Author: lilydarais

On Thursday we had to get the passport application going for the kids so we can go to Canada for a couple days this summer. Thank goodness Abe came along because if I had done this alone, I would have been out of my mind by the end of the process. But because I had Abe with me, it was actually a really fun loooooong adventure–for Abe and me, at least. All of the kids were home sick, and I felt really bad for them because Mary especially was not feeling well at all and so all this go-around was hard on her.

The first thing we did was go to Costco for pictures, which was a little dicey because I didn’t realize our card had expired. I was also worried that my Visa wouldn’t go through because sometimes, for no reason at all, it doesn’t work. I didn’t know how to explain that the issue was honestly the card and not the fact that I couldn’t pay for the pictures, and I must not have explained it right because the Costco lady took pity on me and said she would pay for the pictures herself if the card didn’t work. I was so touched at what a kind person she was; she clearly thought I was in some sort of financial straits and was so willing to sacrifice to help me. I was also really grateful when my card worked.

After an hour in Costco, we headed to get Abe and then to the Orem Civic Center. I thought I had all of the documents but when our turn came in line, the civic center lady reminded me that I needed everyone’s birth certificates. So I ran home and grabbed the folder where we keep those, only to discover upon returning that we never received birth certificates for Ammon or Clarissa. Apparently in Provo you have to request these in person after the birth.

So we drove to Provo, requested birth certificates, received birth certificates, and then tried to find the Provo office for passports. We wandered through three different civic buildings before finally finding the correct office. It was a beautiful day full of sunshine and greenery, and I enjoyed this wandering because we got to spend time together and had all of this unexpected bonus time with Abe.

By the time we finally finished this process, it had taken over four hours start to finish, but it was my favorite part of the whole day.

I went to yoga in the evening and tried to come to peace with my recent decisions while Abe stayed home and worked a LOT. He says he likes this new schedule of working from home on Tuesday and Thursday evenings because it means he doesn’t mentally burn out during the work day, but I do feel bad for the load he carries. It’s so much.

Today I wrote this:

Dear Bishop,

Thank you so much for your kind text. I was touched that you would thank me for serving in this ward because, in all honesty, teaching Relief Society has grown me and blessed me in so many ways. I loved getting to know the sisters in the ward, learning from their experiences, and getting a sense for what lessons they have learned from their lives. I will miss this part of church.

I will also miss seeing the people in our ward. These are my neighbors, and I love them and care for them. Connecting lovingly with my neighbors at church nourishes my spirit and gives me a sense of place in the body of Christ. I have felt that I belong, and even though I sometimes give strange comments or wacky talks and testimonies, people have been so kind. This ward has been a spiritual home for me.

I feel deep sadness at the thought of taking a break from church. Even though I feel compelled in this new direction, I grieve the loss of my place in this community. I grieve the loss of my Mormon identity. I am not sure how to live a life without it. I leave the door open for God to tell me to return, but I know in my heart that no matter where this new path leads–even if I find myself back in that same church pew– I will never feel wholly Mormon again. Even though this knowledge broadens my capacity for experience, my first instinct is to mourn it. I once loved–truly, deeply loved–being a Mormon. This feels like divorce, or death.

At the same time, I need space from this community. I long for a church community that will not only give me a sense of human connection, but doctrinal nourishment and spiritual freedom. I want a church community that will honor and respect those who take personal responsibility for their own moral agency. This is something I feel I have done.

Up until my experience this past Sunday, I have been operating under the assumption that my presence at church can broaden the tent, that I can “be the change I wish to see,” as you said in your text. I had a personal resolve to vocally make space for the marginalized, especially those most vulnerable to harmful church policies. I did not want the suffering or blood of these dear people on my conscience any longer. I thought that perhaps if I committed to speaking up even when I felt personally uncomfortable, my voice might make some small difference.

Even as I worked within that context, I had my doubts. It seemed to me that the Church is actually getting more rigid and hostile to nuanced believers like myself, attempts at inclusionary rhetoric notwithstanding. My husband and I would lie awake at night debating this point. He would list open-minded progressives in the ward as evidence that there is hope for our specific community and for the Church, and I would point out that the people who think this way are a minority. I just finished Jana Riess’s new book where she writes about the mass exodus of millenials from the Church, which left me with the impression that people who think like I do tend to give up and leave instead of trying to change the church from within. It left me feeling certain that the Church is alienating all who can no longer allow the institution to constrict our impulse to love everyone unconditionally.

