Rameumptom

Self-righteousness is everywhere.

EVERYWHERE.

(also, i'm on a f-bomb spree. deal.)

I'm hearing it on both sides about this bin Laden thing. "We shoulld've tortured the motherfucker!" "Let's not take joy in death!"

gawd.

It's in my sustainability class, too--twelve weeks into this thing and I'm finally hearing something other than OMG CAPITALISM SUCKS AND WE'RE RUINING THE EARTH!!!
 
Which, fine! you know? if it's true. And I'm not a big fan of our system, but a while of crazy-evangelical preaching that i'm killing my grandchildren gets a smidge old. STFU i can't hear in between your rantings.


Which, I would think anyone whose been through the religious grinder would understand. I want to hear both sides, and every fucking time I say that someone has to get all "well scientists have said..." and I don't fucking care. I WANT TO READ IT. I want to hear about it! If I can't or I'm somehow kept from it, I get really really suspicious. I begin to question. Too many people who ought to know better tell me I shouldn't, that it's bad because the thinking has been done for us.

Familiar?

I also become cynical when a professor pulls the ALL CAPS AND !!!! on me (literally, it's an online course).

I'm just tired. I can only do so fucking much. I want to be happy too, you know? This omg we're gonna die!! shit isn't good for a girl like me.


But it's a fine line, isn't it, between faith and evidence. There's only so much you can do.

"Free Agency"

An article over at MormonTimes was brought to my attention which commented on the rhetorical issues of "I can't, I'm Mormon."

The author thinks this is crap because, duh, Mormons have a choice.

This is a sticking point between many ex-members and current members. It's also an issue between never-mos and current members. For example, my brother had a really bad experience with a scary roommate of his. The guy ended up going to jail because of my brother. He threatened my brother--you know, "When I get out..." I don't remember the specifics, but my brother had to do what he did because, as he said, he didn't have a choice.

A member told him "Of course you do."

This was during my initial disaffection, and as such I had a progressively heightened sense for bullshit. I told said person that when it's a "choice" between living or dying, it's not really a choice, is it?

This person is like this...all the time. He can't let anything go. He'll walk into your home and preach. He'll call you to task on anything he feels strongly about. It's his way of spreading teh gospel. It's fucking annoying.

To his credit, he let it go that time because really, what is the choice?

He didn't quite learn the lesson though. The church is all about "free agency." Freedom to choose. "I teach them correct principles," Joseph Smith said, "and they govern themselves." Every member is under this delusion that you always have a choice.

Of course you do, technically. You could choose to die if you wanted to. But most people aren't looking to be martyrs without a cause. Most people want to live. What choice is it when your hand is effectively forced?

But, members would say, the church doesn't force your hand. Ask past-President Gordon Hinckley:

No, I reply, the Church will not dictate to any man how he should think or what he should do. The Church will point out the way and invite every member to live the gospel and enjoy the blessings that come of such living. The Church will not dictate to any man, but it will counsel, it will persuade, it will urge and it will expect loyalty from those who profess membership therein.

Isn't "expect loyalty" simply a euphemism for "dictate"? 

The church is confusing choice with force, not to mention forgetting the paternal nature of its organization. They treat you like a (jerk) father would treat his little child--but it's worse than that. It is akin to a father saying "Don't ever say anything bad about me or I'll disown you."

What is the choice in that?

The Church takes it a step further, however. It's not simply about excommunication because excommunication as an LDS concept means so much more. What ought to be said is "Don't say anything bad about me or I'll disown you and effectively not only take away everything you've ever had, but your salvation as well."

Choice?

Truly, if I wanted to, I'd make a shirt that said "I can, I'm not Mormon."

Hmmm. I might look into that.




*Also, just for fun let's also discuss the funny that is an attractive, young blonde thing with "come hither" eyes wearing a shirt that says "I can't, I'm Mormon."

Ignorance

I'm still sick. Pretty sick.

Pret-tay, pret-tay, pretty sick.

Anyways, I ran into this the other day:

NPR: New Edition of 'Huckleberry Finn' will Eliminate Offensive Words

Yes, please. Let's breed some MORE fucking ignorance, shall we? This coming from the people who call liberals too concerned with being politically correct. This likely coming from the same people who would rather teach our kids abstinence way before methods of safe(r) sex. This is unbelievably condescending.

Ignorance is bliss. Except it's not.

My grandpa died today.

Historically, I don't handle death well.

After today I wonder if that is just something I've always told myself. Truth, it has always been the idea of death that I didn't handle well. The idea that one minute they're there, the next they're gone. I'm horribly nostalgic, too. It's also the mystery of death. The thought about the pain that goes with it. The last, secret moments before relief.

I received the phone call on Thursday or Friday about his having a stroke and being at the hospital, how it was "not looking good." They said if I wanted to come, then I needed to come now. I couldn't. I've had bronchitis for a while and didn't think the hospital would smile on me coming down to see him and I didn't know if I'd just make things worse by doing so. The next day I was so out of my mind it scared me. I wasn't able to stand for more than five minutes until today, so when I was told he was on life support but that they were pulling the plug, there was little I could do.  But I'm pretty sure my stepmom at least faulted me to some degree for not coming more quickly. It wouldn't be a lie to say that a part of me hesitated to go, but I've done a lot of thinking lately and, with Eric's help, began to look at this situation from a different angle.

Besides, my grandma and my dad--I needed to be there for them. I cannot imagine losing my husband or my father. I wanted them to know I was there for real.

So when my sister texted me earlier today to tell me his respiration was failing and his extremities growing cold, I called my mom and asked her to watch the kids for us while. We left at approximately 1pm. I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I prefer privacy when it comes to saying goodbye to somebody--something I'd only done once before, but then my aunt was more alive than dead (she had stage 4 cancer and liked to put on a show of strength for everyone). I also told myself he'd probably pass as we were on our way, and then what was the point?

But there was a point. I just wouldn't know until I was there.

My mom and Eric asked me if I'd regret not going. I knew I might. I thought about my grandma--she has a ton of land with a small farm quite a distance from town, and she's living with her abusive and possibly certifiably insane daughter. At 75, it feels far too much for her.

We walked in the room at about 2pm. I made my way to the side of his bed and watched him. I thought he was asleep. Alive, but asleep. His eyes were closed, his mouth agape. The nurse was there. It took me a moment to figure out what was going on. I quite literally missed him by about two minutes, if not less. It broke me up that we missed him by just seconds. Stories were told about his last days, his last moments, things I wished I could've been there for. Apparently just before he passed he moved both his arms up, something that surprised the family as he was brain dead on the left side and assumed paralyzed.

I've never seen a dead person before. Ever. I've refused viewings, all of that. I didn't want that to be my last memory of the person. I've also not lost very many people close to me. Two, maybe. Maybe.

Eric, having used the bathroom, came in a minute or so after I did. I didn't know if I should've said it out loud, but I did before I really knew what I was saying. "We're too late," I said. That was a hard reality to face.

See, this past holiday season we had opted to visit Eric's mom. It wasn't a big deal for Thanksgiving, so much, but Christmas. I had a feeling it'd be his last. You just don't suddenly deal with mini-strokes and dementia and falling down all over the place (to the point you're put in a nursing home temporarily) and not be swiftly on your way out. Even knowing that, though, I didn't go. First it was a matter of "I don't want to," but no decisions were made. I didn't want to deal with that side of my family--they can be rather labor intensive at times. When we discovered we had no money for gas, the decision, I figured, was made for us.

Besides, I think I figured him to last longer than this.

My dad and my grandma sounded terrible on the phone when I spoke to them only a few days before, but here in the hospital room they were putting on their stoic faces. My dad was taking care of all the crapwork--answering questions, that sort of thing. My grandma was talking about other things but if you looked at her close enough, you could see she was suffering. His death means a lot of things. She kept saying she didn't know where to begin, that this was a nightmare (she walked out of the room for just a moment, and when she returned he was gone). My dad tried to be strong, but every now and again his words and actions would belie him. Five or so minutes after we arrived, my dad went to my grandpa and shook his shoulder, saying "It's okay, Dad. It's really okay." I spoke with him right before we left and asked how he was doing. He said he figured his would be a delayed reaction. He also spoke of taking a moment during a trip to her house to look at all the things my grandfather had made. They used to go cut wood together. He's resigned himself now to not do that anymore. It's sad for me to hear that--every year they did it. They were great friends. If I can say anything about my father, it is this: he is amazing when it comes to taking care of his family.

My grandfather was a Korean war veteran and a machinist. He astounded me with his knowledge. He had his own little saw mill where he could take tree trunks and make 2 x 4s. He made his own nuts and bolts. His garage is something to marvel at. My dad has no idea how they're going to get through it all.

Everyone, of course, began to guess what my grandpa was up to now that he was gone. "He's probably meeting a lot of people right now," they said. "Probably eating a whole load of cookies." "Got a platter of food, I'll bet." Stuff like that. My grandma talked about how some people, right before they die, are reported as smiling and/or waving, or saying hello to themselves, how if that doesn't prove an afterlife she doesn't know what does. Of course I let her have this. I let them all have this. As for me, I didn't believe it. I just didn't.

