Boston, Boston, Boston, BOS-TON! And did I mention Boston?
John posted his version of his LDS church court experience, filling in some of the gaps left by mine.
Picture taken while in the Outer Banks of North Carolina a few years ago, just after one of the first times I went swimming in the ocean. Back then I never would have guessed how important the waves, wind & sea would become in my life!
I’ve been feeling resonances of this post as I’ve dealt with the various challenges of this past week, and especially as I’ve tried to understand how the excommunication and the murder are affecting my kids’ sense of security.
To work out some of my own pent-up energy and frustration, I got into the pool this morning and swam dozens of laps until I was spent. Long ago I learned that you can cry into your goggles while you swim and no one around you is the wiser…
This was originally posted on August 7, 2008, just a week after the surgery to remove the infected tissue from my left leg.
I have a ritual that for my twice-daily wound dressings. It involves the expected hand-washing, opening of sterile wrappers, cleaning and laying out of tweezers and scissors, a dousing of the affected area with saline. Then I start to breathe.
In my yoga practice my teacher taught us to send energy through our bodies by imagining a furnace sitting at the base of our spine. With each breath in we stoke the fire of that engine, make it burn hotter and brighter, and as it enlarges and warmth shoots down our legs and arms–creating arcs of energy that spit out of our finger and toe tips. While I am doing a dressing change and I breathe this way I am less interested in shooting sparks out my fingers bit–rather, I imagine a pinwheel of fire in my belly that sends its light to my leg. The light warms and soothes the tissue, preparing for the moment when I have to grab the tip of the gauze that’s packed into the wound and pull. It doesn’t come easily–it is packed in with pressure and cemented by blood and slubs of new tissue. And that’s exactly the point–the pull debrides the wound, “cleans it,” keeps it open. For me it is a horror to hurt myself that way–to rip open a sore that is doing its best to heal closed. To tug at the tissue that is so raw and tender from months of inflammation feels counterintuitive from my deepest fibre. I find that it’s only when I breathe my special way that I can make my hand do what has to be done.
As I performed my ritual this morning, my mind stuck for a moment on how “this has to be done.” In my case it has to be done in order for my surgery to be effective. But I let that thought expand and enlarge as I thought of other times in my life that I am doing what “has to be done.” I thought of my life as an amputee, how much of that is simply finding ways of doing what “has to be done.” Walking with a prosthesis, ignoring the stares of passersby, standing unselfconsciously in front of a classroom–not easy things, but to me they are not courageous, heroic or unusual. They are a means to an end. I have little choice in the matter. Like the gauze that must be pulled, I cannot change my physical difference. It is what “has to be done” for me to move through my daily life.
And of course we all do things every day that “have to be done.” It occurred to me in that moment of gauze pulling that my situation is no way unique. It is what makes me just like you. You have lots of things you have to do, things that bring a twinge of discomfort and frustration– even outright pain. But they are “what has to be done.”
Although I didn’t articulate it in this way when I first began blogging, I would say that most of my online writing (at least on my personal site), is my attempt at making peace with the “what has to be done” of my life. A big part of that is writing about my disability. Because it’s so often difficult to experience the pity of complete strangers, I need to discuss what that feels like. I need to tell the story of what happens when a one-legged woman walks into an athletic facility or is harassed by TSA employees at the airport.
Last night as I was hobbling across the living room in frustration–trying to walk on my fake leg and my wounded leg and taking one big leap to the sofa because I just wanted to get off of both of my feet as fast as possible, my daughter came over to comfort me. She expressed her sympathy at hard it must be for me to walk right now. I was angry and tired and hurting. I looked up at her standing over me and suggested that her life might be a whole lot better if she’d been born to a Mom with two good legs. A Mom who could be outside playing and running and not one who had to ask for help each time she needed to use the toilet.
CatGirl, with all of her young wisdom said, “I only know what I have. I don’t know what it’s like to have a Mom like that. I only know what it’s like to have a Mom like you. So I only want you to be my Mom.”
