Sometimes

Sometimes I see all the posts where people tell their stories about what others have done to them, and I wonder if I'm doing something wrong by not writing one. I feel less alone when I read them, while also being horrified by just how many there are. It's a strange thing to scroll through an advocacy website and realize I know three of the women brave enough to show their faces with their stories. Three.

Yet none of the stories I've seen have been about a situation like mine. I wonder if I owe it to all the disabled women of the world, ridden with guilt for being a burden and not believing they can live a better life. I survived. I let myself be convinced that I didn't deserve what was done to me. I learned to believe that I don't ever have to accept being treated badly, even by the people who care for me. I finally know in my heart as well as my mind that I deserve to be treated well. Nobody can ever earn the right to hurt me by helping me with the things I can't do.

I know there are women with disabilities being abused by their caregivers, relatives, and friends right now. I know many of them believe that they deserve it for being a burden. I know many of them think they can't live without the help their abusers give them. I've been there. I know.

I wish I could reach out to every one of those women and tell them their worth. I wish I could tell them all that they're daughters of God and testify to them of just what that means. I wish I could put my hands on each of their shoulders and tell them that not only can they survive without the people who hurt them, their days would be so much brighter without them. I wish I could tell each and every one of them that no matter how many well-meaning strangers in the grocery store tell them how lucky they are to have their abusers in their lives, it's not true.

Someday I might tell the story of what was done to me, but I'm not ready yet. What I will tell, to everyone who will listen, is the story of what's been done for me.

We all have our personal Gethsemanes, but not a one of us is alone there. He who went there before us also goes there with us. And just like Him, we can leave those trials behind and move on to better things.

Why I Believe - Part 1 - Premortal Life

Everyone knows I'm a Mormon. Seriously, everyone. There have been several times when missionaries have told me that some person they met on the street, usually a person I barely even know, has told them they know me. Even more often, I get messages from people saying they've offered the missionaries a glass of water/paid for their ice cream/not slammed a door in their faces/smiled at them on my behalf. (Thanks, guys!) 

What I don't think so many people know is why I believe. (Usually asked as "why I gave up sweet tea and frappes.") The simple answer is that it's true and it's changed my life - but that's not the answer anyone wants. What they want to hear is more complicated, and I can be hesitant to share those details at a holiday dinner or in the middle of the market. I'm more than happy to share in other settings, but most people don't want to come join my Sunday school class or schedule a 45 minute discussion. 

So, I've picked 5 principles of the gospel - basic things Mormons believe - that contribute the most to my personal testimony. Mormons believe a lot more than just this, most of it exactly the same as any other Christian church, but these are 5 things that I feel most strongly tie my beliefs to this specific church. 

Pre-mortal Life 

One of the easiest ways of explaining our core beliefs is through the Plan of Salvation. Simply put, it's the roadmap to our lives, focused on Heavenly Father's plan for the salvation of His children. The first point I want to talk about is the first point on the map: pre-mortal life. 

Where did I come from? Why am I here? 

Each of us is made up of both a physical body and a spirit, or soul. Our spirits were created by Heavenly Father long before the creation of our physical bodies. Until our spirits and our bodies were joined, we lived with our Heavenly Father. We knew him well, and we also knew one another. Everything was pretty much hunky-dory. 

Like any good parent, Heavenly Father wanted to see His children maximize our potential. During our pre-earth life, He taught us as much as we could understand, preparing us for everything that would come next. There were some things, though, that we just couldn't understand for ourselves until we had the opportunity to leave our Father's presence and experience mortality. So, life happens. 

This is obviously a huge simplification, and if you want to know more of what we believe, I'd be happy to explain. 

The concept of pre-earth life is one of the first things that drew me to this faith. It just makes sense to me. When I was learning the gospel, there were a lot of things that felt familiar, like I really already knew them and I was just now being reminded. There have been people in my life who I've met and felt like I've known them for ages, especially my sister. 

The notion of having existed premortally and having chosen to live this life also helps answer a lot of questions I've always struggled with in other denominations, like why some people are born with disabilities and other handicaps like extreme poverty. The main answers to those questions that I've gotten from other religions seem to be (1) stuff just happens to certain people for no reason, (2) some people are pre-destined to have less faith (or something) and thus are being punished in some way, or (3) we're all punished for Adam's sin. (That's a whole other can of worms.) 

Learning that I lived as a spirit with knowledge of what trials I would face in this life, and that I agreed to them with faith in Christ to redeem me from them, answered those questions I had wrestled with for my entire life. 