Same goes for looking at his body. My SIL, after seeing her friend's dead son at his viewing, told me that it was a good experience--she, too, had balked at such things before. She said it reaffirmed to her that our bodies are mere shells. She could tell his spirit was gone. I spent some time looking at my grandfather, wondering if I saw and felt the same thing. I didn't. Other than the lack of breathing, it just seemed like he was in the room. He wasn't, and I knew that--I felt that--but it wasn't like something was missing. If I didn't think about it, he was just sleeping.

I also kept looking at him because I knew I wanted to go touch him and say goodbye. I had asked my dad over the phone yesterday to kiss him for me, but I wasn't sure he'd do that. Besides, I was there. Everyone else would take his hand and kiss his forehead. I wanted to, but I was absolutely terrified. I spent our entire visit debating with myself. I knew I'd regret it if I didn't, but I was afraid of rigor mortis and the cold of the dead.

Right before we left, I determined to approach him. I kissed him on the forehead. I think I said something but I don't remember what it was. I worried for a moment about my hair falling into his eyes but remembered straightaway that it didn't matter anymore. His skin was cold to the touch, but it wasn't a special kind of deathly cold. It was just as if he needed a blanket.

There's something comforting to me about just knowing that he was gone. Not that he, individually, was gone, but I wasn't worrying or speculating over what his spirit was doing or where he was. I didn't wonder about him being in the room with us, as my mom tried to reassure me he was (because we were too late). He was just gone, and it was up to us to make something good of it. It gave me a sense of strength I hadn't felt before.

I've thought a lot lately about being honest with myself. I fight with myself about Jesus--not so much god anymore, but Jesus. I'm holding on to threads, just like I did with Mormonism, but I think deep down I just don't believe. I have the door cracked, of course, but mostly I don't believe. And that's okay.

I'm going to miss him. I keep thinking about how he played "this little piggy" with my cousins and I when we were just little. He and my grandma weren't in a happy, loving marriage but they stuck together. He took great care of her and she of him. For a long time he didn't come with her to family get-togethers, and if he did he was quiet. He'd speak with my dad and my uncle out in the garage, of course, but in the home he was in his seat, sleeping. The last few years he became much more sociable. It was fun to see him that way.

I'm sure there's more to say. This is probably more for me than you, but that's okay. This is my journal.

I'm gonna miss him, but mostly I'm worried about my grandma. I'm sure that's okay. As for myself, I'm pretty proud. I fought through a lot to do what was best.

Wrestling with school. Again.

Few things these days make me angrier than the fact that I'm 29 and haven't finished school, that I'll be 35 when I'm done if the planets align and I don't have to take a break here and there. That many who I run into and am acquainted with, non-members, are those who have either finished school or who are, you know, 21 and almost done. And there are worrisome issues after that. How hard I have to fight to do it. I can blame some of it on the church, but in the end the church was the perfect scapegoat. It gave me the excuse I was looking for. But it also encouraged me to give up my dreams. It encouraged me to rely on others (read: men), just as I'd always been encouraged to do--if not men, then others. To allow my fears to get the better of me because I'd never been allowed to stand up to them before.

Do y'all have ANY IDEA how terrified I am? Any idea? Two days ago I was looking up the phone number so I could call the university to tell them I couldn't do it. After all the bullshit I've fought past, all it took was one little phone call to the university day care program and the simple comment "There's really a slim to no chance you'll get your son in, so don't get your hopes up. We don't have much if any turnover this time of year."

Motherfucker!

You have to understand, and you'll likely remember if you've been here a while, even this past semester where I took ONE CLASS at my local community college I had to fight like hell just to be able to take just ONE CLASS. And to do that, I had to rely on the amazing help of my amazing step-MIL who picked up my kids once a week and then one other day when I had to help out in Joseph's class because putting the older two in the after-school program for a grand total of 45 minutes for $12 is ridiculous. I understand I could leave them there longer, but there's no reason for that. I would have, though, if I had to. If she wasn't so willing.

Now I feel bad.

I have a super-guilt complex when it comes to my kids, even though I told myself since high school that I would not repeat what my mom did: give herself entirely for my brother and I. I know this sounds noble, but she's always been so unhappy and without anything else to turn to when we were gone. It made her hold onto us that much harder because she didn't know what to do with herself when we weren't there. While it is certainly attributed to our own personalities, it didn't help us become independent in the least respect. I'm still struggling.

I still don't know if this is church-related or what. I really don't.

But next semester, in order for me to attend my classes, I very well may have to call on some more help. Three days a week. Step-MIL home-schools, as does MLDSFDTS. SMIL said she could watch Joseph for me on Fridays. My cousin volunteered quite freely to help, but she's got some things to work out for herself and may not always be available. I'm sure I could work something out, but y'all, it exhausts me to think of doing this again. I'm almost broken.

And neither Eric or I enjoy asking for help of this caliber. It's a lot to ask, and it requires a lot of trust on my part.

And it makes me so fucking angry. I'm angry because Eric didn't need to worry about this shit. He had his own things to worry about, granted, but he didn't have to worry about scheduling around me or the kids. At all. And in that way I feel terribly alone. Eric is willing to do what he can, and without his support I wouldn't even be trying, but even then: alone.

I don't know if I can do this. I'm pretty determined, but there's still a chance I'll opt to wait out until Joseph is in the first grade and I at least don't have to worry about this daycare stuff. I hate the idea of dropping him off at my cousin's house--he doesn't really know her (i can fix that somewhat) and I don't know how much fun he'd have there. I hate the idea of what my schedule will be like three-days-a-fucking-week. An hour there, four hours in class, race home to pick them up, ten minutes later pick up Joe at his preschool here. I also have my online class to worry about.

Y'all, I don't handle stress well. I really don't. Sometimes I do, but there are days...and that makes me question this entire thing. But I also think about what going will mean. And if I can't teach for whatever reason, there are other options. When I remember why I'm going, what it will do for me and my family, I've never been more determined.

The church took this away from me. Not directly, but indirectly. And I'm pissed. It didn't care about me enough to encourage this good thing. It told me to stay home, barefoot and pregnant all the time. It told me to multiply and replenish the fucking earth all on my own. It told me to submit (sorry, "hearken") to my husband. It told me that I could work only if I fucking had to, but even then that work such as that of a secretary was all I should do. Only single women in the early twenties who have "no opportunity" to marry a man are allowed to finish college. And I had the opportunity. Thank God I married a good man. I swear I'd be divorced by now if I hadn't.

And then what.

And not only that, but this whole fucking bipolar thing. It makes these things 100x harder. And while I'm fairly certain it would've reared its ugly head at some point anyway, my "heeding" the church's ugly teachings triggered it earlier than it probably would have otherwise.

This brings me to sobbing tears every day lately. The kids don't remember Eric being gone all the time, going to school. Abbie remembers a little, but it's like her surgeries and doctors appointments: she sees the scars and remembers some of the invasive procedures and yearly ultrasounds, but they're a forgone memory. She was young. They're done. They'll remember me being gone. They don't quite understand it. And I simply don't feel like a "good mom" anyway--mostly because now I don't know what the fuck to do. I've nothing to fall back on. Though I've known life sans The Church since I grew up without it, that's hardly a mold I want to use. I tell others my mom did the best she can, but while she didn't beat me and abuse me like her own parents did, I took and still take my own brunt. Then I have the genes from my father that freak me the fuck out. I'm fighting my genes, people. It's hard to convince myself I don't have to be them, that I can choose their best traits. But even then, their best traits simply aren't mine. I'm a fighter, but I can only do so much.

I do know I bust my ass for them as best I can, and I'm going to school for them as much as I am for me. But my best and your best aren't necessarily the same.

I want to be an example to my daughter--my sons too, but mostly my daughter.

I also know that if I thought this would be the worst thing for them, I wouldn't do it. But I also know that if I didn't do it, my anger would simply grow and my depression and sense of self-worth worsen. I'd be my mom. I can't fucking have that. My kids don't deserve that.

And now that I think of it, perhaps I AM doing what my mom did to us: making life too goddamn easy. They need to suck it up sometimes.

So, I'm going. I just hope it works out in the end. This is one area where my ten years of church still very much has a hold on me, and it pisses me off. So much.

Contacting Spirits

When I was in the third grade, a kid brought his Oujia board to school. A few of us joined him in a hidden corner during recess. It was cool. And creepy.

When I had a chance to ask it a question, I asked "Will I ever be rich?"

"No."

Fucker.

My dad lost it when I told him about it later that night. He didn't think much of me conversing with the devil. I really, really scared him.

Anyway, I pretty much stayed away from that stuff afterward. During our 6th grade week-long field trip the girls in my cabin (not including one unbelievably religious girl) played a game of "light as a feather." I didn't play because they weren't really my friends and the game freaked me out a little bit. Maybe in part because the way my dad reacted a few years before, and part because I was afraid it would work. I still can't bring myself to do that "Bloody Mary" thing (is that right? something like that). I should probably do it just to get it out of my system, prove to myself it's not for real. I'm pretty superstitious, though. I like believing in the supernatural stuff. It's fun.

So.

Yesterday my kids pulled out our small card tables and covered them with their blankets. This morning I walk in to Jason's complaints that Abbie was contacting spirits (via her snow globe).

