Questioning in the Church

I am Mormon.  This is the only religion I am intimately familiar with, so my thoughts center around this religion.  I would be interested to know how this topic is addressed in other religions, as well as what my Mormon friends think.  Feel free to share your feelings in the comments.

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What do you do if you are asked to do something by a spiritual leader but don't feel good about it?  What do you do if you hear something taught at church that doesn't feel quite right?  Or what if it all sounds okay, but you want to know for sure?

In The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormons), we believe in continuing revelation.  We believe God will communicate to each of us individually if we seek it and listen.

And yet, there is often a judgment that occurs if someone questions something.  This is not doctrine.  This is not taught in our church.  But is it practiced by many in the society of our church.  And it hasn't been uncommon in my life to find people so sure about what is right and what is wrong simply based on what is socially acceptable within the church but with no doctrinal basis -- and judging others based on those standards.

Questioning is often associated with apostasy.  If someone doesn't believe everything that is taught, if someone seeks for themselves, they are often seen as falling away.  And I can speak from my life's experience and say that questioning is sometimes a part of personal apostasy (probably most of the time, but my experience is limited and I don't want to make a broad judgment).

But questioning also leads to further light and knowledge.  It leads to a stronger testimony.  Questioning is what led to Joseph Smith's first vision which started the whole restoration of the gospel.

Where is the line?

And beyond questioning doctrine, what about questioning leaders?  We have often been counseled in our church to avoid evil speaking of the Lord's anointed.  I have heard this to be interpreted many times as "never say anything negative about anyone in a calling of leadership."

Well, I looked up evil speaking on the church website.  It is defined as "saying things that are wrong, hurtful, and wicked."

The commonly accepted definition, never say anything negative, would allow evil to thrive.  Abuse of all kinds would be allowed to continue for fear of evil speaking of the Lord's anointed.  In fact, it has in the past.  In our church as well as others.  Certainly we should be able to see that keeping our mouths shut when something doesn't feel right is not a wise choice.  And speaking up is not a sin.

So where is the line between disagreeing with a leader's decisions and saying so and challenging their stewardship and authority?

Many people in my life have expressed attitudes that support blind obedience.  I absolutely do not support it and don't believe God does either.  God wants people who will study it out with their minds and hearts and choose to follow Him.  He wants enlightened obedience.

He wants people to have the freedom to think for themselves and not be judged or excluded because of it.  He wants people to hunger and thirst after righteousness and further knowledge.  He wants people who draw near to Him, seeking answers and/or confirmation.

We each make mistakes or hurt people in our various callings at one time or another, even our leaders.  We are not expected to be perfect.  But hopefully we grow and become better.  Sometimes this requires the honest feedback of someone who doesn't think what we are doing is right.

Talking behind someone's back about all the things we think they are doing wrong isn't kind and won't solve anything (we shouldn't do it about anyone).  But I believe sometimes we need to talk things out with a friend to see things clearly.  Not all talk about what we don't like that someone else does is gossip or back-biting.  Sometimes it's problem solving.  An honest seeking for truth.

But I do believe all questioning in the church needs to involve God.  I believe we need to pour our hearts out to Him and seek His guidance and answers, with or without consulting friends or the handbook or scriptures.

And we need to quit judging others and allow the honest questions and struggles of a true heart.

A Moment in Church

As I've begun this year trying to see more divinely, I've found that it has very little to do with my eyes and a lot to do with my heart.  In fact, with my whole soul.  I don't know why there isn't a name to describe what it means to feel something with your whole soul.  I know I'm not the only one who's felt it.  There should be a name for it.

Yesterday, as I sat in the chapel and the meeting began, I remembered to see.  I paused a moment and had an inward conversation with God and asked Him to help me see these people around me the way He sees them.  I opened my heart.  And He began to open my soul.  Just a tiny bit.  And I was flooded.  Intense and overwhelming love doesn't begin to describe what I felt in that tiny peek.  It was so intense that I shut my heart.  I had instantly started to cry and knew this was just a taste.  I wasn't ready for the display I might cause if I kept my heart open and allowed Him to continue pouring.

God, being who He is, respected that.  He found another way to teach me.  To give me a bit of what I was yearning for but I was ready to handle.  As the meeting progressed I was filled with the love the people in the room have for each other.

I am Mormon.  We don't search until we find a congregation that fits us.  Our church is divided into wards (congregations) based on boundaries.  Areas are divided up and we are assigned to a ward.  This means we go to church with our neighbors.  As I've written before, my neighborhood is amazing!  I wish I could explain it in a way that you could understand.  Someone who has moved away read that post and remarked that she missed our neighborhood because it was as close to Mayberry as she'd known.  That's a pretty good comparison.

