Telling Our Own Stories

What is the benefit of telling our own stories? And do our stories even matter?

I tend to believe that they do. Our stories make us real human beings, rather than compartmentalized stereotypes, or mere images of any given moment. A human life is far more complex than one interaction, than one perspective, or one biographer's well-intended slant. 

I have loved the often quoted ideal that "There isn't anyone you couldn't love once you've heard their story." Or the more popular adage to "walk a mile in their shoes," which teaches the lesson of empathy. 

In considering the stories that people might tell about themselves, I've had to wrestle with the discomfort of knowing that some stories might disappoint me, even despite the story being told by the individual of whom it concerns. Obviously this came to mind when considering the story Donald Trump might tell about himself. A rich boy who probably didn't feel as loved by his parents as he would have liked, was given everything he could ever need, and spent his days abusing those around him and spreading lies and bigotry because... I get the feeling that no matter what justification Trump might use to excuse his behaviors, in any moment, I would likely still be disappointed. Being disappointed even while understanding the "whys" of an individual is possible. But it feels like it would be right, more fair, to hear it in his own honest words. 

Because telling our own stories explains our motivations. Telling our own stories explains the thought processes behind our actions. I genuinely believe that nobody considers themselves the "bad guy." Nobody wants to be downright evil. People may make mistakes, but those mistakes are made with the best of intentions, I'm sure, or at least intentions clouded by ignorance.

I have had to wrestle many times, thoughout my life, with the fact that even my own story may disappoint people, regardless of my intentions, my motivations, or my personal convictions, beliefs, and experiences. My story carries with it the same risk that many others' stories carry - the risk that I may disappoint. As someone who cares deeply about my relationships with other people, that is a huge risk. But at least, in telling my story, I have done my part to defend myself - to throw my human life and experience out for judgement in context. 

I have debated sharing my story, or rather, one specific story. I have questioned my motivations in wanting to do so, and so frankly, haven't shared. But the longer I go on not sharing this specific story, the longer I find myself dodging conversations, fearing what stories others may be telling, and feeling like a figure in the shadows - hiding and ashamed. 

But my story does not cause me shame. I am proud of my story. My story is one of painful growth and development, uncertainties and absolute certainties together in one. There was such bitter pain and fear, loneliness, and heartbreak that I had the chutzpah to overcome, and I did it. I did it despite the pain. My story - THIS story - truly has made me who I am. Because there is literally nothing that has EVER been more important to me than this. 

So heads up. If you don't want to hear about a Mormon resignation story, you can stop reading. I won't judge you, because some part of your story is probably affecting you in such a way that this kind of story hurts you, scares you, or makes you angry. That's YOUR story, and I respect that. But this is my story, and I'd love it to be told by ME, and not by whatever preconceived notions others might have about me. 

I'll be delicate. I have no intention of "raising Hell" and wrecking others' faith, if that faith brings them happiness and comfort. My story, thank God, is no longer in the "angry" stage of grief, and I'm quite capable of not burning your houses to the ground now, never fear.

And so I give you - 

My Mormon Story

Despite having an unconventional Mormon family, my personality always led me to be quite conventional in my religious beliefs and practices, growing up in the heart of Utah. My youth was a faithful one. In fact, it was an Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder one, which meant I was the best darned Mormon you'd ever meet.

I remember the first time I knew, for a fact, that God loved me. It was a Sacrament hymn at church - I Stand All Amazed. "I tremble to know that for me He was crucified. That for me, a sinner, He suffered, He bled and died. Oh it is wonderful. Wonderful to me." I was seven years old, crying in my pew, and embarrassed beyond all belief by the heat spreading from my chest and face, bursting from my eyes in tears, and my throat in a young, unpracticed sob. Because it was wonderful. It was SO wonderful to me. 

I remember scrubbing a shower clean, missing a church youth dance over a dramatic weekend. Angry tears spread down my face, and through grinding teeth I demanded of the heavens, "Doesn't ANYBODY care?" The anger vanished, and was replaced with a peace that could have had no other source than Heaven. Anger and frustration turned to gratitude for a God that comforted me, held me in His incorporal arms, and told me that He loved me, and that He would never leave me alone.

I remember my first experience with "anti-Mormon literature." I had just graduated from High School, and a friend and coworker, upon learning I was going to attend BYU-Idaho, took it upon himself to send me internet links to uncomfortable truths about the church, which I, in faithful over-confidence, gladly read. It was the first I'd heard of these things, which can now be found in the LDS Gospel Topics Essays. I was shaken, but only somewhat. The Spirit whispered to me that these facts were not disqualifiers of goodness. I accepted that answer as the whole of it, and carried on my confident way.

Several years later, well into my time at University, that same Spirit prompted me to go to the temple. THROUGH the temple. I felt a longing to receive my Endowment. I prayed about it for weeks. I fasted. I drove to sit in the temple parking lot. I basked in its glow, and the confirmation I received that God thought I was worthy and ready. I set an appointment with the Bishop, and told him that I felt I needed to receive my Endowment.

The Bishop told me no. He said there were things in the Endowment that I might have trouble with, in this stage of my life, and he denied my request. "If you're worried about how things will work out for your family, I promise you, God has a plan, and you will be happy with it."

My family?! I knew what he was implying. He felt I was worried about my family being sealed for eternity, since my parents were divorced. His comment was so far off base that I felt sick to my stomach. My family had nothing to do with my decision. My decision had nothing to do with fears or concerns regarding God's plan, and everything to do with wanting the blessings that I was already living worthy of. I didn't doubt my readiness. God had already made it clear to me. I was prepared to slit the throat of a lamb, if that turned out to be a part of the ceremony! I was offended by the implication that I would struggle with any portion of a ceremony designed for my empowerment. This man didn't even know me!

But because I was young, and he was old, and I was a girl, and he was the Bishop, I went my way. I cried. I quietly raged, and frankly, sat in church each Sunday distrusting and disliking this man that claimed to hold authority to speak on God's behalf for me, when he so clearly did not understand that God and I were already speaking.

A few weeks before my graduation, my life took another spiritual turn. I had interviewed for several jobs in my field, and had even received a job offer in that field at the same University I planned on attending for my Masters degree. I was thrilled to pieces, and life was really working well for me. Until the dreaded "stupor of thought." The same day I received a job offer, God threw all of my plans out the window. I sat calmly at work, on campus, when it hit. It was numbing. I went from thrilled at a job offer to weeping tears in my supervisor's office, rambling about how I'd wasted four years of my life, because, apparently, God didn't want me to work in that field? It was a vague impression. God needed me to do something else.

I prayed. I attended the temple. I fasted. I called and TURNED DOWN the job offer that SAME DAY! I did all the right things, and, several days later, received the dreaded answer - God wanted me to go on a mission. God filled my heart with joy at the prospect. I was happy to listen to God - not because I didn't want to work and get my Masters, but because I trusted His plan would be better than mine - and it was so obviously HIS plan. I anticipated miracles.

My mission was hard. Naturally, working 24/7 for the Lord is all-consuming, and exasperating. It's full of disappointment, discouragement, despair, blisters, and, for an introvert, wanting a dang-gummed day all by yourself listening to something that didn't fit the required "would be appropriate for a musical number in Sacrament Meeting." I had a hard time. I started on anti-depressants on my mission. The humiliation of getting a $90 bill sent to my mom at home every month, for medications, was the worst. I felt guilty. Surely, I could fix myself. Did I not have enough faith?

