LDS Helpline Didn't Fail Me - I Failed Myself

Recently the Associated Press did a story titled “Sex Abuse and the LDS Church ‘Help Line”. I was curious about what was going to be in it, so I read it and heartache hit me like a ton of bricks. The “Help Line” doesn’t really seem to help anyone, except the abusers. The article spoke specifically about sexual abuse, however, bishops and stake presidents should call the helpline when addressing situations involving any type of abuse (“Abuse Help Line”). It is this second part that brought back memories of things I wish I had never done. 

I learned about the helpline in the spring of 1998 while at an appointment with my bishop. This man was a repeat bishop. A good man who followed the rules and did his best to keep anyone from turning away. He was a kind and caring man and has since passed away. 

During this meeting, I told the bishop that I needed help finding a way to control my anger. I needed to stop some very abusive behaviors toward my oldest. Her dad was aware of the situation. Others were as well (and I have since had a few lingering questions answered in regards to this). When I explained what was going on, the bishop immediately called the helpline with me in the room. He explained and had me clarify when needed, what the situation was. The direction he was given was to get me into therapy quickly and the church would pay for it. He was also prompted to tell me not to share the abuse toward my child while in therapy.

He did what he was told. I had an appointment a couple of days later with a therapist through LDS Social Services. Jay was a great therapist. We worked through some huge issues I was dealing with, but I never told him I had been physically abusing my child. I told him almost everything, but not that. After a stint in a psychiatric ward, a few months of therapy, and being put on anti-depressants the anger in me was subsiding. 

There were slip-ups here and there. I was quick to apologize to my child. I also learned that it was perfectly ok to put myself in time out and say it was because I needed to take a few minutes and get myself under control. My children have all talked about how I used to go on time out. I was an intentional coping skill and one I still use when needed. 

When my marriage ended and we were still getting the divorce finalized, I voluntarily signed up for a parenting class taught through the Division of Children and Family Services. I was the only parent there voluntarily, yet it is somewhere I should have been years before. Valuable parenting skills were learned at this class. Ones that forever changed how I parented. For that I am grateful. 

When it comes down to it though, I still made the choice to not speak up with my therapist. It was me who chose to hide the truth and, honestly, delayed some much-needed parenting help. So I used the church as a reason why my behavior was never reported. They made a convenient excuse. 

Twenty-four years later and the biggest lesson I have learned is accountability. I could claim it was because my dad was abusive to us, so it was learned behavior. I could claim it was because I was stuck in a marriage I really didn’t want. I could find every excuse possible, but the truth was, I needed to be accountable for those actions. 

It is one thing to say you were abusive. It is another to admit it to yourself and take on that accountability. No matter what, it was ultimately my choice. It was my choice to continue the generational abuse or turn away from it. It was my choice to speak up or stay silent. It was my choice to reach out for the appropriate help to ensure my children would not face that abusive parent again. 

There are many things I wish I could go back and change, but physically harming my children is the biggest one. With my two youngest children, I have spoken and taken on accountability. They have been able to tell me how messed up certain situations were and I have worked hard to not just apologize but to become a better person. With my two oldest children, I apologized. When doing so, I still gave an excuse. This has damaged the relationship with them both to a point that I am uncertain whether it will ever truly be mended. 

When I say mended, I don’t mean it will be a perfect, close, best friend type of relationship. Instead, I just want to be able to spend time around them and their siblings. I want to build a new and different relationship with them where they can say what they need to say and I can accept it and sincerely apologize for my actions. The truth is, there are no excuses for how I behaved. I, alone, made the choices that brought them pain. 

Now to step back to the Associated Press article. I do find some of the faults with the bishops in that case which was highlighted. I find fault with the spouse who knew what was happening and did nothing to stop it. But mostly, I find fault with the abuser. Going to a bishop was not his only option, just as it wasn’t mine. Each and every day he made the decision to be an abuser and then to take his own life instead of facing up to his own actions. 

