Living Converted

Well hi there!

I know it's been an unusually long time since last I posted. I have been buys falling in love and dreaming of a wedding, etc. Pretty crazy stuff.

I wanted to post something about my awful week. Last week was the most emotionally challenging week I've had since David Ridley (that crazy awful therapist I had who lost his license over the type of "therapy" he provided me and about 2 dozen other women) and before that, since my ex husband moved his girlfriend into our apartment. It was a hard week. I keep thinking of all these adverbs I could use to explain the pain of this week, but they all fall drastically short. As I later lamented to a dear friend the details of what had happened, and how I felt like I lost my boyfriend/fiance and my family all in the same weekend, she remarked, "you're like Job." I certainly am not like Job, but the feeling of loss did feel significant. But, I did still have the love of my darling children.

Sunday is when it started. I was crying much of the afternoon and I decided to attend a local mid-singles fireside. Actually, a few weeks ago, I had made a promise to my ward's singles representative that I would be there, otherwise, I would have skipped it. I'll have to thank her for asking me to promise to attend.

The speaker was an area authority, and he spoke of the Atonement. I was in tears of sorrow before the introduction was completed. I was just so sad. I sat alone because I was so emotional, and I would have been mighty embarrassed if someone witnessed my tears. I had made some poor choices one family relationship, in response to some of their poor choices, and I wanted to repair, but I felt my efforts would be insufficient or rejected. As I wept over my loved one, both of sorrow for myself and for them, I listened to the speaker talk about how the Atonement is an enabling force, how it enables us to do good. And I wondered if I could use the Atonement to help me with my family. I took the following notes:

The Atonement enables me to do good. It gives me strength to do good things, the good things for others, for my children, for myself. My strength is not sufficient!! His is!! Ask Him. Seek His strength. I was given weakness. I'm not created to handle it on my own. It's impossible to handle it on my own. I wasn't meant to do it on my own. I can use His strength, His love, His forgiveness, His creativity, His perseverance, His energy, His chastity, His charity.

After the fireside, I called my boyfriend to tell him about it, and to tell him about what had happened with my family member, and he offered comfort and wisdom. I decided I would do what I could to fix it.

The next day, Monday, I sought reconciliation, but in doing so, gained unintentional access to some extremely hurtful information which made me feel misunderstood, unappreciated, somewhat hated, and like I completely didn't matter to not only one member of my family, but to most. In the moment of discovery, indeed it felt like my whole family hated me. I had no idea they saw me that way.

Also that Monday, though the details I will keep to myself at this point, my relationship with my boyfriend was abruptly and completely severed, at least temporarily (like, maybe a few months, or maybe a few years, I have no idea- this would make sense if I could explain the reasoning, but I'm not able to at this time).

Everyone. I felt to have lost everyone I loved the most, all at once, except, again, my kids.

Monday, I cried basically all the day. I buried myself in my bedroom and let the kids fend for themselves, which they did.
Tuesday, I cried basically all the day. I spent some time out of my bedroom, but not much.
Wednesday, I cried much of the day. The pain of my situation was also physical. I could feel it in my gut, twisting it up, implanting a thousand tiny acid-laced, double-edged swords into my innards. It hurt.

But something reminded me about the talk I'd heard Sunday night. I could borrow the strength of the Savior, and His forgiveness. I wasn't going to be okay with sobbing in my bedroom every night! No! I am a mother, and an employee, and I am needed. I thought I needed to call my therapist and see if she had any openings this week so she could help me hash this out. But, Soni, my therapist, is super popular because she's super good, and she's all the time booked for like two weeks out. I called anyway. I also knew she is off Fridays, and because of my work and life schedule, the only time I would be able to see her last week would have been Thursday at 3. So I asked the office manager, "Is there any chance Soni has an opening tomorrow at 3?" and she said it wasn't likely, knowing how Soni is all the time booked, and I said I know. She checked anyway and confirmed that there was, in fact, nothing open this week at all. Or next week. So I said, "if you happen to get a cancellation for tomorrow at 3, will you call me?" and she said, doubtingly, that she would.