We had success. When the weather was bad, I felt better, because instead of overcoming mental obstacles, I was given physical ones, and those were a lot easier to feel like I could be successful in at least something. We had baptisms. I had wonderful companions that understood me, and lifted that Depression just a bit more as we didn't take ourselves so seriously and felt comfortable laughing and having fun. I was getting into the swing of things.

After a year there was another transfer to another city, and another companion. One early morning, after a productive hour of independent study, we started companionship study. Maybe two minutes into it, God hit me with another surprise turning point. He told me to go home.

I sobbed. I asked my companion to please study independently a little longer. I went to our room and wept, begging God to forgive me. I assumed He was punishing me for a lack of faith, for my continued Depression, for my missing my previous companion and area. I pleaded with Him to forgive me, and that I would do better. I would try harder. I could do better.

He kindly told me that there was nothing wrong with me, but that He needed me to go home. This had always been a part of the plan. He gave me peace, which I desperately needed. He gave me confidence, that He continued to be proud of me, and that I had done nothing wrong. I called the Mission President, and informed him of my spiritual prompting. He asked us to take the 3 hour drive to his office, where again, I informed him of my spiritual prompting. I told him I could finish the transfer, but I needed to go home. God needed me home.

My Mission President was aware that I had a sick family member at home. His quiet demeanor, lack of general happy agreement and pride in my ability to speak to God, made me feel that I was disappointing him. Maybe he thought I was lying and calling it a prompting. Maybe he knew I was depressed and potentially just homesick for my family. Whatever he actually thought, he asked me to not tell anyone. He pointedly asked me to not tell anyone that I was going home at the end of the transfer. My companion would know, obviously, but he didn't want me to tell anyone in my zone, or even my district. 

The last few weeks of my mission made me feel like I carried a dark secret. Something shameful and embarrassing. God had talked to me, and I was asked to keep it to myself. On the day of transfer, I remember our District Leader turning to me and asking, “Have you really been out a year and a half?! Why didn’t you tell me you were going home?”

Had I failed? Another baptism a few days before, but had I failed? 

I was released late at night, after meeting a couple new family members at the gate. I carried the regular Return Missionary souvenirs - an accent and distinct mannerisms that were hard to shake. After I was released, I never spoke with the bishop or stake president again. The looks from congregation members in the ward were too much to handle. I could see it in their eyes that they assumed I was “weak,” or had committed some terrible sin. They were telling themselves my story. I wasn’t even asked to speak in Sacrament Meeting. 

I ran away to a Singles Ward as fast as I could. I told no one about my early return. I got a job and moved away. I didn’t tell anyone there either. I met someone, and after several weeks of dating, I remember sitting in his car and confessing my “sin.” “Would it bother you if I told you that I came home from my mission early?” He scoffed. “No.” He later asked for the whole story, but that quick acceptance of something I carried as a needlessly shameful weight was relieving. It felt incredible to be accepted so simply for who I was, and not for any perceived error in my past. (I eventually married the guy. He was a real keeper.)

My Faith Crisis occurred during this time. There wasn’t a “day” that it started, though the questions and discontent likely came to the surface in my mission president’s office - where he told me to keep silent, rather than telling me that he trusted God did speak to me, and might have a plan for me that He was willing to talk to me about, individually. A simple, “I’m glad you know how to listen to the Spirit,” would have sufficed. Giving me a rationale on why he wanted me to not tell anyone would have been good too. But instead, I was left feeling that my Church had abandoned me, disassociated with me, for following God, for doing what I felt was right.

I carried that grudge in my pocket - that awareness that leadership might not know what they’re talking about. In our first married ward, in a conversation with the Bishop, I mentioned my struggles with Depression. He told me, in no uncertain terms, that the “cure” to my Depression would come as I kept the commandments better. I had not confessed anything to him, and was, in fact, not aware of any commandments that I was breaking! I left his office feeling embarrassed and angry. I was angry that once again I had been misunderstood, and that leadership was always assuming the worst of me.

  

So began my Church History tour. I read everything I could about Church History. Innocently I can say that I was looking for confirmation that I could disagree with my leadership on issues, and still be a respected member of the Church. I had lots of leaders I had disagreed with, now. Could I still belong? Unfortunately, a lot of what I read was that I couldn’t. I read personal stories of people who’d been through similar situations. Worse situations. I read about people disagreeing with prophets in the past on an issue. So I read about the prophets of the past. So I read about people leaving the church and being excommunicated for disagreeing with prophets of the past. And unfortunately, I agreed with a lot of those people who had been on the “wrong” side of the Church. 

Being married, a lot of things said in the temple began to bother me. (They’re better, now, but still not there yet, frankly.) I began to feel that maybe God loved my husband more than He loved me. For some unknown reason, God chose to bless my mortal husband, with all his mortal husband concerns, more than me. I was there, married to the guy, knew that we were equals, and yet the Church quietly preached that he was superior. The Church could say we were equals in the public arena, and yet have doctrines, policies, and ceremony that taught otherwise in secret. 

Polygamy. I could not understand how the Church could preach being centered on the family, when ultimately, wives weren’t worth as much as husbands. Do wives even need to be happy with the arrangement, as wives of polygamous prophets past hadn’t been? If they want to have a personal, intimate relationship with their husband, all by themselves, that could be denied them in God's heaven? Don’t women have a say? Even in being excommunicated, women were excommunicated in a “lower court.” Like they were less accountable, stupid, or not as vital to the plan. 

And what about our Heavenly Mother? Where was She? Was I doomed to be banished to silence and invisibility as She was? If She was actually a part of our doctrine, why did we not talk about Her? Was she not important? Will I ever matter? Now that I was married, and I’d fulfilled that purpose life had for me, would God no longer speak with me, and instead speak only to my husband? Did I no longer matter to God? Was I important as His daughter while I was single, but now that He’d made me into something great to give to His son, with a uterus, was I no longer worthy of focus? 

Getting married was the harshest of demotions I’d ever received. 

I studied these questions. I found a disturbing lack of answers. I became angry. I felt tricked. I loved my husband, and yet found myself at battle with him, because my Church, that I had dedicated my entire life to, favored him over me. I had done nothing wrong, and yet he was the chosen one. It was the men that mattered. And perhaps because I was a thinking woman, who had the audacity to claim that God spoke with me too, leadership was at odds with me, and it would only be a matter of time until they found some minor thing to kick me out over. 

After decades of satisfaction, I found myself quite unsatisfied. I was afraid, I was offended, and frankly, I had little interest in being a part of this thing that had hurt me and betrayed me anymore. 

This went on for a couple years. More study and research on church history. More study and research on polygamy in particular. Through my research, I was convinced that it was false. Polygamy was a lie. There were facts about polygamy the apologists shied over, because if they were made known, it would be glaringly obvious that mistakes were made. And then, after enough study and wrestling, I knew it, finally, in my heart, as that loving God I had once known returned to speak peace to me - that I was my husband’s equal, in every way. Any teaching, policy, or practice that taught otherwise was wrong - no matter who said it or where it was said.

I became satisfied belonging to “God’s church,” led by mortal men who made mistakes. I learned to be satisfied disagreeing on anything that felt wrong to me. I took my questions directly to God, and accepted only His answers. I prayed about multiple piercings. God told me He didn’t give a crap about that, so away I went to get more. 

