U is for...

Utah:

I recently emailed the Spouse Club of my boyfriends medical school. I'd posted on their message board a few times asking various questions about moving to the area, documents that were needed etc. Through all these interactions, I've been vague about the state I'm from. I was looking forward to starting over without having to battle a stigma or explain myself. I emailed the organization about a sponsor (basically a girl in the club will email you answering any questions you have) and guess where my sponsor is from?

Utah.

The woman who emailed me was all excited that she had found someone "that [is] from Utah too!"

No!!!! How did they figure it out?

I scanned all my emails, posts etc.

Aha! The signature of my email.

Emily
Jack-of-All-Trades
Place Where I Work
UT

Fail.

I could never be a spy. I suck at covering my tracks!

Here's to hoping my buddy is normal!

I might have stalked her already on facebook.

And found that she is, in fact, Mormon.

Is it possible to ever escape!?

I've decided my new line is:

I'm from Utah. And not Mormon.

We'll see how it goes.

- Emily

T is for...

Touchy Subjects

 Yesterday, I had a tiny hole stabbed in my body.

After much deliberation and research, I went to a piercing parlor, picked out a little gem and waited while several others also had tiny holes stabbed in their body. The girl next to me had a tiny fleck of silver above her lip, the girl across from me had a tiny nose ring. The man doing my piercing had a whole row of rings up and down his ear.

The actual piercing took about five minutes and didn't hurt at all. The first time I went to get anything pierced, I was eight. I sat on a tiny bench at the mall while the gun was prepared. Only, I missed the memo about the part involving a gun. I screamed. Covered my ears. Ran o-u-t. Nothing like that was getting close to my ears. I told this all to my piercer. He looked at me like I was a nut case. This time, he used a needle and I slowly breathed while he stabbed me and put the earring in.

I came home and waited for my very Mormon family to notice. Nobody said a thing. I went out to dinner with my parents and we had a great time talking together about work, school and words. No big deal.

This morning, my youngest sister asked, "What is that?" gesturing towards me.

"Did you get a piercing?"

"Yes, I was wondering how long it would take you to notice." I shrugged.

My mom piped up, "I noticed." I shrugged.

My middle sister shrieked, "What is that. Oh my gosh you look like a freaking skank. Mom, make her take that out. What is wrong with you Emily?"

My mom shrugged. "I think she's old enough to do whatever she wants. Do you really think if I tell her to take it out she will? No. Calm down."

My middle sister went crazy. She screamed at my mom that she was a horrible mother, that she was letting me ruin my life.

"You know she's doing what's wronnnng! You're not saying anything, which means you approve!!!!!" she wailed.

I was angry, but dealing with her insults, until she screamed:

"Emily's just being brain washed. She doesn't even have a brain to think for herself. She doesn't know what she's doing. She can't even think. She has no life. She is just too lazy to do the right thing. She is lazy and acting trashy. You {mom} need to tell her what to do. She's a slut, she needs to pull her head out of her butt. You're the worst mother in the entire world."


I got up.

I slapped her across the face.

"You don't know the first thing about my life or what I'm going through. Don't you even pretend like you do. Mind. your. own. damn. business. Don't talk to me like that."

Of course, she slapped me right back. Screamed even louder. And continued to scream.

The piercing she is so upset that her 22 year old sister got? Look at the picture at the top?

Can't see it?

Oh, that's because my hair is covering it. What does it look like? Where could it be?

S is for...

Sacrament Meeting

I went to Sacrament Meeting with my two little sisters and my dad on Sunday.  My dad is a member of the High Council. He is very righteous. He went straight from Ward Financial Clerk to High Councilman in a matter of years. For those that don’t know what a High Councilman is, I would relate it to...a vicar maybe? I’m not all that familiar with the hierarchy of other churches.  He’s a step above a pastor...he travels around to other Mormon churches in the area and goes to meetings from 6am to 6pm. It’s great. Point being, he is fairly important and extremely busy.

He spoke at a retirement home on this particular Sunday. The home has its own Sunday service.
My dad asked the residents to think of a time when they were most happy. What were they doing? How did they feel? He continued. It was probably when they were very closely following The Gospel. This interrupted my nice memory of lounging half-dressed, lightly salty in the mid-day heat of an Italian villa with my boyfriend; the sun cutting butter cream rays across our...Wait what? Church things? Sorry, young lovers.