The thing is, we are a family.  Like any family there are some people who don't always get along.  There are a few black sheep.  But mostly, we love and take care of each other.

And yesterday I felt that love in a way I never have before.  Instead of just feeling love for them, I felt everyone's love for each other.  All of them.  All at the same time.

In the Mormon church, the first Sunday of the month is Fast Sunday.  We are encouraged to prayerfully skip two meals in an effort to draw closer to God and donate what those meals would have cost to the ward.  This money is then used to help our neighbors as deemed appropriate by our bishop (pastor).  And on Fast Sunday we have testimony meeting.  Instead of our regular worship service where two or three members of our ward or stake (a group of wards) delivers a talk they have studied and prepared for, the pulpit is open to everyone.  It is a time when anyone from the congregation can get up and share their testimony with us.  Share what's in their hearts.

There were some beautiful testimonies shared.  But more than that, there was so much love.  It was the brave woman who talked about her recently broken home and asked for help.  She asked that we bear testimony to her children to strengthen them.  It was the woman who followed after her saying that if we'd been asked to give food to her family we wouldn't have hesitated; she asked that we not hesitate on this.  Several who testified pledged to support her and testify to her children.  It was the parents who bore testimony directly to their children so they would know their parents believe.  It was the awe mentioned by many as a young man we've all watch grow up passed the sacrament for the first time.  The love and pride we felt for him and his parents.  It was my dear friend who talked about living far from her family and her husband's family and reminded us that we are her family.  It was the dear sweet little six-year old girl who stood and testified that prayer is good and it will help us and make us happy.  And so much more.

I cried and cried.  The love my neighbors feel for each other is almost always evident.  We are a tight group.  But this day.  This day it was more.  It was palpable.  It filled the room.  My soul was swimming in it.  And God said, "It's kind of like that only better."

One day I hope to be able to let Him teach me the whole lesson.  For now, I'm grateful for the glimpse.

An Abusive Husband, part one

I have written very openly about the difficulties in my marriage, although it's primarily been on my other blog.  Many people have commented to ask if my husband knows that I write about him and the things he's done.  He does.  He reads almost everything I write; I hide none of it from him.  Sometimes the things I write are difficult for him.  It's not so much that he doesn't want people to know what he's done, it's that he's so sad that he did those things.  But he has read the comments.  He has seen how many people are grateful that I share our story.  He has felt their gratitude for sharing what we've learned.  He is proud that I have been able to help others.    And he is courageous enough to allow me to share the story of our struggles.

This weekend he surprised me with a grand step of bravery.  He opened his heart and wrote his story.  So that I could share it on my blog.  Because he believes it can help.

I know it was hard and am so proud of him.

I offer the first segment today.  Where the hate and anger come from.

I Was an Abusive Husband.  Really? (part one)

I've been married to MisssRobin for 22 years.  I've learned a lot in that time.  So, I've been reading her blogs and I love her writing.  I've decided to tell my side of the mess that is her life.

I was raised in a family of 4 boys and 2 girls.  I was raised with the idea that a man's house is his castle and the wife does what the husband decides after they have talked about it.  After all, I am the head of the house.  As a boy, we (including the girls) fought and wrestled with each other all the time.  I remember my dad saying, "If a girl acts like a boy, treat her like a boy."  So, I did.  I never got into a fist fight with the girls but I would have a hitting contest with one.

I lived in Los Angeles and when I was in 7th grade my family moved to Utah and things went badly for me after that.  We moved mid school year, so I was the new kid.  I didn't know the culture and was a square peg trying to fit into a round hole.  I went from being popular at school to being bullied.  I was assaulted by a gym teacher that same year and no one did anything about it.  I went to the principal, school counselors, my parents and no one did a thing.  I learned to hate.  I rebelled.  I hated authority.  I didn't do drugs but I did break rules and vandalized and stole things.  This didn't go over very well with my religious parents.

In my senior year, I found religion.  I had been raised in the Mormon church but it didn't really mean anything to me until that year.  I would skip every class at school but I would never skip my religion class (seminary).  It was the only class I ever got an A in, I'm pretty certain.

I started to trust again and the hate started to fade.  It was still there but now it just smoldered.  I decided to go on a 2-year mission for the church when I was 19.  I was raised to believe that if you live the commandments and did everything you were supposed to do that God would take care of you.  I was also raised with the belief that missionaries walked 2 inches off the ground because they were so righteous.

