Mormons are Christians

For anyone remotely interested, here's the original article written for Mormon newsroom Canada. I didn't realize (like an idiot) that writing like a journalist would be necessary and so the final product reads quite a bit differently. That said, I thought it worth posting the original here.

Mormons Are Christians

“But Mormons aren’t Christians, right?” This was the response I heard from one of the girls who lived on my dormitory floor during my first year of university right before Christmas break. We weren’t close, but we had had positive interactions, we got along well, and had a healthy respect for each other. I was gobsmacked. Mormons not Christians? Where did she get that from? And had I not done enough in my actions to indicate otherwise?

Ten years later wisdom and learning have taught me that her perception isn’t all that unusual. There are still many people who operate under the misconception that Mormons aren’t Christians. And maybe I shouldn’t blame them. There are some differences between Mormonism and mainstream Christianity. The most marked of which are our additional canonized scripture, The Book of Mormon, the structure of our church which holds at it’s head a modern and living prophet, and our shunning of the Trinity, believing instead that Jesus, God, and the Holy Spirit are three separate beings united in purpose. There can be little doubt, when held against our peers we are a peculiar people.

But yet…while the differences in Mormonism might define us, must they separate us so? Do we not share much more in our commonalities than in our differences?  At this time of year when all of Christianity celebrates with such reverence the birth of the Messiah one cannot help but see how much we share in our love and devotion to the one who redeems us from death. How we are unified in our desire to return to Him. How we are once again reminded of how unworthy we are of His love for us, and of the depths to which He has gone to allow us to return to His presence. It is our love and devotion to Him that unites us and allows us to converse in the same language.

As members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints we believe in the Restoration of the gospel. More specifically this means the gospel as it existed on the Earth during Christ’s ministry. Most notable aspects of this are the Prophets and Apostles that lead our church, others include our belief that the heavens are still open and that priesthood keys have been restored. As Paul so courageously spoke before King Agrippa “Having therefore obtained help of God, I continue unto this day, witnessing both to small and great, saying none other things than those which the prophets and Moses did say should come: That Christ should suffer, and that he should be the first that should rise from the dead, and should shew light unto the people, and to the Gentiles.” Paul’s testimony is now book ended by modern day prophets who foretell and testify of His millennial return to Earth.

My all time favorite scriptural account takes place in John 20, immediately following the burial of Jesus Christ. In it Jesus appears to a broken hearted and bereft Mary Madgalene who is at a loss to know where the body of Jesus is. In verse 15 he asks her “…Women, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou?” We are told that she supposes Him to be the gardener. When I picture her, I imagine a woman so overcome with sadness that she is on her knees with her head bowed. Unable to see for the river of tears flowing down her face. She then says “Sir if thou hast born Him hence, tell me where thou hast laid Him, and I will take Him away”. It isn’t until this moment that Jesus calls her by name “Mary”. And then she knows. She knows that she is speaking with her resurrected Savior, and that her tears were not needed. The first, and only words that the scriptures tell us she utters in His presence are “Rabboni” which is Hebrew for Master. How I yearn to not only see Him, as Mary did, but to know Him as she did. To feel at one and at home in His presence. To call him by the same word. Master. For isn't He the master of us all?

In the end, I looked at this acquaintance of mine. This girl that I liked but didn’t know particularly well. And with all of the confidence that an inexperienced 18 year old could muster I said “we believe in Christ. We worship Him. Isn’t that what a Christian is?”. She was quiet for a moment before nodding her head in agreement.

Home

Home. It's a concept that I've referenced in various ways at various times here before. As a child of a naval officer we moved frequently, and as such, home tends to be a fairly fluid concept for me. I have lived and loved in many places, and I hope to live and love in many more. As I type I have the computer set up on top of my suitcase that soon needs to be packed for our journey home from visiting family in BC. From one home to another. Home.

I haven't exactly been secret about my struggles of late. Be they in regards to motherhood or disciplehood, or as a member of the LDS church. Secrets and I haven't ever really gotten along. My husband likes to joke that I would make the worlds worst spy (and he's right). I tend to live my life fairly openly and this blog has proved a safe and creative form of expression for me, for which I'm grateful.

