Category Archives: LDS

the “look”


chives!, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

Because I look like a really nice, submissive, middle-class suburban wife/Mom (not to mention the visual baggage that comes with my disability), I think I’m stereotyped a lot. People seem to put me into a class of rather gentle submissive wives. Most of the time this doesn’t bother me much–and I do think if I had a tat or obvious body piercings it might result in a slight loss of credibility when I found myself at a PTA Meeting or when I drove the morning carpool (not that that’s really important, but…). There’s definitely something to be said for looking innocuous.

However, what gets me frustrated occasionally, is when people suggest that I became disenchanted with Mormonism only because of John–that before that I was a totally satisfied Patti Perfect type of LDS member (because I just “looked” like I was). That line of thinking annoys me for two reasons: 1) That folks would think I would simply “follow” John out of the church without full awareness of the consequences; and 2) That my choosing to distance myself from the church wasn’t a decision that I made for my own reasons. I guess the third reason that it annoys me is that John was actually attending church fairly regularly until I told him that I wanted to stop. If anything, my departure is what precipitated his, and not vice versa (I know, I know, I’m just far too nice to be a true apostate, unlike John, who knows just when to use the f-word)…

Those people who know me well have a good sense of how liberal my politics and my spiritual practices have been for the past decade (or more). Sure I know what to say and when to say it (meaning that I don’t go talking radical feminism and magical realism in LDS Meetings), but I continue to resent the way my “look” is somehow more indicative of “the real me” than my beliefs or my intent.

I’ve tried to look more edgy and radical, but that’s just not my style. It’s far simpler to dress casually, to wear comfy shoes, to have a no-fuss hairstyle. I know I look every bit the conservative-leaning soccer Mom, and I’m just not sure that that’s going to change anytime soon.

Photo is a close-up of some chive flowers from my garden (with morning dew clinging to each blossom). Their loveliness belies their inner spiciness. 🙂

in a handbasket

Not sure why, but there’s something really liberating about knowing that I’m now headed to hell (or in mormonspeak, “The Telestial Kingdom“).

Now I can do all the sorcery and coffee-drinking that I want, with nary a worry about the consequences. Right?

Besides…some of my favorite people have been fornicators, thieves, pot-smokers, liars, and/or presidential candidates (and sometimes all of the above).* And what would the afterlife be if I couldn’t hang with all those groovy people?

*Note: I am resisting the urge to blog about the P-word. Resist. Resist. Resist, I say.

on fathers and stones

o captain

In a few days I’ll mark the 14th anniversary of my father’s death from pancreatic cancer. Dad has been on my mind a lot today, as I’ve been mourning for two friends who’ve just lost their fathers.

If you were to say that I’ve never forgiven God for taking my father, you would probably be right. My most vivid memory of that time was sitting at Dad’s bedside and realizing that neither I nor anyone else could prevent his demise (and cursing God for not answering my prayers and for letting my father suffer the indignity of slowly wasting away as the cancer ate through his abdomen). I was relieved when Dad finally took his last breath–not because I wanted him to go, but because the suffering was so acute. I couldn’t believe how fragile his shoulders felt in my arms as I embraced his body one last time.

I wrote this poem about Dad a few years ago, and originally posted it here on February 11, 2007:

Seeing Stones

“Every man who lived on the earth,” Joseph said to them, “was entitled to a seer stone, and should have one, but they are kept from them in consequence of their wickedness, and most of those who do find one make evil use of it.” (Brigham Young’s journal, as quoted in Latter-day Millennial Star, 26:118,119)

It was the nights when Dad would have kidney stones that he would call me in
To sit at his bedside to pray.
I was the family healer, set apart in my patriarchal blessing when I was twelve
To have the power to be healed and to heal others on their behalf

I would sit and hold Dad’s hand and ask God
and he would breathe deep and say
“Thanks Jan, the pain–it’s better now”

But how when it got so bad and the doctors didn’t know why because the stones, they couldn’t see them
I fasted and prayed my healing prayer
And the answer
A time to die
And then the MRI, it showed cancer. Pancreatic. Uncurable.

