The Lord told you to WHAT???

Not long ago, one Sunday morning, I woke up and felt like we should take our kids to see the movie, Miracles from Heaven. It had just come out and I'd heard good things about it, but hadn't decided on a day to go see it.

Our Sundays are so peaceful now that we've quit going to church. It used to seem like World War Three trying to get everyone ready on time. I don't know why there was so much contention. Maybe we're more argumentative in our home than other families. Who knows? I'd like to think we aren't that different, but we do have two teenagers living here, so that tells you something.

Anyway, as the day progressed, and after we'd had our own little worship service, I felt impressed again that we should take our kids to see that movie. Now, I am still steeped in quite a few past traditions I was raised with, one of those being, you DON'T go to movies on Sunday.

I turned to my husband, who was sitting on the bed next to me, and asked how he'd feel about going to see that movie today. He shrugged and said it didn't matter to him. You see, he wasn't raised in the church and had never become fully entrenched in the LDS traditions, and there were a lot of things he didn't agree with during the time of his "active" status. At the time, I took what I could get and I was just grateful he'd be active with me at all--and he was... for 13 long years without a complaint.

I decided to pray about it--which has become my go-to about anything I don't "get". I got the same answer. "Take your kids to see this movie and take them today." I answered by saying that it wasn't keeping the Sabbath day holy to go to the movies on Sunday, and the Spirit, who is ever patient with me, repeated himself.

So, with my heart fluttering in fear--because seriously folks--it was scary doing something like this that I had been taught from my first moments of life--was wrong. We hopped in the car and went to the theater!

I actually hoped I wouldn't see anyone else I knew there! How stupid, since if I did see someone I knew, they'd be "sinning" too! We all settled into our seats with our treats and I remember having this totally giddy feeling. I can't really describe it other than to say I felt so good, so free, so happy, being there. Like this was "right". Even though I'd fought my traditions the whole way, I knew we were being obedient.

There aren't words to describe how I felt during that movie, how "moving" it was for all of us. There wasn't a dry eye in the house, especially mine. If you haven't seen it, rent it for sure! It's not in theaters anymore, but it might be out in DVD.

But that's not the end of this cool adventure. The Lord wasn't through teaching me! 

On the ride home, we were all so happy, giggling even, talking about our favorite parts of the show, when my 14 yr old daughter said to me, "I'd like a cross necklace of my own. Like the girl in the movie."

My heart stopped right there! We don't wear crosses in our church! Wait a minute. I'm not in that church anymore. I don't need to abide by it's rules... or did I on this one?

If you haven't seen it, there is a scene where the main character, a very sick little girl who is dying of a rare digestive illness, takes off her cross necklace. Her mom hangs it on the IV pole as she's about to go to have an MRI. Her roommate, another very sick little girl who has cancer, asks her why she wears the cross. (she's atheist and has no idea what the cross represents to the little girl)  The girl, (sorry, I can't remember names) with the stomach problems says... and here's the part I love... "I wear it because it reminds me that God is always with me."

Such a powerful moment in the movie. 

My knee jerk reaction to my daughter was to tell her no, but the spirit stopped me, asking me, "What's wrong with wearing a cross?" Well, the reason the church gave me from the time I could speak didn't seem like a valid reason to me anymore. Yes, we focus on Christ's life and not his death, yada, yada, yada, but I had the feeling that there was more to it. Of course, He didn't just give me the answers. I had to figure it out for myself. 

I texted Adrien Larsen and asked him if he knew. He wasn't totally sure, but did tell me that the cross was common decor in early LDS church buildings and that it's use diminished in the early 1900's because of cultural belief. 

So, I dove in, looking up where our aversion to the cross came from. I learned that it did start in the early 1900's with a president of the church (seriously can't remember which one now. You'll have to look it up if you want the details. I told you I had serious memory issues! LOL) who didn't want us associated with the Catholic Church AT ALL. He publicly called them the Whore of all the Earth and started the new rule that we should not wear crosses anymore--that it was the mark of the beast! I learned in my research that many early apostles were buried with a cross on their caskets. Wow! Here is an interesting article I found in my research. Read it at your leisure HERE.

And if Joseph Smith didn't have an issue with the cross, then I wouldn't either anymore! 

Easier said than done.

I prayed about what I'd learned, asking for the Lord's advice at this point. He told me that if my daughter wanted a cross, and it made her think of Him, and reminded her that He was ALWAYS with her, then she should wear it. The cross is the universal symbol of Christianity and if one person wants to give it the meaning of death, torture, and agony, that's their prerogative. If it means to someone else, life, resurrection, and the sacrifice of the Lord, then great!