I saved up my money and entered the mission training center and discovered that missionaries are just a bunch of 19-year old boys and some of them didn't want to be there.  It made my time there really hard because when you go into the training center you are assigned a companion (another missionary) that you are supposed to stay with 24/7.  We were not to leave the grounds; my companion wanted to leave to go to the mall.  I had to make the choice of which rule to break and I was done breaking rules.

I figured things would be different when I got to my mission area in Oklahoma.  Things didn't get better.  My mission president was an ego maniac who would not listen to the missionaries' side of anything.  So if a member of our church would call him and say that we were watching TV all day, then we would get in trouble for that even though it wasn't true.  I felt very betrayed and the hate for authority returned.

Read more here.

My Collapse-in-the-Shower Moment

I've been putting off writing this post.  I'm anxious about it.  I worry I won't capture this important experience properly.  That you won't understand.  And I'm scared to find those feelings again, to be in that moment of intense pain and fear so I can write it.  But I must.  It needs to be told.

Seven years ago my life was very different.  I was working.  A lot.  My kids were younger (7, 8, 10, 12, 14) and involved in many activities.  My husband and I were in therapy.  I was just going through life, trying to stay afloat.  My husband finally saw that he was abusive and was trying to change.  He was questioning the church and trying to decide if he believed in God.  I was learning how to set boundaries and choose for myself.  I was trying to figure out who I was.  Who I truly was and who I wanted to be.

And then I got a headache.

I'd had headaches before.  Bad headaches.  Headaches that lasted for days.  A headache that made me go blind.  And headaches that weren't severe but just made life hard.  Headaches were nothing new.

So when I got this headache I figured it would be like the others.  I would wait it out, treat it with Excedrin, and eventually it would go away.  But it didn't.  Some days it was so bad I couldn't work.  Some days my vision and dizziness were so bad someone else had to drive me home from work.  Some days it was more subtle and I could go on.  But it was always there.

After a few weeks, my husband started to think I was faking.  He even said so.  No one has a headache that long.  You're just using it as an excuse so I have to do everything.  I'm so sick of this stupid headache excuse.  Yeah, me too.

After I'd had it six weeks, two of my toes went numb.  This made me nervous.  When you get a headache that doesn't go away that long, there is a tiny tickling in your mind that says, "What if it's a brain tumor?"  That tickling got stronger.

I told my husband.  He freaked out and immediately made an appointment for me to see the doctor.

We went to the doctor together.  He did a regular work up.  Then he did a neurological screening.  Looking for signs that it might be a brain tumor.  He didn't find anything that pointed that direction, but he was bothered by how long I'd had it and the numbness in my toes.  He talked to me about migraines and said that's what he thought it was; they can cause numbness, too.  He gave me some meds to try and said if it didn't break in a week I needed to come back.  After this appointment Bill said, "At least I know you're not faking."

It didn't break.  I went back.  He repeated the neurological screening.  He still didn't find anything, but he was concerned.  He suggested we do an MRI. 

By this point I was getting nervous.  My headache should have broken by now.  I'd never had a headache like this.  What if this is for real?  What if it's a tumor?

We couldn't get in for the MRI for a few days.  Waiting for that was so hard.  And that's when it happened.

It was the night before my MRI.  I was taking a shower so I'd be all ready in the morning.  And all the walls I'd been putting up to protect myself and my family from the fear came crashing down.  What if it is a tumor?  What if it isn't something that can be fixed?  What if I die?  What about my children?  What will happen to my children?  Although he was finally aware of being abusive, my husband was still mean a lot of the time.  He was learning to be more kind, but his natural tendency was still to strike out when he was stressed or angry.  What would happen if I wasn't there to protect my children?  If I died, they would be alone with him.  Who would protect them?  And I knew he no longer believed in God or going to church.  How would my children remain close to God?  How would they be taught all they needed to know without the gospel in their lives?  How would they know how precious they were to God and how powerful they were and what they should do if I wasn't there to teach them?  I was living with a man who'd made our lives hell for so many years.  These children were his.  I didn't trust him alone with them.  How could I go away and leave them to him?  This is too much for them.  How can they go on without me?  He would put the older ones in charge, make them assume many of my duties.  They would no longer be able to be children.  This isn't fair to them.  It's too much.  If I'm not here to guide their lives, they could become lost.  My death would push my husband to a very dark place; what if he takes it out on the children?  What if he goes into a depression again?  How will they deal with it without me?  How will they get through it?  Who will take care of my children?  Who will love them?  Who will make sure they know they are God's children?

The weight of all of this overwhelmed me.  I crumpled to the floor of the shower in a ball.  Hugging my knees.  Rocking.  Sobbing.  In so much emotional anguish.  In so much pain for my children.