Following The Gospel. He said when he was young, he married my Mom in the Temple, of course. There, there they made a promise to God. And to each other. He said he was happy then. They didn’t have much. But, they were very happy.

I told this story to my boyfriend yesterday. He’s a non-denom Christian. I wanted him to be upset. I wanted him to feel sad. Sad that my dad mentioned a promise to God as more important than anything else.

“I don’t know, Emily.” He said. A commitment to God is pretty important.”
 

“More than to each other? I think...I think I love you more.”
 

 “But, we won’t always be together.”
 

“You...you wouldn’t want to be with me?”
 

“We’ll be together. Just, not like we are now. Heaven isn’t exactly like Earth, Em. Or, is that what you think it’s like? Em? Honey? Is that what you think?”

I just left. (He lives in a different country, by the way. We were Skyping.)  I watched Say Yes to the Dress where the only thing that matters in a wedding is the damn Princess Dress. Eventually, I turned it off. One, I had a stomachache (may or may not be related). Two, it makes me sad. Mothers together helping pick out dresses. Some drama, but mostly excitement. Will I ever get that? Do I get a happy, wedding with the dress and the happy family?

My mom told me, “Don’t expect me to pay for your wedding if you don’t get married in the Temple.”

I don’t care if she pays for it. I’ll be old enough to pay for it myself, I’d prefer it. But, I want to celebrate with out my mom throwing out insults, my sister boycotting and my dad crying. Am I being a little over dramatic? Is it okay not to invite my family? I want to say Yes to a dress without it being covered by a damn green apron. I don’t want that to be the most important moment of my life. I don’t want a promise made to God in bakery costumes to be the best memory. I want to make happy memories long after that...and I guess I’m afraid if I don’t get the right beginning, I won’t.

- Emily

R is for...

Relatives:

 image source

A few months ago, my parents locked me in the car and drove around until I told them why I would not agree to hold a Primary calling.  (For the record, I live with my parents, though I have a degree and am saving up to move out.)

My dad, who at the time was the Ward Clerk, called me at work and asked if I would consider a Primary calling.  I said, "No, thanks."  Next thing I know, my mom calls me up demanding to know why I refused a calling.  I tell her I don't want to talk about, please don't call me at work and hassle me.  The answer is no.  Thanks for thinking of me, but no.  No. No. 

She continues to force the issue.  I keep saying nonono.  I don't want to talk about it.  Please don't call me up at work.  Please just drop it.  She calls me selfish.  Calls me rude.  Eventually hangs up with the request we go to dinner later. 

Now I know I'm in for it.  I panic.  But, like a fugitive running from the law, I'm also a little relieved.  I could finally express myself.  My thoughts.  I'd been depressed, almost suicidal for ninth months.  I was slowly climbing out of the deep, dark chasm.  The grand cave of depression and despair, hatred guilt and grief dripping from the ceiling, running in rivulets down the walls, carving deep scars.  I saw the tiny pin-pricks of light one afternoon and crawled towards them.  I didn't need this. shit.  pulling me back in.  I was ready.

We went to dinner, acted like nothing was wrong.  Like we all didn't know the dynamite that was about to explode.  My mom brought it up of course.  The quick questions darting out of her mouth like black, winged bats.  Tiny darts of accusation.  What's the matter with you? 

I kept repeating, I don't want to talk about it.  I don't want to talk about it. 

I got up and walked out. 

We drove around my neighborhood.  Their questions came at me like I knew they would.  You're lying.  You're faking.  You've been listening to other people.  You've been reading anti-Mormon books.  You think you can just be a good person!?  What do you know?  You're 22.  You haven't really thought about anything, you just don't want to do the hard thing.  This is just so easy for you to turn your back on. You're selfish.  You're unapproachable.  The whole family thinks they can't even interact with you. 

What part of this is supposed to be EASY!!???  I screamed at them.  I was almost suicidal FOR NINE MONTHS.  I asked you to go to a doctor over and over again and you wouldn't take me.  You know what you did?  You offered to give me a blessing!  I didn't need that.  I needed HELP.  You. didn't. help.

I think that's what hurt the most.  Two of my relatives suffer(ed) from depression.  My dad's brother shot himself in the head.  My cousin tried to hang himself.