While I had been working through my own concerns with the church, my husband had been privately having his own spiritual questions and wrestles. In December of 2019 my husband confessed his plans to "step away" from the church, to me. Surprisingly, he'd made the decision prior to the the $100 Billion whistleblower reveal against the church, which had rocked me to my core. To say I was devastated about my husband's decision is putting it mildly. As the good husband he is, he assured me that if I wanted to raise our children in this church, he would support me and them in that, and continue to attend with us. But he didn’t believe it anymore. 

For weeks I put aside my own concerns and swung my pendulum back towards rigid righteousness once more. I feared for my family’s sealing. I feared that my husband would become a vile sinner, which "obviously" everyone who leaves the church does. I stopped speaking my honest thoughts and concerns about the church, and parroted the narrative on everything - hoping that through my “increased righteousness” I could somehow fix my husband.  

We attended several other churches as my husband requested, something I had never done before, and which, in the beginning, I responded to poorly, with flight or fight-type responses. My husband began drinking coffee again, which he hadn't touched since joining the church in his late teens. I promptly stashed it away in the highest cupboard of the kitchen out of sight, until the smell radiated through my Mormon home to the point I could no longer hide it. He removed his garments, which I responded to in a complicated mess of emotions, calling his perfectly normal new underwear "juvenile" and "childish." I was a wreck. I was angry.

Over the next months, God was able to calm my heart on the issue. He helped me understand that "the truth is in the middle." Not everything about the church was all good. Not everything about the church was all bad. I had swung far “righteousness” as my husband had swung far “it’s all a lie.” In talking with him about it, we came to that mutual understanding, and eventually to a place where we studied history together - comfortably feeling able to tell each other the things we had learned, and delving into the fascinating mortality of it all - that mistakes do not cancel out all the good that is there, either. The truth was in the middle.

I began reading everything. My days were full of learning, studying, and growing. I felt an obsessive drive to know everything. It was empowering coming to my own conclusions about which parts of history could have been divine, and which parts weren’t. It was reevaluating everything I’d been taught and just assumed was good. God prompted me along the way to stick with it. He pushed me and inspired me to learn more, read more, listen more. 

And I didn’t always want to. Reading one particular history book regarding women and authority, my heart broke. My children were running and playing, hammering out their own happy tunes on the piano, when I broke. I set my book down and stepped into the other room - the kitchen. My grief drove me to my knees, so I knelt and prayed. “God, I feel I know too much to ever be happy again. Have I done wrong to do all this reading? Am I wrong? What can I do to fix this?”

The prompting was no sweet spirit, but an inner hardening to courage. God didn’t tell me it was going to be okay, and that I could take a break and relax. The answer was clear. “Keep reading.” I wiped my eyes, stood up, grabbed a Diet Coke, and continued on studying.

I came to a place of religious humility. There were only a few things I accepted that I knew, and that I knew solidly. God was real. God loved me, and had directed me many times, and would only continue to direct me. Who or what God was didn’t matter. God was real, and that was enough. And God was love. Anything that hurt or devalued any of God’s children was not from God. And so, with love as my goal, and God as my motivator, I fought on. I eventually came to recognize the symptoms of grief in myself - grief for what I had once had, but had lost. Anger, denial, bargaining. I went through all of the stages. 

Finally a day came where I removed my own garments. I had come to a place where I could not answer the temple recommend questions - I vowed I would never give the Mormon church another cent’s worth of tithing. I felt that they had taken my life’s charitable giving and made a business out of it. I would not pay them my tithing, and I could not, in good faith, say that I felt Russell M Nelson was a prophet of God. 

I went to the store and bought myself undershirts and underwear. I knelt in the closet, a weeping mess, and begged God to forgive me, once more, for something I had not done wrong. I told God I could not wear garments that held such strong stipulations with them - a recommend of requirements in order to purchase and “righteously” wear. I told God that the covenants I had made with HIM were sincere - I wanted to give God everything I had. I had interpreted that covenant to mean God, not the Church. 

I begged God to forgive me, that I could not wear those church-sanctioned garments anymore, because they made everything so complicated. I told God my relationship with Him was pure - and it hurt too much to carry the Church and all their baggage in His place. I told God I felt I had authority to set apart my own garments - garments that no temple-recommend questions could take away from me. So I prayed over my newly purchased underclothes, heartbroken, and set them apart for myself. A week later, I had symbols tattooed on my wrist - symbols that, while not masonic, were also “temple building” symbols. I took the temple covenants I made WITH GOD, and owned them for myself. I felt a confirmation that it was accepted.

Despite all these changes of belief, was not satisfied with the idea of "throwing the baby out with the bathwater," though it was a dichotomy I felt increasing pressure from within the church to accept - either believe everything without standing for what you feel is truth, or leave, and abandon the wonderful strengths the church has. As the months wore on, I saw friends threatened with excommunication as well as officially excommunicated for things that I agreed with them wholeheartedly on. Their "problematic" stances were scientifically accurate and appropriate, or Biblically mature and educated analysis of situations breaking the hearts of thousands upon thousands of Mormons. The prophet turned around and called us “lazy learners and lax disciples" - a description so far from anything accurate, loving, or empathetic, that the words rang with nothing but deep-rooted, unknowing contempt for "doubters" like myself. 

I was grateful for a friend, who pointed out a beautiful logical conclusion - when you no longer believe in the truth claims of the church, when they are disproven by a study of history, all you have left in the church is the people. All you have left to guide you are the leaders. In order to find value from the church, frankly, the people have to be good, and the leaders have to be good. 

I had done my digging into the Church's history, and found plenty of holes - plenty of inconsistencies and unrighteous motivations - things which I felt that God had confirmed to me that I was correct in making conclusions about. I didn't believe in the truth claims of the church, and so all I had were the people. And I saw the Church - the leaders - forcibly and abusively removing some of the very best of them for being authentic Christians. 

But I loved these people deeply - the local ward members, the old Young Women leaders of my youth, the Sunday School teachers who taught with sincerity and passion. Mormons were the friends I grew up with, they were the people who loved me and played a role in raising me. They were neighbors. They were strangers who cared for me. They were my community. I loved these people, and the Mormons were my home. 

In the last few months of my official membership in the Church, I felt God’s prompting whispered truths leading me to a place of peace in making the decision to leave. It was in driving down the road one day, and having God place the parable of the mote and beam in my mind - with the whispered teaching that my job is not to remove others’ imperfections, but rather to concentrate my efforts on my own. For so long I justified my continued membership in the church by telling myself that I was staying so that I could fix the church and the culture from the inside. God comforted me to know that that was not my calling - not my burden. My responsibility was to make myself a better Christian, and to raise my children with the values and principles that would help them to become who THEY need to be in this life. 

At the same time God whispered the scriptures to my mind: “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets and stonest them which are sent unto thee.” God mourned with me the leaders of the church, who would not listen to the wisdom of theologians, of Christians, of the teachings of the scriptures and CHRIST HIMSELF. It was humbling to ask myself, sincerely, what I thought I could do that even Christ’s scriptural example and teachings could not do. 

God gave me permission to leave, but I still couldn’t. Being a Mormon was all that I knew, and the unknown world outside of Mormonism was still too unknown, uncertain, and frightening. 

Until I found out I was having a daughter. I was pregnant, and at a 16 week appointment, I was surprised to see on the ultrasound that my “boy mom” identity was to be shattered, as I was very much pregnant with a little girl. Driving home I cried. I cried for joy at the prospect of having a daughter - something I thought I would never have. And I cried for joy because she was the last straw that broke the chains of Mormonism for me. 

