When I got baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 2007, I knew that I had to change how I lived my life. And although there were mistakes made here and there, that didn’t stop me from trying to be the best Latter-day Saint that I could be. So when I found out that I was pregnant with Arianna, I’ll be honest. I was devastated. I wasn’t married, and I knew that I was in no way ready to be a mother. Plus, the guy that I was seeing at the time wasn’t LDS, so getting married in the temple wasn’t going to happen. After doing some reading online about the Church’s views on situations like this, and traveling to some pretty dark places in my mind, I knew that the right thing to do was to put her up for adoption; that way she could have two parents in her life and a loving home, both things that I felt that I couldn’t give her. I was adamant about this decision all the way up to a few weeks before she was born.
Being LDS, pregnant, AND living in Utah was…different. I felt out of place, that’s for sure; attending a single’s ward was awkward because I was pregnant, but going to a family ward was even worse because I wasn’t married. And while it may have just been my overactive imagination, it seemed like everyone was judging me because of my situation. I felt 100% unworthy of any kind of blessing. I saw my being pregnant as some form of punishment for sleeping around. I felt SO dirty, and unloved; I knew that I’d never find someone with the same beliefs as myself and would be okay with me already having a child. I saw every invitation to church activities or outings with ward members as some kind of pity invitation, because I was alone.
Every now and then, whenever I felt like I needed an escape, I’d drive down to Salt Lake City and visit the temple grounds. I’d walk around and admire this castle that I wanted to go into so badly (it’s my favorite temple as far as architecture goes); I’d wander through the visitor’s center and try not to drown in depression because I was surrounded by happy families, and all it did was serve as a reminder that I was alone. The temple really is a beautiful, peaceful place. Just walking around the building left you feeling different, but in a good way. I’d admire the temple from what I deemed a safe distance, and try to be content with that even though I wanted to be right up to it; I wanted to touch its walls, the doors and the doorknobs. I wanted to admire the stonework and the windows. I wanted more of…something. But something in my mind told me that I couldn’t; that I wasn’t worthy enough to touch this holy building because of my sins. I honestly felt that I’d tarnish that building somehow, all because I touched it. I truly felt unworthy and undeserving of whatever that good feeling was that I knew was coming from being in close proximity to the temple of the Lord.
I remember one time I went, and a pair of Sister missionaries approached me (I didn’t know that missionaries could serve their missions at the temple until I’d moved to Utah). On this particular day, I felt especially undeserving of being anywhere inside the fence surrounding the temple, so I just stayed outside by the tabernacle and stared up at it from there when the missionaries approached me. We chatted for a bit, and then they asked me if I’d ever been inside the temple or something like that, I can’t remember the exact question. But I do remember telling them that I felt I wasn’t worthy to enter or touch it. I can’t remember their response exactly, but I remember that they expressed hope for me to one day not feel that way anymore. I wish I remembered what their names were… I haven’t been to visit the temple in a few years. Part of me wants to take Arianna to see it, but I wouldn’t know where to begin to explain to her what temples are, and how special they are to us. Part of me still doesn’t feel worthy enough to explain something so sacred to her.
Tonight, as I was washing my face mask off, I caught a glimpse of a hand- my hand- reaching out and touching the temple wall, and the door, and the doorknob. The building wasn’t tarnished, it didn’t burn to the ground…nothing bad happened. The only thing I felt as I saw this in my mind was that peace that I knew was coming from the temple. I felt happy, like finally, after all this time, I could touch the one thing I’ve felt too ashamed to approach. I felt full, I felt tears of joy, I felt…at home. Seeing this reminded me of the woman in the 9th chapter of Matthew; she had been sick for a very long time, and had come to see Jesus Christ while He was out with His disciples, about to see Jairus and his recently deceased daughter. This woman reached out and touched Jesus, with the thought, “If I may but touch his garment, I shall be whole (Matthew 9:21).” This was the verse that came to me as soon as I saw that vision of myself finally touching the temple walls. I know that my sickness is not the same as the woman from the Bible, but that doesn’t diminish the feeling of knowing that if I could touch the wall of the Salt Lake City temple, I’d be made whole somehow. I wouldn’t feel so dirty and undeserving of any kind of happiness. I wouldn’t feel like I had failed my Heavenly Father by not obeying his commandments. I’m sure it sounds stupid and silly to some people, but I wouldn’t feel unworthy of Christ’s love or blessings.
I don’t know when I’ll get the opportunity to go visit the temple; I don’t know when I’ll feel ready enough to touch it. But I do know what when that time comes, I shall be whole.
