Faith and Certainty

I'm supposed to be in bed.
I have church at 9:30. I'm teaching the lesson in Priesthood, something I'm actually excited to do.

Yet here I am, blogging.

Last night  I went to a gay family home evening with people I'd known through the blog world, but never in person. Despite my initial anxiety, it was a wonderful experience. I spent hours talking there, finally leaving at 2 am. It was wonderful.

Today, after 10 days with his family in Arizona, my boyfriend returned to Provo. Walking into his room and seeing him again was like finding a lost part of my soul. We spent all evening together, and by the time he went home I knew even deeper how much I truly love him.

Tonight, I worked on my lesson. I read through scriptures and looked up references online. Finally, I got to a point that was sufficient for tonight. I set everything aside, turned off my laptop, texted my boyfriend goodnight, and was on my way to turn off the light when my phone buzzed.

My brother texted me. And not just a simple, "hey, what's up" text. A looong text.

He and I have never talked about my sexuality, though I'm sure he knows. Well, tonight's text removes all doubt. And while I've developed a thicker skin in discussing this issue with my parents, it kind of stung to hear what my brother had to say.

He talked about temple worthiness, my previous example to him. He spoke of the devastation it would cause my youngest brother and sister if they knew. Even now I can't bring myself to read the text again, because despite the multiplicity of words, I hear one message:

You're not good enough.

Regardless of his intended message, this is what I hear. It's what I always hear. And it's the message I've heard for the past 23 years. This is my ultimate tender spot. My Achilles heel. The fear that regardless of how hard I try, I am not good enough.

When I finished the text I set my phone aside. The psychologist in me leaped into action, trying to piece apart my emotions so that they didn't overwhelm me.

And then I booted up my laptop.

I need to be fair. My brother has no idea what this issue looks like from the inside. He has no idea what my life has been like. He has no knowledge of the tears and the ache and the shame that I've carried. He doesn't know of the sheer hell I've been through, the valley of shadow and death that I descended into when all logical sense and faith crumbled. He doesn't know.

He also doesn't know of the peace that God has granted me. He doesn't know the freedom of a soul who has been caged for so long. He doesn't know the sheer glory of being able to see yourself, your complete self, and love it. He doesn't know of the pure tenderness of being wrapped up in the person you love. Of feeling your heart connect with another's. Of becoming whole.

But perhaps the greatest reason that the weight fell back onto my shoulders after that text was because it threw my doubt back into my hands. My questions and fears and "what if I'm wrong"s came rushing back to me. The shadow of that dreaded uncertainty fell upon me once more.

This seems to be a popular topic lately. Faith and doubt. Certainty and uncertainty. John Gustav-Wrathall blogged about it this morning here.

As I prepared my lesson tonight I watched a youtube video on faith. The video showed a clip of President Monson speaking at General Conference. "Remember," he said, "that faith and doubt cannot exist in the same place at the same time, for one will dispel the other." I heard that, thought for a moment, and then said "I don't think that's right."

In her book The Gifts of Imperfection and in her TED talk Brene Brown discusses faith. Faith, she says, used to be something used to explain the unknown. It was a belief in mystery, the unexplained. But it's become a safety net and a weapon: 'I'm right, you're wrong. Shut up.'  She goes on in the book about how doubt is not the opposite of faith. Rather, certainty is the opposite of faith.

She writes:
"Faith is a place of mystery, where we find the courage to believe in what we cannot see and the strength to let go of our fear of uncertainty."

She then quotes the theologian Richard Rohr:
"My scientist friends have come up with things like 'principles of uncertainty' and dark holes. They're willing to live inside imagined hypotheses and theories. But many religious folk insist on answers that are always true. We love closure, resolution and clarity, while thinking that we are people of 'faith'! How strange that the very word 'faith' has come to mean its exact opposite."

Uncertainty scares the hell out of me. It strikes me deep in my center with a fear of being wrong, of failing, of being rejected, and yes, of not being good enough. But certainty isn't faith. And without faith, we can do nothing.

I have been trying to learn to live with uncertainty. Sometimes I do very well with it, like last night at the FHE gathering or today with my boyfriend. But sometimes, like tonight with this text message, that fear gets to me and leaves me scrambling to get back to the sure shores of certainty.

But ironically, that "certainty" only comes from the approval of others. It's almost as if I can get enough people to agree on a point, then that must be the truth. And, among those people at least, I will be "certain." I will be sure.

But were I to retreat back into the world of certainty, of being validated by others, I would not be satisfied. Because deep within me, something would be dying.

I had a dream a few nights ago. I didn't understand it, but as I have been studying jungian dream analysis for a class project I believe that I'm beginning to gain some meaning from it.

I was being instructed by someone. Someone older and wiser. The person reminded me of Master Yoda from Star Wars. Small and simple, yet full of eternal wisdom. He was teaching me, among others, of fidelity. Of complete faithfulness. It was clear by what he taught that faithfulness was vital.