For reals, I offered this prayer: "Heavenly Father, please bless that Soni's 3:00 will cancel tomorrow. I'm serious about that. Thy will be done, of course."

Wouldn't you know it, not an hour later, the office manager called me. "You won't believe what just happened." and I said, "Did Soni's 3:00 cancel? God loves me, is that what you're telling me?" and she said, "yep."

I was soaring. What an incredible tender mercy of the Lord! I got home and decided to immerse myself in the Word of God, for I was most certainly in need of comfort. And comfort is exactly what I found. Comfort from God comes with bonuses, like clarity of mind, strength of heart, and priceless perspective. That night, I made dinner, did some laundry, and washed the dishes, and that had been the most I'd been able to muster up energy for all week, besides work.

Thursday was similar to Wednesday night. I felt amazing! I understood that my worth did not come from my family. I understood that I love them anyway. Soni helped me with objectivity and perspective, and helped me understand the differences between dysfunctional and functional communication, and gave me comfort and wisdom. My family doesn't hate me. They just suck at communication, and none of us are perfect, aye? The whole day, I felt light and powerful, like I could conquer the world if I was so required. I could feel the Atonement of my Jesus enlightening me. I could feel His power empowering me. I knew the Source of my Strength, and I could not deny it. I was happy and hopeful.

I am still happy and hopeful. I am at the foot of an enormous mountain of a trial, and it's going to be a long climb. But it will end. And, because of this week, I know, without a smidgen of doubt, that my God will help me through it.

Another significant trial this whole last week was that Marsha, my addict, had been doing cartwheels. Oh, what emotional triggers roused her! Every day was a struggle of extreme temptation. I didn't know how much more temptation I could withstand. I wasn't doing anything to invite the temptation other than having a crappy week, and it was so unfair! But, I was remembering to pray, and getting reminders to pray, and I was praying very specifically that I wouldn't "enter into temptation." The temptation was dancing before me, holding all these doors wide open, but I didn't enter. I haven't experienced that much wild, demanding need for my addictions in months, if not years. I'm grateful and somewhat surprised to say that I made it through safe.

In other but spiritually related news, today I was sustained as Beehive Advisor in my ward. I'm very excited about this calling, and feel humbled by it as well. I haven't ever served in the YW before, but I'm feeling up to the challenge. I intend to put my whole heart in it.

I felt like this calling came at an excellent time in my life. I need the distraction from missing my boyfriend. Also, I have been growing spiritually over the months, and it feels like I'm almost ready, now more than ever, to be a leader to impressionable and wonderful young women. I am taking this as an enormous responsibility, one that I will take seriously, and one that I feel ready to take seriously because of my recent spiritual growth. I know that I will learn so much more being their teacher, and I'm excited about that! In my blessing when I was set apart, I was told that this calling came at the right time.

And here's the thing. God's timing is everything. This whole mess with my boyfriend is about God's timing. Perhaps this whole mess with my family is about God's timing. This calling is about God's timing. I am impatient and impulsive, and my Father has been working hard to teach me to trust His timing, and I'm finally paying attention. He gets it right. Every. Time. His timing is perfect, every time! And it's not even just that His timing is the righteous timing so I should wait and obey, but it's also that by trusting His timing, my life turns out way better than I ever imagined it could. I mean, I get all these blessings, all these treats and tender mercies, dotting the path of my feet constantly when I trust and adhere to His timing, His will.

I feel like I am finally starting to really live like I'm converted to the Gospel of Christ. I feel like I'm finally starting to understand that He really does have a plan for my life, and that His plan for my life is spectacular. Ima trust it, y'all.

A Culture of Shame

It's Christmas. Merry Christmas! I always seem to ruin my streaks on important days like birthdays. Or Christmas.

Here we go, day one. :(

I'm not really in the mood to look on the bright side. I'm not really in the mood to wallow, either. I guess I feel a little numb. I know this will soon pass- maybe after I sleep some. Then I'll be sad.