I think CatGirl understands a lot about “what has to be done”–maybe more than I do. She knows that you only know what you’ve experienced and that’s that. So “what has to be done” for her is to be gentle with her Mom when she’s healing, to refill my water cup, to not complain as she trails alongside me through clinics and hospitals. She hears me scream and cry when I’m hurting and she takes in in stride. This afternoon she patiently helped me clean off all of the adhesive residue that was still stuck to my arms from my latest round of IVs–knowing that I couldn’t reach the goop on the backs of my arms myself. It was “what had to be done” for her Mom.
I think I’m still learning “what has to be done,” and that’s why I keep blogging. I’ve got to write to make sense of my place in this world, to understand the madness and beauty and arbitrariness of it all. And I also feel like someday after I’m gone (let’s say in 30 or 40 years from now) CatGirl might be facing something as painful as having to debride her own wounds, and maybe she’ll look back on this blog–these thousands of words that I’ve written here over the years–and something here will strengthen her to face the realities of her life. To do what “has to be done.”
Friends:
If you follow me on twitter and Facebook, you already know that the fatal shooting at UCI occurred just outside our apartment. We are all okay, except for that residual emotional trauma that comes from having been so close to such an event. John’s post captures this so well.
My husband was excommunicated from the LDS church last Wednesday night by a council of 12 men led by the three members of our Stake Presidency. Other relevant officials, such as our bishop, were also involved in the proceedings.
I will run through a brief summary of the events and then offer some of my observations about them. Note: to protect the privacy of the people involved, I’m going to discuss some of the actions more generally.
1) We arrived at the appointed time and were asked to wait in a small foyer while the men convened. There was a bit of small talk. I knew most of the men involved with this event and greeted them by first name (I knew more of them than John because of my previous stake-level callings).
2) We were ushered into an office to meet with the man who was officiating at the event. He stressed to us that the event was sacred and should not be discussed, adding that it would not proceed if we insisted on recording any part of it. We affirmed that we would not record it and then he explained to us how the evening would proceed. John was charged with being in apostasy, which our church leaders defined using the CHI definition: “to repeatedly act in clear, open, and deliberate public opposition to the Church or its leaders.” We were told that if John didn’t deny those charges, the procedure would be over rather quickly. John then requested that whether he accepted or denied the charges, he wanted me to have the opportunity to testify on his behalf. The leader agreed to this.
3) We were led to a side room to meet briefly with our bishop. We exchanged pleasantries, having only met him once before.
4) John was ushered into the Council room. He can speak best on what happened at that point. He did not deny the charges. This portion of the evening was the only time that I was left alone.
5) I was then led into the Council room. To draw a picture for those who have never seen one before: it is a long, rectangular room with a gigantic T-shaped table in the middle. At the head of the “T” sat the Stake Presidency. The room’s long walls were lined with about ten men sitting on each side. At the far end of the table from the SP there were two folding chairs. That is where we were directed to sit. When I entered the room everyone was standing. Every man in the room except for John was wearing a dark suit, a white or pastel-colored shirt, and tie. Most of the men were 50+ years of age. There were numerous familiar faces. I will admit that the scene was daunting. I think I even visibly startled for a moment at the sea of suits.
6) After a bit of small talk, I was then asked to offer my opinion on whether John was in apostasy, and was read the above definition. I sat in silence for a few moments, realizing that I could not answer that question.
7) I then explained that I could not answer the question posed to me because I felt that the question was worded far too vaguely for me to answer definitively. I noted that words like “public” and “deliberate” were terms that were open to a variety of interpretations. I then stated that my purpose in testifying was to speak about John’s intentions and his character, and to offer my observations that his writings online were in line with his ongoing search for truth, and that I saw no inconsistency between his recent behavior and his decision 20 years ago to be baptized into the church even knowing that doing so was against his family’s will. I emphasized that John intended no malice with his writings, that his intentions were to speak truth rather than to destroy faith. And so forth. I believe I spoke for about 5 minutes.
