Mormonism and me:the big shocking split.

 Well, at least for everyone that has known me since my youth.

I was fierce. I was valiant. I had a testimony bigger than anyone I knew. Mormonism was my life, both in Portugal and when I moved to the USA. I went against family, friends, because I would stand for truth and righteous. I was the one the sister missionaries would take on slipts  3 days a week, they would let me teach the discussions, I knew them by heart! My love and relationship with God and Jesus Christ where unshakable. Mormonism brought me peace and happiness, and hope for an eternal life. I knew. I just knew. Sunday school and seminary lessons I taught, the talks I gave, the prayers... They were filled with the spirit. I had a way with words, I touched people's hearts. Nothing could make me stray  away.

But hey, here I am. I thought I had gone through really tough stuff in life, but leaving mormonism has been the single most difficult thing I've had to do in my life.

What happen? I understand why people have questions, why they're still shocked, after 3 years. It's been a long, lonely road. I am finally ready to talk about it.

I have to go by parts. I want to tell you my story. But it will have to be in chapters. I anticipate this being hard, to go back and explain things. My goal is to write 2 chapters a week, but I'll commit to at least one. I may feel like writing every day, or just once a week. We'll see.

I'm writing this for myself, I need to let it out and try to come to terms with life outside mormonism. I need to move past this! I'm also writing it for my mormon friends, so they will hopefully understand.

And if you came across this, it's for you too. I hope it will help someone.

I won't leave you hanging, I'll be back this week. 

Buckle up, you're on for a ride!

Bela 

That's where we're all walking towards, whether we like it or not.

Old age.

I had an experience today that reminded me why I love old people... and why I love to work with them, hug them, care for them, and make them feel special.

When I was a little girl living in Portugal, I would sometimes go visit my old aunt. She was my mother's aunt and yes, she was old... and that's how we'd refer to her. Come to think of it, I don't even remember her name. I was a child that would pay my aunt a visit when mom asked me to, since we lived within walking distance. I can't say that I liked those visits, but I didn't dislike them either. I felt sorry for her, mostly. I don't remember much of these visits, which makes me think I was really young... but I do remember a few things.

Old aunt lived alone in the city in a very old apartment, on the second floor. Going up the stairs to see her, I could already feel the foul smell coming from her apartment. I don't really know who payed for this, but she had a caregiver that would come in the evening to cook dinner for her, help bathe her and get her in bed. I believe that she was alone for most of the day, and Heavens know what she ate when she was by herself... or what she did all day. She liked to sit by the window and watch people go by, that's all I remember her doing. I don't even remember her speaking, even though I'm pretty sure she could speak. Here's what I remember from my visits with old aunt;
She was never very clean. She smelled. She didn't smile. She did what she was told by her caregiver, even when she was yelled at. She always had the exact same thing for dinner, day after day: boiled potatoes with a boiled egg, sprinkled with olive oil. Every single day. Because someone was too lazy to cook for her, despite being paid to do so. She didn't get a bath either. After she'd go to bed, the caregiver would sit and read, or go to the window get some of the summer breeze... or just talk to me as if I understood why she did the things she did.

I don't remember going to old aunt's funeral... I just remember that mom told me I didn't have to go see her anymore. And to this day, if I close my eyes and think back, I can still picture the tiny kitchen table where she ate... I remember the smell... But most of all, I remember her silence, and her sad eyes. Maybe because of her, I can love any old person, rich, poor, clean, dirty, happy, sad. Because of her, I can kiss their cheek, or forehead, hold their hand when they're afraid. Because of her, I love my job, as crazy and busy and tiring as it gets. The money from my paycheck gets deposited religiously  in my bank account every other week; but it's when I get a simple smile in return from "my" old people, that I really get paid. The kind of payment that doesn't go in the bank, but makes my life richer somehow.

I miss old aunt.

Changes...

I haven't written here in five years.
If anyone had asked me, five years ago, where I'd be today, I would have failed miserably in my attempt to guess.
Life changes. And life changes us. In update is needed in this blog and it's description.
As for me, I'm still here. And I'm still me.

Mormon women, equality, and things of the sort.

Yes, I'm a Mormon.
Yes, I'm a woman.
And yes, I play a great role in this big plan of life.
I'm important.
I'm a cool mom, a great friend, a hard worker, a caring person, and, you guessed it, I'm as humble as I can be. ;)

OK, I'm really not snotty or arrogant. I like to tease. Yes, I'm funny too. ;) Ooops, there goes humility again... what was this post about anyway? Oh yeah, being a Mormon woman.  Let's try to stay focused here, Bela, will ya?