When I slip, I usually go through 2 opposite stages of blame. First, I try to blame everyone and everything else but myself. Then, I try to put 100% of the blame on myself. In truth, the responsibility is mine, but a great many factors contribute to my weakness. I don't get to claim 100% of the blame. For example:

I grew up in a sex- and body-shaming culture. From my early years in Young Women's, I remember noticing the double standards. The girls couldn't wear shorts to midweek church activities, but the boys could. I remember thinking how unfair it was. Now, I think it's dangerous. It reinforces society's lies that women control men's behavior by what they wear. It says, girls have to be more covered than boys, and suggests that the reason behind that is that boys can't control themselves unless girls are covered. This reveals a myriad of lies. Only, they don't seem like lies. They seem like truths because we're so accustomed to them. One of those lies is the stupid, stupid cliche/excuse: "men are visual." Well, okay, that's like saying "male birds fly." UM, HELLO! ALL birds fly! Some fly higher than others, sure, but it's not that male birds fly higher than female birds. ALL HUMANS ARE VISUAL, those who have eyes that see. Every time someone says "men are visual," I want to go on a tangent. Are more men more visual than women? Maybe. Who knows! But I'll tell you what I do know- of all my Facebook friends, it is my female friends who are FAR more likely to post an inappropriate picture of a man. I have probably only seen one or two inappropriate pictures of women posted by my male Facebook friends. But, definitely weekly and probably daily, I see some picture of mostly nude firemen, or a provocative picture of a popular male celebrity, etc., posted by my female friends. Common comments include, "yummy," and "I'm going to set my house on fire," and "I want one." Like a man is a thing to have, or to eat. And yet, when people say "men are visual," it implies that women are not. And I'm here to tell you that is a lie and an excuse. When I was a teenager, I had a picture of my crush (Dean Cain, if you must know) on my wall, but my brothers had no pictures of women on their walls. And, somehow, it would have been wrong if they did, but it was okay that I did. It's that stupid lie we keep feeding, the lie that women are not visual; are not stimulated visually.

This is a lie that is dangerous for both sexes. If I am visually stimulated, then I might think something is terribly wrong with me, because I have been taught all my life that men are visual. Enter: shame. That useless, crippling enemy. If a man reacts inappropriately (i.e. touching, or saying something degrading) to a sexually attractive woman, then perhaps this cultural lie will convince him that he has done nothing wrong; he is visual, after all. Enter: rape culture.

Our culture teaches this. Especially our Church culture teaches this. Not too long ago, Elizabeth Smart said this: “I remember in school one time, I had a teacher who was talking about abstinence,” Smart told the panel. “And she said, ‘Imagine you’re a stick of gum. When you engage in sex, that’s like getting chewed. And if you do that lots of times, you’re going to become an old piece of gum, and who is going to want you after that?’ Well, that’s terrible. No one should ever say that. But for me, I thought, ‘I’m that chewed-up piece of gum.’ Nobody re-chews a piece of gum. You throw it away. And that’s how easy it is to feel you no longer have worth. Your life no longer has value.”

I have a similar memory, only it was not a school teacher, but a Sunday School teacher, from when I was about 16. The topic was chastity. Our teacher brought in a piece of homemade bread and spread jam on it. He asked if anyone wanted the bread with jam. Mostly everyone rose their hands. Then he licked the jam right off the bread. It made the remaining jam all gooey and gross. He asked "who wants it now?" The answer was nobody, and the connection was that NOBODY will want someone who's slept with someone else. I believed that- I believed it with my whole core. I believed that lie.

In church, as Young Women, we were taught that sex before marriage (not even sex outside marriage, but specifically sex before marriage) was the worst thing you could ever do. Guilt, guilt, guilt. Pre-guilt. I hadn't even held hands with a boy and I felt guilty. Those lessons would go on an on about how horrible sexual sin is, and then as a closing breath, a mention might go to the Atonement. Someone might say that forgiveness would always be available. I don't actually remember anyone saying that, but someone must have. I only remember the "don't, don't, don't." "bad, bad, bad."