***

Dad’s college buddy, Dave, he called today.
I’d run in to him at Sunstone, recognized him from the funeral
Asked him for stories about Dad
Dave said Dad was curious about seer stones. That a girl brought her family’s stone to their Institute class.
Dave put it in his black felt hat and they had tried to see.

I asked Dave about Dad’s testimony. Did he always believe?
He told me of Dad’s mission to the Western States. Dad was dark and could pass for native
Went to a kiva ceremony and had a manifestation–a Navajo blanket the veil, drawn back and the heavens opened.
That after that he wondered but never wavered.

I am angry now that I didn’t know this Dad.
He never told me the dream stories that Dave tells now.
Premonitions, knowing, seeing.

***

When I was young Dad stopped at all of the rock shops along the summer route to Utah. I liked the rose crystals, bright pyrite, peacock ores.
Dad looked, too, but I don’t know what caught his eye.

Dave says the seer stones give a psychological closeness to the Spirit, remove earthly barriers
I see myself, a rock-gatherer
They roll on the floor of my car, mark the bagua of my home, circle the herbs in my garden.
I see myself, a healer

Without
the power to be healed
Pondering my Father’s stones
Lacking vision

~Jana, 6/2005

In a revelation from god, Joseph Smith reveals how those who attain glory in the afterlife will receive a seer stone of their own: Then the white stone mentioned in Revelation 2:17, will become a Urim and Thummim to each individual who receives one, whereby things pertaining to a higher order of kingdoms will be made known. And a white stone is given to each of those who come into the celestial kingdom, whereon is a new name written, which no man knoweth save he that receiveth it. The new name is the key word. (Doctrine and Covenants 130:10-11)

Love Makes a Family


Love Makes a Family, originally uploaded by waiting line.

I believe in equal marriage rights.

What makes me incredibly sad about the resources that are being mobilized in California to fight and defend Prop 8 is that those same resources could be far better used for addressing the very real social problems that tear apart families.

Those thousands of dollars that the LDS church is soliciting from its wealthier members, what if they were devoted to fighting poverty (particularly hunger and lack of healthcare), war, racism, and environmental crises. Just imagine the difference that just a few thousand dollars could make.

This issue makes me so weary. Why do we keep fighting to remove rights from people instead of working together to make this world a more loving place? I know I’m hippie-dippy-idealistic. But I just don’t get it. How does fighting gay marriage “protect families”?


UPDATE: One reason I feel so strongly about this issue is that it is so similar to anti-miscegenation laws that were in place not so long ago. Given that my spouse and children are products of mixed-race marriages (duly noting the slipperiness of racial categorizations even as I use them so glibly here), I’m grateful to those who fought to change these laws and make inter-racial marriage both legally and socially acceptable. I am thrilled that I had the right to marry my true love and desire to others to have that same right.

the prayer of a stranger

Upon waking in the recovery room from my recent surgery, I realized that I couldn’t breathe. I gasped and gasped, trying to scream to let someone know that I couldn’t get enough air. Soon a nurse was at my bedside, placing an oxygen mask over my face, asking me questions about my asthma history that I couldn’t answer. Apparently she added a breathing treatment to the flow of oxygen and I was soon able to draw in air without so much struggle.

After about 10 minutes on the oxygen I was relaxed and the nurse was working around me to disconnect the breathing mask. As she stooped by the head of my bed she whispered to me, in such a way that I’m not sure if I was meant to hear it or not.

She said, “I’ll be praying for you.”

*****

For all of my openness in the blogging sphere, I’m actually a fairly private person in real life. I find it somewhat embarrassing to have strangers take such an interest in my life merely because of my physical disability. Yet at the same time, I’m continually surprised by those like the nurse–or you who read this blog–who are willing to care so much about me.

In the past I’ve written some posts about the ways I feel pitied and demeaned because of my disability. I still feel that way much of the time–especially when someone’s action seems to be more about making themselves feel good than about offering aid. And even as I feel uncertain about the actual power of prayer, I am not ambivalent about the power of human connection. There’s something beautiful and courageous, and curiously intimate, about a stranger or an acquaintance offering a prayer on my behalf.