8) I was then asked if I loved John. And he was asked if he loved me. We were led into a small room to meet with our bishop. At this point, I believe the council members were praying to know the Lord’s will about the court verdict.
9) My favorite part of the evening was my chat with the Bishop. I suspect that I might have freaked him out a bit with my non-stop description of our family’s faith journey. In any case, I got some things off my chest & found a listening ear.
10) John was invited back to the Council room. He can fill in what happened there.
11) John retrieved me from the small room where I was waiting and the various men milling around in the hall made it clear that the meeting was adjourned. I followed John out the door into the night air, the bishop walking alongside. But no one had yet told me the verdict, and there was some awkwardness to the final exchanges between us and the Councilmen. As we neared the car I turned to John & Bishop and asked. They had supposed that I knew John was ex’d. It was a strange end to an odd night. I had thought that there would be a final meeting with a church official to explain the consequences of the ex’ing, specifically how it would affect my temple ordinances, and I felt a bit lost by not having had that. As we drove away John said that the consequences of the ex’ing were never explained to him, either, and that the verdict was given that he was in apostasy and something about excommunication was mumbled afterwards. (I should note that the room where the council was held was gigantic and the man conducting the meeting is so soft-spoken that it was nearly impossible to hear anything he was saying from where we sat.)
Here are some of my initial thoughts about this experience:
–We were told at the beginning of the proceedings that there was little doubt that John would be found in apostasy due to the clarity of his web writings. I found this declaration off-putting given that John’s request to know specifically which of his writings were ‘apostate’ was not considered relevant. The only detail that was offered was a confirmation that he was not being called to court for his stand on Prop. 8.
–Holding a court for ‘apostasy’ is confusing to me, perhaps because the reasoning behind such activities is never explained. If I had not heard of the September Six, I doubt I would have even known that there was such a thing as a court for apostasy–this is not mainstream Mormon stuff. There is never a point in LDS ritual where members make a covenant to not criticize their leaders or the church (note: there is a moment in the temple where one promises to avoid all lightmindedness, loud laughter, evil speaking of the Lord’s anointed, the taking of the name of God in vain, and every other unholy and impure practice. I had always assumed the “evil speaking” bit to mean saying lewd or rude things about church leaders, not critique of church policies–and the meaning of these archaic phrases is never explained in the temple. Also, given that I’ve never heard of anyone being ex’d for swearing or laughing, it seems a highly selective and arbitrary criteria for cutting someone off from the church). Yes, there are prophetic warnings about avoiding personal apostasy, but I know of nowhere that members are given the handbook definition of apostasy as a behavioral guideline. We did not even know how this term was defined until we asked for clarification prior to the court. I would add that even with the definition given to us I had no idea how it applied to the fuzzy space of internet writing.
–The actual physical dynamic of this event was very strange. We were constantly being ushered in and out of the various rooms. At one point I requested to sit in the foyer outside the council room rather than having to walk back to the holding room down the hall. My request was denied, which seemed very strange. I suppose there is a very rigid protocol that’s being followed, but the rules weren’t all explained to us and it just felt weird to be led back and forth and all around every few minutes. As I’ve reflected on why we were carefully corralled and escorted during these proceedings I wondered if there was a concern that we would initiate a protest or invite protesters to ‘storm the building.’ I have no idea, but it was very strange, indeed.
–John has said that he’s satisfied with all that happened. He went expecting to lose his membership and he encountered no surprises there. I couldn’t help but find it oddly harsh to have the council only interested in the answer to a single question as a litmus test for a 20-year investment in the church. They didn’t care about John’s intent, about any of his devotional practices, about his adherence to the commandments, etc. They didn’t ask about any unorthodoxies in the realm of sexual behavior or Word of Wisdom (note: typically excommunication in the LDS church happens because of sexual indiscretion). It hurts to know that the church had felt it appropriate and necessary to excommunicate John, when someone like my high school boyfriend who was baptized & active for all of one month is still considered a member in good standing.