This morning we attended church with my sister and brother-in-law and their family. And the choir sang a number that I have heard before, but for some reason pierced my heart especially today. The lyrics are as follows.

My shepherd will supply my need:
Jehovah is His name;
In pastures fresh He makes me feed,
Beside the living stream.
He brings my wandering spirit back
When I forsake His ways
And leads me, for His mercy's sake
In paths of truth and grace.

When I walk through the shades of death,
Thy presence is my stay;
A word of thy supporting breath,
Drives all my fears away.
Thy hand, in sight of all my foes,
Doth still my table spread;
My cup with blessings overflows,
Thine oil anoints my head.

The sure provisions of my God
Attend me all my days;
O may Thy house be my abode
And all my work be praise!
There would I find a settled rest,
While others go and come.
No more a stranger or a guest,
But like a child at home.

The last two lines of the song are repeated amid swelling voices and music, and the effect is quite striking. But almost more than the music (and the music IS stunning. Seriously. Go youtube it now!) the words hit me. In my last post I mentioned repeatedly (more than I think I meant to. Maybe I need to work on my editing. Or just not post so late at night?) how much I find a home in the gospel. That is absolutely true for me. And I love it. I want for my relationship with my Savior to be more important than anything else. One of the speakers today referenced John 21 where Christ returns after His resurrection to find the apostles fishing. Which they likely were doing because...well...what else were they to do? Christ was gone and fishing had been their profession. I'm sure I would have done the same thing. They fish all night and they catch nothing. A man comes and tells them to cast their nets on the other side and they catch, literally, more than they can handle. It's at that moment that Peter recognizes the Lord, and he's so excited he literally can't contain himself, and so he jumps from the boat to swim to shore. Sometimes I wonder. If it were me, would I be afraid? That I hadn't done or been enough? I yearn to be like Peter. To be so overcome with my excitement that I can't wait another second to embrace my Lord and Savior.

I don't always feel at home at or in the church. And I'm pretty ok with that. I don't lose sleep over it. Luckily, it's not a requirement for membership. I sometimes think that I stick out like a sore thumb for my at times outspoken opinions. Sometimes I feel less put together than my counterparts (what other 28 year old mormon woman do you know that can't figure out a curling iron to save her life, has never used eyeliner, and doesn't own hairspray. I am a rare and lazy breed). But especially lately I feel less at home when it comes to hot button issues like women and the priesthood, or the church's treatment and association with gay people that I love. And I have struggled as I have watched many friends and acquaintances, who I love and respect, leave because they feel thay they can no longer make or feel a home in the church.

As I heard that beautiful hymn sung I held my baby and wept. Because I realized that where many issues are concerned, I DO feel like a stranger and a guest. I don't freely support the policies and many aspects don't sit well with me. There is much to learn and discuss, and believe me when I say that I am....but outright, immediate support and acceptance has not been my reaction. I have never been a detail oriented person. Mercifully my husband is and so he compliments me well in that arena. But...if I can be like Peter, if I can feel like a child at home in my Savior, if I can unabashedly run into His arms like my three year old son does when his dad returns home from work, I don't feel like I'm lacking. I can put the rest aside and breathe until an increase in knowledge and understanding comes. Because with my Saviour, with my brother, I can feel at home. And if I can do that, then what else matters? If I am making and keeping my covenants, if my home is in Him, and in the gospel, I think, I hope, I pray, that that can be enough.

I want to make it my mission to help others find that same home, because the rest? I think it's just noise. And I don't want to focus on it. As much as possible, I don't want the noise to keep me up at night. Home is a fluid concept for me. But I want my primary home to be in my Saviour. And I want to invite as many other people over as I can. I'm not much good at it. But here's to hoping I can turn this weakness into a strength.

Processing

I bet you thought this blog was just for updates on my life as a mom of two cute boys, huh? GOTCHA. Sometimes I hijack it to ponder, process, and write about other things going on in my life outside of my family. Not often, but sometimes. And I think that this is one of those times.