I began to pray.  I wanted to beg to be spared, for my children.  I wanted to plead for my life.  But that wasn't the prayer that came to my heart.  I knew the prayer I needed to offer.  And it was the hardest prayer in my life.  I couldn't do it.  I couldn't say it.  I knew I needed to, but I just couldn't.  The wrestle in my mind and heart was great.  I fought with all I had.  Until I could finally say it.  And mean it.

"Please.  I want to live.  I want to raise my children.  I want to protect them.  I want to love them through the difficulties of life.  Please.  But . . . thy will be done.  If it is not to be, if I am not to live, I know that they are thy children.  I trust that thou wilt love them and protect them.  I know you want the world for them, too.  I know you love them in a way I can't even understand.  As much as I love them and want to stay, I trust thy will."

Meaning it was so important.  In that moment, I fully surrendered my will to God in a way I never had before.  I understood that all would be well even if I weren't to live.  I understood, more than I ever had before, that He watches over and cares.

There was still some fear of what would come.  But there was also an underlying peace.  A knowledge that my children wouldn't be alone.  An understanding that if I couldn't be there, He would bring others into their lives who would meet those needs.  He loves them.  He watches over them.  They are His.

And to this day, that is a knowledge that gets me through.

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Update:  My husband went to therapy for a long time.  He's doing much better.  He still slips occasionally, but we both know how to handle it in healthier ways.  There is no tumor.  They still have no answer for my headache, but all tests indicate it isn't life-threatening.  Yes, I still have it.

The Worst Day of My Life -- When My Husband Left the Church

I have wanted to write this post for a long time.  I have also avoided writing this post for a long time.

It happened almost five years ago, but it is still so tender.

I worry that I won't be able to capture the devastation I felt.  That I still feel when I think about it.  Because, truthfully, I try not to think about it too often.  It's still so painful.

Five years ago was a difficult time in my life.  I was working.  My health was getting worse.  And my marriage was in trouble.  We'd been in therapy for a while and things were getting better.  At least, our relationship was getting better.

But it was at this time that my husband had a crisis of faith.

In order for this to make sense, you must know a few things about our faith.  I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormon).  I have been my whole life.  While there was a time when I was young that I followed along because it was all I knew, that's not what it is now.  I have long since quit relying on the testimony of others.  I am a member of this faith because it makes my heart happy.  It brings me peace.  I believe this is what I was taught before I came to this world.

One of the elements of our faith is a belief in a pre-earth life, this life, and a post-earth life.  We believe this life is just a tiny portion of our existence.  Most of what we do here is in preparation for the next life.  As part of that, in our temples we perform ordinances that we believe carry on into the next life.  In particular, sealings.  We believe that if we are sealed together in the temple, and live the best life we can, that families can be together forever.  We believe we are sealed for time and all eternity.

I believe this.  And I grew up believing this.  This is why I was careful about the boys I dated.  This is why I chose to live my life according to God's commandments.  As a child and teen, getting sealed in the temple to a worthy man who loved me was my main goal.  I tried to do everything I'd been taught to make that happen.

And it did.  I married a returned missionary who took me to the temple.  We were sealed for time and all eternity.  Because of this sealing power, our children were sealed to us also.  There was such safety in knowing that. 

When things got ugly between my husband and me, I knew that things would get sorted out with time and we could still be together forever.  We would find our way back to God and would do so together.

And then he said he had questions.  He wasn't sure anymore that certain parts of our faith were true.  He shared his concerns, we talked about them, and he was reassured and found his footing again.  Then he had more questions, bigger struggles.  We worked through those, too.  Then it went beyond questions and doubts.  He came to a point where he no longer believed it was true.  In fact, he felt it was harmful.  He wanted out and he wanted to take his family with him.  The months that we worked through this were incredibly difficult.  It was hard not to push him to choose the church for me, to make me happy.  Or for anyone else.  I believe in honesty.  He was honest with me and I am grateful for that.

He started blogging about his feelings, denouncing the church.  He made accusations and claims that were anti-Mormon in nature.  We were in counseling with our bishop (pastor) during this time.  I told him of the blog.  He discussed it with my husband and said that if it continued, because of the things he was writing (preaching against the church), his membership in the church would be in jeopardy.  We returned to visit with him a month later, he asked about the blog and was told it was still up, my husband was still adding to it and had no intention of stopping.  And we were at a decision point.

My husband was given two choices.  He could withdraw his name from the church records or the bishop could start proceedings to have him removed.  My husband asked which of these would be easier on the bishop.  I admire that.  My husband chose to have his name removed from the records of the church.

It had been a while coming and I thought I was prepared.