That all said, I do take ownership of my choices in the past. I wish I had done the right thing, to begin with, and not abused my children. For too long I felt it wasn’t truly abusing because I didn’t use an implement like a belt or a wooden spoon. Then I realized abuse is abuse when you actively make the choice to harm someone else physically as a way of enforcing yourself as the dominant/controlling person. Physical harm to another is never the answer. If you are feeling that you are going to react physically then it is time to walk away. Put yourself in time out. Call someone you trust to help remove you from the situation and care for those you wanted to hurt. Most of all, take accountability for your actions. If you did the deed then take ownership without excuses. Never say “I’m sorry, but…” That is the absence of taking ownership. “I’m sorry” is the only way to truly acknowledge and own up to your errors. 

To my children, I spent so many years of your childhoods being an angry and resentful person. I made every excuse I could to justify my actions. When it comes down to it, I was abusive and I had to change. It was never once anyone else’s fault but mine. I am profoundly sorry for the pain and suffering I brought into your lives. There isn’t a way to change what happened in the past. Going forward, I am going to continue to work on who I am to become a better person. My hope is that one day you will reach out to me so we can talk…especially if it is in the setting of a therapist’s office. I love each of you for who you are and who you are becoming. You are all better people than I ever was while raising you. Thank you for teaching me who I need to be. 

“Abuse Help Line.” Church of Jesus Christ, https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/callings/church-safety-and-health/abuse-help-line?lang=eng. Accessed 12 August 2022.

Lessons Learned in 2020

There is a meme going around that talks about some of the medical science advances in the past 100 years. Then is points out that in 2020 medical science taught us the importance of washing our hands. This year has been a huge reminder of the importance of basics we were taught as children. Hand washing is a key lesson we've been taught. I remember the nightly call of "Wash your hands. Dinner is ready." We would all run to the bathroom or kitchen and wash up then head to the table for dinner. 

To this day I can tell you where we all sat around the table in the dining room. There were nightly comments to my brothers to watch their "chicken wings" and food was always passed right to left. I was always glad I sat next to my mom because that meant my brothers never added extra food to my plate like they did to my oldest sister. The rule was to eat everything you took. Often I was told not to let my eyes be bigger than my stomach. 

Dinnertime was that special time where we all came together for the evening and talked about our day. It was family time. It was that one moment each day where we were just family. At times I really miss those moments. I miss them more knowing that I wasn't the best at keeping up that traditional family time once I began going through my divorce. When I remarried it wasn't brought back either because there simply wasn't space in our apartment for a dinner table to sit around. 

In the past year or so I finally have that dinner table. Even so, we aren't the best at sitting around it for meals. We do better now, but it just isn't the same as when I was growing up. For one, my husband never really had that experience as a kid. It always seems to highlight the differences when we have dinner at the table and I remind him to pass the food. It just isn't his background. Although he is better about it now than at first. 

This year I have learned how hard it is to grieve when you are separated from family. Not just separated but estranged from them. It teaches you to really look inward and see where you need to change and accept your mistakes. It also teaches you that not being able to grieve in a more traditional way is a huge struggle. The biggest part of grieving when you can't be with others is that it is harder to move forward with out reaching out to someone to move through the process. 

A year ago I started following the news of the new corona virus that had shown up in China. Something told me to start preparing for things to change dramatically. Perhaps it was all of those disaster movies I have watched for years, but I knew I was looking at something that was going to shift how we all acted with one another. I began mentally preparing for something that I would end up not really being prepared for in the end. 

As shutdowns hit I had a friend staying with us. She was a childhood friend dealing with her own traumas. Then to add more to the situation we experienced an earthquake. Now those in areas use to earthquakes it may seem silly, but for us it was full of trauma. No one died. No major destruction happened. But we were scared. Every aftershock was hard to deal with and our cats went into hiding. Within the month of March I would be faced with a new normal in my work environment, learn that my youngest would not get the anticipated high school graduation, and have that friendship be destroyed. March was not a good month. 

As the year rolled forward we would learn of the ways people were connecting. Church through Zoom became the Sunday norm. People would sit outside and talk with neighbors. Some communities in Europe found ways of celebrating community that they hadn't experienced before. And doing the job I felt called to do was suddenly appreciated and respected as were the jobs of all healthcare workers. 