I speak, of course, of those who would allow our LGBTQ members to live the full, abundant lives Christ died to give us, and also of those who feel desire to fully accept, love, and authentically respect their unbelieving family members and friends. There is no theological space in our doctrine to respect someone who has decided to leave the Church, or indeed someone who is not a member of the Church. There is personal space and certainly through revelation many are able to come to this place of respect, but when we hammer home our Church’s truth claims in the way we so regularly do, we leave no room for the theological possibility that a spiritual life outside of the Church can ever compare to the spiritual life found within it.

As another recent data point that felt personally significant, I had an online conversation with many of the women who served missions with me on Temple Square. I analyzed the tone of comments from both those who have decided to continue in the church and the tone of comments from those who have left. I was left reeling from the discovery that, generally speaking, those who have left write with noticeably more love and compassion than those who stay. It was disquieting.

The recent excommunication of the Ohio couple who started a support group to minister to people on the edge of the faith (like me) also deeply shook me. I too have started a support group, and as a person who can’t seem to stop reading and writing about my own faith journey, I feel vulnerable. I have discussed having my records removed as a form of self-protection, more for the reputation of my children than any fear I have of being personally stigmatized, but this idea makes my husband uncomfortable. So for now, my records are staying. This scares me, but for the love of my family, I deal with that fear.

These recent data points accumulated on top of two years of study. I have studied church history, Christian theology, and also the present configuration of the Church. At this point, it is painful for me to sit through fast and testimony meeting, wherein I feel like a witness to a collective conditioning that strips us of individual moral agency. When someone says, “I know the Church is true,” I think many things at once. My first thought is that this statement is clearly factually unsound. Our church is, as you probably already know, organized as a corporation, not, in fact a church. “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints” is the trademark of a business entity, not the title of a church. So therefore, I have issues with the statement “I know the Church is true” on technical grounds.

I also struggle with the statement metaphorically. If we are, in fact, not referring to the technical church/business as “true,” then I personally assume the next line of reference would be the body of Christ. So then the statement, “I know the Church is true” becomes a statement about how we are the true body of Christ. However, in this thought vein even the hard line, orthodox members of our church would probably admit that the body of Christ extends beyond our institutional boundaries. And therefore, this statement makes no sense metaphorically either.

When people say, “I know the Church is true,” I have concluded that this as a practical statement communicating their comfort with turning over moral agency into the hands of the institutional church. They trust that God speaks directly with our leaders, and therefore they trust our leaders to guide our hearts and minds in directions that deepen our connection with God.

In my personal, obsessive study of both history and theology, I have concluded that nothing could be further from the truth. Prophets are clearly fallible, whether it’s my beloved Paul telling first century Jesus-following women not to talk in church, or Brigham Young taking away the priesthood from black people and sealing Jane Manning to Joseph Smith as his eternal servant. It is not uncommon for us to comment on the concept of prophetic fallibility in church, but when we counter that by repeating “I know the Church is true” as a mark of unconditional trust in our leaders, we undo any possibility of internalizing prophetic fallibility as true doctrine.

When I see children stand up to say, “I know the Church is true,” I die inside. That we would teach our children to say “I know” something that is legally, technically, and metaphorically false appalls me. But to condition young children to turn their pure intelligence into the hands of fallible leaders (who I consider at this point to be whitened sepulchers full of LGBTQ bones) feels like a violent affront to humanity itself. I point out to my own children that they have excellent brains in their heads, pure hearts in their bodies, and souls that can commune directly with God. But still, I question if my words carry enough weight to counter the full force of the institution and the LDS culture we live in.