"They're not real!" he said.

"Leave her alone," we told him. "She's fine."

Wow.

That was weird. Still, I wondered how I'd react if I discovered one day she was doing some of dat witchcraft on a more...intense level. I had a friend who, prior to joining the church, engaged in that stuff and wouldn't speak of it. It freaked her out.

Yeah, I believe in that stuff. Not on a general level, but I tend to believe something odd is going on (but not without the realization that there is probably-maybe another explanation?)

So I dunno.

Still, my non-reaction was kinda cool. Yet, before, I would've felt compelled to respond (because y'know, as a god-fearing girl/parent i have to), but I never knew how to explain it without sounding like an idiot. Like I was encouraging my kids to believe in ridiculous things. Like they were going to look at me like this: O_o?

Projection, much?

Kind of like how I could never quite relate the story of Joseph Smith or Moroni or whatever. It just...sounded ridiculous.

Salvation NOW!

I was eleven years old, brand new in the youth group program of my father's Assembly of God church. Our pastor, different from the previous one I've described, took us to the local Catholic cemetery, easily the oldest cemetery in our small town, if not in the vicinity. Full of history. I always wondered, if I was still enough, if I could feel the ghosts of those who had been lain to rest.

But there would be no such reverence this afternoon.

I stood there with my peers on the grass, listening to our pastor's strong and passionate admonishments that went something like this:

"I can't guarantee you that you'll wake up tomorrow. You can't guarantee me that the sun will rise in the morning, that the Earth will still be here. There is no guarantee. You don't know when you will die. If you don't accept Christ now, you will end up in hellfire--period. You cannot wait until the last minute because you may not know when the last minute is. You may not wake up tomorrow. You must accept Christ. Now."

Fear, as you may have noticed by now, is the primary tool in the Assembly of God arsenal. The use of fear is hardly exclusive to Mormonism, but it is certainly a different brand. This is a more violent, in-your-face fear mongering. It is without apology. It is hardly denied even by those who commit it. It is born of fear and perpetuated out of fear. It is a snake that you will pick up to let it bite you because you are unworthy and deserve ever more pain for Christ. You will ask to be bitten and stomped and crucified for and out of your own righteous guilt that, if sincere, will never be satiated.

This particular graveside example is relatively mild, but it remains in my memory.

Eleven-years-old and being told to accept Christ or be consigned to Satan's terrifying grasp to endure an eternity of fire, torture, and misery.

Because I was a sinner.

No matter how hard I tried, how good I was in my heart and in action, I was a sinner.

An eleven. year. old. sinner.

Who needed to be saved.

Have I ever explained to anyone just how hard I tried throughout my lifetime to be good? I haven't because I can't put it into satisfactory words. And it wouldn't matter, because it wasn't ever enough. It just didn't fucking matter because in the end someone would come up to me, for reals, to tell me nothing I ever did would ever be enough. It didn't matter what church I belonged to--Protestant, LDS, didn't matter. The Mormons straight up tell you to aim for perfection even though you'll never get there. To even suggest such a thing in my father's church could be considered blasphemy. Only Christ was and is ever perfect.

Assembly of God is bloody. But it's supposed to be. Therein is humility.

I would never be enough.

Praise Jesus.

I wasn't sure at this moment of my first real call to salvation if I'd been saved. I hadn't said "the prayer" yet--the one where you verbally "accept" Christ as your savior and call yourself an unworthy insect under his feet. But I believed in him. I accepted the story. I wasn't fighting it.

Apparently that wasn't enough.

Some people would tell me that's the point. 

I don't know. It's all bullshit. A part of me knew it, I'm certain, beginning that very day.

Agnostic Pause

It's soooo weird. Y'all know I'm taking this bio class (mostly how I bitch about it, but that's all directed at my prof. the material is actually really cool). Well lately we've been going over stuff that TOTALLY APPLIES TO MY LIFE RIGHT NOW. Except it's not the scriptures! You know how the scriptures are supposed to have all the answers, how the spirit is supposed to--well. Anyway. Apparently my bio book does the same thing.

!!!

Here's what I'm picking up on lately and what it's doing to my poor, tortured agnostic self (really, ugh)*

Basic introduction: First, The Theory of Common Descent. That is, not that humans evolved from apes, but that every organism on earth arose from a single cell billions of years ago and eventually evolved into everything you see and know of today.

It's like a big family tree. Kind of. To avoid a lengthier explanation, a relatively recent common ancestor of humans is the ape, chimpanzee, etc. It is not saying that we're just apes. Just that it's our most recent ancestor than, say, cats are. Like you're more similar to your grandmother than your second cousin once removed. We've evolved from apes via the process of natural selection. Also, evolution is not about being better, it is not about an ideal. It is the ever changing result of natural selection which states that an environment selects for certain genes in existing species.

It's akin to a flood--if we had a flood and there was a gene for swimming, the swimmers would survive because they could likely get to land. Those without the swimming gene would, well, drown. Not to say that swimmers are better PERIOD, just better suited in the flooded environment. Those without the swimming gene may be selected for in another environment better suited to them. Which is one reason why not all apes are humans.

Also, this shit doesn't happen overnight. Millions upon millions of years.

It's pretty much fact from what I can tell, but here are the three alternative hypotheses my text offers (and later refutes):

Okay, I had all three hypotheses identified/described, but there's no reason for them. They're debunked. They take up a lot of space. Here's what it comes down to:

Scientists have proven that complex molecules can arise from simple, non-living material. Poof! But even if everyone accepted the Theory of Common Descent, here's where my stubbornness comes in. I asked my husband about it:

"So where'd the simple, non-living material come from?"

"Probably something more basic, like elements," he replied. Calmly. Ugh.

"Where'd the elements come from?!" I add.

And on and on, ad nauseum.

But I'd have to be intellectually honest if I'm going down this road: Where'd God come from? The thing is, I've always been content with the idea that God just always existed. Even the LDS teaching that God was once a man who was then exalted to become a god and create his own people who then are exalted to become gods, etc. always unnerved me.


And so I'm sitting here, taking this class, learning about the world and how scientists figure everything out. I get that they don't have all the answers, but they have a lot of them. And they're totally okay with finding new evidence that proves their theories wrong. And I really love what they do: record what you see, not what you expect to see. Consider possible alternative hypotheses: are there any other reasons for this conclusion?

I know science doesn't deal with god, but god sure as hell tries to deal with science. See aforementioned hypotheses and the apologetics that arise from revealed science. It ain't just for those Mormons.

I've my own inner apologist. She's gotten past the whole Maybe God is just testing us and sending us detour evidence. We need to have faith! That's my dad's church talking. Think "dinosaurs." They're also partly responsible for God can inspire those writers to know exactly who Jesus was, what he did, and the thoughts and actions of those who followed him. Also, I get it. Historically, stories have been passed down orally as well, but have you ever played the telephone game?

While my own inner apologist grows quieter by the day, she's still there. Driving me batshit. I don't dig apologetics anymore. I worry myself about the what-ifs enough all on my own.

I don't know. Lately I'm wondering if I might be atheist. Atheism isn't about claiming to know for sure that God doesn't exist, just a belief that all evidence points to "probably not" so you live your life. It's not as if I'm afraid of losing my salvation, because I'm not. I do believe that if there's a god I want anything to do with, I'll be fine.

There's a part of me that wants to believe in God, but there's no really good reason why. Except maybe because I grew up Christian and god was always a part of my life. "Jesus loves you!' and all that shit. I always had someone to talk to, someone who had my back, someone who did only the best for me whether I knew it or not. Someone to help me find my keys. Now it's a matter of having faith in myself, and I'll tell you: I've never really had that. But I really like the idea. I like what it's doing for me.

What's my belief in god, however small, doing for me? What's the point of it?

In the end, I buy neither the biblical account, nor the Book of Mormon account, and I don't really want to come up with my own account. I know some people just figure there's a god and we're his fishbowl, but that's not something I want to expend any energy on.

I do like the idea of eternity, though.

So am I atheist? I don't know. Saying so would in part be very, very relieving but only because I'll have made a decision. I feel as if I'm forever wavering, unable to make a decision. But a decision of what? To what degree I think it's possible god exists? You know? Because I'm not looking back. There's nothing there for me.

As an agnostic, I often feel like I'm trying to have my cake and eat it too. But it's not as if atheists claim to "know" God doesn't exist. And it might be due to my own recently skyrocketing insecurities WITHOUT reading quotes like the following (for my blog)

"Isn't an agnostic just an atheist without balls?" - Stephen Colbert (yeah i know, satirist. still)

"There may be fairies at the bottom of the garden. There is no evidence for it, but you can't prove that there aren't any, so shouldn't we be agnostic with respect to fairies?" - Richard Dawkins

"You happen to be talking to an agnostic. You know what an agnostic is? A cowardly atheist." - Studs Terkel (i know, who?)

So.

In a way, this feels like the very beginning of my disaffection from the LDS church. I couldn't say outright "I don't believe." The thought of saying that petrified me. Atheism doesn't mean I've closed the door completely, just that chances are slim. I'm not entirely sure about that.

