"You Can't Do That" and Other Stumbling Blocks

When I was investigating the Church, I told the people around me I wanted to get baptized after I'd only been to services a few times. I hadn't read much of The Book of Mormon. There were many things I didn't know or understand. But I had felt the Spirit of God and knew that this was the place where I would find God. I knew I was supposed to be baptized.

What was the response?

"You can't do that."

They didn't have missionaries. They didn't have anyone to teach me the discussions. I was coming to Church in a different place from where I lived because of where my friends, who were members and who had invited me, were living.

It got bad enough that I set a date for myself to get baptized and told them they had that long to figure it out and deal with their scruples. And they did.

Then I found out about patriarchal blessings in one of the lessons I had in Young Women. I wanted mine. I went to my branch president and told him that.

"You can't do that."

I hadn't been to church long enough. Could I wait a year? Six months?

But that's not what the lesson I was taught said. It said that if I felt like I was ready, then I could have one. So I showed up outside of my branch president's office every week for over a month to ask again. Finally, he talked to the stake president, who told him there was no rule or timeline mandated in the Handbook of Instruction that prevented me from receiving my patriarchal blessing. I finally received it 4 months after I was baptized.

Then I went to Brigham Young University. I was in one of my favorite wards I've ever attended. Everyone around me was so kind and supportive. They helped me deepen my knowledge of the restored gospel and the scriptures. And when all the young men in my classes started receiving mission calls, I wanted to as well. I felt "called to the work," and the Doctrine and Covenants said that was enough.

"You can't do that."

They didn't let women serve at 19 at the time. I had to wait. Why? Because I might get married instead. The hypothetical possibility of reserving me for a man was more important than the calling I had received from God.

I had the opportunity to serve in the temple regularly for the first time in my life. I was from an area where the temple was two hours away, which meant I got to go only a couple times a year, at most. As the only member in my family, I had many names to do. And as the endowments started piling up, I could feel the weight of my responsibility to get the names done weighing on me. I didn't have a ward full of endowed people to rely on in my student wards. It was just me. And the more I went to the temple, the more I craved that divine closeness, the spiritual support for how much harder it was for me to be a member of the Church than it was for everyone else. I was totally on my own, no support from large extended families like they had. I needed more support to come from somewhere. So I started asking to receive my endowment.

"You can't do that."

I needed to be getting married (preferably, in their minds) or serving a mission to get endowed. That was the rule at the time. It didn't matter that I already wanted to serve a mission. It would be so much more special if I could go with my husband! Didn't I see that? My life was just supposed to stay on hold for him, whoever he was. The idea that I would have a spiritual development and progression separate from his was a totally foreign idea at the time, and wasn't reason enough for me to receive my own endowment. Meanwhile, as the ordinances in my own family backed up higher and higher because I was in student wards with no access to the endowment or other endowed people, I was just stuck and alone.

Then the identity of the mysterious young man I would eventually marry was revealed to me. Hurray! And we both went on missions. We were planning our wedding. And after years of alienating my family with all the milestones of my adult life they didn't get to witness because I was in Utah thousands of miles away, I wanted to have a ring ceremony so they could at least watch me get married.

"You can't do that."

And every reason I was given, especially the one that it took away from the validity and the sacredness of my temple sealing, was later disavowed when they did away with this rule.

All of this to say, I've been in the Church for almost 18 years. I have seen so many changes come into the Church and its culture in that time. The things that were impediments to me as a young believer and convert are no longer there, in part because I left so many bloody knuckle prints on heaven's door, pleading for these things to change. Heaven bore witness to how many times I was told "You can't do that" by my own community—with shallow, indefensible reasons for why my journey needed to be so much harder and lonelier than it needed to be.

Changes like these do not come about simply by waiting. They come because the faithful, especially those who are most affected by the lack of change, keep praying and pleading with heaven for change. The hurt goes on the altar because it never should've been mine to carry. Let God witness it. Let him see, feel, and know the burdens I bore in his name, solely at the behest of my community whose reasoning for it was poor and indefensible because it all came down to a single failure: they couldn't begin to imagine the impact their choices were having on me. And until they could begin to understand it, they could never conceive of why their status quo needed to change. Their ignorance and desire to remain in what was familiar and comfortable was a form of bondage to me. That was true.

