Lately I’ve been connecting with my Mormon history. There’s a girl inside of me who wishes that we would go back to church and pick up the beliefs that she once held so dear, and the rest of us console her in her disappointment. Ultimately, we didn’t choose to leave the Mormon church. We were meant for a different path, and the religion that we currently follow chose us — we could no more deny it than we could our femininity.
Nevertheless, the Mormons are still my people. The pioneers are my heritage, and the culture is my own. This is where I find peace. The connection runs so deep that it brings tears to my eyes, and trying to run from it would be denying a part of myself. It is only the doctrine and spiritual practices that I no longer share.
As I’ve joked for so long, “You can take the girl out of Mormonism, but you can’t take the Mormon out of the girl.”
I watched The Saratov Approach and 17 Miracles, and started to re-evaluate how I think of my life. There have been so many events that pushed me to my knees as I wept in despair, and even though I’ve tried to fight the mindset, I kept thinking, Why did I have to suffer so? I didn’t have any other way to interpret it, so I became the Victim.
Now I realize that sometimes bad things happen to bring about an even greater good, to strengthen and solidify us. I suffered so much because not only was I strong enough to endure it, but because I am also strong enough to build from it. I can now give my children a sense of unity and purpose that my parents could not give me.
What I went through was not for the benefit of that moment, or even for my lifetime, but for the legacy of my descendents. I will take on any amount of pain, if it gives my children and grandchildren the ability to survive in a declining world, and the determination to rebuild it.