So when I had sex for the first time, I was in college and definitely not married. I bled a little, and knowing almost nothing about sex, I was sure I was dying. I had sinned the worst sin ever, and now God was killing me as punishment. What could I do? I couldn't call my mother and ask what was happening with my body. I couldn't ask a doctor- they would know! Shame. Shame has no place in repentance.

If only I'd known!! If only I'd known I hadn't damned myself for eternity! If only I'd known I wasn't beyond hope, beyond love, beyond healing. If I'd known, If I'd even supposed that I had some worth, then maybe I wouldn't have continued a physical relationship with my college boyfriend, especially those times I didn't want it. Maybe I would have had the courage to stand up for myself. Maybe, if I hadn't been taught that shame was right, things would have turned out differently for me.

In fact, I know they would have. If I hadn't been so weighted down by shame, I could have seen my worth. I could have seen my potential. I could have seen a light. Shame did nothing for me but make me believe I was a horrible person who deserved bad things.

Yet, social culture and church culture are cultures of shame, especially of shame to women. There is a delicate balance here, and I get that. No one wants our kids to make harmful choices without fear of consequence. But, you know what I say? Let the consequence follow. No need to add shame to it, which will only and can only worsen the outcome. I know we all want our kids to grow up and make best choices all the time, so we may be a bit heavy-handed on the negative consequences of sin and poor judgment. But, we seem to leave out the most important part. We seem to fail to let our children know that Jesus loves unconditionally. We seem to fail to mention that "if you do these things that are sins before God, there is a way back. You are still loved. You are still worthy of love. You have lost no worth whatsoever." We fail to instill confidence in our youth out of fear that if we tell them they'll be just fine even if they make mistakes, then they'll make them.

Here's the thing. They'll make those mistakes anyway. And if we tell them they are worthy and lovable always, and redeemed, then they'll turn back to good choices much sooner than if they believed their mistakes make them worthless. They'll find happiness. They'll learn to face their problems rather than running away and hiding in shame.

At least, that's how it would have been for me.

I was so afraid I'd make mistakes that I made them. I was so ashamed that I made them, that I made them again. And again and again. I ran because I was ashamed because I was taught to be ashamed. Enter: addiction.

I am not absolving myself of responsibility. I am 32 years old. I have been an "adult" for 14 years now. I make my every day choices. I am responsible for my every every-day choice. I know that.

On the other hand, how we are raised is ingrained in us. What we are taught in our early years stays with us forever, even if they are lies. I am responsible for my sins and my choices, but let's put blame where blame is due. The culture of shame definitely contributed to my addictions, to my false perception of my self-worth, to my fear of facing my problems rather than running from them.

I hope to teach my children quite the opposite of what Society teaches them. I hate shame. I hate that I grew up with it before I even did anything really wrong. I hate that it came for a visit tonight. Shame is Marsha.

So what do we do? How do we teach our kids the importance and beauty of chastity without creating this great, dark cloud of shame? I don't know, but I'm going to focus on the good and hope that works. That's my plan for now. "Look, kids, it's going to be so hard to keep your hands and your eyes and your bodies to yourselves as you get older. I get it. I know it. But, it's so amazing when you can respect other people's bodies as well as your own. You gain so much power that way. I hope you will wait till you're married." And I'll tell them all the scriptural reasons why. And I will make sure to add, "no matter what happens, I will always love you. I will always be here for you. You can talk to me about anything. There is nothing you can do that will ever make me love you less. And God loves you even more."

Confidence instead of shame.

Oh, and P.S., I don't mean to condemn the Church. I love the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It's not perfect. Sometimes, the leaders make bad choices- even the upper leaders. Sometimes, this wonderful but imperfect church is straight-up wrong. Like when it perpetuates this culture of shame. There is a line between culture and doctrine, and while I disagree with some of its culture and question some of its policies, I love the gospel. Living it is what brings me joy.