The dream shifted. I was in a tuxedo. Somewhere nearby was a bride. But she wasn't the focus of this part. Although it was clear that I had just been married, the focus was not on to whom, but rather what to do now. I recall looking down at my left hand and seeing a vivid golden band on my ring finger. I loved that ring. It symbolized my union, my completion, my wholeness.

As I look at the ring, Yoda came again. Once again he told me of the vital nature of fidelity. Of faithfulness.

And then I awoke.

I pondered over this dream. Especially the part with the bride, and how the point wasn't that I had married a woman. I couldn't make much sense of this dream.

Earlier today I was reading a book on jungian dream analysis, and the author commented on the archetype of marriage, both in dreams and in life.

"The syzygy (married couple) represents the union of paired opposites. Thus, this archetype governs the process of achieving wholeness in the personalty through formation of conscious polarities."

The whole goal of jungian psychology is the individuation of an individual. To put it another way, it is to become that person that we are truly, deeply, intended to be. This requires not a smothering or casting away of aspects of ourselves, but rather complete assimilation of everything, even those things we fear or hide. True individuation, true wholeness, is a union of opposites.

Thus, the marriage in my dream was not a sign of "find a woman," but rather, a symbol of my gaining further wholeness by integrating all parts of myself into one. Perhaps the most difficult part of myself to work with has been my sexuality, that so completely seems to contradict my faith. Yet, true wholeness is a union of opposites.

Fear would have me bury my shadow, lock away anything that wasn't comfortable, easy, or socially endorsed. Fear would have me bury fear itself. It would have me run from vulnerability. It would have me cling to certainty.

Yoda's words to continue faithful to that union, to that search for wholeness, is an directive to stay the course, in spite of fear. To listen to myself, and to God. And even if I have no explanation, no answers, no certainty, to move forward.

I cannot deny that these feelings are a part of my life. I cannot deny the deep desire to be connected to a wonderful man in every way. I cannot deny the love I feel with my boyfriend, the completion, the absolute serenity.

I have no choice but to claim uncertainty, to claim faith. It is the only ground I have to stand on.

I have no answers. I don't know why or how I came to feel as I do. I don't know what my God will say on that final day. I don't know that this relationship, these hopes and dreams and feelings that I have, aren't all a massive mistake. But I don't know that they are, either.

But one thing I do know. That my God sees the intents of my heart. He knows my desires. That my Savior felt each and every one of these emotions that I now feel. That my Lord has been watching, working, and whispering to me. He has been guiding me, and the journey's not yet over.

And when I have the sense to quiet my fears, to settle the panicked urge to find certainty, I feel his voice: "They don't know you. I know you. Listen to me."

And with Him, who needs certainty?

Aaaaand We're Back!

It is absolutely atrocious how long it has been since I wrote here. Probably more than a month. It's been a rocky few weeks, and even though there were times I thought about writing, I felt so emotionally drained that I couldn't muster the energy.

But I'm back! The problems aren't all gone, but do problems ever really go away? I think perhaps there are simply times when we handle them better than others.

So, one really good thing that I got from the last few weeks of wandering is the chance to read Brene Brown's The Gifts of Imperfection. I referenced Brene earlier when I wrote about her vulnerability speech. But this is basically her guidebook on how to live wholeheartedly. It's an incredible read. Unlike other "self-help" books, she hits right to the center of the things that are causing many of us conflict and tension in our lives. I would highly, highly recommend it. In fact, I'll link you to amazon right now.

This last week has been rather nice. My boyfriend's mother came into town, and from last Wednesday to today we've spent every evening at his sister's house so that he could be with his mom. He is such a momma's boy, and he knows it. I loved seeing the excitement in his eye when he was with her. They don't get to see one another nearly often enough, but this week was nice for them.

But the time I spent with them was different for me as well. Now, I've been at his sister's house plenty of times, and I had gotten to know her husband and daughter. But this week with all of us together it felt like I became much more a part of the family than before. I got closer to both my bf's sister and her husband, and I think the husband would be okay with getting me as a brother-in-law. Finally someone in the family to play Call of Duty with him. ;)

Tonight, as we had our last dinner with his mom, they began talking about my boyfriend getting a car this summer (I've been a happy chauffeur for a year now). "I could come and see you guys much more often," he said to his sister. She then looked at me and said "But you still have to bring Ty. Just because he doesn't have to drive you doesn't mean he doesn't get to come." That made me feel really good.

We've never talked to them about it, but we're pretty darn sure they know about us dating. Otherwise it would be really odd for them to invite me to dinner for the past five nights. I'm not sure how they feel about it all. But I think they see that we are happy with each other. They see the fruits of our relationship in other aspects of our lives. And even though they might not understand it, and they might not agree with it, they love us all the same. And that makes me feel good.

Since we're talking about families, I'll segue into a bit about my own. I went home this weekend (two and a half hour drive!). I stopped on the way to visit my grandmother, who has taken quite a beating health-wise in the last couple years. She was thrilled to see me, and I was just as happy to see her. I've always felt a connection to this grandmother, and if I were to come out to someone in my extended family, it would probably be her. She has such an unconditional love, and she is able to get rid of prejudice when it interferes with her family. What an angel she is. I think I'll make a habit of visiting every time I go home.