But what was equally true was that there was nothing wrong or evil in pushing back against all of that, with all the strength I possessed. I would live to see so many of these stumbling blocks I encountered change for those who came behind me. Young people in my church community today don't have to make many of the same choices I did anymore—and thank God for that! I called down the powers of heaven to me to witness these burdens so no one else would ever have to carry them again! I have been witness to the power that these prayers—my prayers—have had to build the kingdom of God on the earth by affecting these changes.

And we're not done. There are many more such changes that need to come to fruition , including (but not limited to) making the Church fully accessible to everyone in our community. Our LGBTQIA+ and disabled people, our women and single Saints, our marginalized, abused, and forgotten in communities of color all over this world.

The kingdom of Heaven is not built, our work is not finished, until ALL are safely gathered in. That is, until they all CAN be safely gathered in. Until all that resists unity, diversity, equity, and inclusion that will define Heaven are removed by the Saints, whose job it is to build that kingdom. To never say again to someone who is trying to come to Christ "you can't do that."

Because with enough time and effort from the Saints, you'll find they can, in fact, do that.

Português

"So Sister Daniels called me back. She said we can go ahead and stay with them while we're out there," said my fiance (we're going to call him Noivo,) breaking a long silence. I continued to say nothing. I was listening to what he was saying, but I couldn't bring myself to be as excited about our coming trip as he was.

Perceiving that I wouldn't respond, he continued. "She said I can stay with her son down in the man-cave. He just came back from his mission to New Zealand. And you can stay in her daughter's room."

"Oh man, he must be suffering a lot," I said without thinking. I instantly realized that my response probably sounded strange because the fact that Trevor just came home from a mission wasn't the focus of the conversation.

But I served a foreign mission--I know how it feels to wonder if you'll ever see it all again. I know how it feels to be in your own house and to feel like nothing is familiar. Not only have you been gone for that long, but the language is all wrong. Old habits die hard, and it starts from the moment you wake up. How do you explain how weird you feel when you've nearly put the toilet paper in the trash can for the three millionth time instead of letting it get flushed simply because "that's how we do it in São Paulo." How do you explain the hesitation at taking a shower without flip flops on? How do you explain the confusion which carpet creates, or the incredible hunger which only strikes in the middle of the day at almoço time, with no desire whatsoever to eat at any other time, even when you're hungry? How do you explain the pain because you keep remembering it all, and the even deeper pain of not wanting to forget? It was only a few minutes later, as I sat through more conversation that I just couldn't follow (and it took me WAY too long to remember the word for beterraba) that I simply started to cry.

The great thing about the Noivo is that he doesn't expect me to be happy. He doesn't even expect me to be OK. He just asks what he can do to help me. I think to myself that he can't because he just doesn't understand. He served stateside, he just wouldn't know. With time, I'm seeing that it would be beneficial if I stop saying that to myself and to him--I don't want there to be a wall so tall around my feelings that his empathy can't scale. That will just hurt me more.

I am excited for our trip to Vegas, to visit the Noivo's mission--to meet the people whose lives he changed and whose hearts he touched. I think it will ultimately be good for me, even though it will only put my pain through another jarring paradigm shift. And seeing the Noivo struggle to know how to help me, I've asked myself a million times, what would help me? I can't afford to go back, and doubt I will be able to for some time. So how do you cope?

