Call for Interviews

I can't wait any longer, and as a friend of mine reminded me--I can always get into the other topic at a different time (likely during my credential courses). As I'm still passionate about LDS issues, focusing on this would likely make my life a lot easier.

SO. I'm still working on the questions, but I need to interview people regarding what it was or is like to doubt/struggle with beliefs/leave the church--officially or unofficially. I won't end up interviewing everyone who offers (I only need 5 primary sources), but I need to know what I'm working with here.

Please keep in mind, I'm looking for language RE: retention (the church's efforts to keep members in the church, especially preemptive efforts) and how it manipulates emotions and thoughts or skews logic--in any medium.

So, aside from interviews, here's what I'm looking for:

- You Tube videos about leaving the church and how the church made the process a pain in the ass, please let me know about it. I'm looking at the moment but if I can find better sources, it would really help. (This could also include specific "I am a Mormon" videos which mention at all why the church is teh best and leaving is scary scary or otherwise bad)

- A scanned copy of the "please stay, [non-apology apology]" pamphlet they send out.

- Stories from those who had to fight like hell to get out of the church (after sending the letter, the church tried to excommunicate them, or otherwise made the process linger--including visits from local leaders)

- Any great articles. I've already got Jeff Holland's piece of shit temper-tantrum talk from the last conference.

- Exit stories on your blog or anyone elses, specifically stories which mention difficulty in leaving because of church authority or other members' impassioned pleas that you review your faith, your testimony, and your history. Members who implore that you repent. Doubts you had and what made you stay despite those doubts.

- Emails or letters you wouldn't mind sharing from stake/ward members, friends or family who freaked out when you left, etc.

- If you are an active member and you're reading this, a letter/comment/whatever telling me why you think leaving the church is a bad idea.

- Blog posts or comments of/from faithful members denouncing doubt, your anger, etc. A post admonishing people to "focus on the good," or talking about how "the church is perfect, but the people aren't." I'm looking for language, here, reasons leaving is not a good idea.

- Pictures, advertisements, etc.

- Anything else you think would help. 

Also, I know there are sites out there notorious for their super-anti stance, like The Mormon Curtain and otherwise. I don't doubt the veracity of these sites so much, but I need something that most people would respect, including members. Evidences where the emotions are there, but not insane. Does that make sense? I'd just rather avoid shit akin to "Godmakers," ya dig?


Thank you so much. I appreciate it a lot.


**I asked a few of my super-faithful friends for help, too (including one of my VTs). Think they'll be into it? We'll see. I figure they might fear I'll go apeshit on my project about how lame the church is OR they'll figure it's a great missionary moment. Who knows. I hope they respond. 

Gotta be more.

Y'all know I'm aching at the moment to move on, but the harder I try the harder I find it easy to do so. I know that's part of the deal, things not being easy, but still. I can't stand getting involved in debates I know absolutely nothing about, and the thing is I don't have the fucking time to invest in getting to know the issues better. And I feel like a fool in the process.

So maybe I will just stick with the fucking church for now. With religion. My idea for the project I've been assigned deals with the rhetoric surrounding conversion and retention not only (though perhaps only) in the LDS church but in Christianity in general. The LDS church is much more obvious in their efforts to do so, and I've first hand experience there.

I could also do the gay marriage thing, how it's "unnatural"--I mean, shit, that's easy.

I just want to believe there's something more to me than all of this. I'm having a hard time figuring out what that is, and it's becoming rather depressing.

There's got to be more to me than this.

Besides, looking up issues beyond the church (and, I suppose, including the church) is nothing short of depressing. You wouldn't believe the bullshit people believe. Denial of white privilege--"omg America won't be a white country anymore WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO?!?!?!"

I read another essay on the rhetoric of early 20th century efforts to make women feel it was their place to be in and enjoy and whatever-the-fuck else in the home. It was enlightening, but frustrating. Karen Altman, look her up.

I don't need this stress right now. I'm drowning. I've been fine, mentally, since school began. Now I don't know how I'm gonna make it through the one week I *have* to make it through. My spring break, which is next week, is so full I won't have a chance to sit down. So if sanity means holding onto the buoy that is analyzing church efforts to keep their "faithful" in line, I guess I'll do it.

Everywhere else I turn I feel like an unenlightened, wanna-be poseur, and that doesn't feel good either. Maybe at this phase in my life, this is my expertise and I just need to ride the wave.

I'd just like to know that there's more to me than this.

Regret

I am not happy with my life*

Shocker, I know. I also realize I'm hardly alone. (i'm so tired of feeling as if i need to defend myself. i've all these voices in my head--conservative voices i grew up with. ones that say "oh get over it. do you know how blessed you are? do you know how much worse you could have it? suck it up, stupid. you're fine")

I wouldn't count myself as miserable, but the regret! oh god, the regret. So heavy.

I'd do so much over again. So much.

People tell me that I'm fixing things now, and I am. I get that. Yay for me! I know. I know.

Please stop saying those things. Just stop. The last time I heard "good for you!" in response to hearing that I'm back in school needs to be the last. It bothers me. The sentiment, the meaning behind "She's going back to school" and the meaning behind the response just makes my skin crawl.

