by Lacey Parr

I did what was expected as a young Mormon wife. I graduated BYU with not just a degree but a temple marriage and a pregnancy. But as the choice was deliberate, I owned it. The prevailing view at the time seemed to be that young motherhood was restrictive; it would tie me down. But it was motherhood that liberated me. While finances were meager at first, I had the privilege (and the income from a supportive partner) to stay home. I found purpose in caring for this new human, our first baby. I read all the books I could on breastfeeding and parenting. I devoted myself to my baby. My heart had grown. He went on my back (and my husband’s) into the Wasatch Mountains many times. We walked miles together and found new paths as we created our family culture. Our baby did not tie me down; he gave me even more reason to explore, learn and grow.

When learning about natural birth during my second pregnancy, my rebellious spirit was kindled. An alternative path unfolded before me. I felt liberated simply preparing for natural birth. And when I birthed that 8-pound baby on my hands and knees, I had birthed my way. My heart and mind expanded again. I did not have to live in the expected way. With a baby at my breast and a toddler on my back, we trekked into another new path. Choosing them over a career gave me—and them-–freedom. Freedom to play by the river on a Tuesday morning. Freedom to run wild in a mountain meadow whenever we took a notion. We strolled in museums and enjoyed playdates but our joy was found in the snowflakes, the lines in the mountain stone and the ducks on the creek.

When my third child was born, a daughter, I started caring even less about what others thought. I birthed her at home like a queen surrounded by loving attendants. I breastfed her openly everywhere we went. Motherhood and breastfeeding was supposed to be restrictive and keep me home in the kitchen. And due to practicality, it often did. And there were many relationship-building fights and discussions about sharing the weight of house and care work. But I found avenues that brought me and our family freedom. We sought time in nature over everything else.

An unconventional motherhood led to an unconventional toddlerhood which led to a natural choice–homeschooling. I liberated myself and my children from traditional schooling, a boring life of desks and lines and uninteresting text-based lessons. We found freedom in outdoor lessons, mud pies, climbing trees and beach days. A village of loving support was built around us that brought us more joy and peace than we knew we needed. What they needed and wanted to know, we learned together. Tuesday mornings were spent following their lead on trails and creek beds. Afternoons were spent at libraries, museums and aquariums. I learned to be their guide, mentor and fellow learner as they discovered the world.

Choosing them was supposed to restrict my freedom but it broadened it. They liberated me. Homeschooling was supposed to shelter them, but it liberated us. Motherhood was my liberation.

By 2021, alternative choices had become my normal. A deliberate life is what I seek and attempt daily. And so perhaps I should not have been surprised that another paradox presented itself: leaving Church and finding God.

Like many members of the faith, I had issues and questions throughout my life that were unanswerable within the faith. What was the real purpose of polygamy? Why the silence about Heavenly Mother? Why were Blacks prevented from attending the temple or receiving the priesthood for so long? Why are there so few named women in the scriptures? These questions and more were gently placed on a shelf and over time the shelf bulged and sagged as new weight was added. Why don’t I feel any connection to the temple ceremonies? Why can’t gay couples be sealed? Why are there so few female leaders speaking in Conference? What is so wrong about women wanting the priesthood? When I was faced with more context in the Church’s history and truth claims, when I forced myself to truly look at its past and current gender and racial inequities, my shelf tumbled. The day it tumbled to the floor was a bright summer day when I could have been happily weeding my garden. Instead I was lost in a spiral of betrayal and grief.

In the months and years that followed I prayed and studied and sought the Divine. I read the counter-arguments, I spoke to faithful leaders and prayed some more. Like many times in my life when I have sought divine help, the heavens were silent besides an enveloping love and warmth. My answer was the same I’ve always gotten: I love you. You are good. Make the choice that feels right to you. Your choice is the right choice because I trust you.

With gratitude for the loving, beautiful and faithful way in which I was raised, I consciously chose to step away from church and its doctrines.

Leaving doctrine and church programs behind allowed a bigger, more loving Gospel to expand before me.
Awe and wonder replace the smallness of certainty.
My sacrament is in nourishing food made with my children.
My worship is in a cold water lake.
My study is found in the wisdom of people of many faiths, not bound in leather.
My service is no longer solely inside a building.
My contemplation is not on a white couch while wearing soft slippers but in a snowy forest on skis.

Following my inner knowing led me to choose intentional birthing, parenting and education. I’ve learned to trust my inner self, my integrity. When that same inner knowing led me away from Church, I could trust her, because I trust myself. I don’t attend the temple anymore but I do attend to the moon and She attends to me. And that is enough for now.

Choosing motherhood did not confine me, it brought me freedom.
Homeschooling did not narrow my world, it broadened it.
Leaving church did not mean leaving God, it meant finding God.

Lacey Parr is a winter lover, tree hugger and cold water mermaid who is raising four children with her husband in northern Minnesota.