Why I Stay

“Every [person] eventually is backed up to the wall of faith, and there … must make his stand.” ~Ezra Taft Benson

A while ago, my very intelligent and well-read cousin wrote a blog post entitled "Why I Stay," which shared his testimony and reasons for staying a member of the LDS Church.  I loved his writing, applauded his bravery, and had the passing thought that I should do a similar thing, then promptly forgot about it.

But tonight, for whatever reason, I feel this pressing on my mind.  I would like to share my experience and my voice.

First off, let me say that my experience is as unique as I am.  My experiences will not be the same as anyone else's, which to me just shows even more evidence that we have a loving Heavenly Father who perfectly tailors His children's experiences while here on earth.  My purpose here is not to point fingers or pass judgment, but to share my point of view.

I am one of those lucky people who can't ever remember not believing in the truth of the gospel.  I grew up hearing stories about Joseph Smith, reading the Book of Mormon with my family, and going to church to partake of the sacrament every Sunday.  The trials of my faith didn't really come so much from temptations to disobey as from feeling lonely, struggles with depression and self-esteem, and the difficulty of not feeling like I fit in with the active Mormon kids (most of whom were related to me) in a small Mormon town.  

While it could have been tempting to point my finger at the church as the root of the problem, I had goodly parents who taught me that very few people (if any) get out of Jr. High and High School unscathed, and so I was able to recognize the immaturity of the teenagers around me (as well as my own immaturity) and never really was tempted to equate the cliquish behavior I saw exhibited with the church's teachings.

I do recall one spiritual experience where I was asked to pray about the Book of Mormon for Seminary (a church class for high-school aged students).  I remember kneeling next to my bed and asking if the book was true.  The answer was simple and peaceful-- "It is true."  I felt happy and calm, and that was that--I'd gotten my answer and didn't need to ask again for some time.  This experience gave me two bedrocks that I relied on for quite some time--the first was the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon (and hence the truthfulness of Joseph Smith's claims to be a prophet); the second was what the Holy Ghost felt like to me.

College was more of the same--high school the sequel, if you will, and as I had more intensely stressful, painful, or lonely times, I also grew in my own personal testimony of various principles as I gained experience in these different areas. I have numerous memories of moments where I would pray and have spiritual answers or directions given to me, which I leaned on and did my best to follow in my own imperfect way, and looking back on the path my life took (not one that I had originally wanted or planned), I can see strong evidence of God's guidance.  It was in college that I gained a personal testimony of priesthood blessings, the principle of tithing, fasting, prayer, revelation through scripture study, the sacred nature of callings, and trusting in the Lord's timing, to name a few.  With each of the principles I named, I can think of at least one personal and vivid experience that taught me the validity of said principles.

College was followed by a mission, where I learned firsthand about imperfect leaders (nothing big or drastic, just some of the faux pas you might expect from 19-year-old boys put in leadership positions), as well as a deepened and strengthened testimony of (among other things) the Savior's Atonement and its ability to heal, strengthen, and refine me personally (not just generically) as I struggled through the typical ups and downs of what was for me a very intense mission.

My mission was quickly followed by marriage and children in very quick succession, and while I had the myriad struggles and triumphs that every mother of young children experiences, the gospel stayed in my life.  I tried my best to make sure it was my foundation, and while my focus wasn't always centered entirely on the Lord, I had had enough experiences by then to know that He was there for me in times of trial, and that I could depend on Him.

A few years ago, I had my first "wall of faith" experience--one where I was truly led to doubt what I had always taken for granted as true.  I had been reading news articles and heard stories about a few different movements that I originally dismissed as hogwash--complete apostasy, stirred up by angry ex-members who just wanted to drag others down with them.  I was prepared to give these movements no further thought, until some friends of mine whose opinions (and testimonies) I trusted implicitly started posting about these movements on Facebook.  

Feeling curious, knowing these friends as active members (some of whom had served missions), and wanting to have a truly open mind, I started reading these blog posts, forums, and discussions.  I spent a few weeks diving down this rabbit hole until I realized that every time I left my computer or my phone screen, I was feeling sick, anxious, and confused.  I started mentally criticizing things at church and in the temple that had never bothered me before (many things that I had actually previously enjoyed and found comforting).  I realized that I was spending a disproportionate amount of time reading these dissenting and angry voices, rather than on my typical scripture study habits.

This also happened to hit at the same time as some devastating personal trials, and with all of it, I spiraled into a pretty severe situational depression.  Looking back, I can now see that the timing was perfect--if I had come across these attacks during a time of ease, I don't know if I would have depended on God quite as desperately as I did, but because I was already in such a hurting place, I needed God in a way I had never really needed Him before. Although reassurances didn't always come in a tangible form, I started noticing answers and strength coming in subtle but intimate ways that let me know that although I felt distant and confused, I could at least depend on God, because He was letting me know that He was still there for me, just as He had always been in the past.

During this time, I had the opportunity to attend a General Women's Conference Session with some dear friends of mine.  It was my first time in the conference center, and as I felt the strength and power of all of these righteous women, united in love and compassion for the Savior and for each other, I was overwhelmed with joy.  I remember crying through the entire two-hour meeting and feeling peaceful and content when it was over.  The entire time, the thought kept coming into my mind of what a contrast this was to the feelings I got from other things I had been reading, discussing, and listening to.  It was literally the contrast of truth versus error.  