I was raised my whole life doubting my worth because I was a woman. I had spent years listening to men, men who had authority, and men who thought one way or the other, the women who disagreed with them, in many cases, literally, be damned. And now I had a girl. And there was no way I would turn her over to these men who would teach her she was anything other than perfectly worthy and capable, exactly how she was. 

Resigning was my sure-fire way to protect my children. They are young, and impressionable. I wanted to protect them from the life that I lived - doubting myself, holding others, who “sinned,” in disdain. I cannot raise them with false illusions of inequality, or the image of a God who loves conditionally. That is not the God I feel comfortable teaching my children to follow, and I would not risk anyone else teaching them or implying that, and shaming them into obedience, because God is so much better than all of that, and those teachings cheapen Him. 

I have left the Church at great personal loss. I will have perpetually disappointed friends and family members who will never be fully pleased with me, regardless of how good I am, how spiritual I am, how kind I am. Being a Utahn, I have lost friends, and I assure, will lose more opportunities for friends as I become a dangerous, spiritual pariah. I have journeyed from comfortable self-assurance and 100% certainty down a road of questions. I used my faith to jump, to sky-dive, with no clear view of where I would land. It is a frightening, alienating, torturous experience, as I am afraid of heights by nature.

In all my resigning, however, I do not accept any man’s claim to have authority to deny or grant me salvation, which is offered by no one other than God. In this, God has given me great confidence. There are many things I am all too happy to leave behind, on this journey. Things I no longer believe in, things I know cannot be right or true. Things that have caused myself and others undue pain and suffering. 

There are many things I will take with me - things which are mine, and which I will always keep. I will be taking the Book of Mormon with me. I don’t agree with the narrative of its origin, but I am satisfied that it is a wisdom text. (Frankly, if the Mormons actually read it and followed it, I’d probably still be a member!) I will be taking with me some vague agreement with the King Follett discourse - that man’s purpose is to become like God - and God is one who nurtures others in their own growth. 

I will be taking with me a heavy heart and desire for the community and fellowship which Mormonism can be so good at providing. I will take with me a love for service, for doing good when good is needed. I will take with me personal revelation. I will treasure the church for the upbringing they gave me - the assurances that God was real, and that I, even I!, could have a relationship with God, and communicate with Him. That relationship with God has led me along this life path, and I will ever be grateful for the trust I have in Him, which CERTAINLY came from this church, which fostered that empowerment in the beginning. 

I don’t believe in the necessity of temple ordinances, but oddly, I love the temple, and I’ll be taking that with me as well, like my Book of Mormon wisdom text. I have always found insight and empowerment in the temple. The biggest takeaway? Heaven is now. You are admitted to the presence of the Lord in THIS life. God is with us NOW. I don’t have to wait for permission.

Eve’s has been the example I have followed, in this path. She went from an existence of comfort, having all the answers because there were no questions, to making a very real choice to attain knowledge. 

It’s uncomfortable. It’s painful. It’s raw. It’s alienating. It’s traumatizing.

It’s liberating. It’s empowering. It’s eye-opening. It’s seeing there are no “others.” It’s humbling. 

I have been through the valley of the shadow of death, on this faith crisis. I have cried like I have never cried before. I have spent literal years wrestling, weeping, questioning, doubting, learning, studying, growing, and praying. And there is no joy quite like God’s affirmation that you have done something you were always meant to do. That you are known. That you are loved. And that you are on to the next step of your personal-betterment journey.

I recognize that my story is my own, and that many will have come to different conclusions than me, have different experiences than me, and disagree with me outright. I love that God is like this - that God gives answers to individuals. I'm also sorry if my conclusions and decisions disappoint. I know it's inevitable in this culture that many will be disappointed, and at a loss for how to proceed forward with our relationships. 

The truth is I am very much the same person I have always been, and have no intent to go about "sinning for funsies." I hope that my story does not change OUR story. 

An Oft Repeated Phrase

I learned, some time ago, about internal monologues.

I don't have them. 

I think and feel and react on a visceral level,

Feeling and picturing long before I apply my immediate experience to words, 

If I ever do.

That's not to say I don't ever think in words.

Often I bounce them around in my mind when I write.

I form words on the lips of my mind to see how they could be interpreted,

How they would sound if spoken outloud to an audience.

Never to myself.

Because I don't need words. 

I see that it would be useful if I had more words. 

Instead of vague upset, there would be more...

*Pressure in my mind, gasping for connection. Breathing, picturing...

Sitting in a chair, oppsite a therapist. Drawing connections between cause and effect...*

What's the word for working through things? Like in therapy? Resolution? 

I'll settle for peace.

Instead of vague upset, there would be more peace.

If I was constantly monologuing, I could be good with words. Unfortunately I'm not.

Instead I constantly speak and feel misunderstood, that I'm always unable to say what I mean.

With an empty head full of silence, emotion, and scenes, 

There are strengths to be had.

It makes hearing God much easier, as He doesn't need to compete, too much, for space.

Occasionally He might need to shove past song lyrics or witty movie quotes, which do stick,

But otherwise He can take the stage. 

Subsequently, I've learned to listen to the phrases I find in my head. Phrases like

"I want to go home."

That's not a movie quote. Not a song. It fits more into a scene. 

It's a desperate, sad plea from a girl feeling bullied at the sleepover. 

It's the first few days at girl's camp, uncomfortable, stretched, surface level friendships.

It's a phrase I've used outloud several times in my life, usually through tears.

"I want to go home."

It's odd to hear it in my own mind, a mind which usually gives no words to those scenes.

I hear it, I think, because it wants an audience. 

It is a phrase, not just an emotion, given words because it needs recognition. 

I am, however, an adult. I do, however, live, very much, at home.

"I want to go home."
I AM home. As I think it, I am sitting in my very own home. 

I don't need my mom. I don't need my hometown.

I don't need my twin-sized bed with the hand-picked lime green walls from my youth.

Who am I talking to? What do I mean? 

"I want to go home."

Abraham sojourned in a strange land. The Bible teaches us that he looked for a city.

"He looked for a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God."

He looked for home. Despite all the material possessions he had, he did not have that.

The phrase comes more often to my mind, now, than it ever has.

"I want to go home."

I long for belonging. I long to be understood. I long for unconditional love, 

For a role, for a purpose, for confidence and support.

I long to be valued, to be seen, to be known, in a home shared, mutually, with God.

(Maybe this is why I need to move to Oregon...)

Foundations

This morning I found, posted in one of my "LDS Moms" Facebook groups, a lovely misogynistic quote. It was all about "not fretting" about the nation or the state of the world, and just focusing your attention on your children and your husbands. Because, after all, Satan wanted you to get distracted from THEM, your first priority. Don't you stress about America. 

So screw that. I reposted it to my private page, had a good little rant about it, then went about my day.

I had to run an errand in Salt Lake this morning, so I piled my children into the van, and off we went. I knew full well that our errand would take ten minutes, so I planned a list of things I would like to do in Salt Lake while we were up there. With toddlers, having fun halfway through a long car drive is an essential. 

Finally I decided that a Temple Square trip was in order. As the temple grounds themselves are under serious reconstruction, I decided it might be nice to swing by the Church History museum, run around and let the grandma missionaries fuss over my boys for twenty minutes, which socially, they're in desperate need of, then swing by Brigham Young's Beehive House, all while fussing about them with hand sanitizer. 

