Ambiguity

Watching us at church it seems being LDS is about knowing things. We speak of what we know, we teach each other things, we answer questions in Sunday School pulling from knowledge not in the reading. We're even expected to know how to sing. I've heard from people as an explanation about inactivity: I didn't have a testimony of (blank). That they didn't know, and so they couldn't be mormon. I notice, though, that in my day-to-day life of being mormon I mostly don't know. What does the Lord want me to do with my life? I don't know. The next calling I receive (which will be something I've never done before) how will I do that calling? I won't know. What does this talk (that seems a little boring) have to tell me? I don't know. What am I going to wear to church today? I don't know. It is in answering these and other questions that I practice my mormonism. Its a wrestle. Mormonism is not as much about collecting the answers, but rather about wrestling with the questions at hand. Mormons walk into an office, get asked to teach 5-year-olds each week, and although they know nothing about teaching children, know nothing about the ciriculum, know none of the children, possibly have just moved into the area...they stand against that uncertainty and say yes. The things that happen between that moment, and the first lesson are what it is to be a Mormon. But also rewarding experiences, richness, and sadness when the calling is done. I wake up not having done the right laundry. From that moment to walking into church clothed is about being Mormon. Feeling better the rest of the day, realizing it was worth the effort, receiving that immediate feedback that I'm on the right track. That is also what it is to be Mormon. The weight of ambiguity can be great. But the longer the wait, the more the confusion, the more work it takes, then usually the richer the solution is when it comes. And that is something worth talking about, the precious answers. I know that it is much more important to dwell on the knowing, than on the questions. The only way to fail at being Mormon is to bow to the ambiguity.

The Null Hypothesis: Disproved

I worried for years over whether the church was true. The dread traveled with me, always lurking beside me. Like the moon's reflection while boating, it kept not being left behind.  I finally decided to face it head on. 'Alright,' I supposed, 'what if the church is not true? Really, what if.' The idea that I could fathom such an idea shocked me-- that is the mere notion of the idea -- let alone the shock of the idea itself. I can still see the view from the car I drove. Grey steering wheel, black rainy night, red and white unfocused lights curling to the left.

Statistics claims that we cannot prove a theory or assumption, we can only disprove something, so disprove the opposite: the null hypothesis.

Trying to wrap my mind around the assumption took long moments. It felt like trying to break through a foam wall, or climb over a hill of mashed potatoes in thick fleece snow gear. I couldn't speak, breathe or really think while I pushed over. Perhaps a distant part of my infra-conciousness discussed it, "Are you sure you want to believe this?" "Yes." One step up. "Are you sure?" Yes. Step. Yes. Step. Yes. Yes. Yes. Raw desire climbed me through and I entered my new land. Looking back, I decribe the pause as a stupor of thought: a dazed lack of thought that comes when you spiritually pursuit something untrue.

My seed planted I deliberately followed Alma's experiment described in Alma 32. I tried to control for other factors by not changing anything else in my life, just this one belief. Then discover its fruits. Alma suggests key signs of a good seed belief:  it will enlarge the soul, begin to enlighten the understanding, and begin to be delicious.

My life took many turns for the worse.  For example, because I ended up worrying over the consequences of my assumption (to my family, to my life goals, to my world view) I fell into a noticable daze, lost in thought. Nothing was grounding me, nothing seemed able to stop my mental fall. Eventually I made mistakes serious enough to get me fired just a few months later. In addition my storage space (a friend's garage) was suddenly unavailable, and I had just a few weeks to move not only the boxes from the garage but myself out of my tiny studio apartment. It seemed impossible in the housing-poor city I lived--I was lucky to find my tiny hovel.

After work I walked distractedly, ideas flitted about. I had some random, unusual interactions, providing more fodder. I wish I could detail my flow of realizations and understandings. My thoughts mostly were jumbled confusion, I think, with flashes of insight I clung to. I remember the future looked grim to me. The options seemed unsatisfying. I felt very alone. My reasons for wanting to leave the church started to pale, not panning out. The path I chose grew more and more distasteful. I can't even remember my specific thoughts in the end, as I realized the seed was becoming bitter, but there came a point when I had to admit that I was very sure the seed wasn't good. So I spit it out.

The Church was true and I just had to deal with it. I needed to rejoin it. Sigh. I didn't really want to be a Mormon. I couldn't really see myself as Mormon. But I knew that was the direction to go. I knew for sure, and the moon-dread has never returned.

As an epilogue: The first Sunday back at church, I walked with a friend into the building, stood by the drinking fountain, turned to my friend as a rush of people spilled around us and said, "How am I going to find a place to live in 2 weeks?" The person at the drinking fountain leaned back up, turned, and asked, "Are you looking for a place?" Yes, she was looking for a roomate, starting immediately. She even had a friend with a truck to move all my stuff. Though the new place wasn't within walking distance from my work, it was within walking distance of the job I would settle into after I lost my current one. Impossible. Impossible! Yet True.