It doesn't have to be big. It could be a peaceful sunrise, a day at the beach, or a baby's first smile.
For me, it seems to be steps in the dark.
Let me explain.
My entire life seems to be one questionable decision after another. I suppose when they handed out the ability to learn from other people's life lessons, I was off chasing a butterfly.
I cannot seem to hear something and learn from it. I have to see, feel, taste, smell, and LIVE each experience myself. I've written about a few of them here on this blog. A few of the more serious sins, and a few of the smaller cultural no-nos.
Today I want to tell you of an experience I had learning a little more about the heart of people.
All my life I was taught that it is BAD to be a "rebel". Satan's followers were "rebels". Rebels were apostates. You had to be VERY careful about what you said and did, or you were following the path to hell.
Sounds pretty ridiculous as I write it, but I think this is something many LDS families teach their children.
A lot of hurt and anguish were caused by this. I was abused because I was too rigidly following these guidelines for my life. I was called an apostate for asking honest questions, told I had a bad attitude for sharing my opinions, and called a rebel when I was just being me.
Not long ago, I got my nose pierced. It was something I always wanted to do, so I did it. When I showed my face at church, the Bishop of my ward sarcastically said, "Oh, every Mormon who thinks they are a rebel pierces their nose."
"Um, what?"
I was once again, in my thirties, being called a rebel. I sure didn't feel like one. I was at church, wasn't I? I wasn't trying to make some grand statement, wasn't trying to cause a scene. I just quietly sat in my seat and felt more like my authentic self. I am, after all, someone who likes piercings.
I eventually felt enough pressure to remove it. I was okay with this, as I continually fiddled with it anyway so I always looked like I was picking my nose. :) But it bothered me that I was perceived as being rebellious to God.
Fastforward a few more years and a few SERIOUS sins later. I've since gained a groundbreaking territory in my understanding of myself. I decided to get a tattoo. So, I did.
I decided on another tattoo. Something near and dear to my heart.
While I was at the tattoo parlor, I had a bit of a revelation. I realized how my whole life I had thought of people with tattoos and piercings a certain way. I thought life had made them hard; unapproachable. I thought (and this seems silly now) that they were a bit scary, and probably mean. As I sat talking to the most tattooed man I had ever seen, and he told me his story, I suddenly got it.
I felt like Eve. In my own small way, I understood how she must have felt after eating the fruit. She new full and well what she was doing was perhaps not the right way to go about the plan, but after she made that decision, knowledge was found.
This tattooed man was, no joke, the KINDEST man I had ever met. And boy did he know suffering. Many of his tattoos spoke of tragedy, of hurt, and of the amazing life he led. I sat back in awe, knowing that my perspective on things had changed immensely. I saw then how I can use my tattoos for good, in a culture that sees them as blatant disobedience.
God knows our hearts. He knows who is doing things out of rebellion, and He knows who is doing things because they are searching. Perhaps it is not the way He would chose for us to find our way, but I believe He understands.
Many of you may be wondering why I chose to disobey the rules for piercings and tattoos. Some of you are probably giving me a hard time right now. That is okay. I don't expect everyone to understand. I only hope that you will learn to love those as they are. This is my movement. If I'm rebelling against anything, it is against hate, hurt, and not being true to yourself. I'm working on being me: A New Kind Of Mormon.