See, I still believe in supernatural things. You know, ghosts. Mostly because it's fun, because I've heard some pretty convincing stories from people close to me--not to mention that it drives Eric up the wall. He's got an answer for everything, so I like to bug him.

Me: "Babe! 'Ghost Hunters' is on!"

Him: *groan*

But you know, I don't believe in god but I do believe in ghosts? Logic fail?

I just figure it's no fun to know everything. But one can make reasonable conclusions.

Besides, I'd like, have to change the title of my blog.

I don't know.

Limits

There was a time I never spoke out and I'm horrified by it. A time I didn't think and didn't listen but just accepted. I can't seem to figure out when and where and how often it's appropriate to speak out, especially as a person who rarely gets out.

I'm an undiagnosed obsessive-compulsive. But I am diagnosed with something else that includes obsessive and compulsive thoughts and behavior. It's a nightmare. I find a topic and I obsess over it. I have a thought and I obsess over it until I can't stand it anymore and act on it. This process generally takes a second, but sometimes takes over the span of a few days. Weeks, months. A year. It depends on my cycling. Sometimes I don't think and just do despite knowing I need to stop and think. I'm rarely happy with myself afterward. I'm learning control, but it's hardly easy. It's a continual struggle that often results in damaged relationships. One that depends on the forgiveness of others and the gift of second, third, even fourth chances.

I want to do what is right, but the definition of "right" has changed a bit. I feel a lot of responsibility being surrounded by people who can't see past their leaders' noses, spread the ignorance, and in the process hurt others. But, you know, they feel just as right as I do.

I don't often proclaim something is definitely right or wrong anymore because I know there are exceptions, that there are more than two sides to each story. I can give a general, reasonable judgment on certain things--murder is wrong, rape is horrific, love is good, the church isn't "true." I can reasonably proclaim that racism and sexism are bad, that while homophobia is not in itself bad (I see it more as a misunderstanding, lack of education, experience, time), the actions that stem from it can be.

I should be more concerned with inspiring people to think for themselves rather than make judgments. People who feel wrongly judged don't want to listen. They want to fight back. I think there are those who have felt ostracized by a religion or church or its members because of individual beliefs understands this. It's the same on their end, too. When you feel attacked, you want to fight back--however is your style.

I'm on the fence about this Boyd Packer thing. I want to talk about it, and I have. I want to scream and yell, which I've tried my best to not do. I'm actually proud of myself for my reactions here. Not so much elsewhere on the 'net, though. I've come to ask myself at what point do I stop--at what point does focusing on it and feeding it become antithetical to me, personally? Because let's be honest, I'm standing up for myself, too, because this very thing is what drove me out of the church. The accusation that I wasn't faithful enough despite everything I was doing to be just that.

But what of those I'm standing up for as well? At what point does it harm more than help? At what point do I end up chasing away those who might otherwise listen to me at a lower volume?

I can't figure out when silence is good and when it's hurtful. My husband says he's disgusted by everything that has happened, but he doesn't show it unless I press him and even then he's pretty even-keeled. And it's then that I wish I could be more like him, more like those who exhibit control. I feel out of control.

The quote I have on this blog propels me to action. I don't want to be silent anymore, especially as others around me state that which is wrong and spread those diseases. I don't want to be silent anymore, in part because I am still attempting to atone for a sin I committed ten years ago when I dismissed my hurting friend. I want to stand with him, with them. I want to be brave and do this in not-so-safe places. I want to acknowledge things within myself that will help their cause--but I'm not entirely sure it would. Because in the end, to too many people, I chose a man. I chose "the right."

Not only do the words like that hurt other people, but they hurt those who don't know any better than to just accept the sentiments and conclusions of their chosen leaders. Later some of them will find out. Later they will hate themselves. Later, they may even realize they've been hating a part of themselves all along.

Not that I want that, but perhaps that's just how it has to go.

Why I Bitch About the Church

I wonder sometimes why I am so compelled to talk about the church and religion, especially as a convert. It's an important question to ask yourself. We all have our reasons. I have more than just the one I'm going to discuss today.

Growing up, I took a lot of accelerated English courses--you know, the dreaded critical thinking stuff I love that one of my Molly friends totally acknowledged she wanted nothing to do with because see what happens?!

I read books like Fahrenheit 451. I read Anne Frank's diary. Animal Farm. Brave New World.

I also, while it didn't seem like it at the time, paid attention in my history classes. Enough, at least, to know a sufficient number of facts regarding things like WWII, the basics of the founding of our country.

I knew enough about censorship and the suppression of ideas (y'all have an idea about how I feel about Banned Books Week), but I didn't make the connection for some reason. I gave up that very fundamental part of me when I joined.

I graduated high school, understanding how important it is to have free speech. How important it is to know at least the very basics of our history. I don't know enough, but I had the idea.

And then I joined the LDS church?!

This is why I talk about it. I talk about it because what the fuck was I thinking?

Why did I allow myself to get involved in a church that suppresses freedom of...well, everything? A church that basically teaches "slavery is freedom"?

Hi, 1984.

I know that's a bit of an exaggeration, but when you consider that they determine what kind of underwear you should wear, even down to how you should wear your fucking bra, it's not much of an exaggeration. I would mention earrings again, but--well, I guess I just did.

And while I might have joined with some knowledge of the church, I still did go into it somewhat ignorant. I did study, but I didn't listen to "the other side" much, mostly because the super anti-brochures and books and movies were ridiculous and rational people tend to not listen to extremists. Which is what they are. I don't care for people who yell.

Also, I was trying to be mature about this. If this is god's church, then y'know, I should suck it up. Do what needs to be done.

You have to understand, also, that soon after I began investigating the church I gave up on my writing, my reading, and even went as far as to burn everything I'd ever written. Things I'd kill for today. My diaries, my poetry, my stories. Gone. Poof. Because they weren't worthy. Because I didn't want to be like Lot's wife and look back. Because I was better and needed a clean slate.

I mean, FUCK. I gave up on my dreams, people. Because they weren't worthy enough. And now I question if I can get them back. How far down have I dug and can I get out? Should I get out? I have kids and a family now--is it selfish of me to do what I need to do to go back to school? People, it's not like Eric will be home full time while I do this. I know it isn't that easy--he killed himself for us, but I feel so overwhelmed. And there are just some things I'll never get back.

In the end, the fact is that I didn't know enough about the church. I wasn't happy. I didn't fit in. I had met a girl I absolutely loved, and while I didn't join because of her, she made me feel awesome. I had spent the last two years estranged from my best friend and now I had a new one. She would've been my friend even if I hadn't joined. I knew that. But still. I'd been thinking about ending my four-year church sabbatical for a few months anyway. And the people I met following her were just as welcoming and fun. And the doctrine they give investigators is pretty awesome. Like skim milk.

I thought "I don't know everything, maybe I should trust in a god who does." I still remember giving the OT another go and thinking "the fuck? oh well. who am I to question god?"

I know.

I've always thought I didn't know everything. It's just a matter of where or in whom I'm willing to put my faith in.

I thought everything was possible. I mean, hell, if Moses talked to a burning bush as I grew up learning and just kinda "knew" to be truth, who was I to say that Joseph Smith didn't speak to God?

I'd always had my little doubts, but they weren't enough. Not until I really acknowledged the sickness that was the church and polygamy. That was the first slam.

But Prop 8 was the knockout punch. EXACTLY because of what I had been taught and felt deeper in my soul than I had ever believed that Joseph Smith was True. I was being silenced. I was being told how to vote. I was being intimidated. People weren't looking me in the eyes anymore. I was unworthy. My testimony wasn't good enough anymore.

Follow the Prophet, follow the prophet, he knows the way!

People told me that the Prophet wasn't infallible, duh--but jeebus. When he speaks, the fucking debate is over. I didn't need a leader's quote to know that--which quite a few exist. I'd been in the church long enough to learn and know that the prophet speaks for God, so we should consider his words when spoken officially as God's words. Hell, it's in scripture.

What I the Lord have spoken, I have spoken, and I excuse not myself; and though the heavens and the earth pass away, my word shall not pass away, but shall all be fulfilled, whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same.

- D&C 1:38

But I was beginning to believe God was off his rocker. I was beginning to realize that Hinckley and Monson had no fucking clue what God wanted, let along Brigham Young. Joseph Smith. You can't be a person and a prophet. You just can't. It doesn't make sense. I know what the Bible says, but good hell.

Also, I believed in freedom more than that. I couldn't believe that if I spoke out against the church directly, I could be kicked out. People said "well, it's like a club. You play by its rules or get out."

But this club claimed the power to kick me out of heaven and to keep me from my family eternally. It took a long time for me to get over that, especially because in large part I like what this club teaches about heaven. It's far more inclusive than, say, my father's church.

So I talk about it. I need to talk. It's how I process. I need to go over and try to understand what it was that made me fall in line on so, so, so many different things. Things I normally wouldn't have thought of doing. Fortunately it didn't hurt anyone else (though I wonder sometimes about my kids--I wouldn't give any of them back for ANYTHING, but I do think I had one too many. Another post for another day, if I'm feeling brave), but it was enough to make me think about how easily I can be manipulated, even though I've always prided myself on having a bit of street smarts. Ha.

