Sassy Mormon

 A long time ago, I thought that unless everything was going perfect in my life it meant that Heavenly Father loved me. I became so obsessed with seeking favor with the ' Big Boss in the sky' that it would often fill me with guilt when bad things happen in my life. My early childhood was filled with a love for Heavenly Father that could fill at least five Olympic size pools, yet I didn't quite understand the concept of why bad things happened to people who seemed so reverent and dedicated to living Christlike lives. I was good. I was very good. People at school would call me church girl because I practically walked around with a neon sign which said 'Ramona's A Christian'. Then bad things started to happen. IF HEAVENLY FATHER LOVED ME I'D HAVE A PERFECT LIFE RIGHT? Wrong. In this life, we aren't promised perfection. I thought I needed to have a perfect family and a Hallmark storybook life or I wasn't as treasured to Heavenly Father. Most of m...

I thought I would share my testimony which I am going to be sharing at the first ever musical Fireside in Barbados. I don't think we've ever had a fireside here. I hope you enjoy it. Much love- The Sassy Mormon Life comes full circle and so did my conversion. More than fifty years ago on a street in London, England missionaries contacted the matriarch of my family. My mother, a baby at the time had no idea that one day she would call herself a member. Despite the missionaries best efforts, my grandmother refused to join the church under the guise that no black members were allowed. Some fifty-some odd years later, I joined the church after months of doubt, fear and judgment from family members who could not understand my decision to join " That Church" . And yes they did call it "That Church"   When I first joined the church, I was so afraid. I was so angry and had so much doubt about what I had done that I kept telling myself that I would leave af...

Words sting. When I was in high school, a classmate looked at me on day and told me I was ugly. At first I shrugged it off because I had never heard someone say such insulting things to me before. He made it his mission every day to drill it into my skull that I was ugly and nobody liked me on a daily basis. I had the wrong friends during this time who never stood up for me and allowed that bully to tear apart the little self-confidence I had. Suddenly I became exactly what he wanted me to be. I became ugly. I stopped taking photos with my friends during our adventures out and started avoiding hanging out with people altogether. In the darkness of my brain I heard the bully's insults like a stuck record each morning as I got ready for school. Ugly...Worthless...Nothing...Invisible. After a while I gave up. I stopped talking and avoiding social situations completely existing only in the school library where I drowned myself in reading every book possible. If I was ugly i...

Prior to my Sassy Mormon days, I  was an avid coffee drinker. I loved everything about it and as a college student it was the only thing that got me through my crazy journalism degree programme. At my worst i was managing to chug at least four before noon and at 4 dollars a cup I was normally chucking out 20 dollars a day on staying awake. (I was in college don't judge me!!) In the bad days, I used coffee as a crutch to stay awake. Group projects meant getting the least amount of sleep possible since all the work seemed to magically fall on my shoulders. Coffee became my friend, my pillow and my safe place. I loved coffee....  Everyday I became excited to stand by the machine with my coffee cup and chug my life away for a few seconds of liquid bliss. It went on that way until I dropped out of college and started detoxing from my four cups a day habit. I held out hope for the odd movie evenings where i could treat myself to my favorite drink which was so tainted with ...

Once upon a time, I had a really had time at church and I thought about leaving. I was sad. My feelings were hurt and I desperately wanted to find a way out or to suddenly be unbaptized. Anger boiled over. Tempers flared and the only thing keeping me in the church were the missionaries who tried their darnest to save a slipping soul whose feet seemed pointed to the nearest exit at our church. Those weeks were hard. I wanted to run. I wanted to flee. Nobody understood why I suddenly turned quiet or slipped into my corners at the church and refused to engage. My heart seemed stuck on a station called 'Hurt Convert' which I will admit is one of the darkest places I have ever been in. Hurt often leads people to walk away or sometimes run away from the church. Even the strongest testimony and the most avid Book of Mormon reader fleed in the midst of confrontations and contention. And even though I am not proud to admit it, I was almost one of them. Where does hurt get us? I ...

A few months ago, I wanted to do something really cool on my Sassy Mormon blog. I realized that I wanted people to come to love the missionaries who served on my island  just like I do.   So after praying about how I could shine the light on the awesome young men and women that serve in the Barbados Bridgetown mission, I finally decided to share them with you guys How I Met Sister Unga I was fresh off transfer week. One of my favorite missionaries Sister Hawkins had just been transferred to Grenada. My girl Sister Fuller had already spent weeks telling me about her cool companion Sister Unga who I just had to meet and had told her everything about me. During our Monday chat on transfer week, I get a rather excited message from Sister Fuller telling me that Sister Unga was being transferred to Barbados and would be soon in my area Haggatt Hall( or The Haggs as the missionaries call it). It meant I was going to be teamed up with one the sweetest and most gro...

I've never been the traditional Christian. Growing up I liked my worship loud, out there and in your face. I loved God so much that unless I was singing my little 5 year old vocal cords away or beating the tambourine so hard that my hands turned a lovely shade of red, I didn't feel spiritually connected. I'd been fortunate to belong to a society where there were so many different congregations and had a pretty open mind when it came to visiting different churches. Growing up with my bible-thumping grandmother meant that these visits were 100% mandatory.I'd  be facing the underside of her shoe or sternly talked to if I disobeyed so time after time, I endured more services per week than I could count on one hand. For the most part I enjoyed it. In my little six year old brain,  church meant that there would be refreshments which I could sneak into my Sunday dress pockets and handkerchief to snack on during the short walk home. As childhood innocence evaporated slo...