–I got the feeling from some of our interactions with church leaders that they expected us to be belligerent or to make a scene at this occasion. Though these were all subtle impressions, it reinforced my sense that all ‘apostates’ are painted with the same broad brush. John and I have repeatedly affirmed that we would not disrupt meetings or violate the sanctity of church spaces–doing so would be inconsistent with our values. However, overall, it may be that the stigma of the letter “A” will now speak more loudly than anything else John says or does from now on within the Mormon community.
–I don’t yet know how this excommunication will affect me or our children. From what I gather, the sealing ordinance that occurred when we married in the Los Angeles Temple is now dissolved (this is the ordinance that binds me and John and our children together in the hereafter). Most Mormons are asked on an annual (or biannual) basis whether they affiliate with or are sympathetic to apostates (or apostate groups). This is part of the list of questions that they must answer to qualify for a temple recommend. Because of this question, I suspect that many active LDS will be wary of being friendly with me or John. When I was more embedded in the church myself, I remember feeling some concern about developing close friendships with excommunicants–I was concerned that doing so was a step forward onto the slippery slope of my own apostasy.
–In this write-up of the events, I’ve attempted to be fairly objective in my understanding of what happened that night. For those who might not know me (or my blog), I want to make it clear that I do not support the holding of LDS church courts for apostasy. Such events reinforce a hierarchical/patriarchal approach to spirituality that is repulsive to me. While I respect many of the men who participated in this event, I do not respect the reasoning behind it. In my mind, it is an act of violence to cut someone off from the body of the church, essentially ‘damning’ them from affiliation with church members and from the celestial kingdom (or Mormon heaven) in the afterlife. I see nothing of God or of the divine in such actions.
My husband was excommunicated from the LDS church last Wednesday night by a council of 12 men led by the three members of our Stake Presidency. Other relevant officials, such as our bishop, were also involved in the proceedings.
I will run through a brief summary of the events and then offer some of my observations about them. Note: to protect the privacy of the people involved, I’m going to discuss some of the actions more generally.
1) We arrived at the appointed time and were asked to wait in a small foyer while the men convened. There was a bit of small talk. I knew most of the men involved with this event and greeted them by first name (I knew more of them than John because of my previous stake-level callings).
2) We were ushered into an office to meet with the man who was officiating at the event. He stressed to us that the event was sacred and should not be discussed, adding that it would not proceed if we insisted on recording any part of it. We affirmed that we would not record it and then he explained to us how the evening would proceed. John was charged with being in apostasy, which our church leaders defined using the CHI definition: “to repeatedly act in clear, open, and deliberate public opposition to the Church or its leaders.” We were told that if John didn’t deny those charges, the procedure would be over rather quickly. John then requested that whether he accepted or denied the charges, he wanted me to have the opportunity to testify on his behalf. The leader agreed to this.
3) We were led to a side room to meet briefly with our bishop. We exchanged pleasantries, having only met him once before.
4) John was ushered into the Council room. He can speak best on what happened at that point. He did not deny the charges. This portion of the evening was the only time that I was left alone.
5) I was then led into the Council room. To draw a picture for those who have never seen one before: it is a long, rectangular room with a gigantic T-shaped table in the middle. At the head of the “T” sat the Stake Presidency. The room’s long walls were lined with about ten men sitting on each side. At the far end of the table from the SP there were two folding chairs. That is where we were directed to sit. When I entered the room everyone was standing. Every man in the room except for John was wearing a dark suit, a white or pastel-colored shirt, and tie. Most of the men were 50+ years of age. There were numerous familiar faces. I will admit that the scene was daunting. I think I even visibly startled for a moment at the sea of suits.
6) After a bit of small talk, I was then asked to offer my opinion on whether John was in apostasy, and was read the above definition. I sat in silence for a few moments, realizing that I could not answer that question.
