TASKS

"The three hardest tasks in the world

 are neither physical feats nor intellectual achievements, 

but moral acts: to return love for hate, 

to include the excluded, and to say, "I was wrong"." 

~ Sydney J. Harris. 

Did you ever just sit back and hear someone say something and think, OMG, really? I seriously think people do that to me all the time and yet yesterday, I had a bit of an epiphany about this very thing.

Here's what I am on about.

I have been part of an online group in one form or another since 2004, It began as a single email from a man who put an essay online about feeling lost in the LDS faith, as a matter of fact, I think my google search may have been those exact words.

There were about 20 people on the site. Naive and innocent woman I was I even asked my Bishop at the time  if I should join and his advice was not to. I didn't back then, out of a blind faith mentality, I didn't until almost 2009 but i communicated on and off with the founder and consider him a friend and mentor.

Well 20 has grown into thousands and yesterday, I found myself reminiscing the times when thoughts and feelings uttered there fell under the category as sacra-sent. Now, with thousands of members creeps in the intolerance and anger and frustration, judgement, criticism. It made me wonder out loud about human nature and the need in some to just categorize individuals in whatever life is or about. Labels were emerging, ex-Mormon vs generational Mormon and TBM vs uncorrelated. My guess is JD never saw this coming.

The latest debate was sparked by a choice to not air a podcast about the second anointing. A choice was given through other avenues to listen to it, which I did. It varied little from the format of Mormon Stories, even the content wasn't as controversial as some of the podcasts I have heard but JD felt, well, I can't even really qualify exactly why but he chose not to air it and gave a copy to the interviewee who then offered it for listening.

Now, this is where the sparks started to fly, here is a man who has dedicated his last 10 some odd years for transitions and peacemaking and bridges and when he sees the need to honor the bridges the name calling begins. Those who support to those who criticize. 100's and 100's of comments and in moments a place I have found such refuge in has become the very atmosphere that drove me away from the faith I once loved so dearly.

Is it human nature to attack each other when thinking is different? The whole premise of the sites was for acceptance. Some of the admins have worked tirelessly for years to make it so, others, angry, frustrated and hurting for so many different reasons that I can't even count vent and a safe place to vocalize doubt has now become a haven for exactly what most people ran away from in the first place.

My disaffection and pain has gone mostly unnoticed as I transitioned out of the LDS faith. I wasn't someone that oodles and oodles of members fell over desperately trying to save. I served for nearly 30 years in callings that ranged from nursery leader to 75 bambinos in the beginning of my adulthood to YW president to a beautiful group of girls I still hold dear to my heart, I valued deeply the temple covenants I had made and committed myself to the "work of the Lord throughout all my active 50 some odd years.

Time and knowledge changed that journey, my experience out wasn't pleasant and continues to be painful but Mormon Stories, Stay LDS, Mormon Matters have all made a significant difference to my life. Many a questioning soul has been encouraged by these stories of hope both in staying and in the leaving and those were available because of the tiring work of dedicated souls feeling the same pain.

I am saddened by it all, scared to vocalise my dismay as hostile voices become louder and louder. I heard it said once that a silent voice in it's thoughts mimics 400 in it's actions. Are my feelings shared and yet unspoken?

What can be done?

I remember once serving as a counsellor in a BBJ's seminar at BYU Hawaii years ago. At the end of every evening the counsellors would meet to go over the day and end it in prayer. There we were in the common room laughing, conversing and readying ourselves for the nightly BBJ's pep talk. As the room slowly silenced an angry woman stormed in. In all the pain riddled against her face she deeply and angrily voiced how she was going through a divorce and had spent every last penny she had to come to the conference to find some peace and spiritual enrichment in this horrible journey she was enduring. She voiced her resentment at the focus on outside beauty and the callus nature of the leaders. She felt hopeless.  She stormed back out in tears. We all sat stunned, and then, and I am not sure who but someone cracked a joke. This was my first exposure to cultural Mormonism at it's best. It would be easy to find blame in a thousand places here but the truth is we did nothing. I did nothing. 

Had I known then the pain that was the heart of the woman who came in to the meeting as I so intimately know now I would have had the courage to step out and find her and find some way of helping her. I know intimately the concept of "pennies" having gone without child support or financial help from my ex or anyone else for years now.Her crime that day was emotion. Stating it, exposing it. It is emotional suicidal within the confines of cultural Mormonism.  

I made so many mistakes as an active Mormon, I make so many still to this day but one I wont make is in seeing everything as results from absolute decision making. "Circumstances alter cases". 

