I teach the people I work with that after they have been hurt, they trust no one because they do not trust themselves; they do not trust that they will be able to tell who is safe and who is not safe. I tell them that when they begin to trust themselves, they will be able to trust their ability to determine who is safe and who is not. Only then will they will be able stop rejecting everyone in favor of only rejecting those who are unsafe or unhealthy people for them to be around.
Funny when a teacher needs to listen to her own teachings.
For me, it is a matter of trusting God. Or, trusting myself enough to be able to distinguish what is relationship to God and what is not. Interesting concept. I've been toying with it for weeks.
About a week ago, the thought occurred to me that I might be able to "experiment" with a spiritual practice similar to one I relied upon for years while I was a Mormon. It occurred to me that my style of prayer was different than the style I was taught in church. And so was my style of quieting myself so that I could "hear" spiritual communication. The experiment was that I could "try" renewing my spiritual practices for 30 days and see what happens.
I never started the experiment: lack of trust in my ability to discern, I think. Lots of fear that I could identify in myself; I've been duped. I don't trust my ability to keep from being duped again. How will I know if it is "God" or "my imagination"? So, I dropped the idea.
But once that book is open, it's hard to close it and as I've been exploring these things in myself, I'm also coming closer (I hope) to realizing where the root of the issue lies. For example, I'm beginning to doubt my own loyalty to Orthodox Christianity. I'm finding that whenever anyone outside of myself decides what I need to do or what I need to avoid in order to be right with God, I have suspicion.
In fact, my suspicion is raised regarding organized religion, in general. Because once an organization becomes "organized" enough to call itself that, it becomes a set of rules and regulations meant to maintain the organization. I interpret that this way . . . . . Maintaining the organization = controlling the "organized" people who are part of it. Then I think there is a blurring in the teachings between what is good for the people versus what is good for the church.
Of course, the church will say that what is good for the church is good for the people.
I rather doubt that.
I hear sermons with skepticism, doubting whether or not the speaker's generalized injunctions really have anything to do with me. Or whether or not I can become any more or less acceptable to God by following them. Instead, I find myself thinking that congregations are for scared people who want to believe the promises they hear in church. And the church says what the people need to hear to reduce their fears - to make them believe that the rules imposed by the church hold promise for the members. And I think the church throws things in the mix that serve to keep people in fear enough to maintain their faithfulness to the church.
A good example of this is a banner I read outside a church this morning. "Follow Jesus and He Will Make Your Dreams Come True." I don't think God works like that.
But there comes a point of tension where the discerning individual asks: "Does this really apply to me?"
An example I can think of comes from one of the few times I visited a local popular Christian church. I liked the people there. They served coffee during services (a plus in my book), but during my 3rd visit the pastor said something to the effect of if you are a "Good Christian" and if you "Love God" then you will support our walk-a-thon (by opening your wallets, of course). I supported the idea of walking, alright! By walking right out of that church and not going back!
It's a funny example, but there are many, many more. They exist in those moments when "church" is creating pressure and guilt toward one action or another while at the same time, the person with the struggle is honestly striving to live an upright life and that particular action doesn't "fit" at the moment. I may be wrong, but in my estimation saying "No" in church adds up somehow to "Not A Good Christian." Interpret that how you will . . . .
So all of this leaves me asking myself what I really believe.
My husband speaks of Jesus. He says I should just follow Jesus. But I ask, which one? "Jesus" looks and acts different from one sect to another. How do I choose to follow "Jesus" when "Jesus" is presented to me through the interpretation of "Men of The Church" - whichever church may be in question.
All of this struggle and questioning has led up to my relative ambivalence toward anything spiritual. A brand of ambivalence that leaves me doing nothing except hoping that *someday* I can punch a hole in the paper bag.
Until yesterday. I had a very interesting conversation with my manicurist. She asked me about my religious beliefs and I hinted at what I just described in this post. She responded by stating that she believes as she does because she had an experience that "no one else has." She went on to describe it to me and to state that this was proof that the church she was standing in when the "light came down on her and no one else" was her church home.
My reply? I've had LOTS of those experiences. I described a few to her. And I explained that I don't know what those experiences mean. I am certain they don't mean that the church I was in at the time was the sole custodian of God's Truth. Perhaps, it meant that God was aware of me and heard my prayers regardless of my membership in that church.
