I’ve always been fascinated with Jewish culture, especially Orthodox Judaism, most probably because adherents demonstrate a discipline and devotion that I never will.
The Gift of Asher Lev has been on my mind for a few days now. I read it fairly quickly–perhaps too quickly. It wasn’t until two days after reading it, while trying to fall asleep, that I finally understood what his gift truly was. There’s something mystical about books that good. I want to be the writer of books that good.
My relationship with my own faith community is mentally exhausting and frustrating. I feel continually judged, and at the same time condemned, because I just don’t fit, but still I can’t let go.
While I find many other faiths beautiful and fascinating, I find my own convincing and necessary. The God I worship is decidedly Mormon, but the life I lead is not.
I wonder what to do with myself. The more I ponder it, the more I know that I believe the Gospel to be true, but I don’t believe in the perfection of the Church. This is why it irks me when I hear testimonies that begin with “I know the Church is True.” I don’t know that and perhaps I am merely jealous.
I seem to draw much from multimedia these days. Monday nights are Big Love nights. Every week I tune in, and not just for the polygamy. The Henricksons, Bill especially, are a family who live out their faith in the best way they know how. They don’t rely on a structure to hold them together. They have a specific belief and they live it, despite all of the problems that entails.
I’m not sure what I expect of myself. I don’t want to go back to pretending a belief in something, just because believing it would make my faith easier and less complicated.
I worry that I am simply rationalizing my behavior. That I want the belief without the work.
But then, this feels like work to me.