But I, I tried to take the easy way out. 

My mother accused me of lying.  If my father wouldn't take me to a doctor, why didn't I ask her? 

Why would I mom? 

So you could accuse me of lying again? 

Poor Mormons.  Their families are forever so they can deal with bullshit for eternity. 

And I'm the dishonest one who can't think for herself. 


- Emily

Q is for...

Quiet: 

image source

I’m getting frustrated.  

I wonder if anyone else feels this way.  The struggle between wanting to stay true to yourself and staying true to your family.  Do you remain quietly sitting in silence, respecting your family’s wishes, silently drifting like a specter through the hallways of your home?  Do you speak up when your family insists that teachings you find offensive and false and true and right?  Do you question your parent’s teachings to your teenage siblings or do you respect your parent’s wishes and right to teach their children all sorts of....beliefs.  

When my little sister asks me, “Aren’t black people cursed because of Cain? Isn’t that why they have black skin?”  I scoff and mumble something about melanin.  “You know.  It makes you darker.”  

“But, the Bible...I heard...”

“It’s melanin.  When your skin is in the sun, it produces more melanin...so...” I trail off.  Like I’ve mentioned before, science is not my strongest point.  I like it but, damn.  Tenth grade biology was a long time ago.  My teacher kept a dead fetus in a jar.  A floating, shriveled baby.  It scared us all into submission.  No wonder the basics of life science escape me now.  

I wonder:  is it easier to remain wrapped in the snug folds of Mormonism because it doesn’t require much thought?  I mean, relatively speaking.  I will be the first to admit, I didn’t think much.  The world around me?  Who cares? The Book of Mormon?  True?  If you say so.  Granted, I was 15 and what teenager isn’t completely self-absorbed?  

I did the whole EFY thing.  The Girls Camp Testiphony.  Everyone cried at the mere mention of Joseph Smith.  But I...stayed quiet.  Sure, the songs were nice.  Sure, Sarah cried her eyes out because she shared the prophet’s birthday. I stayed quiet.  I liked learning about Jesus.  I could get behind his Love Everyone message.  I read the Bible.  I wept openly when I read in John where Jesus tells his disciples, “You are my friends.” I felt Jesus was my friend...or could have been.  He was all about love.  And I wanted to be loved.  Those words made me feel secure.  Just the idea that someone taught that kind of love rocked my selfish, teenage brain.  Like those Relief Society sisters who set up their tablecloths and flowers proclaiming, “ I know this lesson was for me.”, I felt moved.  Certain that somehow, John had me in mind when inscribing those words.  

A few years later, my mom decided it was time to get my Patriarchal Blessing.  Patriarchal Blessing? Sure.  The day dawned.  I’d lost my recommend.  My parent were fighting with me.  My dad briefly considered canceling the whole thing.  But, we went anyways.  I met with the Patriarch.  A tall, old man with white hair.  We went to his house.  Chatted about...what I don’t recall.  Sat in his living room.  I nervously sat in a chair as he placed his hands on my head...

P is for..

Apologies.  I had surgery this past week.  Don't think you all wanted to be subjected to my drug induced ramblings.  Though, I did schedule a return doctor's visit and remember to put it in my Blackberry calendar with the correct time, doctor's name and address while completely high on dental surgery drugs.  We now to return to our regularly scheduled posts.


 Polygamy...Priesthood:

image source

My ancestors were polygamists.  Family legend states the beloved apostle kept one wife in favor and the other far away, barely visited.  

I was exposed to a distaste and a disgust for polygamy early on.  My mother defiantly stated she didn't care if God himself came down and told her to practice polygamy, she was not going to do it.  I agreed.  Why should I have to share my husband?  As a Mormon woman, you spend your whole 20 years life looking for your Eternal Companion, and then you were expected to share?  Not okay.  

"Good thing we don't do that any more,"  I told my boyfriend B.  

He paused.  "You sure?" 

I stared at him.  "Of course.  You'll get excommunicated if you do nowadays." 

"But," he said slowly.  "What about in Heaven?  Can't a man be "sealed" to more than one wife?  And a woman can't be "sealed" to more than one man?  What would you call that?"  He wondered. 

I became upset.  This was one of the final straws.  A pin in a lock sliding into place.   

What the hell was it?