But after I told her about a few of my "nobody has those experiences" experiences, she said: "That's unusual." Everyone doesn't have that gift. It's something I've heard before. My response is that I'm not special. She responded as a few others have before: "Yes, you are. Other people don't have those gifts."
And it got me thinking. Wondering again. What would happen in I nurtured my spiritual side? What would happen if I trusted my own spiritual process? I started on that path once as I began reading a book called: Advanced Psychic Development. I stopped because someone else said: "You are not ready for that." Huh? Well, I believed I wasn't ready and stopped.
Maybe, I know some truth that is independent from organized religion. Maybe, it is independent from anyone or anything else, except what is purely spiritual. Maybe, I need to figure out what I believe. Something to think about.
Well, the night of my conversation with my manicurist, a shoulder injury was keeping me awake. I went to go to sleep on the couch so that my tossing and turning would not disrupt my beloved.
In the minutes while I tried to sleep, I started to think about the concept of a personal spirituality. And, common to all of my personal experiences that seemed to transcend anyone else's interpretation was the presence of Jesus. My Jesus. A secret Jesus that no one else has to describe or introduce to me. Not Jesus I read about. Jesus I have known on a personal level.
And in the moment before I feel asleep I said to myself. "I believe in Jesus."
What comes after that? It's my opportunity to explore . . . . .
Incessant Chatter
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
I've Been Thinking . . . .
A lot lately. Probably, some people would say I've been thinking too much. And right now as I write, I have so many thoughts running through my head at the same time.
Mostly, I'm thinking about the 1st Amendment.
The Bill of Rights prevents Congress from passing a law that restricts anyone from Freedom to Practice Religion as they will. Joe Smith even penned in his Articles of Faith that Mormons allow Non-Mormons to practice according to the dictates of their own Conscience.
But, in my experience, free expression is a Taboo. Just like Tattoo. Yeah. And by the way, I got 2 of them after I left Mormonism. :-p
Digressing here . . . . Let me get on to what I really want to say today:
On September 11, 2001 - The plane that flew into the Pentagon accomplished a direct hit to my favorite aunt, Rhonda Rasmussen. She was evaporated. They told us that the fuel from the jet burned so hot that there was nothing left . . . . no diamond from her ring . . . . no silver from her teeth. Nothing.
No more sparkling sense of humor. No more smile that brightened any room she walked into. No more honest intimacy. No more warmth. No heartbeat. No more hugs.
I remember being devastated and angry. The moment I saw the first televised pictures of the Pentagon in flames, I knew she was gone. I was alone. I fell to my couch and began to sob. Then, I realized that no one had told me she wasn't okay. Maybe, she was. I called my mom. She told me that her husband was okay, but no one had seen Rhonda yet. This was enough to confirm the loss for me. My sobs resumed. But then, I stopped crying by the time the rest of my family was in grief.
I remember feeling confused when a stranger who told me that he was a high military official was assigned to my family and that he was calling me to invite me to be flown with the rest of my family to Washington for the memorial services. I felt confused. It seemed intrusive. I didn't know how to respond and my not-so-sensitive husband at the time said: "You can't leave. You need to take care of our child." She was almost 8. Guess he didn't know how to take care of his own daughter . . . .
The long-story short, is that I never grieved. I was angry and confused when our family had a memorial service closer to home that featured the Purple Heart ceremony. I didn't understand how the Purple Heart was supposed to soothe anything. When my niece and nephews had to go the rest of their lives without their mom.
So, I never cried.
But every year on the anniversary, I felt a rise of confusion and anger once again. This year was no exception. The only difference is now I am married to a loving man with whom I am safe. This year, all of the T.V. references brought a tear to the surface. Casual conversations brought me back to discussing how strange it is to have people talking about something in a casual way that has personal relevance. People saying: "Where were you when it happened?" doesn't seem to compare to "Who do you love that was killed?"
My husband, sensitive enough to see it still troubled me too much, turned the channel or gently told people who might be too casual about the discussions around me that I lost my aunt that day. It seemed to work. Until Church . . . . .
The Priest announced that he was going to give the same homily he had given the Sunday of 9/11 10 years ago. I thought: "Oh no. This is going to get annoying." But, before I knew it, my eyes were brimming with tears. I left. I went outside and watched little butterflies sipping from the bougainvillea. But, in that quiet moment, I started thinking, for the first time since she died, about the 5 months when I lived with Rhonda and her family. I let myself remember conversations, impressions, fond moments. I thought about how 5 months is a significant amount of time to live with and interact with someone on a daily basis when you are 18. I thought about this being the reason that it's been hard for me to hear other people talking about 9/11 in a casual-I-remember-the-day manner.