I try to make light of a situation that actually troubles me. Women in the Church I belong to, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, are feeling inferior and unappreciated. They are starting movements to show their indignity, and to try to change how things work in the Church. And I can't help but wonder why they feel this way. I try to understand, I really do. It saddens me that they feel the way they feel. I try to be sympathetic, to love and, above all, not judge them.

This is not why I'm writing this today, though.

I guess I just need to tell the world (or at least the two or three people that will read this post) the way I feel as a Mormon woman. Because there's so much out there that can confuse people that are not familiar with my faith.

First and foremost, I am a Christian. I try to leave my life in a way that pleases Christ (trying being the key word here). He is the most important person in my life. Then comes family; I'm a wife and a mother, and as such, the most important goal in my life is to raise my children to become great people, to love the Lord, and to understand their divine role in this crazy thing we call life. I am not alone in this great assignment; I couldn't do it on my own. And one of the places where I get help from is, indeed, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

In the Church, we have a living prophet, twelve apostles and seventies. Their primary goal is to teach all nations about Jesus the Christ. I believe that Thomas S. Monson is the prophet that leads the Church today, like Abraham, Moses and so many others in the Bible did in times of old.

In our Church, men are given the power of God to act in His name here on Earth. That power is the Priesthood, and it's given to men to bless the whole Church. Its power is extended to every single one of us, women and children included. Many a time I have asked a blessing from these men, when I'm struggling with something, or when I'm sick. They lay their hands on my head and say a simple prayer. And my faith in the priesthood will work the rest.
I would like to point out that a man that has the priesthood cannot bless himself. He's not all powerful. He is simply a vessel through which God can manifest Himself. A man that abuses that power, that boasts  about it, will have to answer to God one day. And, if you ask me, it won't be pretty.

So, mainly, The Priesthood is given to men, not to bless themselves, but to bless others.

Imagine I'm a firefighter, or a paramedic, or a nurse. I was given the knowledge and the tools to help others in need; I have a fancy fireproof outfit, or a resuscitation kit  in my ambulance, or a pain reliever to alleviate someone that is recovering from severe injuries. What am I supposed to do with those things? I won't keep them with me to show the world how cool I am. I go and fight the fire. I try to save a life. I help someone in pain. I give. I serve. I care.

That is the priesthood.

As a woman, I am also given in-numerous gifts to share with others. I serve in the Church (yes, I can serve in many callings is the Church), I serve my family, I care and love my friends.
I am yet to find a Church that values, respects, appreciates and loves women in the same way that the Mormon Church does. I am constantly reminded how special I am, how divine is my purpose.
I am not a blind follower. If you know me, you know that I am stubborn, curious, and like to do things my own way. I do not like to be told what to do. I am independent, and value freedom. I would never, ever be a member of a Church that would oppress and diminish me. I would clash with whoever tried to tell me how to do things.

So, if I do things a certain way, it's because I have chosen to. I have chosen to serve The Lord. I have chosen to put on my firefighter gear and bless the lives of others. I have chosen to accept the children that God trusted me to raise. I have chosen to be a part of  this Church.

 Me.

A long time ago, I have chosen. No one is responsible for my choices other than me.

I am a Mormon woman. I am not less than a Mormon man.
I do not seek what is not mine, because what I have is my share in this work.

I don't fully understand women that think that what they have is not enough. Do they realize the tremendous value of the gifts they already have?
Do they use those gifts to help and serve?
Or do they just seek what they think they need, ignoring what they've got?

I don't know. I can't judge.

But I know who I am. And I love who I am. Because I know the way The Lord sees me.
A queen in the making.

What else can I ask for?

Paint job

I have painted just about every room in every home we ever lived in. It has been almost three years since we bought this home, and I did some painting then, but our bedroom has been the one thing that I kept saying, I'll do it soon... and we all know what happens when we say that.... it won't get done. Well, I finally got to it. Love the color and the feeling of the room. Only have to hang the curtains on the other window, and it will be perfect. I'm kinda proud of myself. :)

Here are three things you need to know, if you are planning on painting a room in your home.