7) I then explained that I could not answer the question posed to me because I felt that the question was worded far too vaguely for me to answer definitively. I noted that words like “public” and “deliberate” were terms that were open to a variety of interpretations. I then stated that my purpose in testifying was to speak about John’s intentions and his character, and to offer my observations that his writings online were in line with his ongoing search for truth, and that I saw no inconsistency between his recent behavior and his decision 20 years ago to be baptized into the church even knowing that doing so was against his family’s will. I emphasized that John intended no malice with his writings, that his intentions were to speak truth rather than to destroy faith. And so forth. I believe I spoke for about 5 minutes.
8) I was then asked if I loved John. And he was asked if he loved me. We were led into a small room to meet with our bishop. At this point, I believe the council members were praying to know the Lord’s will about the court verdict.
9) My favorite part of the evening was my chat with the Bishop. I suspect that I might have freaked him out a bit with my non-stop description of our family’s faith journey. In any case, I got some things off my chest & found a listening ear.
10) John was invited back to the Council room. He can fill in what happened there.
11) John retrieved me from the small room where I was waiting and the various men milling around in the hall made it clear that the meeting was adjourned. I followed John out the door into the night air, the bishop walking alongside. But no one had yet told me the verdict, and there was some awkwardness to the final exchanges between us and the Councilmen. As we neared the car I turned to John & Bishop and asked. They had supposed that I knew John was ex’d. It was a strange end to an odd night. I had thought that there would be a final meeting with a church official to explain the consequences of the ex’ing, specifically how it would affect my temple ordinances, and I felt a bit lost by not having had that. As we drove away John said that the consequences of the ex’ing were never explained to him, either, and that the verdict was given that he was in apostasy and something about excommunication was mumbled afterwards. (I should note that the room where the council was held was gigantic and the man conducting the meeting is so soft-spoken that it was nearly impossible to hear anything he was saying from where we sat.)
Here are some of my initial thoughts about this experience:
–We were told at the beginning of the proceedings that there was little doubt that John would be found in apostasy due to the clarity of his web writings. I found this declaration off-putting given that John’s request to know specifically which of his writings were ‘apostate’ was not considered relevant. The only detail that was offered was a confirmation that he was not being called to court for his stand on Prop. 8.
–Holding a court for ‘apostasy’ is confusing to me, perhaps because the reasoning behind such activities is never explained. If I had not heard of the September Six, I doubt I would have even known that there was such a thing as a court for apostasy–this is not mainstream Mormon stuff. There is never a point in LDS ritual where members make a covenant to not criticize their leaders or the church (note: there is a moment in the temple where one promises to avoid all lightmindedness, loud laughter, evil speaking of the Lord’s anointed, the taking of the name of God in vain, and every other unholy and impure practice. I had always assumed the “evil speaking” bit to mean saying lewd or rude things about church leaders, not critique of church policies–and the meaning of these archaic phrases is never explained in the temple. Also, given that I’ve never heard of anyone being ex’d for swearing or laughing, it seems a highly selective and arbitrary criteria for cutting someone off from the church). Yes, there are prophetic warnings about avoiding personal apostasy, but I know of nowhere that members are given the handbook definition of apostasy as a behavioral guideline. We did not even know how this term was defined until we asked for clarification prior to the court. I would add that even with the definition given to us I had no idea how it applied to the fuzzy space of internet writing.
–The actual physical dynamic of this event was very strange. We were constantly being ushered in and out of the various rooms. At one point I requested to sit in the foyer outside the council room rather than having to walk back to the holding room down the hall. My request was denied, which seemed very strange. I suppose there is a very rigid protocol that’s being followed, but the rules weren’t all explained to us and it just felt weird to be led back and forth and all around every few minutes. As I’ve reflected on why we were carefully corralled and escorted during these proceedings I wondered if there was a concern that we would initiate a protest or invite protesters to ‘storm the building.’ I have no idea, but it was very strange, indeed.
–John has said that he’s satisfied with all that happened. He went expecting to lose his membership and he encountered no surprises there. I couldn’t help but find it oddly harsh to have the council only interested in the answer to a single question as a litmus test for a 20-year investment in the church. They didn’t care about John’s intent, about any of his devotional practices, about his adherence to the commandments, etc. They didn’t ask about any unorthodoxies in the realm of sexual behavior or Word of Wisdom (note: typically excommunication in the LDS church happens because of sexual indiscretion). It hurts to know that the church had felt it appropriate and necessary to excommunicate John, when someone like my high school boyfriend who was baptized & active for all of one month is still considered a member in good standing.
