Essays

I’m not sure anyone even knows I left the Church. I continued to go through the motions of activity long after they had ceased to bring me the joy and peace I had known in the gospel most of my life. This sensation of finding darkness and confusion in the very places and activities that had formerly been a source of light and surety was so overwhelming that I finally had to acknowledge to myself that in my heart, I had been gone for a long time.

There are people reading this who have dreams that have not been realized, expectations that haven’t been met. Others have experienced divorce, miscarriages, infertility, infidelity, homelessness, and job loss. Some of us have buried lovers, buried children, buried parents, buried sisters. When we find ourselves in these moments, we often ask, Why? Why does suffering happen? Why is sorrow in my life? What did I do? Why is God doing these things to me?

On March 11, 2020, the World Health Organization officially declared that the COVID-19 virus was a global pandemic. The next day, President Russell M. Nelson closed every temple in the world, canceled all church events including local sacrament meetings and even one-to-one ministering visits, and started chartering flights to return missionaries to their home countries immediately.

On a January morning in Wisconsin with temperatures in the single digits, I pull up at 8 a.m. to my work at a community nonprofit that focuses on creating food and housing stability.

I had a dream once. I saw myself standing alone on a rocky cliff above the ocean with wind and rain raging all around me, while the waves crashed high enough to almost reach me. I saw many shades of gray – the sky, the water, the leafless trees, even the cabin in the distance. All gray. The only color was my purple fleece jacket, getting darker as it absorbed more water from the rain and the ocean spray.

I joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as a convert from being an active member of the Catholic church in 2017 at the age of 35. The prompting from the Spirit that began my investigating the Church was to read the Book of Mormon. There are so many incredible chapters, verses, lines, and phrases in The Book of Mormon that have built my testimony, strengthened my faith, and have edified and tutored me by the Spirit.

They come from Eritrea, Thailand, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Sudan, Iran, and Afghanistan – mostly Afghanistan. None of the countries in which my faltering but growing Spanish would be useful. And no, Duolingo doesn’t offer Pashto lessons – I checked. I wish I could at least say hello.

As a teenager, I would enjoy my own “silent, holy night” after my parents and sisters had gone to bed in December. After turning off every other light in the house and plugging in the Christmas tree lights, I’d sit on the couch facing the tree and bask in the glow of tiny white bulbs illuminating each branch and unique ornament.

I remember watching my grandfather bake pie crust for garden rhubarb pie and fluffy white rolls for our monthly family dinner. My memories of those days recall the joy of companionship with my cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents–a shared sense of belonging indistinguishable from the pleasure of “Grandpa Rolls.”

A few years ago, my mother gifted me one of our favorite books for Mother’s Day. She inscribed it, “For Rachel, my traveling companion.” When I began my own travels away from her as a young adult, she would often stuff a card for me in my suitcase that I would discover later. It helped me feel close to her, and like I was brave enough to have my own adventures knowing she was still with me.

Many Christian institutions imply a uniform historical tradition of women in supportive roles; however, recent biblical scholarship reveals that women held many authoritative positions in the early Christian community. In Christian theology and biblical discussion, it is commonly perceived that women were not commissioned or given ministerial authority from Christ, but a deeper analysis of Mary Magdalene may challenge this theory.

Day after day The sun high The land dry I come to the well Empty

O, Jesus, my Savior and dearest friend, My companion in this season of sorrow, Wilt Thou walk beside me in the solitude Of my silent, aching heart? Wilt Thou hold my grief in Thy warm, strong hand? Hast Thou heard my sore lament?

O, Jehovah, Thou Son of God, let my praise to Thee be found on my lips. Allow my tears to wash Thy feet, accept my offering and let Thy will eclipse.

A dissonant tune twinned to plaintive words can live and spread like aspen roots, binding generations.

I hear Him In the gentle breeze Of leaves Half-flushed With green and gold.

For beloved bits of earth burrowed into my soul–– diamond-cold creek, edged with yarrow and thimbleberry; jagged canyon sheltered

r mercy is a deep river. Wash the pettiness from me and wring me out to dry.

When I was a child I didn’t spell things right And I thought the Son of God was actually the Sun of God So every time I looked at the sun I thought I was looking at Jesus

Lines of heart and mind silken invisible but tensile and tough Even when I severed some myself I could feel the tug Someone on the other end who hadn’t wouldn’t let go