Episode 142: Embracing the question is where transcendence is with Amy Jensen

Welcome to Beyond the Shadow of Doubt. Today a new friend joins the conversation. First discovered through the Instagram account “Women on the Stand,” and later in a fantastic chat on the “Last She Said It” podcast, several things shared there really stood out and sparked this invitation.

To start, please share a little about your background—where you’re from, family, faith of origin, profession—the things that make you, you.

I live in the Bay Area now but I’m originally from Chicago. My faith of origin is Latter-day Saint. My parents are converts, so growing up I had exposure to many religious communities—Catholic, Methodist, Southern Baptist, Buddhist—and friends who were Jewish and Muslim. That variety has enriched my life. Because my parents converted, I grew up with their origin story of seeking—why they searched and how the church transformed their faith. In Chicago, the Latter-day Saint community was small, so our ward really was a family and a refuge for me. I felt very loved at home, but church also gave me stability.

I’m married and we have three daughters (17–22). I teach humanities at an all-boys school in Oakland, and I love my job.

You mentioned adopting your parents’ “seeking” mindset. In your earlier interview you said you refused to bear your testimony as a kid because you thought you had to “know” beyond a shadow of a doubt—with every fiber of your being. That’s a heavy expectation. What was going on for you, and how did you move past that?

I’m a questioner by nature. Questions feel like a blessing to me. Even as a teenager, if I didn’t have answers, it felt out of integrity to say “I know.” I genuinely believed someday I might know if I kept asking and doing the things—but I also knew I didn’t know then. So I wouldn’t cave to the pressure. Looking back, my parents’ language about their own seeking probably gave me permission to seek too. I thought I was supposed to be a seeker and make my own choice. I didn’t assume I would leave Mormonism; I thought I was allowed to go on my journey.

On paper we are taught to seek and learn for ourselves, though culture can push back on that—depending a lot on where you live.

Yes. Culture often says “no,” even when the scriptures say “ask.”

You also described a spiritual stretching when your brother came out 25 years ago. What shifted for you?

I knew—it was who he is, not a choice. But that opened more questions because that wasn’t the message from church at the time. I had served a mission and felt the church had been so good for me that I believed everyone’s life is better in it. I had to wrestle with whether that was true for my brother. Was it safe for him inside? Did he have the same safety I felt? It took me longer than I’d like to admit to say out loud, “Some people are safer outside these walls right now because of our culture.”

A friend took me to talk with Carol Lynn Pearson in her living room. I voiced my fear that what brought me joy might be harmful to my brother. She looked at me and said, “Yes.” That gave me permission to own the reality and hope that we can do the work to make things better. It also gave me permission to do my part.

Why do you think it can take so long to get there?

Examining faith can be painful—and sometimes we don’t have bandwidth. I had young kids and a lot going on. I set dissonance aside because I lacked energy to fully wrestle. Also, once you let yourself see, you can’t unsee. I think part of me was protecting myself from the seeing. I try to give myself grace for that, and I hope others will too.

Once you see and hear someone’s lived experience, you can’t look away. That would violate the integrity we’re taught to cultivate.

Yes, and those paradigm shifts are gifts if we embrace them. When our youngest daughter was born with Down syndrome (we didn’t know until birth), it was another paradigm shift. It opened my heart to a community I couldn’t understand before and deepened my empathy in ways that let more light in. I’m not saying my daughter is an object lesson—she’s not—but experiences we wouldn’t ask for can still become sacred teachers if we let them.

You also talked about needing better metaphors. “Straight and narrow,” “covenant path”—for many those feel linear, but your experience is cyclical, messy, with dead ends you work back through.

Exactly. Some metaphors work for some brains; when they don’t, they create unnecessary dissonance. A missionary once shared an image that stuck with me: not a straight path, but a winding staircase—hard, upward switchbacks that still bring us toward God. I’m still working with that imagery, but it feels truer to the cyclical nature of spiritual growth.

