What I Wish

I have vivid dreams. And actually, I think I always dream. If I fall asleep on the couch for five minutes, I'll have a five minute dream. I often think, "Oooh, I should write that one down!" but I rarely do. There are some, though, that I remember without needing to write them down. One of those, for example, was a dream wherein I watched Eldon's face change to a man I didn't recognize. My dream self looked into the eyes of my husband, seeing all the love and the memories and the commitment there. Then slowly those eyes became darker, harder, until they were completely hostile and unfamiliar. Suddenly I realized, as happens in dreams, that my husband didn't exist. That the man I love had never existed. My Eldon was nowhere to be found.

I wept. I wept so long and so hard in that dream that I actually woke up with tears on my face. I gasped, opened my eyes in the darknesss and reached out frantically to feel for the body of my husband sleeping beside me. He was there. I cried fresh tears of relief and curled myself against his back, hearing his familiar breathing and smelling his familiar smell. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.

Perhaps it seems a strange connection, but this is the memory that came to my mind as I studied my scriptures this morning. I've been deeply troubled over the past months (years?) as I've felt my faith in God grow fainter. Almost imperceptively I've become increasingly skeptical of spiritual things, less and less willing to pray, more and more unwilling to hope. Was there a God in heaven? Was my lifetime of religious diligence as silly and futile as the fairy tales and myths I'd read as a child? Was I needlessly shackling myself to a list of rules and regulations, breaking my back with hours of service to a church and a people as misguided as any other?

It was a terrifying thought.

I finally mustered the courage to tell my husband my thoughts and fears. I didn't think I believed anymore. I was willing to pretend, for his sake, but my heart was going to be breaking behind the facade. A lifetime of superstition and fraud? Oh, how would I endure it?

The next day my husband fasted for me. I watched this sweet man feed our daughters and stay hungry himself. I watched him pray and saw tears in his eyes, knowing his heart was breaking too. I watched as he read his scriptures, seeking answers and peace as is his way. "What a good man I married." I'd think to myself. "How I love him."

It's been weeks since that confession. I'd decided to give myself an entire year to make my decision about God. I would read and ponder and pray and give Him every opportunity to manifest Himself. Then I'd make my choice.

"What would change?" Eldon asked me. "If you decided God isn't there, what would change?"

Externally, not much. I'd still attend our church with my family. I'd still raise our daughters the way Eldon and I had intended when we brought them into the world. I'd still be married to a devoted believer. I'd just ... be miserable. Not miserable in all aspects, because there is so much joy to be found in life and living. But my heart wouldn't be behind my actions, and that's a difficult road to travel. My only consolation was that I'd be honest with myself while not hurting my family.

So I embarked on my journey of study and prayer. I cannot express the challenge it is to pray to a God you aren't convinced is there. I cannot express the soul-rending humility it requires to pray aloud with your children and teach them about God when you're not sure a word of what you say is actually true. My fear was enormous. I was letting myself get sucked back in. I was welcoming the brainwashing, hoping to rid myself of reality and join the ranks of the delusional.

I just didn't think I could go through with it.

But I kept reading. I kept praying. On my knees. I kept watching devotionals and presentations by men and women of greater faith than I had. Some of their words felt manipulative and forced to me, so I kept searching until I found presenters and speakers I felt comfortable with. I studied by topic, grasping for anything about charity and hope. It seemed to me that if I could better understand those two things my faith might not be lost forever.

When it became unbearable, when I felt it was just not worth the struggle, I'd remember my family - my husband and my daughters. I am their entire world. I am the maker of their home and their happiness. And I would do this for them.

One day it occurred to me to ask myself what I wanted. Did I want God to be real? Or did I want everything to be a fantasy, a life lived for now rather than later?