Doubt and Distress - Pump the Brakes and Take a Breath

I am not an expert. I don't have my footing. I have no answers.

Oh, and I'm not a blogger.

I CANNOT emphasize this enough. I don't want a niche (I'm not a Mormon Blogger, or a Mommy Blogger, or political blogger or a fashion blogger and on and on), I don't want people saying things like, "I have a story - you should put this in your blog," and I don't want people in my life pulling me aside to ask, "Was that last entry about me?"

Seriously, bro, we haven't spoken for three years.

Yeah, but there was that one time-

No. Just no. Let's go back to not talking for another three years. Please. It was a highlight of our acquaintance, so let's keep it up.

I'm a novelist first and foremost and forever. I write fantastically violent, passionate, intense-as-hell stories with characters that will make you laugh out loud and also ask, "I'm not the only one who does that?" And I write these stories to make you think. That's it. I'm not actually presenting answers in writing these stories, but I'm daring you to take the beliefs I confront and decide whether they will change for you. That's it. Very simple.

And that is all I intended with my last post. People I knew on facebook and elsewhere were vilifying people who question - and it's a national trend, really. Labels, insults, "us verses them," frantic demonstrations and boycotts and firings and smearing using really foul, horrid words. It's really ugly out there.

And we look for reasons to dismiss people. Oh, they're a conservative, or a traitor to their race, or her kids are a mess so she's dumb, or that dude doesn't even drive a Prius.

But it's a little fun. You know, having a cause and having a villain. It makes life funner, more satisfying, more purposeful. And darker. Much, much darker. Mostly inside of you, though, because you let it in with a grin.

We're all guilty of it. Yes, even me.

And all I wanted to do with my last post was let my most enthusiastic and dogmatic friends know that a questioner was among them, and they love me, and I'm good to them, and I'm not a threat, and I'm truly just wondering. That's all, just putting things together and realizing I'd have to do a lot of forcing to make them fit, and no one else can make them fit either.

So, about that....

Let me put this as plainly and gently as possible:

Sometimes, there are no answers.

So saying, "I don't know," or "That's a really good question," or "Huh, I wonder if we'll ever know" does NOT make you hella dumb and it does NOT debunk your beliefs and it does NOT make me lose respect for you.

In fact, to most of my quandaries and struggles with the culture and doctrine of the LDS church and the world around me, there are no answers and there are fewer comforts - for me. For others, fantastic. But not for me. And I'm not panicking, and I'm not scrounging for books to read (I've already read so many that I cannot, I mean, I just can't), and, frankly, your theory is nice but it's not an answer.

We don't know why bad things happen to good people, we don't know why faith works like (quite literal) magic for some and does jack squat for others, we don't know why people have pet tarantulas(don't bother trying to explain that one), and I cannot figure out why I always seem to look at the clock at 8:08 - and it's starting to freak me out. Life's mysteries that just make you shrug and go, "Wow, things are stupid here sometimes."

If I panicked over every unanswered question or every seeming contradiction in the world around me, I'd've been dead of a stroke by the age of 4. Because, for the life of me, I could NOT explain to my toddler friend that she was NOT older than I was because she was born in January and I was born in March. I can still feel young my brain twisting, having not a first clue how to prove I was older.

And the puzzles have continued their steady flow in and right out of my life.

We questioners, we doubters, we're just wondering and we're confused and even a little heartbroken. Because we know in our hearts when we hear the truth, and some of the things we hear don't inspire that lovely confirmation - but dread instead. We're not trying to rip away your warm blanket of beliefs, we're not trying to castrate men and impose the Goddess, and we're not mocking or deriding or besmirching your theories. They're really nice theories. But you must admit, you have to admit, that they aren't answers. And if you received some sort of confirmation that it was an answer, well, it wasn't, because you can't receive revelation for the LDS Church.

Let the spinning begin.

I have absolutely no problem with a struggle to find truth - whatever it is - through a long, arduous and even lonely journey. Such is the nature of life. We are here to find our way back to God. Your way isn't my way. And I even have no problem entertaining the questions, "What if this is all a lie? What if none of this is true? What if this is all in my head and there isn't even a God? What if I'm in the Matrix?" It doesn't frighten me to think that, after this life, it may well be lights out.