Therefore, on Sunday after sitting through a doozy sacrament meeting filled with “I know the Church is true” statements, I arrived in Relief Society already questioning whether it is emotionally or spiritually healthy for me to attend church, at least on fast Sundays. To my immediate dismay, I discovered the lesson for the day was Dallin Oaks’ talk about how heterosexual marriage is God’s Plan of Happiness. The lesson shook me to my core, and by the time it was finished I was literally trembling from head to foot. My friend, Jill, was also battered and quickly walked outside with me afterward to hold me and comfort me while I sobbed. Even though I have attended church for years as a nuanced believer and regularly handle statements with which I personally disagree (such as the entire fast and testimony meeting right before), I have never experienced anything as traumatic as that lesson.

The teacher started out with an anecdote about how she had to physically restrain herself from shaking a teenage girl who had the audacity to tell her that people should be free to marry whom they choose. Now, I understand that we belong to a church that loudly, vocally supports heterosexual marriage, and I respect the religious freedom of speech this teacher exercised in teaching Dallin Oaks’ (albeit horrific) talk. At the same time, this anecdote set the tone for the class. It clearly communicated how she would feel if anyone voiced an opinion contrary to hers or the Church’s. It did not create a safe space for dialogue. Considering this is THE issue prompting our LGBTQ sisters and brothers to commit suicide, I think whenever we teach this topic at church, the least we can do is make absolutely sure that everyone in the room feels safe to at least discuss this authentically. Not everyone in the room supports the Church’s stance here. We need to acknowledge this reality as fact going into these discussions and figure out a way to make this space safe in both directions. Orthodox members should feel safe vocalizing their opinions, and nuanced believers should also feel safe in vocalizing theirs. Creating a safe space for discussion here is admittedly extremely difficult, but starting off by reflecting on the time you wanted to shake someone who thought differently than you is one way to ensure failure.

I was hoping for spiritual relief from the next anecdote in the lesson, which was about how the teacher did the temple work for her nephew, the son of her aetheist sister in law. Unfortunately, this anecdote was used to illustrate how we as church members hold superior beliefs to our unbelieving family members; we need not grieve the deaths of our children as deeply as they do because we have hope in the gospel. At this point, I believe the room started swimming for me. I could not believe that the legitimate grief and trauma of a family member would be exploited in a church lesson to illustrate how superior our faith and Church are. It seemed like a mockery of Christianity itself.

My cousin courageously commented about her trans nephew and how she has had to open her mind and expand her love as he has transitioned. This comment was completely ignored, as was my follow-up comment that we need to respect each other’s religious freedom, create a church environment where all feel safe, and remember that policies have changed in the past.

I think I might have been able to recover from this *lowest-point-of-personal-church-experience-EVER* had not the Relief Society president ended the lesson by telling us, through tears, that what had been taught was the beautiful doctrine of God, that we need to take personal responsibility for our testimonies of this, and get God to tell us this is truth. This person is my dear friend. I love her. And I could not believe what I was hearing, because I felt sure that this comment must have been at least partially directed at me. I spoke up in class and marked myself as someone who obviously disagreed with this doctrine. Therefore this injunction to take responsibility for my testimony of heterosexual marriage felt like a personal admonition from my spiritual leader.

At that point, I started shaking and almost ran out of the room when the prayer finished. I barely made it outside the church before I cried gut wrenching sobs into the arm of my friend, Jill. I then spent the next several hours shaking and crying, at times into my cousin’s arms, into my aunt’s, into my husband’s, and into my mother’s. I knew I had just experienced the death of my Mormon self. As a Mormon, I am sure you can appreciate the depth of this loss. This piece of me tethered me to God for two decades, not to mention it shaped me to myself and defined my relation to the world. There are no words to adequately describe this type of death. It is excruciating pain.

But I knew from the moment I heard the words, “take responsibility for your personal testimony and God will tell you this is true,” that I could no longer spiritually thrive in this church. I have struggled with doubts on and off for almost a decade. I have had times when I have been able to successfully ignore and squash my doubts by saying “I know” from the pulpit, even though I knew I really didn’t know. God has spoken to me at times, but God has never, in spite of my best efforts, told me that marriage is for heterosexual people only.

And truly, I have made honest efforts to open a way for God to tell me specific things like that so my testimony would feel more reliable and conventional. At times I tried to fix my testimony by, as a young mother, sacrificing two to four hours a day to scripture study, one time for nine months straight (during which time I was a mother of a toddler, sleep deprived and nursing a newborn). I have prayed continually. With the understanding that faith in things that are untrue is not even real faith, I have sought true knowledge in order to purify my faith. At this point, I have read thousands upon thousands of pages of church history, the majority of which I read in the hopes that I would learn that The Church is True.

