Say More: At Last She Writes It

No. 19 | July 2024

image by Madi Plowman

Leaving the Boat

by Madi Plowman

My whole life I had been rowing in the same boat.

The boat was safety. It was reassurance. It was clean and orderly and had a place for everything. It was familiar and my place in it was secure. I was taught that as long as I stayed in this boat, everything would be fine.

As I grew, the boat was rocked by small storms here and there.

It’s fine, it’s fine. Just stay in the boat.

I had to patch some holes over the years and mend the sails.

It’s fine, it’s fine. Just stay in the boat.

Rowing in sync with the others felt suffocating at times and I questioned our direction.

It’s fine, it’s fine. Just stay in the boat.

Then one day I saw the waves. The storm of all storms came in slowly but with a force. Waves crashed into my boat and reopened the holes that I had patched. Suddenly, there was a world so much bigger than my floating vessel and it could no longer be ignored. Suddenly, this boat wasn’t safe at all and I felt as though I may sink if I stayed inside.

I looked out into this wide, vast, terrifying sea and saw a Man standing on the water. He felt familiar, although I wasn’t sure I truly knew Him. He was still and calm. Amid the storm, He was light and peace and goodness. Although I heard the bellowing winds raging around us, all I could see was this Man standing on the water and beckoning me to come to Him.

He told me not to be afraid, but I was. Something inside continued to remind me, “It’s fine, it’s fine. Just stay in the boat.” But even then, I couldn’t ignore His warmth. I couldn’t ignore the tug towards His stillness and calm. So I shouted to Him across the sea: “Help me walk into the unknown of this storm. I don’t know if we’ve fully met before, and I’m not sure this is what I should do, but I trust you and I want to be wherever you are.”

He beckoned me again and I took my first step onto the sea. I kept my eyes on His and let His light guide my shaky feet. For the first time, the boat wasn’t keeping me afloat—It was Him.

And then, like the thundering lightning in the sky above, it hit me. I left the boat. I left the boards that kept the water out. I left the sails and captain that I trusted to take me in the right direction. I left my seat where all I had to do was row just like everyone else and things would be fine.

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The security of the boat was gone. I was drowning and all alone.

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Was I crazy? Walking on water towards a Man I did not know, but desperately needed to? What do I know? Who am I to decide something like this for myself? Were my feelings wrong? They warned me about this. Don’t be deceived. Don’t put down your oars.

Don’t leave the boat.

My fear grew until all I could feel was the stinging cold of the pounding rain. His light was gone. The security of the boat was gone. I was drowning and all alone.

In that moment, as I was being swallowed up by the raging sea, I recognized my choice. Reach for my tattered boat and hope it would still keep me afloat, or ask the Man to save me.

My desperate plea was met instantly. He took my hand and pulled me out of the depths of the crashing waves. He held me and reassured me. He radiated a radical, boundless love that I had never fully known in the confines of my boat. It changed me in an instant and the sea was calm.

This Man had been with me in the background the whole time. He knew me and loved me, but I had been so focused on rowing like everyone else and patching up all the flaws in my vessel, I had not recognized the need to seek something more. I had thought the boat was what kept me safe, but my trust had been misplaced.

Together, we stepped back into the boat. We patched the holes and restored the sails once again. I was happy to welcome the familiar wood planks and crew mates I had left behind. But I knew things were different now. Something inside me was hurt and betrayed. The undying faith I once had in these planks and nails had forever been redirected.

Now I no longer ignore the holes and tears around me. I see them for what they are. Every ounce of trust I once had in this broken boat now lives in the Man who saved me and showed me a love unlike any other.

I can sail in this boat if I want or I can find another one, because it’s just a boat. It doesn’t calm the raging storms. It doesn’t save me. The Man rowing alongside me is bigger than all of it. He roams the seas and touches the whole world. He holds us all in the pierced palm of His hand. Only He can calm a raging storm and only He can offer the grace that saves me over and over again.

So now I just try my best to row like Him, regardless of the boat I’m sitting in. I know in my heart and my bones that if I just follow Him, it all really will be fine. Not just fine, but glorious.

*Note from the author: I read Matthew 14 as I was venturing through a solid deconstruction crisis and couldn’t help but see myself in Peter like I never had before. This story took on a whole new light for me and has such a tender place in my heart.

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“The Fisherman’s Wife After Bathing Her Children” by Virginie Demont-Breton

When Jesus Did, it was a Miracle. When I Do… it’s Just Motherhood

by Eliza Dosch

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“Wallflower” by Mattie Gardner

Finding “Clarity” as a Wallflower

by Mattie Gardner

audio

Once upon a time I was called to be the Relief Society

President of my singles ward in Lowell, MA. This ward was composed mostly of converts and investigators. I loved the amount of diversity this brought to the ward, not only physically, but in every other way possible.

I’m an introvert by nature but found myself becoming an extroverted worker bee the minute I stepped into the church building every Sunday.

