My heroes are the people who stare at the clock on Sunday morning, trying to make up their mind. They have 20 minutes to decide whether they're going to church. Now ten minutes...now five...
And then they sneak into the back of the chapel just in time for the sacrament.
My heroes are the women who roam the halls during Relief Society because they cannot take one more lesson about the "joy of motherhood" without having a breakdown.
My heroes are the ones who get hurt, humiliated, offended. The ones who sit alone because they don't connect with anyone else in the ward. The ones who don't belong. The ones who have tried to reach out and have been rebuffed. The new member who doesn't know that their nicest pair of jeans isn't "appropriate Sunday attire" until a woman they've never talked to points it out in the hall. The longtime member going through a divorce who knows everyone is talking. The ones who spend three hours on Sunday feeling out of place, uncomfortable.
Because they come anyway.
My heroes are the people who question, and worry, and doubt. The ones who've learned the hard way that church leaders aren't perfect. The ones who struggle to reconcile their political beliefs with their religious beliefs. The ones who wonder whether the doctrine of the church is enough to make up for the culture of the church.
I asked my husband once why he thought it was that he never questioned the gospel, when others have, and he said "I do question. I do think critically about the the church. And that's how I know it's right."
My heroes are the ones who doubt everything, who come so close to completely losing their testimony, but then come back anyway. My heroes are the ones who know the less-than-savory aspects of church history, who don't necessarily agree with everything the bishop says, but who choose to believe anyway. The ones who tenaciously hang on to faith, because they have to believe that it will all make sense someday.
My heroes are the ones who, by all accounts, shouldn't go to church anymore. The ones who, if they left, people would say "Oh yeah I totally understand, I would have stopped coming too." The ones who feel abandoned by God and beat down by life, but who still turn to Him because somewhere, deep inside, they believe He's still out there, listening.
My heroes are the ones who came back. The ones who made the choice to change their lifestyle, agree to what many see a restrictive way of life, and face the judgements of their fellow members. I can't imagine how much courage it must take to walk into the chapel, bracing yourself for the reactions of your ward members, for the whispers and stares of the people who know exactly who you are and what you've done. But you're not here for them. You're here for you, and you're here for your Heavenly Father.
Having faith is hard. Trusting that things will be "okay" when things are obviously NOT "okay" is hard. Accepting that sometimes "I don't know" is the only answer is hard. Not knowing whether your decision is the result of a "still, small voice" or your own brain is hard. Giving up control to some other being you can't hear or see or touch is hard. Following the rules when you think the rules are stupid is hard. But there are so many brave, strong, smart people who have faith anyway. Because faith isn't knowing. Faith is hoping.
Supposedly, one of the biggest benefits of organized religion is the sense of belonging and community it gives to its members. Every single person in the community struggles with trials, imperfection, and moments of doubt. That's just life. But to keep going, keep trying, keep believing? That's a choice you have to make everyday, and my heroes are the ones who make the choice, even with the odds stacked against them.
My heroes are the ones who yell at God through the tears, because as angry and hurt as they are, they still believe He's up there, listening.