May came along and murder hornets were being talked about. We had begun as a world to wonder what would happen next. We seemed to hold our breath. May was not kind. May symbolizes loss now. The loss of a child who was so wanted and loved. The deep grief that I still carry with me. No parent ever wants to see their child suffer such pain. And then Memorial weekend came along and the name George Floyd was held by those who prayed for social justice. 

Not only did George Floyd become an icon for change, but so did Ahmad Arbury and Breonna Taylor. We learned to say their names and demand better training for law enforcement. Protests were held and riots happened in some areas. Those who were protesting begged for the riots to not happen. Suddenly the world united to say that "Black Lives Matter". Not only that but it went further. It demanded that the lives of all those who are othered matter. Disabled lives, LGBTQIA+ lives, immigrant lives, and so on. The prevalence of hate groups became widely publicized. Many were shocked at how prevalent they truly have become. 

As summer progressed we saw more and more people fight the usage of masks. The debate between science and pseudoscience raged on. It was during this battle that I became ill. I awoke one morning with a fever and a cough. I did not feel well at all. Exhaustion was my companion that day. As the day wore on I counted back the days to the one where I had a known exposure. It was 13 days. I contacted my work and went in to the ER where a covid test could be run. 

It was then that I truly came to understand the viability of these tests. It wasn't the first one I had run but it was the most significant. The negative seemed wrong considering my symptoms. My doctor let me know he viewed it as a false negative because of my overall symptoms and my recent exposure. Sleep overtook my life for at least 5 days. I have very little memory of that time. The first day I remember after becoming ill was my anniversary. My husband made it a memorable one with an awesome cake with a Doctor Who theme. I don't remember much else that day except the delicious cake. 

Fatigue became my constant companion after becoming ill. It lingered for weeks and to the degree which I was unable to return to work. It hurt not to be out helping in the chaos of another wave of the virus. It hurt not to have the energy to do much of anything. It just added to the continued mental health issues I was struggling to deal with at the time. I did find part time work that helped with finances, but I still felt like my body had given up. 

In late August there was a huge disagreement with my sisters. I wish I could go back and change that night. So many things that were said and reactions to others where I didn't want to hold myself accountable. But I finally did and I asked for forgiveness. The relationships will never be the same but we can work on rebuilding them. Maybe it is good they won't be the same. They were broken the way they existed before so to have a chance to rebuild them will hopefully improve them. 

All said, this year is how I had to go back and relearn the lessons I was taught as a child. I had to remember to do the basics. To show people the kindness and consideration I wanted to receive from them. To give of myself to others in their dark moments. To grieve those things which are lost. To stand up and fight for injustice. And most of all, to learn to forgive with the express intent of making changes within myself worthy of others forgiveness. Not just let forgiveness be lip service. 

If this year taught me only one thing I want it to be the lesson of forgiveness. I've always been told I forgive to easily, but I learned that I don't and I have let that hurt sit with me for far too long. Not only that, but I have demanded forgiveness without truly accepting that I need to make definite changes within my life. So I am making those changes. And it is not an easy road to look within and see how your words and actions have caused hurt to those you hold dearest. 

As we sit here with a new year looming I realize that the time for truly moving forward is now. I need to let those who I have hurt come back to me and tell me why and to accept their truths and find a way to change my own behaviors without an excuse as to why I acted as I did. Change will not be easy, but it will be so worth it in the end. Remember to always wash your hands. 

Bitter Fruits?

 I no longer watch General Conference. But sometimes I hear about a message that either resonates or irritates me. This time it is irritating. Evidently Mr. D. Todd Christensen gave a talk about "bitter fruits" and referred to children born out of wedlock as such. Honestly, it did more than irritate me, it angered me. My oldest was born out of wedlock. And she is one of the most amazing people I know, despite all of the heartache I have caused her. Not for a single moment would I consider her a "bitter fruit". In fact, if I had to chose a scriptural term for her I would call her "an elect lady" because she has been faced with challenges no person should have to face these past few years. 

I think what angers me so much is that this man is attempting to come from a place of love, but all it feels like is hate. There is little regard for the feelings of those children born under such conditions. After all this includes so many of those babies put up for adoption. It includes babies born because of rape. You don't even understand the scope of people hurt by this comment. It's unconscionable the harm his word have. Not that I expect him or any other General Authority to ever apologize for their words. It made the follow up by Elder Uchtdorf seem hollow. 