I was especially outgoing the few minutes before sacrament meeting started as everyone would begin gathering in the chapel. I can remember on many occasions filling up an entire middle row with sisters all to my left and all to my right. I never wanted anyone to feel left out. I felt like a mother duck with all of her little ones safely tucked under her wing.

I also remember at that time during my church activity, I was extremely close minded and judgmental of those who did not view the Church and the gospel the way I did. And this is the clarity and change of heart I have since received.

But let me take a few moments of vulnerability to call myself out on behavior and thoughts I wish now that I could take back.

Not only was this ward made up of many converts and investigators, but lists and lists of “inactive” and “less active” members.

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I expected others to treat church and church responsibilities as seriously and dedicatedly as I did.

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Because I wanted everyone to feel included in the ward, especially in Relief Society, during my “reign” as RSP I placed a large emphasis on callings and service. I wanted the sisters to be anxiously engaged. And because we were a fairly small ward, every bit of service and delegation of responsibility was a huge help. And very needed.

But every Sunday we had wallflowers. The sisters on my list who rarely showed up and when they did, sat in the back against the wall during Sacrament meeting. Quietly sneaking in after everyone was settled and leaving before the closing prayer.

I felt angry and frustrated. How could these sisters shirk the opportunity to serve? Didn’t they know we needed them? How could they be acting so selfish? If you were going to church only to sneak out, why go at all? Why couldn’t they be “all in” like me?

Horrible. I know. But this is truly how I felt.

I expected others to treat church and church responsibilities as seriously and dedicatedly as I did.

And I experienced a lot of discouragement and disappointment because of this.

Now, nearly 10 years later, I sneak to the back of the chapel just after the meeting begins.

I sit in the hard chairs against the wall and listen to the hymns that once filled me up and touched my heart. But now, they bring tears of sadness to my eyes. I feel sorrow and emptiness. I don’t feel the warm flutters of the spirit that I once felt.

I feel cold sitting in that room. I go to seek God and Jesus Christ but I feel like I have to dig to reach them. Digging through the announcements and prayers. Digging through the solemn sacrament hymns and blessings. Digging through the speakers’ interpretation of the Bible. Their trip to Hawaii. Their tragic trials.

I try to connect but my plug keeps falling out.

I watch the backs of the heads of those who know me but don’t really know me. And I think of the conversations that might take place if they spot me. Will they try to drag me to class? Ask where I’ve been? Ask me if I’m okay? Will the bishop try to pull me aside for a conversation?

I have no answers for anyone right now, not even for myself.

Anxiety fills me. I get nervous about seeing everyone’s faces in surprise that I showed up. Maybe even disappointment about where I’ve been? Am I also disappointed in myself?

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I would have let go of the idea that others needed to be like me. Because in reality, I needed to be more like them. I needed to be more like Jesus.

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Here comes the shame. The shame I worked all week to process.

The hymn is coming to a close and someone walks up to the stand to say the closing prayer. I fold my arms and close my eyes and just before they end the prayer I quietly grab my keys and my phone and slip out of the chapel, through the front doors, and into the Florida heat.

My skin thaws and warms in the sun. I get into my car and drive home.

I am those sisters I did not seek to understand. And now my heart aches that I did not do more to love them. Because if their minds raced anything like mine does now when I’m at church, or if anxiety plagued them the way it does me sitting in the chapel, or if they too were digging and digging for something they could not find, I would have done more to love them deeply from a distance.

I would have let go of the idea that others needed to be like me. Because in reality, I needed to be more like them. I needed to be more like Jesus.

And on the Sundays I show up for church, I am a wallflower. And I remember those sisters, and say a quick prayer in my heart for all of the other wallflowers like me.

And I love them deeply from a distance.

*Note from the author: There is so much I want to share and be vocal about my experience in the church and my current faith journey and this writing prompt has allowed me to begin to share these things. It took me a year before I could say my true feelings about my testimony and the church out loud.

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You Misunderstand

by Erin Corbridge

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Charity Believeth All Things

by Marlee Bedke

Amidst the fallout of some comments made by a church leader

that were very hurtful to the LGBTQ+ community, I happened to read Moroni 7:47:

“And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.”

I came away wondering, what does it mean to “believe all things” as it relates to having charity? How are they connected? I had always assumed it meant “you believe all things and you have faith in everything” type of thing. But studying charity, while seeing so much contention on social media, made me reflect on the “believe all things” aspect of charity more.

I came to this conclusion: believing all things means we believe the experiences and emotions of others are what they say they are. Even if those experiences and emotions are different from ours. We believe them.