It's been just over a week since the information about the LDS church's update to the handbook regarding the baptism/blessing of children of gay parents was prematurely leaked. Just over a week since the internet (and my feelings) exploded. And while I don't intend to say much more on the matter, I've had so many dear friends, and even some acquaintances, reach out that I feel obliged to put to paper/blog where I'm at, what I think, how I feel, and what I believe. 

Perhaps it's my age, perhaps it's my personality, or maybe it's even a sign of the times but it seems that more and more the church is taking firmer stances on certain issues. I love the gospel, and I love what it brings to my life. It is home to me. But it seems that quite oft of late...I feel the earth move beneath my feet. And when that happens it's a cause for me to pray, ponder reflect, and discuss with those that I love. I remember once when I was at college one of the main contributors to the Joseph Smith Papers came to give a fireside to address and unpack many of the criticisms regarding Joseph Smith, and especially the first vision. It was an enlightening evening, but a theme that he kept returning to was the importance of being a "seeker". I distinctly remember sitting in the audience and thinking to myself "but that sounds like so much WORK! Just tell me what is true and I'll believe it!". Isn't it lovely to be innocent and 18? I don't feel that way anymore. The ability to hear and to believe without question is no longer something that I can easily do, and sometimes I envy those I know who can. It seems lately that I...fit the mould of the standard mormon women less and less. And I have no problem with that, I really don't think it's a negative thing in any way. In fact, I think it's a really good thing. But along with that it seems that increasingly often now it seems my lot in life is to really fight things out. Ask God, sometimes repeatedly, learn from those around me that I love and respect, and, as best I can, be led by the spirit. Is it more work? Absolutely? Is it worth it? A thousand times yes! Because the victory of finding and knowing the truth for myself...of finding new ground to stand on is a sweet experience, and it is mine to own.

These last two weeks haven't been easy. A sick husband, a teething baby, a toddler who seems to relish pushing his boundaries, a new policy, and what seem to be countless terror attacks have been cause for a great deal of thought and introspection. I'd be lying if I said that my heart didn't feel a little more tender than usual. I'd also be lying if I said that this new policy was an easy one for me to digest. It absolutely was not. I love my home in the gospel. Because it IS my home in more ways than any other place. There are some things I know, others that I believe, and a great many more that I don't know. But a rhetoric often repeated by many people that I know is "it was released by the brethren. We sustain the brethren, therefore we sustain the new policy". And while I believe that there is a great deal of wisdom and logic in that line of thinking, my thoughts and feelings aren't quite so linear. At the end of the day, this policy, no matter how well intentioned, is divisive. I have gay family members  and friends, and I love them with a fierceness that I defy anyone to challenge. They are without question some of the very best people that I know. And it pains me to know that the home that I find within the gospel, is not a home as easily made for them. It hurts me that in order to not be considered apostate by this new policy that they are required to remain celibate. That isn't something I could ever ask of anyone. It hurts me that any marriage undertaken by them is one that my church doesn't recognize. And so I guess it shouldn't be surprising that the church would discourage the baptizing and blessing of their children as well. And if it hurts me, I can only imagine how much it would hurt them. Do I understand the logic? Yes. Families are the most important thing, and it would be difficult, to say the least, to not have church teachings be congruent and supported by home life. I understand. But that doesn't mean that I don't have deep empathy for those for whom this effects. It is more suck to what already feels pretty sucky. I believe that instead of being defensive, maybe compassion could rule, or at least temper the day. 

A few short weeks ago I had the opportunity to bear my testimony. I tend to think that those are opportunities to share our victories in the growth of our testimonies, a time to share what we know while coming from a position of strength, and often that is the case. Of late I've been wrestling with enough issues that mine isn't usually one of strength. If anything it's been me trying to remain humble enough to find the answers that I'm looking for. And bit by bit, they are coming. But lately as I've watched some pretty disastrous things happen in the world, and in the lives of those that I love, I've realized that...the ground that I've won I am still holding. The things that I knew before I still know. I still know that God lives, and that He loves me. I still know that He hears my prayers and, more often it seems, is waiting in the wings to answer and hold me. I still know that I am not alone, and that I matter to Him. They may be simple truths...but my knowledge of them hasn't changed. And perhaps that is a victory in itself. Some answers come slowly. And some might not come in this life. I'm learning to be more cognizant and comfortable with that. As the ground beneath me shifts I am finding my footing. But I don't know that that is as true or easily said for those that I love who struggle with their sexuality because the home in the gospel that I love...I imagine would be a less easy home for them. And so I want to offer my love, my empathy, and my compassion. It isn't much. It is paltry. But it is all I have to offer, and I offer it freely.  

