Healing The Broken Parts
November/December, 2014
Kintsukuroi. It has become one of my favorite words. Pronounce it like this:
kin-tsU-kU-roi. Try saying it aloud…so lyrical. When I whisper it to myself, it becomes a prayer — filling my soul with calm and comfort. And today, courage.
The word means “to repair with gold.” It’s so much deeper than that. The layers of meaning below the simple definition are nuanced and powerful. Kintsukuroi is more than a fix…the concept includes understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.
I’d never heard the word kintsukuroi until early this year. I was searching on my computer for a way to repair a broken porcelain figurine when I ran across this process. I perused the article, found it interesting, but because I wouldn’t be repairing my figurine with gold, I didn’t give it another thought. Until my dream.
2014 was to be my year of consecration. Between Christmas 2013 and New Year’s Day I examined my life. A dear friend had recently passed away and I’d been asked to speak at his funeral. He was younger than me — so vital and fun — with a loving wife and family. We had spoken a few months prior to his death and because of a priesthood blessing he had received, he assured me it was not his time to go. Through the holidays our earlier conversation nagged at my consciousness. Was he needed more on the other side? Had he fulfilled his life’s mission? Did his family and those of us who loved him need lessons in compassion? Oh, my. It was so difficult to understand and brought to the surface many of the questions I’d had concerning my beatiful daughter’s untimely death in 1995. Questions that for nearly twenty years had been too painful to ponder.
Kintsukuroi
On January 1st of every year I write in the front cover of my planner. I pen my “Purpose Statement” which hasn’t changed in over twenty years and then I list some specific intentions for that particular year.
For 2014 I wrote: Study. Learn. Discern.
Consecration. I determined to make my prayers more meaningful; to pray
before, during and after my daily scripture study. I’d been attending the Temple weekly and intended to stick with that new habit. I began journaling the insights I was receiving in the Temple. I purchased and began studying Lectures on Faith by Joseph Smith and started re-reading a book I’d struggled with several years ago, Rough Stone Rolling by Richard Bushman. I was excited to delve into more of the “meat” of my religion. Through most of my life I’d been saying “I know” to statements I really didn’t know for sure. That was about to change. I lacked wisdom and knew where to turn. My Father in Heaven could and would provide. I felt confident through prayerful study and sincere prayer, eternal truths would be coming my way.
To be clear, I expected to find some troubling issues. There was that pesky po-lygamy — but those destitute widows needed someone to take care of them and Brigham Young answered the call. I’d read the Ensign article about the Mountain Meadow Massacre but again, because I wasn’t there and couldn’t know the facts…I was fine with the explanations — and proud the Church had apologized. Over the years I flippantly joked I’d have some questions about polygamy, the “curse” of Cain, dinosaurs, gold-digging, etc. when I got to the other side but really, did any of that matter in this day and age, the fullness of times? I carefully placed those questions and concerns on my proverbial shelf, where several of my priesthood leaders had suggested they belonged. I was in my sixties after all, not an impressionable school girl. I knew my perfect church was filled with imperfect people and that even prophets sometimes “spoke as men.” I’d had my share of spiritual experiences over the years that testified to me I belonged to God’s One and Only True Church on the face of the earth. Period.
Kintsukuroi
Because I live in Southern California and regularly vacation in Hawaii, there have been more than a few times I’ve looked like a ridiculous fool trying to get myself out of the ocean and up onto the beach. It looks so easy. Just stand up and walk out, for heaven’s sake! Just as I felt I had a firm foothold and could push myself up to a standing position another wave would come rolling in, sucking the sand out from under my feet, knocking me to my keister and dragging me back out — my suit full of sand and my ego bruised. The process is even worse when I’m carrying baggage — like fins on my feet and snorkel gear on my head. You get the picture.
Something that felt eerily similar happened to me during my year of consecration. Wave after wave. Getting a foothold and then being knocked back…again and again. Drowning. Many times I felt I was drowning — pleading for someone to throw me a life preserver — answers, or even logical explanations — only to realize the life preserver I was desperately trying to grab wasn’t tethered to anything of substance.
Ironically, my personal faith transition started with my desire to be sealed to my husband in the Temple, a yearning to understand Joseph Smith’s first vision and my longing to experience a manifestation of “truth” as promised in the closing pages of the Book of Mormon.