I think of it as a growing experience--while my capacity for pain was deepened and stretched in a way I would never have though possible, my capacity for truth and light was deepened and stretched in the same way--and because I asked for answers and genuinely sought them, they came.

The significant contrast of that memory helped me to realize that the distress these articles were bringing me meant something, and I decided to lean more towards the peace of the principles I needed to focus on at the time.  I learned to trust my instinct when clicking on a link, comment, or article, and have found that usually within the first few lines of an article, I can tell whether something will be good for me to read or not.

I was grateful for this lesson, but thought little more of it until quite some time later, when I was reading a verse in the Book of Mormon that struck me in a way I'd never thought about before.

Moroni was a war captain, chosen for his valor and integrity to lead his people (the Nephites) against their enemies (the Lamanites).  While I had always enjoyed the chapters describing the victories and losses of this time period in previous perusals, this time reading through, I found a significant amount of symbolism (that had previously been entirely lost on me) by now reading it as a person who sees herself currently at war with a powerful and tireless adversary.

One part that especially struck me was in Alma 55:31-32.  At this point in the story, the Nephites currently have a tenuous advantage, and the Lamanites are trying to find ways to attack them that are a bit more subtle than previous attempts, one of which is trying to poison their wine.  

Moroni employs what I always saw as a rather obvious bit of logic here--Mormon records that "they would not partake of their wine, save they had first given to some of the Lamanite prisoners. (32) And they were thus cautious that no poison should be administered among them; for if their wine would poison a Lamanite it would also poison a Nephite; and thus they did try all their liquors." (emphasis added)

Well, duh.  I remember always laughing about that little line there before (I mean, it is rather obvious), but this time the principle hit me powerfully and personally.  

It doesn't matter whether I see myself as a Lamanite or as a Nephite; poison is poison.  No matter how strong I think my testimony is, or how secure I feel in my relationship with my Heavenly Father, if the Spirit is warning me not to ingest some message of contention or some dissenting voice, I had better listen to it, because I AM NOT IMMUNE.  I am not infallible.  It is possible for my testimony to become weakened and corroded by the voices I read out of sheer curiosity or the desire to appear "open-minded."  I am affected (probably more deeply than I know) by the messages I choose to take in, and therefore I should take care in discerning what to allow into my mind and heart.

Since learning that lesson, I wish I could say that my faith is awesome and steady and rock-like, and there haven't been any more crises.  Unfortunately, that's not the case, because guess what?  I live in a fallen world, where my job is to be proven, refined, and tried, time and time again.  

In fact, just two months after Calvin was born, I had to re-make the decision to be active.  I was tired, feeling completely crazy (for those of who you read my blog, you'll remember that PPD hit hard this time), and realizing that because of my husband's medical career, I would have to make the choice to either go it alone with four children for (at least) two Sundays a month, or to stay at home.  That realization caused a full-on panic attack, and although that made for an incredibly difficult night, I am so grateful that somewhere under the fear, Heavenly Father helped me to realize the possible ramifications of the choice I was going to make.  I decided there, again, to do my best to attend church on time every week, and since then, I have seen the blessings of doing so.

I still go to church every Sunday (unless, you know, sick kids or earthquakes or something).  Some weeks, I leave feeling refreshed and rejuvenated from the incredible spiritual feast I've tasted.  Other weeks, I leave feeling frustrated, exhausted, and cranky after a three-hour wrestling match with my kids.  Most weeks, it's a little bit of both.

I still attend the temple.  Sometimes I have powerful spiritual insights and peaceful comforting thoughts given to me.  Other times it's just a struggle to stay awake while sitting in a soft chair in a quiet place with no children tugging at me.  Most times, it's a little bit of both.

I still (try to) read my scriptures every day.  Sometimes I take notes furiously as the impressions come racing through my head.  Other times I read the same verse eight times before I realize I've already read it before.  Most times, it's a little bit of both.

I have learned not to expect immediate and dramatic responses to every righteous effort I put forth.  If you think about it, it makes sense--if everyone was immediately punished every time they did something bad and then rewarded the moment they did something good, all of the faith and effort would be taken out of the equation.  What's the value in a growing experience if growth isn't actually required for the achievement?  I can tell you that I value my marathon medal far more than the participation ribbon I got for the 1K run I did as a 6th grader.  That doesn't mean I felt awesome and powerful every time I went on a training run, or that the blisters and shin splints didn't still hurt.

So, just because there's not an initial spiritual boost every time I crack open my Book of Mormon doesn't mean that I'm going to stop reading it.  Just because church is sometimes (often) hard and people sometimes say things that are patently untrue (over the pulpit, even!) doesn't mean that I'm going to stop going.  Just because I don't fully understand every single aspect of the church's history or doctrine doesn't mean that I'm going to stop studying and striving to deepen my understanding.  Because when I do get that spiritual boost--that medal at the end of that particular race--it makes all of the training and practice runs and spiritual shin splints totally worth it.

What I'm saying is, I find value in the Gospel of Jesus Christ as taught by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  I find joy in living it, despite the imperfections of the lifestyle that comes along with it.  I understand that not everyone has my same experience, and that's okay--God has a plan for each of His children, and just trying to figure out His plan for me keeps me busy enough that I don't really have to worry about the particulars of His plan for anyone else in order to trust that it will be perfect for them.  But I do want to bear my personal witness that I know that there is truth to be had, if we will but seek after it.

I have found truth here, and that is precisely why I stay.