Eternal polygamy?  I railed against my Return Missionary friend.  "What the hell?  I've been tricked! How could I not have known?  How could I not put the pieces together?  Was I blind?  Was I stupid?  Explain it to me,"  I demanded.  "Explain this bullshit to me."

He  calmly quoted from Section 132.  

"Really convenient,"  I spat.  "Make Emma look like the bad one.  The Evil Woman.  Practice polygamy or be damned."

"Emily,"  RM said.  "In the next life, we won't care.  Why does it even matter?  Why does it bother you?  It's not that important."  

"I care.  It's important to me.  This is bullshit (clearly my word of choice).  I care now and I sure as hell would care then.  I would never just "get over it."  And to say, "Oh, no!  We don't do that."  Is a lie.  It's a lie and you damn well know it."

Needless to say, this friend and I don't talk anymore.  After I found out about Dusting the Feet, I attacked him.  His missionary "Priesthood Power" was a symbol of everything wrong with the Church.  Polygamy.  Lies.  Orwellian Ministry of Truth like historical revisions.  

I guess the only time I will accept polygamy is in my beer.

O is for...

Open:

image source

One closely related word, xenophobia. 

Fear of strangers.  Fear of outsiders.  Fear of difference.  The opposite of open. 

I grew up in The Bubble.  Suburban life.  Three siblings.  Mom.  Dad.  3.8 GPA.  28 ACT.  

I dated a non-Mormon at 16 after my Mormon boyfriend broke up with me over MSN.  I cried a few tears and asked the dark-haired, brown-eyed Persian boy (exotic for Utah!) I liked since sixth grade to the Christmas Dance.  He said yes and came with me and all of my friends.  My friends had been championing us to date since we were 12.  I was pretty excited.  

The two of us were awkward, as all 16 year old are.  We spent many hours "hanging out" at the local grocery store with out two groups of friends.  These two groups mostly glared at each other.  "Seriously, why are we heeeeeeeere?"  my friends whined the way only 16 year old females can.  Why did I always have to date the boys with weird friends?  Apparently our couple-dom was cute only in theory.  

My friends weren't the only ones a little chagrined at the developing relationship.  I snuggled up to my brown-eyed boy one winter evening to discuss The S-E-X.

N is for...

Never-Mo:

image source

B, my boyfriend, is known in Post-Mormon communities as a “Never-Mo.” 

A Never-Mormon.

Every Mormon parents' worst nightmare or greatest conquest.

These “Never-Mos” are either a missionary opportunity for conversion or an everlasting disappointment. 

Happily, B falls into the latter category, though I worry frequently for his sanity.  Does he really know what he's gotten himself into?  

I tell him, "Now, we are always going to be the different ones.  We'll be the Not Good Enough Ones.  You're going to be a doctor.  Still not Good Enough.  You're loving and kind.  Still not Good Enough.  You care for me.  Take care of me.  Respect me.  Encourage me.  Love me.  Not Good Enough."  

I don't think he realizes how deep the ties of Mormonism go.  

The ties are like the blackberry bushes I dug up for my mom one summer.  At first glance, the branches are spindly.  The leaves are tender and full of deep purple berries.  Look deeper, the thorns.  Deeper still, the roots tangle around each other.  Gnarled.  Suffocating.  Mangled.  Choking out anything else struggling to live.

I pulled up that blackberry bush entirely.  

But year after year, it returns. 

M is for...MORE

Marriage:

Continued....read the past entries on this topic here or here.

Because of the exclusive nature of the rituals associated with a Mormon marriage and family
unit, Mormons believe they have exclusive rights to the reunion of loved ones after death. Post-
Mormon used Bena explains, “My [Mormon] wife didn't get this concept. She was under the
impression that Mormons have corned the market on eternal families.” This is not an uncommon view.
Forum member Whitters relates, “I'm dating a Non-Mormon. My dad asked me, 'Doesn't [Boyfriend] want to be with his family forever?' I stared at him blankly. 'Dad. He does. You don't understand. The
Church believes they have this exclusive belief in families. All Christians believe they will be with
their family. All of them.'” Bena agress, “I told my wife many religions believe in being with their
families in heaven. I'm so arrogant. I'm amazed I used to believe this stuff. I guess they feel they have
a monopoly because they have to pay to get in.”