But the day the letter came saying that he was no longer a member of the church I died a little.  My heart broke into a thousand pieces.

It came while he was at work.  I called to tell him it was there.  He asked me to open it and read it to him.  I did.  He said okay and that was that.

But not for me.  I held that letter.  I stared at it.  It didn't matter that I knew it was coming; I was not prepared.

How would we tell the children?  Our families?  Our friends?

And what did this mean for me?  I was unsure about who I was now.  We had been one and now we were two.  I was unsure about eternity now.  I didn't know how I fit in.  I didn't want the attention and sympathy that I knew I would receive.  I fit into a new classification now.  I was a woman married to a non-member.

It was the most lonely day I have ever experienced.  I had this information that seemed to stop the world from spinning and I couldn't talk to anyone about it.  The person I usually talked to about things that made me sad was my husband and he didn't understand.  He was happy and relieved about it.  I felt like a widow.  I walked around in a daze that day.  I cried a lot.  I felt so lost.

I had a friend whose husband died around this time.  I remember feeling like she was lucky because he was living a righteous life when he died and at least she knew her sealing was intact, she knew he would be waiting for her.  I am ashamed of that feeling.  I was jealous of her ending as opposed to mine.

It felt like an end. 

He and I are in a better place.  He is more kind about the church and the fact that the children and I still participate.  But something is gone.  There is a spiritual intimacy that is no longer there.  It died that day.  And I don't know if I will ever be done mourning its loss.

A Sunday in the Life of a Mormon, part three

Go here for part one.
Go here for part two.

We attend Sacrament Meeting as families.  It ends at about 2:10pm.  We then have ten minutes for transition.  During this time people might get chalk from the library or have copies made for a lesson.  Others take time to get a drink or go to the restroom.  The kids generally make a mad dash to Primary.

Sacrament Meeting is followed by Primary/Sunday School. 

Primary is for children 3-11 years old.  There is also a nursery that is part of the Primary program; children 18 months to 3 years attend nursery.  In nursery they play with toys, have a lesson, have a snack, make a craft, have singing time.  Children change classes in January, so they are in nursery until the January after they turn three.  Children 3-7 are in Junior Primary.  Children 8-11 are in Senior Primary.  In our ward there is one class for each age group (3-year olds, 4-year olds, etc.).  Primary begins with an opening song and a prayer by one of the children.  Junior Primary starts in sharing time.  This is a time when a member of the Primary presidency gives a lesson to several classes on topics that fit the theme for the year.  (This year's theme is I Know the Scriptures are True.)  The Primary music director then has about 20-30 minutes to teach and review songs.  Junior Primary then goes to class.  Each age group has their own teacher(s) and classroom.  This schedule is reversed for Senior Primary.  About 15-20 minutes before our block meetings end, Junior Primary comes back into the Primary chapel and the two groups have closing exercises together.  They recognize and welcome visitors, sing to birthday children, recognize children who were baptized that week, give announcements, and recite an Article of Faith or scripture.  Then one or two children give 2 1/2 minute talks (assigned the week before).  A child reads a scripture of his/her choice.  They end with a closing song and a closing prayer by one of the children.

After Sacrament Meeting (when the children go to Primary) the youth and adults go to Sunday School.  Sunday School for the youth is divided up every two years: 12&13-year olds, 14&15-year olds, 16&17-year olds.  The 12&13-year olds are taught about the past presidents of our church.  The older groups are taught about whatever the course of study is for that year.  (This year it's the New Testament.)  Adults are offered varying classes.  Right now we have two Gospel Doctrine classes on the New Testament (the course of study rotates each year).  People can choose which to attend.  Sometimes there are other classes offered, as the bishopric deems necessary:  Temple Preparation; Marriage and Family Relations; Family History; and Teaching, No Greater Call (a class to prepare members to teach).  Sunday School is about 50 minutes.  Each class is opened and closed with prayer.  We usually do not sing as part of Sunday School.

After another ten minute transition, the youth go to Young Men or Young Women and the adults go to their Priesthood quorum (men) or Relief Society (women).  In these settings we have lessons directed specifically to our lives and our responsibilities.  YM and YW are divided in ages like in Sunday School.  Since I work with the Young Women, I go there instead of Relief Society (on the second week the YW meet with the RS for opening exercises).  These classes are about 50 minutes as well.  They open with song and prayer.  We usually have announcements.  We then have a lesson of about 40 minutes on varying gospel subjects.  Tomorrow I am teaching a lesson about agency and responsibility.  We close our class with prayer by one of the young women.

Five minutes before 4:00pm the librarian rings a bell (like a school bell, it goes through the whole building).  This is our five-minute warning.  Then on the hour, the librarian rings the bell twice (hopefully not right in the middle of the prayer).