My personal integrity insisted on complete honesty with myself. I finally took each of my doubts off the shelf and listed them in a notebook. Thirty-three. The number surprised me because these bothersome issues had been relegated to dark corners of my consciousness. A few seemed hardly relevant and certainly not faith threatening. Others however, like the conflict and sadness I felt when my cousin committed suicide after bravely trying to overcome his homosexuality, were such deep wounds I hid them beneath layers of what I believed was faith and obedience to God’s revealed word.
Some were personal issues dealing with specific worthiness interviews and what I felt were inappropriate questions. Several were issues dealing with
ecclesiastical experiences around my divorce from my first husband and what I believe to be underlying gender inequality tendencies within the church. Most however, were doctrinal and/or cultural teachings — beliefs, practices and apologies that didn’t align with what I believe to be the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
I had just launched into my study when I became aware of more than one version of Joseph’s first vision in the Sacred Grove. What? I knew the account almost by heart. Over the years I’d taught numerous Relief Society lessons about that sacred experience in the Spring of 1820 — God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, appearing to the young Joseph to usher in the last dispensation. My dear friend was preparing a Relief Society lesson and asked for my input. Sixty-two years old and this was the very first time I ever turned to something other than church-approved sources to answer a doctrinal question. I googled, “Joseph Smith’s First Vision” and what I found baffled me. This was obviously anti-mormon literature — the same information I’d warned my Lutheran fiancee (now my LDS husband) to avoid. The articles I read claimed there had been several versions of the vision. I quickly went to church approved sources — the Joseph Smith Papers — truth I could trust. Right there I found nine separate
versions of the story. My head was spinning. I carefully read the facsimile of the original document — written in Joseph’s own hand, twelve years after the fact. The beautiful, faith-promoting story I knew to be true, simply wasn’t. I kept asking myself over and over, how does ANYONE forget they saw GOD!
“Well, it’s either true or false. If it’s false, we’re engaged in a great fraud. If it’s true, it’s the most important thing in the world. Now, that’s the whole picture. It is either right or wrong, true or false, fraudulent or true. And that’s exactly where we stand, with a conviction in our hearts that it is true: that Joseph went into the Grove; that he saw the Father and the Son; that he talked with them; that Moroni came; that the Book of Mormon was translated from the plates; that the priesthood was restored by those who held it anciently. That’s our claim. That’s where we stand, and that’s where we fall, if we fall. But we don’t. We just stand secure in that faith.”
Prophet Gordon B. Hinckley, Interview “The Mormons”; PBS Documentary
April 2007
Kintsukuroi
The pillars of my faith began to crumble. If the first vision wasn’t what I’d always believed it to be, then what about Joseph Smith? Was he a prophet? Was the Priesthood restored? And what about The Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price? The Book of Mormon, in particular, was my go-to book of scripture. I considered it to be the most correct book on the face of the earth and the keystone of my Mormonism. Was it really translated from gold plates buried in the Hill Cumorah? And the Temple — what about all the covenants and ordinances in the Temple?
I’d listened to a multitude of talks in General Conference and Sacrament
Meetings that warned members against searching for answers outside church approved materials. “Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith” had become a new catch phrase for members of the church. I felt an internal conflict every single time I heard that phrase. I felt much more aligned with another quote I loved — from J. Reuben Clark, a former member of the First Presidency:
“If we have the truth, it cannot be harmed by investigation. If we have not the truth, it ought to be harmed.”
I happened across an essay signed by “Anonymous” that helped me immensely. I wasn’t alone in all my confusion, frustration and pain. Anonymous and I were on the same journey! This essay helped me understand why I was feeling so confused, so emotional. Here is how it began:
“Cognitive dissonance is that uncomfortable feeling of mental tension that arises from maintaining two conflicting thoughts in one’s mind at the same time. For example, assume you live hundreds of years ago and have been taught your entire life that the earth is flat. Your parents raised you to believe this from the time you were a child. Your teachers in school held lessons on the subject. Everyone around you, including learned and respected individuals, always reinforced the concept that the earth was flat.