This “stuff” is the very cause of friction between both sides of the story. The cause of silence on both ends of the wide canyon. Members refuse to acknowledge the view of the non-believing loved ones because of how strongly they believe “this stuff,” this Plan. Though not a member of the Post-Mormon forum, resigned member Tyler comments, “I have resigned. My sister refuses to talk to me because I have ruined her Eternal family.That doesn't make sense to me. Why hate me in this life because she believes she wont see me in the
next? To me, this is all I have.” Post-Mormon user Whoa has a similar feeling, “I really don't want to
deal with the same shit for Eternity as I do now.”

At the heart of this issue are ultimately two sides of very hurt people pleading for the other side
to see their view. The exclusivity of Mormon families that “allows” family members to potentially be
with their families forever is the very same force that destroys them and divides them, an omnipotent
hand tearing at the hearts of all. This hand pulls the strings that keeps the Mormon view forever
focused on their Forever Families instead of the Here and Now.

M is for...MORE

Marriage:

Continued...read the beginning here

image source

The Plan. Commonly known as The Plan of Salvation among Mormons. Mormons believe we
are all literal spirit children of God. Before we came to Earth to gain a body, we lived together in the
Pre-Earth life. This earth life is essentially a test of our obedience. Our ability to follow The Plan
without question. But, The Plan is not as simple as a Golden Rule approach. Members of The Church
must follow principles and ordinances of The Gospel. Each Mormon child is baptized at the age of
eight. The Age of Understanding. This baptism is just the bottom rung in the ladder of ordinances and
rituals one must complete according to The Plan. In order for families to be together forever, Mormons
must be married in a sacred temple. To gain entrance into these temples, all rituals and rules must be
followed. For example, a ten percent tithe of the members yearly increase must be paid to The Church.
Members must abstain from any Church prohibited activity such as drinking coffee, tea or alcohol,
premarital sex or watching R rated movies. Once inside these temples, members must swear their
allegiance to The Church, promising their all their time, talents and abilities. At one point, they were
even made to swear their lives. It goes without saying that these sealings are not taken lightly. Those
who follow The Plan will be together forever. Those who stray will break the bond of the Eternal
Family. Forever. Without an Eternal Family, one is not allowed to live in the highest degree of Heaven as a God or Goddess after death. Because of this view of Eternal Families, no mistake is greater than
allowing a family member to break this bond. Church leaders often state, “No success can compensate
for failure in the home.” If a family member leaves The Church, the family member who has left is a
great disappointment, the family itself – a failure.

M is for...

Marriage:

“I have a family here on earth, they are so good to me. I want to share my life with them through all Eternity.”− Children's Songbook pg. 188

Members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints believe they can be with their
families forever. For Eternity. There are few things as important as being together as a family forever.
Though this emphasis on Eternal Families might seem innocent to the average person, it is a source of
contention and grief for many who have studied, struggled, prayed and ultimately found their way our
of the Mormon fold.

It's a complicated emotion to say the least. What is the best way to explain why family members
and loved ones who, while they may not have always gotten along perfectly, used to peacefully interact,
engage and enjoy each others company, go from a type of love and understanding to hurt, anger,
anguish and sometimes completely shunning of the “apostate?” Perhaps no community knows the pain
of disaffection and silence more than the members of the recovery forum Postmormon.com. Hundreds
of members a day flock to the site daily to discuss, vent, learn, grow, and most importantly, heal.

As one Post-Mormon member points out, it all boils down to simple “truths” learned as a child
in Sunday School. The song Families Can be Together Forever repeats the lines

Families can be together forever,
through Heavenly Father's plan.
I always want to be with my own family,
and the Lord has shown me how I can.
The Lord has shown me how I can.

At the heart of this seemingly harmless song lies one major reason both Post-Mormons and their still
believing family members feel such a divide. One user explains, “They [The Church] can get out of
it. If it [the family] doesn't work out correctly, blame the member. You just didn't follow The Plan.”

L is for...

Losing:

image source

Some time after my 21st birthday, well after my boyfriend and I have discussed religion as he
researched a paper on Mormons for his history class, I consider his words: “You know B.H. Roberts
didn't believe in the Book of Mormon?” No. I didn't know that. How could I have known? I read and
read and read and read. I want to believe, but I feel like I'm playing a losing hand. In a few months, I
feel like an R.E.M. song.

Cliched.  I know.  