I did not learn this. God did not teach me, at any point, that my hunch that LGBTQ people should have the same freedoms and rights as heterosexual people was wrong. Instead, God has tutored me about Jesus, about universal redemption, about grace and Love so broad and wide that the Mormon in me could scarcely comprehend it, much less believe it.

But this type of spirituality, which might be nourished and even celebrated in other churches, is not compatible with a life completely inside The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. It is different, it is “undeveloped,” it is suspect and forever second-rate. As a member of this church holding these types of views, I might be valued as a signpost to the orthodox that the tent is actually as broad as people want to believe it is, but that is the only way my contribution is valuable or desired. My experience on Sunday taught me that, at the end of the day, I do not really have a place at this particular table.

And so I have decided to leave the table for a season. I do not know what the future holds. Ideally, I want my family to worship together. I was raised going to church with either my mom or my dad. Religion was a divisive topic in my home, and Sundays were always a sad reminder that my parents were not united. I do not want my children to navigate this type of sadness or pain. And so I do leave the door open to return to church, if no other options can be found.

I want to close by thanking you, Bishop, for being a safe space for me. Thank you for reading this. Thank you for understanding me, for supporting me, for allowing me to hold a calling even though you knew I held no orthodox beliefs. Thank you for being a kind human. If anyone could make this institution safer and better for people like me, I believe you can and do. It is with that firm hope that I have typed up my experience, so you can think about it and, if inclined, perhaps take steps to ensure others like me have a different experience in this ward. I know for a fact I was not the only person alienated this past Sunday. Several women reached out to me, and I reached out to additional friends who feel similarly. There is a small but very healthy number in this Relief Society of nuanced, liberal believers. They are in pain, and they do not feel real community is possible if they are not free to voice their beliefs. After last Sunday, they are all aware Relief Society is no longer a place to voice their honest opinions.

I believe you can make this ward better for them.

Thank you so much for reading this. God bless you in your efforts to serve and minister to this community.

 

With love,

 

Lily Darais

 

On Tuesday I spent most of the day cleaning and doing laundry. The house has been a disaster, and it was nice to get it back in shape. Mary stayed home sick with a sad little cough, and honestly that made the cleaning possible. She is the BEST babysitter and follows Clarissa around lovingly for hours. It’s seriously beyond belief. I was so, so grateful.

Then in the evening I went out to dessert with my friends, Jill and Linda. We processed our Sunday Relief Society meeting together. After Jill had to go to take a work call, Linda and I sat in the car chatting until almost 10 pm. It was such a wonderful, connective conversation.

Then I came in, gave my mom a foot massage while talking to her, talked a bunch to Abe, and went to bed with a sore throat from talking so much.

On Monday Shauna and Vanessa headed back to Colorado. They are the sweetest, kindest, most creative people. Shauna is basically oozing creativity from her pores. She sings, she paints, she lathes, she crochets, she bullet journals, and she even made me an acrylic vase. She is amazing. No wonder Lydia adores her.

Abe and I went to bikram together in the morning. Basically I spent the rest of the day in a daze trying to process what it means to take a break from church. It’s almost too much for my brain to handle.

On Sunday I felt very uncomfortable in fast and testimony meeting. It is very hard for me to hear people say things like “I know the Church is true.” I respect that they feel that way and I can see how holding onto principles like that can help them be the best versions of themselves they can envision.

At the same time, I feel very uncomfortable with this statement on so many levels. First of all, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is not legally or technically a church at all. It is the trademark of a corporation. Most churches in our country are, in fact, churches. Ours is not. It is a business. That is an actual fact, so literally, the statement, “The Church is true” is factually untrue. The “Church” is not even a church, so we need a different term for this statement to be true.

Secondly, if we want to speak of the Church metaphorically, then even the very orthodox will probably admit that the metaphor here is for the body of Christ, which extends beyond Latter-Day Saints.