Then church is over.  I head toward the foyer as that's where I meet my family.  I usually chat while waiting for everyone to show up.  If someone has a meeting or needs to visit with the Bishop they usually walk home.

Once we get home we have certain rules about what we do on the Sabbath.  These are our family rules.  Every family has slightly different rules.  Sunday is family day at our house so my children aren't allowed to play with friends.  We don't watch TV on Sunday.  They are also not allowed on the internet.  In theory, they aren't supposed to use their cell phones to chat with friends either.  (This isn't followed well by my 18-year old daughter and her boyfriend.)  We really only have one family meal on Sunday, usually around 5:00pm or 6:00pm.  People are responsible for taking care of their other food needs.  Sometimes we visit grandparents on Sunday.  We play board games.  Some of us take naps.  We watch DVDs (they have to check with me first to see if I am okay with that DVD on Sunday).  They might go outside and play catch together or go for a bike ride.  Maybe they do a puzzle.  Maybe we have a family home evening lesson.  Maybe they play the piano or another instrument.  Maybe we read scriptures together.  The idea is to make Sunday a day that is different from the others.  A day that focuses on spiritual things and on family.  And sometimes that means sacrifice.

We have only given up TV on Sundays for the last year or two.  It was tough.  We are NASCAR and NFL football fans.  We miss a lot of these events by not watching TV on Sundays.  That's been hard on me probably more than anyone else.  But I feel like it's been worth it.  It's changed the spirit of our home.  It helps to carry the peace we gained at church through the rest of our day.  And I believe it's important to teach my children to sacrifice some of what they want on Sundays as a sign of devotion to God.  It's a way of saying thank you.  It's a way of saying that we are willing to do what is necessary to become the people God would have us be.  (We do have a few exceptions.  We watch the Super Bowl and the Indy 500.)

We end the day with family prayer.

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I know I probably lost many of you through this exercise.  Sorry about that.  I'll be back to regular programming next time.  I probably included too much detail, too.  Sorry again.

Oh, and Libby made a comment on the first part of this that reminded me of a way our church is very different from most.  We do not choose which congregation to attend.  Our wards are assigned based on where we live.  Each area of the world is divided into wards or branches.  Whichever boundaries you're in, that's where you go.  I believe this helps us focus more on the gospel itself rather than just the people we like.  Plus, when we move or travel we don't have to hunt to figure out where we belong.  We check the church website to find our ward and that's where we go.  The lessons taught are the same around the world.  It's like having access to instant family wherever we go.

And our ward is truly like that.  We are a tight knit group.  A family.  We serve each other.  Watch out for each other.  Love each other.  There are easily a hundred people in a two or three block radius that I could call on for help.  And I know they would have my back.

A Sunday in the Life of a Mormon, part two

Go here for part one.

After my meeting, I go home and make sure everyone else is getting ready.  (I should mention that I only live about two blocks from my church building.)

My husband had his name removed from the records of our church about five years ago, so he isn't involved in this process.  It's taken some time, but we've come to a mutual respect of each other's choices.  Sundays are his day to himself.  He spends them sleeping, playing on his computer, watching movies in his room.  It's up to him.  We don't see him much on Sundays.

When I get home I wake anyone who is still asleep.  My kids are old enough that they get themselves ready.  Boy, it was a lot tougher when they were young.

I usually use this time to put the finishing touches on my lesson, if I'm teaching that day.  Or I lie down for a few minutes.  Sundays are a long day for me.

My eighteen-year old daughter gets ready pretty fast and then starts playing the piano.  No, we don't make her and haven't even asked her.  She just really likes to.  She's self taught and is working her way through the hymnbook.  It is requested that she keep her music spiritual when playing on Sunday.

My goal is to be out of the house by 12:30, even though we live close and church doesn't start until 1:00.  This started a while ago.  When my kids were younger we were often late for our meetings.  That meant we usually sat in the foyer or in the overflow on hard chairs.  I figured out that they were better behaved during the meeting if we were in a pew.  By changing my mindset to leaving at 12:30 instead of being there at 1:00 we are always able to get a pew, even when we're running late -- because we're still early.  Also, going early means that they have time to switch into church mode, get a drink of water, go to the restroom -- hopefully, so that they won't need to do those things during the meeting.  And I get to relax and listen to the prelude music, knowing we are all there and ready.  (If one of my kids isn't ready when it's time to leave, he/she walks.)

Since we are so early, we can sit anywhere we want.  We always sit in the back row on the right.  Habit.  My husband liked that spot when he used to come with us and it just kind of stuck.