He's Here!

He's here! He's here! The newest little Bird has arrived and as a family we feel like we're on cloud 9.

We are completely in love and so happy that he's finally here. It seems that there's a sacred sense of peace in our home since he's come. As the oldest of five perhaps I should have remembered, that holy hush and awe that accompanies a newborn. It's hard to find the words to describe it, and I'm almost sad because I don't think I can make it last forever, but right now, our lives are feeling a little more magical. 

The rest is a recounting of the birth story. I record it more for my personal remembrance than anyone else, so unless you're really into birth stories, feel free to either stop here or scroll to the end for pictures :)

All went well. Last month I was quite convinced that this little one would arrive early. Given that Adam was born four days early, and the distinct impression I had had to quit work early, I was confident we wouldn't see my due date. Or that if we did, it would be very soon afterward. My patience instead was given an opportunity to prove itself, and I didn't much like it. Jim's family came and went, with me convinced I'd go into labour within a day or two. Nada. My mom and dad opted to come on the 22nd (two days after my due date) since, you know, it couldn't possibly be much longer and I might need some people to help me smile. The fact that I hadn't experienced one single Braxton Hicks contraction (after having had many with Adam), and a complete absence of any signs of labour had me fairly convinced that either this baby was never coming on its own and I would have to be induced (my second biggest fear), or that I had somehow managed to gestate an elephant. For which the gestation period is two years. Neither were happy prospects. 

Mercifully, on Friday night after having watched some TV with my parents and having gone to bed, contractions began. They were uncomfortable enough that I had to breathe through them and were consistently lasting for about a minute at two minutes apart. At the urging of my parents (Jim was sleeping at this point and given what could have been coming, it seemed best to let him rest) my mom took me to the hospital for assessment around midnight. As I suspected we hadn't progressed far and were sitting at about 2 cm dilated. Home we went. 

I tried to get some sleep but contractions kept coming and were too uncomfortable for sleep, so I went downstairs to labour, and walk. Somewhere around 2 am I texted my doula who arrived around 3:30 and helped me labour. As a side note, doula's are amazing! Everyone should have one. She was an excellent guide and helped with various tips and tricks that served to make things feel more manageable. 

Around eight people started to wake up, and I continued to labour. The contractions hadn't gotten quite long enough to warrant the hospital yet. At around noon it felt right, and so off we went to the hospital praying I would have progressed enough for admission. The hospital in Grande Prairie was built for a much smaller population than it currently serves, and as a result Labour and Delivery is often swamped, so often you have to be pretty established in your labour to be admitted. Luckily I was at 5cm, and we were admitted. As luck would have it, we were given the only room with a bathtub. It's my dream to one day have a water birth, but with no midwives or birthing centres it's not currently a possibility in Grande Prairie, so having a tub of any sort at all felt like a tender mercy. 

We laboured in the tub for some time, each contraction feeling longer and more intense than the last. Jim was so wonderful. With each contraction he would slowly pour water over my tightening belly, which eased the pain. Out of the tub his strong arms would squeeze my hips together which made the difference between the contractions being bearable and not. He was my rock and my partner. I don't know that I've ever loved him more than I did while labouring through this birth with him. He was truly amazing. 

At some point, time began to be distorted but I asked to be checked again, confident that we must have been close. My heart nearly broke to hear I had progressed only 1cm. I had been adamant in my plans for a completely natural and drug free birth, but I knew I couldn't keep up at this point. And so I asked for the gas. And now I'm a convert. I wouldn't say that it did much to ease the pain, but it did make me just loopy enough to forget a little how much it hurt in the in between, which was help enough. Nichelle, my doula was fantastic at helping me relax and stay grounded. With each contraction she would remind me to breathe deeply, and held my hand as I breathed in and out which worked wonders in keeping me grounded. I couldn't have done it without Jim or Nichelle. 