 I don't have the whole answer yet. I've taken to immersing myself in the language as much as possible. It gives me a way to feel like I still have a way to hold onto what I truly loved about my mission. As long as I can remember the language, I have my connection to the people. This led to a really interesting moment when I was completely lost in rush hour after putting my phone into Portuguese, and even the GPS was talking to me in my mission language--but even that was rewarding because I understood what it said. Here are some other suggestions I've found helpful:

• Read the Book of Mormon every day in your mission language
• Set up contact lists of members and converts on Facebook, Skype, MSN, etc. (Skype calls are the best!)
• Do Indexing in your mission language
• Start a blog in your mission language or about missionary work. I just started a new blog in Portuguese about my Brazilian discoveries. Check it out here
• Learn to make the food. Be careful with that panela de pressão, they explode. (See Breakfast at Tiffany's)
• Journal in your mission language. (I have already started this one.)
• Explore music and find new artists (online radio stations here, Pandora has select artists, ask your companions what they like--that's how I found this, this, this, and this, then ask members what they like--that's how I found these guys)
• I've been studying my patriarchal blessing in Portuguese because I translated it into Portuguese. It took a lot of work and editing but it was totally worth it
• Listen to General Conference in your mission language. Random fact: Elder Scott doesn't use a translator in Portuguese, he speaks it himself.
• Do a temple session in your mission language (where available)
• Find books translated into Portuguese (Here are suggestions for Brazilian literature, you can also look for things like Harry Potter and Shakespeare)
• Find movies translated into Portuguese (This is complicated because most Brazilians pirate movies and buy them in the street. Netflix Brazil appears to only operate in Brasil, but I did find this site, looks legit)
• Get a job speaking your mission language. (Believe it or not, I may accomplish this one.)

I don't know what is harder--remembering how different everything is, or forgetting the little things I thought I'd always remember. With each passing day, I can focus on both of them less and a new person with a new perspective emerges. I will always love my mission for what it taught me and what it gave to me. But it's time to come home now, and to embrace all of the changes which come along with that.

I know the Lord would have many, many more of His children be missionaries. He would also have his returned missionaries continue to be missionaries. I have been called to participate in missionary work already, and I'm excited to have those new experiences, and to embrace the life of a returned missionary.

It's like my mission president always said, "Only eighteen months to live it, and a lifetime to remember."

Too true, Presidente Pinho. Too true.

Changes, Journeys, and Me

Our branch just lost something near and dear to us in the form of a wonderful family. They're currently on their way to the Salt Lake Valley, where their new life is waiting for them. And even though they only pulled away a few hours ago, the absence is already beginning to make its presence known.

This family was the first LDS family I ever met. Their two oldest sons worked with me in a martial arts summer camp the summer after I ended one of the hardest times of my life. I can honestly say that their friendship saved my life that summer. At a time when I was broken and lost, their family stepped in to show me where peace could be found. They stood by my side as I searched for that peace, and found the embrace of my Savior. They rejoiced with me at my baptism--the father was actually the one who baptized and confirmed me. His wife allowed me the honor of wearing her temple dress that day. Their children have been a remarkable inspiration to me, showing me the wonderful fruits of a gospel-centered family. I've shared in the love that reaches out to and kindles any heart that finds itself in their home, and it's a feeling I won't soon forget--a feeling I will seek for the rest of my life if I have to. Because of everything I've seen since I met them, I not only believe in miracles, I'm not afraid to seek them out; the confidence that has made all of the difference in my life.

It's almost hard to imagine what life in the Church will be like without them, their presence and influence has been so powerful, so crucial to building the foundation of my new life. And even though I understand that my spiritual maturity and their future requires them to leave, I know I will miss them terribly. I will miss them as if they were my own--because in so many ways, that's what they mean to me.

Our branch actually threw a huge potluck party to wish their family well last night. An evening of taking pictures, talking, laughing, and pretending things weren't going to change for just one more night. But since I don't believe in saying goodbye, I had no other options but to wish each of them the best for their journey and their new life--the same as they did for me all those years ago. It was no easy task (especially with my boyfriend) because I knew it would be half a year before I would see them again--if, my brain reminded me, I was ever to see them again in this life. But I couldn't think like that if I was going to remain tearless. And I'm glad to say, tearless I remained--even when my boyfriend stood waving to me as my ride returned me to the part of the world that is never quite as warm as his life is to me.