Our Sunday worship service is three hours long.  The first meeting is Sacrament Meeting.  This is the most important meeting of the day because we participate in the holy ordinance of the sacrament.  The meeting is an hour and ten minutes.  It is conducted by a member of the bishopric.  (Our bishop is similar to a pastor. He has two counselors.  Together, they make up the bishopric.  They are responsible for the spiritual and temporal needs of everyone who lives in our ward boundaries.)  It is opened and closed with music and prayer.  Announcements are given.  New callings are presented for a sustaining vote.  The sacrament is blessed and passed by the young men who hold the priesthood.  The program is presented by various ward members who have been invited to speak by the bishopric on an assigned topic.  There is often a musical number presented in between speakers.  (On the first Sunday of the month we have testimony meeting.  On this day any member of the congregation may go to the pulpit to share his/her testimony.)  On the third Sunday, the musical number is usually presented by the ward choir.  (That's just in our ward.  Each ward decides for itself when the ward choir will sing.)

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To answer Linda's questions:  We call our weekly Sunday worship church.  Everyone is welcome at Sunday worship, member or not.  We do have temples.  These are buildings where sacred, eternal ordinances occur.  Only worthy members may enter the temple.  They must have an interview with the bishop and stake president (a stake is a group of wards).  They must be following the guidelines of the church like paying tithing, being honest, attending their meetings in order to obtain a temple recommend.  They can then attend the temple at a time that is convenient for them.  The temple isn't open on Sunday so that all may attend their regular Sunday meetings.  It also isn't open Monday afternoon or evenings so that it doesn't interfere with Family Home Evening (a time set aside for spiritual instruction in the home and family time).  And the formal name of our faith is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

More to come.

Go here for part three.

A Sunday in the Life of a Mormon, part one

No theology here today, just a glimpse into what my Sundays look like (because I think it's fun to see how others live).  Some of this would vary depending on what my current calling is.  Also, different families establish their own guidelines, so a Mormon in a different family may have a very different Sunday from mine.  I will try to explain terms that may not be understood, but if I do too much explaining this post will be a novel.

Let's go with the second Sunday of the month; currently, that's my busiest one.

We are on the 1:00pm meeting schedule.  That means our meetings start at one in the afternoon.  There are three wards (congregations) that meet in our building so we have to take turns.  The start times are 9:00am, 11:00am, and 1:00pm.  This rotates every year.

Being on the late schedule means we can sleep later.  That is both good and bad at our house.  Good because we are night people and it's easier to get people moving happily in time for church.  Bad because we are night people and tend to stay up later on Saturday knowing we can sleep late the next day.  That is why you will see that the times I am waking people up are ridiculously late.

I am in charge of Sunday dinner.  I try to prepare something that can cook while we are at church or that is really fast and can be prepared after (our church ends at 4:00pm).  Since we don't shop on Sunday, I have to plan ahead.  Usually I get up at about 9:00am (maybe 9:30) and put something in the crock pot.  Then I get myself ready for the day, knowing there won't be time again later or I will be fighting for the bathroom.

I wake my 14-year old son at 10:00am if he isn't already up.  (Funny how he can get himself up just fine for football practice but struggles to get out of bed Sunday mornings.)  He has priesthood duties to perform.  On the first and second Sundays of the month the young men go to each house in the ward to collect fast offerings (donations for the welfare needs in our ward).  Hopefully he gets up and gets himself ready and out the door.

My current calling is second counselor in the Young Women organization (YW).  That means I work with the girls in our ward who are 12 and 13 years old.  It also means I have a YW presidency meeting every second Sunday at 10:30am.  I meet with the president (who works with the 16 and 17-year olds), the first counselor (who works with the 14 and 15-year olds), and the secretary.  We open and close the meeting with prayer.  One of us shares a spiritual thought that we think can help us in our callings.  Then we discuss the needs of the young women in our ward.  We note who is struggling.  We discuss ways to help individuals as well as the group.  We plan activities, hopefully those that will meet the needs of our girls.  We review activities we've already held to note things that worked and things that didn't.  Our president presents items that we need to know about from Ward Council.  Our goal is to follow the guidance of the Spirit as we try to help these young ladies prepare to be wives and mothers.  This meeting usually lasts about an hour.

Okay, I can see that this is going to take longer than I thought.  I guess I'd better break it up into several posts so as not to overwhelm anyone.  More to come.

And I'd love to read about how other people spend their sabbath (no matter what day you observe it) or how you choose to worship.  If you write about it, please send me a link so I can check it out.

Go here for part two.
Go here for part three.

Pedmeregocide

Last Sunday was a little ugly.  I'm not afraid to admit it.