And that's really the scary part, and it's not without reason to think that the same thing could happen again on either a smaller or larger scale. For anyone.

Our Capacity for Truth

You'll notice that while I dig my soapbox, I've never gotten up on the "I have the truth and you don't and I love the truth and only seek out the truth" one. Mostly because while I believe strongly in certain things and will stand firm, I also feel strongly that I know nothing.

I also have certain things I very subtly and unconsciously desperately attempt to avoid.

Example: I don't talk about Christ much, and when I do, I talk about him in a way that doesn't recognize him as a divine character, fictional or real, a prophet, good man, whatever. I like the philosophies he embodies as a whatever, but that's where it ends. I don't necessarily equate the philosophy with the alleged philosopher.

I don't get this.

I'm afraid to make any certain conclusions about god, yes, but moreso about Christ. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I've never ever recognized him as God as my father does--even from childhood I never "got" the Trinity thing. And maybe it's that and also because I've been taught from day one that he's the dude that's gonna save me, and there's a part of me, that part of me that refuses to declare any truth, that wants to play on the safe side.

However, as a person who has "sought truth" both in joining and leaving the LDS church, I haven't looked for evidences against Christ. You won't see any evidence of me looking through the internet or books or speaking with many people about why they believe Christ is either not the son of god or simply never existed.

...except for once or twice regarding the Jewish perspective, but I assure you, my mind goes on half-power if it doesn't turn off completely. I was scared then because "it is only through Christ that you can be saved" but I don't know why I am scared now.

I think I'm reaching a point of comfort where I'll soon be able to walk into that scary closet and figure things out for myself. I just don't get what's so fucking scary about god or christ being fictional things. The Invention of Lying movie says it's a matter of comfort, and dammit. I want my blankie.

I am also still at the point where I know some incredibly smart people who have searched and scoured and still believe. There is that capacity--I just don't know if it's for truth or self-delusion/preservation because it is too scary to not believe.

I don't want to judge my critically thinking, compassionate believer friends because they believe. I don't ever want to. But I'm afraid I will if I find too much evidence to the contrary.

I don't entirely understand what it is to have strong friendships where there are strong disagreements with fundamental things. I've one friend right now who lives down the street. She is LDS but has a mouth on her. She's anti-social too. She's hilarious, and she's very compassionate about my disbelief and what it means to leave. But we both understand that we cannot discuss abortion or gay rights. Two very hot topics. This can be hard, because I feel strongly about both and feel largely silenced. She can go to church on a weekly basis or call up a friend and bitch.

But it's a maturity thing. I had to ask myself, and I'm sure she did too, if it was enough to not be friends. So far, it's not. I do hate those awkward moments, though.

I also know everyone has their limits. It may not be spiritual/religious limit for accepting or finding truth, but also political. I shut off my mind at times, and I've learned that's a HUGE red flag either that I am wrong, could be wrong, or simply don't understand enough. And I'm not always willing to check it out.

It may be an unwillingness to acknowledge a truth about a loved one. Eric has a family member who recently came out. He brings his boyfriend home and they play footsies in front of everyone but his grandmother insists on saying things like "aren't they nice friends?"

Or an unwillingness to admit a spouse is being unfaithful. Or abusive.

Or that a relationship/marriage might be in trouble.

That your son or daughter is dangerously into drugs or otherwise in trouble.

A refusal to fully admit to the truth of the entirety of your sexuality.

That a friend isn't really a good friend.

That something might piss you off but if it were the other way around, you'd totally act that way.

Etc.

It goes on and on, and so I feel really uncomfortable ever talking about my capacity for accepting truth when in reality, I'm just as bad--if not worse. Just in different areas.

To be a bitch, or not to be a bitch.

Part of me wants to apologize for my last post (since recanted). Then there's another part of me who's all "whatever." Guess I know which side won.

I mean, I do do that. Often. But it doesn't mean I think all Mormons are Morons.

Not all of them.

To be fair, I think a lot of people are morons. Just some more than others. Especially a group of people who yap about humility and then get all up in my grille all "i'm so sad for you," "i can't talk to you anymore," "you should be in church" "oh i just got called to be super-duper-relief-society-president, but i don't know how! i mean, i'm so humble!" "non-members are good people, but they could be better with teh gospel!"

yapyapyap

But what bothers me is that if a few of my "IRL" friends read that last post, they'd be hurt. It was funny but it was seemingly pointed and kind of anti. I guess. I don't want to hurt them, but dammit.

Dammit.

I'm going through a bit of a cycle at the moment. I'd explain but I'm not all that sure I'm comfortable doing that yet. Suffice it to say my emotions aren't where I'd like them to be. For the past two months I've been this fairly happy, take-over-the-world person and now I'm feeling overwhelmed, behind--depressed. For nothing. Well, there are reasons, but still. Not very good ones. Maybe it'll go away after this weekend. Doubt it, but maybe. I've got an arsenal I'm working on to make it go away.

This week kind of sucks. Just too much shit.

Maybe that tells you all you need to know. But it's worse than that. I just don't want to get all attention-whorish on you. Besides, I might talk about it later. I do feel it has something (not everything) to do with my loyalty during my time in the clink.

See? There I go again. Kinda like how much I laughed the first time I heard someone refer to the "crutch." I keep wanting to do that. Not because I think the church is a crutch (well...) but because it was funny. But I don't want to chase people away (hi, annalee). I don't know why that is. I mean, fuck. I warned you people in the beginning. I honest-to-god didn't care in the beginning. And now I do.

I guess I still wonder if my ex-roomie reads this. She has the proper paper-trail, but I don't know if she'd even give my last blog a look after a year of inactivity, yanno? So I don't know. She stuck with me through all of that, I suppose she still would. I'm just a bit more brazen here. A bit. Not as much as I want to be. And though I know now she knows, we barely talk about it. She respects me, and I shut up around her. Except for the time I--gasp--wore shorts above the knee (i know!) and a tank in her presence. Like, it showed my shoulders. And her husband was around.

The jokes, they make themselves. But they're kind of bitchy, especially considering how awesome she has been. So I need to be a nice girl. But I'm fucking tired of always being on my guard to be the nice girl. May as well stick that stick up my ass for reals.

Eric thought I should go totally anonymous on my new blog. I wanted to and I didn't want to. First, I didn't want to go through the bullshit that I would've had to go through just to create a new profile. I have one on wordpress and here and it's just annoying to fix.

Secondly, trust me, there's a lot I would say if I were faceless, just for cathartic's sake (?), but I don't like talking shit about the church and about religion anonymously. I'm not afraid of the church, just the people I love deciding I'm no longer a "good influence" for whatever reason.

Lookit the power the church still has over me. It has the power to take away the few friends I have left.

So in a protest I poke fun. And then, sometimes (rarely) I feel bad about it. Even though I started this thing all "y'all, you're gonna be offended if you're a member."

I worry too goddamn much.

Whatever.

Teh Gays: Making Life Hard

Pun totally intended.

So I ran across this article at Jezebel.com and began to think. It's a thought I've had before, but I figured maybe some of you would appreciate it and maybe give feedback.

This whole gay thing, yeah? Teh gays. Ruining everything. Trying to even take our marriage. And not even that! What about their deal with bending God-given GENDER ROLES.

I mean, haven't they read the Proclamation on the Family?

Gender is an essential characteristic of individual premortal, mortal, and eternal identity and purpose...By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families. Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children.

HEL-LO.

Like someone I know said recently, "It's okay to be a boy."

You know, boy. Rough-housing, pants-wearing, rambunctious, sports-playing boy. No sissy stuff. It's okay, just in case you were concerned it wasn't. Because apparently society at large is beginning to say it isn't.

So we had this whole discussion one day in the kitchen of a loved one's home about gender and that was said. Among some other, similar things. Boys are boys and girls are girls. Blue and pink. Guns and dolls. Pants and dresses. Barbies and Spiderman.

It's so easy. But our "progressive" (socialist!) society wants to make it so weird and complicated.

Anyway, I almost--I was a good girl, this was family, they think I'm weird enough--said "There are theories that state gender is fluid."

Oh god, could you imagine?

Anyway, so I'm thinking about this whole gender role thing and how the church applies it to homosexuality (sorry, "SSA").

First, it's two people of the same gender, which is so not what the (current) definition of marriage is.

Second, gay people can't procreate, so obvs they shouldn't get married. But they are having sex. Which is wrong. Obvs. It's not even real sex.

Third, uhm, Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve.

Something about Sodom and Gomorrah (so convenient when you don't actually read the story critically)

Paul--Paul said something didn't he? Lovers of themselves? Men lying with other men? I dunno. I thought that was supposed to be about masturbation. Or selfishness. Or something. Whatever interpretation works for the current argument.

And something in Leviticus among stoning women and other such Biblical things.

Ahem. Gender.

So it's much easier to just say "boys" and "girls," yeah? Girls get their own bathroom/locker rooms, boys get their own. You have dorms--BYU notably--where co-ed living is forbidden. In the mission field, boys stick with boys and girls with girls. Elders are not permitted to proselytize with Sisters and Sisters with Elders. Elders are not permitted to visit with a single sister. Same with home teachers. Hell--married people are strongly discouraged from even having friends of the opposite sex.

And why?