What does that mean?

Thank God each of us our own internal rhythm and the drum beat isn't the same for everyone of us. 

I am alone all the time now. I have few friends. I find myself looking deeper and deeper at myself and finding a peace I never knew possible. 

I hope there is a resolution soon for what's happening to the online communities I have always cherished so deeply. Maybe it will be like it was for me at church near the end of my activity. Spending that extra time to dig for the good stuff. 

What I need to say though is thank-you to JD. His labor of love called the Open Stories Foundation has been my life line.

Thank-you.

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, 

night and day, 

to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; 

and never stop fighting. 

~ E.E. Cummings

This Too Shall Pass

It's early Sunday morning and I am soon to be back at work. The database corrupted this week and that means extra hours to get it all up and tick-a-tee boo. It was, to say the least a crazy bat #$%^ week. I'll be glad when it's over, or. oops, I guess its starting again.

I have to confess, as much as a pain in the bum it is to have to work through the weekend I still very much love my job. I had an incredible week of challenges and upset and growth. I work for good people, all of them and when good people work together lots can be accomplished. This job was an answer to prayer.

I am reading a new book. "The Invitation" by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. I know, weird name, I haven't looked into it but picked the book up at the used book store out of a feeling, a "prompting" per se'. Yeah, go figure, without the church I still get those, odd hey? The book has a simple premise: "FEEL, Stop running and FEEL".

So, I have, all week, just let myself FEEL it all, the anger, the pain, the happiness, the love, all of it.

I shocked myself when I did. It wasn't hard and it wasn't out of control. It just was. IT FELT GOOD!

I also started meditating.

Funny story.

I had to work late this week, a few times. Wayne drives me and in and picks me up and I love him so much for doing it. He hates traffic so I know its hard for him. Well, day 2 of lateness he left and I was stuck paying 40 bucks for a taxi or (oh my gosh) take THE BUS!

Hell must have frozen over cus this tokus took a bus, I know right - CRAZY!

Well, I got on the CTrain, sat down, picked up the book, rehearsed over again the meditation prayer and began. Eyes closed with the city whizzing by I was able to achieve zen. Sucks that the Anderson Station interrupted me but 10 minutes late, on the "29" I found it again. Heaven!

Life isn't easy for me, I know now it probably never will be but it is, above all else, worth it. I have survived, teenage-hood, divorce, depression, parenting, death, and a whole lot more and I breathe, I laugh, I love still. Probably better now because of having gone through it all.

Yesterday, one of my laurels posted a "rant" on FB. She was pissed and in my heart I could hear and feel and know all the hurt, anger and resentment she felt. Every part of me wanted to write her and tell her to "be careful". Putting those feelings out to the "ward universe" would find her in a whole lotta trouble with the culture she is immersed in. Then I remembered the zen and the moment I knew it was ok to have the life I have now. I saw in her a courage I never had. I wish I had said the same words when I was thirty. Had the inner core she has. She is one tough cookie and I admire her for not being afraid to speak her peace.

Well, my life has some monster challenges right now but it is so worth the journey.

Lovin the journey!

TRAPPED

“Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.” 

~ Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

Have you ever had a thought, an action or maybe a hope that has lain idle on your mind. It just kind of takes up the space for those moments when you have time to mull about it. Eventually, if given too much time it can embed itself on the moments you least want it there.

I decided my stumbling block was more of a hurdle and sought out some help for it. This time I went outside the influence of the church because the church itself seems to be the problem. Guess what, I even prayed for help and set out to find someone who might understand. I found her, a transitions therapist. Free of judgment, an attentive listener and above all else, helpful.

So there we were, what was making me stumble? 

My emotions seem to be welling up again, what is it that is forcing the tears to resurface. We talked about the first "go to answer" from a culture that never really can get itself out of the box, no, it wasn't about guilt.

We then went through the past. Nope, that seems to be handled. 

Boundaries, yup, there is a definite need to work with those.

Then, we talked about emotional traps and finding emotional closures. That's where we left it. Boundaries mostly and thinking about the traps, at least that's my paradigm of thought on it.

One sentence we shared resonated with me. I had mentioned that I felt trapped by a church that didn't and wouldn't give me the emotional closure I felt I needed. I told her I was in conflict. 

I asked her; "If I didn't believe it anymore, why did it matter? Why can't I just purge it? It had no real meaning. Why did it matter?" 

In about one sentence she gave me the most profound answer I could have had. I am not sure if she even knew what she was saying or even if she knew that in a real way what she was saying. It was simple and precise. 

