I am from a generational chain of devoted believers. My parents have passed. My sibling’s lives are immersed in devout belief and service. They are intelligent doers. The church is their promise and passion.

In 1967 I found out about doctrinal bigotry and the consequences of dark skin or inherited blood. I felt sick to my stomach, cold. I was 10 years old.
In wanderings, musings, askings, pleadings, God, this heavenly father, remained silent through the years. I was dying little by little with debilitating depression. No heavenly assurance, no peace. All exhausting pleadings ending in extended dispairing.
I worked hard for mental health. I was living little by little. Mental health did not mix with Mormonism. I left breaking free from a box and a checklist. I left while finding good boundaries. I left while finding personal values. I shed the itchy pulpit phrases, “We must, we must. We should, we should.”
Where am I going? To life, to abundance, to my own heart and inspiration. I am going into courage and messiness and the wholeness of imperfection. I am leaving busyness behind to value serenity. I’ll dance, profane, be angry, and sing.

L in UT

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