Because we don't want any sexy shit going down before marriage. Or outside of marriage.

And here's where teh gays come in (and even more sneakily, teh bisexuals):

Many people, at least in my experience, seem to think homosexuals cannot control themselves. They must have teh sex with anyone warm and breathing, straight or not. This can include children and your little dog, too! So desperate and backwards and evil, teh gays are.

Straight men and women dress in their specified rooms with those of their same gender because nothing weird is going to happen. Other guys won't check out other guys. Women too. There is less of a chance for sexy shit to go down. Less of a chance for sexual harassment.

Clean and simple. Safe. Neat. And celibate. Pure. You know. I mean, it's bad enough to get nekkid around anyone, but sometimes you just gotta. I mean, even back in the day the MTC had open showers. But who's to worry, you know? Just a bunch of guys or just a bunch of girls. Nothing's gonna happen.

Slumber parties, too. Keep 'em contained to girls or boys only and no sexy shit will go down. Probably.

Teh gays ruin all of this. And people would prefer, as illustrated by "don't ask don't tell," to remain ignorant. Because obvs once someone outs themselves, it opens the floodgates for sexy shit to go down.

"Oh, you're a lesbian? I've always wanted to try that, you know. Experiment."

Wink.

"You're gay? So am I. Wanna visit my bunk tonight?"

Nobody wants that.

It goes beyond people being "uncomfortable," which is crap anyway. Heaven forbid somebody's sexuality make you uncomfortable. Heaven forbid you be uncomfortable period!

It's in the Constitution!...somewhere, I'm sure of it.

But is it any different than when a man catcalls a woman and makes her uncomfortable? Not so much. Boys will be boys after all.

Being of African, Native American or of Japanese descent used to make people uncomfortable, too, but most of us have gotten over that. Or so we like to think. You can add Mexican and Muslim (also those of Middle Eastern and East Indian descent) to the list. Anything other than Christian, too, but that's not race. Still, uncomfortable.

If they're not white, they're not right. If they're gay, stay the fuck away.

It's not just the LDS church that enjoys a black and white view of the world. Much of society likes things in their little, pretty, predictable boxes. We don't like to think of girls who like boy things (I was a HUGE tomboy as a kid and still remember an Oprah show where she thought tomboy indicated a future lesbian--from the tone of the show, I thought that might be a bad thing, generalization aside). But even that is ok-ay. As long as they grow out of it.

We REALLY don't like to think of boys who like girl things. Heaven. Fucking. Forbid.

So when we speak of things such as gender fluidity, sexual fluidity, it threatens those who are afraid and don't know any better. Insecure people.

While watching the movie Milk, I was struck by Harvey Milk's idea to encourage every queer boy and girl to come out to his or her family as to destigmatize the gay community. To show straight people that they're not animals. But that is asking a hell of a lot for a hell of a lot of people.

My step-FIL was part of the gay police at BYU back in the day, charged with keeping an eye out for any suspected gay people. Thankfully that doesn't go on anymore (?).

Anyway, once we make gays as regular as anybody else, as accepted, then we have to worry about sex more. What if Susie's best friend is a lesbian and they "experiment" while alone in Susie's room? I mean it's one thing to have a rule to keep a boy out of Susie's room, but what about her female best friend? CAN WE TRUST NOBODY ANYMORE?

What if Elder-so-and-so is gay and gets hard over his companion?

If we can't keep them away (and we can't, they're so goddamn stubborn with their Pride parade and all), we ought to at least silence them. Shame them. Guilt them. Tell them they're bad and their attractions are, if not sinful, potentially sinful. They are defected. It's a cross to bear. We'll kick them out from our families, our homes. We won't recognize their partners. We'll use sanitized terms such as SSA (Same Sex Attracted) instead of gay, lesbian, bisexual. HUMAN BEINGS equal in worth to straight people. We don't define straight people by their orientation (they're normal, after all), but we sure as hell define gay people by their orientation. We don't understand them and we sure as hell don't want to.

If anything else, let's just keep them quiet. Don't ask, don't tell. Ignorance is bliss.

Or, in the case of the Jezebel article I mentioned, make them out themselves to their roomies just in case somebody else might think they'll be jumped in the middle of the night.

Because straight people are never aggressive.

Besides, even if they are, it's okay. Especially if its a boy. They can't help themselves, either. But since they're straight, it's totes okay.

And if not okay, at least understood.

Looking Back: Religious Progression

It's weird reading my old posts. I was so afraid to say or admit to certain things, afraid to offend people I didn't even know. I conceded often--which isn't a bad thing, necessarily, but...I dunno.

I sometimes feel as if there's not a hell of a lot more for me to say, like I've already said it all, just cleaner and more PC. To continue or repeat those rants would be a bit of a snore. Staged and scripted. I've felt a bit dry lately. I don't like to write unless I'm driven to write.

Anyway, it's interesting to see how some of my readers changed throughout the course of that blog. A few people left when they felt I crossed the line (how dare i criticize a leader!), but for the most part people kept with me, and I appreciated that.

But I have at least one (non-member) friend who felt I was far too conciliatory, and I think I always knew she was right. Let's face it, though: I was saying a lot of really controversial crap, at least to the TBM and even wavering-TBM crowd. To myself. It scared me a lot to say some of the things I said and it took me a while to stand up firmly to it, even if for only a few points. Two people I know from my own stake visited the blog. One girl kept with me for a while and we eventually had to part ways on facebook, and the other came only once to say "c'mon, we're not all that bad are we?"

Members take this shit so personally.

I even found out later that my dad was worrying about me. My dad! Mr. "Well-where-are-the-golden-plates-now, hmmm?"

I mean, shit, you can't please anybody. Hard as you might try, it's not gonna happen.

It's just interesting to see the progression and it makes me wonder where I'll end up. I look for quotes sometimes for this blog and find the sentiment that agnostics are pansies who can't make up their minds because they're scared. Fence-sitters. That's kind of where I was eighteen months ago, a fence-sitting-mormon girl. Hated it.

I hate that some may regard me as sitting on the fence of belief. But that's my problem. After all, I did take the leap and record my religious beliefs on facebook as "agnostic" and haven't looked back. But I had to be ready first, just like when Eric was later ready to list himself as "atheist."

Eric and I had a talk the other day and concluded that we're really just a hop, skip, and jump away from being on the same page. I consider myself agnostic because, like I've already mentioned, I don't think we know anything so to say we do seems a bit presumptuous to me. However, I'm leaning more on the atheist side. I'll be okay in the end either way, I figure. There's still the question of the ultimate point of creation, whether it be of a creator or a bunch of atoms bursting (and where did those come from?)--and that keeps me agnostic, too. Eric's college courses led him to believe there just isn't enough evidence to worry about it.

It is a fact that the more we learn from science the less religion needs to answer for the unknown, this even though some adopt a cafeteria-style approach to scientific theory and fact because the Bible says the Earth is only 6,000 years old!

I'm not quite ready to proclaim a confident disbelief or if I'm even sure I feel that way. But I wish I was. Then again, is it so bad to be a bit more open to things? I think it depends on where I am honestly: open or scared. Letting go of god and all that comes with him is frightening, and I've a lot of respect for people who've been able to do that.

I'm not even sure anymore if I have a hope in god. The more I consider the idea of returning to the Earth at death, the less I find I need him. The more I realize people are good without god, the less I find I need him. The more I find that life goes on just like it always has, the less I find I need god.

If I have a hope it is in that everything will work out. That I'll learn to trust myself and that that will be enough. Faith in oneself is just as hard, if not harder, as faith in a benevolent supreme being.

But it frustrates the fuck out of me to find myself praying to whatever when I'm scared. In there, I suppose, is a hope. But it seems like an awful selfish one when there are people in the world who suffer exponentially worse than me. That doesn't mean I don't matter, but I'm aware that I'm much more fortunate than many others. That said, I don't find myself thanking "god" for my so-called blessings. I find I can be thankful just for the sake of being thankful. It feels more honest.

I allow sentiments that suggest I'm a wuss to get under my skin far too much. I just spent two to five years afraid to leave a church I obviously didn't agree with because I didn't want to hear about it. Because I'd been told what would happen if I did. I wrote my last blog with the initial intention to prove a member could be liberal and a faithful mormon, but it was intellectually dishonest. I wasn't all that faithful. I ended up exposing myself as the rule and not the exception. I wanted to be strong, and while some of my posts--especially toward the end--suggested some strength, I was still very much afraid. Only time can heal that, I've found.

Right now I'm ready to resign, but I won't until my husband is ready, too. After all, it's his family, his community (he grew up here), and 30 years to my 10. I can wait.

So I'm a waverer. It's part of a process. At least now I'm not afraid to admit I drink coffee and have the occasional beer or cocktail or say the leaders and even the scriptures are assholes and full of crap.

And I can't help but wonder if leaving the LDS church is a bit of an inevitable gateway to atheism (or if that's a bad thing). I know it doesn't have to be, but it feels that way. I can't see the way to reach any other conclusion, especially as one who has been to many other (christian) churches before.

