My confession

Every now and then something heavy will weigh on my mind. So, I'm dusting of this old blog and getting down to business. Here goes....

I'm not sure if you all got a chance to catch President Uchdorf's talk during the April conference (if you didn't, read it here.) Ever since I listened to this powerful sermon, I've had two words floating through my mind. "Stop it." Stop judging. Stop comparing. Stop blaming. 

First you should know how much I love my family. This time I'm not talking about Kade, E, or A. Although, I do love them so much that it frequently takes my breath away. I'm talking about the family that raised me. I think my family is typical in that we are all slightly crazy. I'm a miniature version of my mother (not literally, because she's quite small). Though I also have moments where I remind myself so devastatingly much of my father that I stop dead in my tracks (However, the day that I pretend to fall down the stairs for attention and laughs will be the day that I have myself committed, Dad.) I have beautiful, amazing, intelligent sisters. They are my best friends, and I only hope to some day measure up to their standard of motherhood. But for years growing up, I was unable to show this kind of pride for the family that raised me. However, as time goes on, I find myself looking for opportunities to talk about my family. I love to tell people about my parents {They've been married for 30 years this June}. I love to brag about my sisters {Did you know my older sister T. has a degree in CHEMISTRY? And my sister L. turns everything she touches to gold?}, my nieces {They are the best example of sisterly love EVER}, my nephew {He could read when he was THREE!!}. But growing up, I wasn't this way. I didn't talk much about my family, because I was afraid of being judged. Because my family is different from a lot of the families in the area we live. Perhaps, I should back up a bit?

I was raised in Hyrum, Utah in a small subdivision with cute, tidy homes and perfectly sweet LDS families. Although we lived in a cute, tidy home and had an adorable family with two lovely parents and 3 beautiful daughters, I felt outside of this community. I was not raised in an LDS home. I was different from most children in our area. We didn't go to church on Sunday, and we didn't have Family Home Evening every Monday night. My mom wore tank tops in the summer  (*GASP--I know! A TANK TOP! OH NO!). My dad played in a rock and roll band (Oh! For shame!). My sisters dated before they were 16 and one was a teen mom (OH! THE HUMANITY!)

I had a friend who took me to a Young Women's activity with her one night just before my 12th birthday. I fell in love with the girls, the leaders, the church house. I'd been to church before, of course. My parents and sister were all baptized into the LDS religion at the appropriate age, but I hadn't, and they were no longer "active" members. I remember feeling quite accepted and loved within that group of girls and I continued to go for several years. My parents were ever supportive of any religious choices my sister's and I made. I was baptized when I was 15 years old. A decision I made on my own with  much support from family and friends and with a firm testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel.

But there was also another reason for my baptism that I realize more and more as I get older. A  need for acceptance. To be able to say "Yes, I am LDS" when asked by friends and other parents. To feel a little less judged. Horrible, terrible reasons for someone to make the decision for baptism, whether I realized those reasons at the time or not. But, who can blame me?

My testimony is still firm and strong and there is no doubt in my soul of the truthfulness of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I KNOW it is true. I love my church, but I hate the fact that sometimes I still feel a little judged for certain parts of myself. But, you know what? Stop it. Stop it, everyone. Stop judging. Stop taking offense. Stop gossiping. Start loving. Start accepting. Start actually being an example of Christ's love.
I'm guilty too. I do it every day. I notice whether or not people are LDS and I sometimes form judgments. I notice the coffee in their hands, the length of their shorts, the language they use (the same words I use from time to time) and I judge. Why? How stupid. How ridiculous.

For years, people in our ward when I was a little girl were horribly mean to my mom. Not because of who she was, but because of choices her brother had made-- A stranger to those women in the relief society who would turn and walk the other way when they saw my mom in the store. Shame on them.

A while ago, a man named Dan Pearce wrote an article about the Disease of Perfection. He urged us all to drop the act and admit to being who we really are. So I'm going to do that.

I'm proud of who I am. I'm proud the family that raised me. I'm proud of my religion. I'm proud of the family I'm raising. I'm so happy for my parents to be sealed in the temple soon. Not so that they might be more "socially acceptable" in this valley, but so they know the true love and peace that can be felt in the temple.
I'm grateful for my imperfections. I'm grateful for the things about my family that might cause other to judge us.

Sometimes, I swear. Loudly. Like a sailor. And I don't care if you judge me for that, because sometimes when you stub your toe or make a mistake, those words are the only ones that fit.
My sister was a teen mom. She's the most wonderful mother I've ever known, and I wish every day that I was MORE like her. She inspires me. There were a lot of people that judged her and our family for that, but the truth is, our family is so much better for it. That baby girl has blessed us all beyond measure. And more than anything I hope she doesn't mind that I've mentioned her here. :)
My father is a recovering narcotics addict. And, I love him for that. He has proven to me that people really can change if they have the desire and something worth changing for. His love for the gospel is so pure, so true. He inspires me, too.
Sometimes, I yell at my son. I'm working on it. He still loves me, and tells me every day that I'm "the best girl in town."
I change my clothes more on a Sunday morning that any other day of the week, because I want to look as beautiful as the other women do.
I am a consultant for Slumber Parties, and sometimes I sell people sex toys and make jokes about sex. I don't really care if you think it's wrong, because I'm at peace with it.

And even as I write these things, I'm nervous. Nervous that someone will judge me. Nervous that someone won't sit near me in church, because of what I've said. I've deleted things originally written in this post, because I was afraid to even write them for others to read. How stupid. How ridiculous.
Why do we do this to each other? Why don't we encourage our friends and neighbors to be who they truly are? I'm so grateful for the few people in my adolescence that allowed me to be who I truly was at the time. They know who they are. I hope that I encourage everyone I know to be true to themselves.  It is our imperfections that make us so valuable to each other.
So, stop it, everyone.
Like President Uchdorf said: "Don't judge me, because I sin differently than you."
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.
Be true.