Episode 61: My Vision of Love with Kim Crump Part 2

My daughter lives in North Carolina with her boyfriend. When people find out, they often want to feel sorry for me or mourn for me. But then they see her—on Instagram or when she comes home for Christmas—and they say, “I can’t believe how happy she is!”

And she really is. She’s doing the best I’ve ever seen her. She’s happy, responsible, and grounded. She’s paying her bills, she’s caring and loving, and she’s becoming a really solid adult. She’s not on some path to sorrow or destruction. She hasn’t fallen into addiction or despair—none of the things people sometimes assume will happen when someone leaves the church.

It’s been such a lesson for me not to paint everyone’s journey who leaves the church as tragic. Maybe this really is the path they’re supposed to be on.

My daughter might not be on a church journey anymore, but she’s still on a spiritual one. She finds God in nature. She’s still deeply connected to Spirit in her own way. My kids continue to teach me. They challenge my old ways of thinking and help me shift my perspective.

I’m more confident now about raising my hand in classes and saying, “Here’s what my experience has been. My kids are doing well. God hasn’t abandoned them. In fact, He promised He would be with them.”

I think you bring up a really important point—what your community saw when your daughter came home and they could see for themselves that she’s happy.

That says so much about the problematic language we often use—words like “lost,” “wayward,” “off the path,” or “fallen.”

Exactly. Or phrases like “lazy learners” or “lax disciples.” Those are really hurtful. They don’t reflect many people’s lived experiences.

Right. And as a coach and as a mom, I’ve learned that when we label someone as “lost” or “wayward,” that actually says more about us than about them.

What looks “lost” to one person might actually be someone who was pushed out.
What looks “wayward” could be someone earnestly trying to reconcile their lived experience with the messages they’ve been given—from family, society, or their faith.

What we call “losing their light” might actually be depression or anxiety caused by a lack of support.

Even something as simple as a quiet or serious demeanor can be misjudged. We need to be so careful about our words, to suspend judgment, and to leave that up to God.

Yes. And I think it’s about opening your heart to the idea that maybe that is the journey they’re meant to be on—and that God’s okay with it.

You don’t have to understand it. You don’t even have to be comfortable with it. Just be open enough to say, “If that’s your experience, I believe you. I love you. I wish you well.”

That’s where I am now. I’ve been on both sides of the fence. It’s still fresh for me—just five years ago, I was thinking and feeling very differently. So I have grace for those still in that narrower mindset. I understand it.

But now, I feel like my heart has grown—like the Grinch’s at the end of the movie. It’s stretched and expanded, and I wouldn’t go back for anything.

That’s such a beautiful metaphor. You mentioned earlier the scripture about knowing people “by their fruits.” When I look at the fruits of labeling and judgment, it never brings connection—it builds walls instead of bridges.

And that brings us to worth. You had that powerful moment earlier when you talked about your own understanding of worth shifting. I’d love to explore that more.

I looked up the Hebrew root of the word worth—it means value, equalization, importance, significance. Literally, it means “to be seen.”

We believe human dignity originates from God because we are made in God’s image. Life is sacred because it reflects God. I think historically, though, we’ve treated worth as something quantitative—something to be earned. But what if it’s inherent?

I completely agree. We grew up hearing words like “worthiness,” as if it were something we could gain or lose. I’m a big believer in getting help outside of just church spaces, because that’s where I found real healing.

Through coaching and resources like Valerie Hamacher’s Latter-day Struggles group, I learned that our worth was established before we ever came here. We can’t add to it, and we can’t take away from it.

That truth changed me. I realized I can’t do anything to make God love me more—or less—than He already does. I shared that once in Relief Society, and you could see the confusion on some faces. But it made people think.

I think “worthiness” language can be triggering. Those “worthiness interviews” we grew up with caused a lot of anxiety and shame—and shame doesn’t come from God.

Exactly. I’ve had to completely reassess my own view of worth. It’s inherent. It always has been.

Yes. And it’s taken time for that to really sink in. Those old neural pathways are deep! But now, I catch myself and shift my language.

It’s brought me so much peace. I’m not scared of God anymore. I don’t feel like I have to constantly measure up. I don’t panic if I miss the temple one month. I can breathe again.

And you’ve been brave enough to bring those new understandings into spaces like Relief Society, which isn’t easy.