The past 5 years have been an eye-opening and mind bending experience. Walking away from a lifetime of religious pain to now has not been an easy journey. However, when it comes to words such as this being spoken, I am certain I have made the right decision. Now this decision has come with great pain as so many whom I called friend turned their backs during my time of greatest pain. They chose offense instead of looking for the underlying pain and conflict. I've also experience family turning their backs. If they truly believe that my oldest child is a bitter fruit then perhaps the relationship is worth ending. 

There is another scripture that came to mind when I heard about, and later listened to, this talk. It is in the Doctrine and Covenants of Community of Christ:

 "It is not pleasing to God when any passage of scripture is used to diminish or oppress races, genders, or classes of human beings. Much physical and emotional violence has been done to some of God's beloved children through the misuse of scripture. The church is called to confess and repent of such attitudes and practices." D&C 163:7c

I've shared this scripture before and it seems to fit so many old teachings from the LDS Church. A reminder to not use scripture to hurt others. I have no doubt that when this happens, God hurts. Just as if someone insulted your child you would hurt for them. 

There were years where my ex-husband's family referred to my oldest as a bastard. Every time they said this I got after them. I don't prescribe to an old testament description as to the birth of my child. Honestly, if you think about it, Christ very easily could have been born out of wedlock if Joseph had not accepted Mary being impregnated by someone else. He had every right to set her aside in divorce. Yet he did not. He showed love and compassion - even though an angel compelling him probably helped. 

I've heard many times that those who get pregnant out of wedlock deserve to have miscarriages or lose their child/children in some other way. This angers me as well. What you are doing is wishing a child dead. How is that any better than abortion? FYI - no judgment on those who have chosen abortion. That is your choice and I do not judge it. Especially considering I have experienced considering that painful choice. 

It matters not how a child comes into this world. Married parents, a single mother, a single adoptive father, unwed parents, or parents of the same gender. If those parents love, or opt to let their child go to another to be raised, then they should be accepted by society. No this world is not perfect, but we aren't either. And when Christ came he gave us new commandments that superseded all other commandments. To love God and to love our neighbor. No where in that did he say to pass judgment on others. Yes, I get the irony that I bring up judging others as not being right yet I am doing that myself. I don't feel it is judgment as much as a commentary on how differently I view what is being taught by the church of my earlier years. And this is done so as to understand when those around me, who are active members of the LDS Church, bring these things up it isn't going to catch me out in left field. I will have taken time to think and pray on them. 

This attitude is partly why I did not write this post immediately following conference. It seemed wise to take the time to pray and consider my words. Others have written about the talk in more depth than I. So I challenge you to read them and search them out. 

It is hard when I write about my children, especially the two oldest as we are currently not on speaking terms. I love them with all of my heart, but I have also been the parent that caused harm from which they are now healing. There is nothing more a parent could ask for than children who have found a healthy and happy place in their lives, even if it means you are not a part of it. 

So, to my oldest, please know that I have never, nor will ever, view you as a "bitter fruit". You are my hero. You've done so much more than anyone else in your position could hope to do. You've dealt with pain, loss, tragedy, frustration, and much more to become the amazing, beautiful, and confident woman you are today. Whether or not we regain a relationship is of less importance to me than knowing you are not just surviving, but thriving in this world for which you were so poorly prepared for by me. Thank you for giving me the gift of knowing you. May you find peace and joy in your life. 

Old Wounds

It has been 2 1/2 years since I last spoke with my oldest daughter. During that time my life and hers have experienced some huge ups and downs. If I had to guess I'd say she's seen some of the best and worst that life has to offer. There have been times I wish I could be there to comfort her, but it just isn't in the cards. I don't ever imagine that it will be. Being apart from both her and her brother this way causes a pain I can't describe. Yet, it is the price I am willing to pay for my past choices. 