If we don't allow these questions, then how can we really know whether our beliefs are based in faith or fear? In facing a "lights out" scenario, I've realized that, well, I'd better do my best to live well and make this life better for people who suffer - hence my desire to be involved in funding the rescue of people in the human trafficking industry. If this is the only life we have, then there are women and children being terrorized, invaded, humiliated and injured (sometimes multiple times a day) and I want to make sure suffering isn't all they know and that they are freed.

Some can say that a lack of religion will make someone into a hedonist. Maybe. Not me.

In stepping back from religion for a time, I've actually gained a sense of my innate goodness. I am no longer living a certain way for a certain outcome. I am living a certain way, because I am a certain way. I serve others because I love others. I am kind to others because I'm kind. I give to others because I have a lot to give.

And I believe in God, and I have a deep and beautiful sense that He believes in me. Truly. He has faith in me, He's got a hold of me, and He's good with me. He and I, We're going to be okay. And if I get to the next life, and He sits me down and says, "Kate, Mormonism was all true," my next question will be - as it has always been with Him - "Great, where do you want me?"

Until then, that will be my only question of Him. "Okay, where do you want me now?" And in a little while, when I feel unsettled, I'll ask again, "Where do you need me now?" Because right now, I'm exactly where He wants me to be. And I never thought I'd be here, so I can no longer make any promises as to where I'll end up. And if I'm inched back into the heights of the Mormon faith, there I'll be. And if I remain a woman who goes to church from time to time because I love - LOVE - the people (I love them so incredibly much) and I dig the music and I feel the Spirit, then it's because that's where my soul, my heart, and my whole self is maximized.

And, as of right now, I feel maximized. I'm not afraid, I'm not overwhelmed, I'm not angry and frantic and frustrated. I am figuring things out principle by principle. There are things about the LDS doctrine that I outright reject. That likely means that unless I receive another answer on that principle, I will be a B+/C- Mormon who will not be "worthy" to enter the temple. And I respect those standards enough to have abstained from my temple attendance even though my recommend was valid. I hit a point when I couldn't answer the interview questions "correctly," and I knew that would prevent me from getting a recommend, so I stood down out of my immense, almost aching respect for the Mormon faith and the people who live it fully.

And, yes, it was sad for me, but I realize that there are a lot of paradigms that I fit and others I don't.  I'm a no-show Liberal Democrat and flunky Republican and an A- Libertarian, and kickass wife and a head-over-heels mommy, a fantastic thriller writer but a terrible lyricist, and I totally get volleyball but curling is beyond me. There are principles and limits I can choose and accept, and others I cannot. As human beings, we have to take a step back from everything at different points or after different events of our lives and reassess.

It's nothing to be scared of.

For 30 years, Mormonism was what I absolutely needed in all things. Then, for some reason, the burden outgrew the blessing, and I was losing my grip on God. Quickly. Everything went slipping.

It was all stripped and gone.

Was there even a God?

Yes, I knew that much. I knew that. I did. I at least knew that. But that was all.

I could no longer assume that I knew any amount of truth beyond the existence of something greater than me. It was all just gone.

I then had to figure out what kind of God He was. Was He involved, did He know me, was He with me then?

Yes. Good.

It was then up to me to truly subject myself to my God and His plan to teach me.

And all I wanted to do and do better was love. I was so, so, so tired. Just tired. I couldn't do it all, much less do it all well, and I disagreed with so much and I couldn't make it all fit, and there were certain things I hated doing and others I missed deeply, but in losing it all I somehow and eventually found peace.

In my dark living room, where it was only God and me and tears, I felt His enduring and adoring grip on my heart and I knew I was good and I would be okay. I didn't think that was possible. I thought I would only feel God that closely, and He would only love me if I met certain requirements, but He was there - right there - and I am His.

The point is, it isn't black or white, it isn't all or nothing - it's your personal best.