"because it does"; and I realized that being told no to the cancellation was emotionally trapping me.

First insight to why I can't let it go.

So, what do I do?

Try again?

That has been suggested by a few people. The church has a lay ministry. Give any issue a few years and whatever it is can be solved by a new bishop. Or maybe not. It's like a crap shoot, sometimes the problems can just get worse, sometimes better. Who knows, maybe I have one of those nasty asterisks***** ex Mormons talk about. The ones they give trouble makers so the church can pass along the notes to control past a leadership change.

I hit the proverbial brick wall at my request the first time around. It was monumental in bad timing. I hold REAL resentment towards my bishop for his part in the whole process as well as the stake president. These feelings have been even more compounded when a good friend, going through the same process, marriage outside the temple, waiting a year and was given her cancellation without any issues. Her advice to me, the TBM that she is was to just not take "NO" for an answer. Go right back and demand it.

That's where the epic fail comes in. Do you argue with the priesthood. For some 25 odd years all I was ever told was how I couldn't respect it or honor it, it's my Achilles heel for sure. Do I really just go in with guns a blazing and demand it?

Is that what it is going to take to stop feeling trapped in the sadness of my past?

So, I guess I have to weigh out my options here and finally do SOMETHING because doing nothing is simply tripping me up.

Courtney River Estuary - A piece of me.

On a beautiful summer evening while I was in Comox, Dad and I went for a walk along the Courtney River Estuary pathway. It has a special place for him; many a childhood day was spent along the banks throwing rocks at the seals. Along the path historical markers tell the story of the river and the valley and the people that settled there. Just at the base of the estuary at the entrance to the river portion lays a marker with our own family ties to that history. It speaks of the tug boat captains and blazen in all his glory is great grandpa L. A fine mariner if you ever saw him. It's a picture all of us have in our living rooms. A PIECE of us. He is beautiful.

Dad is reticent here. It's like he goes into his head and you can see the memories wash over him. He tells me about the seals and how they were so hated. They ate the salmon and the fish stock; "our food" he says. There were 100's there.

The bald eagles sweep past as they fish while the tide comes back in. You can't find a much more beautiful place then here. I think somehow that's my song singing. I realize it's a beauty those of us who tie ourselves to the land and sea feel very deeply there. I watch him as he stares into the sea. Is he thinking about his grandparents, his father, his early years. He won't give me the answers but every now and then he starts to speak and I listen. These are the gifts of his memories he rarely shares. There is so much there so few of us know anything about. I love my Dad in a way I never knew I could. I see a sadness some times I wish with all my heart I could fix. He and Mom spoke everyday. Who does he speak with now? This is where the guilt comes in because I know I don't phone him enough.

We continue down the path and I begin to notice that as we pass by each bench he slowly meanders over, timidly, and reads the memorial plaques. He lets out a sad gasp with those he recognizes and realizes they have passed. He finds relief when he doesn't know the honorary. The most telling words are when he recognizes the name and comments they were in a class under him. He then speaks of how the honoured are getting younger and younger not realizing he himself is aging.

I find it hard sometimes, I am half an orphan and I dread the day he leaves too. We are in a very real way defined by our parents. How do we then define ourselves when they are no longer with us?


This is where I send another form of gratitude out to the universe. How lucky are we to still have this amazing man, how grateful to have an opportunity to spend the time to learn of him in a way only he could tell.


Enjoy the landscape of the beautiful place. And for my children, I hope you can one day feel a song here too. I will share the story of your aunties, your grandmothers, grandfathers, uncles and what living here meant to them as my father tells it.

Pieces of our Journeys

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”  ~ Mark Twain

A few years ago, in my quest to know more about my Dad I learned of a tradition he has been following for years. I had gone to the island for a respite and while there decided to see the graves of my grandparents, great grandparents etc.

There, at the base of my great grandfathers marker were rocks, all sorts of different kinds of rocks. I was confused, "who the heck would be putting these all around here?" My brother told me they came from my father. Dad had heard years earlier of an old Jewish tradition of bringing to the grave site of a loved one pieces of your journeys.

There at the base of the grave were pieces of Thailand, Papua New Guniea, Madagascar, Saudi Arabia, Columbia, the North West Territories and every where else in the world my father's travels had taken him. I was stunned. This was a side of Dad I hadn't seen or heard about. From that moment on I started to learn not only a little more about Dad but about Grandpa McNiven too.


I asked Dad to visit the grave site with me when I was there this last week. I asked about the rocks and where they came from and how he found out about the tradition. "Oh", he said, "just something I had read about". 