What songs do you feel perfectly document your life? 

K is for...

Kolob: 

or Where is Kolob? 

image source

For some reason, I didn't feel quiet ready to write this ABC.  My writing teacher calls this a Red Flag of Avoidance.  She can tell when something is being left out of writing because the author is ready to talk about it.  

I knew I wanted to write about Kolob, but where do you start?  

"If you could hie to Kolob in the twinkling of an eye and then continue upward with the same strength to fly, do you think that you could ever through all eternity, find out the generation where man became to be?"  - LDS Hymn # 284

On warm summer night, my sister and I father outside to watch a meteor shower.  My dad joined us as we gazed up at the tiny pinpricks of light.  I sat explaining that the stream of light from the meteors happened as the entered the atmosphere and started to burn.  (Correct me if I'm wrong.  My area of expertise is most certainly not science.)  My dad looked up and marveled at the stars.  He wondered out loud, "Where is Kolob?"  My sister, only 14, asked "What is Kolob?"

What, my dear friends, is Kolob?  Why is my father, an intelligent, graduate scholar and business administrator asking, "Where is Kolob?"

The answer, as usual, comes from a "Primary Answer."  No, not Pray, Read Your Scriptures or Go to Church.  The answer, of course, is Joseph Smith.

J is for...

Joseph Smith:

image source

In the spring of 1830, Joseph Smith founded what is now known as the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  Soon afterward, many crossed oceans and continents to gather with him. Among these were several of my ancestors. 

My ancestors were nothing if not dedicated.   I believe this is part of me as well. 

Though I have to wonder, were they easily deceived?   

Andrew S. of Irresistible (Dis)Grace writes about the depictions of Mormons and Joseph Smith in the South Park Episode All About the Mormons.  I particularly liked this: 

Throughout the episode, Stone and Parker portray the family as being unwaveringly friendly and accommodating. Now, this is just to fit into the Mormon stereotype. However, the things that the family says as a result of this stereotype seem peculiar — even for Mormons. Specifically, the Mormon mother, Karen, says to Stan’s father Randy:

Randy, the last thing we want is for people to think we’re pushing our religion. We know there are a lot of beliefs out there and ours just works for us.

Now, really. Really? Mormonism is has a central evangelistic zeal to it. And even though Mormons recognize “there are a lot of beliefs out there,” and that there may even be some truths within other religions and beliefs…the more common idea, I would imagine, is that the church is deemed to have the *entire* truth, or the *complete* priesthood, etc.,

It's a great post.  Check it out here. 

I is for...

Investigate:

I remember the heart pounding feeling as I sought out to investigate.   Investigate.  Searching with the intent to find.  But, to find what exactly?  Faith?  Hope?  Truth?

It started with a simple question from a friend in Italy.  Why do you believe what you do?  I paused.  Have you really thought about it?  I laughed.  Of course I had, you know.  I don't just follow along without thinking.  I'm not a sheep.  Really?  Personally, I don't believe anything without really thinking it over first. I swallowed.  Uh.  Yeah.  Me neither.

I thought back to my first days out of Utah.  Moving out of state.  Out into the "big bad world" of my conservative Christian college.  I asked my religion teacher to explain the Trinity.  She answered:  The Trinity is complicated.  I took this to mean: I'm wrong.  You got me there Emily.  I crowed to my family back home, attesting to the ignorance of my roommate when she asked, Do you think there are levels of Heaven?  I gave my coffee drinking friend a Book of Mormon.  Pushed it on him twice after he halfheartedly thanked me and then left the slim blue book in my car.

What an ass.

I put my hands over my ears as my non-Mormon boyfriend asked me:  If a man can be sealed to more than one wife in Heaven, isn't that polygamy? 

I ignored him further still when he pointed out B.H. Roberts, the Defender of the Faith, had a list of questions about the Book of Mormon.  When Roberts presented his questions to the Brethren, they told him to be quiet.  I ignored him when he pointed out the Book of Mormon was very similar to a book published around Joseph Smith's time.  Around where Smith lived.

Until one day, I looked.  I investigated Lying for the Lord.  Milk Before Meat.  Celestial Polygamy.  Dusting the Feet.  Second Anointing. The Word of Wisdom.

