Thoughts at Chevron

“That there should be no schism in the body; but that the members should have the same care one for another” (1 Cor. 12:25)

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My go-to spot for panic attacks, existential crises, or letting off steam is the Chevron across the street from the BYU stadium. From the moment I impulsively moved to Provo, I found myself seeking refuge with a daily maple cinnamon donut and a 44 oz Diet Mountain Dew. If you’ve seen me get emotional or belt Olivia Rodrigo in the three-spot parking lot in rage—I apologize in advance. Oddly enough, the best place for me to let it all out is at a gas station. 

I never thought I would live in Provo. Whether it was teenage angst or a contrarian personality, I grew up with a sour distaste for the town. I come from several generations of Mormons who found education in the area. I tried living elsewhere for a bit, swearing I would never live in Provo. I became disillusioned with movies and TV shows depicting “home” feeling cozier than reality made it to be. After some soul-searching and some mental health complications, Provo kept coming back to me. To be closer to family and perhaps to find myself, I moved to Provo. As the new Provoian (is that a word?) who would probably swear rather than kill a puppy, the rigid spiritual and social nature is a lot to handle.

It’s not only my language. It’s almost inevitable at an LDS church to be a part of a Sunday School lesson that talks about inclusivity or “belonging.” In these lessons, it’s not long before the “body of Christ” analogy is given. For those who are not aware, in the Bible, there is an analogy that mentions that each congregation should act as a “unified body.” Each personality acts as a different part of the body, but the scripture states that we should act as a unified whole. After this feel-good analogy settles, the verse after, 1 Corinthians 12:25, states that “there should be no schism in the body.”

A “schism” according to the Oxford Dictionary is “a split or division between strongly opposed sections or parties, caused by differences of opinion or belief.” I often feel like that schism. Whether it is with beliefs regarding sex, gender, or sexuality, I often find myself struggling with certain aspects of my faith and finding belonging while I’m in that space in between. I find myself stuck in the schism between two different identities: one committed towards a strict “black and white” approach to my faith, and the other feeling the pull to support those who are disregarded by strict, orthodox members. Each side wants me to commit. I frankly believe we live in a culture war that leaves little room for social ambiguity. There should be no schism in the body, right? Whether I’m conversing in social situations or attempting to date, my beliefs often feel like a vibe killer. I want to embrace my faith but not condone the hurtful space that it often creates. I truly want to follow my faith’s two great commandments to “love God” and “love thy neighbor.” Living in between these two sides is a difficult and oftentimes frustrating space. 

However, I’ve become increasingly confident and comfortable in this space in between. It often feels like I’m spiritually and mentally in a three-spot gas station parking lot; it’s a bit tight but feels uncomfortably right. I struggle to attempt to reconcile with those who are in even tighter spaces within Provo’s religious and social spheres. I want to make it clear that my often common left-leaning, “progressive” Latter-day Saint beliefs don’t make me anything special. If I’ve learned anything from my attempts to reconcile my conflicting beliefs, it is that the marginalized within our communities need the empathy that comes from those with even the slightest of differences. Fostering belonging in places that often reject the marginalized requires people who are willing to minister to those who feel like the schisms in our society. 

I arrived one day at the Chevron gas station with these thoughts ruminating. I wish I could tell you I left the gas station with some magical epiphany. If only introspection could transform Provo into Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. But as I’ve gradually made my way in Provo, one thing remains clear.

 For those who feel on the outsides of our town, take heart. We need you. I want to envision us going to Chevron, getting the drink and donut of our choice, and hearing your story. I don’t say this to put myself on a pedestal, but rather to put your stories on one. You deserve to be heard not to perpetuate a social agenda but primarily to feel validated and heard. In a social scene that wants to show us the door, let’s let our flags fly, nestle within the Chevron parking lot, and find our place. 

Home doesn’t necessarily mean perfection. Home can sometimes mean dining on a donut while watching the Stadium of Fire. Home can sometimes mean feeling at peace with the world while jamming out to a karaoke night at Peace on Earth. Home can sometimes mean feeling at peace with yourself, despite the discontent, as you listen to poets at Java Junkie.  

It’s as simple as that. In a world that prefers we stick ourselves in a predetermined mold, refuse to do so. Get that maple donut and the soda or whatever you feel like. Be the schism in a world that wants to force us into their worldviews. 

Go on your journey. Let it out.