Good for me, good for me. Yes. Good for me. I fucked up and I'm fixing it. I'm the old lady in the classroom going back to school. It's awful. Do you know how awful it is? I have a love-hate relationship with it. I look at all these kids--kids who were 8-10 years old when I graduated high school, omg--and look at all the extra-curricular shit going on and I just want it all back so, so bad. It's becoming tangibly pathetic, if it hasn't become that already.

I'm not depressed at the moment but these thoughts are patently depressing. I want to cry. I have lost ten years of my life.

But it's amazing to be there. Just amazing. And I so much appreciate the fact that I can even go back. It's become a process of resurrection.

I should leave it at that, no?

It's just in my face, three days a week. I think I'm fine. I can't look that old, after all. I've still got 6 months before I'm 30.

And then the perfectly nice girl who sits next to me makes some comment related to my age.


DILF and I talk about our regrets semi-regularly. They're similar. He speaks of how he wishes he could've grown up with different teachings about life, and he speaks of how he'd ditch the mission. It pissed him off to be two years behind like I am pissed at my ten (well, eight I guess). I talk about what I wish I would've done, even though knowing myself back then and my situation--I may not have. Notwithstanding that, I wish I wish I wish. How I'd do things differently.

And when we talk about these things, we recognize to each other how doing things differently would probably mean we never would've met. But we're okay with this. Is that messed up? We love each other. There are few people in this world, if any at all, who can and will put up with my bullshit and still treat me like gold. Would I be willing to give that up? Yes. I suppose I would be.

He'd be willing too, and that doesn't bother me.

In a perfect world, we'd still have met. We wouldn't have been LDS. We would've just did our thing, encouraged and supported each other until getting married was reasonable. We would've started our careers, built a financial and emotional and whatever base and then had kids. Fuck this shit about getting married ASAP and having kids even quicker despite no job and no money. Fuck it.

School makes me happy. My anxieties blow away there. I feel smart for the first time in years there. I feel respected. I feel like an adult. 

(Newsflash: getting married and having kids does not an adult make)

I might have to take all online classes next semester (logistics--better now than later, won't explain), and I'm just...disappointed. I'm terrified. Funny, given how terrified I was right before school started. Enough to make me sick, sick, sick.

I think being somewhere with people and doing things where I'm away from the dirty dishes, laundry, kids, the midday silence that breeds depressing thoughts--I think it's taking away my anxiety, and I'm hoping now that it'll cure me a bit. I'm not happy here. I know that even more now.

I know these thoughts are hardly constructive, and I'd love nothing more than to just move on. But while I'm learning to be kinder to myself, in this arena I am stubborn. I keep kicking the dead horse. It's just part of my obsessive tendencies we all love so much! I hope it blows over soon. We don't deserve this.



* I know, blasphemy! I'm out of the church, I should be on Cloud-Fucking-Nine. But remember, just as those who are in the church are not by default always happy, those who leave are not always happy. Life, it's crazy that way.

Also, just to clarify: These days I'm mostly happy, but I'm overwhelmed by this one thing right now. So I'm talking about it.

Post Plans

There are so many things I want to say, and the subjects increase each day. They include:

The problem of regret and the need for self-mercy (make sense?) Truth, I'm not sure what I mean by that last part, but I was totally into it two hours ago on my way home from school. Which is part of it, really. School, I mean. A place that represents so many things, a place that evokes so many emotions and thoughts. A place that gives me pride, a place that scares me, a place that challenges me, a place that embarrasses me--and not necessarily like you might think. I also want to speak of regret and the need for self-mercy (just go with me on that term) in a general sense.

Letters to special friends, maybe family. Not even current friends, mostly past.  One or two kinda-sorta both. All people who have impacted my life in the most significant ways. I want to keep these letters fairly vague and anonymous, but I am unconvinced this is a realistic goal. It won't matter in some respects, as long as I don't give out full names. But if you know me well enough, you will know who I speak of. My biggest worry about this is seeming desperate and pathetic though it is full of nostalgia and will also relate in some ways to the last topic I want to write about.

An About Me on steroids. Super honest, bullet points, short explanations (hahahaha!). Easier said than done, and not necessarily an idea that will fulfill my idealism.


I want to write but I've so little time to write. Four classes and I am doing little but work. It is to the point where cleaning my house is relaxing. I made up a form on Excel for our finances the other day and honest to god it helped my headache. It's not as if our finances offered much to relax from, either.

I want to write so fucking bad--more to talk. It's an impotence. It's frustrating.

Hopefully this weekend I'll be able to pop something out. Hopefully by this weekend I'll have done what I need to do (get myself to the library so I can be without distractions--except, say, facebook *sigh!*--and get ALL my shit done) and have a bit of time to just chill. The problem is, there are so many things that I need to do outside of school that now can be categorized as "chilling."

So we'll see.

Brodies: Thank You!

I wanted to take a quick break to thank all of you who voted for me to win a Brodie--I appreciate your support so much. <3

I also want to extend my congratulations to the extremely talented bloggers who took the awards this year. Certainly I had the craziest competition and each one deserved to win--I'm flattered to have even been in the running.

I hope to write a post soon, but as school just began I'm finding sufficient free time difficult to grasp find (ugh, my brain is sore or something). I hope everyone is well and thriving and laughing.

...loudly.