1. When you get down to paint near the trim, or near the door and underneath the windows, you will see that the last person that painted that room did a horrible job. You'll wonder why you never noticed how sloppy the last paint job was. The trim is splashed with paint from the wall; the walls didn't get a second coat everywhere. You wonder who in the world did such a thing.

2. When you take the plates from the outlets out, you will always see a little bit of the color that the room used to be, before it was painted so sloppyly (I know that's not a word, but it should be). And yes, the room used to be the exact color you are painting it now. I don't know how this happens, but it does. "Hey honey, guess what color this room used to be!" Yup. The same one I got. It's kind of fun actually.

3. No one can do it as well and perfectly as you. Kick everyone out. Close the door and open the windows for fresh air. Don't let anyone get near a brush or the roller. YOU are the best painter in the world. yes you are. Don't need any help. Take your time. Put on some happy music, and sing along with ABBA. It's a super relaxing job. And you will do it all by yourself.

Here's how you do it. Start with the trim. I like white, always white. One coat. Then use the brush to paint corners and close to the trim. Nice and slow. After that, comes the roller, and do all the walls. Then another coat near the trim and corners, another coat with the roller. Take breaks as you need. And the comes the funner(is that a word?) part : The trim's second coat. The paint from the wall splashed a bit on the white that you used for the first coat. So now you'll get down on the floor and go with a small brush and give it a second coat. It needs to be perfect. If you ever sell the house, you want the new owners to say, wow, what a nice paint job!. Chances are, no one will notice the perfectly painted trim. It's like when you clean the bathroom and clean behind the toilet. No one notices it. But you know it's clean, and it's awesome.
The trick for a perfectly painted white trim. Use a small angled brush. Don't rush. Have the wall paint close by, because the white will get on the wall. Oops. Let it dry and paint the little bit of the wall that got some white from the trim. Then the wall paint gets on the white. Just a little bit, but you can't leave it like that. Remember, perfection. Let dry, use the white on the trim. Long story short... you'll go around the room scooting, with two brushes on your hands. Fix the white. Fix the green. Repeat a dozen times. Or two dozen. It's fun, you'll see. "Super trooper". That's you. The trim and the wall will look fabulous.
OR
Do like the professionals do, and buy painter's tape. The job will get done in half the time.
Your choice.
I like the little battle between green brush and white brush. But if you don't want to be a Super Trooper, go ahead and get the tape.
I always choose the harder way. Who knows why. I like the feeling I get in the end, I guess.
I want to go sit in my bedroom and look at the walls all day, now. The rest of the house is boring. I'm weird. But that's old news.


Before.

During...

and after.

Next project, kitchen cabinets to be painted white. I'll let you know how that goes. Hopefully it won't take me another three years. :)

New year's resolutions bug me.

Maybe because they tend to be the same every year. I'm not sure what happens in the begining of a new year... we think we become super heros overnight. So we make a list of things that "I'm starting to do everyday". Hmmm. We wake up new year's morning and we are the same people. No super powers. We work hard to reach our goals, but by the end of January we forget all about them.
A new year doesn't bring us super powers. If anything , it should bring us motivation. That's the only thing I'm expecting from myself this year. If I have that, I might acomplish something good every day...or once in a while. :)
I finally got my room painted. I have been in this house almost three years; I have painted the kids rooms, bathroom, kitchen... everything right when we moved here. Why is our bedroom always the last thing to organize? Anyway.... it feels good to do something you've been wanting to do for years. I'm thankful for motivation. I'm going to ask for it and gain it every day and not only on new year's.
Man, what a boring post.
Pictures will follow tomorrow or Friday.

Let's try this again.

I need to go back to blogging. Especially since I've been horrible at journaling, scrapbooking and other things I used to do to keep memories alive for my kids. Facebook doesn't quite cut it, but unfortunatly has replaced lots of cool things. Like blogging. So, I'm trying this again. One day I'll print my blog entries; because let's face it, old school paper has no substitute.
I guess I should have done this earlier in the day though. One o'clock in the morning is not the time to pick up after over two years. Oh well. Better than nothing I guess.
Nicolas turned 12 last November. Suzana will be 16 in less than a month. No, I'm not ready to face that reality, so I won't talk much about it. Today I cried listening to ABBA's " slipping through my fingers". That one always gets to me.
I'll be 40 in April. No comment here. Hmmm. Maybe I should come back tomorrow. Yep. Great idea.