Who Are You To Judge Your Neighbor?

I was raised in the Mormon church, a faith rooted in a strong hierarchial structure and strict rules. While it offers a clear framework for living, it can also foster a deep sense of guilt that's hard to shake. That guilt often becomes a measuring stick--first against ourselves, and then against others--as we constantly evaluate how well we're keeping the commandments. The result is a cycle of self-judgment that quietly spills over into judgement of others.

My husband and I attend a non-denominational Christian church, and are part of a Bible study group. Last night, I felt complelled to share something with our group that was on my heart--that Christians can be just as quick to judge others as followers of any other faith. As if we have the moral high ground. I lived that life as a Mormon, and I'm not going to do it again.

We all do it. It's woven into the fabric of being human--imperfect, instinctive, and often unnoticed. The deeper question is whether we have the awareness to recognize it, and the willingness to pause, reflect, and gently redirect ourselves.

My religious journey throughout my life has been tumultuous, confusing and brought me a lot of sadness.

My mom left the Mormon church when she was fifty years old in 1992. My father could never accept it and was counseled by authorities of the Mormon church to divorce her in order to save the rest of the family from leaving the Mormon faith. In the aftermath, all but one left the church in spite of the counsel my father was given.

My family was stuck in a holy war until my dad died 22 years later. The fighting was endless and everone felt the undercurrent of religious tension and pressure, most of us stopped going to any kind of organized religious service for years.

As for me, I stayed in a state of inner turmoil as soon as the family holy war started. I was outwardly solid to my Mormon upbringing for another 16 years. I felt uncertainty about the foundation of which Mormonism was built upon a lot in my life, which I always kept to myself.

As I sat down to create "Mandalas of Many Voices", a coloring/quote book that is now on Amazon; I had no idea I was about to embark on one of the most spiritually moving experiences of my life.

What began as a simple idea--to pair the meditative calm of mandalas with timeless words of wisdom and quotes--quickly unfolded into something much deeper. With each quote I selected, from religious leaders as ancient as 990 BC to modern spiritual thinkers, I found myself drawn into a quiet, sacred space. I felt as though I was being guided--not just by divine presence, but by the gentle whisper of my mother, whose spirit I felt sitting beside me as I worked.

There were moments when the world faded away and I was overcome with peace, clarity, and connection. In those still, creative hours, I felt God's presence--not as a strict ruler or distant force, but as a quiet companion who embraced the full spectrum of human belief and experience. I was reminded again and again that wisdom isn't bound by doctrine, and that truth speaks many languages. The quotes I chose--some grounded in faith, others in broader spiritual reflection--each carried a light of their own. And togeher, they became a mosaic of compassion, understanding, and unity.

The quote I chose to represent my own voice in the book says it best:

It is beautiful and natural for each person to follow their own path, whether rooted in religion or spirituality, for our journeys are as unique as we are. What is not acceptable is clinging to dogma or the belief that there is only one right way to live. Each person's journey is their own to find their truth.

Since the 90's, I've dreamed of writing my own book. But life has had a way of pulling me in different directions, and for years, that dream sat quietly in the background. When the dealership closed, that I had been working at with my son for 8 years, I found myself aimless--without direction, without purpose.

Then came this unexpected opportunity to write and publish my own work. I've been able to rediscover parts of myself that I thought were lost. The process has been more than just fulfilling--it's been healing. In many ways, it saved me. It gave me purpose. It got me sober.

I had been mostly sober since 2018 but after losing the dealership, and my mom's passing, I turned to alcohol to numb the pain. I started coloring in mandals books about 3 years ago and found them very calming. I always like finishing a page to see how it will come out. I'm not good at meditation so this has become a way for me to relax. I enjoy turning on some calming, spiritual music and just coloring for an hour before bed. I never dreamed I'd produce my own book. The mandala book was really motivated by a desire for tolerance, acceptance, and a genuine curiousity about each other's beliefs. Each author whose quote is included has some way, helped shape the world's understanding of faith, purpose and humanity.

And while you have your own belief system--just as I do--we've each come to those beliefs in our own way, in our own time. That's part of the beauty of being human. But sometimes, the conviction that we are right can quietly imply that others are wrong. That belief, even when well meaning, can create distance. And that distance? It's been at the root of conflict and division since the beginning of time.

