My Tithe

I feel the need to share something. Not in an effort to take a side or to judge anyone who feels or has experienced differently,  but simply share my experience...

Tithing.

My first memory of the principle of tithing was as a 9 year old. I'm guessing it was tithing settlement and mom brought us with her into the bishops office. My feet didn't touch the floor as we sat in orange upholstered chairs. We lived in a very affluent area in southern California and my Dad had left just weeks before. I remember the bishop asking in a kind way, if my mom paid tithing and mom saying no, I can't. I have to support my girls. The bishop told her if she paid her tithing and was short that the church would help her...

This enraged my mom: I am not a beggar! And I will not be treated like a poor person!! My mom yelled at our bishop. Stood up, grabbed our hands and  stormed out of that office. That was my first and last experience with tithing as a child. It remained a painful topic for my mom....

When Grant and I married, neither of us had ever had first hand experience paying tithing. It was nothing more than a math equation to us. We struggled to pay it, for years and years. We'd pay for a while, months at a time even, but something always came up and we'd stop. It went on like that for ten years...during that time the church helped us at times and our bishops encouraged us to keep trying to pay our tithing. Trying and trying and trying....

Our ward in Raymond was very kind to us. Those 5 years were traumatic for us. We had Alex (4 under 4),  Grant broke his back in a work accident, We had Dallyn (5 under 6), Grant became addicted to pain killers, Mental health episodes led to hospitalizations and scary diagnosis's. Raymond was where we learned about the church welfare program first hand. Our bishop made sure we did not go without. I remember one night while Grant was in the hospital our bishop showing up on our doorstep and asked for every bill we had... I can't make Grant better, but I can help you here. 

{side story: One time my mom found out  (she saw the groceries in our van) we had gone to the Bishop's store house (think large scale food bank)  in Lethbridge to feed our family after Grant had broken his back in a work accident. My mom lost it at me. Accused me of shaming our family name and embarrassing her because she knew people who worked there....Mom never fully understood tithing or the church welfare program}

In 2003 we moved back to the Island, a fresh start for us in every conceivable way. The only goal we made as a couple when we moved was to pay our tithing. I'm not sure why we both felt so strongly about it at the time but we did pay our tithing. Okay it still took a few years to be full tithing payers but we got there...

A few months after we moved back to the Island my Mom was dying. My sister and I rushed to her bed side in Lethbridge. This wasn't the first rush but unknowingly was our last. Mom wanted to meet with her bishop, which surprised us some. Among a few requests she wanted to pay tithing on her pension check for that month. I still remember her shaky handwriting on that check and her handing it to her bishop....Mom died just a few days after we had gone home. Tithing was a painful thing for her, but I will always admire the courage of that last tithing check.

Over the last 15 years our understanding of tithing and church welfare has grown from a math equation to a principle of faith that we continue to be so blessed by.

As a RS president I had the sacred privilege to administer the welfare program with our bishop. Some of my most sacred experiences ever,  came when I was invited into  homes to talk about needs and then be able to meet those needs. It was never a principle of money but of love, our Savior's love.

I make no judgement on any one who feels differently. The ability to choose and feel for ourselves is such a gift.

 I'm grateful for tithing.

 

Healing Some.

{Ucluelet 2016}

I sat in a pew on Sunday and for the first time in months I didn't want to run for my life...
Stay with me here.

Up until August I gave everything I had as I served in a calling I never thought once I was capable of doing, but I gave my all. I loved my sisters deeply, prayed for them continually and wanted nothing more than for them to understand just how much their heavenly father loved them. While I served some very traumatic things happened and I paid a high price both emotionally and mentally from those events.


Up until April we had spent the last eight years fighting Grant's illness. We had managed to keep him from being suicidal. In April, that changed overnight. Beginning the worst six months we have ever experienced with his illness. Home life was a firestorm of unpredictability and chaos.

The Sunday I was released felt like I was hit with a tsunami of emotions. Relief, frustration, fear, wondering, grief, gratitude..... no one knew or understood what I had been through. Why did I have to experience such difficult things in the middle of some of my most sacred experiences?

Home was no sanctuary either. Grant's illness robbed him of his ability to show empathy or understanding. The more grief and upset  I showed the more unstable his illness became.

God where are you? Nothing.... Chaos collided.

I had never felt so alone and unloved in my life.

I was trying to keep Grant alive and out of psychosis.

Church felt like torture. Going alone a reminder of all the blessings that seemed to be slipping away.
I felt ignored entirely or deeply wounded by senseless platitudes and assumptions. Many Sundays I sobbed in the pew.

What's the point, all my years of trying seemed absolutely pointless. I was ready to run.

A friend has dragged me to Sacrament meeting for months. Most Sundays I just felt like a wounded animal slowly dying unnoticed. There out of duty and my slight fear of my mother haunting me.

I went through the motions...

Sunday something happened...I had begged my Heavenly Father for relief the night before. But instead of asking for him to help others understand us and stop hurting us...I asked him to help me heal and find peace.

As I sat in the pew on Sunday and listened to the introduction of  my favourite Christmas hymn being played. The thought came:

 " No one here knows what you've been through or are going through, but I do, Robin."

For the first time in months I felt the burden of grief lighten and my Heavenly Fathers love.

My heart is healing some. There is still much of the journey ahead. I'm just grateful I didn't run.








 

Gate keeper.

We sat in the psychiatrist office this week. Doing so takes a lot of courage for both of us. We come away feeling exhausted, but heard. It's a place where the gravity and complexity of Grant's mental illness is acknowledged and fully validated.

 Things are improving, sort of. An additional med has provided some tentative relief these last six weeks. . We are holding our breathe, this med has failed before, in 2013 and 2016 but we are hoping that in combination, it may hold him. For how long? It's completely unknown. 

Sitting back and realizing what we have endured the last six months brings bewildered, heart broken tears.

When you think you are going to lose your spouse to his illness... When you watch that spouse's illness destroy him into someone you hardly recognize... When you see this illness torturing him day after day and you are powerless to stop his suffering...you will do anything to save him.

Stress (even minor), being in public, well intentioned but ignorant people,  unsolicited advice, unexpected visitors, paperwork, nonsocial phone calls, criticism, perceived judgement of any kind, too many things to do in a day, unmet expectations...on and on.  These are things that have triggered him, sometimes leading to life threatening events.

I am now the gate keeper and not really by choice. But I will do anything to keep him safe and here. Our home is our sanctuary. Grant's safest place. A place where he can take his mask off and it's ok to be ill.


We have had some difficult things happen, where our boundaries have been bulldozed. Mostly unintentional. Simply not understanding, I guess.

What you don't see is the aftermath. The recovery time. The prayer that he won't slide.

When peaceful days are such a prized procession, you will do anything to keep them.

We've lost many friends, been the subjects of the latest gossip, when people don't understand they judge us.  Say we are too easily offend and we just need to let it go and that nobody can understand mental illness, so its unfair to expect them too. We've heard it all.

You don't need to understand us. You only need to understand our need for compassion is the same as others.

Grant didn't ask for his illness. I never asked to be his gate keeper. We are both exhausted, our hearts ache, but we promised to walk this road together and that we will do.