TMI Friday – Back When I Was Tight With Jesus
***WELCOME to the first edition of “TMI Friday” (Too Much Information Friday). This will be a weekly feature and I encourage anyone who likes short and fluffy, light and funny posts, to probably steer clear of these. No offense will be taken. This is my chance to use Blogfully Yours for what it was always intended to be: a place where I can write about my thoughts, reflections and yes, my feelings.***
I’ve never been one to fight against establishment. Down with the man! Yeah, that’s just not me. I’m a peacemaker. I’d be the hippie girl putting a flower in the soldier’s gun rather than the feminist screaming about equality or a protestor marching with a picket sign.
With that in mind, it’s no surprise growing up I never questioned my religious upbringing. I never fought with my mother about going to church for 3 hours on Sunday; that was my older sister’s role, and boy was she good at it. I, on the other hand, simply got up, threw on my LDS appropriate church dress, grabbed my pink leather scripture case, bowed my head, took the sacrament and played the role of the obedient daughter. Why fight? It wasn’t so bad after all… plus, it was all I had ever known. If anything, it would make me an outsider among my Mormon friends if I didn’t go to church – like the time I dated a guy when I was 16 who, Oh My Goodness!, was NOT Mormon! My friends came together, intervention style, to tell me they love me and are concerned because I was dating a man who could not take me to the temple and you should definitely only date men who are marriage worthy!
I dated him anyway; convinced I could convert him and therefore save him… It didn’t work.
There were always certain things about the church that never made any sense to me growing up. When I would questions my church leaders about them their answer was always to pray about it and I would get the answer.
But what about… Pray!
But how about… Pray!
I was young and naive and wanted to do right by my parents as well as my religion, so I tried. Pray! Pray! Pray! Jesus and I became pretty tight back then.
One of the hardest parts about growing up Mormon for me—which I am sure other religions can relate to (Catholics I’m looking at you)—is the guilt you grow up with. I remember the first time I made out with a boy, I felt so guilty I confessed to my Bishop. It’s true. FOR MAKING OUT! But that is what the guilt does to you. I was certain my parents and Jesus didn’t love me anymore because I could feel my boyfriend’s boner poke against me while we made out. The guilt engulfed me. I was going to hell! My only hope was to beg Jesus for his forgiveness. And beg I did. Beg! Beg! Beg!
I am not sure when I finally got fed up with feeling like a horrible person. I remember after I became sexually active (with my boyfriend of almost a year!), I still had not touched a drop of alcohol but came to the conclusion if I was going to go to hell for having sex, then what did it matter if I threw one more sin on the fire?
But to clarify, I didn’t leave the LDS church so that I could drink and have sex. I left because so much of what I was taught didn’t match up with what I actually believed to be true. For example, I didn’t believe I actually would go to hell for my life style and I didn’t believe that if Jesus was in fact real, that he would condone the judging and holier than thou attitude I felt being impressed upon me. I believed that Jesus would be a lover, not a damner and that he would want me to be happy.
I will never say that I had anything less than a wonderful childhood. I feel I was raised with great values and a certain level of moral codes. The LDS church played a role in instilling some of those values. But parting ways was a good thing for me. To make my own decision based on what I knew to be right and wrong and not feel the hold of the church on me and to not be holding on to the church was freeing.
I love and adore all of my Mormon family and do not think poorly of them for remaining in the church, just as I hope they do not think poorly of me for choosing to leave it. While I could share horrible stories of bad experiences with the church, or rather, some of its members, I have always chosen to avoid “Mormon Bashing” and also those who do so out of respect to my family.
I am the hippie flowerchild peace-maker, so to write all of this feels slightly antagonistic to me.
But you know what?
It also feels good to say.
Blogfully yours,
Summer
I don’t think it’s antagonistic, I think it’s honest. And to write it publicly definitely takes courage. This has been a common subject among the people I’ve been talking with lately, and it’s fascinating to hear the stories.
Losing one’s religion is a difficult transition; religion is very integral to your sense of self when you’re raised in an environment like that.
One point that really sticks out to me: the relativism between sex and alcohol (“if I was going to go to hell for having sex, then what did it matter if I threw one more sin on the fire?”). When all sins are nearly equal it’s very easy to think this way – and that can be dangerous. Take me, for example: When I saw my friends having a great time after smoking weed, I tried it. And I didn’t die. And I even had a good time! Hell, a GREAT time. And this realization was a lesson in cognitive dissonance: I had been lied to this whole time about how bad and dangerous drugs were. But to my mind (since this had been what I was taught), because weed was so mild, the harder drugs were probably filled with lies too. The only thing stopping me from moving on to harder drugs was the fact that I couldn’t get them.
And this example isn’t necessarily a religious thing, but the idea is the same. It’s probably not a good example of what I’m trying to convey, but I think you get the idea. There are things that are genuinely bad things to do, and then there are those that are just being human, which you’ve been taught to be ashamed of, i.e. sex. They shouldn’t all be put on the same level.
And I’m rambling because I’m drunk (and probably going to hell). Anyway, thanks for sharing this.
Haha, I love the part where they just tell to pray. I never bought that shit…
It was interesting reading this post from the perspective of being the only other girl our year in the ward. We spent a lot of time discussing spiritual topics, fears, and temptations together in those formative teen years. I probably know things about you in that time that most people didn’t, just from our “spiritual discussions.” Remember when we’d go to that tree (where the JR parkway now is) and talk for hours? I remember being part of one of those “interventions” (yeah, sorry about that!)I get you on the guilt…seems that it was way out of check with the seriousness of my actions. I felt like I was in the bishop’s office constantly, having a hard time reconciling why there were so many consequences for my actions.
I’ve wavered through my adulthood on how I feel about the church…like I know a lot of it is true, but the culture part gets to me. How people can be so hypocritical in their words and actions, and still dress up in their Sunday best and take the sacrament. There are official stances the church has taken on some issues, and I have a hard time supporting them. I’ve had times where I wasn’t temple-worthy, and wasn’t sure I wanted to do anything about it. I know what I believe, but sometimes it’s just hard to do it the church’s way. But for me the saving grace has been the sense of community I feel when I do participate in a ward. I’ve moved to so many states in the last few years, and sometimes the only people I know for months are the ones I see on Sunday.
Just so you know….I’ve always thought you were awesome…and you may be just a little more awesome as a alcohol-swiggin’ fornicating blogger
Summer…………. I have always loved your writting and I tell you that often. This story is of particular intrest to me because having grown up in the same home with you for some years, I know how this feels. I for one lost my faith in any kind of god at a very young age. My mother and I did not participate in church on a regular basis growing up and when she passed away, any little faith I may have had went away. People told me that “God took her because he wanted her to be with him.” Or ” god had better plans for her”. But if this god everyone around me spoke so highly of was so great, then why the “F” did he take my mother from me so young. There is no way this man could have just plotted a car accident for her to die in just because. Those answers were not good enoguh for me. I am getting carried away…….
Summer thank you for sharing your feelings on this subject.
Summer, Just thought that I’d say I was thinking of you. This blog seems to have come with some thought. I’d love to talk philosophy, life and scriptures with you sometime. It’s been too long. And just in case you were wondering, Jesus and I are still really tight.