I Was in Prison, and ye Came unto Me / ONE YEAR

I should really make this two separate posts, but the reality is, it won't happen. So, two posts in one:

I spent time in four prisons today. It was an amazing experience.

But, first, let's talk about a timeline here. One year ago today, I posted this post about what is a Rock Bottom. That post was really a decision for me. That post was about the time I was really working on Step 3, the step that changed my life when I finally DID it. The day before that, I slipped. At that point, I think I had never gone beyond 35 days of sobriety. Never, since, like, 2007. And before that, I dunno. December 15 one year ago is when sobriety began accompanying my recovery. 78 days after December 15, I slipped. 78 days was HUGE. It was an insane improvement from my normal 2 week cycle, and over 100% further than my previous record. Oh, I was pretty devastated that day, but come on, that was a miracle! Even now, I'm still tempted to scold myself and say "so-and-so has been sober since they first attended an ARP meeting," or "so-and-so's haven't taken nearly as long to recover as I have." But, I'm trying not to go there. Okay, so anyway, after 78 days, I did not relapse. It was a slip, and that was it, which is another miracle. Previously, any slip meant a relapse, just about. I only made it about 30 days before my next slip, but that was another slip, and not a relapse. And then! Then I made it past 78, past 90, past 100, somewhere around 150, I THINK. I don't know the exact number, but it was and still is my record. I slipped again back in August and it was my worst slip yet, in fact, it was a mini-relapse. I say mini because it lasted probably three or four days, but it was pretty rough in those 3-4 days. One of those days included a man, and the devastating loss of my temple recommend. And I realized I am still so sick. I realized I cannot be trusted in specific circumstances, and I realized I was still not over manipulating men. I hate even writing that! But, I have found that when I go back and read old posts, I appreciate details like this. It serves as a reminder, both of how far I've come, and of that I need to still be careful.

So that's the last time I slipped. That was 127 days ago. That's something like three times in one year, with the last time having a few incidents. As I write that, I weep, I weep at the miracle! If you would have asked me 18 months ago if I thought I could go one year and only indulge in my addiction three times, or seven or eight times, even, I couldn't have believed you. I couldn't have believed I could ever have such a year. I couldn't have imagined such freedom. I was in a place where 2 weeks was too hard.

Oh, my sweet Redeemer, I am healed by Thy grace.

I don't know what next year holds. Three slips? One? None? Who knows. I'm just working on today. And tonight, as Sidreis says, I'm going to bed safe.

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Okay! Onto the prison story! Oh my goodness! I haven't ever written here about it, but for the past 3 years, I have been a member of a choir whose sole purpose is to sing at the LDS Christmas services in the local prisons. We begin practicing in September of each year and in the middle of December, we take our choir and travel to the prisons and present our program. Every year, it is an amazing, humbling, inspiring experience. My first year there, I remember how clear it was made to me that those who are incarcerated are my brothers and sisters. They are one bad choice away from me, some of them. You know? I remember thinking, my first time, some of these people are addicts, like me. Their addictions are probably more illegal than mine, but who's to say they're more dangerous? I remember thinking I'm just like they are, only free to choose! I remember thinking how similar I am to those precious offenders. Not in addiction, not in sin, but in humanness. We're the same, I saw.

I tell you what, God is in the prisons.

Every year thereafter, I have been struck by how human they are. They are kind and gracious, at least to our choir, and they have immeasurable worth in the sight of God.

Earlier this year, our choir director moved to Utah (hey, SLC peeps, look out for Jenny McKinney- she may do a prison choir next year!), and when she asked me to take over the choir here for her, I eagerly accepted! I was so excited! So, this year, I got to be the director. I have had choir practices every Saturday night at my house for past several months. For as scattered and disorganized I am, it all went rather well. But, then, the choir is full of 15 fantastic women, so not much could go wrong. ;)

