Aches and Pains.

A thought to help us through 

these difficult times: 

Be kind, for everyone you meet 

is fighting a hard battle. 

-- Ian MacLaren

Hard things in the church are tricky. Your hard things are not my hard things, and vice versa. I wish none of us had hard things, but alas. We're living in a world of them. And unfortunately, it's impossible to keep the realities of our lives from colliding with our doctrine.

Here's one of those tricky examples -- something you may think of as being a warm fuzzy thing. I used to. But I've decided its warm fuzziness hides sharp edges.

That thing is this: Families Can Be Together Forever.

For me, that's a slogan I wish we would let slip away. I know it's meant to bring peace and joy and provide an ideal, a goal from which to draw strength and purpose. And for many people, I'm sure it does. But there are also many people for whom it brings pain. Families are complicated things.

There are people for whom that idea holds no appeal, at all. For whatever reason, their families just don't work. I know several.

There are people who haven't started families of their own, and that's difficult in a church that can feel like it's made of, and for, families. I know some of those too.

There are people whose family members do not all share their spiritual lives or goals. I'll bet we all know many in that position.

It's a nice idea to teach children. It sounds sweet and comfortable and good in Primary. But even that is problematic, because young children are literal thinkers so when they hear that families can be together forever, the chances are good that they're not thinking about it the way the teacher is.

That phrase is a good example of something that seems so harmless, it's hard to imagine it could hurt or offend. But perhaps we'd do better to say that Our Relationships Can Continue Forever. Maybe that would provide a little more space for peace and happiness outside the "family" box. We need a new song.

Anyway, I bring it up because hard things have been on my mind lately. And as church members, we're often not upfront about it when we struggle with things that we think shouldn't cause us to struggle. We assume it's something wrong with us. 

Really what we need is to be able to say, "Ouch. This hard thing hurts me. Just so you all know, I am getting no joy from this, and it's not because I'm not worthy of joy."

We have back-to-back weddings coming up in our family. Two daughters are getting married in the space of two months! It's an exciting time, and we are eager for our family to grow. We feel lucky to have found two of our missing pieces.

But weddings bring up another thing that some might think should not be a hard thing but that for me has been known to cause exquisite pain: the temple.

The temple has always been challenging for me actually, and for a variety of reasons. Some are as simple as claustrophobia. But I've had profound experiences there too, and one of the things I love about the temple is that I never fail to feel the spirit there, even on challenging days. It's a remarkable place.

That being said, the temple also breaks my heart in a way that nothing else in our church does.

In our family, the temple is sometimes an insurmountable, rock-hard divider.

We have one daughter who is no longer an active member of the church. I know a few of her reasons, but I'm sure I don't know them all. I'll be the first to admit that I understand many of her choices, and I can't say I wouldn't be in the same position given her experiences. Bad things happen sometimes, and she has endured a few.

I don't spend time worrying about her in the context of "being together forever" -- I have heard all of the comforting doctrine over the years. More importantly, I have faith in the atonement and in our Savior's ability to know her heart, much more fully than I can.

But I do worry about us being together as a family right here on earth sometimes. When it comes to the church, breaking up is hard to do. For all parties.

We have a strong culture. Eschew the Mormon mold and it's easy to feel that you're no longer "in the club". When she first left, of course it was difficult for us. No one raises children in the church hoping they'll choose a different path. But we moved past it many years ago, and I'm not sure she really understands that. She feels different. She feels a division. I think she believes that we must always be disappointed in her, because she knows our doctrine well.

Having grown up in the church myself, I understand why she would suspect us of having those feelings, why she can't quite believe that we think she's amazing exactly the way she is.

And that's why the temple causes me pain. Because the temple reinforces that division. She won't be at her sister's wedding. How does that make her feel? Probably like she's not in the club. Probably like she's different. Probably like we think she is somehow "less". 

But wait! This is our FAMILY I am talking about. Not a club or an organization, a quorum or a congregation. This is my daughter.

And I can't help being genuinely resentful of anything that would ask me to feel that my darling, beloved girl is in any way "less". She is remarkable. She is full of love and goodness and the most amazing gifts. She's really one of the more extraordinary people I know. And it makes me so sad to think that she has a hard time believing I can see her in exactly that way.

So during the wedding, when I should be overcome with the joy of family and the eternal nature of those loving ties, I will also find myself heartsick for the one who isn't there, and for the way in which that day will probably affirm for her the feeling of being the "other one". 

I know because I've experienced it twice before.

We attended the Nauvoo Temple dedication when the girls were younger and I cried all the way through it. Not because I was touched. I couldn't see that far past my pain. I cried because it was the first time she was officially excluded. The church...that I loved...was putting up an explicit wall within my family. That was the moment it came into clear focus for me. And there was nothing I could do as her mother to fill the gap. No reach could bring her to the other side that day. I felt a deep wound. If she wasn't deemed worthy to be there, why should I want to be?

Then she missed her first sister's wedding. At least I was able to brace for the pain. I wasn't blindsided by it, as I had been the first time, but I could still cry about it right now. Just give me 30 seconds to conjure those feelings up.

In trying to explain something sensitive to me, a friend once said, "Wait until you see one of your daughters sealed in the temple. Then you will understand." I could sense his joy at the eternal glimpse in that pivotal parenting moment. But all I could think of was, "I'm happy for you. Actually, I've already seen that. And I'm pretty sure you wouldn't understand." 

You had to be there. For all of it. 

Of course, I'm grateful that two of my daughters have chosen to begin their marriages in the temple. I know the blessing that can be throughout their lives, I know the sacrifices it required, the choices they had to make to be ready for that ordinance. As a mother, my heart truly does rejoice.

But the sadness is nearly unbearable for me too. And I can't deny that. If we could do it any other way, I would.

I tell you all of this only because I suspect some of you will understand. Because I'm sure you have your own hard things. 

Days your heart is breaking while everyone else in the meeting seems to agree that, if you're doing it right, you'll surely be happy. 

Days you hear the message, but it doesn't seem to apply to the reality you see and feel in your personal circumstances.

Days you don't want to teach the lesson because you know it's going to be another hard thing for one of the members of your class.

Days you try to access the joy the gospel can bring but you come up short.

Just about the time I begin to feel like I'm passing the test, I often figure out that the test isn't actually what I thought it was at all. 

And I feel we need to be more aware that even our best teachings, the ones that we are assured will bring peace and happiness if followed, can be hard, painful things for some among us. It all depends on how and where they land. 

We don't need to see the wounds, but I'd like to shift our group perspective a bit so that it's acceptable to acknowledge they're there. Because even though we can't eliminate every hard thing, we can provide softness, kindness, safety, and caring to cushion the blows. Isn't that why we come together every week?

Whether or not we even understand why the cherished words, practices, and principles that bring us joy don't have that same effect on everyone, we need to accept it. Sometimes they just don't. So when it comes to our lives as Latter-day Saints, maybe we should be a bit quieter about how we are all expected to feel. 

Even the best people are not spared hard things.

-S.