So after hearing, “I know the Church is true” over and over for an hour, my head starts hurting. I also do not appreciate black and white thinking the way I once did (for much of my membership, I positively reveled in this type of thought and testimony!), and so again, testimony meeting is especially hard. Everyone gets up and says what they know, and since what they know is not at all what I feel I know (which, admittedly, is precious little), it is just hard.

Then after that hardship, it was onto Relief Society. There was a new teacher teaching that had never taught before, and I know this person was very well intentioned, but the lesson traumatized me. I wrote a post about this in one of my FB groups, so rather than rehashing it again, I’ll just copy and paste:

“Sorry–this is a long post because I am grieving and in pain, and apparently I am venting. Yesterday in RS we had Dallin Oaks’ talk, “Truth and the Plan.” The teacher was well meaning but presented it in an uncompromising, judgmental way. (At one point she referenced a time when she had to restrain herself from physically shaking a young woman who told her that people should be free to marry whom they love. She also referenced her aetheist SIL’s grief at losing her son as a way to show us how superior we are because as believing members of the Church, we don’t need to grieve the deaths of our children like that. I felt physically ill at the thought that someone’s legitimate trauma was being used as an anecdote to make us feel good about our religion, not to mention that even though I still feel extremely hopeful about the afterlife, that in no way mitigates the pain I, as a person of faith, would feel if one of my children died.) After I made a comment about the importance of honoring each other’s religious freedom and pointed out that policies have changed in the past, the RS president (who is my friend) stood up and through tears told us that this talk was the beautiful doctrine and plan of God, that we needed to take responsibility for our testimony of it and get God to tell us directly it was true. These really weren’t even the worst parts of the lesson–there were so many points of pain that by the end I was a shaking, sobbing mess and felt like there was no way I could participate in a community that makes judgement so normal. Up until yesterday, the majority of my experience with the “little c” church has been positive, but that lesson and the class’s reaction exposed what (to me) seemed like the one of the worst parts of the Church. I felt like I saw it clearly for the first time with my own eyes and spirit, and it was traumatic. I spent the rest of the day crying and talking with my family, and at the end decided the best course for now is to take a break from church. I don’t know if this is a permanent break and part of me really fears that outcome. For those who have taken breaks, have you found ways to re-integrate after your break, and what did that look like for you?”

What this post did not capture was the incredible tender love which my family showed me all day. When I came home, Shauna (who had given the most courageous, love-filled comment in the lesson which the teacher completely disregarded) and her mom gave me long hugs and so much love. Then my mom gave me a long hug. Then Abe, after taking care of the kids, came upstairs, climbed in bed with me, held me while I sobbed and comforted me. It might even have been his suggestion that I take a break. He spoke the kindest, wisest, softest words while I just shook and cried. He told me he loved me no matter what, that things would work out, that I needed space, that God was in charge, and that he had faith in me.

Later in the day, after he gave my mom a blessing, I went to my mom and she wrapped me in her arms, told me that I was always safe with her, that she knew from the minute I was born that God had answered her prayers for a daughter that was especially beloved of the Lord, that she thinks I am smart, and that she trusts me and believes in me. I am almost crying writing this. It was so tender, so touching, and deserves to be memorialized as a forever testament to this wonderful woman. I know there are very few orthodox parents out there who would respond this way to a child telling them they need to take a break from the Church, but thanks be to God, my mother is a unicorn. She is my forever hero.

I spent the rest of the day feeling hollow and traumatized and just trying to process what happened in class. If I have emotional energy, I might write down the rest of the lesson that I found so disturbing. Mostly it was the realization that the Church conditions good people that I know and love to be judgmental and to hand over their hearts and minds to the institution so it can think for them. We are told to think for ourselves, but honestly, if you think differently than leadership, you must not be thinking or praying or seeking in the correct way (according to our culture). It is not only discouraging, it is shocking.

I have a lot of thinking to do. I have four beautiful, smart children with the most amazing hearts that I have encountered on the planet. I know I am writing from bias, but as a mother I get to see into my kids’ hearts, and I see such pure goodness. I never, ever want them to give away their moral agency and responsibility into the hands of others. It kills me to think of them handing over their minds and hearts to a corrupt institution run by people less intelligent and pure than they are.