Then one day, you encounter some information that leads you to believe the earth is round. At first, you push the thought away as being diametrically opposed to a truth that you considered was never even up for debate. But over time, the new idea begins to germinate and sprout forth branches in your mind. One thought leads to another, and before long you seriously consider believing that the earth is round.
Like two armies battling for superiority over one another, the two opposing ideas begin to occupy space in your mind, causing this cognitive dissonance that keeps you feeling off balance and unsure about the world around you. This is no way to live one’s life — full of confusion and uncertainty.”
The words from Anonymous spoke to me and precipitated my determination to understand concepts new to me: cognitive dissonance, confirmation bias, elevation, circular thinking, among others. Was it possible my personal spiritual experiences — those warm feelings and highly charged emotional moments — were more self-justification, confirmation bias, selective memory or even laws of attraction than the Spirit witnessing to me that my church was true?
My certainty in Joseph Smith as a prophet, in the Book of Mormon as ancient scripture, in Christ’s true Church being restored and in a living prophet who communicates with God permeated my entire being. If all this — and so much more — wasn’t what I believed it to be, my life…MY ENTIRE LIFE…would be turned upside down.
And that is what has happened. My life has been turned upside down — and inside out. My year of consecration is nearing its end. It is interesting to me that during this year of personal study, learning and discernment, the church issued numerous essays of apology and explanation. While I appreciate the apparent desire to be more honest and forthcoming, the essays documented practices and actions I had learned about from unapproved church sources. My hundreds of hours of study along with the church essays have convinced me the church I’ve loved and lived for is not founded on truth.
Kintsukuroi
I’ve cried, I’ve ranted, I’ve mourned, I’ve pleaded in prayer, I’ve felt I couldn’t go on. Did I mention I’ve cried? The only year that comes close was 1995 — the year my beautiful daughter passed away. I’ve had the most difficult conversations of my life. I’ve caused great pain to most of my children and truly hurtful, damaging things have been said to me and about me. I’ve distanced myself from many of my dear friends and family members — people I love — because I just don’t know what to say to them, how to explain this seismic shift in EVERYTHING.
And then — occasionally — on days when I follow a rational thread of thought, I feel alive and free as never before — discarding feelings of guilt and doubt I’ve carried for years. It’s as if I’ve given myself permission to learn truth; to set aside all the Mormon answers to life’s questions — the explanations I MUST believe in order to be a worthy daughter of God.
Which brings me to the prompting for this essay. I had an amazing dream. It woke me and left me trembling and filled with wonder. Where did it come from? I don’t know…but it has stayed with me in all its vibrant color and vivid detail. I was floating through the clouds when suddenly and violently I shattered into dozens of pieces that were spinning and flying haphazardly through space. I was disappearing — the fear I felt was visceral. Then suddenly, those jagged, broken pieces of me began floating back together — each break fused with a vein of gold until I was completely whole again. A glorious light was glowing from inside me…shafts of golden light streaming through the veins of gold. Oh, how I wish I could paint the picture inside my dream! It was stunning.
Shortly after having this dream I shared it with my son. His family lives close to me and I happened to stop by their home a few weeks later. We talked about family and business and then something triggered me and I broke down in tears. My son and daughter-in-law comforted me and as I left their home my son handed me a gift — a beautiful Japanese bowl that had been broken and then repaired with gold. I look at it every single day. It is a symbol of hope. Hope that the people who mean everything to me will continue to love me — and will accept, understand and honor my journey. Hope that I can do the same for them — love them unconditionally, understand their choices and support their beliefs.
Kintsukuroi
This essay is for me — and possibly for my great-grandchildren. I’ve been told I’m changing the entire trajectory of my family — and that may be true. I don’t plan to share this essay with my active adult children because — well, it would just make our relationships more strained — the opposite of what I’m striving for. However, I hope (and pray…yes, I still pray) someday they’ll come across this. I want my story to be told and I want to be understood. I am learning that beyond the pain, there is hope. I mentioned earlier my purpose statement — and how it has remained the same for over twenty years. This is it: “My purpose is to be a light…to inspire and bless others.” I want to be that light — the light that was glowing from within me in my dream. I want to inspire and bless, now more than ever before. I know what it feels like to be shattered. I believe with enough love anyone who is broken and hurting can be put back together — healed. Indeed, we can be more beautiful for having been broken.