You see, when it comes to a wound needing to heal you have to give it the proper time and the proper treatment. A small band-aid on a wound gushing blood won't help. And a tourniquet on a paper cut is overkill. Now if a wound has been around for a while, it is going to take longer for it to heal. Once it does heal the scar left behind will always be a reminder. You can do some things to lessen the severity of the scar, but it is still there. 

Some scars are barely noticeable after a while. Others will always be out in view of everyone. I once read a story about a man with a tattoo on his face. So many people judged him for that tattoo without ever asking why he had it. Well, that tattoo was there to cover up a scar, a burn, a memory of a terrible event. The tattoo gave new life where pain and anguish had been residing. We've also heard about the phenomenon of phantom limb pain. Amputees deal with this when an arm, leg, etc. has been removed. The actual injury is no longer there and neither is the source of the pain, yet it is still felt. 

Sometimes these scars are not visible at all to others. Some scars are reminders of a time when you made poor choices and did something less than brilliant. Some scars are caused by accident. Some scars are left behind after you've made an intentional choice. And sometimes the scars are the consequences of our own misdeeds towards others. 

So how do we heal these old wounds or accept these scars? Well it takes work, and lots of it. An old wound will typically need to be debrided or clean out. This debridement is a surgical act of removing all the dead and/or infected tissue to give the wound a chance to heal. It can take only one visit or many to a specialist or wound clinic. If this old wound is something that is mental in nature, it can take so much more to help it heal. If given the chance I'd rather go to a wound clinic week after week vs the many long years I've spent in and out of therapy. 

Don't get me wrong, therapy is a great tool. It can help so much with healing these old wounds. The problem comes into play when you think you've found the source of the wounds yet it's really someplace else. I've spent years dealing with anger issues. I've experienced anger management classes. This taught me better ways of dealing with anger. What it didn't fix were the issues I had with being abusive to my children. I finally took parenting classes run by the state. This did more to help with that issue than anything previous had done. However, the wounds in my children had already been made. I thought, mistakenly, that me changing my parenting habit would fix all past wrongs. It didn't. I still had to face the consequences of those actions. 

Two years ago I wrote a blog basically saying goodbye. I had not planned on being around any further after I wrote that entry. My plan had been to take the nearly 90 days' worth of my husband's medication for schizoaffective disorder and to end my life. Before I did that I called my mom. I wanted to hear her at least one last time. That call ended up saving my life. I admitted to being so broken that I didn't want to go on. My mom encouraged me to keep fighting. Late that night I was admitted into a psychiatric hospital to receive treatment. Even now it is hard to talk about. Suicidal ideation is never far from my mind. I'd love to banish it forever, but I now know that my mental health issues aren't a wound to be healed, but a scar. And not just one scar, but many scars. Scars over time have been healed, but not always with the best remedy. 

My stay in the hospital taught me to look further than I had before to find the true source of the injury. What I didn't expect was to see my own childhood as the source. Like many in Utah, I come from a large Mormon (Latter-day Saint) family. I am the unexpected caboose in my family. One that my oldest siblings were less than thrilled about. A fact that was shared with me over and over. What I didn't realize is this, along with a 4-year gap between me and my next closest sibling, had caused me to feel as if I didn't belong. I was always just on the outskirts of many of my friendship circles. When push came to shove I was the one left on the outside. On top of all of this, I have nephews and nieces as close in age to me as many of my siblings. Some of my nephews and nieces were more like siblings for a while. That isn't true any longer...but I wish it was. 

Through therapy, I have traced years of mistakes that link back to the central idea that I am not truly wanted. In reality, I know this is not true. I know I am wanted and loved. This does not stop the thoughts of not being wanted from coming up. It was this issue that pushed me to stay in a toxic and abusive relationship after relationship. Then I met my current husband. By this time I had been through enough personal therapy to recognize quickly when a relationship wasn't right. With him, it was years of chance meetings without realizing it, that prepared us to be together. Years of chance encounters had been happening. So with him, I knew it was the right place and right time. 

We fought a lot the first couple of years and finally went to marriage counseling to help us learn how to communicate with each other. It was a promise we had made early on that we kept. It isn't always the easiest relationship, but I am eternally grateful that I have him on my side. It has helped to soothe many of the past scars... They will always be there, but they no longer cause as much pain. 