At the same time, I can see that the Church does some good, is good, and feels good to many people. So for now I am letting Abe just take the kids to church while I figure this one out.

On Saturday I went for a really short run in the morning. I have been exercising every day and my whole body was tired from the week of bikram, cross-fit, swimming, and ab stuff. But I saw Katie Freestone at the track. It was so lovely to bump into her and witness her building her body to be strong and healthy. She is so inspiring.

Then I came home and we had a lovely lunch with Shauna. Lydia adores Shauna and wrote her this poem:

Shauna – Daddy’s Cousin

Shauna is so very smart.

I don’t even know her part.

Her hair is so very colorful.

She is never, ever dull.

She can do the best crochet.

She can do the happy play.

Shauna, Shauna should be famous.

She is very, very blameless.

Shauna was very touched and proposed to Lydia that they be pen pals. “Do you want to think about it?” Shauna asked her.

“No, I want to do it.” said Lydia, decisively. I can’t imagine a more creative duo. They will be crafting and writing up the most beautiful letters.

I spent the rest of the day outside sunbathing in my new yellow swimsuit while Abe gardened. My neighbor, Emily, came over and we talked for hours in the sunshine. I cuddled the kids a lot, decompressed, and honestly, just ENJOYED my children. They are amazing kids!! I loved watching them play so nicely together and be considerate of each other. It was very touching. I felt very blessed to have such a great family and such wonderful friends.

On Friday I took Ammon and Clarissa to the zoo. I had the thought to listen to the Hamilton soundtrack on the way down, and from the minute I turned it on to the minute we pulled in, I felt a giant surge of the Spirit. I felt so happy, excited, and joyful at the thought that Alexander Hamilton lived a complicated but purposeful life and then that Lin Manuel Miranda could come along and layer his outpouring of creativity and art on top of that life. It is such a breathtaking thought, to make meaning of someone else’s life with art. I felt so happy and close to God.

By the time we pulled in to the zoo, it was raining, so we went to Old Navy to get rain jackets since I didn’t think to pack any (it was sunny when we left and I didn’t check the weather). Ironically, the minute we stepped out of Old Navy, the rain had stopped and the sun was shining.

The zoo ended up being the perfect temperature and so fun. Clarissa and Ammon are great ages for the zoo. They are so appreciative. Ammon is so sweet and goes, “Look Mommy! Awww, he’s so cute!” at basically every animal. And Clarissa just was entranced by every animal. We rode the train at the end and I loved cuddling with both of them.

In the evening I hosted my Doorkeeper’s Book Club meeting, and that was so therapeutic. Abe even joined because I went to cross- fit with him right before. It was a trade off. The book club went really, really long but I think everyone was just happy to have a safe space to discuss our spiritual journeys.

On Thursday Abe’s flight didn’t arrive until late in the evening, and since I knew I had the evening routine to do by myself, I took the kids to the Tulip Festival. I figured they could wear themselves out running around and then bedtime would be a bit easier.

Clarissa LOVED the tulips and kept running at top speed (careening, really) down the paths to point delightedly at different flowers that caught her attention. She was entranced. Mary, whose favorite thing to do is take care of Clarissa, followed her delightedly, steering her, holding her hand, and cooing proudly at her. Ammon wanted to be independent and so kept trying to wander off. Lydia brought paper and a pen with her and spent the whole time writing poetry everywhere. In between writing poems she would exclaim how her head was filled with words and how inspired she felt by everything. These are the poems she wrote:

The Tulip

The tulip mostly ruby red

Makes a dreamy feeling in your head.

It smells so very, very sweet.

Birds come to it, tweet, tweet, tweet.

I love the tulip, as you can see.

I love the tulip, now it’s we.

The Tree

The tree is the tallest of them all.

It would take some might to make it fall

Wise and old it can be,

Super firm, as you can see.

I love the tree.

I hope you love the tree.

The Stream

The stream is very, very thin.

It’s very cold when touched by skin.

Sometimes very, very green,

Others, the color of a bean.

Smooth and fish-filled it may be.

If you love it, you can see

Why it’s calling out to me.

Lydia actually wrote more poems, but these are the ones I can find. I know she wrote one about a cloud but that must be lost somewhere.