I told my daughter she could absolutely have a cross and we went about the job of finding the perfect one. She now wears it all the time. She loves it and it makes her feel connected to the Savior in a way she needed. 

I own a cross too. I've owned it from the time I was born. My aunt, who belonged to some Pentecostal church I don't remember the name of, gave it to me at the time of my birth. It's meant for a newborn, so the cross is tiny, silver, and extremely beautiful. I never wore it once in 45 years. I wear it all the time now. 

Here's the thing. I still have hangups about wearing it. I'm trying to get over them, but I feel self conscious when I have it on, wondering what my "Mormon" friends will think if they see me. I used to be one of them. I know how it is. I know how they think, and I don't like people condemning me. (yes, it's one of my weaknesses. I'm well aware). 

We are all SO judgmental. It's automatic. Even among those of us who have left the church in search of more truth and light. We pick each other apart if we don't understand another's witness. I mean, how do you argue when someone says, "the Lord told me to do this?" How can we say, "No he didn't! He'd never say that!" How do we know what he'd say? 

"My ways are not your ways. My thoughts are not your thoughts." (something to remember)

My cross means a few different things to me. It reminds me that the Lord is always with me. It reminds me of his sacrifice. It reminds me of all I left behind when I left the church. The good and the bad. It reminds me of what I'm searching for and hoping to find--A face to face with the Savior. And last of all, it reminds me of how much I used to judge people who were different from me, how much I still judge people, and how I hope to stop doing that. The Lord teaches us all in individual ways. He gives us the lessons we need in the way we need them. 

Let's cast off our judgments and just love one another... it's one of the greatest commandments, after all.

Sent home a disgrace

I was perfectly content living in the middle.

By that I mean, believing what Denver Snuffer had taught me in his books, having spiritual experiences myself, AND being an active Latter Day Saint. I was a stellar member and would comment regularly in Gospel Doctrine and Relief Society, trying to help people open their minds and souls to the spirit. I was still a believer and drew self esteem from being popular among my friends and "looking good" to the fine people of my ward--all the while secretly studying forbidden doctrine.

When my son came of age to serve a mission, he had is own experiences that changed his mind from not wanting to serve at all to feeling impressed that he should go.

I was beyond excited! Especially since I'd served a mission myself. I was familiar with all the great things he would experience. I knew the friendships he would make, the families whose lives he would affect. Plus, it made me feel like a successful parent, having my oldest child serve a mission. I liked the feeling it gave me, having a missionary I could brag about. (I'm being brutally honest here... obviously)

I'm going to take a quick detour for a moment.

From the very beginning, I felt like my bishop didn't like me. When I taught Gospel Doctrine, ( a few years before I got sick) he would sit on the front row, frowning at me, like his disapproved of the way I taught. I liked my class to be deep and interesting and long before I found Denver, I was asking hard questions of my class, trying to get them to dig deep and find difficult answers. I frequently received praise for my lessons. One high councilman personally requested my ward so he could attend my class. I'm not saying this to brag, although it did make me feel really good, but to paint a picture of the good that was happening in our ward. I liked pushing the envelope. I like asking uncomfortable questions and I really liked helping people find the darkness inside and eradicating it. I liked being up front and leading the discussions, and I REALLY loved the praise I received. In a way, I needed it, feeling like I needed to be good at something. Anyway, my bishop--before he was my bishop--did not appreciate my technique and style. Like I said, he frequently sat on the front row frowning. He's a scriptorian. Has the scriptures practically memorized, and I don't think he appreciated my interpretations.

When he was announced as our new bishop, the spirit told me right in that moment that I would be released, and it would happen really soon. I didn't believe it. I'd barely been in a year. But exactly two weeks later I was released. I couldn't believe it. This was the beginning of a downhill slide for our family.

I don't hold anything against our bishop--anymore--but for a while there, it was really hard to not feel angry about everything we experienced where he was concerned. Our interviews were stilted and uncomfortable--he actually sat and played with his ipad for 15 minutes while we waited for our son to arrive at the interview. He'd been caught in traffic on the way home from work. My husband and I sat in silence in his office, waiting and waiting, with no conversation, no small talk. Nothing. Pure silence. It was at the moment--the last straw, the cherry on top--that I vowed never to have an interview with him again, and that was BEFORE all of the Denver mess.

My son, who was preparing to serve a mission felt even less liked. Interviews for him were dreaded and the bishop made him feel like he was lacking or unqualified at every turn.