In everything outside of church - whatever church that is - we're told to follow the Spirit. Keep it close, listen to those feelings, cultivate that relationship by heeding every gut feeling you get. Isn't it fair, then, to heed those lovely warnings and assurances within the religion itself? If you feel just as sick about polygyny as you do about killing puppies, maybe you should examine that feeling a little bit. Would you rather be locked in a coffin with a corpse than go to church that particular Sunday? I'd say something's up and maybe you need that day off.

People will disagree - obedience overall. Obedience to what? To the Spirit that gives you peace when you're doing what's right. If it's wrong, you know. And if it's wrong for you, don't be scared. It may be wrong now, but right later. Find your own way through this. Trust yourself. Trust in God. In the end, you will face Him and He'll know your heart and that you were only following His guidance.

Truth doesn't expire. It will always be there. And you'll be led to it - wherever it is - when you're ready for it.

This life is just you and God. That's it. It's not you and your congregation, or you and your book club, or even you and your little family. It's you finding the tools you need to be the best, most loving, most peaceful, most beautiful creature you can be. Do good, be good, create good and find God.

And don't be scared.

Kate Kelly and You - Yes, You.

I don’t like to write angry. So I will try to keep that in check.

And, frankly, I’m a storyteller, not a blogger.  So I will try not to blog here, but simply tell you a story.

I was raised with a very outspoken, brilliant father who remembers the time, date and location of any given historical event, as well as every notable event in his life. His mind is like a treasure trove of quotes that impacted him, and they’re nothing to scoff at. Some of the quotes have become comforting mantras in my life.

My mother is a driven entrepreneur and inventor who rarely sees anything as an obstacle – it was more likely just providing her a scenic route. Her untamable optimism and confidence taught me that I could do anything – anything – if I just kept at it.

My elder brothers were typical. Well, not really. Athletic and good looking (annoyingly good looking to where chicks would inform me of it and run away giggling) and academically blessed, it took a lot for me to keep up with them. And I wanted to. They, too, were good at pretty much anything and I wanted things to come so easy to me – only to realize they pretty much kicked their own asses for all they achieved.

My baby sister – only 2 years younger than I am, but always my baby sis – had her face in a book every time I turned around and her backpack was so heavy that we often expressed concern for her spinal health. But she became this fantastic example of ignoring stupid people while also having the fire to stomp on anyone who tried to serve her a slight. And I mean, on the spot. In the middle of In-N-Out, if you insulted her, she’d put you in your place no matter who heard it.  

As for me, I was a silly kid, imitating a host of celebrities for a laugh whilst also slinging about a sense of humor so dry no one could tell when I was kidding. I wasn’t a teenaged beauty, but I was still bold, still driven by this innate sense that I was meant to bring people together and make them feel at home with me somehow. I was voted Most Inspirational on my championship volleyball team, so while I was goofy, I was dead-serious in succeeding in all things. But, in short, I’m not an angry person. I’m simply not.

I was raised in a family of people who worked hard for what they wanted, were unapologetic about who they were, and were decent and good-hearted. My parents never put limitations on me. It was never a "boy" or "girl" thing if there was something I wanted to do. I played all kinds of sports, was friends with all kinds of people, and was told that I could do and be anything I wanted. My potential was limitless.

So, yeah, I was a pretty happy kid usually. It could have had something to do with being raised Mormon. I was surrounded by such happy, carefree people who didn’t worry about peer pressure, who liked being weirdos, who even loved the opportunity to be mocked for not drinking and hooking up. I mean, sure, we were usually too nerdy to get any offers for parties and sex, but we took pride in that.

So I’m not cool for not puking in the bushes like you? K, loser. Oh, and I’m uncool for not having an STD or pregnancy scare? Yeah, yeah, moron, keeping going on about coolness.

We knew we were kids and we were going to enjoy it.

And so, in a lot of ways, I felt fine with being Mormon and being a Mormon woman. After all, I wasn’t much different from males. Sure, I couldn’t do a pull up, but I was smarter than most of them, had made good choices, and was putting myself aside for the will of the Lord. And the Lord knew I was good for it.