Though I ceased praying in the Mormon fashion quite some time ago, I still spend time each day in silent meditation. Doing so gives me perspective on my life. It helps me to remember what I believe and to put my actions in line with my core values. I can’t claim that my prayers or my meditations have improved anyone else’s life, even though I think often of others as I sit in silence.

I suspect that I won’t ever approach a stranger and tell them that I praying for them. But in my own way I am saying a prayer with each post that I write on this blog–sending my thoughts, hopes, and intentions out into the ether. Hoping that each of you will know that I care even if I no longer have the faith to couch my intentions into the form of a prayer.

when bad things happen to bad people


Wounded, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

I suspect that many of my LDS acquaintances have thought that when bad things happen to me or my family, that we’re reaping the consequences of leaving the church, breaking the commandments, and/or reneging on covenants. (As in, “If only she had been wearing her temple garments, they would have protected her from injury.” Note to my non-LDS readers–said holy undies are offered with the promise that they will be a “shield and a protection” to the wearer.)

I suspect that some of my LDS acquaintances have thought that if only I had gotten a priesthood blessing from Mormon elders, my recent ailment would have cleared up much sooner.

While I can understand this line of thinking to some extent (given Biblical precedence and all), I wonder if any of my readers believe that God works this way? Do you think that God punishes nonadherents? Would he purposefully smite one of his children with an illness as punishment for wayward behavior or for not wearing godly undies? Or would he withhold healing from a person until they submitted to a a priesthood blessing?

pilgrimclassic: Casting Faith

This post originally appeared on Nov 19, 2006:

On Thursday during my casting appointment there was a group of four people involved in the process—two prosthetists and two interns—each taking a different role in wrapping my residual limb in a flexible fiberglass shell, then shaping that shell into a form that will both conform to my anatomy and will also best contain the tissue, muscle and bone as I walk. This is an intimate process, as the socket of my prosthetic leg interfaces with the major bones of the pelvic girdle—holding in the ischium and pressing against the ramus.

It is an odd feeling to have two male prosthetists shaping the casting material between my legs and around my hip. Realizing that they are interacting with the most personal spaces of my body. Knowing that it is their job and this is a necessary process for getting a good fitting socket. Me, trying to remain a bit aloof and distanced from the process, yet at the same time having such high hopes that they will get a good fit—that the socket will work well and not cause pain and the suppurating sores that I’ve suffered with for the past few years.

On Thursday evening I experienced a different form of intimacy. I gathered around the kitchen table of a Friend, holding hands with three Quaker women who agreed to serve on my Clearness Committee. We sat in silence, in prayer, until I felt moved to speak, to tell them of the turmoil in my heart in the process of leaving Mormonism. I spoke hesitantly, nervously. Their role was only to ask open-ended questions. Not to judge. Not to guide. After 90 minutes of speaking and silence, they mirrored what I had spoken back to me. They told me what they had heard me say. They discussed how my body language revealed the truths of my heart. Most of all, they shared their concern for the burdens that I am carrying.

Perhaps ironically, the Clearness Committee experience was far more discomfiting and intimate than the casting for my prosthesis. For I don’t readily share the thoughts of my heart. Yes, I do this daily blogging, but I speak primarily of mundanity here. I’ve only very hesitantly shared the steps of my spiritual journey with anyone. I suspect that most just can’t understand. Within the Mormon community I feel censure and distrust. I have few friends who can empathize with the loss of faith. Who can grieve with me through this process?

Outside of Mormonism, I am flummoxed by trying to explain what leaving the church means. That it is a complete change of worldview. Is it, perhaps, like having to relearn to walk?

There is a popular LDS song called “I Walk By Faith” that I sang often during my teen years. I identified with this song as a young Mormon who was developing faith in Christ and as an amputee, because each step involved trusting my prosthesis in hopes that it would support my weight. So now on my spiritual journey away from the LDS Church I am learning what it means to walk by uncertainty, to walk by doubt, to walk into completely unknown territory as my heart leads me onwards. Ironically, this seems the biggest leap of faith thus far.