My above-mentioned non-member friend had her own struggle with Christianity and came out on the believer's end, and that intrigues me. I guess I just always felt I'd come out on this end because even there, at my other blog, when I'd go on about Christ I wasn't speaking of myself so much but to those who were reading so they'd listen to me a bit more. I don't take issue with Christ so much, anyway. I like much of what he's purported to have said and done. My biggest issue was the church's self-serving narcissistic bullshit with the occasional Jesus Christ punctuation.

Besides, it's a debate strategy. It's also, to me, a matter of respect of other people's beliefs.

But it bothers me that I'm generally the one to respect and feel others don't feel the need to respect me because I'm the apostate. Eric says it's that way because we're the ones who have changed the rules. I don't know. So I'm afraid to "blaspheme" sometimes. To offend. I don't know if anybody I know has found this blog or not (my ex-roomie is rather sneaky), and so I still hold back a little. Is this a matter of respect or just fear--and where's the line? Example: I don't care who knows my sekrit temple name, but I know it'd be crossing the line for the few friends I've left.

Topic for another post.

And I don't know. One of my personal mottos is to "never say never." So who knows. I may find myself an unorthodox believer someday. I don't want to ever consider myself a zealous one again, shiver. I just never want it to be out of fear. I never want to be put in a box in any sort of shackles because I don't feel I can handle this life on my own, with those I love around me. Shouldn't that be enough?

Life is too short for that.

I'm happy with where I am--to an extent. I still feel in a bit of a purgatory spiritually, like I have to pick a side. Perhaps that is my inner people-pleaser more than it is anything else. I still haven't found my peace. My husband has. Other people have. I'm still looking and waiting for my own.

I guess in some ways I'm still The Liberal Mormon That Could.

Everybody's Weird

I love my dad, and my stepmom and I have become really close.

A big reason why: we don't discuss religion. Much. And this after a few years of passive-aggressive hatred for my conversion to the church (ie: "yes we'll be at the temple for your wedding" NOT).

Sometimes the subject would pop up, like around the 4th of July when stepmom would be working in a fireworks booth to raise money for their church/youth program and would ask Eric and me if our church did the same thing.

We were grateful for this sliver of interest and thought they were so cute. The LDS church needing fundraisers? psssh, we have tithing.

Speaking of, we also would discuss tithing. Tithing was never a thing back when I went to their church--just your standard offering plate--but yanno with their non-cookie cutter denomination things are always changing (so sad!) and they began to tithe and we began to hear and even swap tithing testimonials. Then my dad began to worry about me once I began to question the veracity of the principle.

Then there was the time she told me the story of how she and my dad were hard up for cash and this woman approached them at church, mentioned something about being "impressed" to give them a check, and did.

(waaaait a minute, i thought. those sorts of things can only happen in OUR church)

Other than that, though, very little talking went on. It's even more rare now that they've seen the title to a more private blog I have on livejournal that includes the word "agnostic."

Straight to hell!

Anyway I hear stuff. And I had my own experiences.

Like the time I was taken to the cemetery and told to accept Christ now while I could because I could die at any time and my unsaved 11 year old ass would be sent straight to hell.

(no worries, tho. i was saved, like, five times)

Or the time I and maybe two other kids were consigned to a small, dark, hot closet (aka "hell") while the rest of the youth group went to a large, bright room with cookies. (didja know heaven will totes have cookies? yeah i would hope so, but it also better have cake. chocolate.)

I think the idea of that particular exercise was to impress upon us that death would come randomly (two kids acted as angels of death and took us to either room "randomly") and so we needed to be ready and accept Christ now.

I was also told that if god, being all-knowing and all, told me I was going to hell I was going to hell and there was nothing I could do about it so don't even try (seriously). And if I was going to heaven, nothing I would do would change that because god said i was going to heaven. So, either way, PARTY UP, BITCHES.

Or the number of times the pastor would talk about satan. Once he said "he could be in the back of this chapel" (so of course I looked) or how, in the middle of prayer, he'd start talking to satan. One particularly funny time he began shouting "SATAN YOU'RE A LIAR! LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE!"

I shit you not. Eric and I were there for my nephew's dedication (same thing as a blessing, only it involves just the pastor) and we almost peed our pants.

So a few months ago my sister, still in her teens, tells me more stories. Like how her pastor told her that she kept her under water just a smidge longer during her baptism to rid her of the "extra sin."

Or how she's called a slut/whore.

And the weird way she's regarded when she doesn't fall into tongue-hysterics (tongues weren't a thing when I went there, either. missed out on the fun, I guess)

Or confided in me that she's tried and tried but just doesn't get this whole prayer thing.

AND

I had no idea how literally they take the Bible. And until I read Koda's blog, I didn't know how literally the LDS take it (srsly? official LDS stance is that the Earth is 6000 years old? i never knew that) Does the church also stand against the idea theory of evolution?

I mean, I know with the whole Kolob thing the LDS religion is straight up weird (not to mention most everything else), but I don't know. I also recognize that it's not all weird. Just mostly. 99%. Even active, faithful members have to recognize that. Even if it is in the back of their mind.

Kolob, 6000 years old, oils, temple clothes, tongues--I mean, seriously. If I ever step back and think "yanno, maybe" this shizz slaps me back into reality.

I can rationalize some fact into fiction (sorry, "faith") but there's too much that is fundamental that I cannot anymore.

(though i will say, church ought to be more like what kiley experienced. i might even go to something like that.)

And yet I continue to think that there's something to this ghost/paranormal business...

Oh well.

omg

Just discovered an Islamic Center in one of my favorite cities JUST AN HOUR AWAY and, and a--gasp!--mosque in my own town...3000 short miles away from WTC.

WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO ABOUT THIS?

Have these people no sensitivities whatsoever? I mean, we totally felt the effects of the 9/11 attack over here, too.

I dunno about you, but I feel stabbed. Stabbed!

What I Believe

A commenter suggested a few posts ago that my hesitance to send in my resignation letter might have something to do with a (however minute) belief in the supposed truth of the church.

It might have--okay, it did--at first. But that hesitance to stop going to church was born out of fear that it might be true. And I've never believed in doing things out of fear--dates way back to when I attended my dad's assembly of god church. They loved striking fear into you. It was a good motivator. The end, they say, justified the means. So I stopped going.

Part of what drew me to the LDS church was the lack of fear-inducement. At least I didn't see any then, and I still believe it's not nearly as bad as I've seen or experienced.

I have said a few times why I hesitate, but I'll say it again: I don't like letting go of comfortable, familiar things. I don't like disappointing people who I love and who have been nothing but good to me. This is not the same demand for independence as what joining was. If anything, I have been resistant for this level of independence. If I leave the church, I'll lose its best people. So far so good, but I have lost one that matters. And that in the beginning of my disaffection.

I set a standard for myself in my first year of membership. I was a "golden convert." My patriarchal blessing said my family would chill out and, I thought, maybe join. It said I would bring many people into the church. I had told my best friend and my roomie that I never saw myself leaving. I was committed. I belonged. People thought I was a member before I joined. I would trust in god. He knew better. I believed that much.

But ultimately I joined the church because i "knew" it was true. I had read the Book of Mormon before joining. I had prayed. I had even been to the temple, gone to church, etc. I had a friend who met with me at a pizza joint semi-regularly to talk with me about the gospel (he was a recent RM in my English 1A class and /swoon! i had a crush--but i was determined to not join because of him. and i'm proud to say i didn't)

It's hard to just decide one day that it's all bunk after hearing time and time again that it's not and even preaching that certain things are not of or are against god. Knee-length skirts/shorts. Coffee. Caffeine (Eric and I switched positions on this a few times). Tea. Keeping the Sabbath "holy."

I was a pain in the ass for my family on many of these points. I freely admit that. After all, I was right, even if it seemed wrong or weird or nonsensical. God's ways are mysterious.

See, I had decided the summer before I met Squeaky that I needed to find a church and also began reading the Bible again--from the beginning. I would read certain passages and think "Gah, that's just wrong..."

and then,

"But if it's what God says, then who am I to argue?"

It was a measure of my maturity, I thought. I was 18.

So that gives you an idea of my mental mindset. If it's right, it's right and who the hell am I to question? I know nothing!

Throw in Squeaky and you have some serious evidence that I should consider this church. So I did.

Once I had my experiences and various so-called confirmations of the LDS church, I allowed everything else to fall into place. I didn't get the coffee/tea thing, but whatever, I thought. Doesn't matter. And besides, Joe Smith was right about tobacco before they knew it was bad (right?), so maybe there is something about coffee and tea that science doesn't yet realize is really really bad for you.

That deep-seated belief--the fact--that we don't know everything today is the main reason I consider myself agnostic.

The more I realized I knew nothing the more I realized we know nothing. I learned that those in positions of "divinely appointed authority" were just as messed up in their thinking as anyone. Anyone under direct guidance of a good, loving, fair god would never condone slavery (Brigham Young), would never say such awful things about the African-American race, suggest the Native Americans needed to be white, say gay people needed to marry straight or have electroshock therapy and later soften it to "just be celibate."

A loving god would demand equality of his people and never stray from that, no matter what society at large thought at the time.

A benevolent god period would never change his mind to suit the whims of his people if the following is to be believed (and it is, I hear it so often in the LDS church at least): "Same yesterday, today, tomorrow, and forever" right?