My belief in the doctrinal principle of pre-mortal existence is so strong that I simply can't imagine believing in any religion that doesn't teach it. I know that I have a Heavenly Father who knows and loves me perfectly. I know that I once knew Him well, although my memory of Him has faded. I know that my personality, inclinations, and spiritual gifts were formed before I ever took a breath, and that I inherited divine qualities from God just as I inherited physical traits from my mother and father. I know there's a purpose to this life for all of us, and there's a specific purpose for my life as well. 

I don't have to seek those answers from studying and interpreting the scriptures on my own, although they're there, and neither did I have to rely on the word of any priest. These are things that I've come to know to be true through prayer and witnesses from the Holy Ghost. 

[more information] [even more]

She is your partner in crime, your midnight companion, someone who knows when you are smiling, even in the dark.

A few days ago, my little sister fell and hurt her foot. She was inconsolable, and my grandmother heard her yelling at me while I tried to calm her. "You wanted me to get hurt! You don't love me!" The biggest fear of an adopted child, heartbreakingly expressed in a moment of insecurity. 

"No," my grandmother said softly, "Heather's loved you since the first time she saw you." I remembered that first moment with baby Trinity, a year old and staring fearfully at the strangers who would soon become family. I still feel that love, even more for the sassy 8-year-old than the sweet baby she once was. She is and always has been one strong little girl.

I remember the day I learned that a camera was the quickest way to turn her tears into a smile. I remember the first time she looked at a picture of her own tear-streaked face and squeaked, "Cute!" I cried for her the day she noticed me taking her picture and said, "Don't take my picture anymore. I'm not pretty." Later, "Take my picture off Facebook. I'm too ugly." The insecurities of womanhood begin far too soon. 

I remember, as a teenager with too many burdens and no idea of where to find hope, listening to her soft toddler snores while I wept. I wanted to die that night, just like so many others. But when I held her hand, I felt the peace I needed to get through the day. 

She came into my life, so tiny and already having survived so much, during one of the most difficult times in my 8-year battle with depression. I was a stranger to her in mortality, but I know we've known one another's souls for ages. 

As she neared two years old, I remember listening to her giggles and wondering how anyone, even a baby, could be so happy. She had tantrums like any other toddler - okay, probably more - but to me, she was pure joy. 

When all I wanted to do was lie by myself and stare at the ceiling, she would run up to me, beeping my wheelchair's horn and demanding, "Picture, Issy! Tongue out, now!" There was no saying no to that.

I remember when she began to realize that disability wasn't normal, and most big sisters weren't in wheelchairs. I remember her tears of frustration as she asked me, "Why can't you just walk?" 

Just yesterday she asked me, for probably the hundredth time, "But do you like being in a wheelchair?" 

Five years after her first realization, disability is still a big thing for her to come to understand, but she has learned that wheelchairs can be fun and that if Sissy (finally earned that beginning "S"!) can't do it with her, she can probably call some missionaries who can. 

She's also learned that the missionaries are a lot cooler than her Sissy is, anyway. I don't deny it.

Attachment in adoption can be hard, and we've had some difficult times these past few years as she's tested me, seeing if I'm really here to stay and love her forever. It's worn me down many times, but I try to remember why this little one needs to know our attachment is secure. I can't promise her that I'll always be physically by her side, but I can promise that my love will never, ever change.

I won't hear the words "Can I sit on your lap?" from her many more times, but I do hope for a lifetime of hearing "Sissy, I need to talk."

That's what big sisters are here for.

I love this little girl -- young woman -- 60 pound Southern spitfire with all my heart. No matter how we were brought together in mortality or what may happen while we're here, I know beyond any doubt that our sisterhood began long ago as our spirits were formed and will last for an eternity more.

 

honesty & hypocrisy.

Sometimes I feel like the biggest hypocrite in the world.

I have a reputation for being "real." Frequent readers of my (other, semi-anonymous) blog tell me how great it is to see someone being super-duper honest about all of the hard things in life. After I spoke at stake conference a couple of months ago, I was stopped by everyone and their brothers and sisters (see what I did there?) to be told how great it is that I was so honest and real. My two best friends in college sometimes complained about how hard it is to get me to lie about anything, even for a good cause (i.e. a successful prank).

I L O V E that reputation. Being known for being the honest one, the one who will tell it to you straight, the one who isn't afraid to tell her story... it can be pretty great sometimes.

The thing is, I don't feel that honest. There are so many things that I've only talked about with my closest friends, Heavenly Father, my priesthood leaders, and/or my cat. (Okay, not so much the cat... she has a big mouth.) Just like anyone else, I have secrets. There are things that are way too personal to share. There are many things that I'm way too ashamed of to tell, and other things I keep to myself because I worry about how they would make other people feel.

