Something for Sundays is a series of posts about my experiences with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, featured in my Kimber Was Here newsletter. Today's post reflects my personal journey growing up Mormon and may challenge some beliefs. If you're not in the right space to read this, I understand, I do not fault you, and I am so grateful you subscribe anyway. I love you! :)
Hello lovelies,
Happy Sunday! And Happy Father’s Day!
I know this day can be painful for some, and a day of celebration for others. I hope you can take a moment today to pay tribute to father figures in your life, whatever that looks like for you.
I am grateful to be raised by a dad who taught me to value spiritual things. My dad is someone who lives a life of integrity. He is who he says he is. He is kind, and funny, and tries his best in all he does.
When I think about my dad, a funny story comes to mind.
Since the beginning of time, I always thought my dad’s favorite color was green. In my mind it was a fact. I always made sure to get gifts for my dad in the brightest, truest green I could find — whether that be green socks, green ties, or green balloons for his birthday. Every gift, every card, everything I ever made for my dad EVER had to be green.
When I was fifteen, I became more curious about my dad’s love for green. Did he like the foresty green? Lime green? Sage green? It was then that he broke the news to me. He hesitantly informed me that his favorite color was, in fact, not green.
I was shocked by this earth-shattering news. Who was this man? I felt that I didn’t even know him anymore! Apparently, when I was really little, I had told my dad that his favorite color was green and he just kind of… went along with it. For YEARS.
I remember asking him, “So what is your favorite color, then?”
He replied, “I don’t know, maybe like a light blue or something?” as if it didn’t really matter. Um… WHAT?
We laughed about it together but I also (embarrassingly) shed a few tears. I had to mourn, on a very very small scale, that version of my dad that I knew: the green-loving dad. He was now, incomprehensibly, a light blue-or-something-loving-dad.
It was hard then to accept that a person could change. That perhaps they might be different from the idealized, green-loving image I had of them in my head.
Even now, I find it difficult to accept that people can change. In fact, I've realized that the hardest person to accept changing is myself!
There Are Many Versions of You
In many ways, I feel that I have changed quite a bit the last few years. I got married, and then two days later moved to Texas, became a full-time teacher, and made new friends in a new place. The people I met knew me as “Kimber Poon” while everyone in Utah knew me as “Kimber Young.” Even my name had changed! In this cocoon of a time period with no real expectations of me, I had a chance to re-evaluate priorities, values, and lifestyle choices.
I think one of the main reasons I initially felt so much anxiety about coming back to Utah was the feeling that everyone was watching me.
In my mind, all of my youth group leaders from my past, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, every person I taught on my mission, my friends, family, neighbors, and every past version of myself would be waiting for me when I got off the plane with alert eyes, watching what I wore, what I drank, what I ate, what I talked about, how I moved — all trying to get a sense of my worthiness and my happiness level and my overall life satisfaction.
I think a big reason that I felt this way is probably due to the fact that when I lived in Utah before, I was the one watching everybody else!
Subconsciously or consciously, I found myself categorizing people into two categories: Members or Non-members. I would watch for tell-tale signs of double piercings, an iced coffee, or non-garment-friendly clothing to determine a person’s devotion to the Church. Sure, I preached the idea of not judging others, but secretly, or not so secretly, I wanted to know: Were they on the boat or off the boat? Were they in, or were they out?
So now, being on the flip side, trying to figure out for myself if I am “in” or I am “out” — the (perceived) judgments of others feel very anxiety-inducing.
I am scared of others seeing me changing, giving me some sort of title, putting me in some sort of box, only for me to change again!
But a truth I have found comfort in is this: there are many versions of you!
And boy oh boy, do some past versions of myself make me CRINGE.
When I first began questioning the doctrines and institution of the Church, I spent a good amount of time stressing about what a past version of me would think. Surely, she would be disappointed! Surely, she would be ashamed!
Even though logically I knew I was the same person, emotionally, 19-year-old Missionary Kimber kept looking at me with worried eyes. I wanted to tell her, “God isn’t worried about me! You don’t need to be worried, either!” But there was no way to reach her — she was there in my mind, frozen in time in her calf-length skirt and missionary name tag, worried.
Looking back, I am glad 19-year-old Kimber didn’t stay 19 forever.