I started off talking about being estranged from 2 of my children. I don't know if this will ever end. In fact, if we remain estranged beyond my dying day then it is the consequences of my actions all those years ago. Part of why this is as the forefront of my mind right now is that I recent learn others were well aware of my abusive behavior. Yet they chose to address it in a way that, instead of helping me, caused me to hide it even more. DCFS came to my home under the complaint of neglect...my house was dirty. I wasn't home when they stopped by. When they did come by, and I was still unaware of the reason, I made myself a promise that I would own up to my abusive behavior when questioned. But it was because my house was dirty. So I didn't own up to physical abuse. Yes, my house was messy. I had 3 kids under 4 and was dealing with postpartum depression. However, my fridge had food. My kids were being fed. I was asked to clean up my home and that was it. The DCFS worker never came back and the case was never actually closed out. For a few months afterward I was calling him regularly to get the case closed and then I learned that the case worker was no longer with DCFS. If it is looked into now it will show that the case is still open. I know this because I have had a background check bring it up. 

I still can't help but think back to that afternoon and what would have changed if those who had reported me had been honest about the abuse rather than skirting it by claiming neglect because of my messy house. I can tell you that the DCFS worker told me that whoever had reported me stated my house looked significantly worse than what he saw. He left me with a few things to clean up, but said that in his opinion the house was not anywhere near as bad as so many others he had seen. He did want to see an improvement before closing the case and we set a date, but he never returned. 

It has been 22 1/2 years since that case was opened. 22 1/2 years and because those that reported me decided to not report what they knew was actually happening it continued to happen for a few more years. As I said before, this is something I, myself, have only learned about recently. The wounds that could have been prevented...the relationships forever damaged...all for a lack of full honesty. It really makes you think. 

Well, here I am all these years later trying to heal from wounds. Realizing that the scars will never go away. And accepting the hard consequences of my actions. Part of all of this is recognizing that I play a part in it all. If, as a teen, I had made the decision to speak up when the opportunity arose then perhaps none of what came after would have happened. Or some of it. I still believe my kids would have been mine, but perhaps the abuse would've never happened. Even coming from generational abuse, I knew it didn't have to happen. I didn't intend for it to happen. I told myself I wouldn't carry on the line of abuse. That it would end with me. Yet, I see it now will end with my kids, but at least it will end. 

If my children do see this, I love each of you for the unique person you are. Thank you for being so much stronger than I was at your age (no matter how old you are). Thank you for teaching me the lessons you've taught in love, kindness, and acceptance. Because of you, I fight harder, love more, and forgive often. Because of you, I know that no matter what life throws at me I can determine how to face it and move forward. And if you have made that choice to walk away permanently, I understand. 

No, not all old wounds heal perfectly. It is in that imperfection that we try to find the light and change how we move forward. Sometimes that light brings joy. Sometimes that light shows the toxicity. It's how we change or don't that will affect our lives for the positive, or the negative. 

Loss of Trust

Once again life has thrown my world sideways. These times seem to be the only time I get the urge to blog anymore. That’s ok though. Lately my household has experienced a violation of trust. We try our best to take to heart the scripture passage found in Matthew.:

Matthew 25:35-40 New Revised Standard Version (NRSV)

35 for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, 36 I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ 37 Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 38 And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? 39 And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ 40 And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family,[a] you did it to me.’

We have always been willing to open our home to those we call family. They don’t need to be family by blood either. Just those we consider family. It hasn’t mattered if it is for one night or a few months. We’ve always been willing to help out another. So when a person we considered family asked to stay a few months with us we agreed. Now we did set down some ground rules and they were agreed upon as well as some assistance with the monetary side of things as adding them into the household would cause a financial strain to a certain degree. 

This past week this person left our home and it was upon cleaning the humongous mess they left in their wake that we realized how much they abused our trust. Our agreement at the beginning was tossed to the side within a few weeks. We consistently worked to remind them of the agreement. Then they said they were leaving. That day came and went with them still here. It was so frustrating. At that point the idea that they needed to follow house rules (which we all followed) was tossed out the window. No sooner than a room would be cleaned then they would mess it right back up. Absolutely no consideration was given for anything by this person. 

