chronicles of she

every family has their classic ten or twenty stories they always seem to tell and re-tell at get-togethers. well there's this one about me, when i was a little kid. i don't know, let's say four or five. i was at church when i told my sunday school teacher i was sick. our home was only a few houses away from our neighborhood church house. so without any hesitation, in the middle of a beautiful, sunny day, i walked home. when the rest of my family got home from church a few hours later, they found me in the backyard jumping on the trampoline. i was not sick. i was, however, perfectly content jumping on the trampoline in our backyard. by myself. on a gorgeously sunny day.

i have written about experiencing a "transition of faith" somewhat vaguely on my blog before. i haven't written more because i don't have a clue where to begin. there have been so many times over the last two years that i've begun posts and then left them to sit as drafts and that's exactly where they've stayed. i will say it's much easier to talk about the act of having a faith transition than it is actually talking about all the nitty gritty details of my actual faith. so that's where i'm going to start, if i'm ever going to talk about this thing at all.

my mormon community is such a funny little place. it's one of love and friendship, but it's also one of expectations and stipulations. these expectations and stipulations have made navigating the last two years tricky and i would be lying if i didn't admit that my honest to goodness beliefs have disappointed some and estranged me from others. because stipulations. and expectations.

as much as we mormons like to say that it's okay to question and doubt, we do very little to create a safe environment to do just that. actually, the environment we create is one where it is only safe to wholeheartedly believe the total package and anything else is considered unsafe territory. if you need or want to question and doubt, or let's say you find yourself in the middle of a full-on faith crisis, you need to politely and quietly step outside until you've figured out whatever you're going to figure out (or not figure out).

i imagine my church as a large room (read: cultural hall) with labeled sections and corners. one corner is labeled, "a safe place to find god". another is labeled, "a safe place to build community". one section is labeled, "a safe place to serve others". the room is filled with people meeting under each sign, socializing and engaging in the labeled activity. i love these corners and i want to be a part of them all. but in one corner of the room is the label, "a safe place to question and doubt". but no one is in that corner. there are no cookies and punch and there is no one overseeing the activities of this section. questioning and doubting are things advertised you can do in this room, but it seems a hollow promise because there is no official support or help to facilitate this activity.

there is, however, a sign with an arrow on the table below the label advertising "a safe place to question and doubt", that reads: BISHOP THAT WAY. but your eyebrows drop, because you know what this means, and what it doesn't. it means your bishop will ask you how your scriptures and prayers are going and are you temple worthy? and you know that it's not a place to question and doubt, but rather a place to reinforce ideas and "shoulds", ideas and "shoulds" of which you are already quite familiar. it means your non-conforming beliefs and fears and hopes and dreams and heartfelt concerns do not have a designated space here. it's not that they're unwelcome here, it's just that there simply isn't a place to work out those sorts of things here.

but jesus cares about my non-conforming beliefs and fears and hopes and dreams and heartfelt concerns, right?

the troubling part of all of this is that this section of church, the questioning and doubting section, is the one where you need the most facilitat-ing and lov-ing and understand-ing and most importantly: trust-ing. and quite honestly, invalidating your questions with all-too-easy "answers" is not evidence of trust-ing your intellect and trust-ing your ability to know what is the right way for you to live. sometimes reading your scriptures, saying your prayers, attending the temple, (and all the other things on our long mormon list) just don't bring you your answers. in fact, sometimes those activities have nothing to do with your questions in the first place. and sometimes you realize you are much more at peace with the beautiful unresolved questions than you are with the uncomfortably concise answers.

i have existed here, in this crisis of faith place, (somewhat) quietly but still very personally, for the last year or two (or three). i have stood just outside that cultural hall trying to figure this thing out so i could hurry and sneak back in before i missed anything too good. i have kicked and screamed, i have cried, i have read, and i have very fervently and wholeheartedly prayed to god. i have attempted integration and told myself that i didn't need that dumb questioning and doubting section anyway. unsuccessfully, of course. and i have found myself outside the room again, battling within myself what i know i believe versus what i am supposed to believe. but that's the thing about beliefs. they are not "should believes". they are beliefs. i have momentarily pulled the big, heavy, wooden door open and peaked around and then gently shut it without trying to disturb. i have come full circle with myself and i believe also with god, and i have found myself right about where i am now.

a couple of weeks ago i had a turning point in all of this. i had quite a rattling experience (the details of which are irrelevant for this post) and then just like that, within 24 hours came a mind blowing realization: i don't need religion. my white knuckle grip on the whole thing doesn't need to be so white knuckle. there are a lot of parts of religion that frankly, i don't really care for all that much. however, there are admittedly a lot of parts that i do think are pretty neat.

i am a mormon, and i love who i am. i've got this thing going with god and it is pretty good. i love my people and i will always be mormon. the foundation of so much of what i believe is mormonism. i've begun saying that i am an "ethnic mormon". i love all the "places" that mormonism is, and in so many ways, they feel like home. the finding god place and the serving others place (that one especially is so cool in our mormon church) and the amazing community place, i love all these places. i love all the ways that mormonism is home for me.

but i don't like that there are only safe spaces for people who believe very nearly the same thing at my church. i don't like the limited way i am supposed to see the universe through my religious glasses. i don't like the often ineffective prescription for happiness. and now, i don't need to wrestle with myself any longer. i don't need to feign belief to be accepted of god.

and on top of that, i realized that people can do god's work without religion. duh! they do it all the time. i can do god's work without it. and whether i am participating in my religion or i'm not, god is still happy with my contribution to the work.

i love god. in fact, that's one thing that has not at all changed through all the big, crazy changes in my faith in these recent years. and isn't that, like, all that really matters? isn't that what faith and religion is all about? is that i love god and i believe god lives and loves me and i really love my husband and friends and family and i want to daily be a better, more patient, understanding, caring, gentle, kind, loving version of myself? isn't that what all this talk of religion is all about anyhow?

so like i said, a couple of weeks ago, i reached a pivotal moment. and this is sort of how it all went down:

i finally pull my eyes back from peeking through that tiny crack in between the doors and my eyes release from their squint. i take my hand off the metal door handle, and my shoulders relax a bit. i turn around and i take a deep breath. i look around on both sides and then i walk down the long hallway until i push through the double doors. it's sunny and warm out and my church building is so serene and beautiful behind me as i walk home to jump on the trampoline. by myself. god is still with me here. and maybe one day i will inch closer to what i am supposed to believe, or grow up and start acting the way i am supposed to act, and maybe one day i will go back and this whole thing will be a hilarious and cute story that is told and re-told at family gatherings into the eternities.

or maybe there is something to be said for the sunny, sunday afternoon spent alone, perfectly content on the trampoline.