Satisfied that I had taken my own little memorial moment, I went back into the church. Just in time for a list of names of the Orthodox Christians who had died on 9/11 to be read. And I was time-warped back to the moment I listened to the listing of the names of the 9/11 Victims for my aunt's name. I was brought back vividly to the moments when I listened for her name as proof that she existed and as some kind of validation to my loss. This time, I could hardly contain myself as I quickly left the church.
I found a spot between the cars where no one would find me in the parking lot and sobbed. Great loud sobs that had carried 10 years of unexpressed grief. I thought more about the way I had known my aunt because I had lived with her at such an important time in my personal development. I thought of the grief of my dad - she was his youngest sister. My grandmother - who is now gone. All of the people I could have grieved with, but I was too angry and confused. How I added to their loss by refusing to join with them in grief. How I caused myself to suffer more because I didn't join them.
I cried a long time. Until my nose was swollen and red. Until it didn't hurt quite as bad.
And later, I sent a text to my parents to tell them that I loved them and was thinking about them on this day. That I'm glad we still have each other.
Grief unexpressed for 10 years is too long.
Reflecting on that experience, I naturally began thinking about my grief unexpressed because of the loss of the belief system that had been such a huge part of my life as a Mormon. I had begun expressing it and exploring it on my blog. But then, my sister lashed out at me, saying I was "attacking" her because I was "attacking" her church. Mormons who lived local to my family began calling the local Mormon authorities, who called my parents to ask if they "knew what I was doing?"
So I stopped. Because I didn't want to hurt anyone.
But all of that unresolved grief about my Aunt Rhonda taught me something: It hurts too much to hold something in that I need to express.
And it only hurts people around me when I express my exploration and searching if they let it. I'm harming no one here. But, hopefully, this exploration will help me find what I'm looking for.
Believe me - if I could have easily stayed inside the Mormon Church in spite of what my guts were telling me, I would have. It would have been MUCH easier than what I'm doing now.
No, I didn't leave the Church to "justify my sins." Believe me, it would be easier to "repent" and seek "full fellowship" than to have to root-out erroneous beliefs and try to find what is Truth again.
I think I'm finding my path. And I won't apologize for doing it in public.
My aunt Rhonda taught me many things. And now, I can add a few more things to that list. Near the top of the list is that I will refuse to stifle myself for fear of how others might respond. 10 years is too long to refuse to acknowledge something that happened to change my life in an instant.
It's been 2 years since I left Mormonism. If I continue to stifle, I'll suffer for it the rest of my life. Lesson learned. I refuse to suffer in silence when my working through using my words is such a healthy process.
Amen. And, Amen.
Incessant Chatter
Another note: I posted this to my family members on FaceBook and within moments, I received communication from my cousin that Rhonda's husband - the father of her children - who was down the hall in his office when the plane hit the Pentagon on 9/11 died this morning. Complications of Diabetes. Seems, to me, that he never recovered from the loss we all feel when we think of our Beloved Rhonda.
Digressing here . . . . Let me get on to what I really want to say today:
No more sparkling sense of humor. No more smile that brightened any room she walked into. No more honest intimacy. No more warmth. No heartbeat. No more hugs.
I remember being devastated and angry. The moment I saw the first televised pictures of the Pentagon in flames, I knew she was gone. I was alone. I fell to my couch and began to sob. Then, I realized that no one had told me she wasn't okay. Maybe, she was. I called my mom. She told me that her husband was okay, but no one had seen Rhonda yet. This was enough to confirm the loss for me. My sobs resumed. But then, I stopped crying by the time the rest of my family was in grief.
I remember feeling confused when a stranger who told me that he was a high military official was assigned to my family and that he was calling me to invite me to be flown with the rest of my family to Washington for the memorial services. I felt confused. It seemed intrusive. I didn't know how to respond and my not-so-sensitive husband at the time said: "You can't leave. You need to take care of our child." She was almost 8. Guess he didn't know how to take care of his own daughter . . . .
