original post can be found HERE
Being a Mormon misfit: And why that’s totally OK
When I went to
school in Idaho I loved a certain spot in the Rexburg temple in the
waiting area of the baptistry. Each time I went there I sat right
there–in that same spot– just because of a certain picture.
It was a painting of the Savior holding a
little black sheep, right beside the pew in the back. I would stare at
it and think about everything that it meant to me. Essentially, it
seemed that I was actually the one in the Savior’s arms in that picture.
The misfit.
And if you’re reading this and you’re a
misfit too–perfect. I’m glad there’s two of us. Or three. Or maybe even
more than that. Either way, it’s good to know I’m not alone in the
category of “Mormon misfits”. So welcome, friend.
How am I a misfit, you might ask? I simply
don’t fit the conventional mold of what an LDS woman should be like, or I
should say, what an LDS woman is often like.
I have a tattoo, to start. A
huge one, actually, on my ribcage. I wasn’t always a member, and I have
physical signs to show it–that also includes a scar on my bellybutton
from a past piercing.
I work long hours while my husband goes to school
and I have an “I want to be the CEO of every department” mentality
*Well, I’m just a writer and not a CEO, but you get the point*
I can’t have kids right now.
That doesn’t mean I don’t have the desire–it’s just the way my body
works because of an ailment that can only be fixed with expensive
treatments that we just can’t do right now. And it constantly hurts–like
a bruise that just won’t go away because it keeps getting poked at.
I can’t sew. Like, at all. I
can’t even hem a pair of pants. And during Relief Society craft nights
I’m pretty darn useless. And I haven’t canned even one jar of peaches in
my entire life.
I question pretty much everything.
I’m not saying I’m a doubter–ok, sometimes I am, and that’s a downfall.
But mainly what I’m saying is I’m the type of person who analyzes
everything and tries to figure out why things are the way they are. I
think that’s why I over-studied the history of the church and even went
on a week-long church history tour where I spent over an hour staring
out of the window that Joseph tumbled from. I just wanted to know and feel it for myself, not just hang on to the coattails of others.
I’ve never really fit in with Relief Society.
I try–but it’s hard for me sometimes. I love the women, I do, and this
isn’t me saying that I don’t. Actually, on the contrary–I find myself
being overly critical of myself because I wish I could be more like
them. They’re all so–perfect. At least in my mind, they are. They come
in with their line of cute children on sundays like a mother duck and
her ducklings, and they seem to know everyone and have time to make soup
for all the sick members and cook for the missionaries every Tuesday
night and do their visiting teaching every single month. Perfect Mormon
women, in my eyes.
Anyway, I could go on and on with my list of
how I’m so different–but I’m not going to turn this into a trilogy of
me. But if you’re a misfit I’m sure you have your own lengthy list and
together we could make a seven-book series.
But lately it’s been heavy on my mind–this whole black sheep thing. Because sometimes you just don’t want to be.
And just this last weekend when I forced
myself to go to the Relief Society broadcast (and even the food and
mingle get-together beforehand which is very un-Kayla of me) the nagging
feelings were very prominent.
I sat down at a table that on one half had
sister missionaries and on the other half had mothers. The sisters
chatted about investigators, school before their missions, and how tight
the waist bands on their skirts have gotten while out on their missions
and being fed all these good dinners. They’re cute girls–but I couldn’t
relate much. So I decided to tune into the women on the right side of
me. One woman chatted about how she could barely take a shower today
because of her colicky baby and one said she couldn’t either because of
the puddle of Elmer’s glue her son left on the carpet and another lady
busily talked about her last C-section and how she thinks she’ll be
induced in this next delivery. With my freshly washed hair and newly
painted nails and absolute absence of any glue-smearing child, I decided
I didn’t really fit in at the table.
But then the broadcast started. I chose a
pew where I didn’t really know anyone and to be honest…yeah, I started
watching it with a stink of an attitude. But that changed when Sister
Reeves (The 2nd counselor in the General Relief Society) started
talking.
Tears filled her eyes as she suddenly
pinpointed the sister she wanted to talk to, out there somewhere in the
world, who just doesn’t fit in to the cookie-cutter mold of an LDS woman
or family. I felt like everyone had stepped out of the chapel as she
spoke. She spoke about wounds you might carry that make you wonder where
God is, and the things in your life that separates you from the norm.
And then she told a beautiful story of the Provo tabernacle that was
gutted with flames earlier this year. After the horrific event, members
started questioning why the Lord allowed it to happen. But then, at the
General Conference following the fire, President Monson announced that
that gutted tabernacle would soon be revamped and dedicated as a new
temple of the Lord. People couldn’t believe it. Mouths dropped. But it
was true. And just like with us, she reminded, sometimes the Lord allows
the fire so as to make us into a beautiful temple.