PS: Nip/Tuck is a ridiculous, ridiculous show. And I am beginning season 4. Jesus.

Ghostly Logic and Confidence

(yes, i know. but i found this in my drafts and thought "what the hell")

Had the in-laws over a few weeks ago. Big birthday party for all to be had.

The conversation in many ways proved interesting. As it often happens, talk went to how one family member loves to be scared but shouldn't be because she becomes SO FREAKED OUT. So we spoke of San Jose's Winchester House, Alcatraz, and then the TV show "The Ghost Hunters." This also, as it does now, leads to me telling others how much (cough) fun Eric is now when it comes to supernatural subjects. NO FUN. But, in this instance, it was also kind of sexy.

"You don't believe in ghosts?" someone asked him.

No apologies, just a very strong "No."

I swear, I wanted to jump him. There's something unbelievably sexy about that kind of unabashed confidence in the right kind of company. This company.

So we're talking ghosts and whether or not they're an actually existing entity when discussion turns to the logistics of a spirit moving physical objects. My first thought was: really? we're going to decide what's possible and what's not? how can you decide that when you believe what you do?

And then my husband's BIL says "Ghosts can't move physical objects because that's what bodies are for." Duh.

I just kind of looked at him. It spoke, for readers who don't know, to the teaching that everyone living on the Earth came here to acquire a body--a necessity for the afterlife.

This particular man is a good man--one of the best, but he can be a bit arrogant and pious. He's always right, you know? I grew up around this, so I have a bit of a physical reaction to it. So realizing that I knew that he wasn't necessarily right was a very good thing.

It's a matter of where my confidences lie. One of my biggest issues lies in not embracing my own beliefs. The fact that I felt sure enough in myself to not yield to his in the name of propriety was an exciting thing.

More and more I realize I need to sort out what I believe, accept it and love it in order for it to affect my relationships the way it ought to. I look forward to that. It only seems to be a process that lives on its own account and doesn't always seem to be something I can control. In a way that makes it better, but in a way that makes it worse, too. That said, last night it made it empowering, and I'm grateful for that.

My step-MIL

My husband's stepmom is a convert. She served in the Army (one of the branches...can't remember which one). She converted to the church in the mid 90s. She is a survivor of an abusive marriage.

This woman has a mind of her own. Someone you don't want on your bad side, but if you're on her good side she will take the best care of you.

She keeps rum in the house for hot toddies when she gets sick. It makes my FIL so happy (according to Eric. i don't think FIL would ever speak of this to anyone)

And she just told me that the best remedy for a persistent, 3-week-long cough is black tea with honey and whiskey.

I don't know what she's doing in the church. She tells me on occasion in efforts to get me to reconsider church that she goes (which she doesn't. not very often) because she loves the gospel of christ. I imagine she also stays because FIL is very zealous. Very. She is not. But don't suggest that to her.

She also has a list of reasons she "cannot" go to the temple when the family comes up with a trip idea.

I don't understand her, but I'm willing to try her cough treatment. The shit my stupid doctor gave me isn't working well enough.

A god is a god is a god

You know what bothers me?

I am comfortably atheist regarding gods other than the Christian one. Greek gods, Islamic, whatever. Let's use Zeus. I don't believe in Zeus. Likely you also don't believe in Zeus. I am comfortable in saying Zeus never existed--yet for those who lived in the era in which Zeus was "God," Zeus totally existed.

You dig?

Distance--both geographical and time--has given me not only the privilege but the right to say I reject Zeus as a real entity and his religion as totally unnecessary.

The same goes for today. I wasn't born in ancient Greece. If I was, I'd likely be worshiping Zeus. But I wasn't and so I don't.

I am atheist with regard to these and other faiths and gods, and that is okay to those who share my feelings. My family, also not born in ancient Greece, would not disown me or cock their heads at me. There would be no whispers in the corners, behind our backs. My worthiness would not be put into question. I realize this is a privilege, that not every atheist with regard to Zeus especially was given this right, and while I can never understand what that is like, that's beside my point right now.

Listen, I am totally okay with saying Zeus never existed except within the hearts of those who believed in him. I can denounce other gods and religions, no problem. But for me to embrace atheism with regard to the god I grew up with? It's not so easy.

Why is that? There is no difference that I can see. A god is a god is a god.

Not really like the Christian god is any better than the others. If he is better, it's only because of me and my interpretation. That's all god seems to be, an interpretation. Mormonism is one interpretation, Catholicism another, etc. etc. etc. God seems to be something that lives only in my heart and yours. And yet I can't let it go. There's a chance, I say. Maybe nobody has it right. Maybe there is a god, but then who is that god and why do I need to know? To feel better? I don't know why it would make me feel better. What the fuck would I do with that information--it's not like any god I'd believe in has a set of scriptures. I'd love to believe in the ideal Christian god, but I can't legitimize making that god perfect. I'm not making up that story, y'all. There are too many things I need to edit from what I've got in the Bible, and I've got my own shit to edit. Not to mention that I feel (perhaps mistakenly) that god is manifest in god's believers, and I'm not perfect--nor do I want to be.

So I can swiftly deny one god while holding onto another, even if by the threads. I think this is why I struggle with embracing agnosticism. I can't wrap my head around it.