Why the Beehive House? Because I haven't been through the missionary-led tour there in years. I haven't been there since my deep-dive into polygamy. I realized that there was a part of me that desperately wanted to walk those halls, see those rooms, and look for the women in them. 

After this morning's misogyny quote, I wanted to find those women. 

I wanted to walk those halls and look to see if I could find the removeable plaque that Brigham Young switched from door to door to signal to his wives who he would be spending the night with. I wanted to remember the wives who switched the plaques from their own doors to a different wife's, because Hell if that man should decide when he got to go in and see them.

I wanted to remember Zina, who explained that, "A successful polygamous wife must regard her husband with indifference, and with no other feeling than that of reverence, for love we regard as a false sentiment; a feeling which should have no existence in polygamy." I wanted to walk Brigham's mansion, view his excessive riches and pride, and think on how he truly had nothing, for he was a man with all the wives in the world, and no love from any of them. 

Naturally, because of luck, literally everything on Temple Square was closed, including the Lion House (until 11AM), so I couldn't even get a freaking roll with gravy. Which was stupid, because their rolls with their gravy are semi-divine.

We saw no missionaries, went in no buildings, and instead watched the grounds crew putting away Christmas wreaths and replacing them with fake-fruit covered ones. The boys found this enjoyable, so we chatted with one of the guys, and watched them lower wreaths from the upper balcony via rope to the ground. When you're a toddler, it makes sense to drive an hour to see this kind of thing in action.

Then we went to watch the construction on the temple. They'd dug up all the ground, over 20 feet deep, to get at the foundations - foundations which would prove unstable given a shaking earth. 

And all I could think about was misogyny, which runs in deep currents through our history, through our foundations, and through our present lives, creating women who sacrifice their souls and potential for loveless, uninspired, thwarted futures of staying home, not worrying about the rest of the world, choosing to be "refined" and "tender" wives, to a system that grants them no power. Wives, who, after their divine, heaven-sent presider husbands' deaths, may quote, "He was worthy of the death he died."

I listened to my "liked" songs playlist on the way home, singing along to choruses singing, "Do what is right. Fight for the truth. Say something that means something to you. Invest in the love, Hope for the best. Follow what's in the left side of your chest." And "Whether you're a woman or whether you're a man, Sometimes you got to take a stand Just because you think you can. You got to run. You got to run."

And I found that a little more inspiring. 

Straight A Student

A parable came to me, the other day, after I heard a friend put words to something I have long felt, but not quite realized. The last several years have seen a faith crisis for myself. It all started with feelings of betrayal. My parable tells the emotions. My friend's quote sets the stage. 

"These are spiritual giants. These are people who did amazing things on their missions. People you can have a gospel discussion with. Young adults that will blow you away with their knowledge and their intensity and their passion for mormonism. And if we have made the church toxic for the products of its own "thing"? The church teaches us to be thoughtful and rational about our religion. To research and get an education. To be passionate, to be idealists. And then it will punish you. They will punish you for thinking anymore, for researching, for being an idealist, for actually wanting us to practice what we preach. For telling the truth."

*~*~*~*~*

PARABLE OF THE STRAIGHT A STUDENT

A girl went to school. She was assured she would pass if she got straight D grades, but she should try for A's and B's. This girl was not satisfied with D's. So this girl got to work. 

Year after year she found success in school. She got A's and B's through middle school, and by the time she reached High School, A-'s were about as bad as things got. She studied. She wrote. She read. Her last two years of High School she had one A- each year, the rest of her grades straight A's. 

Sometimes she beat herself up that she wasn't Valedictorian. She wasn't even close, if she was being honest. But that was her goal. She lived in constant disappointment with herself, that she had not attained the perfection she was looking for. 

She got a full-ride scholarship to college. She cried herself hoarse the first year there, when her full-ride scholarship went down to half tuition for only one semester, because she'd made a foolish decision to transfer some math college credits over to the school from high school, not realizing that it would affect her college GPA. She worked her butt off, got straight A's, as usual, and had her full-ride scholarship back by the next semester. 

This girl graduated, went on to get a job, and was told, at that point, that her professional conclusions and "diagnoses" were unwelcome. She was told her role in the company was to "sit down and shut up," and let the higher-ups determine work policies and procedures. Her fresh, new, knowledgable insights were unwelcome, as they challenged the status quo. 

Despite all her learning, despite all her striving for knowledge and attention to detail, her voice and conclusions were now unwelcome. It didn't matter what she knew. It didn't matter how well she'd done. It didn't even matter how dedicated she was to continuing with her obssessive work ethic. Her thoughts were unwelcome. They didn't want her education. They were happier doing what they'd always done, without her.

*~*~*~*~*

This parable, when told in the context of a student in school, is easy not to judge. We've all worked for companies that aren't interested in change, even if it's for the better, even if it's more profitable, or is more ethical in practice and policy. Even if it's in the best interest of the population being served. 

It's easy to assume this straight-A student might be conceited too, though, thinking she knows how to take over and fix everything, when, by your conclusions, she has no practical world experience, and might just be operating on impossible standards and perfect scenarios she was fed throughout schooling. 

But let's say she was employed by the education system itself. 

This was my experience with my faith crisis. I think I'm going to talk about it. 

I was a "Straight-A Mormon." I worshipped the For the Strength of the Youth pamphlet. I served in the highest callings a female of my age could. I spoke with God regularly. 

"We don't drink and we don't chew, and we don't go with guys that do." I was so into the For the Strength of the Youth pamplet that I didn't even go with guys. Fifteen year old asked me out? Ask me again in 3 months, when you're 16. My friends are kissing people? Are you serious? You're not supposed to be steady-dating until that guy is an RM, ladies! It's in the book!

I lost friendships over offering my well-intentioned "repentance" advice. I immersed myself in the scriptures, in trips to do baptisms at the temple. I went to college. I almost slipped and got a B grade in college, when a guy obviously liked my butt, but NO. I slammed a chess-set into his groin with the courage of Joseph fleeing Potiphar's wife, and dumped him the next day. 

Straight A Mormon. I lived with no regrets. 

Having my authority and valiancy questioned was A turning point. God told me to go through the temple for my endowment. If a command comes from God, you follow it, obviously! After a week of preparation, I proudly went to meet with the Bishop, and told him it was time, and I needed a recommend. 

He told me no. I told him God had told me to do it, and he told me no. I was prepared to slit the throat of a lamb at the alter if that was a part of the ceremony, but the bishop thought I might not be ready for everything that happens there. He came between me and God, and, through implication, told me I was mistaken about God telling me I was ready, because HE didn't think I was. God hadn't told me anything. 

I was just a woman, so obviously I backed down. Isn't that what you're supposed to do, when you say that you'll sustain them?

Upon graduating college, God told me to go on a mission. I'm a Straight A Mormon, so I turned down the job offer I'd just received, and went. Depression was eating me alive, my introversion was tearing at my soul, being with a companion 24/7, but I went. I did my best to obey every rule. I cried multiple times over dinner appointments taking more than the commanded 1 hour. It had felt right to stay, to love the members, but I had disobeyed the white handbook and the mission president. I wept for my perceived sins and weaknesses regularly. I just wanted to do what was right. 

After a year, God told me to go home. It was sudden, it was off-putting, and I was fearful. I was afraid I was weak. I was afraid I had somehow failed God, that he was disappointed in me. Was I a borderline D grade Mormon, when I was trying so hard to be an A? God assured me that my "grade" was fine, but that He had other plans for me. I told the mission president. He didn't say anything outright judgemental, but he also appeared skeptical when I told him that God had made this order, not me. No "Congrats on listening to the Spirit, even when it's hard and scary." Just an accepted resignation. It felt like, he too, believed that God had not told me anything, because he disagreed.