And then President Monson spoke–and he too,
spoke to the misfit. Maybe not everyone caught that–but I sure did. He
spoke about how everyone is in a different situation. Everyone has
different journeys. Everyone is entirely different and sometimes takes a
walk through the thorns. But no one is alone, for the Savior has walked
the EXACT path you have, and continues to walk it, even now, WITH you.
With my face in my hands, I felt an
overwhelming feeling of love wash over me. In that moment, I felt the
arms of Heavenly Father literally wrap around my little misfit self and
remind me that I’m EXACTLY who I should be and that being a member of
the church doesn’t mean I’m supposed to carve myself into an ideal “LDS
woman” image. It means that I can be just as I am–scars, questions, lack
of sewing skills and all–and add to the rainbow of color that this
gospel stands for.
You don’t have to fit in.
We aren’t called
to be the same. Yes, we all follow the same straight and narrow path and
there are commandments we all need to abide by in the same way–but we
can still be different.
I’ve always known it, I guess, deep inside.
But often the culture makes you believe something that isn’t really even
there. There seems to be a phantom ideal image that lurks in the minds
of everyone and makes them believe they just don’t fit. But it isn’t
true. Don’t buy into that thinking.
After all, as a member of the Mormon church,
aren’t we really supposed to be misfits anyway? We’re supposed to think
a little differently and all see the world a little differently, all
the while on the same path toward salvation. I think sometimes we forget
that–and that’s why we expect so much from others and ourselves.
As President Monson so sweetly said, the Lord has a specific love for you. Unique, different, beautiful, misfit you.
So, fellow Mormon misfit, come along this journey with me, because we all belong here on this path.
Bring your dinners that you often burn to a
crisp, bring your lack of love for skirts, bring along your battle scars
and wear them as a badge of how far the Lord has brought you, and bring
questions and different perspectives that no one has acknowledged
before.
Come along this journey, black sheep, and find comfort in the arms of the Savior of the world–the original misfit himself.
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it sure is comforting to know that others are also "ugly duckings" who may not feel exactly right in the family they were handed in, or grew up in, or have known, or moved too, or have...
its comforting to know that being different isnt so bad.
thids article confirms to me, all i have said, and will continue to say.
i am loved, i am blessed, and thats all that REALY matters, in the big eternal spectrum of the universe.
i am not perfect, i never will be. but i am loved regardless, of that/those imperfections.
in a measure thats beyond my comprehension.
no matter HOW i come to Him, i am, and will be, forever, eternally loved by a Heavenly Father that places an infinate worth on my soul.
im gonna copy this article, and hand it off to that sister missionary i spoke with at the conference in saturday.
i think shed like this as well, i also wrote her a letter, to keep. ill post that here later, after i give it to her.
both of these together, should be perfect for her heart and mind to sup on when needed.
im betting theres way more of us than we realize, while i have learned to embrace this "weirdness" i chose to have and show off, others find it difficult to do so. and i understand that, it hasnt always been easy for me either.
i dont cook, well, not well anyway.
i dont sew either, and i proved that at a reliefe society thing we recently had, where i was attmpting to sew a bag, simple right? not so for myself.
i sewed the bag shut, 3 different times. i dont know why i dont have the "gift", but i ..do not.
i also dont have a bunch of kids. mormons (along with catholics) are notorious for having broods of children. i, have 1 here on this earth, and one in heaven.
i never home schooled, and i did work when i was a single parent, i was divorced, all things that in the past, have been looked at as not what a "molly" mormon would, or should do.
but im not a molly. never was, and i never will be. simply because God didnt cut me, from that cloth that he cut so many of them from.
no, my fabric is rustic, and tattered, and worn, and most likely something that itches the eternal skin of some of those im around for great periods of time.
there used to be a time when i cried about the difference, and how far away from everyone i felt because i wasnt made from the same cloth as they all seem to be.
but then, i came to a place that said, my fabric, to God, is divine, and beutiful, and has the SAME VALUE as all the other cuts He has made. mine isnt any less loved.
maybe mines loved BECAUSE its a different cloth.
so, i embrace the odd me, the different me, the out-of-the-box me.
and once i started to aprciate me, all of a sudden i saw others who were allot like me, different, not as "molly" as i thought every other female was, some loud, some silly, some different to be different, some different because that just the way they feel, some dont cook, some have neve rhad kids, let alone been married, others have positions in my church id never want to have, because the responsibility of having that position carries allot of weight, and im not cut out for that kind of thing...others have a ton of kids, some have none..and the list of odd-ball mormons goes on.
i bet, inside, we ALL feel like misfits, and were so painfully aware of our own differences we THINK, were alone in a sea of a million other misfits, when we all are just a little strange.
weve been told were "peculiar people".
i say wear that with distinction!
dont be afraid.
allow that toi be a wonderful facet to who you are.
theres only ONE you...make that ONE stand out, and be noticed!
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