January Update

First of all, some of my blog posts have been nominated for a few categories over at Main Street Plaza, yay!: 

Best Deconversion/Exit Story (For "Faith"),
Best Interfaith Interaction (for "The Beginning of the End?"), and
Most Interesting Commentary to Mormonism (for "Stupid Mormon Words")

Please go vote, and thank you so much for your support! It really means a lot.

And you know what? There are so many other amazing posts out there, many of them written by friends of mine. Check out the nominated blogs/posts for all the categories. MSP has really outdone themselves.

Which makes me want to apologize. Here's the thing: lately, I just don't have a hell of a lot to say. Christmas, my grandfather's death, I had my sister over this weekend, school began today for everyone but me, the cars need some attention and I can't get rid of this fucking cough for anything. THEN, I arranged to have some friends over this Saturday until realizing that my grandfather's funeral is this Saturday and on Friday we're headed over to Eric's stepsister's house for the monthly get-together (it's his stepsister's turn to host). And I just realized I missed posting my first post yesterday on books, and I just finished a pretty decent book called "Not That Kind of Girl." Next Sunday? Yes.

So the funeral is at my dad and stepmom's church. Assembly of God. A new one, something about a merge. But these people speak in tongues and treat my sister like shit. I'm dreading this a little, if only for the preaching. And the kids are going. It's like everywhere we turn around there's something about god and heaven and the kids are right there, totally tuned in. We need to engage them in a conversation. I've no desire to indoctrinate them (y'know, like force them to believe and all that shizz) about what we believe and don't believe, but I do want to talk with them about it. But don't get me wrong: they will not go to primary. We won't go to church unless they're curious, and only then just once per church. They're going to learn critical thinking. Religion is just everywhere around here. If we don't talk with them about it, someone will.

Then there's the fact that Abbie is turning 8 in May, the ever magical number. I don't know how the family is going to act. Their reaction or non-reaction will tell us a lot about how they feel about our inactivity. I know enough to know there are inactive members who still have their children baptised, but there are also plenty who do not. We'll see. My nephew has already commented about it to her a few months ago.

We'll see.

In the meantime, I'll try to calm down and organize myself and hopefully get something written here.

And now that I've bitched and apologized about having nothing to say, a few topics will pop-up in my head and I won't be able to do anything until I write it down :D That is, after all, how it works.

Contacted. Also, /facepalm

I'd like to say I was strong and bitchy (without being bitchy) today to a well-meaning church member, but I was not. I'll probably spend the rest of the night or so kicking myself in the ass. Please tell me I'm not alone.

For the most part--and to my extreme privilege--the LDS church does not bother me. This is a mix of a fantastic friend in what would be my ward who tells everyone to back off, impossibly good in-laws who only fit in comments here and there, and the fact that our anti-social lifestyles in the church make it pretty hard for anyone to give a shit. Even though most people around here know Eric.

But, y'know, my visiting teachers (VTs) found me via facebook and friended me. At the time I didn't know who they were, other than their names or the names of their husbands were familiar to me. I figured "whatever" at the time, after doing some thinking. I mean, should I have friended them? I just did. I figured they added me because I was a mutual friend of whoever.

This seems pathetic of me, just adding whoever. I assure you it is not serial. If some random asks to be my friend, I ignore it completely.

Anyway, so VT emails me today. This is our second communication. Some months ago she mailed me the Relief Society newsletter. Only the newsletter. I thought it was cute and funny. She did her duty. I wondered if she was afraid of me like I used to be afraid of inactive members. She's young (~20), newly married, etc. And inactives, as you all know, are offended and hate the church (ie: its members, because there is no separation)

The email today was pretty short and to the point. Subject: Please reply (that tugged at my heart strings. She thought I wouldn't reply.) "I know I don't know you, but I'm your VT from [redacted] ward. Are you still on X street, because we have another address for Y street. If you're on Y street, you're probably in a different ward. Just let me know."

I didn't know what to say. "Please reply" was...well. I don't know. It made me feel sorry for her. I may curse and be all liberal and stuff, and I may occasionally slip and say something bad about the church (i generally don't out of respect for the members on my list), but I'm not scary. I'm actually really very nice. Sometimes too nice.

But, you know, she wanted my address.

Scratch that, the bishop wanted my address. Or the ward secretary. Whoever.

I don't like this about the church. They want to know where you live so, if the ambitious sort comes around and "feels the spirit" they can come after you and hound you and get your tithing money back (is that cynical of me? it's true, if only partly). I'd rather they didn't know. What does it matter?

But I was lame. Please reply and all. I could've just said "I really don't want to give out that information," but I didn't. My reply was short and to the point too. "We still live at X. We moved here from Y."

I feel that was a dumb thing to do, like I'm still allowing them in my home to some degree. What would you have done? Has this sort of thing happened to you?

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.

Resolutions 2011

I generally don't bother making new year's resolutions, but I did last year and made it through July--which, I think, is pretty damn good. My resolution was simple: read one book a month. I even kept track. Some months I only read one, some months I read up to three. I'd like to make this resolution again, but with a full load at school and a family at home, I'm not all that sure how much time or motivation I'll have for casual reading. But I'd really, really like to.