Believing them doesn’t necessarily mean that we agree with them—it means that we are extending charity and compassion towards someone else. We can still have our own opinions while believing and validating those of others—we just need to listen and love. We can take others at their word when they share their experiences, without any need to get defensive, argue, etc. Just listen with a loving, open heart and mind. Trust people and accept their opinions without feeling the need to prove or to convince them that they are wrong or confused. With conversations around topics like religion, politics, etc. tending to be so toxic or explosive (contentious?), it’s easy to forget that our opinion is not the only one that matters or the only one that could possibly be right. Sometimes, BOTH opinions/experiences can be right and it doesn’t have to be one or the other.
So, next time someone shares that they are having a hard time with something a Church leader said—believe them.

If someone says it is uncomfortable for them to watch general conference—believe them.

If someone says it’s painful or difficult for them to come to church—believe them.
If someone steps away from the church, don’t oversimplify or invalidate their experiences by claiming they are lazy or taking the easy way out. We can believe that they have their own reasons for leaving, even if we don’t agree with them. Believe them.

If a woman tries to explain that she feels unseen or unheard or unappreciated at church—believe her. Just because our experiences haven’t been the same, it doesn’t mean someone else’s are less valid or real. This is definitely an instance where it doesn’t have to be “one or the other.” Some women are fine with the status quo, but that doesn’t mean we should disregard the women who are not. Listen—and believe them. 

In his book The Law of Love, Steve Young says:

“Even if we understand the idea that we should love people, we sometimes think we're supposed to love them back onto our path instead of respecting their own journey. I'm not trying to love people into coming with me. I'm just loving people.”

We can show people true charity by believing their experiences, feelings & opinions. Imagine how our relationships could all improve if we took the time to do so. If we have faith that Christ demonstrates the perfect example of charity by understanding and believing each of our own experiences, can’t we try to extend the same charity to others? 

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I got baptized on my 12th birthday, the only other person in my family to get baptized at the time was my mom. Fast forward 7.5 years when I was getting married at only 19 years old and I felt like getting married in the temple was my only choice despite having family who couldn’t be there. I was told repeatedly growing up how a temple marriage was the only one that counted. I saw so many people judged for getting married civilly first because they obviously were sinners and weren’t strong enough to follow the commandments. I knew my in-laws would not support it at all and they were paying for the wedding since my family had nothing. So my dad, who wasn’t biologically mine but treated me like his own from the very beginning despite being divorced from my mom long before I even was born, flew from France to Idaho to attend my wedding. But he didn’t get to walk me down the aisle, or even witness the wedding at all. He got to sit in a room waiting with the children while the daughter he loved got married a few hundred feet away. He died about 3.5 years after I got married and I can’t apologize to him. The Church has, in recent years, come out and said that people can get married civilly first and it completely broke my shelf and my husband’s. We both thought everything in the temple was unchangeable. I thought I had no choice because it was God’s way and I must just be too human to understand. To find out it was just a policy broke all my trust in the Church and in the temple. I felt forced into something that had no eternal consequence. Something that left me with regret I will carry with me for the rest of my life. Something that hurt someone who meant so much to me. And a decade later it was all for nothing. A decade later the policy changed. A decade later, I realized I should have taken my life into my own hands long before instead of letting the church coerce me into doing what I was told and putting this organization’s teachings before the people I love. My 19 year old brain didn’t understand or feel like there was another way. It was my choice, and I have to live with knowing I made it, but it never really felt like a choice I could actually make. —Natasha

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Contributors:

Madi Plowman

Madi is a wife and a mother of two littles (with one more on the way). She’s a singer, a writer, a runner, a bread-lover, a couch potato, and the definition of an over-thinker. She is passionate about being authentic and vulnerable with the hope that it will help someone else feel seen. She is a lifelong student of Christ and is always trying to find Him in new places. She believes He is a radical, a friend, and a never-ending source of love. After her many struggles in and out of the church, she simply chooses to follow Him wherever that takes her.

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Eliza Dosch

Eliza is a non traditional student finishing he bachelors degree in Music Education. She is a single mom of 2, and has been navigating her faith journey for about 5 years. You can connect with her on Instagram at @embrace.your.voice for music content, or her personal account, @eliza_in_the_wild 

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Mattie Gardner

Mattie is a born and raised New Englander residing in Florida with her husband who is a full time pilot. She works as a legal assistant to an attorney but her true passion is baking (she's never met a cake she didn't like) and writing. She hopes to continue to cultivate these skills and use her passions to connect with, learn from, and build community with those around her.

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Erin Corbridge

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Marlee Bedke

Marlee is a “stretchy saint” that’s doing her best to find her place and voice at church. She’s become the girl that shocks her southern Utah ward by holding her daughter during her baby blessing, wearing a rainbow bracelet, finding God outside the normal Primary answers, and sharing “liberal” things on social media. She’s lucky to be married to her best friend, and they lead their home and 2 young kids as equal partners. She’s a mindful yoga teacher, a daycare supervisor, an amateur gardener, a proud firefighter wife, a sourdough baker, a hiker, a Krispy Kreme fanatic and an avid reader. 

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