Each year, we have some brief speaking parts along with our song selection. This year, I decided to have the choir talk about some of their personal stories of belief and hope. Our theme was "Be Believing." I shared about addiction recovery, you bet I did. In every service, the ARP program was mentioned by the brother who conducted (a bishop or other appointed volunteer from outside the prisons). In my story, I made sure to mention how the ARP program has been a blessing for me. Many inmates expressed gratitude to me, after the program, for sharing my story. One of the Priesthood Holders thanked me specifically, and said he had heard my story before (I think at a Speaker's Meeting? He said a training meeting, so it was either that or a facilitator training meeting I attended once) and he'd hoped I would share it because, he said, "they need it." I was so grateful I was in a place to share it and use my past hell to maybe, hopefully, inspire someone else, or at least maybe offer a glimmer of hope that recovery is possible. Last year I couldn't have done it. The years before, I wouldn't have even almost dared to share!

Today was the day we'd been practicing for. Our first prison was a women's prison, and the next three were men's. As the director, I have a little more insight into God's love for our brothers and sisters who are incarcerated. As I put together the program, I was guided- clearly, unmistakably guided- as to what music I should include, what our speaking parts should be, even the order of songs. I was in awe at how important these inmates are to our Heavenly Father. So important, that He cares about a musical program that will be heard at four prisons in Idaho, by a small percentage of the inmates. He cares about them so much, that He would guide an uneducated choir director about the very songs to include. It is astonishing to me, though not surprising. It is humbling, so very, very humbling. God loves the least of us. He counts us all. None are forgotten.

And, as I was searching the faces of the precious offenders, I was blessed with a glimmer of what God thinks of them. I recalled the guidance I'd had in organizing the program as I looked at my brothers and sisters, and I was flooded with love. And it's interesting to think that I don't know anything about them. I don't know who they are or why they're there. I don't know what choices they made to lead them to lose their freedom and contact with their families. I don't know anything, but all I could feel was love. I couldn't see their mistakes. I couldn't see their sins. I couldn't feel anything but love. And I think that's how God sees us. Oh, He is just, and we will pay consequences for our poor choices, but when He looks at me, and you, He doesn't see our sins and our mistakes. At least not in a way that would change or block His love. He sees our hearts and He loves us no matter what. It's not about what we have done! We are His children, and His love will not, cannot, change nor diminish.

And the sweetest of all about this is, if Heavenly Father is aware of the needs of the inmates in Idaho - and I know He is, because He led me - then He is also aware of my needs. God is fair and just and no one, to Him, matters more than me. No one matters more than you. No one matters more than each of those inmates. He loves each of us, like there's only one of us, and He loves each of us always.

That is what I know today. I saw His love today. I felt His love. I know His love, and how sweet it is to feel it! How sweet it is to feel it toward others, and toward myself.

What a blessed experience. What an incredible opportunity. I can't wait for next year!

Matthew 25:36, 40-
I was in prison and ye came to me.
Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

If Only For You

I was on my knees this morning, opening the day with prayer. I was talking to my Father about how wonderful it is that, even with the dark sins of my past, even with my addictions, that I can return to Him, all because and only because of His Son and my Savior. I talked to Him about how, when so many of His children repent- turn back to Him and away from sin- it must be worth it to have sent His Son to save us all, for the Father to have witnessed His inexplicable suffering. It must have been worth it to the Father to see the Son's pain when, because of His Son's pain, many will return, have returned, are returning. Because the Atonement has saved, is saving, and will save so many of us, it must have been worth it to the Father to allow His Son to suffer and carry such heavy burdens of all the world.

My point was, in that moment in prayer, to illustrate that because of the many who will live with the Father, the Atonement of Jesus was worthwhile to the Father.

As I said these words to Him, He interrupted, and before I could finish my sentence, my heart felt this message, as clearly as if it were spoken:

"But, Stephanie, it would be worth it if only for you. If you were the only one who repented and gained access into my Kingdom, all the suffering of my Son would have been worthwhile."

It is incomprehensible that I should mean so much to a God. But I believe it. A few years ago, I saw, on a local church's billboard, this message: "God loves each of us like there's only one of us." It's stuck with me all these years, and I believe it.

What an incredible tender mercy to have experienced this morning. Happy Sabbath.