For instance, while I wanted to go to NYU, I felt BYU was where I belonged. (My heart still groans at this. BYU was hell. But I think the Lord did that on purpose, like He was saying, “Don’t be like them, love. DON’T! In fact, once you graduate, RUN!” )

God bless those of you who’ve had wonderful experiences there. Chalk it up to different dispositions and different missions in life.

I worked in the English Department as the dean’s administrative assistant and, of course, majored in English. In no way was I a feminist, nor was I at all liberal in my views – which infuriated my professors. How could I NOT feel and feel and have the feels for every little thing? I didn’t. It was simple. And I didn’t see oppression everywhere and long for vengeance on society and find shame in my white heritage. I didn’t feel oppressed in the church or otherwise, and felt like the world was my apple.

Until I went to a Sunday School class. In it, we discussed Mosiah 8 from the Book of Mormon, which sets forth the differences between a seer and a prophet. I raised my hand and said it seemed that we all have the potential to become these things through our righteousness. And then a fella raised his hand and said, “If you have the priesthood.” Which, in essence meant, “If you’re not a woman.”

I felt my whole face go hot in humiliation.

All this time, my personal feeling that I could be anything my Heavenly Father called me to be was severed by this simple proclamation – I couldn’t because I didn’t have the priesthood. I was limited. I was stunted. Why hadn’t this occurred to me before? I couldn’t be anything and everything possible. No matter the fact that I received intense and clear revelations from my Father in Heaven, that I was more spiritual and intellectual than almost all of my male peers, my prize for my righteousness was that I got to have babies and support my priesthood-holding husband.

Honestly, at the time, it didn’t stick. I moved on happily. I was going to be a writer, I was going to move to New York City, and I was going to make my life what I wanted. Nothing fazed me for years after that.

And then, before I had any prospects for marriage, I decided to go through the temple.

Big mistake. So huge. I can’t even tell you.

I was 24, I was bright, I was analytical, I was already living the covenants fully, so why not? Because I was bright, because I was analytical, because I had questions no one could or would answer.

Upon arriving in the Celestial Room of the temple, my father sat me down and said, “You can ask anything you want in this room.”

Apparently, questioning is fine. Being stunned is fine. Not understanding is perfectly okay. Because there's an answer to all of it. I just had to ask there - right there - in that room. Someone would know. This was where all of the secrets were.

 

I considered it, looked around and said, “Okay. What just happened?”

He laughed. But I was serious. I had no idea what had just happened, what I had just promised of myself, why we were dressed like we were, what it all meant. It made no sense. None. Not even a little.

And as my attendance in the temple become more and more frequent, my questions multiplied and become more and more pressing. People told me to just keep going. Keep going and it’ll all make sense. So I did, but the peace never came, no matter how hard I prayed for it, and my list of questions was lengthening faster and faster.

Even so, I asked. I asked my bishop, his counselor, a temple worker, a stake president counselor, gospel scholars, and I looked at as many books as people could recommend. I didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense.

And then came the kicker.

One day in recent history, in a Relief Society meeting, I asked if anyone could recommend a book on the symbolism of the ceremony within the temple. Not a combative question. Not even a suggestively antagonistic question, but women actually turned in their chairs with their brows down and their eyes wide.

Good gracious, those were stank faces. What had I done?

One woman said that I needed to inquire of the Spirit.

Okaaaaaaaaaay. Well, the Spirit prompted me to ask the question, so sit on that, chick.

Another said that if I wanted the superficial meaning then I would have a superficial experience.

Ummmmmmm, screw you.

And that was it. Those were my answers. That was what I had to work with. A little, “Figure it out, kid!” and the lesson moved on.

I was paralyzed, seething, frustrated, humiliated and, for the first time, lost. Lost. Because for the first time, I thought, “I don’t belong here.”

And I had fought their fights. I had done the Prop 8 garbage (good gracious, that needs a post of its own for its awfulness), paid my tithing, lost friends on Facebook by standing up for the church, and even judged others for doubting.

And I will tell you my questions here, because very few people have been willing to hear them.

