On the Spirit
Chapter 21: Letters to a Leaving Mormon
When my friend Annie was sick with cancer and could hardly eat anything, I had a feeling to offer to get her some Thai food one night. It seemed like a dumb offer because she mostly lived on a diet of orange juice and broth at that point, but I texted her and she said yes. I left the drunken noodles in a styrofoam container on her porch and later that night she texted me and said that she was, in miracle form, able to eat and keep down the food I’d brought. I joked with her that I was prompted by the spirit, I told her it was weirdly comforting to know that I was still capable of feeling that. She said, “That’s your intuition. I feel mine now more than ever.” That was the last conversation we had before she was too sick to talk, too sick to respond to messages or sit with us on the outside patio six feet apart.
The simple gift of her assurance and belief in my intuition has, in turn, comforted me in the year after her death. When I joked with her about being prompted by the spirit, I had been out of the church for a couple of years, but I still doubted my own ability to recognize and respond to my intuition, even when intuition has always been one of my most prominent characteristics.
Looking back, I recognize that I had credited my ability to intuitively know and respond to the needs of others to someone or something entirely outside of my body. I had allowed myself to believe that I was not worthy of that intuition unless I was doing everything just as I had been told—daily scripture reading, prayers, the law of chastity, the word of wisdom, temple attendance, not gossiping, not having uncharitable thoughts. The list was long and consuming. I held the list inside my head, and it took up so much room that I hardly had time to consider anything else. I was so dedicated to making sure everything on the list was completed in the correct order that my intuition wavered at the end of it, hoping to get a turn.
If you are moving away from Mormonism, know that your intuition is and always was yours. Know that as you let go of so much that you felt you were supposed to do in order to have access to it, it will come back to you. It will fill up every lonely part of your heart. Your intuition, like a system of trees, connects you to not only the people, but the world around you.
I used to credit my propensity for crying at beauty entirely to the spirit, as if I’d received a particular dose of it that made me sensitive to feeling things. I know now that beauty itself was what I was feeling. It was not necessary to have an intermediary to bestow feelings and inspiration. The relationships I have with the mountains that watch over my city, the lake to the west, the cottonwood in my backyard, the lizard we accidentally squished up the canyon, my dog laying at the foot of my children’s bed, my children wading out into a lake in summer—they exist unto themselves. I feel an abiding love for the mountains and the lake because they hold the stories of the past. They are wise and full. These relationships do not exist because the mountains and lake belong to a religion. They do not exist for Mormonism's purposes. When I am moved by the tenderness of my parents, or the kindness of my husband, or the creativity of my children, I do not have to credit the Holy Ghost for what I feel. Those feelings of awe, hope, and belief belong to me.
On my mission, I was moved to tears almost every day as we met other humans, passed families on the street, and stepped into the home of a widow. At the time, I attributed many of these feelings to the intense desire I had to share the gospel with all of them. I wanted them to feel the spirit in the same ways I did. I thought I had access to something they did not, and believed my crying was a sign from the spirit to share it with them.
I now see that what I felt was simply love for my flawed, imperfect, striving human experience. What I felt for these people was made possible because I had the privilege to pause and see them. I will always be grateful that my mission gave me time to witness people.
In my last months as an active Mormon, there was a Relief Society lesson on the Holy Ghost. I had been grappling with the lack of feminine presence and authority in my Mormon spiritual life, so I raised my hand and asked if we were positive that the Holy Ghost is male. The response in the room–a room full of women–, was that yes, the Holy Ghost was undoubtedly male, and that, according to God and the scriptures, to believe otherwise was a form of blasphemy. I sat in my padded chair feeling confused, overwhelmed, and a little distraught to know that the source of my inspiration, my internal guidance, was required to be male.
If you are learning to trust your intuition, if you find yourself listening to the wind to see if you hear anything, if you find yourself questioning your ability to love, to moor yourself in life’s sea, to make decisions without the familiar companionship of the Holy Ghost—know that it has not left you. No spirit has departed from you. It was you all along. It was your connection to the world around you. Your courage and belief and hope were your guideposts from the beginning.
Your intuition never belonged to the church, even when it tried claiming ownership. It may take some time to find your footing again, and that’s okay. Your intuition is not going to leave you. Your intuition, your own spiritual guidepost, is invested in you, loves you, is your teacher.
What you are made of, your actual elements, are as ancient as the earth. It’s possible some part of you witnessed miracles, and destruction, and pain throughout the world’s history. The spirit with which you understand the world is probably much wiser than we ever give it credit for.
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