We're a go-to-church-every-Sunday family.  (Except for dad, although that only plays a small part in the story.)

I got up early to work on my lesson.  I'd been up for an hour or so showering, curling my hair, making cute little handouts.  Things like that.  I was in a pretty good mood.  It was going to be a lovely day at church.

Then it was time to wake others.  One daughter was out of town.  That took a little pressure off.  One daughter was exhausted from performing in the orchestra for her school play the night before, but she's kind of a morning person (at least compared to the rest of us) so she groaned and got up.  One daughter is in college.  She got up, looked at the clock, and said she was going to be late (I'm thinking, "Then why don't you get yourself up in time to get ready like an adult?" *grrr*).

The morning started to turn at this point.  Oh, did I mention that I started new meds a day or two before that have been affecting my moods?  No.  Well, that could possibly have played a part in the day as well.

Last two.  These two are the toughest.  They have never been morning people anyway and are both at that age when their bodies need a lot more sleep.  And they haven't gotten to the point where they will get up and do something they aren't dying to do if they are still tired.

I wake my son.  Four times.  Every five minutes or so.  The last time I am not pleasant.  "Get up here now or you are grounded from the computer for a week!"  (You've got to know their currency.)  He stumbles upstairs like the living dead.  I tell him to find his clothes before he eats.  He groans an assent.

I wake my youngest.  She tells me she is *cough, cough* sick.  I tell her she is tired and to get up.  We argue back a forth a bit, me getting more impatient every minute. 

My husband and I have a deal that I won't force the kids to go to church.  (And really, if you're forcing someone to go to church will they be getting much out of it?  The gospel isn't really about force; it's about choosing.)  I agree with this in theory but it's a little tougher to live up to Sunday morning as my stress is climbing.

I tell her that it can't be a decision every Sunday.  You just have to plan to go.  Otherwise you're going to choose to sleep in more often than you think.  Soon you won't be going at all.

I hear my son eating.  I ask if he found his clothes.  He tells me he did.  (Let me add here that he has grown many inches lately and now only has one pair of church pants and one church shirt.  I know, I need to get on that.)

The daughter refuses to go.  We are both grumpy and snapping at each other now (fairly loudly).  I tell her I am leaving and I am disappointed that she won't go.  Son is still eating.  I tell him he's going to be walking (only a few blocks) and he'd better get there soon to do his duties.  Two older daughters are ready and head out to the car with me.  As I pull out of the driveway son peeks his head out the door, gets my attention, and tells me he can't find his shirt.  I tell him good luck and he'd better look harder.  I drive away.  (I am now cursing my sleeping husband for not being up to help me.)

Youngest daughter gets to church just as it's starting and tells me her brother still can't find his shirt.  (I'm fairly certain there is smoke coming out of my ears now.)  I get in the car, drive back home, and start hunting.  I can't find it either.  He gets a lecture for lying to me about having found his clothes.  And another one about learning to put his clothes away. At rather high volume.  He finally ends up wearing one of dad's dress shirts (at least four sizes too big).

We drive back to church (son has missed his duties) and I am trying desperately to let it all go so that I can get something from the meeting.

Throughout this morning the thought that kept running through my head was, "I'm going to kill him/her."  I must have thought that ten times.  Maybe not the best mood to go to church in.  But, if you're in that mood, I guess church is the best place to go.

At this point, the wordsmith part of my brain kicks in.  What's the word for wanting to kill your child?  Homicidal is too general.  Fratricidal is wanting to kill your brother.  There's got to be one for wanting to kill your kid(s).  I can't come up with anything.

After the meeting, and before the others, I speak to a couple of my friends I know pay attention to Greek and Latin roots, like me.  I ask if either of them can think of anything.  They can't.  Although we consider Youth-anasia.  (I know, it's only funny if you're a nerd.)

By the time I get home I still don't have a word, but I've come up with a complex.  I declare that I have a Medea complex, which still doesn't entirely apply because she just killed her sons and I have daughters involved.

I mention to my oldest that I've been trying to come up with a word and does she have any idea.  (She's an English major so she's dealt with root words more recently than I have.)  She starts working on it.  Soon my other daughter and son are working on it as well.  They are on the computer, looking up root words.

And I just start laughing.  I have just told my children that I spent the day wanting to kill them and they are working to figure out what to call it.  As if I've just asked them to define the word shoe.

They said they knew I didn't mean it.  And that makes me happy.

The final word they came up with was pedmeregocide, a mix of Greek and Latin roots.  Ped - child, mere - part, ego - self, cide - kill.

And that's what teamwork looks like in our family.