Along for the Ride
by Blakelee Ellis
From the time I started thinking about getting married,
I understood that there were complexities about joining two lives together. Gender, family dynamics, finances, personality differences, expectations were all complexities that I knew would have to be navigated. The complexity I didn’t anticipate was deciding how to raise kids. There are those famous movie moments when a couple of different faiths decides to get married or have kids and someone always asks them, “But how will you raise the children?” I naively assumed that was the major difference of opinion between adults raising children, and because we were both LDS, that wouldn’t be a problem for my husband and me. All of you who are reading this who are raising or have raised children are laughing hysterically. I am too. It’s quite the kick in the pants to glance back at our past selves, when we had so little experience or knowledge, and truly begin to understand how stupid we were.
My husband and I were raised very differently. Which might be hard to believe considering we were both raised by white, heterosexual, middleclass, LDS parents who were also born and raised in Utah. We both have so many privileges. So really, how different could our childhoods be? Perhaps you are laughing again. Because you know as well as I do now, that parenting can not be boiled down solely to race, sexuality, socioeconomic status or faith. Because the type of parents we become is shaped by the type of parents we come FROM. I’ve frequently said that there were things my parents did when I was growing up that I was NEVER going to do. And I stuck by that. The cruel irony I know now (I hear you laughing again) is that besides those very clear things I wanted to do differently from my parents, the rest of me continues to grow into them. We all become our parents. Don’t misunderstand me: I love my parents. I respect my parents, but I didn’t really want to morph into them. I’m exaggerating, of course, because I am still my own person with my unique personality and experiences. But much of who I have become and so much of how I raise my children is a result of how many parents raised me. Of course, the same is true with my husband. Trying to merge our personalities, our own backgrounds, our own opinions on how to raise our kids has been, for me, the most complicated part of our married life. I thought that BEFORE my faith shifted several years ago. Now, some days it seems nearly impossible to come to a unified decision about how to be a parent.
Without going into great detail of how we were both raised, I’ll just tell you that I am the “fun” parent and my husband is the “mean” parent. We each had different expectations placed on us as children and so, naturally, the expectations we have for our own kids are very different from each other. Parenting is an amalgamation of so many decisions; some important, but mostly little day to day decisions that eventually build up to make an entire picture of a life. Will I let the kids jump on the couch today? Do I have the energy to allow a giant crafting mess? Will I yell during my son’s temper tantrum or will I be the calm in the storm? Will I apologize for the mistake I just made? Will I make dinner or will we go out to eat? Will I make the kids get off screens and go play outside? Will I react with compassion when my daughter admits she lied? Will I make my son come hang up his backpack or hang it up for him? Will I make my kids eat the recommended serving of vegetables today? There is no way to list all the minute decisions we make during the day. But now, as my spiritual life is complicated, many of the decisions I make about my kids also become extremely complicated.
One of the biggest personal musings continues to be: how much do I share with my kids? How do I inform them, while allowing them to keep their hearts and minds open to the LDS church? How do I bring up my qualms, without overly influencing their decisions? How do I inform them, but allow them to experience things for themselves? I have a deep desire to help foster my kids’ relationships with the divine alongside an even deeper desire to raise critical thinkers. In a church system that doesn’t want us to put question marks after the words of a prophet, it seems nearly impossible to raise children who are “all in” but know how to challenge the injustices of the system. My conscience will not allow me to sit back and watch their spiritual growth dampen and take on LDS rhetoric. If there is anything I can do to prevent my children from going through a mid-life faith crisis, I’m determined to do it. I will not have them fall apart as an adult because their spiritual life no longer works for them. It’s too damn painful. So I ache and think and debrief and deconstruct and reconstruct with them as often as I can. I will walk that tightrope to save them future spiritual pain. I guess I’m the second side of the same coin—LDS mothers everywhere feel a deep responsibility to usher their children down the covenant path so that they have the best chance at eternal life. On the flip side—I feel it is my responsibility to usher my children down their own path to have the best chance at happiness. I trust them to make the best decisions for themselves.