I returned home dishonored. It was no letter on my file, but it was in the silence. It was in not being invited to speak as return missionaries do, in Sacrament Meeting. It was no one asking how my mission had been, no one wanting to hear the stories that missionaries love to share. It was nothing. 

I got married shortly thereafter - probably the reason God wanted me home. I'm a difficult personality to match, and God certainly directed that match. My husband was a good man. But surprisingly, he wasn't perfect. This was no Valedictorian Mormon who was appointed by gender to stand between me and God. I'd never needed a mortal intermediary before. Why now, and why such an imperfect one, when before I'd had Jesus? 

God assured me that wasn't right. I was correct. The temple had it wrong. The church had it wrong.

My church taught me to talk to God, and it was something I did well. But now, it seemed, everyone, everywhere, wished that I wasn't, and shamed me for doing so, with quiet judgements thrown my way every time I got an answer from God that they disagreed with, that I was being faithless and deceived by Satan. 

My friend's quote, earlier, was right. I was very much raised in this Church, met all their goals, and was very much their product. 

But because I took the message as seriously as I did, and made God my guide, I was no longer welcome. I have felt ostracized. 

I long to participate. I long for the days when I was young, when my faithfulness was never questioned. Now my friends have told me, "I always looked up to you, when it came to religion. But I can't talk to you about it anymore."

Nothing I have to offer is wanted. It's a message received through silence.

I am a product of this Church, but I no longer want to be a Straight A Mormon.  Straight A Mormonism failed me, and called me a dangerous liar and a failure, because I did it too well. 

My goal, now, is to be a Straight A Christian, because somewhere along the line, the Church gave me the message, loud and clear, that the two were mutually exclusive, and that, to them, I have passed my "Sell By" date. 

Mean Girls

 I’m a Democrat, which means Utah County is a hard place for me to live in general. I also am an amateur historian. I am a Mormon, and as someone who loves history, I have some natural concerns about my religion’s history, truth claims, etc. But frankly, I’ve been able to move on and accept that my church offers a lot of good, and mistakes of the past don’t disqualify my church from still being a place of much good.

This year has been different, though. Democrats, like me, have been met with outright hostility. Getting gas in my car in American Fork, with my babies in the car, a couple guys noticed my Biden sign in the back, and took it upon themselves to deliberately block my car in and step inside the gas station. Not outright threatening, but I also couldn’t leave until they felt inclined to allow me to. (They had Trump flags, which is what makes me assume this is why it happened.) 

I have been afraid. My close neighbors, who are part of my Mormon congregation have a generous handful of Trump flags STILL flying. My mother is an immigrant, and filed for citizenship for the first time in over 30 years, last year, because she was genuinely afraid of what that man might do. I feel like my neighbors are willing to overlook the actual fear and tears that my family has shed because of Trump. But my feelings don’t matter to them. (It’s even on their flags.) 

I figured 2020 would be done soon, that I could continue to move on, and try to forgive my neighbors for turning a blind eye to the concerns of people like me, and other marginalized members of our society that have been suffering. I figured I could forgive and move on. Nobody’s perfect. Even Mormons.

But this last week FAIR Mormon released a dozen or so videos that reek of that same alt-right spirit of “screw what you think,” boasting about how “there’s an answer to everything, you anti’s!” (My interpretation.) I have never considered myself anti. But I also know they’re not correct. The facts they presented were misleading. They were not right, but more importantly, their spirit was not right. Once again, I felt like I was being shoved out, and told to leave my religion, because I’m not the same.

I’m not the same as my neighbors. I am not the same. And I’m being told over and over again, loudly, that you have to be the same, or you’re not welcome. We reject you, and you’re an idiot, and we don’t care about you or believe you, if you’re not the same. 

For the first time in my life I’m deeply considering leaving my church, because of all the bad fruits I see it bare. It doesn’t have to be perfect. I know that. But it should at least be good. And I’m not seeing that goodness.

I believe that our leaders should help people, not hurt them. I believe our leaders ought to be chosen for their ability to love, not their ability to enact influence over innocent people because of their own personal bigotries. I desire theologians, not businessmen. Leaders, not managers. 

Instead we choose to follow men who encourage us not to think. Cruelly they subscribe to the notion that “the end justifies the means,” all while assigning their own values and weaknesses to God, in essence, throwing God under the bus for the sake of their own image. 

For me, Utah Mormons have taken the ideal of “being correct” as their God, forgetting that God is Love. They seek for the comfort of being “right,” and anyone who disagrees with them can be completely ignored and discredited. Because Mormons do not seek for understanding. They choose to trust every word of the prophets. They choose ignorance over personal authority. This cultural attitude comes easily from a religion founded on truth claims of being "the only" truth, etc. It is so easy for people in this culture to assume that there is only one way to behave and believe that is appropriate, and it is whatever the current prophet teaches. But even prophets past have stirred up alt-right propaganda, doing their best to teach, from the pulpit, the evils of differing political parties and ideals. Many have failed to see the men behind those statements, seeing, instead, a prophetic political injunction. But as someone who is well aware of our church’s convoluted history, I feel no obligation to believe in only one truth, and only one correct form of belief. 

I want to move. I want my religion to work for me, but the only way I see that happening is by moving, gambling on fate to bring me to some happy, liberal, nuanced place. At this point, to move somewhere else would require so much sacrifice, however, with only a risked hope of the good outcome of being welcome in the doors of my church once more. 

It makes me so angry that I even feel forced into this choice by people of my own faith, because of their unwillingness to tolerate and appreciate differences lovingly. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like I belong, let alone like I was valued, which would have offered me some form of self-actualization here.

Instead, choosing to stay in a church I already have different beliefs about, is only choosing to be ostracized. It feels like I’m choosing to subject myself to emotional and spiritual abuse if I stay, accepting others’ condescension and assumptions that there will always be something wrong, or “less than” about me. I resent my neighbors for that, when they don’t even see the self-respect and my own self-worth being sacrificed each time I try to carve out a space for me to stay with them. It is difficult to know what to do when you want to belong, but you’re told, through action, words, and cold shoulders that you can’t. 

I am the nerdy girl approaching the Mean Girls table in the lunchroom, because some of the girls at the table CAN be kind. But the Mean Girls don’t want me, one of them is whittling and whistling, and there are other nice tables...

Dishonorable Departures

I'm a Mormon. Obviously I'm the type of Mormon that still claims to be a "Mormon" despite the name having gone out of fashion in the last few years. I'm going to keep using it, though. I side with Gordon B Hinckley on this one. Besides. Any other statement of church affiliation is a mouthful. "I'm a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints." is a bit much, when you're introducing yourself to your very Utahn next door neighbor, you know? Jesus is more chill than perhaps we give Him credit for. He's the kind of guy who doesn't care about the best seats in the synagogue and the respectful greetings in the marketplace, you know? He said so.

Anyway! I'm a Mormon! Having been born and raised as such, I've been sitting in church pews for over 4,000 hours. And that is being EXCEPTIONALLY generous, not counting seminary, institute, general conferences, firesides, personal study, THE MISSION FIELD, infancy, etc. 

The point is, I have been SCHOOLED on my religion. I know A LOT. And one of the things that I learned, over and over again, is that you STAY IN THE BOAT. Right? 