My immediate family was doing well. They moved into a new house a month ago, and they're finally getting settled. It was really good to see them. My mom has definitely softened up. I sent her a copy of Carol Lynn Pearson's No More Goodbyes, and although she's never mentioned it since, it seems like she may have read it. The weekend was nice, simply because I got to sit around and be a part of a family. Nothing too eventful. Just a nice weekend.

Although, when we got to sacrament meeting yesterday, the first speaker stands up and announces that she's been assigned President Packer's talk as her subject. My heart dropped and I prepared for the worst. Thankfully, she was very judicial and stuck to the material, using scripture simply to reiterate what President Packer said. All the same, it was still hard to sit through. I am grateful, however, that she wasn't offensive about it.

When the time finally came to split up for priesthood and relief society, I left and retrieved my own copy of No More Goodbyes that I wisely stowed for the trip. I spent the time sitting in my car, reading, and weeping a bit, squeezing all the love and acceptance I could from Sister Pearson's beautiful words. That book has been a lifeline for me in the last few weeks, and I am so grateful for it.

This leads me to my last topic for the night. Last week I read that Carol Lynn Pearson's play "Facing East" is going to be made into a movie. I am thrilled about this, simply because I can't find it being put on anywhere nearby, and I really want to see it. But being the resourceful person I am, I found a place that offered her play for a very reasonable price, and immediately bought it.

I arrived today, with a handwritten note on the first page saying "Love from Carol Lynn Pearson."

I don't know what it is about seeing someone else's writing, especially when it expresses such sweet and sincere messages such as that. But there is a life in the words others write, especially when written by their own hand. And that short message meant the world to me today.

I read the play immediately. I love it. It is so beautiful and so touching. And I could feel a bit of myself in every one of the characters. I especially loved Marcus, the boyfriend of Andrew. Andrew's suicide and the effect on others is the premise of the play. It is so clear in the way Marcus speaks, and the way that Andrew speaks about him, that their love is real. And perhaps I love it even more because I can feel the same thing I feel when I am wrapped up with my own boyfriend. Love is an absolutely precious and priceless object. You cannot fully comprehend it unless you feel it. And the wonderful thing is, it is continually changing and growing, giving you the chance to discover it anew over and over again.

Just one last note, and I'll end for tonight. Now, I know what temptation feels like. I understand the almost physical pressure, blurring of the senses, and feeling of numbing darkness that accompanies it in one form or another. But that is not what I feel when I am with my boyfriend. I feel peace. Absolute tranquility. True union with someone who has become an extension of myself. I feel love.

Perhaps Andrew from "Facing East" said it best when he said "It doesn't feel like darkness."

Denying Vulnerability

I know I haven't posted for a while, but judging by how few blog updates I found on my dashboard, it was a busy week for everyone.

My last real post was about certainty, something that I've thought about ever since. The day after my certainty post I had a meeting with my therapist, and it was a really hard meeting. The confidence that I had the preceding week was officially shattered during that session, and to be quite honest I was somewhat hurt by the things my therapist said. Or perhaps it was more the unspoken words that hurt. Regardless, it sent me reeling back into the chasm of confusion and doubt, and despite the last week of climbing I'm still not quite out.

But I have been thinking about certainty and about faith. I really appreciate Rob's comment on my post. I also really liked his post on his own blog. He always gives very sound counsel. But it actually seems somewhat ironic that in the LDS church we have come to link certainty and faith as synonyms, when really, they are complete opposites. If we have faith, we don't know things for certain. We have assurance. We believe. We say that we know, but that knowledge is not a certainty. It is faith. And really, it is the lack of certainty that makes faith powerful.

I can't for the life of me remember where I read this, whether on a blog, in an article, or in No More Goodbyes, but I read something about how religion used to be a belief in mystery that explained what doesn't make sense. But now we have changed religion in order to define every minute detail of what doesn't make sense. But that kind of defeats the purpose. (Just found the reference. It's on the video of Brene Brown that I reference later).

So maybe, just maybe we aren't meant to understand everything. Are we supposed to ask? By all means, yes! But do we need a detailed explanation in order to move forward at all? No. And we're not going to get one. And technically, that's what we teach in the church. But few actually want to go forward without that certainty.

Because if you aren't certain, there's room for doubt. It's possible that you're wrong. And if you're not certain you're vulnerable. And no one likes being vulnerable.

I love this video of Brene Brown, and can't do it justice in a few words. But she talks about how the way to truly live is to allow yourself to be vulnerable. Being vulnerable can open the way to true living.

By no means am I ready for this. But I'm going to try. To be frank, it scares the hell out of me. But I'm tired of living my life striving for perfection in order to compensate for my vulnerability. Because ultimately, it led me to a position where I didn't even know what I liked or wanted in life. I didn't even know who I was. Because I'd never dared to open up and find out.

But if we don't open up and truly live, then what point is there in living at all?