–I got the feeling from some of our interactions with church leaders that they expected us to be belligerent or to make a scene at this occasion. Though these were all subtle impressions, it reinforced my sense that all ‘apostates’ are painted with the same broad brush. John and I have repeatedly affirmed that we would not disrupt meetings or violate the sanctity of church spaces–doing so would be inconsistent with our values. However, overall, it may be that the stigma of the letter “A” will now speak more loudly than anything else John says or does from now on within the Mormon community.
–I don’t yet know how this excommunication will affect me or our children. From what I gather, the sealing ordinance that occurred when we married in the Los Angeles Temple is now dissolved (this is the ordinance that binds me and John and our children together in the hereafter). Most Mormons are asked on an annual (or biannual) basis whether they affiliate with or are sympathetic to apostates (or apostate groups). This is part of the list of questions that they must answer to qualify for a temple recommend. Because of this question, I suspect that many active LDS will be wary of being friendly with me or John. When I was more embedded in the church myself, I remember feeling some concern about developing close friendships with excommunicants–I was concerned that doing so was a step forward onto the slippery slope of my own apostasy.
–In this write-up of the events, I’ve attempted to be fairly objective in my understanding of what happened that night. For those who might not know me (or my blog), I want to make it clear that I do not support the holding of LDS church courts for apostasy. Such events reinforce a hierarchical/patriarchal approach to spirituality that is repulsive to me. While I respect many of the men who participated in this event, I do not respect the reasoning behind it. In my mind, it is an act of violence to cut someone off from the body of the church, essentially ‘damning’ them from affiliation with church members and from the celestial kingdom (or Mormon heaven) in the afterlife. I see nothing of God or of the divine in such actions.
Some random delights from my longest, toughest, outrigger race ever:
–My teammates were amazing! We had a coed crew of 6 girls and 3 guys. We sync-ed together far better than we’d expected, with everyone’s timing being excellent. I paddled the race rather than steering. It was a huge change for me to slip into a different role, but I wanted to just paddle hard and not have to think (so much of steering is in your head), which ended up working well.
–I flubbed one seat change (where you’re dropped into the water by the support boat and then ‘leap’ into the canoe to fill the seat of someone who jumps out just seconds before). It was near the end of the race and I was exhausted, not to mention that the bruising on my leg under my knee was so gnarly that I couldn’t keep using it as a fulcrum point (typically, you hook one leg over the side to help get you in). Next time, I will be stronger & more ready. :)
–My novice coach’s canoe was close to ours for much of the race (she was racing with a Masters Womens team). Everytime she passed by in the chase boat I felt such a thrill. This journey that we started together in February–back when I thought getting to the PCH bridge was an accomplishment (that’s like 1/4 mi of paddling)–I can’t believe how far I’ve come in these past few months!
–The day was overcast–a thick marine layer–and temps were in the mid-70s. The ocean water was in the mid-70s, too. It felt so remarkable to be out there in that huge expanse of blue. Each time I was rotated out of the canoe and had to swim back to the support boat I would ask for a bit of extra time to swim and float. It felt so good to my aching muscles and just felt cosmically right to be carried by the swells.
–The island wasn’t visible until the last 8 miles, when the edge of the cliff started appearing out of the mist. It was ethereal–the stuff of fairy-tales. I won’t forget the beauty of that. Ever. By that point I didn’t care what our place was in the race anymore, I just wanted to get there!