Brigham Young said it first: "We are in the midst of the ocean. A storm comes on, and, as sailors say, she labors very hard. 'I am not going to stay here,' says one; 'I don't believe this is the "Ship Zion."' 'But we are in the midst of the ocean.' 'I don't care, I am not going to stay here.' Off goes the coat, and he jumps overboard. Will he not be drowned? Yes. So with those who leave this Church. It is the 'Old Ship Zion,' let us stay in it."

This sentiment has been echoed in recent years by Elder M Russell Ballard, and Elder and Sister Renlund. The concept remains the same, and in these two cases, the analogy remains a boat at sea as well. Don't leave the Church. You are being short-sighted if you do, and you will find yourself adrift in a dangerous sea. Brigham Young added, confidently, that you would drown if you left. 

This is a message I grew up with, and believed in. The obsessive personality of my youth carried me in that Old Ship Zion, sailing the seas in the comfort of moral superiority. I felt sorry for those who were so short-sighted as to leave behind the surety of truth that came from following the prophet. 

In more recent years I have come to understand that it is not so simple. President Dieter F Uchtdorf said it perfectly, in his recent talk, "Come Join With Us." He stated, "One might ask, 'If the gospel is so wonderful, why would anyone leave?' Sometimes we assume it is because they have been offended or lazy or sinful. Actually, it is not that simple. In fact, there is not just one reason that applies to the variety of situations. Some of our dear members struggle for years with the question whether they should separate themselves from the Church."

Where others have cast abandoning the Old Ship Zion to be a quick, thoughtless decision, President Uchtdorf has the grace to admit that rarely is the decision so simple. 

David Ostler published a book last year entitled "Bridges: Ministering to Those Who Question." As part of his preparation for this book, Brother Ostler surveyed two different groups on many different questions regarding faith crises in the LDS Church. He interviewed local leaders, as well as self-professed members going through faith crises. (All of these faith crises members met the criteria of still trying to stay positively engaged with the Church.) Many of the conclusions laid out in his book are mind-blowing, frankly. For example:

I love this. Over 90% of local leaders agree or strongly agree that people have faith crises because they were offended. People actually going through faith crises? Only 19% felt that contributed. Not wanting to live the commandments? 84% of leaders assumed that was part of it, while only 9% of members felt that contributed. 

The surveys laid out through Brother Ostler's book (which I obviously highly recommend! At a Deseret Book near you!) show that there is a disconnect between people's lived experiences, and the way that leadership views these experiences. Uchtdorf is a good man, who has obviously talked with people, and understands that! (God bless you, you silver fox, you!) (True story, a elderly single woman on my mission had a huge crush on him, and swooned telling us how excited she was for General Conference. She passed away when I was in my next area. Heavens to Betsy, Uchtdorf, when you die, watch out for her!)

Where was I going with this? Oh yeah. The Ship Zion.

Where did we get the idea that people who leave the Church are just a bunch of lazies who weren't cut out for the Lord's work? Wheat and tares. Where did we get the idea that people who leave the Church are tares? 

Milk strippings. If you're Mormon like me, just hearing the phrase "milk strippings," you probably already know what story I'm going to talk about. Like me, you might have forgotten the guy's name was Thomas Marsh, but you know full well that his wife was skimming the good milk fat (milk strippings) off the top of the bucket and robbing the neighbor they were sharing with, right? When she was called out on it, Thomas Marsh was so OFFENDED he left the Church, now isn't that silly? Aren't people who leave the Church just so short-sighted and really looking for any little excuse to get out of the hard work of creating Zion?

Same with that Symonds Ryder guy. 

Again, another one of those stories we've been told time and time again about another guy just looking for any old lame excuse to jump Ship Zion. (Just saying, the spelling "Symonds" would TOTALLY fly in Utah today. Look at that unnecessary 'Y' and everything!) When was this article published? Oh, that's right. 

2017. And I hid the columnist's name for a good reason. Do you want to know it? 

Because Symonds Ryder didn't leave the Church because of his name's misspelling. Thomas Marsh didn't leave because of milk strippings either. Both of these men left the Church for, arguably, amazingly Christian reasons. (We've heard the 90% confidence that they were "offended" argument from the Church leaders. Do you want to hear their actual stories?)

Sidney Rigdon went off the deep end. He wasn't the only one, but he was the loud one. You probably remember that the Church faced a lot of conflict and difficulty in Missouri. You might see Church videos flash through your head of greasy bearded folk in taverns with guns, Haun's Mill reenactments, and eventually, yes, the "Extermination Order" by Boggs. Unfortunately, Boggs' Extermination Order came three months after Sidney Rigdon's, who was, yes, in the First Presidency. 

Sidney Rigdon stated, at a Fourth of July celebration in 1838: "...It shall be between us and them a war of extermination, for we will follow them till the last drop of blood is spilled, or else they will have to exterminate us; for we will carry the seat of war to their own houses and their own families, and one part or the other shall be utterly destroyed." So yes, Sidney Rigdon totally started it. In later years, even Brigham Young was known to have admitted that Sidney Rigdon was the source of the problems in Missouri.

The Danites were also active at this time. They were, in essence, a secret society with oaths, bound under penalty of death to obedience: "to support the heads of the church in all things that they say or do, whether right or wrong." Danites killed people. According to one, Benjamin Slade, even Sidney Rigdon admitted to killing a man, in a closed-door meeting of Danites. Rigdon had told Orson Hyde "It was the imperative duty of the Church to obey the word of Joseph Smith, or the presidency, without question or inquiry, and that if there were any that would not, they should have their throats cut from ear [to] ear."

Parley P Pratt sniped a guy and he and other Danites cut his jaw off. There was a Danite-led battle, called the Battle of Crooked River, which resulted in the mad-dog revenge killings at Haun's Mill, and subsequently, the entire Liberty Jail incident.

To quote Dieter F Uchtdorf again, and to give us some perspective now, "To be perfectly frank, there have been times when members or leaders in the Church have simply made mistakes. There may have been things said or done that were not in harmony with our values, principles, or doctrine."

That's putting it mildly, but it's appreciated. 

Remember Thomas Marsh? Milk strippings? Thomas Marsh was appalled by what he was seeing. (Rightly so!) Per historian D Michael Quinn, "Horrified by what was happening, the Quorum of the Twelve's president Thomas B Marsh prepared a formal affidavit against these Mormon depredations, for which he was excommunicated and classed as an apostate."

I had to take a breath after I wrote that. Did that feel wrong to you too? I think it most certainly was wrong. I think Thomas B Marsh did nothing wrong. I think he was incredibly brave to call out evil where he saw it being done. And for well over a hundred years, we have done nothing but slander his name and reputation in the church, by implying he was petty, shallow, and faithless.

They used to publish in the Deseret News the list of names of individuals who had been excommunicated. A friend once told me, "That is one of the most toxic things about the church. The church doesn't have an exit strategy that allows you to keep your dignity." When people leave the Church, willingly or unwillingly, they are given labels. Lazy. Unintelligent. Looking for an excuse. Tare. Apostate. Deceived. Lukewarm. Fallen elect. Agitator. Goat. Heretic. Intellectual. Cafeteria Mormon. Confused. 

Tell that to Thomas B Marsh. Tell that to Emma and Lucy Mack Smith. Tell that Oliver Cowdery. Tell that to Symonds Ryder, who saw the Church becoming aggressive and militant as well, and suspected Joseph Smith was trying to confiscate his property once he left on a mission. 