In the church, in the Articles of Faith, it says that man will not be punished for Adam’s transgression (thereby eliminated Original Sin), yet in the temple (and also in the book of Moses in the Book of Mormon), because Eve was the first to partake of the fruit, she is to be subjected to her husband. She covenants with him, not with God, and Adam, in turn, covenants with God.  So we’re not punished for Adam’s transgression, but women are limited by Eve’s.

No one has had an answer for that.

Growing up, I was told that I was the last guardian of virtue – not only my own, but that of my partners. If things were moving too far physically, I was the one responsible for stopping us both and preserving our virginity. However, long before that point, I am responsible for men’s thoughts. If I dress in a way that accentuates certain assets, I am helping men have unclean, impure thoughts. Which was weird, because I could see hot dudes running around shirtless, sense an impure thought creeping up, and put it in check, but I was taught that men just can’t do that kind of thing. Yet, they could have the priesthood, receive revelation, be seers, and be the head of my household. No one else sees the problem here? They give us the impression that these dudes are drooling sex fiends, yet they should be trusted with the sexual confessions of young women, married women, single women, and I should be cool leaving my daughter alone with them in an office? On top of that, apparently, dudes will just tear off your panties unless YOU – A WOMAN – stop them, because they’re just dumb animals who can’t contain their appetites, but, yes they should be prophets and you can’t.

Seriously.

Also, the highest level of heaven will be so teaming with women that we will HAVE to have polygamy because women are just more righteous than men. You see? You’re better, more spiritual, stronger, even smarter, but you can’t lead the ward because you’re supposed to be at home with the kids. (This is apparently, a regional teaching, because I was taught this on the regular as a young woman, but not all have heard of it.)

Um, hold on.

Yes, no listen, you’re a mother – it’s the highest calling, the most sacred calling, the most important job.

But anyone can do it.

No, that’s not true.

Yes, it is true. I know women who have children to spite their boyfriends. I know of women who have children to get more welfare. I know women who have children to get men to propose. I know women who’ve gotten knocked up out of wedlock and don’t even know who the father is because they have so many partners. So this isn’t a product of righteousness – it’s simply biology.

 No, but it’s the most important calling if you do it well.

I know non-Mormon women who do it even better than most Mormon women I know.

Fine, but you have a priesthood-holding husband and that’s a blessing in your home.

And he supervises me.

No, he presides over the home.

Okay, tell me how that's different. He has the final say, right?

Yes, he's the leader of the home.

So I can be overridden. Even though I'm called to do this, this is my purpose in my life, this is what I'm made to do, he gets to veto my decisions.

No righteous husband would do that.

But he's still presiding over me and I answer to him.

If you put it that way. But I know your husband, he's a righteous man, and you wouldn't let him boss you around. He brings the priesthood into your home and you hold it together.

No, we don't.

You're a team. I mean, you need each other to progress in the afterlife. You're equals.

No, we're not. People need to drive a car in order to drive on the freeway, but that doesn't make the car an equal.

Is that a fair analogy?

Oh, good, we're talking about fairness now. Finally.

Kate, you have a husband and he loves you and he uses his priesthood to bless you.

But he works all the time. When my kids are sick and need a blessing, I can only pray for them and have to wait for the real blessing when my husband and his home teacher are home from work. That’s a lot of suffering.

Your faithful prayers can heal.

Then why do I need priesthood blessings at all?

Well, okay, but you can use the priesthood in your church calling.

Cool, so if motherhood is the highest calling, the most important and holy, can I put my hands on my children and bless them with my husband?

No, you’ll have to call a home teacher to join him for that.

Why?

Because he has the priesthood.

But this is my calling. I can’t use the priesthood with my husband to bless my children? I know them better than he does. I get them. I know what they need. My spirit will only add to his. Why can’t I just put my hands on my children while he blesses them?

Because it’s a priesthood ordinance and you haven’t been ordained.

But why not?

Because you get to be a mommy!

*facepalm*

Men and women are different. Men are leaders, women are nurturers.

Do you even realize how ridiculous that sounds?