My heart pounded each time.  Convinced I was going to...I don't know...be struck down.  I pushed onward.  Told myself, Come on.  It's just knowledge.   The image of Satan as a serpent flashed before my eyes.  I watched the Mormon episode of South Park, scoffing at the depictions of Joseph Smith.  Imagine my hurt when I found out two writers knew more about my religion than I did. 

I joined Postmormon.com and searched and searched.  I became convinced the Church was not as it claimed.  Joseph Smith was a con.  A liar.  A fraud.  I learned what really went on in the Temple.

 image source

Handshakes?  Passwords?  God needed a password? THIS was what my life was supposed to culminate in?  A secret club?  I felt betrayed.  God was the master of The Heman Womun Haters Club.  A silly tree house with a No Gurls A Loud sign nailed to the front. 


I fell into depression.  For eight months I felt like dying.  I prayed to God to leave me in ignorance.  To help me accept Mormonism.  To forget what I had learned.  To take it all away.  I prayed to never wake up.  I prayed to die.  I wanted to die.

What did I do to deserve this?

And what do I intend to find?

H is for...

image source

Holy Ghost:

Among the gifts I received for my eighth birthday, including the tiny CTR ring, I was "given" the “gift” of the Holy Ghost.  This meant I always had someone with me to guide me, a sort of more powerful conscience. I believed when I was eight that this gift helped me find my ring in the grains of sand.

I recently visited my non-Mormon boyfriend.  He lives far out of state while going to medical school and I don't get to see him very often.  I debated on going to see him, buying a ticket...should I really go see him?  My family tried to convince me it was wrong.  He was wrong.  He was a type of Puppet Master, pulling strings to make me want to come see him...on his godforsaken Caribbean island.  Even now, his control over me "knows no bounds."  It's as if my family sees him as replacing the Spirit I once had.  It is because of him that I like indie music, listen to NPR, don't eat eggs (what the fuck?), want to skydive and, of course, don't believe in The Church anymore.  It's because of him I like puppies, cooking and traveling.  That I've changed.

My father assured me that as I left to see Boyfriend, this was the moment he knew I had lost the Spirit.

My mom frequently tells me I need to take a good look at my self.  

I did.  That's how I got here.  To where I am today.  

You can't lose something you never had. 

G is for...

 Ganesha

 image source

Ganesha is the elephant Hindu god of overcoming obstacles. He is said to bless new opportunities and is prayed to before the start of a new journey. I find this symbol, for that's what it is to me, quite appropriate for a journey of lost faith and self-discovery. On my trip to India, a purchased a marble statue of Ganesha. While I don't necessarily believe in Ganesha's ability to help me overcome the obstacles of my eminent ostracization from my family, Ganesha provides perspective. A new way of thinking. He was also murdered by his father. At least I don't have to worry about that...

F is for...

Fast Sunday

image credit

Fast Sunday is the day when nobody gets to eat breakfast. You sneak in to the kitchen and pour yourself a bowl of cereal. Mom comes in and tells you to put it away, there is no eating on Fast Sunday. Your little brother goes to Sunday School and when the time runs out, the teacher asks, “Why did the time go by so fast?” Your little brother replies, “well it is Fast Sunday.” Not all memories are bad. You have not been offended like most members will believe, though many memories have yet to be written.

E is for...

Eight

 Image Source

Eight is a special age for young Mormons.   It is the age when you're baptized.  It's that age you are finally accountable for all your sins.  It's important to note that before one is eight, you don't really sin.  You transgress.  Once you turn eight, you have reached The Age of Understanding.  You are able to choose the Right from wrong.  

It is also the age when you get to join Activities Days (if you're a girl) and puffy paint t-shirts and learn how to do laundry while the boys learn to shoot bow and arrows in Scouts. 

I would like to think my fully mature, eight-year-old self wanted to learn to shoot a bow and arrow, but I probably would have just used it as an excuse to wear moccasins and play Pocahontas.

D is for...

Disbelief

image source

My entire family is waiting for my Grandfather to die. Let me rephrase that. My Grandfather is not a member of The Church. However, Church doctrine states that all those who are not members of The Church in this life will be given a chance to join in the next. Naturally, one must be baptized before the new found beliefs will take hold. Though the dead can change religious beliefs, they are unable to be baptized. This must be done by a living relative “on the other side.” My Grandfather says this is good enough for him. Disbelief is in my blood as well.