my spirituality

Another anonymous contributor to illustrate the force of a different kind of unknown: growing up gay and mormon.  I believe she was brave.

MY SPIRITUALITY
My plan was to go to the gym and run for as long as I could.

I look down at my car thermometer.

16 degrees.

I look up at the dimming sky and the bright white mountains after a series of big snow storms. 

"I should just run outside," I said to myself.

Running outside at this temperature would require massive layers of clothing. A reflective vest, a headlamp. For both myself and my pup, Eva. It would mean I’d be running down sidewalks still filled with mounds of snow and ice. It’d be dark. Pitch black. And it’d be cold.

I remember the first time I went running, to run. I’d played sports my whole life and when I got to college I had this awkward transition where all of a sudden I didn’t have practice every day and I had to figure out some way to keep in shape. I’m not built like a runner. I was a goalie in soccer. And my favorite sport was softball. I (proudly) have an Italian booty, and short, but strong legs. Runners aren’t built like me. And that’s fine.

I probably only ran a half a mile. A loop around campus. But I remember the feeling I got when I finished. I was tired, my brain was clear, and I felt accomplished.

"I think I’m just going to run outside."

"You are nuts, Sarah. I can’t warm up," she said. "Don’t slip. Wait, you’re not taking your phone?"

"Fine, I’ll take my phone," I said.

I hated running with accessories. But when it is cold and dark you don’t have much of a choice. My favorite kind of runs include a small ipod, shoes, and my pup Eva scaling mountain trails without another human in sight.

Within the first few yards of my run I had already almost taken a few tumbles.

"Eva, we gotta be careful. No pulling me."

The air was cold. I had a head band on, but it was like every inch of skin that was exposed was being stung by the chill. I look down at Eva. She is ramped. Grabbing at the leash, tugging me to go faster. Loving every step.

I turned the corner at the end of my street to head up to a less busy road I occasionally run on. It is above the city, goes for miles, and the residents should be more responsible than most at shoveling their sidewalks. Maybe.

Eva starts limping a mile in. The salt from the roads hurts her tender paws. I take a pile of snow, wipe them clean, and the moment I drop her foot she takes off again. She doesn’t want to let anything stop her from this run. Her attitude is contagious.

I felt good. I had warmed up. And my body felt strong.

I looked up at the dark street. With the clean glistening snow, and the Christmas lights decorating all of the houses. All I had was their light and my headlamp to ensure I didn’t hit black ice.

Then, it came on.
http://youtu.be/FHnGJvYmQKg

Keep the earth below my feet.

Ha! I thought, yes, please keep the earth below my feet. I don’t want to fall on my ass.

But this song is always welcomed when it comes on my shuffle. My favorite song from the latest album, it touches me.

Ten years ago I went to college, I was a faithful LDS member, I had kissed and dry humped at least a dozen boys (which obvi contradicts the prior), I was thinking about going on a mission, softball was my life, I was a republican, I had zero idea how to pay for college, or what having a credit card meant, I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I couldn’t wait to get away from my family.

My mother was LDS, my father was Catholic. Every Sunday we had an option: go to church with mom, go to church with dad, or don’t go. My parents gave us the structure of a noble, Christ-like life, and let us decide which path would take us to heaven. There was never a threat of losing our eternal life or hell and damnation. It was just common sense: Don’t lie. Don’t hit your sister. Don’t make fun of someone because they are different. Work hard.

"Don’t have sex, you’ll get pregnant and have one of these," Kimbo said as she changed my youngest sister’s diaper. I was 11. That was all I needed to hear.

"Gosh, I am so hot," my Young Women’s leader said to me in the foyer of the ward house my senior year of high school.

"Why don’t you wear a sleeveless shirt? Put on a tank!"

I was the Young Women’s Laurel President, an avid early morning seminary leader, and attended all of the church dances in high school.

"I can’t! Hello, I wear garments," she laughed.

I felt so embarrassed.

I remember continually trying to fit in at Mormon church. But I always felt… out of place. No, I didn’t even think about how you had to wear garments. My mom doesn’t wear those. No, I don’t have early morning scripture study with my family. Yes, my mom drinks coffee. No, my family isn’t sealed in the temple.

But my dad! He is such a good person! I would tell myself this over and over again, throughout my entire childhood. Because each day I was getting told he wasn’t because he wasn’t baptized.

The goal of life on this earth: get married in the temple, follow the commandments, and you’ll go to heaven and be with your family.

What did this mean for my family? We weren’t sealed in the temple. My dad isn’t baptized. He can’t even see me get married.

It never seemed right.

Neither did “feeling the spirit.”

Sure, I felt something. I felt a full heart when I did service at church. Or when beautiful voices sang hymns together. Or when, as a teenager, we gathered around a campfire at girls camp and told each other how grateful we were for our parents, siblings, friends, etc.

But the LDS plan of eternal salvation, the Proclamation to the Family, was never comforting. In fact, it hurt.

Cue 2004- 2010

Let me learn from where I have been
Keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn
Keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn

Two miles into my run I was feeling more alive than I’d felt in weeks. The only pause in this ecstasy was when I would reach down to replay the song. Over and over. For all 4.5 miles.

I felt my feet hit the ground hard, trying to keep stable as the bumpy snow piles and icy patches covered the sidewalk. I wasn’t cold anymore. My heart was pounding. Eva was trotting happily and occasionally dunking her head under the fresh powder.

I felt it. The spirit. My spirit. My spirituality.

For me, it’s found in those moments. Running (and hiking), for me, is my church. The mountains, nature, the outside, is my temple. And music, music is my scripture. Not every church session provides me this feeling. I have to be willing and open for it. It has to be right. But when it does, it’s magical. It’s perfect. It’s motivating. It reminds me of why I’m alive. And of my potential purpose on this earth.

My purpose is to live with love. To be a good girlfriend, daughter, sister, friend, employee, and human being. To challenge my mind and body. To never stop learning. To help my fellow man. To fight for what is right. To promote peace and equality. To laugh. To experience culture outside of my comfort zone. To see the world. To be able to look back on my life and say, “I did my best. And it was a great life.”

And I was still but I was under your spell
When I was told by Jesus all was well
So all must be well

"Eva, see that building," I say out loud as we pass a LDS church house.

She looks up at me.

"You can’t find this feeling inside that building, Eva."

There is probably someone else on this earth that finds their spirituality the same way I do. But it is okay if there isn’t. Not everyone can find a state of peace below freezing on an icy street. But I can. I just can’t believe that there is one right way to feel “the spirit” whatever your own version may be.

And I can’t believe that my family isn’t good enough for the highest heaven. And that the plan of salvation is true when it doesn’t even include someone who is gay. And that the teachings of the church are true, in a man-made religion built by men, ran by men, with a “heavenly father” that somehow dictates my life and my salvation. That’s my job. Not his. And not theirs.

We pass a dog that jumps out to Eva.

We round the corner on our way back to my house. I tell her that our life might a lot like this run. Dark, icy, we might fall, there might be some unexpected moments that we have to endure, we might not be able to see the black ice no matter how hard we try. But what matters is that we try. That we keep running.

Keep the earth below my feet
For all my sweat, my blood runs weak
Let me learn from where I have been
Keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn
Keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn