THIRTY-EIGHT years ago come January 2013, I left the warm comfort of my home for a country that I only knew through television, magazines and books. I'd never flown in an airplane before. I'd never been anywhere outside the island of Luzon. I had just turned 19 merely 8 days before. I was happy where I was: I had friends, a very attentive boyfriend and finishing up my 4th semester of college in the prestigious University of the Philippines with a government scholarship. I had just been invited to join a sorority. I had just changed my major to Psychology and wanted to be a behavioural psychologist. Perhaps even go to med school to be a psychiatrist. Or get a PhD in behaviour therapy. I knew what I wanted in life. And yet, my main reason for going to BYU-Hawaii was not even close to mitigating what I thought I was going to lose: to learn to become a Mormon. My mother wanted me to grow that way--spiritually. She felt that I had hit a brick wall that way and needed some direction, some perspective and more real examples of how the gospel is supposed to be lived.
For decades since I left, that is what I've dedicated my life to do. My parents provided me with this gift. And though my home life was full of strife, confusion and abuse, I thought that I can forge a new life in a new country, in a new language and start from scratch.
For over 30 years of marriage, I've tried to watch other LDS families, learn from their examples, watch their behaviour towards each other and viewed with very clear, investigative, curious and vigilant eyes how they lived their lives. In the beginning, I thought I had married into the most generous, loving and gospel-oriented family. I counted my blessings and wanted to become like them. In essence really, I rejected my own family choosing instead to become more like my husband's family. I learned how to quilt, bake bread, sew, budget and live below our austere means.
As I learned as much as I could about raising children, I was very keen on maintaining and cultivating conversations with my children even when they were too young to even have a voice. I wanted them to have every opportunity that I thought was denied me. I even raised them in my husband's language and culture. Not a single child of mine can speak Tagalog nor even marginally understand my own tongue. Not a single child of mine can understand my culture or appreciate the paradigm change I had to make to assimilate into their father's culture and mind-set.
In retrospect, I really did reject my own family because that day when I left in 1975, my mother wanted me to learn from others who were not like us....from others who did not have as much strife and drama as our family.
As I contemplate what I've learn about families and how to live the gospel, my thoughts return to my own family...my growing years. I remember the miracle of my father's conversion to the church. I remember my mother's enthusiasm for learning and reading the scriptures. I remember days and nights when we would get together as a family with friends and neighbours just to make music and then talk about life, politics and gospel principles. I remember my father's powerful talks and testimony whenever he got up as Branch President....how his presence demanded attention and how powerful his voice was. I remember one Sunday when he sang the solo baritone part to the song "Will A Man Rob God?" taught by an ex-pat named Sis. Stevenson. He was nervous and practiced at home while we laughed in the background. Turning back the clock in my head, he must have been nervous and yet, there he was magnificently singing. My father. Yes, the one who also levied such verbal and physical abuse on me. He was my father. And yet, though he may have been cruel during those times when he wasn't himself, I knew that he loved me. There was no doubt about that. I knew that when he is around, nothing can harm me and that he will protect me with everything that he has.
My mother is now suffering from mild dementia. It is a cruel master. But my mother was brilliant. She was a spiritual giant. She would tell me about her dreams and they had meaning and amazingly, every dream she had had a lot of truth and precognition. She was so wise. She worked so hard so I could have every opportunity that few ever had in their lifetime--at least from whence I came from. She was the sole breadwinner of our family as my father couldn't hold a job until his cronies were elected into high office. Then he had jobs with no real descriptions that came with a paycheck. But my mother was more than competent. Because of her brilliance, she worked for the most important minister in the country as well as the PDIC which is equal to America's FDIC. So she received two big paychecks---only because of her brilliance. She was a Fulbright scholar slated to pursue a masters degree in Public Administration at the University of Rhode Island but because she was pregnant with my sister, she had to turn her back on that much lauded privilege and opportunity. And she never looked back.
Our family had many emotional turmoils, dramas, twists and turns, duplicitous lives and some unspeakable events. That is true. And perhaps or rather, truly, some events are so far removed from how an LDS family should be...or how individuals should live their lives. But this is MY family.
As I prepare to attend Thanksgiving with my husband's family for the first time in probably over 20 years, my thoughts do keep on returning to my own family. My father has long been gone for over 20 years now. My sister and I have a very tenuous relationship. My mother is left to live with my sister eager to join my father yet holds on with every fiber of her will to hold on to her memories, her books, her pictures, her old letters, her genealogical records. And my heart yearns for those days when we were all together. I am willing to go back again and take the very bad parts with the very good parts because the very good parts were indeed extraordinary. And it took me a long time to realize that. Because in my quest to find out how LDS families are supposed to be or how one is supposed to live the gospel, I really need only turn to my own family. Because in my family, though there be darkness, you can always be sure that the next day will be brighter and my father or mother will show me more love to make up for the darkness. In my family, though there be strife, yelling and hurtful words, we can be certain that the next day, it will be like nothing happened and we will again laugh, love and hold each other dearly. In my family, even when I make bad choices and my parents or sister condemn me or disown me, the next day, I know that they were just angry and their actions will betray their painful words when they fiercely defend my decision and love me just the same.
I did not learn much from my husband's family about love, acceptance or finding the best in people they love. I only learned judgment, manipulation, one-upping, backstabbing, family gossip and alienation. I learned that what makes a good Mormon isn't about baking the best bread, sewing your children's underwear from remnants, tole painting better than the other or winning quilting shows. It isn't even about 'finally' becoming a Relief Society president or a bishop. It's not even about serving a mission or looking good on Sundays. But from their example and choices, I've definitely learned that I did not have to go to Utah or BYU to learn how to be "Mormon" because what I've learned from my own family is how to be a Christian...how to love....how to sacrifice....how to be faithful and loyal....how to forgive....how to live the very gospel that the Saviour himself teaches us through scripture, living prophets and personal revelation through the gift of the Holy Ghost.
I did not have to go very far to learn all those wonderful things. I always had it. My family always had it. And no other LDS family from Utah or anywhere can be more loving, faithful and true to each other as my family has been for me. The circle is complete and I am grateful. Truly grateful for the parents to whom I was born, where I was born and the circumstances, country and culture of my heritage. My family is THE family where I learned to live the gospel. And in a coming time when the Saviour returns, I shall look forward to meeting my father again and telling him that he was right....everything that I do while I am here on earth will affect him and my family. This is what he told me in a dream. And he is so right.
As I walk into my husband's family home, I am empowered by this clear realization. I am a princess of noble birth--born of goodly parents whose believing blood led us to the restored church of Jesus Christ. I was born into a country whose culture and noble history of resilience, patience and contemplative powers course through my veins. I was born into a family full of strife and challenges but whose wisdom, light and intelligence made me rise...rise high above all I could ever expect. This is my heritage. This is my blood. This is MY FAMILY.