I don't just see this thread in the LDS church. I see it in all Christian churches.

I still pray sometimes when I'm especially scared. I don't know who I'm praying to, but I do. I do it out of hope that there is someone there watching out for me. I am thankful when bad things don't happen to me or my own. It feels incredibly selfish ("thanks for saving my kid instead of those other kids"), but I do pray.

It might be waning, but I have a hope in a god. I have a hope in the afterlife and in seeing my family. If there is a god, I have a hope he/she/it will know my heart and judge me based on that. I do not believe that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Whatever hell is.

If there is a god and he/she/it is willing to toss me aside because I'm not good enough, I don't want shit to do with god anyway. Nobody needs to be told they're not good enough, especially when they spend their lives doing nothing but trying to be good.

That said, if there is nothing but this, I am even more thankful for what I do have. I realize I have to embrace it now because one day I won't have it. They won't have me. If there's nothing after this life, it won't matter anyway. I'll be gone. Eventually my husband and kids will be gone. Such is the way of things.

(I don't know how to tell my kids this, though. I don't want them to be scared.)

I think of it like this: I don't remember jack from before I was born. I figure death will be the same kind of nothingness.

Yet sometimes I can't help but feel eternal. I don't know if it's because I just am or because I've been taught all my life that I am.

I don't believe. I don't have a "sure knowledge." We can't know everything. I'm not entirely convinced we can know anything. My agnosticism may turn into atheism. It may remain. I may become a theist or whatever. I don't know.

But anyway, if I have any hope or faith--if that hope or faith isn't in god--it's in that everything will work out.

This lack of belief gives me motivation to make the most of this life. To chase my dreams. To be more. To love my family more. To make a legacy. To have faith in myself. Things I never felt motivated to do or be as a believer. I was told time and again that god loved me, but it didn't really feel like it. I was put in a box. And as a parent (remember, we're told God is our Father and loves us as one), I've no plans to micromanage my kids or to place conditions on my love for them. No plans to ever let them think they're unworthy of me. That's not love. That's tyranny.

This life is a gift. It doesn't matter from what or whom, it just is.

I'll let the rest figure itself out.

Fear and the "Ground Zero Mosque"

I think by now the fact is known that it is not the Muslim people but Al-Qaeda who hijacked and then crashed our planes into WTC. That it is the Muslim people and not Al-Qaeda who wishes to build a mosque near Ground Zero. But people continue to argue and it is completely beyond me. They wish to equate the two and challenge the Islamic religion to do a litany of things to prove their religion is a peaceful one.

It's stupid. And much like those who cannot lay off the whole "Obama is a Muslim" card, this, too, is a political ploy. It, too, is lame and irrelevant. Too many American people--conservatives and tea baggers in particular--seem to be too goddamn lazy to actually look a the facts, a little thing we call a Constitution, their own values and morals or the compassion that's spoken of in their Bible to see that THIS ISN'T AN ISSUE. It's a distraction. There are more important things we need to be focusing on, and we're allowing idiots to turn too many heads for lesser and even nonsensical things.

That said, I know there are good American people out there who believe this is a huge issue with all their hearts. I get that. My father is one of them. But I think it's a matter of lack of knowledge or at least biased knowledge, the likes of which creates fear.

They say this is the Muslim people doing what they do, erecting a mosque at a place of victory over their enemies. But I say again: The Muslim people aren't responsible for 9/11.

A quote I like:

It doesn’t make sense, for example, that Islam would mark a victory over Americans at Ground Zero unless Muslims were terrorists celebrating a terrorist victory at Ground Zero. The word “Islam” has been preceded by the word “radical” so regularly in American media and conversation over the past decade, that “radical” no longer refers to an extremist subset of Islamic adherents, it instead qualifies the entire religion. - Political Labeling and the Ground Zero Mosque

But No Mosque at The World Trade Center Site insists, "If anything, it's a signal to them that they conquered the enemy and are planting their metaphorical flag in triumph."

I wasn't aware they had any sort of victory over us. Have we raised our little white flag? Have we given up? Are we still afraid? Are we under Sharia law? Are women required to wear burkas? Have they taken over our government and our Constitution and killing people here who don't swear loyalty to their religion?

But at least the Right has given up on the idea that building this mosque isn't the Muslim people's "right" to do. When that idea failed, the Right recanted and then worked to appeal to the sensitivity of "peace seeking Muslims" (gotta give 'em credit for acknowledging they exist, though the cynic in me senses a smidge of condescension). The same people--the Right--who laugh at our bleeding hearts are now pleading for "sensitivity."

That might not matter or be particularly relevant, but it makes me giggle.

But it's not about sensitivity or healing or any of that. The Christian people have a long history with the Muslim people. They are at odds, vying to fulfill prophecies and fighting to be right.

But the Right is afraid. And I think it goes beyond that--I think they're also afraid they'll be the minority in either the religious or ethnic sense. Afraid their values are under any more attack than they've ever been--even though our values have changed and for the better. We're a country of peoples who are told that if we are persecuted it is because we are righteous, not at all because we are wrong. They speak of sensitivity but they've little sensitivity to speak of themselves.

It's about being right, and they're too concerned with being right to consider even for a moment they may be wrong, even if just a little.

They don't know how hypocritical they are:

But for the near term, Wednesday night’s meeting indicated that the questions of neighborhood residents may take some time to answer.

Among them: “Is Sharia law better than democracy in your view?” “How do you feel about the role of women in society?” “What are your views on Israel?” “Can you point to any single statement in the Koran that you would consider to be incorrect?”

- Paul Vitello, New York Times "Heated Opposition to a Proposed Mosque"

I would ask these people if their Bible is better than democracy (how many laws are based on what the Bible teaches? slavery? homosexuality?), how they feel about the role of women in society, their views on Israel (a subject I am admittedly ignorant of), and if they can point to any single statement in the Bible that they would consider incorrect.

And truly, though our Constitution (6th article, I believe) calls for no religious litmus test for political office, there is an informal one. Hell be to the person who doesn't believe in the Christian god and runs for office. We want them to swear loyalty or we refuse to vote them in because we are scared of what unbelievers or those of other faiths may do. We may not physically kill those who refuse to swear loyalty to the Christian god, but we have our own methods.

They're scared--which is fine, totally forgivable. The unforgivable part is that they are so concerned with being right they make no effort to learn about these people and their religion. There's no reason to because they are convinced they are right. Further, it's easier to be angry and scared. Better to be threatened and persecuted. It makes them feel powerful. It makes them feel right.

And the scariest part is that there doesn't seem to be much we can do or say to quell these fears because they refuse to listen. If we yell, they yell louder. If we speak calmly and rationally, they dismiss us or fight back with more emotional rhetoric meant to make us cower.

It sounds a hell of a lot like the Church in far too many ways.

They work by fear. They may purport to not, claim to discourage fear, but ultimately they work by striking fear into their peoples' hearts, questioning loyalties. "If you're not with us, you're against us." "If you allow this to happen, the world will fall apart." They call you "anti-American"--an insult, indeed.

Fear is an easy emotion to feel, to spread--especially for those who don't know any better for whatever reason. This is why education is so incredibly important, and I don't see a lot of education in much of religion (note the qualifier "a lot"). The problem is that this brand of neurotic fear quickly spreads and becomes a disease. It has created the worst of atrocities. But we refuse to learn.

It's one thing to be scared of something legitimate--somebody sneaks into your home while you're there. You're Jewish and the Nazis are looking for you. But this, the Muslim people wanting to erect a mosque in Lower Manhattan? I've no reason at this moment to be scared of them. Anymore than we had reason to be frightened and suspicious of Japanese Americans following Pearl Harbor. Or the black people we enslaved by way of divide and conquer so we, the white people, could remain in power.

So these people want the Muslim people--those wishing to erect this mosque in particular--to jump through hoops to prove themselves. These people are treating the Muslims as outsiders instead of as Americans. But it wouldn't matter even if the Muslim people acquiesced, they would ask for more and then more, forgetting the idea that we shouldn't judge or fear a larger group for a few wild cards.

I would think all religions and unbelievers have their wild cards. Communities. Families.

We seem to prefer guilty until proven innocent these days. It makes us feel safer and in control, but it places us at odds with what Christ taught. We're putting justice before mercy.

These who claim to love our country and how it is set up don't seem to trust it enough to protect its people.

So we're scared. And it's not just with the Muslim people (though consider the past between Christians and Muslims). We have an innate need to be in power here--open up a history book and read about how this country began. What we did to have this great land of ours. It's not pretty, and we still haven't really learned that it's wrong. It's as if we need to learn this lesson over and over and over again. First with the Spanish, then with the Native Americans, the African people. Even the Mexican people. We enslave them ultimately because we want power. Because we are scared. Too prideful to be compassionate. To help. To understand.

There is no true power in this brand of fear. Just barbarianism.

Still, they puff up their feathers and tell these Muslim people that they --the so-called "Christian Nation"--are boss and that they need to answer to us. They create campy "six degrees" lists to link the imam of this particular mosque to terrorists--but like Jon Stewart illustrated, you can do that with most anyone including Rupert Murdoch.

Something smells of hypocrite here, but I can't quite put my finger on it.