That ties into something I’d love to talk about—safe spaces. What does creating a safe space mean to you?

For me, it’s when people feel they can share and be heard without judgment.

When I’m teaching, I often say, “This is just my experience.” That helps people stay open, even if what I share challenges their view.

Safe space means I can say something vulnerable—something hard—and be met with compassion instead of silence.

If we can’t share our burdens, how can we fulfill our baptismal covenants to mourn with those that mourn and comfort those who stand in need of comfort?

Sometimes, just being heard, getting a hug, or having someone say, “Thank you for sharing that,” is everything. That’s what church should be—a place to heal together.

But too often, people stay quiet because they don’t want to be labeled or judged.

Yes. It’s hard to be the first one to speak up, to take off the mask. But every time I’ve done it, others have followed.

It’s that both/and mindset you mentioned earlier—learning to live in nuance, not extremes. If we don’t feel safe sharing our struggles, how can we truly live those covenants?

We’re all carrying tremendous burdens. Everyone is.

What if church were the place we could actually set them down for a bit?

That’s what I dream of—a community where we come together to lift each other instead of hiding behind appearances.

That’s my dream too.

I’d only add that I wish it weren’t so gendered—that we could create belonging for everyone across the gender spectrum. Everyone deserves a space to walk in, share openly, and feel embraced instead of judged.

I love that. And I’ll be honest—I’m not always strong. Some Sundays, I can’t go to class. I sit in the foyer instead. That’s where I minister—because there are people there who don’t feel safe anywhere else. Sometimes that’s where the real church happens.

I even have a name for it: the Saturday Night Scaries. That’s when the anxiety for Sunday hits.

I get that completely. There’s a difference between healthy nerves and emotional overload. We all have different thresholds.

It’s important to honor your nervous system and not push yourself into panic. Vulnerability looks different for everyone. It’s just as brave to have a one-on-one conversation with your child as it is to speak up in front of a class.

Yes. And I want to be clear—I know my situation is unique. For many LGBTQ+ families, church isn’t a safe or sustainable place.

I don’t want anyone to look at me and think, “She’s managing it, why can’t we?”
This is just my journey. For some, it’s not possible right now, and that’s valid.

But as long as I can, I’ll keep showing up and gently redirecting conversations where I can.

That’s such a perfect reflection of personal revelation—each of us walking our own path.

Kim, this has been such an enlightening and heartfelt conversation. My final question: what does it mean to you to live beyond the shadow of doubt?

When you first asked that, I wasn’t sure. I still have plenty of doubts, but to me, living beyond the shadow of doubt means carrying on anyway.

It’s finding your way with God beyond the questions—learning to trust your own spiritual authority.

I love this quote from Chieko Okazaki:

“Be spiritually independent enough that your relationship with the Savior doesn’t depend on your circumstances or what other people say and do. Have the spiritual independence to be the best Mormon you can in your own way—not the bishop’s way, not the Relief Society president’s way, but your way.”

And another:

“Please don’t think you must make footprints exactly like everyone else. There are many ways of being righteous.”

Those words give me peace. They remind me that this is my church too, and I belong here—even if my way looks different.

For me, living beyond the shadow of doubt means finding your footing when you’re pushed off the main path, trusting God in the weeds, and taking baby steps toward light.

That’s really beautiful, Kim. Thank you.

Before we wrap up, let’s end with some quick-fire questions so listeners can get to know you better.

Favorite book?
Where the Crawdads Sing.

Introvert or extrovert?
Both! I’m an extroverted introvert.

Favorite artist?
Right now, Taylor Swift. Her songwriting is incredible.

Morning lark or night owl?
Definitely a morning lark.

Diet soda or sparkling water?
Still water—with flavor!

Furthest place you’ve traveled?
Germany. I loved it. I could live there—the food, the beauty, everything.

If listeners want to reach you or learn more, what’s the best way?

Probably through Facebook, or by email. I’m happy to share my contact info for anyone looking for resources. I’ve built a collection of materials—readings, talks, and books—that I send to bishops or stake presidencies to help them better support LGBTQ+ members and families.

That’s wonderful. I’ll include your email in the show notes so people can reach out. Thank you, Kim, for this honest, hopeful, and heartfelt conversation.