At the end of 2018, I sped-read through the Book of Mormon while paying attention only to the mentions of Jesus Christ. The following is a lyrical and spiritual essay I wrote at the beginning of this experience. Much of the essay concerns God the Mother, who isn’t directly referenced in the Book of Mormon but who I believe shows Herself through Jesus Christ as well as in women such as Eve, who in my faith we praise rather than condemn.
I love that when I pay close attention only to mentions of God, I see things from a different perspective. I’m building a knowledge of God from the ground up.
I wonder with Sariah at a largely unknown God who would send people into nearly fatal experiences yet demand strict obedience. I crave information about God, especially news of the Messiah. I feel a taste of what it must have been like, waiting for bits of revelation about the Messiah before He came.
I see more of how little I know, see that we’re still just piecing together information about God, trying to understand a little more. Waiting on the word of the Lord with bated breath, trying to make sense of everything — or anything. Every snippet is a revelation, and every bit of knowledge makes me wonder what’s to come.
And still, I’m sad that humanity has lost so much knowledge, and I wonder at how much we might know if our knowledge stream were never broken.
Every time I read God in a general sense, I marvel that this generic description must include God the Mother as well as the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. I wonder who had the last knowledge of Her, before the Great Apostasy’s shadow fell across the Earth.
And then I think of Julian of Norwich and remember that the feminine Deity can never be erased, is always observable in Christ, peeks at us through the folklore of Deborah, glints from the backs of the eyes of the women who came before us.
I yearn for more light and knowledge — little scraps from heaven — and I hear Eve’s call for wisdom, feel a thrill travel up my spine as I listen. I look at the pain in the world — taste the coarse, salty edge of its cliff — and I feel as she did that this may all be worth it if we may know the infinite, become a part of it.
Eve was powerful, after the image of my Mother, of my Father — of course people have tried to blame and erase her.
But they can’t. She is too strong for them.
Millennia of effort, all for nothing. Today I find it more difficult than usual to not gloat our victory over the devil. Because our choices have more power than his, and no infiltration can crush our spirits.
Because of Christ. We wouldn’t be stronger without Him.
That’s why we’re not supposed to gloat over the devil. The Messiah is the one who gives our choices power.
But sometimes I am spiteful toward the devil, and I work my pride up anyway. At least I can repent.
My stomach growls for more news of the Messiah, and I feel my Mother in the power of His Redemption.
He knows everything of my Mother, and He is the key to knowing myself. He shines from the pages as my eyes race over them, plucking out the mentions of Him with the wonder of a child-self picking flower-weeds from the side of the road.
The quest of Eve stirs within me, and for a moment I embrace the thorns as well as the rosebuds that meander and root all over the Earth. I see daisies pop up, oblique sunlight hitting them as it escapes from the stale, winter clouds and weaves through the thick, crisp air.
The air smells like flattened gasoline, but I know it won’t forever. My Lord will redeem the Earth, and He is here.