But as the scriptures have been teaching me for years, "weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." (Psalm 30: 5) I checked my e-mail this morning, and gasped when I saw the message from "CES Admissions" sandwiched between my Daily Book of Mormon reading and my e-mail from Borders. Upon checking my application status, I discovered that I've been accepted for the Fall 2008-09 semester; meriting the spazziest dance of jubilee I've done in public lately.

I always swore I'd leave my hometown and reach for something more. I almost didn't make it because of some really attractive options I started to consider--the option my mother would still have me pursue. But in light of recent of events, I realize that we all have our journeys to make. And sometimes, you have to look past the sorrow of those who care about you to see your destination, the dream that can drive you 3,000 miles towards what you really want.

Like so many others before me I've heard the call to head west. And now that the sonorous desire echoes in my heart, I won't walk away.

Hugs

"And I need to be patient
And I need to be brave
Need to discover how I
need to behave
And I'll find out the answers
When I know what to ask
But I speak a different language
And everybody's talking too fast."
K.T. Tunstall, Miniature Disasters

I love this song, because I know the feeling all too well.

The gospel, I have found, has required of me the very opposite of everything I've ever learned from my parents.

It's hard to be patient with the people who only acknowledge your existence to scream at you for something you've done wrong. It's hard to be brave when your father is the one creating disasters all around you because of drugs, alcohol, and abuse. I don't want to seem pendantic with the point I'm trying to make, or like I'm searching for some form of sympathy, so that's where these descriptions of my past stop. I've made my point in an understatement; it's "hard" to be perfect when you have no idea what it looks like...

And hard to trust it once you do.

The Savior's example, to be perfectly honest, goes against everything I've ever taught myself. And because of how my life has played out for the past 17 years, I've had to learn a lot of things on my own. Love is cheap, lies are numerous, trust is overrated, sorrow is certain, and people are the source of disappointment every single time. Those were my doctrine. I believed in myself; because I didn't have much else to believe in.

16 years of doing things my way. 16 years of keeping my distance from people. 16 years of being screwed over by the end of every day, and expecting nothing better than that from my life.

Is it any wonder that Jesus didn't make sense to me?

Do people ever change?

A very deep question with subjective answers at best. If you had asked me a year ago, I would have said, "No. People can change their actions, but they cannot change who they are inside." I would have sworn to that statement and signed it in blood. And you know what? I still believe it, but with certain modifications.

It takes a strong person to change anything about himself, including his actions. It takes an even stronger person to fall onto his knees in repentance. For me, change was impossible until I gave myself up to God, and began to repent. I had relied upon a sharp-tongued exterior long enough in exchange for survival. It was time to return to Heavenly Father before the person I was inside, the kindhearted and loving person I was preserving within my own mind, was lost forever. To find her again, I knew it would take more than I had left in me.

16 years of suffering, and it all ended because I agreed to go to church on some random Sunday in the Spring.

I bring this up because of something that happened to me today. I was in my AP English 11 class, and I was trying to see whether or not I finally managed to get my grade up to a B- or not. When I saw that I did, I was ecstatic. I instantly embraced the first available person, who just happened to be my friend Alexis. With squeals of girlish delight, I proudly announced the reason for my behavior... which, by the way, is (was?) ABSOLUTELY OUT OF CHARACTER FOR ME! And she was shocked.

"Are you HUGGING me?!" she asked in skeptical concern, as if she was afraid of a possible ulterior motive. She probably suspected me to stick a knife in her back, or something equally violent. And you may think I'm joking; and despite all that I've learned, it still pains me for unusual reasons when I say, "I wish I wasn't."

That experience sat with me for a while today. She was shocked, even frightened because she didn't trust my affection to be as it appeared.

Because of the changes I've made, I'll be stepping back into reality as a person with compassion. That's how Christ would have it. I know that because it's because of Him that I am changed. And even though I still hesitate with my new lifestyle sometimes, I know that will change with time and practice.

And I'm glad to report that it's my mask that I'm locking inside of my internal Pandora's Box anymore, instead of my identity.