This lack of consideration put me on alert. I began to double check things and realized things were not appearing as they should. Something was definitely off in this person and the sense of entitlement became prominent. Groceries would be bought and names written on them for the family member which the food was intended to go to, yet when we would go to get that item it was missing from the pantry, freeze, or refridgerator. When asked, our guest would state he didn’t realize it was for someone. He’d be reminded of the name on the written on the item and there was a claim that it wasn’t noticed. The names were not written on subtly, but boldly and in numerous spots. 

It was another 3 weeks before he left. And in his wake we have realized all that was taken for his use without regard to those which the items belonged. It I could list things, but I won’t. Needless to say the financial assistance promised never occurred. Not even when it was evident we were experiencing a financial crisis. Yet this person always seemed to be able to afford alcohol and stuff with which to make cigarettes. If I were to count up the monetary value of all that was agreed upon and all that was taken for his enjoyment it would be in the thousands. 

So where does this leave us now? Heartbroken and devastated. Faith in the decency of people is gone. At least faith in him is gone. So is any semblance of trust. It isn’t often that I state I would never let someone into my home, but that is his status at this point. I would not let him in my home again under any circumstances. My heart was smashed and I will not give it to one such as him again. 

It hurts even more to know that his actions have ended a friendship. He made so many choices that were self serving whilst claiming to be the one who will always jump in to help another. It just isn’t believable any more. Welcomed with love and acceptance for who he is in his imperfection. Now all I can do is pray that wherever he lands that he does not mistreat those he is with the same way he treated us. 

My cynicism is strong right now. I believe in fighting for those who society views as less than...because they aren’t less than anyone. But helping him out meant learning that at times I am too trusting and naive even now. It is a hard lesson to keep learning when you are middle aged. For now I’ll keep practicing what is taught in the scriptures. I’ll do it because it is what is right. It means for that one person who was able to experience it in our home these past few months that he will have those memories but he will not be invited or welcomed back to it again. Actions have consequences or blessings depending on the action. 

I’ll sit back and read the poem which was inspired, I believe, in some way by these verses in Matthew. The poem also inspired the hymn “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief”. The poem was written in 1826 by James Montgomery and is titled “The Stranger and His Friend”.

Doubt Your Doubts

Sometimes there are those nights where the doubts and uncertainty of where everything is going just grips you. When you doubt so many of the choices you've made and fear begins to rear it's ugly head. You look back at your journey and all you can see is your failures and where you've hurt others. It becomes impossible to see the good and the triumphant. The moments where the light shined through you and you reached out to others who needed help. 

It makes me think of a scripture passage in Matthew 28:16-18 - 16 Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. 17 When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. 18 And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.

What catches my eye here is the phrase "but some doubted". They were standing in His presence. He was teaching them, yet there was still doubt. It almost baffles me. Yet it makes perfect sense too. Even at that moment they wavered  in their belief. They needed to discern with faith what was going on around them. 

In the church of my childhood they now teach to "Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith." At first I thought this was a bunch of garbage. It feels like being told to have faith and disregard what you are doubting. So using Strong's Concordance I rephrased this saying, "Hesitate in your hesitation before you hesitate in your faith." The I thought on this even further and rephrased it again, "Discern in  your discernment before you discern in your faith". And for me it was an Aha! moment. 

It isn't to throw out what you are doubting but to look into those doubts further before you doubt your faith. In my faith journey I have had a few things that I have held to with faith. I believe in divine creation. I believe in the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. It was how that belief looked that I doubted. I had a hard time viewing myself as being made in the image of God because God was gendered as male. So I looked at this. In biblical times men were people and women were chattel so of course God was gendered as male. This didn't make it accurate. It just made it what was the norm for the time. This did not mean that God was required to be male...or gendered at all. As a friend has said before "Creator God, man and woman united in power and purpose." 

That discernment also meant that God is in every one of us. That idea of a grand design or grand creation. We are all a part of that. Just one small piece of a beautiful puzzle. 