At the moment I'm reading "The Six Wives of Henry VIII" by Allison Weir and am finding it terrifically interesting. I'm now about in the middle of his fifth wife, Katharine Howard. She'll be beheaded soon. It astounds me how accurate the series The Tudors is. The show does take artistic license, but damn. This book also makes me want to travel to England that much more. It has also reignited a rather passive love I have for history, and I'm seriously considering minoring in it. History and literature go together hand in hand.

If you're on Goodreads, look me up.

So that was the resolution last year. What stopped me? School, partly, but also my cycling. I get so disinterested in books sometimes. I may want to read but can't find it in me to read. It happens especially when I'm reading a more difficult book. Last year I slowed down considerably with The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak. That said, I completely recommend the novel. Narrated by Death, it tells the tale of a small girl in Nazi Germany. It is not your typical WWII novel.

This reminds me: not too recently ago I had the idea of having a Literary Sunday kind of feature. I get so obsessed with religion and mormons that I forget my very first love. Surely that deserves more of my attention. Maybe I'll do that.

Anyway, this year's resolutions:

1) Try my damndest to not be so self-deprecating. This is especially difficult to do in the throes of a bad depression, but I need to do it. A few days ago it was bad, so I wrote down everything I was worrying about with regard to myself and my life. It helped. Thinking about good things with regards to myself, however, doesn't come very easily to me.

2) Resolve to stop allowing feeling lame to get in the way of allowing friends and family to help me. I also used this resolution today when I brought up a few posts of mine at Main Street Plaza. Yes, I was lame and nominated myself, but I'm proud of those posts (Stupid Mormon Words and Stupid Mormon Phrases) and feel they deserve some consideration.

3) Keep going forward. I am terrified of going to school, to the point where I regularly attempt to convince myself it is not only better but safer to stay home instead. It's enticing, but I'm not happy here. I'm just not.

And that's really it. If I keep thinking I'll come up with more, but with the year looking like it does I don't need more. Simple is best, for sure. I might also try to clean up my posts, but I won't make any promises. This isn't an especially serious blog (well it is, but it's hardly academic), and I don't want it to be. However, it would be a good exercise in writing, which I don't do nearly as often as I should or would like.

I'd also resolve to send in my resignation, but I've already done that.

My Patriarchal Blessing

Here you go, folks. I keep meaning to post this but forget to. I'm going to leave out the first paragraph, you know. So-and-so, in the name of Jesus Christ, blahblahblah. This was given in September 2000.

I will admit, also, that I'm slightly afraid someone here is going to be "this isn't that stupid. it made you cry and really angry? dunno why." but it did.

This is also word for word. Spelling, grammar, all of that. One thing I can't bring myself to do is add in the double spaces after every period--can't blame the lady who did that. She's older and that used to be the rule, one I know personally to be a very difficult one to get over.

And now...

This blessing shall be unto you the mind and will of the Lord concerning His love for you, and your membership in His church.

Now, dear daughter, you are special unto your Heavenly Father. While you lived with Him in your pre-earth life, you lived among the noble and the great. You prepared yourself for mortality. You were schooled by your Elder Brother in the great plan He presented at the council, to come to this earth and have the opportunity to work out your salvation, then return and live with Him. Now, in your pre-earth life, you were valiant and faithful. You were of the believing blood. You accepted your Savior, and the great plan. You were expedient in encouraging and fostering others to do likewise. As you were schooled and trained there, you became knowledgable and desired to serve the Lord in many capacities. You were fore-ordained, blessed, and given certain talents there. Among the gifts you were given was the power and gift of discernment. Remember, dear daughter, that this gift is yours, and you will always know the truth. You were always be able to discern one from the other. Follow that which is good, and do the things which will enable this gift to bring blessings into your life, above and beyond measure. You were also given the talent of faith. It has been prescribed to you as one of your valuable talents. It will lead you in the direction the Lord wants you to go.


Now, dear daughter, you were one of the noble and great ones. You were chosen before you were born to the House of Israel. You are a daughter of Sarah. You will receive your blessings from Ephraim. He who was called by the Lord to preside over the Priesthood in these latterdays. This is your right and claim to Abrahams blessings. it is your right and claim to the Celestial Kingdom of God if you will but keep His commandments, and weave into every fiber of your being the eternal truths that have been disclosed unto you. Also other truths that will be disclosed to you as time goes on. You are a daughter of God, and He loves and cares for you. He wants you to be happy here, and when this life is over, He wants you to return and live with Him in the great Celestial Kingdom among the Gods.


Dear daughter, you are choice and special. Insomuch that you have been singled out, and have escaped the pollutions of the world because of your testimony, and have joined His only true church, lean upon the Lord. He loves you, He will not leave you comfortless. He will come unto you, and give you answer to your prayers. He will bless you in times of need with a guiding hand. His counsel for you is; gain an added testimony and knowledge of the Gospel. Do this by reading from the Book of Mormon. Make the blessings of the Prophets yours, that you might be spared from the sins of this generation through studying the Book of Mormon. Remember always that he loves and cares for you. He will give you answer to your prayers. The answers will come by your thinking out your problems, then presenting them to the Lord. As you ask Him which is right and what you should do to solve your problem, your bosom will burn, and you will know that He is your God. That He is your Savior, and Redeemer. That He is the Holy One of Israel, your Elder Brother, Jesus the Christ.


