In my favorite childhood novel “Love, Stargirl” by Jerry Spinelli, fearless and joyful Stargirl leaves behind orange halves throughout the town as a treat for birds and other animals. These oranges come to mark her path. If someone in town saw an orange half on top of a fence, they knew Stargirl had been there.
I write Kimber Was Here to have a record of how I make sense of the world. These essays are my oranges.
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for following along.
Hello there!
This last week has been full of some muggy days, some sunshine and some happy moments. We have had family in town for the eclipse, and I have kept myself busy with work, watching Top Chef and Survivor, hanging out with our nephews, and, you know, just overthinking everything about life.
I intended to write this yesterday for my Sunday post, but the words weren’t coming for me. They are coming to me now, soo… Monday it is!
If you’ve followed along for the last little bit, you will know that over the past year or so, I am always thinking about church stuff. Several things have changed in the way that I engage with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on a personal level. I have learned more about the history of Mormonism, have reconsidered the “why” behind many of the traditions and policies, and have actively learned more about broader Christianity and other forms of worship. I have educated myself more concerning the impact that church traditions, policies, and doctrines have on the minorities of the church — both ethnic minorities and LGBTQ. My language surrounding faith has changed too. For example, I use the word “faith tradition” instead of “religion” and try to be intentional about the use of the pronouns “She” and “He” when referring to God.
Despite these changes and insights in my personal worship, there are many things I hold on to that haven’t changed. Sometimes I have a hard time knowing what should stay and what should go. What makes faith disentanglement and faith deconstruction so hard is the reconstruction, the sifting, the finding of what is real and pure and true.
It’s easy to want to just throw it all out — to start over, to start clean. But with something so deeply engrained in our psyche and our person and our identity, that is extremely difficult to do. Being a member of the Church is not just something you do on Sundays, it quite literally permeates everything you do and are.
Today I wanted to write about something that I actively hold on to with both hands: my belief in miracles.
Miracles
When re-evaluating faith, it’s easy — so easy — to become cynical. Once that shelf gets heavy, once that shelf breaks, the shock of it all is blinding. You don’t see much else besides the broken pieces on the ground — the pieces of what you once held dear to your heart for so long. Suddenly, it’s not just about “the Church” — it’s about God, it’s about you, it’s about your family, it’s about the way you perceive life itself.
Nihilism creeps in somehow, and you might consider for the first time the idea that life could be meaningless.
As you deconstruct, disentangle, reconsider, you will find that there’s an explanation for everything.
A tender mercy? That’s just confirmation bias.
A Spirit-filled meeting? You must be referring to collective effervescence.
A sign from God? The feeling of a Supreme Being being aware of you? That’s a nice thought, but it’s likely just a coincidence.
Perhaps you read about these “psychological phenomenons” and those ideas resonate with you. But maybe, if you’re like me, it just makes you more confused.
I wonder, what’s the difference?
Is it holier-than-thou, better, smarter to believe in confirmation bias? Do I really need to explain everything away? If it wasn’t the Holy Spirit, it was collective effervescence. If it wasn’t a blessing that happened in my life, it was just me working hard and therefore I deserve it.
Explaining away the special moments in my life where I feel seen and heard by something Greater Than Me as “that’s just how life is sometimes” feels not only boring, but… lifeless.
I think my choice to believe in miracles comes because I would rather live my life with a hint of magic, a hint of mystery, a hint of supernatural.
I see miracles in all forms of life — when someone learns to love someone other than themselves, when the light turns green right when I need it to, when I find my keys after finally offering a prayer, when I see one of my students smile after weeks of darkness, when I look back at my life in awe at how the puzzle pieces have fit together.
Is it that much better to drown in nihilism? Is it more awesome, more fun, more better to proclaim that we do not believe in miracles, that we believe in nothing at all?
Sister Chen
I am going to New York this coming weekend, and suprisingly, this trip has brought up a lot of not-quite-healed feelings for me. The last time I went to New York, I attended my friend’s funeral.
I served my LDS mission in Flushing, Queens, New York. This beautiful, chaotic corner of the city was the place where I developed my deep-seated belief in miracles. It is a place where I loved and felt loved – both by people and by God.
Sister Chen was one of those people. She was a small woman — five feet or so, but had a fiery spirit. She could somehow whip out a meal for 50+ people, tend to a thriving garden, teach crafting classes at the local Taiwanese Community Center, and throw a party for the neighborhood all in one day. On my birthday, she got me a giant cake with my name written on it and took me to my favorite restaurant. It was my favorite birthday ever.
In the fall of 2021, I felt really strongly that I needed to go back to New York. It wasn’t just a nice little “Oh yay I should go to New York!” It was a, “You need to go to New York. NOW.”
I mean, I’ll never pass up a trip to New York, so I purchased a plane ticket, brought along my then-boyfriend (now husband:)), and went on my merry way.
I didn’t know how sick she was. When I saw her, she was as kind and beautiful as ever, but looked so frail. Sister Chen was gracious enough to let us stay in her home despite her illness. The night before I left, she stayed up late with me and taught me how to make flowers out of nylon and wire.
She sent me off the next morning with a whole bouquet of those wire flowers. I hugged her, noting how thin she was, and swallowed back my tears. Our friendship was one that transcended age and culture.
She died just three months later.
When I came back for the funeral, I brought those wire flowers back with me and placed them next to her in her casket.
I’m not entirely why I have felt like I wanted to share this story today. Now I am all emotional writing this.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, the prompting I felt to go to New York to visit Sister Chen is not something I’m just going to chalk up as a coincidence. For me, I will call it for what it was: a miracle (!!!)
It was a miracle to reconnect with a dear friend before her death. It was a miracle that Jonny got to meet her. It was a miracle that I was in a financial position to afford a spontaneous trip to New York. It was a miracle that God urged me, in my heart, at just the right time.
I don’t see the point in deciding that these miraculous things that happened in my life are meaningless. I don’t see the magic in pretending that what we see is what we get. I, for one, love to imagine a God of Miracles — I love to look for the deeper meanings, for the deeper colors, for the ways that we might collectively be unknowingly weaving together an intricate tapestry of goodness and beauty and truth.
My favorite scripture from the Book of Mormon reads, “And now, O all ye that have imagined up unto yourselves a god who can do no miracles, I would ask of you, have all these things passed, of which I have spoken? Has the end come yet? Behold I say unto you, Nay; and God has not ceased to be a God of miracles.”
I know deconstruction reconstruction disentanglement faith journeys whatever can come with a lot of hurt, confusion, anger, and looking back on your life and thinking, “Wait, what??”
Our world is really cynical, more people are finding life without God than ever… but I stand by the idea that miracles bring a magic into life. I hope that people going through this, including myself, will fiercely and boldly hold onto the good we believe in — a loving God, an aware God, a God of miracles.
Thanks for reading!
I wrote a comment yesterday, but I don’t see it. I wanted to add a comment about your Sister Chen, so I’ll just say that I loved what you wrote about your relationship! Beautiful!
This really hit home, Kimber! Deconstructing religion was incredibly challenging for me too—letting go of everything I once believed in initially felt like a void, but I soon saw it not as a hole but as a cup to fill. Embracing the Zen Buddhist philosophy of cultivating a "beginner's mind" helped me approach this new space with curiosity and wonder. This mindset has not only made life exciting but has also infused it with a sense of magic as I've reconstructed my beliefs. I've noticed that the more I embrace new possibilities, the more I encounter synchronicities—meaningful coincidences—that guide my way. It's inspiring to hear that you're finding similar meaning in those moments. I'm also touched by your experience with Sister Chen—laying wire flowers in her casket was a beautiful tribute.