–After we landed and retrieved our belongings, I realized that I needed some help figuring out how to make my connections–to get into Avalon and to get to the airport that sits up on a high cliff in the center of the island. A teammate flagged down a nice guy driving a golf cart and he ever-so-willingly gave me a lift to town (it was one of those moments where the kindness of strangers absolutely bowls me over). Then I got to the shuttle stop and had about 30 min to change into dry clothes and find some food (both relatively easily accomplished and I should also say how grateful I am for the extremely large & clean disabled bathroom stall that I found. I had to completely remove my beach leg to dump the inches of ocean water that I was carrying in my socket. And there’s nothing nicer than having a nice space with grab bars for accomplishing the relatively complicated task of peeling off layers of wet clothes, removing pegleg, and then putting everything back on again!)
–As I’d been told, the ride up to airport was as precarious as one could imagine–a one lane road climbing high. We saw the island bison, survived some hairpin turns with oncoming vehicles, and every minute I kept looking out at the big blue ocean and knew that I’d just paddled that. What an amazing feeling!
–Originally I’d planned to ride the ferry home from the race, but Laura & Graham told me that they’d love to pick me up by plane(!). I’ve never been in a plane that small, but how could I turn down such an offer(!). Even though the clouds were rolling in in a rather dramatic way by the time they landed, all went well (Graham’s landing skills are excellent, I must say!). And, the views!! Laura let me borrow her digital camera during the flight so hopefully I’ll be sharing a bit of that with you soon!
–Flying in over the coast of California I saw various harbors & bays–from Marina del Rey, on down. It felt so satisfying to reflect on the races that’ve taken me all up and down the coast this past year.
—People. I did it. Or rather, we did it. Thank you to everyone who has aided, supported and been patient with me this past year. For teammates who’ve been so willing to jump into my boat, for the prosthetists who crafted my extra-special beach leg, for coaches who challenged me to work harder each practice, to friends who listened to me yammer on about paddling, and to Sharine for introducing me to the world of the outrigger(!). But most especially to John, who is right now cooking up a protein-heavy omelet breakfast for his uber-achy pilgrimgirl.
PS: As for the ginormous bruise behind my knee…I am naming her Catalina :)
This piece was originally posted on February 23, at the beginning of my novice year with IMUA, my outrigger canoe team. What an amazing season this has been!
Awhile ago I told a friend that my dream life would include paddling on the ocean every morning. It’s part of that fantasy-dream life that includes that two-room cottage in a hippie beach city, that we’ll buy after I’ve sold a few bestseller books or hit paydirt in some other manner. I remember as I told my friend this, thinking of all the logistical hurdles that kept me from paddling: a boat, the skills, the time, etc.
So it really was cooler-than-cool when a new friend invited me along to go outrigger canoeing on Newport’s Back Bay a few months ago. And it was hardly any wonder that when she told me about her paddling team that I was eager to try it out. So fast forward a few months–I’ve joined the “novice” women’s team and I’m having a blast learning how to paddle.
The irony of this wasn’t entirely evident until attended my first novice practice. Because we’re just learning the ropes, us newbies are practicing on Sunday mornings and not with the regular team yet. We push off from the beach at about 9 and return around noon. It’s three hours of various drills, sprints, and pointed advice on technique. We switch positions in the boat because each seat has different responsibilities. And most of all, we’re building up our endurance because the races are miles long and we’ve barely just gotten the feel of paddling through the waves (most of our practices are still held in the harbor as we toodle around Lido or Balboa islands).
What didn’t dawn on my until the first practice, was that the beach where we launch…it’s just across the street from the LDS Chapel where I first met John, where we held our wedding reception, where our son was blessed, where I taught early-morning seminary, where I worshiped for most of my adult life. And as I turn right to the beach, all those SUVs turning left are my LDS friends who are pulling into their Sunday meetings.
This really gave me pause on the first morning of practice. I reflected on how much I’ve changed in the past five years, how when I was even a lukewarm Mormon I never would have considered joining a sport team with practices on a Sunday morning, because of injunctions about keeping the Sabbath holy and because of my obligations to my ward.