Now, keep the commandments, seek good company. As you go to school, live and keep your standards. Don't let them be lowered at any time for some momentary pleasure. If you will do this, God will honor your requests, and make you a great spiritual leader in His kingdom. You will truly be a daughter of Sarah, and a daughter of Rachael. You will become like all the chosen of Israel.


Now be patient and kind to your folks. They might not see things as you do, but set and example for them. You will find that these things will change. Always be found doing the things you should be doing at the right time, that His spirit might be with you, that you can be a missionary in the service of His kingdom, bringing many friends into the church. I bless you to this end, dear daughter, and say unto you; the Lord loves you. You are special unto Him. He will reveal His secrets unto you in the hour you will need them. You will become mighty in His church, insomuch that you will become a mother of righteousness and truth. When you seek out your companionship, seek for someone who will be able to take you to the Holy House of the Lord, where the blessings of the Temple will be bestowed upon you. You will have the great Celestial Marriage the Lord wants you to have. He will bless you with kind and loving children. He will bless you if you seek for it, a companion who can stand upon the principles of truth that you do. take nothing less than this, dear daughter. For these are the valuable things in life. They are the things that will take you back to your great Heavenly Home as you sojourn here in mortality. Always remember who you are. That you are a daughter of God, that He has sent you here. That He cares for you. So stand close to Him, and be in remembrance of Him for the things you will need help and guidance in. For you will receive His help in the hour you need it.


Now, Heavenly Father, bless this thy daughter. Bless her in all the things she might stand in need of. Bless her with health, strength, and wisdom, that she might have the power of discernment, that she will be lead down the paths of truth and righteousness. that she will bea ble to return unto thee, along with her love one's to the great Heavenly Home that thou has prepared for those who love thee.


Heavenly Father, I seal this special daughter of thine, up unto thee, that she might be protected from the sins of this world. That she might know thee, "the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou has sent." That she might be caught up when thou cometh, which will be soon, to reign among the Lord of Lord's, that she will be caught up in the clouds of heaven to meet all the resurrected Saints. To be there with all who choose to live after thy pattern, to become like thee. May she be an inheritor, and live among the Kings and Queens of heaven. May this lot befall her. May she seek after these things and take nothing short of this great honor. Heavenly Father, we bless this daughter with all the things she might stand in need of. May thy attending Angels look after her. That she might live close unto thee. Bless her, and make her the promise, if she will keep thy commandments, she will be a mother of truth and righteousness, that thy blessings will follow her. I make her these promises, Heavenly Father, and say unto her; be faithful, keep the commandments, weaving into every fiber of her being these sacred truths the Savior has laid down for us. If she will do this, she will rise in the morning of the first resurrection, with her family, loved, ones, and all the Saints of God, to live with thee in the great eternal home among the Gods. May this lot befall her. May this be that which she seeks after, and is desirous of. I make these promises unto her upon her faith and faithfulness, in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, Amen.

Compromise

I've mentioned this a few times before (I think) and I believe the sentiments are shared by fellow converts:

Y'all, I feel stupid for even complaining. BIC members had no fucking choice. Me? I was EIGHTEEN.

Yes, I know. Eighteen isn't exactly adult, except perhaps on paper. I could vote, couldn't drink, finally got my sorry ass out of high school, and had zero clue of what to do with myself. I had a great GPA, but not great enough to get into UC Santa Cruz--and it wouldn't take much to talk me out of even that. It just took a pretty girl full of energy who was willing to be my best friend and a group of people who loved me without even getting to know me (all they needed to know was that I was a potential inmate). Whereas once I was a social outcast, surrounded by people who had known me since preschool, I was a new person. They didn't know who I was. It was a relief.

And let's be honest: I needed to get the fuck out of my parents house. I needed to cut the cord, because my mom would never on her own.

So you have a convert who left the church and is now bitching about it. I feel lame for doing it, and like I said I'm not the only one. I know what the world is like without the church whereas BIC members have no clue.

But I've been doing some thinking.

I characterize myself as an ex-Christian girl, but if cornered you'd find out that I'm hard pressed to go very far in denouncing Christ. I may know what the world is like without the LDS church, I can largely break off from the hammering doctrine easily construed as brainwashing, but I can't get away from Christ.

For about a year following my disaffection I would denounce and bitch about the church, feeling rather confident in my feelings--but the second you put me with SIL for more than five seconds (if that), I'd leave with an enormous desire to go back. To figure out a way in. A compromise. In the end I knew I couldn't, but you can believe I tried. I believe I've said it recently, but that part is over now. Mostly because she has changed, and so have I. Because our friendship has fizzled, and I'm done mourning it nearly ten years after it began to crack.

That said, I still have Christ. I have entered into one church since leaving the LDS church that hasn't thrown me into a complete fit of anxiety and panic. I wasn't totally calm by any means, but I didn't freak out. And while that church is nowhere near me now (you wouldn't catch even a UU church within 45 miles of me), sometimes I think "you know, if I were to attend a church that would be the one."

But then it stops, because I don't believe. But I want to. Sometimes I want to so, so bad.

I want to compromise my beliefs sometimes, but I don't even try to. I don't because Eric is atheist through and through now and I don't want to deal with that, even though I know he'd deal with it. I don't because my desires always hit a brick wall when I realize I don't believe. Not really.