The long-story short, is that I never grieved. I was angry and confused when our family had a memorial service closer to home that featured the Purple Heart ceremony. I didn't understand how the Purple Heart was supposed to soothe anything. When my niece and nephews had to go the rest of their lives without their mom.
So, I never cried.
But every year on the anniversary, I felt a rise of confusion and anger once again. This year was no exception. The only difference is now I am married to a loving man with whom I am safe. This year, all of the T.V. references brought a tear to the surface. Casual conversations brought me back to discussing how strange it is to have people talking about something in a casual way that has personal relevance. People saying: "Where were you when it happened?" doesn't seem to compare to "Who do you love that was killed?"
My husband, sensitive enough to see it still troubled me too much, turned the channel or gently told people who might be too casual about the discussions around me that I lost my aunt that day. It seemed to work. Until Church . . . . .
The Priest announced that he was going to give the same homily he had given the Sunday of 9/11 10 years ago. I thought: "Oh no. This is going to get annoying." But, before I knew it, my eyes were brimming with tears. I left. I went outside and watched little butterflies sipping from the bougainvillea. But, in that quiet moment, I started thinking, for the first time since she died, about the 5 months when I lived with Rhonda and her family. I let myself remember conversations, impressions, fond moments. I thought about how 5 months is a significant amount of time to live with and interact with someone on a daily basis when you are 18. I thought about this being the reason that it's been hard for me to hear other people talking about 9/11 in a casual-I-remember-the-day manner.
Satisfied that I had taken my own little memorial moment, I went back into the church. Just in time for a list of names of the Orthodox Christians who had died on 9/11 to be read. And I was time-warped back to the moment I listened to the listing of the names of the 9/11 Victims for my aunt's name. I was brought back vividly to the moments when I listened for her name as proof that she existed and as some kind of validation to my loss. This time, I could hardly contain myself as I quickly left the church.
I found a spot between the cars where no one would find me in the parking lot and sobbed. Great loud sobs that had carried 10 years of unexpressed grief. I thought more about the way I had known my aunt because I had lived with her at such an important time in my personal development. I thought of the grief of my dad - she was his youngest sister. My grandmother - who is now gone. All of the people I could have grieved with, but I was too angry and confused. How I added to their loss by refusing to join with them in grief. How I caused myself to suffer more because I didn't join them.
I cried a long time. Until my nose was swollen and red. Until it didn't hurt quite as bad.
And later, I sent a text to my parents to tell them that I loved them and was thinking about them on this day. That I'm glad we still have each other.
Grief unexpressed for 10 years is too long.
Reflecting on that experience, I naturally began thinking about my grief unexpressed because of the loss of the belief system that had been such a huge part of my life as a Mormon. I had begun expressing it and exploring it on my blog. But then, my sister lashed out at me, saying I was "attacking" her because I was "attacking" her church. Mormons who lived local to my family began calling the local Mormon authorities, who called my parents to ask if they "knew what I was doing?"
So I stopped. Because I didn't want to hurt anyone.
But all of that unresolved grief about my Aunt Rhonda taught me something: It hurts too much to hold something in that I need to express.
And it only hurts people around me when I express my exploration and searching if they let it. I'm harming no one here. But, hopefully, this exploration will help me find what I'm looking for.
Believe me - if I could have easily stayed inside the Mormon Church in spite of what my guts were telling me, I would have. It would have been MUCH easier than what I'm doing now.
No, I didn't leave the Church to "justify my sins." Believe me, it would be easier to "repent" and seek "full fellowship" than to have to root-out erroneous beliefs and try to find what is Truth again.
I think I'm finding my path. And I won't apologize for doing it in public.
My aunt Rhonda taught me many things. And now, I can add a few more things to that list. Near the top of the list is that I will refuse to stifle myself for fear of how others might respond. 10 years is too long to refuse to acknowledge something that happened to change my life in an instant.
It's been 2 years since I left Mormonism. If I continue to stifle, I'll suffer for it the rest of my life. Lesson learned. I refuse to suffer in silence when my working through using my words is such a healthy process.
Amen. And, Amen.
Incessant Chatter
Another note: I posted this to my family members on FaceBook and within moments, I received communication from my cousin that Rhonda's husband - the father of her children - who was down the hall in his office when the plane hit the Pentagon on 9/11 died this morning. Complications of Diabetes. Seems, to me, that he never recovered from the loss we all feel when we think of our Beloved Rhonda.
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