You need to humble yourself and accept your station.

My what? Can you humble yourself and just listen and tell me that you don't have the answer, that there isn't one, that maybe someday we'll get one?

If women get the priesthood, what will men have to inspire them to righteousness? If women can do everything, men will lose interest.

And isn’t that an awesome statement against men? Isn’t that horribly prideful? Shouldn't they humble themselves to serve alongside us?

Kate, you’re splitting hairs. Read the Proclamation. Besides, Church Headquarters employs lots and lots of women. So that helps, right?

What? Are you even sincerely listening to me right now?

If men and women work closely together in callings, that’s a threat to the family. People will commit adultery.

My husband works with women all day every day, and panties stay in place, I assure you.

True, true. But this is all to protect the family. Men and women are different. If women had the priesthood, you’re so amazing that you wouldn’t even need men anymore.

Are you kidding? That’s supposed to make me feel better and make men look better?

I think this is something you need to take to the Lord, and He will give you peace.

I have taken it to the Lord and He’s left me unsettled. I want peace, I want to love it here, but this doesn’t make sense. Where is my badge of righteousness?

Isn’t that a little prideful of you?

No. I’ve earned it. I can be trusted. I am the spiritual, intellectual and emotional equal of any man here.

You have a temple recommend.

So all of my striving, all of my sacrifice, all of my pain and loss is rewarded with a temple recommend?

And a righteous husband.

And my husband still has his agency. If he leaves the church and has his name removed, I’m left twisting. I’m left with nothing but the promise I will be given to someone else in a polygamist relationship in the hereafter. And if my husband remains righteous, he will have multiple wives in order to progress in the priesthood. How is this fair?

All is love in the afterlife.

*self-cutting*

Kate, take it to the Lord.

And I did. And don’t you think Kate Kelly did? And is there a possibility that the Lord instructed her, told her He had a hold of her, and inspired her to maybe, possibly, upset the people who so blithely dismiss hard questions?

I get that people insist that men and women are different. I get that some people think women hold the priesthood and sharing presidencies in the church will lead to all kinds of infidelity, and that giving women the priesthood will mean women will no longer need men (and this is where I inform you that people without religion whatsoever still need companionship, love, intimacy, and support, soooooo…..), and that even acknowledging the chasm of reward between men and woman is heresy, but those of you need to stop panicking.

I don’t think I don’t need my husband. I need him like I need breath. He is my rock, my sanity, my means of gaining wisdom. I cannot live without him. I don’t want to push through this life without him by my side. I simply want our rewards for our sacrifices to actually mean something. And, as of now, they simply don’t. They don’t. And as much as I’m not an advocate of women receiving the priesthood, nor am I a defender of Kate Kelly, I get it. And my questions have not been met with love, or real understanding, or a striving to find the answer. And I think, honestly, it’s because I’m a woman and feminism is a no-no—even if it’s only a woman questioning why my righteousness is hardly regarded while my husband’s is celebrated and rewarded with additional responsibility and prestige.

I have questions with no answers. Many more than listed here, in fact. And if people want to say, “No, you just don’t like the answers,” then, yes, I don’t like fluffy, stupid, illogical answers. No, I don’t. I don’t accept them. Because the Lord has given us too much access, too much wisdom, too much progress for us to go, “Well, that’s all the Lord can do.” I heartily disagree. With what the Lord has asked of me, with the way the Lord has put me at the spiritual helm of many things, I know He has as much faith in me as the men around me.

And the only answer high-profile bloggers - even BISHOP bloggers - have is, "This isn't the church for you. Leave." So you'll say this is the one true church, that if we turn away from the light we've been given we'll be punished, and that there are no second chances for those of us in too much pain to stay, but you're telling us we're not really Mormons anyway and we need to go. Cowardice and intellectual inferiority at its finest, ladies and gentlemen.

If you don't like it, leave - yeah, which means you'll be damned, but it sounds like those pompous ejectors hope that's the case anyway.

But, alas, I simply have to shake my head, and think, “Their loss. Because I’m amazing.” And the Lord could take me elsewhere, and He just might.