Christmas was weird for this. All the children's shows and whatever featuring characters who mentioned Christ and the way I'd react inside, wondering when we're going to have The Talk with the kids. Jason, I know, is interested. My views (my scrooge-ish views) on Santa changed: let 'em believe! then later we can use that as a lesson regarding how everyone can tell you one thing and yet it's still wrong: use yr brain, kids). I couldn't just relax. I'm on constant vigilance, and it hurts. It physically hurts.

I need to come to some sort of peace, but I don't know how. I've rejected Mormonism after some work, now I'm working on my feelings regarding Christianity which entails a lifetime of inherent belief. Even when I took the four year sabbatical from church, I still believed.

It fucks me up with regard to my kids. It just really sucks.

Christmas

You know, I get that the snarky and funny and general pain-in-the-ass posts brings all the boys to the yard but the last few days I'm not feeling it so much.

Except for my Joe Smith birthday picture. That was pretty funny. At least to me.

Spent the day at the in-laws and have done a bit of thinking. I do this every now and again, get all introspective and that shizz--start to feel bad for including their comments and whatnot in my posts. My comments are not meant to be personal--again, dislike the church, love the people. Most of them, at least. They are people. It's what the church does to the people.

That said--and this is a big but--I love watching Eric and his siblings interact. They are, no joke, the best people I know. His youngest brother gave up his bed for me five Christmases ago when I was in active labor with Joseph. That was not an easy time for any of us. His sister (and the youngest brother) babysat the two other monkeys while I dealt with being in labor without my asking.

His younger sister used to be my best friend ever. And while she's changed considerably and while she was totally against "Christmas Vacation" tonight and does all that stuff, I love her. I used to say I missed her terribly, but I think I'm a few steps into acceptance. She used to be the girl who made me want so much to find a way to be a part of the church, but I'm no longer trying. It's funny how there's one person for each little step for me: one friend who makes me want to fit into the LDS creed, and then there's another who makes me want to try to fit into Christianity--even if just a little. Another post I'll hopefully remember later.

Anyway, five of Eric's six siblings were there today and they are all fun to watch. My brother and I are not close, and I'll freely admit I'm jealous I didn't and don't have the family Eric has. If that's what being LDS meant--having an amazing family--I'd totally rethink this. But I'm being idealistic, even there. Still, they are so neat to be around. I am the weirdo in their midst, but I'm hardly ignored--they try, dog bless them. There's a hope in being around them that my family will be even a little like them. I don't want my family to be like the one I grew up with. This fear, the one that leaving meant we were doomed to be like mine, was a big one that kept me from accepting my disillusionment.

But you know, my dad called me today. He's done that quite a bit lately (quite a bit being more than once), and today was special because he called me just to see how things were going. My dad doesn't do that.

And even though it would've been fine because we were at MILs house and they're all active members, church talk was minimal. Like ridiculously minimal. One mention of Christ's birth during the blessing of the fud and a gift of "The Princess Bride" that brought the comment "Every Mormon family has this movie!"

Which, you know, they do. And if they don't the individual people can quote the entire thing for you. Maybe that was another sign I'd never make it: "The Princess Bride" has played for me about five times and I've only stayed awake for it once. Not because I found it boring--not at all--I was just always sleepy when it played. Bad timing. Indeed.

And now it's eleven o'clock. The kids went to bed about twenty minutes ago, having been up since about 5am. I expect to sleep in in the morning, and now we've a big family get-together for all the late december/early january birthdays in the family (so many that i was afraid to announce joseph's due date), planned before the sibs go back home.

Like I said, I don't feel like I belong so much (especially anymore), but I like being around them all the same.

I could've done a LOT worse. I truly struck gold.

Loud Laughter

I've probably told the first part of this story before on my last blog, but not everyone here read that blog (I think?) and/or doesn't remember it.

So, loud laughter. If you've been to the temple you made that promise to avoid it. I never really knew what this meant--huh? Can't laugh loud? WTF is that all about?

Weird.

But you know, it's hard not to. Especially when you're in Sunday School and your husband is thumbing through the scriptures for some reason and starts to giggle. I nudged him. I'm easily embarrassed.

"Look," he whispered, offering his scriptures to me. Joshua 5:3

And Joshua made him sharp knives, and circumcised the children of Israel at the hill of the foreskins.

I BUSTED A GUT.

I don't know why this was so hilarious to us at the time--perhaps the lesson was especially boring that morning, or perhaps it was because Eric and I tend to have our minds in the gutter more often than most (it seems--am I wrong?) Not that our minds were in the gutter, so much, but "hill of the foreskins" just hit our funny bone.

We couldn't shut up. Front row. Everyone's looking at us, and we know it, but "hill of the foreskins" is an immensely funny phrase at the moment and it was going to take us a while to get over our fit.

Granted, not exactly a situation of "loud laughter" but irreverent nonetheless, being that we were in the middle of Gospel Doctrine learning about whatever regurgitated and repetitive nonsense Correlation had decided was doctrine that year.

It was fun. We would turn to that verse often throughout the following years. It wasn't always so funny, but it's a good memory. When we dared tell the story to others (this was in our active days), our recounting was generally met with quizzical but polite smiles and nervous laughter.

