Matthew 17:20 He said to them: if you have faith as a grain of mustard seed, you will tell this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.
You guys, this weekend was something else. I’ve resisted the urge to post my reactions to the State of the Mormon Church because … well… I didn’t know where I stood. I felt the ground on which I built had built a wispy testimony turn to swamp water. When I read the first article about the leaked policy, I threw my hands up and decided, ‘Well. I’m out. I’m done. There is nothing left for me here.’
And it felt easy. And it felt respectable. And I took a deep breath.
And I felt God.
Social media is chock full of analysis and testimony and resignations and evaluation and two teams volleying for the prize for most truth. I had to walk away from it, because for me, none of it changed the fact that I belong to a church that sits at the eye of this storm.
People have asked how I’m doing and what I think. Honestly, I’d be okay never going back. I can find another church, or just take back Sunday and walk around in my underwear because I can. I wanted to leave. The desire, believe me, is strong. And I don’t think many would blame me for doing so.
There is a lot I don’t know. There is a lot I don’t understand. There is a lot I don’t want to deal with.
But there is something I do know.
This church was the first place I felt God’s hand in my life. A hand that wrapped tightly around me while I begged to know if He knew me, let alone loved me. He showed up for me. When I was baptized into this church, I covenanted to mourn with those who mourn and to stand as a witness of God in all times and in all places.
Even in the hard times. Even in the ugly spaces.
I learned, through sweat and tears, that we have a Heavenly Father and a Heavenly Mother. I learned that they love me, they have a plan for me, and that my family is part of that plan. I, in all my rainbow baby glory, am a child of a God who has known me and loved me from the very beginning.
I have a testimony of these truths. I’m not here to share my testimony of the Church Handbook of Instructions. I’ve not covenanted to it and, in this moment, it isn’t demanded of me to declare allegiance. I have never been asked to testify of the divinity of mortal beings. I’m not asked to do any of that. And I won’t. Instead, I am asked to lift where I stand, choose the right, and trust that God has a plan for us.
My testimony sits in the shade of a mustard seed. It’s a whisper. That whisper tells me it’s okay to take a break. To let the storm die down a bit. To catch my breath. But it’s a whisper that reminds me that God has kept his promise.
And with the faith of a mustard seed, I’m going to try like hell to keep mine.