Despite what sometimes seems like a huge amount of honesty and realness, I feel as though everything I present to the world is incredibly sanitized. Sure, I'll give a sacrament talk about the struggle of coming to terms with my disability. My struggle with mental illness throughout my teenage years is fair game too. You want to hear about a really bad decision I made and how the atonement helped me fix it? I've got just the story for you. But you want me to talk about what I'm going through right now? You want to hear the stories that I haven't figured out how to wrap up in a bow? Um, I think I hear my cat calling for me.


I don't want to be a hypocrite. I know that some of my friends, reading this blog, might think that I am. Sometimes I let the little devil on my shoulder tell me that I'm just another one of those hypocritical Christians, talking on and on about the gospel while few people know what's behind the curtain. I used to hate those people.

I've realized that sometimes it's okay to keep things between myself and God. Y'all don't need to know everything. I don't have to share the things closest to my heart until I'm ready, and I don't have to put a disclaimer on my blog in flashing neon lights that says "HEY, I'M A SINNER TOO." If it benefits someone individually to know about a sin I've committed in the past or something crappy that's happened to me, I freely tell it. I'm really good at that. Someday maybe I'll be ready to tell those things to the world in a way that glorifies God and doesn't totally humiliate me. ;) But today isn't that day, and that's okay.

What I do want you to know right now:

I'm not perfect, and I don't want to pretend to be. I've made some pretty huge mistakes, and I've done things that have hurt people badly, things that I on my own could never fix. Every day, I feel unworthy of the blessings in my life and especially the opportunity to someday stand in my Father's presence. I'm absolutely blown away by a God who loves me enough to keep on forgiving me and welcoming me back despite all of the mistakes that I make. I'm not a perfect disciple, sometimes not even a good one. But I've been blessed by a perfect Savior and a perfect gospel, and regardless of my own hidden sorrows and guilt, I refuse to stop talking about Him and telling others what He's done for me.

hy·poc·ri·sy noun the practice of claiming to have moral standards or beliefs to which one's own behavior does not conform

I believe that I should be better than I am, and I encourage myself and others to reach towards a goal that we can't possibly achieve without divine intervention. If that makes me a hypocrite, that's exactly what I am.

I guess I can live with that.

OYM... just do it.

As baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ, we're under covenant to tell others what we know. Sometimes, even for those who've spent years preaching the gospel, speaking up can be really hard. I'm as guilty as anyone of looking at someone and thinking, "oh, she has a religion, she wouldn't care about mine" or "that guy would NEVER give up alcohol." Don't ever hesitate to share the gospel of Jesus Christ with someone because you think they won't accept it. Opening your mouth can be scary. It's easy to justify not doing it by judging someone, but the truth is, not one of us can truly judge the heart of the person beside us. We never know what another person is thinking or what she's been praying for behind closed doors. 

A few years ago, I felt prompted to share my testimony with one of my neighbors. Every time I saw him, I thought about saying something, but I always brushed it off thinking that he wouldn't want to hear it. I never said a word, but a year later, he learned of the Church by other means and was baptized. I had nothing to do with it, but I was blessed by the humbling experience of seeing it happen after I decided it couldn't. Heavenly Father didn't withhold any blessings from that man because of my failure to act -- He made another way for His son to find his way home. But I learned an important lesson from it.

Watching that man soak in the gospel and make changes in his life was one of the most humbling experiences I've ever had... yet I'm still prone to do this. To tell myself "there's no way" and comfortably keep my mouth closed. To say "I don't want to be a Crazy Jesus Girl" and keep what I know to myself.

On an even more personal note, I was the kind of person who many would never expect to take an interest in the gospel.

I wasn't just an atheist, I was a LOUD and PROUD atheist. I took every opportunity to slam religion and insult people who believed. I cursed like a sailor and bragged about things my Mormon friends thought of as sins. My beliefs, my behavior, and my words conflicted with the gospel in every possible way.

Yet, deep in my heart, I wanted something to believe in.

It would have been so easy for the Christians in my life to look at me and say, "There's no way that girl would ever want to hear about my faith." Or even, "If I try to talk to her about the gospel, she's just going to argue with me." (And at times, they would have been right!)

When I was 16, I was lucky enough to have a friend who saw past the walls I'd built and recognized my potential. It took me a long time (we're talking years) to admit it, but every time he shared his testimony with me, I was left questioning my most strongly-held beliefs and yearning for more.

How many others out there are looking for truth despite outward appearances? How many people would leap at the chance to put aside their sins to gain the peace that comes from knowing their Heavenly Father?

If there's even one, isn't it worth the risk to try? 

Opening your mouth to share the gospel won't always end in a baptism -- duh! -- but I believe that someday, I'll come face to face with each of my brothers and sisters and remember the promises I made to them before this life. I don't want to be asked "Why didn't you tell me what you knew!?" I want them to know that I tried.