An hour or two later (I wasn't paying attention to time much at this point), I asked to be checked again. Mercifully we were almost at a 10 but had a bit of a lip. The nurse rectified it, and all of a sudden what had been a mild urge to push with lots of pressure became an overwhelming need to push, and push hard. I had really wanted to try birth breathing, and more gentle approaches but the overwhelming need to roar and push was unlike anything I remember feeling with Adam. The doctor arrived quickly and I roared my way through the contractions which were coming on top of each other. As the head emerged I remember being asked if I wanted to touch it, but all I could think of was getting this baby out as quickly as possible, so I refused. My memory becomes hazy here but at some point moments later the pain subsided a bit and they told me to reach down and deliver him. So I did. And THAT was amazing. To deliver my own baby from my body to my belly was something I never thought I'd be able to do and it was SO COOL! To snuggle and touch him so immediately was something touching the divine. We stayed like that for some time while we waited for the cord to stop pulsing and for the placenta to be delivered. The nurses kept commenting on how big he was but at my last appointment I had been told I was measuring small and to expect a 7-8 lb baby. I was more than a little shocked when he came in at 9 lbs 3 oz. That helped explain what was a much longer labour than I had been expecting. And the pushing phase lasted only five minutes, although at the time I thought it might have killed me. 

He was immediately an excellent nurser and has been the sweetest baby ever since. Adam is besotted with his little brother and doesn't like to let Ben out of his sight. I feel so incredibly blessed to have these two little boys. Mothering them to be men of courage, and valour, and kindness, to be men of God feels like such an incredibly daunting, exciting, and honourable task. Ben is only a week old and I know that this newborn stage is going to fly by faster than I can blink. Yesterday his umbilical cord fell off. Of course I know that that is beyond normal and yet I wanted to cry, seeing the evidence of his progression and maturation. One week ago his body had been literally attached and nourished by my own, and here he was already demonstrating his independence. Adam is three, in two more years he'll be in school. Time seems to roll on so much faster than I feel prepared for and I'm powerless to stop it. And so I know not only how fortunate I am, to hold this baby in my arms that I had nearly given up hope would ever come, but to have these precious moments. So many beautiful, precious moments. 

Love to all :)

The Birds

On the Edge

Here I am. It's 4:30 am and I can't sleep. Maybe it's the continued movements of a full term baby shifting under my ribs (less than comfortable), maybe its the sun thats just starting to rise over a northern Alberta morning (SO many glorious daylight hours in the summer), or maybe it's the anxiety I can't help but feel as I wait for my life to change.

On Monday I'll be 40 weeks pregnant. In other words, Monday is my due date. Given that I never actually made it to my due date with Adam this is kind of significant. At this point last time there was a babe in arms by now. I feel like I'm standing on a cliff of change waiting for my body to push me over the edge. And as exciting, and wanted, and anticipated as that change is, it's still kind of terrifying. Because nothing can ever be the same again. We will never be a family of three souls again. A new little one will be here. A new little one's scent to drunkenly breathe in, a new cry to learn, a new person to know. A new life to love. And I'm SO excited. Really I am. But there's also this inevitable anxiety of whoa. 

I wish my/its body would just get on with it. But patience is a virtue, and I'd like to let the little one choose it's birthday. So here I sit, at 4:30 in the morning. Typing a blog post in my bathroom since I don't want the tapping sound of the keyboard to wake my husband up. The poor man has more than earned his sleep.

Oh but what a glorious baby moon we've all had. As hesitant as I was to quit work it was SO the right decision. Adam and I have had such fun on adventures with friends to the lake, and the splash park, and the library, and I've relished the time I've been able to unabashedly give to him. He is the best. Yesterday we went on our usual 3km walk (some say it helps promote labour. I'm averaging 9km a week and I'm about to call BS). I used to run it last year in 15 min, now I walk it in about 40 min, and when Adam decides we HAVE to pick saskatoon berries (and make multiple stops to eat them) it takes...well I stopped looking at my watch. And it was so worth it.