Anyway, I loved that Lydia was so happy. After the first initial rush of excitement, this outing became very stressful for me. Clarissa is OBSESSED with water and wanted to jump into the waterfall, and in the meantime Ammon was trying to constantly escape. Thirty minutes in (or maybe not even that much) Mary got hungry and tired and started whining incessantly. Then Ammon got tired and started crying. And I had no stroller so I had to coax the children through acres and acres of garden with just my words.

After a while I remembered a lecture one of my English professors gave in college on the transcendentalists. I forget the point of the lecture, but during it he mentioned that as we age, often we lose our ability to experience ecstasy in nature. I remember feeling horrified at the thought that one day I could experience nature without ecstasy. Well, while I was corralling all of my children, hiking back up to the parking lot and pouring sweat, I remembered that lecture and realized with horror that I was in the middle of beautiful nature and didn’t feel a thing in my soul. I started to wonder if my spirit was insensate and dulled from my faith journey.

Then I realized I had four young kids with me, no stroller, and everyone was tired and hungry. I realized that I probably still have the capacity to enjoy nature, but not in these circumstances. I could recognize it was all very pretty, and maybe if I go again (with a stroller and, preferably, Abe too), maybe I’ll get a bit of ecstasy.

In the evening I went out for pedicures with Ethline and didn’t get back until 10 pm!!! By that time Shauna, Vanessa, and Abe had all arrived at the house. It was great to see everyone.

On Tuesday I wanted to give Ammon and Clarissa some fun–and also needed to get out of the house. After Clarissa’s nap, she came downstairs and I started cleaning one mess after another. I was in the middle of sweeping up crumbs when she poured a bottle of bubble solution under the fridge, so I dropped the broom and ran over to clean that. While I was cleaning that, she dragged a chair over to the kitchen counter and got into the yogurt, so I raced away from the bubbles to clean her up.

At that point, I buckled her and Ammon into the car, raced inside to quickly finish cleaning the spills, and drove them to the Thanksgiving Point Farm. My mom was very kind and picked up the girls from school and then took Lydia to her orthodontist appointment.

Ammon and Clarissa loved riding the donkey and wandered around the farm in a state of delight. Clarissa kept pointing excitedly at all of the animals and moo-ing at them. We also went on an exceptionally pleasant buggy ride.

In the evening we got a babysitter and went out for Dairy Queen and then to tea at the Crofts’ house. Betsy messaged me after the excommunication this week and wanted to discuss faith stuff. We talked with them for HOURS and loved every minute. They specifically wanted to make sure that I knew they were my friends no matter if I left the Church. I thought that was an incredible message and felt so much love for and from these beautiful humans. I love them.

Today we thought we would sleep in because we put the kids down at 10pm last night. We grossly underestimated Lydia’s enthusiasm for holidays. She was up by 6:30am, and by 6:45 she and Mary had both discovered their baskets and scouted out where all of the eggs were hidden.

But the good news is we made it to church on time! And it was the most beautiful Sunday church I could possibly imagine. The Primary kids sang “Gethsemane” for the prelude music, we had wonderful speakers, and another great choir number in the middle. Then we had the BEST Sunday School class where we got to discuss, as a ward, the last week in the life of Jesus. It was so wonderful. I loved hearing the testimonies of my fellow ward members.

In the afternoon we finally told Lydia the truth about the Easter Bunny, Santa, and leprechauns. We weren’t very straightforward about fairies. Abe took her into the garage to tell her, and the first thing Lydia said was, “I know. I guessed because in the morning after these big holidays, you and Mom have big circles under your eyes, like you were up really late!” We thought that was cute. The rest of the evening Lydia was so excited at her knew knowledge and kind of buzzed around everywhere in a happy, excited state.

Nick and his roommate, James, joined us for Easter dinner. We discussed the last week of Jesus again for an hour. They were so delightful and I felt so blessed by their comments and insights.

Then the kids, Abe and I walked around the neighborhood delivering pansies to the families we minister to. We talked with those families and about three other families who were outside. It took over an hour, and we just enjoyed our neighbors so much.

Also, Mary wrote my mom the most beautiful note:

This was a beautiful Easter. I am so grateful for Christ and the hope I have through Him.