After I divorced, left the Mormon church, and started dating for the first time in my adult life, I attracted a series of men who tried very hard to convert me to atheism. My naïveté and crippling self doubt in those years made me extra alluring to such as they. I also had the irresistible skill, perfected over decades of practice, of appearing to listen with rapt attention and in submissive deference while men who thought they knew best held forth. Since I gave an excellent impression of being impressionable, it always surprised these atheist men that my faith in miracles and in the power of prayer was totally unassailable. I would not convert. I tried to throw them a bone by letting them know I didn’t think it likely that the Most High was an anthropomorphic god, but that wasn’t what they wanted. They weren’t just disappointed, they were unnerved by my gentle insistence that angels likely existed because after all, someone was responsible for those miracles. What miracles? they would ask, not scoffingly, but with curiosity and interest. I would tell them stories of miracles from my life and others I’d heard about. Nearly every time, after hearing several stories, these men all said, with the same note of sadness in their voices: “I wish I believed like you do, but I don’t.”
Why not? I would ask. I mean, you can if you want to. It’s a choice. I would point out to them that from my point of view, it took more faith to not believe in the Divine than to believe. And it’s logical to choose beliefs that make your life richer and more magical and exciting. It’s a no-brainer, I remember saying, and I do cringe a little at how dismissive I was of the doubts they confided so vulnerably. It’s only now that I reflect that in all the years I was a practicing Mormon, I never made a single convert, and yet as soon as I left the church I made a number of atheists at least wish they were men of faith. I’m a much better missionary as a ho.
That’s not to say I’ve never had a crisis of faith myself. I have them frequently. And I might as well let you know right now that the fact that someone as flaky, insecure, self-absorbed and unapologetically hedonistic as I am has had so many miracles worked in her favor and mystical, ecstatic experiences is more proof than anyone needs that worthiness is not a thing when it comes to the Divine. Existence is worthiness.
Worthiness is not the thing, it’s belief. Belief opens a door and bam, there’s God. My earliest memory is of standing at the top of the stairs in the old farmhouse built by my Drinkwater ancestors at the corner where a stream met a river. I felt strange. There was an odd pressure on the sides of my head and I heard buzzing. At the bottom of the stairs a bearded man appeared (though not Daddy and not Jesus, I later told my mother). He held out his arms to me and I could feel how much he loved me. The buzzing got louder and I was enveloped in a euphoria that lifted me off my feet. As I reached out my arms toward the man and floated down the stairs, the feeling of euphoria intensified to the point it was overwhelming and I felt like crying out for help.
That’s all I remember and I don’t recall coming to either at the top of the stairs or the bottom. When I was very little I thought this had really happened and I told my mother about it. Understandably, she dismissed it as a dream. I insisted that I was not asleep, that I was very much awake and standing at the top of the stairs. She didn’t believe me. As I got older and was conditioned into the common reality on which we supposedly all agree, I came to believe I didn’t physically float down the stairs that day, but I had some kind of something happen while I was fully conscious and standing. I never called it a vision because I was taught only the Mormon prophets could have those. Every time I felt the pleasant little euphoria of a good stretch, I remembered that experience. And naturally I remembered it again years later when I had my first orgasm. By that time I’d had several other mystical ecstatic episodes, though none quite as dramatic as the first. You can imagine how confusing it was for me as a child to be associating both incredible pleasure and crippling shame with spirituality.
But we were talking about how belief opens the door. Not long after that episode on the stairs, my kitten went missing. The dairy farm was across the stream from our house, but in our front yard were the pumps where tractors and trucks came in to gas up throughout the day. It was a perilous place for anyone, say nothing about a tiny kitten. And then there was a mafia of aggressive raccoons living under the old barn attached to our house. Though careful to say nothing of this within my hearing, my parents were sure the kitten had met an unfortunate end. It had been three days since we’d seen him and I couldn’t stop fretting about my little Mike. My mother suggested we pray. I immediately loved the suggestion and we all knelt down on the living room floor and bowed our heads over clasped hands resting on the couch. My mom offered a simple prayer and as she began the Mormon closing “and we say these things” I leapt up and sprinted to open the front door. My mother called after me but I was already scooping up my precious baby, my darling Mike who was right there waiting for me on the front step, a little skinnier but as alive as he could be.
There was not even the slightest doubt in my mind that God would deliver my kitten. I knew it like I knew the sun would rise every morning. Though this is the cutest story and that’s why I share it here, it wasn’t uncommon at that time for me to experience immediate and even dramatic answers to prayers. It was my reality. If I had never been introduced to doubt, would it be my reality now?
A more practical question is, can I restore this kind of faith or something close? I happen to be starting a new life right now and so far it’s looking a little on the skinny side. It could use some fleshing out for sure. The Law of Attraction folks claim the following:
Always, when you know what you don’t want, that’s when the rocket of desire is born of what you do want. That is the fruit of your experience. Now pluck it and savor it and enjoy it. Visualize it, and find the feeling place of it. And live happily ever after, once you get the hang of this. -Abraham Hicks
A mixed metaphor, but an effective one. I get it. Since moving back to the US of A I’m aware of a whole lot of what I DO NOT want in my life. Now what I’m supposed to do is focus on savoring what I do want, physically when possible and in my imaginal realm as well, and the good vibes of all that savoring will make me magnetic to the very best stuff. Where focus goes, energy flows.
I started doing these manifestation practices a few months ago and when I stick with it, I do notice impressive results. Then I end up getting distracted and I go back to my old ways of focusing on lack and disliking everything that is wrong here. When I remember what a consistent little manifesting powerhouse I was as a preschooler, it’s humbling to see my decline! But you know what? It’s also motivating me to keep going for it.
Is anyone joining me on the manifesting journey? What do you want to manifest? I’d love to hear from you. You can answer me privately or comment on this post on my website. Have a wonderful week!
Love,
Lindsay
I think what I want and don’t want is not often obvious to me. I’d think I should work on getting more clarity there before I try intentionally manifesting?