I doubted that scripture was historical. Especially the Book of Mormon. As an amateur historian I just couldn't find the proof of the Nephite peoples. And even many of the biblical stories just didn't ring as truth, but as parable. As story passed down around the campfire. I read stories from ancient times. The Epic of Gilgamesh. The Bhagavad Gita. Oh how I adore the Gita. It was here I found the story of the war in heaven. Gilgamesh tells of a great flood. I searched further and found more stories that crossed the known ancient world. Some were similar to the bible. Others were new stories. Because of this I realize that the ancient people of the bible were amazing storytellers and I did not have to take it as historical. It was an anthropological look at how these societies developed community and the struggles of those who felt called to lead a more pure life. 

In this dark night of the soul with so much doubt in my heart, I've decided to discern what is causing this doubt. Why I have this unknown fear? Where will I go from this point forward? I can tell you this, doubt is not the negative that so many believe it to be. Doubt is a moment to step forward into that unknown. It's that moment when you let faith carry you into the unknown in order for it to grow and blossom into something newer and greater than you'd ever imagine. 

Abuse...

Today I had an experience that I haven’t had in years. I came face to face with someone and the only thing that came to mind was the phrase, “Get thee hence, Satan.” This came about as I found myself face to face with a person that was evil personified. Ok, this is a bold statement. It, however, is not uninformed. As I looked at this person in the face I realized that they wore a mask. Who they are and who they want people to think they are are two different people. They wanted everyone to think that they are a good, righteous person who has been mistreated by their spouse. They have worked hard to disparage their spouse to church leaders, neighbors, family, and friends. They have caused untold harm to their spouse, and they looked at me as if they could convince me they are the poor, picked on person. 

It isn’t often that I feel this way immediately upon meeting someone. I watched as they pulled their mask on and tried to bamboozle me with their charm. It did not work and they quickly realized it. When I left their home I was more concerned for their spouse, my friend, than I was about anything else. 

Here’s the thing, when someone is in an abusive situation it isn’t always easy to see it. In fact, if someone tells you they are being abused you tend to listen to them...or at least I do. Having been in abusive relationships I’ve learned to watch for certain “tells” that signal abuse. One big tell is one person having complete control over all monies. Anytime a partner has to be called and asked for a small sum of money (usually $5-20) there is a much bigger problem going on. Honestly though, let yourself sit back without judgement and pay attention to the behavior of both. More often than not personal discernment will let you know the truth of the situation. 

One thing I do not like is when religious leaders (i.e. bishops, stake presidents, branch presidents) immediately discount one person because they lack the proper genitalia which permits them to hold the priesthood. I’ve personally had my thoughts and experiences discounted because I was not the “head of the household”. A wife’s stories of abuse should not be discounted just because she is the wife. More and more within mormonism I’m seeing this occur. Now when I say mormonism I’m referring to the Brighamite movement. 

All too often the wife is treated by ward members as a pariah since she must somehow be causing said abuse. Honestly, this idea makes me sick. It is a bunch of crap. Never is the abused to blame for being abused. They have not caused it. It is not their fault. They deserve our grace and love. 

Now I’ve written before about abuse. My own as one who was abused and as one who was an abuser. One I refuse to feel any shame for having happen. The other I have sought treatment for so I may move past those events and never repeat them. Neither is a comfortable place to rest. Both come with sorrow and pain. Both come with acceptance and forgiveness. One comes with the added need to ask for forgiveness while understanding it may never be given. That is probably the hardest part of having been the abuser. 

So where does that leave me now? It leaves me in a place where I can more clearly see an abuser because I know the mask all too well. It also means that I must work within myself to never repeat those past choices again. And when I see someone who is being abused it means I step forward and say, “Get thee hence, Satan!” 

So for the friend who is looking at the dark and feels despair I say, “I am here and you are not alone. I will walk this path with you and do all I can to keep you safe.” While you may not know this particular person (or maybe you do), please look for those who are broken in heart and in spirit because of the acts of another person. Reach out your hand and lift them up with love and support. 

If you happen to be someone in such a position of being harmed by someone who should be loving and caring for/about you, please reach out. You can visit the website for The National Domestic Violence Hotline for a phone number to reach someone who can help if you cannot trust anyone around you. They are available by phone or chat. They even have contact info for the deaf/hard of hearing community. I promise, you are not alone.