I’m helping my son clean out his room and I notice a, “For the Strength of Youth,” in the garbage. I pull it out.
“You’re getting rid of this?,” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Oh. I don’t really care, but can I ask why?”
“The section on chastity says that marriage is only between a man and a woman. I don’t think that’s true. I’m pissed about it so I’m throwing it away.”
How do I keep him from throwing the baby out with the bathwater? Do I really care if he does?
“Are there other teachings in here that you feel might apply to your life? Do you want to keep it for other reasons? Or you still just want to throw it away?”
“Throw it away.”
So I do.
Several months ago, my son had an appointment to renew his temple recommend. My husband had made the appointment for him without consulting my son. In my husband’s world, you go get your temple recommend renewed regardless of what is happening in your life. To him, it is a commandment and if you truly love God, you obey commandments. Even if you don’t see the point, or don’t understand the need for the commandment. I completely understand his point of view because I used to think the same thing.
It’s a reality that we are inherently lazy creatures. That if given the option, we will all stay comfortable and content, never being pushed, never doing anything hard or uncomfortable. Especially as a kid. So much of what we do as parents is teaching our kids that hard things are not only necessary, but are good. That discomfort pushes you and boring, pointless things, actually have a purpose and can help mold you into the best version of yourself. Also, that those hard, boring things are a necessary part of life that will ALWAYS exist. Hard, boring things are never going away and you have to learn how to handle them.
Brushing your teeth, learning math, going to bed on time, showering, cleaning your room, being kind to rude people, tolerating your siblings, practicing physical skills, just to name a few. I know we as humans learn the value of doing hard, boring, things we initially dislike by being forced to do them. I can’t say I now love to pull weeds since I had to as a kid, but I know it’s something that has to be done to have a beautiful yard.
What I’m having a difficult time with is deciding how much of my children’s spiritual lives is a necessary evil they have to get through to see the value in later? Yes, church is boring and mundane and it takes a lot of work to get anything spiritual out of meetings. I no longer believe that my family’s salvation relies on us attending church every Sunday, but I do know that it’s where I first learned to have a relationship with God. But I now believe there are so many other ways and places to build a relationship with God. Church is not the only place to do it.
My son was getting ready for his appointment and asked which parent was taking him. I asked if he had a preference and he asked if I would take him. I said I would and was determined to do so without unloading all my thoughts about temple recommends and temple recommend interviews on my son. We got in the car and I just knew I was going to internally implode if I didn’t speak my mind about some things.
“Listen,” I said.
“You know one of the interview questions is about the law of chastity. Sometimes, bishops ask additional questions about masturbation and pornography use if they feel inclined. I don’t think that is any of the bishop’s business. I don’t think he has the right to ask you those questions, but I want you to be prepared if he does ask. Are you uncomfortable answering those questions in front of me? Because I am not sending you into that interview alone so if we need to have your dad go, instead of me, then dad can go with you.”
My son said he had no objection to me taking him.
I sat through the interview with my son and everything seemed fine. But then he surprised me as we pulled into the garage.
I asked, “Do you have any questions or concerns about the interview that you want to talk to me about?”
He yelled out, “It’s bullshit” and yes, he yelled.
I said, “What’s bullshit?”
“The fact that we believe that a prophet is so much better than anyone else and can hear God better than anyone else. He is just a man like anyone else. So why should he have all the answers? It’s bullshit.”
As I listened to him rant all I could think was, “I am so glad that I’ve deconstructed my faith because if I was still the person I used to be I would be FREAKING out at the things my son was saying. Instead, I can give him a safe place to question and think through things without thinking he is being led away by the devil.”
I’m not afraid of making mistakes like I used to be. I always knew I could repent, but I still felt like things were going on my permanent divine record. That ultimately, they would be held against me. Now, mistakes truly are just a learning process. My GPS never says, “made a mistake.” It just says, “recalculating route.” That’s life. If I make a mistake, oh well. I’ll course correct as necessary. And so if my kids make what turn out to be monumental spiritual mistakes, I hold no fear about their eternal salvation. It takes a lot of pressure off.