What helps you allow and even embrace questions and doubts?

I’m a “yes, and” person. Sitting in dissonance is faith-promoting for me. It’s okay to feel anger or confusion. Embracing the question is where transcendence often happens. Humility matters too: “Lord, is it I?” Where’s the beam in my own eye? Sometimes the answer is that my limited view was the problem; other times the answer is, “No, this thing needs work—collaborate and try to change it.” And sometimes I’m called to let questions be questions—not shelved (that only makes them bigger), but held with patience.

You teach students that questions are teachers.

Absolutely. My job is to help them develop critical thinking: not what to think, but how to think. Asking good questions is integral to learning. Kids ask endless questions when they’re little; by middle school they stop. Part of my work is reawakening better, deeper questions so their development doesn’t get stifled.

Recently, significant local changes raised hard questions for youth in your area and led to the creation of “Women on the Stand.” What happened?

For about eight years in our stake—and a few around us—women in leadership sat on the stand at ward and stake conferences: visible representation of women’s leadership, spiritual authority, and collaboration on councils, as well as practical support for women to do their callings. Less than a year ago, that practice was suspended after an area president felt it was against the handbook. I’m not questioning his authority or motives; I think he intended good. But the result caused real heartbreak and questions for many of us, including the youth.

Traditional channels didn’t yield answers. A 13-year-old in my ward wrote the first letter to the area president. Many letters followed—from women and men—without response. I had just been released as ward Young Women president and called to the stake YW presidency. Inspired by that young woman, I wrote an open letter to the general women’s presidencies. To share it, I created the Instagram account “Women on the Stand.”

Hearing that firsthand, the symbolism is powerful. Visibility affirms leadership and sovereignty; those unspoken messages matter.

That’s why the account centers others’ voices. I share, but the goal is platforming people’s stories in their own words. Most folks won’t pitch an op-ed, but they will DM a story. I can post it with light edits. The Watts community itself has been incredibly loving and ministering—women and men holding one another up. It has buoyed me personally. (We do get trolls; I’m talking about the actual community.)

One final question I ask every guest: What does it mean to live beyond the shadow of doubt?

Doubt gets a bad rap. Ours is a religion built on seeking—Joseph Smith brought a question. That’s a model, not an ending. When I think of “shadow,” I think of embracing it. In Yosemite (a transcendent place for my family) there’s an Ansel Adams gallery—black-and-white photographs where shadow is essential. The grays are what make the image compelling. We need the play of light and shadow. Let’s move toward the shadows with humility—openhearted, willing to learn—without mistaking shadow as the destination. Neither light nor shadow alone creates the beauty we need; it’s their interplay that shapes a life.

Any final words?

My hope: whatever informs us—across traditions and experiences—can make us better, even when painful. Certainty can be boring; wandering the wilderness is terrifying, but you turn a corner and the view is transcendent. Simplicity, the kind that truly connects us to each other and to Heavenly Parents, often comes after the wandering—not before.

Before we wrap, a quick lightning round so listeners can get to know you:

Favorite book (or current read)?
Revisiting Richard Rohr’s Falling Upward alongside a companion podcast series—highly recommend.

Introvert or extrovert?
Extrovert, 100%.

Night owl or morning lark?
Night owl at heart… but these days I pay for late nights.

What concert did you just see?
Tyler Childers—beautiful.

Favorite artist, right now?
Mary Cassatt—saw the “Mary Cassatt at Work” exhibit in Philadelphia and it resonated deeply.

Celebrity crush?
Ilona Maher (U.S. women’s rugby)—her strength, joy, and body affirmation are everything.

Still water, carbonated water, or diet soda?
I want to love water… I do drink it when I work out, but I love diet soda.

Furthest place traveled?
Probably Europe… or maybe South America—call it a tie on miles.

Thank you for sharing so generously. This has been enlightening and deeply human. A link to the “Women on the Stand” Instagram account will be in the show notes, along with anything else mentioned today.