We just enjoyed the nicest visit with Grandma, auntie and cousins. One of which is super close in age to Adam. These boys had way too much fun being bad influences on each other. And it was awesome.

If you look closely, you can see Adam peeing on my garden. Just like his cousin had done a few minutes before. As you can see, cousin thinks this is pure brilliance. 

The rest is proof of our killer summer

As anxious as I am for this baby to be out, and to get to know it, these last few days have been so precious and such a gift. 

Somebody can't wait to be a big brother. And he's going to be the best!

You Have a Blog?

Yes dear reader, I can hear you saying it now. It has been a shamefully long time since I last posted, and I've missed it. But I tend to consider myself a bit of a story teller. I feel as though I need to have something worthwhile to say. And you know what? So much of the time, I just don't feel like there's much that's worth reporting. That being said, we're coming up dangerously close to a year and well...when I look back on it, stuff has happened in that almost a year period. So here goes.

Since my last post of hope and idealism much has changed in our day to day life. I went from being more bored than any intelligent and capable person should have been to over filled days and not enough time. Just before Christmas Adam and I began driving the local school bus. It was a pretty good gig, an hour and a half in the morning and another 2 or so in the afternoon. It served to give some much needed structure to our days and it was nice to generate some income on my own. In case you weren't aware, I have a healthy and kicking independent streak :) In the fall we began volunteering at a local assisted living facility twice a week leading a group of exercises for the residents, and more recently began a job providing respite care to a wonderful little boy. Life was full,  very full, but good.

Oh, and did I mention that I fell pregnant in the late fall as well?

This is likely the only existing photo of me and this pregnancy. Although comfortable in my skin, photogenic I am not and it took more photos than I care to admit to get this one of my laughing at my sister. But this is me, at 34 weeks.

And so here we are come almost full circle once again. I was rushing like a mad woman trying to garner enough hours to qualify for EI maternity benefits. It really wasn't about the money so much as it was a) to come so close and not make it is frustrating and b) after surviving some bitterly cold mornings with a reluctant toddler in tow it seemed wrong to quit when the weather was finally warm and c) refer to the previously mentioned independent streak. But I just kept feeling this gentle nudge whispering that these last few weeks as a family of three were precious and that being over scheduled wasn't in anyone's best interest. Adam has been the main focus of my existence for the last three years. That boy who is my angel and centre of the universe turns three on tuesday and I want to spend my time creating magical memories for him before his life gets turned upside down by a new arrival next month. And so, as of Friday I am officially unemployed and looking to make some magical summer memories :) Anyone is welcome to come along for the ride.

Nine months seems like such a long time at the outset. And here I am with six weeks to go and suddenly it's flown by and it seems that there's so much to do. It blows my mind that by the end of next month we are likely to have gone from a family of three to a family of four. Three year spacing likely doesn't look like all that much, but my heart yearned for this little one for such a long time before he/she (no we don't know the gender) came to be. This was exacerbated by a very early term miscarriage last year and so it all feels so much more precious this time around. I feel exceptionally blessed and I think I know how lucky I am. I don't want to waste a minute of it.

This year has been an interesting one in many ways. I'd like to think I've grown and evolved in meaningful ways, especially where my faith is concerned. I find myself feeling less and less tied now to the culture of mormonism, and wanting to associate myself and bear testimonies to the truths that I know as and where I find them. I want to be known as a disciple of Christ first, and maybe somewhere down the line a mormon if that's what matters. And I'm not so convinced that it is. Mormonism provides such an excellent framework for me to practice and exercise my faith and I'm  grateful for it. But I don't think the title matters much.  And there's so much more that I want to know! So much learning and growing to do, especially as it relates to Heavenly Mother. I want to be focusing on the basics. I want to be trying really hard to learn more about Christ and live like Him, LOVE like Him, and I want less and less of my time spent focusing on the other details. I've always been a big picture person and details often drive me mad. Which is why it's fortunate I married my husband. But so many of the details just...just don't seem as important to me.

Anyway, I hope that this update will suffice.

 Here's to the start of a magical summer :)