At the beginning of this year my husband approached me and shared his feeling that we need to make fasting each fast Sunday more of a priority for the family, including the kids. I bristled and there was no hiding my immediate trepidation from my husband. Such a seemingly simple request brings up so many problematic feelings for me and a barrage of questions.
Has God really COMMANDED us to fast?
What’s a commandment anyway?
Are modern day revelations from authority figures commandments? Or guidelines?
Why do we have to fast if there are other ways to build a relationship with God?
Does God truly care about how we connect with divinity? Or is the relationship enough?
Why do we have to force the kids to have a connection with divinity?
Is it not enough to demonstrate our own relationship with divinity to the kids?
What if they don’t want a relationship with God right now?
There are some youth that love going to church and find such belonging, fulfillment and spiritual connection there. But I feel confident in saying that the majority of children, mine absolutely included, would never choose to go to church if given the option.
Because my ideas about God, obedience and grace have all changed so much during my journey, it’s changed my parenting style in many ways. The spiritual “requirements” I used to expect of my kids are now basically non-existent. Kids don’t want to say nightly family prayers? Cool with me. Church feels like a drag? I agree, let’s skip it. You don’t want to waste time going to the temple? All your friends are going and that might have social consequences, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. You don’t want to read the scriptures? Okay, not everyone connects to God by reading their scriptures. Maybe you’ll find a different way. You don’t want to go to Young Men’s camp? I don’t care.
By having almost no spiritual expectations for my children, am I damaging them? Am I stunting their growth by never pushing them to do something difficult or boring or seemingly pointless or mundane?
We all start with a stage one faith (if you’ve never heard of stages of faith, here is a quick run down on one of the models).
If I never make them develop a stage one faith, can they even ever progress to later stages? Am I crippling their ability to differentiate because I’m not helping them build enough of a foundation?
How do I help my kids understand the potential for spiritual awakening when I no longer feel awakened there myself? How can I make them sit through two hours of church when I don’t want to go either? How can I make them fast when I hate fasting and don’t think God cares much? I think God is interested in a personal relationship with me, but how I best enter into that relationship is immaterial to God. God just wants to know me. And I believe I’m a better person when I daily come to know God. But if I never force my kids into situations with the potential to know God, how will they ever know if they themselves want to know God? How will they understand that the relationship can get them through hard times? How will they find a path that can lead them to existential love and generosity?
While expressing my heartaches of motherhood, some of my current struggles and loneliness, Susan sent me this message (yes, I’m so lucky that I get to have regular correspondence with Susan and Cynthia):
“Everyone can relate! I’ll admit, I’m laughing at the thought of you being able to ward off the dark night of the soul later for your kids by not indoctrinating them now. I don’t think the spiritual life works that way. One thing the Living School is teaching me is that this deconstruction stuff is really just doing the work of living well. Whether you’re religious or not, something is going to kick your ass good in this life, and you’ll be knocked to the ground by it. But the journey that sets you on is THE journey, so going through the hell is worthwhile. I didn’t say worth it, and absolutely no one would choose it, but it is the most worthwhile work I’ve done in my personal life, in my opinion. There’s my two-cents you didn’t ask for.”
My jaw dropped. Susan articulated in one sentence what my struggles really are all about: the need for control. It’s layered under love and good intentions, but it’s still there. The maternal need to protect my kids from pain and control how they move through this world. It’s parenting 101: you truly have no control over your children and the sooner you realize that, the happier you’ll be. I literally just said (in paragraph four to be exact) that I trust my kids to make the best decisions for themselves. I don’t intend for that to just be lip service, but rather a guiding force for how I parent. So in this moment I’m reminded that all I can do is offer love and support, but ultimately, just be along for the ride.
Blakelee Ellis
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