final 5 minutes of Malia's class seemed to tick ever-so-slowly by. I sent the link to my husband who was at home, getting the other 3 kids to bed, imagining he would somehow, miraculously, find a free minute away from a chaotic bedtime routine, truly outnumbered, to read it and extinguish my building anxiety with a comprehension that had somehow passed me by.
Malia came out of her class and I faked a smile and a hug, asking her how class went. As we drove home, I listened in a perplexed silence as she chatted on about friends and dance routines. At home, kids were running amuck, avoiding their father's pleas to calm down and "JUST GO TO BED!" It took about another 20 minutes but, eventually, they were all tucked in with lights out.
When we got downstairs, I asked David if he'd read the link.
"Sort of."
"It's actually really bothering me..."
"Why?" he asked. He clearly hadn't done more than lightly perused it.
A wall of tears pushed through the damns of earlier resistance. I began to unleash the frustration and the confusion that had been building up inside for the previous hour. I couldn't understand why it seemed as if the place of worship that I had grown to understand as a defender of the right to be a free agent had taken that away from so many. I was being ripped in half by an unconditional, devoted love for my faith, and the pain and sympathy I felt for so many of my amazing homosexual LDS friends who still loved a gospel they had felt betrayed by but might still want for their children. The Mormon in me was angry, and the mother in me was anguished.
It sounds incredibly dramatic, but it was the reality for me in that moment.
I knew I couldn't go on facebook. I have too many Mormon friends. I have too many gay friends. And I have a startling number of friends that are a combination of both. The torrent I felt inside didn't need to be exacerbated by the hurricane I would likely encounter there.
I have never been so affected by a policy in the Church as I was by this news at this moment. I grew up in the Church. I was always active and did my part. I was, personally, converted to its teachings when I was around 13/14 years old. I have never considered myself a "blind follower." It is not in my nature to be a lemming. Far from it, in fact. I will rarely do anything that I don't feel 100% committed to in my heart. It is one of my greatest strengths and deepest flaws. There have been moments here and there where Church leaders have said things that have taken time to settle in, or even required some time alone with my thoughts, prayers, and a need for personal revelation to convince me of its rightness.
But, this was the first time I've ever felt completely knocked over by something that I just couldn't see myself finding peace with. This was the first time I'd ever pictured the Brethren in my mind, and thought, "What were they thinking? How could this possibly come from the God I know?!"
I cried for a good length of time, as my husband sat in stunned silence. I'm not really sure where he stands on this issue; he's an internalizer. We were having friends over that night. Friends from out-of-town. Friends who are probably in my top 10 friends of all time. So, I had to swallow it down. They are LDS as well, but hadn't heard as they'd been playing at Disneyland all day. We touched on it a little, but I didn't want to put a damper on the night since we hadn't seen each other in so long.
I woke up several times that night with an uneasiness I just couldn't shake. In the morning, I was exhausted, swollen-eyed, and had a pressure headache from the dehydration. I braved facebook and read dozens of articles filled with "pros" and "cons" (I inserted the quotation marks on purpose). There was a toxicity there. People who were defending the policy were doing so in a pious, unempathetic manner. They were calloused and almost, I hate to say it, bigoted. Those opposing it were taking it personally and offensively, making comments about a choice being taken from them I highly doubted they would choose, anyway. I was desperate for a place in the middle where I could reconcile the strength of my testimony with the hurt... and I couldn't find it. I decided to immerse myself in a project that needed finishing. With the girls in school, and JD playing on the floor behind me, I found solace in music & lyrics.
https://soundcloud.com/user138886209/beautiful-city
It plagued my mind all day as I went about my duties as mother and wife. Just before I went to bed, an official interview with D. Todd Christofferson, a member of the quorum of the Twelve, surfaced on my social media feed.
I watched it. He said what I expected him to say. He said it in a straightforward, albeit loving, way. I went up to bed and laid quietly in the dark as I waited for some sort of insight outside of myself.
As I type this, you may be waiting for the conclusion I likely have come to.
I have no intelligent argument for or against this policy. I don't have years of Church history-backed explanations or justifications of how this will somehow keep families in tact. Also, I personally have found a life in the quintessential understanding of what family is in the church with my bishopric-member husband and 4 beautiful children who enjoy singing songs in primary about Jesus without possible exposure to doctrines that could be painful.
But I have come to a conclusion; it's the same conclusion I come to cyclically, and it never fails me.
I know that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints teaches the truest principles that can be found on this earth. I've known it since I was 14 years old. Coming to that conclusion was a journey that had peaks and valleys, and it is a conclusion that I continue to have to come to all throughout my life; and I have every time. Even in my darkest hours and in my most "rebellious" moments, nothing has been able to shake that. I don't know if I will ever understand the reasonings behind this approach taken by the leaders of the Church. But I can't deny my unwavering faith in who they are. They are JUST MEN. But they are as close to a tangible voice from God as we have. And they have a task before them that I don't envy. As the world "progresses," the church will appear more and more archaic, out-of-touch, and even cruel. God is merciful and loving... but we often forget that He is also just, because it forces us to face a frightening accountability. I have come to understand the importance of this as a parent myself. I have mercy for my children tenfold, but it cannot overtake a need for justice in my efforts to help them grow to be GOOD PEOPLE. And both of those things are fostered out of my love for them and who I desperately hope they will become. The parallel with God as our Father is glaringly obvious.
I am not quite in agreement with this policy. I may never be. But I will pray every day for my understanding of this to be at peace with my soul, as I will also pray daily for the healing of the spirits and souls that this policy has truly pained.
But, I could never turn my back on my faith.
It's never done so to me...