But I don't believe our Maker intended for us to live divided. I believe we were created to love one another--fully, unconditionally--and to walk through this life with open hearts, gentle understanding, and a committment to being kind, honest examples. Not just when it's easy. But always.

My parents have both passed now but the fall out of religious tension has taken its toll on my family, and most want little to do with religion at all.

The experiences of compiling this mandala book opened my heart to the richness of other religions and belief systems. As I explored each one, I gained a deep respect and genuine love for the diverse ways people seek meaining and connection. I began to see how every tradition has shaped cultures, influenced ways of thinking, and left its mark on the world in powerful, beautiful ways.

As for me, this journey gently led my heart back to Jesus Christ as Savior of the world. The more I explored, the more I saw how everything--every longing, every truth, every expression of love and hope--ultimately points to Him. That is just what made sense and spoke to me.

These mandalas were hand drawn by an artist in Ukraine. They represent: Kindness. Compassion. And Divine. There are a total of 45 mandalas in the book.

Mom's Last Breath

My mom died a year ago this month. Her lamp, which now sits in my living room, still gives off light day and night. She is missed daily -- not just by me, but by many.

I can finally write about her. I still cry. My throat still chokes up. I miss her so much. Have you lost a parent or close loved one? It's gut wrenching, isn't it?

Now, I am firm in my belief in an afterlife. I've read the book "Imagine Heaven" by John Burke three times. It hasn't made me anxious to die, but it has made me look forward to what lies beyond this earth after we take our last breath.

My mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer at the end of January last year and died in April. She was 81 years old. She had no interest in treating it--she went into palliative care quickly, and we kept her comfortable and out of pain as much as possible.

I got married three months prior to her diagnosis. There was an embrace we shared after the ceremony when we looked into each other's eyes; we had tears, which was unusual for my mom. I knew her tears were tears of joy--that I had finally married Kevin after 10 years. My tears were of joy as well, but I also had a premonition that she would be gone from us within a year.

She moved in with my sister just three weeks before receiving the news about the lump in her pancreas. That timing was such a blessing, as my sister lovingly cared for her and they were able to spend precious time together. I was also fortunte as I was not working and I got to spend long afternoons talking, laughing and hugging her.

The week after her death, I felt strong mentally and emotionally. Physically, I had lost 40 pounds from other stresses, and my health had taken a beating. Two weeks later, the reality of her absence really hit me -- and I had never felt that kind of pain in my life. It was close to the pain I felt when my brother died, due to the terrible circumstances surrounding his death, but this was a different kind of pain: an emptiness, a loneliness, that knocked me directly to my knees begging God to help me through another day.

My mom was my rock--the person I turned to for everything. She knew every little dirty secret about me, and she told me plenty of hers as well. We connected. It's strange how we lived such parallel lives.

The grief my sister and I felt was so overwhelming that we took a sabbatical from one another to heal in our own ways. I was dealing with too many issues on top of my mom's death, and so was she. Our sabbatical took away the other closest person I could talk to about my mom, which was her. Both of us usually just sobbed when we spoke of her. I don't know why we are so deeply connected to our mother; she was just the best listener one could ever want.

I'm sad to admit this, but as addiction will always be a challenge for me, I statred drinking again. It numbed the pain. And for five months, I kept myself slightly--sometimes dangerously--drunk. I've never wanted to die of an accidental overdose. I shudder to think how many times I've come close.

Addiction is a curse. It's Satan's way of controlling my life--because everything in my life slowly deteriorates. My will, my self-esteem, my relationships and my health.

I got sober because I found purpose again and started doing something I love and was born to do: write. I am now writing and publishing my own books.

If you're grieving from a loss and struggling with addiction, be kind to yourself. Keep busy. Find purpose in life. Stay connected to friends and loved ones. Talk to a counselor. Go to support groups. Eat good food. Walk.

I watched my mom take her last breath. My sister and I held her hand for the final 15 minutes as she labored to breathe.

My heart ached to see her go--but I rejoiced for her, because she was finally being released from all her cares and sorrows, of which she had many in her lifetime.

The heavens opened up for her and celebrated her as the queen she was. And she finally got to meet the King of Kings, which she had prepared for and talked so frequently of. I know of no one that was more ready and humble than her.

Dedicated to Shirley Louise King November 2, 1942 - April 3, 2024