This week my coach announced that she was teaching me how to steer the boat. The steerer sits in the back of the boat and is basically in charge of keeping the other team members on track–most literally because the steerer sets the course for the entire boat because they are the boat’s rudder. Using special strokes to keep the craft going in the appropriate direction, the steerer also calls the ‘start’ of the paddling and watches to make sure the other paddlers are in sync. My coach, during the time I was training gave me tips on how to keep a team together, how to help the boat move successfully toward a destination. I was amazed by the trust my teammates had in me, because the canoes are precarious and the ocean current is strong. A slight miscalculation on my part would result in all of us landing in frigid water, which was especially undesirable given the chilly winter temps on Sunday (and we all saw another team with a seasoned steersman tip a boatload into the bay last week, so we were well aware of the risks).
So we zig-zgged around the channel a bit until I figured out how not to ‘overshoot’ with my steering strokes. My boatmates were calm and never expressed concern about my efforts. As we pulled into shore and finished cleaning the canoe, my coach told the other team members (who were in other boats) of my success at steering and they congratulated me on my efforts–a few even offering applause. It was a kind and rather unnecessarily embarrassing gesture, but I loved how it made me feel part of the team.
As I drove away from the beach area and passed the LDS chapel I thought a lot about the way I used to feel a part of the Mormon team. I felt a thrill every time I entered that building and felt its echoes of memories and special occasions. It will never cease being a holy place for me. But when I get out of the canoe and feel the bone-deep satisfaction of having paddled hard, having felt the thrill of being on the open ocean and the rhythm of the waves, of seeing dolphins playing in the surf, of having dry lips and chapped cheeks from hours facing into the sea wind…I can’t help but feel joy that I’m steering my own boat these days. I don’t have the surety of the ‘final destination’ that I used to when I spent my Sundays on the other side of the street, but I’m okay with that. The open water offers me more now. And I’m up for the challenge.
Picture above not mine, but is of the same kind of canoe that I paddle in with my team.
Question with boldness even the existence of a God; because, if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason, than that of blind-folded fear.
~Thomas Jefferson
I’m not going into this event with any fear about eternal consequences. I don’t feel any fear about divine reprisal. And I certainly don’t fear the disapproval of 15 aged men.
My fear is simply that I will find it difficult to speak my truth. I’ve been socialized to bow to authority, especially when that authority is cloaked in the trappings of the LDS priesthood. Every time I sat on the opposite side of the desk from one of these leaders in an interview, I ‘performed’ appropriately. I have not, as of yet, been face-to-face with an LDS church leader and discussed how I really view the world and my place in it.
I suspect that my opportunities to speak in tonite’s events will be limited. After all, it’s John’s court and not mine. But when I do speak, I am hoping to do so from my soul and from my heart. I will be afraid, but if I’ve learned anything this past few years, it’s that fear is normal at times of stress and change. And I will not let fear stop me from living my life authentically.
I find that the ocean has taught me much about facing fear–everytime our canoe dives into the belly of a wave I feel it. It’s exhilarating to live through uncertainty and to come out the other side even stronger for it.
“I gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which I must stop and look fear in the face…I say to myself, I’ve lived through this and can take the next thing that comes along…We must do things we think we cannot do.”
~Eleanor Roosevelt
Some other posts about facing fear:
–Casting Faith
–When I was Found Naked
–After dark
–Inside-Out
–What has to be Done
Oh, and one more thing I need to say today….See that island off in the distance? I’m paddling all the way to Catalina this Saturday with my outrigger team in a historic race! Woohoohoo!
This is the culmination of a long year of paddle, paddle, paddle. I’m so excited for this adventure and am already planning many more exciting races to come!
I will be spending at least an hour this morning sitting in lotus position, in meditation. I need the peace that comes from time spent in silence.
Just returned from an anniversary weekend celebration with John. It’s so much fun to spend time relaxing and doing things with him! This weekend he took the reins and planned everything–I just showed up and played along. And every moment was chock-full of fun and memories.
Coming home wasn’t a downer at all, though. Re-connecting with the kids, the kitties, and the sacred space of our home was so grounding. Nothing (no nothing) can disrupt that peace.
Sundays, especially before a Monday holiday, are times for peace, love and connection. Such pleasure.