While visiting, we made our way over to Palmyra, which is where Joseph Smith and his family lived when he had the First Vision. It was Hill Cummorah Pageant time and we had basically planned our trip around those dates so that our children might be able to see all the historical and sacred places where our church had been restored.
When we pulled up to the pageant and stepped out of the car, we were immediately met with a barrage of attacks spewing out of a megaphone. I had to prepare the kids in advance about the protesting, but I had not prepared myself for how bad it would be. My husband shielded Makenna in his arms, while I covered Maegan in the stroller and kept the boys close to me, instructing them to keep their heads down. We sang hymns in our mind so that it would help drown out the noise. We literally had to walk a gauntlet between those protesting and the field where our pageant seats were located.
It was a nightmare. I felt so downtrodden after listening to just 30 seconds of it. It made me physically ill to hear some of the things being said and all I wanted to do was wash my hands and face and then find a place to sit down. The fighter in me wanted to catch them in their lies and mistruths, but I resolved to not engage. Thankfully, the moment we stepped on the field in front of Hill Cummorah, we could begin to get a sense of peace as the music and atmosphere wrapped us up like a warm blanket in the crisp night air.
1700 miles from my house and I felt home, despite the ugliness behind me.
The pageant went on without incident and before it started we lucked out a bit when one of the loudest protesters passed out (or some heavenly influence took him out? Maybe?) from yelling like a crazy person in his megaphone.
I had, for the most part, pushed aside that experience with the protestors and the horrible feelings I had while walking through their vitriol laced staging area, until yesterday when I went through it all again. But this time the majority of what I heard was from people I call friends, former classmates, family members, church members and a whole bunch of people hiding behind their keyboards ready to spew forth whatever anger and hatred they could possibly share.
For too many hours on my part, I spent reading and scrolling, scrolling and reading through scores of comments, articles, posts, and threads tearing apart and tearing into the faith that I hold dear. Again the fighter in me wanted to respond to every comment and correct any mistruth (trust me, there was a lot of them!), but I held my tongue. Honestly, I didn't even know where to begin.
After new policies were announced by the church regarding same-sex marriage and the children of those marriages, I admit the pangs in my heart were almost too loud to shut off the noise online. I didn't understand the policies and knew that for many people I love they would be hurtful, and would most likely signify (though not intended to be) another rejection. I prayed for understanding and received a very clear answer to my prayer which calmed my spirit, but not my heart. My mistake was that I let it fester while reading countless outcries and negative comments. My newsfeed on Facebook was literally overflowing with hurt, anger, hatred, half-truths, lies, and pain. My news apps showed countless "gotcha" titled articles that were misleading and misinformed. But I read all of it anyway. And then kept on reading, so much that my homework, shower, and piles of laundry went virtually untouched.
When I finally signed off and put a stop to the protesting and noise, my soul was so weary I could do nothing but cry. I just sat on the top of my stairs and cried my eyes out. I felt the pain of those struggling to accept it and I felt violated by the hateful and bigoted words that I had allowed myself to hear.
I deleted apps that would be too tempting to revisit and I put my phone out of reach and out of sight. My kids got home from school and we prepped ourselves for our Friday night fun in celebration of the weekend, while sending Daddy off to his Air Force base. Finally I felt my heart and my soul realign back together.
Late last night further clarification was given by the church, including an interview which provided the same insight that my answered prayer had given me 24 hours before. I feel empowered by what was said and determined to shut out the noise. But I also feel a greater resolve to render comfort to those who need comforting.
I have a voice and I am going to use it. Some days I don't feel brave enough or smart enough, but I never waiver in my convictions and what I know to be true. No amount of noise will ever alter that. It may make me feel weary and I might even cry (a lot), but I will not back down from what I know to be true. I will not let the critics determine what my voice wants to say; but if they want to speak to me without their megaphones, I will listen. I will hear them. And I will cry with them and comfort them and offer up what meager words I have that could render any type of explanation.
*This was written at 4:30 AM while I was up with a baby who doesn't like to sleep through the night. I make no apologies for spelling or grammatical errors. But I stand by what I said...