I have a deeper appreciation for Dad now. I hope someday to see all of the journals of his travels and maybe find a way to publish them for the family. They are the pieces of his journey.


Sometimes, when I pick up a book or when I am working on a geological map at work I can understand why I love these things so much.  They are a part of me. Maybe that's why A loves his cruises or why M has done so well in the energy field. 


Each of us carry within us pieces of our histories and we lay at the markers of our lives. Much like the rocks at the base of the grave, pieces of us reside in all of our families, in our relationships, in the way we interact. The physical remnants of Dad's journeys are the rocks at the base of the marker. For each of us, our pieces are the emotions, the reactions, the peace from the learning we did along the way that signify our journeys. 


I am grateful, yes, I am saying it again; grateful for everything my life has passed by. Maybe someday this very blog will be the rocks that my grandchildren can have to know who I was and can maybe learn as they read about all the ways not to do it. 


LOL.

Lessons from my Father

It is a wise father who knows his child. But maybe it's a very wise child who takes time to know his father.

 ~ Anonymous

I spent a week with my dad, on purpose, and if you would have told me 5 years ago that I would have done that I would have thought you daft.

All I can say is that I am grateful for growth and time passing because had I not done just that, spent a week with him, I would have been much worse for wear and much impoverished to the knowlege that I do, in fact, have great respect for him.

Just days before Mom died she asked me a great favor. She knew when she asked just how much of a favor it was because, at that point I knew little of my father. She was the go between; the stabilizer of my father's and I relationship. I don't think, up to that time in my life, my father and I had ever shared a meaningful conversation. Mom was insistent that I promise, she even pulled the adage about a son is a son BS and she knew, that I take care of him. I think as I look back now, that she had little time left. She knew even more that a promise to her meant something and I wasn't leaving that hospital room without making that promise to her. I did. She thanked me and then whispered the words, "you will thank me someday."

Thank-you Mom, thank you.

GL is a man of mystery. To some, he is a world traveller, to others, a great teacher and learner and to even more and egnima. To me, he was absent, quite literally M.I.A. most of my life. For a long time I resented the hell out of him for it. Now, especially after this last week, I understand and in a deep and abiding sense, I am grateful. His absense had purpose. That's probablly the deepest and closest I will get to writing why.

Dad is being honored this year by the provincial government with it's highest honor. I decided, when Jack D sent me his initial application for the honor that I didn't know Dad at all. I made a promise to myself to try and get to know him. He was 82 at the time and every year we have him is a gift. It was time to let my anguish go and find him, to get to know him and learn why my mother loved him so much. It was that reason I asked him to come live with me when he is in town, it's that reason why I incessantly bug him with question after question, it is that reason why he has to ask me to put the camera down as I try and document him in my life through thousands of pictures that I am trying to catch up in taking.

A week in his home town of his youth, asking him about his growing years gave me an insight only two people sharing a journey by relation can have. Some day, when my grandchildren sit on my knee and ask me about Great Grandpa L I will have stories now. I have a love for him that I never would have had without a promise to a dying Mom.

Walking the peir on the harbour Great Grandpa L and Great Great Grandpa L moored their tug boats out of gave me the courage to ask the hard questions and to be open to even harder answers. Going up to Forbidden Plateau, Grandpa L's playground of his teens and hearing of his adventures and his budding love for the earth (he's a geologist) is a cherished and honored memory. Sharing the heartaches of his early years and understanding his nature because of it and his honor to parents who changed, maybe a touch late but changed all the same gave me the hope that change, even late, is worth it.

My song lives and breaths on the shores of the Georgia Straight, on the pier of Comox, on the boardwalk of Paradise Meadows, the Coutney River estuary pathway marked with the history of my family. I am L, and I am Horne, and McNiven and Patterson, and Wallace and Brown. Every blood relation I have in me brings to me a strength and a wisdom and honor I am coming to cherish deeply.

I will share one story and save the rest for those beautiful conversations I will have with M and C and the others waiting the wings to join us.

I asked Dad about his favorites, one he spoke of was his aunts in England.  I asked him, "why were they his favorites?". He said because they were strong and courageous women. All lived to their 100's, were widows for a very long time. He said, in my Mom, he found those very same traits and it was the reason he choose her, loved her, and missed so much.

I said; "I hope someday that my family will talk of me in that way," he muttered something, I think I know what he said, but if I have but an ounce of my mothers traits and even the great aunties I have never met running though me, there is hope.

I owe Mom so much for her insight into a promise. I have found in GL greatness I never knew was there.