Christina
@postmormonmusings
Who am I? I thought I knew. In fact, I would have staked my life on it. I remember as a child proudly proclaiming my membership in the Mormon church. As a teenager, I recited the Young Women’s pledge weekly:
“We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us and we love him.”
Later, I would go on to teach primary children a song to help them learn that they, too, belonged.
“I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
I know who I am.
I know God’s plan.
I’ll follow him in faith.”
I was a daughter of God and a member of the church. Only after that was I identified as a daughter, a wife, a mother, a sister, a friend, a nurse. My entire identity was centered on my membership in the Mormon church.
I knew who I was. I had a road map for my life. I was on a predictable timeline that left no room for question or confusion. My patriarchal blessing promised that if I followed the advice contained within it, it would set me on, “an undeviating course to eternal life.”
Birth, baptism, Young Women’s, Relief Society, marriage, children, temple service, missionary work, service, service, service, death, eternal life in the highest kingdom of heaven.
Easy. Prescribed. Just follow the path. Hold to the rod. Stay in the boat.
So how have I ended up here, far from the gospel pathway, commiserating with those in the Great and Spacious Building, and swimming in an ocean far away from the boat? One might think it was because of some major sin or because I just wanted to “party” or drink alcohol or engage in all manner of lasciviousness. Nothing could be further from the truth.
The Plan of Happiness, as it turns out, was a plan of captivity. That plan did not include having a queer child. On the contrary, it told my children they had no place with God. I began giving space for questions I’d had my entire life. How could a loving father abandon his children over something as beautiful as love? How could a loving father curse generations of his children for something one generation supposedly did? How could he consider beautiful brown skin a curse? How could this father drown all of his children in a flood? How could he ask one of his children to sacrifice another?
But worst of all, how could he knowingly ask for one of his children to volunteer to be brutally murdered?
It made no sense. But it didn’t have to make sense, right? Just have faith…stop asking questions…we don’t know the whole picture, God does…endure to the end…it will all work out in God’s own timing…thy will be done…doubt your doubts…
The same patriarchal blessing that promised to be a road map also said, “Be not mediocre, for to give less than one’s best is an UNFORGIVABLE weakness.”
This mortal life…perfection isn’t possible…be ye therefore perfect…sin is evil…repent, repent, repent…you can’t be perfect…repent, repent, repent…keep striving for perfection…endure…don’t murmur…this life is a test…repent, repent, repent…weeping, wailing, gnashing of teeth…outer darkness…BE NOT MEDIOCRE…
Serve…teach…pray…proselytize…serve…worship…repent…visit teach…serve…clean…do genealogy…attend the temple…serve…BE NOT MEDIOCRE…
I will never be good enough
I will never be good enough
I will never be good enough
I WILL NEVER BE GOOD ENOUGH
BELONG. What a curious word. “I belong to the church…” I’m a member, I belong, I’m one of the lucky people, I’m part of the wheat instead of the tares…but wait…wait…wait…
BELONG. Ownership. “I belong to the church…” I am owned by the church. I pay them ten percent of my income. I wear the holy garments. I consecrated all that I have to the church in the temple.
THEY OWN ME.
What is that incessant noise? My entire life I’ve heard it…clank, clank, clank…make it stop. Clank, clank, clank…clank, clank, clank…stop! CLANK, CLANK, CLANK…and then the sound of an old, rusty, creaky metal door.
“Hello, Inner Knowing…my Intuition. I haven’t seen you in years.”
She stands before me, battered, beaten, blinded, bruised.
For more than four decades, she has been in prison, locked tightly in a cage of my own making. I’ve kept her secreted away, refusing to listen to her, lending my ear instead to the holy ghost. And while I ignored her, she never gave up. She kept clanking on the cage bars. She kicked, she punched, she screamed, she bloodied herself, she beat her head on the walls just to keep my attention.
SHE
NEVER
GAVE
UP
ON
ME
She saved my life. She never abandoned me. She never left my side. I abused and ignored her, and she never gave up.
She has taught me that I am my own god. I belong to no one. She has taught me that she has all of the answers, that I don’t need a holy ghost. She has taught me about the Divine Feminine and how to love myself. She has taught me to radically accept my body for the miraculous and beautiful gift that it is. She ahs shown me magical and exquisitely beautiful things about this world I never knew existed. She has given me ethnocentric belief that I have something they need. She has taught me to embrace the cultural and ancestral heritage that Mormonism taught me was evil. She has reminded me to keep my eyes wide open to everything.
She has taught me that uncertainty is the most beautiful thing in the world, for when nothing is certain, anything is possible. She ahs taught me that I am enough.
I AM ENOUGH
I AM ENOUGH
I AM ENOUGH
She has taught me that I am light, I am love, I am enough. She has taught me that the wisdom of my ancestors flows through me and that I am connected to them and to all of humanity and all living things.
She has helped me remember that..
SHE IS ME