So I like to take naps. I mean, I know we would all sleep all the time if adulting wasn't gnawing at our ankles, but, like, sometimes all I need in order to sort something out is a nap. And today that's exactly what happened.
My dreams during nap time are normally super vivid and odd and awesome. I don't know what it is about going into a deep sleep in the middle of the day that creates profoundly meaningful dreams, but I'm gonna keep doing it. This nap and this dream were no exception and if I didn't heed that all-encompassing 1:30 p.m. lethargy today, I would have missed out on what I believe was God speaking to me.
My mom is divorced, twice. And in Mormondom, that's sort of an anomaly. Hers are not my stories to tell, but suffice it to say that she was hurt and wronged twice, in different, but somehow similar ways. Her divorces threw into a few different crises, one of which was her faith. Like I said, being a two-time divorcee in the Mormon world is almost unheard of. Not only does that status (I imagine) have you questioning your own faith and worth and purpose (in Mormonism, women are held to the extremely narrowly-defined gender roles of mother, nurturer, caregiver, wife, etc.) by crumbling your very foundation as an LDS woman, it has others questioning those things about you as well.
"What's wrong with her?"
"Was she reading her scriptures?"
"Was she paying tithing?"
"Did they not pray together?"
"They must not have attended the temple regularly."
"She was probably too outspoken and drove her husbands away."
"Well, she worked outside the home, so she is being punished for it."
Unfortunately, when you're LDS, even though we say we try not to judge people, we judge people. A lot. There is often a TON of victim-blaming, and those victims are almost always women. (One day, I hope we as an institution can recognize this victim-blaming and end it. One Day.) So church became extremely painful for my mom. Not only did she have to deal with people making absolutely absurd assumptions about her faith and her life, she came face to face with the fact that there really is no place for an older, single, divorced woman with grown children in the pews on Sunday. Mormons are big on community, but we're even bigger on family. And as someone who is experiencing some segregation and rejection for being childless by choice, I can only imagine the same sort of rejection and exclusion that single empty-nesters feel. Sure, me and Husband have a few friends in the ward that we hang out with regularly, but because we do not have kids nor even plans for kids, people find it hard to relate to us. (As a side note, I know that having kids is a worthy goal and an excellent use of one's life. I'm excited at the possibility of parenthood. But, dammit, I am SO much more than a potential parent. WE ALL are so much more than parents. I'm sure parents want their kids to grow up and do amazing things and be amazing people. And I'm sure that's what your parents wanted for you! It's totally ok to say "I'm an astrophysicist who loves my job and loves my kids." Like, yes! Raising another human is awesome! But you are awesome outside of and independent of other human beings!) Anyway, I can totally understand why church (of all places) became a painful experience for my mom; no family=no purpose.
In my dream, we (a dream 'we'. Who knows who all that encompasses) were all back in Alaska at a ward activity. And my mom was visibly pregnant. A dear, sweet lady whom I have known for a very long time commented on my mother's belly and asked when she got re-married. My mom, normally a pro at handling awkward moments, just told it like it was. "I'm not married," she said. And in a huff-y, impolite, sanctimonious fashion, Sweet Lady stomped away as she said "You should be married! It's the right thing to do! I can't speak with you if you're fornicating!" Mom, exercising some radical self-respect called back to her "I'm not getting married again. Why would I do that? Do you know what I've been through? Why would I do that to myself? I'm finally happy!" In my dream, I got the feeling that everyone in a 5-mile radius heard the exchange and understood, instantly, what my mom had been through.
At some weird testimony meeting-like gathering, every single person in the room lovingly proclaimed that they were on my mom's side. They had felt her pain, her fear, her shame, and her new found hope and love. And the most important, inexplicable, profound thing that anyone felt (and that I felt) was God saying to us "Your happiness is all I care about. You are my child and I love you."
I know God loves us. All of us. All he wants is for us to be happy and to feel loved. That's it.
I'll write more on the God I know later. But I want you to know he is wonderful.
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