Foreskins, ha!

Fast forward about...oh, five years. We believe this took place the last time Eric and I entered a temple. Sacramento, California. I wasn't a big fan of this temple. Small, whatever. And you had to make an appointment. Laaaame. I'm loyal to Oakland. My first temple, where I was married, big and has a cafeteria and clothing rentals. Maybe not as shiny, but gorgeous.

Anyway.

So we took Eric's dad, sister, and BIL with us to the temple to do something or other. Endowment session, I think. We ended up being late, so we called to let them know. Nothing they could do, they said. We had a late appointment.

But wait! You have three priesthood members? Could you pretty plz do some sealing sessions?

We agreed. Once we arrived, we dressed ourselves in the weird getup and somehow ended up in the sealing room with an older man who acted as the sealer. I don't remember much about this day except that Eric broke into a random fit of giggles in the middle of the ordinances.

It was fucking hilarious, y'all. But I didn't think want to let on that I thought so at the time, being concerned about offending his family. Other than his sister being there, his fucking dad was there. He can be rather devout.

Instead of getting chastised, everyone else (except the sealer, and maybe his dad) started laughing too. The sealer didn't know what the hell to do.

People, it was priceless.

That said, on the way home Eric ran a red light at one of those camera intersections and we got BUSTED. I'm sure they think it was some sort of punishment for the irreverent way he acted in the temple. It sucked, for sure. Five hundred dollars hurts.

But the memory of the sealer is still funny. Like Eric said the other day, it could've been funnier if he would've chastised us. Mostly he just looked at us like this O_o and went about his business.


(Slightly off topic) another way to make a temple worker look at you like you've grown two heads: get your new name for your dead person, sit in the chapel, get really REALLY uncomfortable and then go give the name lady your proxy paper and say "I'm not doing this."

I'd like to know how often that happens.

I want this sign

I saw a sign like it at my uni's bookstore as a christmas decoration, and you can bet your ass I almost bought it. Don't know why I didn't. Probably because it was just for Christmas and green and red doesn't exactly go with my intended kitchen color scheme (red, white, black). But stuff like this will.

Now if I could get the addendum for tomorrow we die.

Hmm.

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.

The Last Straw

Again, I sat in the chapel with the rest of the youth group at the age of 13 or 14-years-old. This night would prove to be the end of the road for me.

My young, handsome, energetic pastor whom everyone loved stood at the front. My peers and I waited in the front few rows of the pews, listening as he explained that night's particular activity. It went like this:

Two of our peers had been pre-chosen to be the angels of death. How they were chosen still fascinates and confuses me--if I allow my thoughts to dwell here, it angers me. Much about this night does.

Two rooms awaited us in the back of the chapel where the pastors' offices were located. One, representative of Heaven. Another, representative of Hell.

The two angels of death would come and take us randomly (like death often does, natch) and escort us to our proper destination.

I wasn't taken right away, but eventually those spared the pains of this ridiculous exercise silently stood before me with outstretched hands. I stood and followed them.

Led into the back hallway, the "angels" opened a door and invited me inside. I entered and found it to be akin to a janitor's closet--for all I know that's exactly what it was. It was hot and stuffy, small, and pitch black.

I was in Hell.

The realization struck me hard. Was it random? I hardly believed that.

Did the angels not like me?

What the fuck did I do?

As a girl who had felt the cruel impact of not belonging with a group of people who, by all accounts, should've been nicer, this was the harsh rub of salt to the wound.

I still don't know why I was placed here, or if it was intentional. I seem to remember another boy in the closet with me as I unsuccessfully fought like hell to hold back my tears and the embarrassment of muffled sobs that accompanied them. This wasn't about being put in hell so much, but of a complete and direct rejection of me as a person. That they thought so little of me as to find no problem damning me.

(It strikes me as something my 16-year-old sister probably feels often now, especially when her pastor unnecessarily took her aside to inform her she had kept her under the baptismal water just a little bit longer as to wash away her "extra sin" and continually berate her for things most teenagers do--effectively pushing her further away)

I don't remember anyone else joining us in Hell except for the one other person, and unfortunately even he remains nameless and faceless in my memory. Few, if any, words were exchanged between us.

Eventually the closet door opened and the two of us were invited to leave Hell. The object lesson was over. "Come to Heaven," they said.

The light in Heaven blinded our eyes as they had since adjusted to the darkness that was Hell. The room per my memory was as large as it was bright, probably a conference room. And rather empty. And a hell (ha!) of a lot more temperate.


"Have some cookies," they said. I wordlessly took one, hoping nobody would say anything to me. Hoping that the redness and puffiness that surely had to betray my resolve to be steeled and resolute was absent. Anger filled me here as much as did the stabbing pain of rejection. I also found the odd logic of the entire event somewhat amusing--did this mean we'd have a chance to enter heaven after a sufficient time in Hell? Of course it didn't. Not per their official doctrine.

Thankfully everyone left me alone. I didn't belong here. They knew it, I knew it. My years of attending had proven that much. And after this shit I was finished subjecting myself to the abuse.

But perhaps I was too hasty. I was eventually invited into Heaven, and there were cookies.

Wasn't that enough?

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.