Quinn adds, "There was no loyal opposition within the kingdom of God... Dissent meant defection." 

President Uchtdorf has countered this in the modern era. "There is a place for you." he has insisted, with the understanding that questions, disagreements, and imperfections may exist in each of us. The Church is doing their best to counter the culture of old, where you were IN, or you were OUT. But we have a long way to go. 

We have to stop "otherizing," and have more faith in God, and God's ability to prescribe personalized prescriptions for each of His children. Christ gave us our commandments. Love. That is the greatest commandment, and the one which applies to us all.

I have hope. Some days I have more hope than others. Today I have a lot of hope. 

The more that we follow the commandments of Christ - namely, those two great commandments, the more mercy, grace, and love will abound. Because maybe the Church isn't a "ship." Maybe it's not so black and white. Maybe the Kingdom of God is within us, as Christ taught. Maybe when 2 or 3 are gathered in His name. Maybe it's less about the physical, structured organization, and more about the souls that pass through our lives on a daily basis. The Kingdom is in the eyes of those around you. Maybe people aren't "jumping ship" so much as they are looking for someone to recognize that they have been given their own ships that they carry with them, undaunted and undeterred by others'. 

Out of the Best Books

I went through some discount books at the store, the other day. All books were $1!!! I subscribe to the philosophy that "She who dies with the most books wins." So $1 books is the kind of salvation I can't pass up.

Well, of course I found some. One of them was a copy of Bhagavad Gita! Now, I know that Bhagavad Gita is considered scripture by Hindus worldwide, but I've never actually read any of it! I have read the Koran, enjoyed Khalil Gibran's The Prophet, and felt that I would be remiss - a criminal - if I didn't buy this book too! So I did, I brought it home, and I began to thumb through it. 

I found a beautiful thing in it! (Many, but one in particular that made me ponder.) What struck me about this passage was the familiarity it held, for me, as a Mormon. 

As a Mormon, I have learned and similarly taught others about there being three degrees of glory, in Heaven. I find comfort in this doctrine! These "degrees" are all kingdoms of glory - a sign of a loving God. It makes eternity not so black and white, Heaven or Hell. There is room made for varying degrees of goodness. 

In Chapter 14 of the Bhagavad Gita, we see a familiar vein. The Bhagavad Gita teaches that there are three "modes" of material nature, modes which "condition" living entities in their presence. Basically, this concept means that all living people are conditioned to one of three modes. They become and live in one of these three states. These three modes, or states of being, will dictate their futures upon their deaths. Three degrees of glory? I thought so.

I enjoyed reading of these three modes. In degree from lowest to highest:

Ignorance, Passion, & Goodness.

I've pondered on these three modes. I've pondered on which level I find myself living. Bhagavad Gita lists how these modes or ways of being are born, or how people come to be in the stage they are, and also lists the results of these modes - madness, fruits of action, happiness. While I have my disagreements with many aspects of the book, and all the parallels drawn, there are aspects and points made that I have found great value in.

Doctrine and Covenants 88:118 states: "Seek ye diligently and teach one another words of wisdom; yea, seek ye out of the best books words of wisdom; seek learning, even by study and also by faith."

What are these best books? Answers have differed and varied on the matter. What is "best?" What is "wisdom?" Do they really want us to teach out of "every" good book we find wisdom in, or is there a standard of what is "best enough" to teach out of? 

My son, Dexter, is a huge fan of the Dr. Seuss book "I Wish that I Had Duck Feet." After about the 500th read, I noticed something beautiful from this children's book. Big Bill Brown is the book's antagonist. As our main character takes upon himself many animal traits, such as duck feet, a whale spout, deer horns, a long long tail, we see him frequently describe how his having these animal traits will affect Big Bill Brown.

Big Bill Brown can't wear as many hats as our protagonist could, with deer horns. With a whale spout, our protagonist could play Big Bill Brown "off his feet" in a game of tennis. With a long, long tail, Big Bill Brown might tie our protagonist in a tree, which would be unfortunate indeed. But, with an elephant trunk, he could, in retribution, sneeze, and blow Big Bill Brown down. 

In the end, our hero deduces that none of these animal traits are just right for him, due to unfortunate consequences of each, so, naturally, he should just have ALL the traits together, and be a Which-What-Who. By having all these animal properties, though, he concludes that he would be a freak of nature, (my words), and would be thrown in a cage like an animal. The beautiful touching part I noticed?  

Big Bill Brown is there. And he is sad to see our protagonist caged too.

Oftentimes our enemies are not actually our enemies, AND, you should still feel love and sympathy for people in a bad spot, even if they were a little brat to you earlier. 

Similarly, I once heard a man pull wisdom, in a podcast, out of the Stephen King book "It." 

"It" is about an evil spirit demon "thing" that preys on small children, killing them in terrible ways, specific to their own individual fears, if I'm remembering correctly. (I tried to watch the movie. I did not like it. I have a hard time with Stephen King and what he does with child characters, as well as general horror/gore.) 

In the book "It," a group of children do their best to hunt down the monster It, and try to kill it. They almost succeed, and swear to each other that if It comes back again, they will reunite and take down the monster again! They apparently succeeded in getting rid of it for 27 years, when one of the characters, Mike, now 27 years older than his childhood self, notices the same strange happenings and murders of children starting to occur again. 

In pondering on how his calling his old childhood friends will be received, he writes, 

"How much will they believe? Enough to end this horror once and for all, or only enough to get them killed? They are being called. I know that much. Each murder in this news cycle has been a call. We almost killed It twice, and in the end, we drove It deep in Its warren tunnels of stinking rooms under the city. But I think It knows another secret. Although It may be immortal, or almost so, we are not. It had only to wait until the act of faith which made us potential monster killers, as well as sources of power, had become impossible. 27 years. Perhaps a period of sleep for It - as short and refreshing as an afternoon nap would be for us. And when It awakes, It is the same. But a third of our lives has gone by. Our perspectives have narrowed. Our faith in the magic, which makes magic possible, has worn off, like the shine on a new pair of shoes after a hard days walking."

The dedication of this book, written by Stephen King to his own children reads: "Kids, fiction is the truth inside the lie, and the truth of this fiction is simple enough: the magic exists."

The podcaster concluded: "When I read the dedication, it resonated with me. And one of the reasons it resonated with me was because it so perfectly described why it is that I have come to the point in my life, where I can consider the Book of Mormon to be scripture, without considering it to be historical. I can consider the Book of Mormon to be true without considering it to have actually happened in real time and space, with real characters playing out real events in real history. And that's one of the things that's so wonderful about this quote, is that it recognizes that truth can be told inside of a lie."

That hit me HARD. It was beautiful, and was something I absolutely needed to hear! Stephen King's "It" helped inspire me to continue to see the Book of Mormon as scripture. 

Take THAT. Best books? Words of wisdom?

It was for me. Yup. Creepy clown with a red balloon? The Book of Mormon is scripture. Joseph Smith Jr was inspired by God.

The best books might teach you about mindfulness, they might teach about the Zoroastrian fundamentals of "good thoughts, good words, good deeds." The best books might show you a hero who, despite no one believing in a danger he knew he saw, was able to defeat that danger, He Who Must Not Be Named, by trusting in faithful friends and the right old man's advice. He leaned on and relied on the works of others who had gone on and died trying to combat this same evil before him. (Harry Potter. I'm talking about Harry Potter.) There are things we can learn from the best books. 

What books are you learning from today?