But my son persevered and I was so proud of him!

On his mission, with his second companion, he really struggled. His comp would 't leave their apartment until five in the evening since that is when men came home from work and they couldn't teach women, so for the whole day, my son was stuck at home, trying to find ways to entertain himself. He spent most of the time studying, for hours and hours. He asked me to send him material to read and so I did. I bought him Removing the Condemnation and sent him articles from Adrien Larson's blog--To the Remnant. He absolutely soaked it up like a rain-starved desert plant.

The problems came when he tried to teach his district the lesson "Feeling and Fooling the Spirit" that Adrien had written about. It was the most powerful post my son had ever read and he couldn't stop talking about it. His comp began to tattle on him to the president at every turn. My son had multiple interviews that grew more and more uncomfortable as time went on. Finally, he was accused of being an apostate and if he didn't stop all this nonsense and repent, he'd be sent home. One of the many issues was that my son refused to say he thought Pres. Monson was a prophet. Imagine how that went over.

My son called and told me of all the terrible things that were going on, and that he would probably be coming home soon. His president told him that he was to watch general conference and then they would talk again after. Literally, the next day, five days before conference, he was called into the president's office and was grilled for more information about Denver Snuffer. My son ended up just telling his pres that he wanted to go home, and that after he admitted it out loud, the spirit confirmed to him that it was the correct thing to do.

I called his president myself. The man was a stickler for the rules, didn't let the missionaries hand out Books of Mormon until the second discussion (of which there were few because it was super hard to even get a first discussion), he would only let them do four hours of service a week, and the missionary handbook was their book of scripture. He told me all of the things my boy was doing wrong, and I informed him that I couldn't be prouder of the mission my son had served so far, and that as far as I was concerned, he was coming home a success.

My son only wanted to serve. Really serve the people in his mission. He wanted to teach straight from the Book of Mormon, like missionaries in Joseph Smith's time, but he wasn't allowed to. And if he tried, his comp would turn him in with every offense. It was so difficult for him and super depressing.

When my son came home two days later, our entire family--aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents--were at the airport with posters and balloons, cheering at the bottom of the escalators. You see, no one in my family is active and no one in my husband's family is a member, so nobody thought my son coming home early was anything but wonderful! As soon as he saw us, the tears began. He couldn't believe we were all there for him. He'd actually thought he would have to slink out of the airport a disgrace. Not my boy!!!

His coming home early kicked us out of the closet though! Neither our bishop nor stake president had ever heard of Denver Snuffer, but that quickly changed and we started getting regular phone calls from both of them, asking us to come in for interviews.

The first one, only my husband went to. At that time, he turned in his temple recommend, saying, "If my son isn't worthy to teach, then neither am I." (he was an elder's quorum teacher at the time.) When we quit paying our tithing to the church, mine was also revoked. We didn't go to any more interviews. I just didn't want to. I was tired of the drama and I'd seen so many people get excommunicated that I didn't want to put my kids through that at the time. I didn't want to go through that at the time either.

I'd like to say it all turned out butterflies and roses, but the truth is much more heartbreaking.

My son was singled out an embarrassed in our own ward, so he decided to go to a singles ward. As soon as he walked in those doors the next week (literally) the bishop grabbed him and took him to his office for an interview and started grilling him about being an apostate. Our bishop had called him and explained the whole thing.

I was heartbroken.

We quit going to church at all and starting having our own little worship service in our living room with just our family. It was beautiful and wonderful and frequently brought tears to my eyes, the spirit was so powerful. But when my son left for school, he grew angrier and angrier at the church and further and further away from the spirit.

Now, it's an argument when I try to talk about spiritual things with him. He gets mad and accuses me of forcing it on him. His heart has hardened and I don't know how to help him other than to pray. I ache for him and our relationship which is starting to feel more and more broken as time goes by because I don't want to let go and nag too much. It is taking a lot of faith to let go of this and hand it over to the Lord and most of the time, I'm unsuccessful at it.

Anyway, I've come to peace with a lot of things. We've found a wonderful community to meet with once a month and we love them (although our son doesn't attend with us.) We were also all re-baptized last week, (my second time) which was wonderful, but he didn't do that with us either.) I'll tell you more about those experiences in a different post.

The moral of this story--because I like to end with something people can take with them into their own lives--is that it doesn't always turn out how we expect it to or want it to. Not just with the church or our wards, but with our own children, brothers and sisters, and parents. It's a learning experience and the only thing we can do is stay faithful to the Lord, because if he sees us to it, he will see us through it.