I am learning that I am not the same person I was, not even the same person as yesterday. But each past version of myself has supported the next version of myself. I am growing, evolving, changing, being born again and again and again.
I think of 6-year-old Kimber, crying at the idea of wearing “immodest clothes."
I think of the newly-teenaged Kimber who thought to herself, “I can be perfect if I try hard enough!”
I think of the Kimber in high school who felt so edgy and progressive when she decided she would wait to get married until she was “older” — maybe even 25! (Haha, and I did, in fact, get married at 25).
I think of missionary Kimber with her heart wide open, with her fearlessness and bravery. I think of her sincerely repenting after going to bed at 10:32 pm (two minutes after the designated missionary-standard bedtime).
I think of the Kimber in college who was ruthless in monitoring her friends’ and boyfriends’ levels of commitment to the Church. Meanwhile, internally, she was completely ignoring the amassing questions on her shelf.
I think of newly married Kimber, who exhaled knowing she had hit all the checkpoints required for exaltation.
I think of the Kimber just last year, who committed to reading the New Testament from cover-to-cover with no study guide, and felt like she was learning about Jesus for the first time.
I cannot stay in the past forever. Sometimes it sounds nice to be there. More certain, more peaceful, maybe. But God and I both know I am not in the garden anymore. I can choose to bless my transformation, to remember who I was, and honor who I want to be.
Love Can Propel You Forward
Sometimes people are afraid to change because of love. I know I was.
Because I knew my family loved me, and my friends at church loved me, I didn’t want to disappoint them or hurt them with my doubt. Sometimes we know what we must do for ourselves in order to further our transformation or pursue a dream, but feel that our love for others is an obstacle.
One of the unintended blessings of being changing human being is seeing, plainly, the people who truly love you. When I thought I’d have to fight against their love with armor and a sword, I have found that they show up waving a white flag. I have been able to have conversations with family members (on all points of the Mormonism spectrum) that I never thought I’d have. I have cried in the car of a church parking lot with a member of my congregation on a really hard church day. When I thought people would judge me, or shame me, I’ve had beautiful friends say to me, “Let me know if I ever say anything wrong. I know I’m not going to be perfect, but I want to be here for you.”
When I expected people to leave, I have been amazed as those people put their stakes in the ground, pitched their tents, and showed me they are here in my life to stay. They saw me as a caterpillar, they saw me in a cocoon, and they are seeing me become a butterfly. Many people who have opened up conversations about what I am experiencing have chosen to be curious and to listen, and I try to offer the same in return. I don’t necessarily feel worthy of this love, and I know and have seen firsthand that many people have not experienced acceptance and kindness when it comes to faith transitions. It feels unfair and random for some to feel ostracized and others to feel seen. But regardless of who stays and who goes, being a changing human does show you the power of big, wide, unconditional love.
In the introduction to the book The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho writes, “We do not realize that love is just a further impetus, not something that will prevent us going forward. We do not realize that those who genuinely wish us well want us to be happy and are prepared to accompany us on that journey.”
I like the reframing of the function of love in our lives. What if love is the reason we can change? Instead of love being a thing that holds us back, what if love acted as a springboard to move forward and change without fear?
This idea is also explored by Father Richard Rohr. He writes, “Most of us were taught that God would love us if and when we change. In fact, God loves you so that you can change. What empowers change, what makes you desirous of change is the experience of love.”
I like to think about this big, wide, tough, gritty, enduring Love that God has for us. Romans has that beautiful line of no depth or height or powers or anything of the past or anything that will come can keep us from that full, encompassing love of God. God’s love is the biggest springboard of all time!
As Sarah Bessey says in Field Notes for the Wilderness: Practices for an Evolving Faith, “You can love who you are becoming.”
So, my friends, start spinning your cocoon, or wrestle your way out of your cocoon, or maybe it’s time, finally time, to spread your wings and fly.
Thanks for reading,
I remember feeling this same way when I left the church. It’s so freeing when you finally don’t care what others think about you, but care more about what makes you happy. I also remember the version of young Kimber, when you wanted to count and keep track of all the people you saw dressing immodestly in downtown SLC. :) I’m so glad you aren’t so judgmental anymore. Love you Kimber!
I love all the versions of you. 🤍