(from http://www.exmormon.org, story number 19)
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Here at work we recently have been hooked into the Internet, and I have
availed myself of the opportunity to browse through various topics. I was
more than a little surprised to find so much information regarding the
Mormons, and their various detractors. You see, I am also a former member
of the LDS church.
A little background on my mind set; I do not have anything against the
Mormons, nor have I ever set out to disabuse any active member of their
fallacious (from my point of view) belief system. I feel that religion and
spirituality, while mutually exclusive of one another, are a personal thing
not unlike an individual's spouse/lover. As such, they completely
subjective to the individual, and have no basis in facts, provable datum,
or any other quantifiable medium. I would no more want to tell a person
that their religion is "wrong" than I would tell a friend that his/her
spouse was ugly. When I left the Mormons, I did it on my own; no fanfare,
no histrionic requests for excommunication or removal from the records.
They are simply a worldly organization, and as such have no power over my
own personal brand of spirituality. Any request for those actions would
have given validation to any claims that they thought they might have over
my soul. I my view, they have none.
My parents were converts to the church before I came along, so it was the
belief system into which I was born. My earliest memories of the church,
while not necessarily negative, are not really positive either. They are
sort of bland; null, if you will. What I do remember are impressions of not
seeing what everyone else seemed to be seeing, and feeling left out as a
result. I would sit through the meetings, wondering if there was something
wrong with me because I couldn't get up in front of the whole congregation
and spout the same platitudes that my peers did. What prevented me from
thinking and speaking as the others around me?
My father always called me "Mister Blunt" because I was unfailingly honest
in my appraisals of people and situations. This got me into trouble more
than once over the years. But, in this context, I could not testify to
something which I did not really feel.
As I approached my 8th birthday, I was filled with trepidation. The Sunday
school classes told me that I should feel something special, as those in my
age group who had already been baptized vociferously proclaimed. But, try
as I might, all I got out of the experience was wet, cold, and more
confused.
The years passed, and I turned 12. The same lack of feeling was present at
my ordination, and so on through my teen years, and the three levels of the
Aaronic priesthood. I did the things that I was told to do, for to disobey
my dad would bring swift retribution. I went to church, passed the
sacrament, collected fast offerings, went home teaching, blessed the
sacrament, spent time doing church stuff because I was always the "dutiful
son". I just figured that I didn't feel anything because I wasn't "worthy"
for some strange reason or another.
High school wound to a close, and I was pushed towards attending classes at
BYU. I really didn't want to go there, but I felt that my father dealt with
enough disappointment in my older brother - who was, and still is a
complete social and metal misfit. So, off to the "Y" I went. Full of good
intentions, I enrolled in my freshman year in the Fall of 1977. I have
always been socially adept, and being loose on the BYU campus was like
being on a field day - there were so many people to meet and learn from.
But the heavy "Mormon" atmosphere was strange to me.
During my first week there, I met a person who would change my life. I was
skateboarding (yes, skateboarding!) across campus, when I saw a woman who
looked somehow familiar to me. I skated right up to her and stopped,
realizing that I didn't really "know" her, but somehow I did. I know this
sounds like the typical "boy meets girl" scenario, but this has only
happened to me twice in my life. Once with her, and many years later when I
met my wife (who is NOT Mormon). We fell madly, and completely in love over
the next few months. For the first time in my life, I began to think that
maybe the church did have a purpose in my life. The bond that we formed
over those six short months together is something that has continued to
exist, in one form or another since that time; although our lives did
eventually take different tacks. We started talking about a future
together, and then the subject of a mission came up. I hadn't really
thought that I would participate in this ritual, but she seemed to think
that I should do it, and get back as quickly as possible so we could get
married.
So, I began the process of applying for a mission calling. Several
agonizing months later, I received a call to Ecuador, Quito. I always had
an affinity for Latin cultures (I speak fluent Spanish, as a result of my
upbringing), so I figured that it wouldn't be so bad. I would go do my
duty, and she would wait for me. Sounds real simple. You do what the lord
wants of you, and everything will turn out peachy keen and rosy, right?
WRONG!!!
From the get go, I KNEW that the mission was the wrong thing to do. The
Language Training Mission (LTM) was fairly new back then, and I was shocked
to find the type of treatment that we were to receive while there. We were
not mistreated in any physical way - the beds were warm and dry, there was
plenty of food, the temperature of the buildings was comfortable. But I
have always been a reader, an independent thinker, and a bit of a rebel
against people in authority over me who use the "because I said so" method
of rule. That place is a serious boot camp for removing an a person's
individuality, and replacing with an automatonlike mentality that leaves
the weak minded completely gutted emotionally. Not unlike a military boot
camp, the LTM drains a person of their roots, and bonds them to a system of
religious salesmanship that makes them feel justified in doing just about
anything for the cause, and walk around with a false sense of
invulnerability.
While there, I saw young men and women driven to the point of tears by
their own inability to cope with this mental and emotional reprogramming.
Those who failed to pass the gauntlet were sent home to deal with the
embarrassment of not honorably completing a mission. Being of strong will,
I put my head down and dealt with it the best way I could - humor, and
obeying the rules as I saw fit (without really pushing the envelope).
My rationale behind writing this - aside from the personal benefits that
purging brings, is that I would hope that others may be able to read, and
relate in some way to the things that have occurred in my life, and perhaps
realize that it is OK to think for yourself, act for yourself, and be
yourself, without having a pre-designed belief system to guide you. If one
is truly living by The Golden Rule, then there is little need for any of
the other accouterments that are offered by most organized religions.
Back to the story - [second letter]
Let's see....my previous communication found me at the LTM in Provo, Utah,
straining to reconcile my feelings with what was occurring around me. As I
mentioned previously, I dealt with the thought reconfiguration (I tend to
think of the term 'mind control' as somewhat harsh) on my own terms. Think
of it as an agreement I made with myself; I could put up with just about
anything for a couple of years if it meant that I would be able to spend
eternity with my intended spouse.
Even more so than in non-missionary Mormon life, my time was fully occupied
by a constant barrage of repetition of dogma, litanies of stories that were
told in ways that would hopefully inspire devotion, dedication, and
single-mindedness. I went through the motions, and was actually quite
successful at those things - as far as outward appearances were concerned.
My unorthodox approach to the rules, and study was a constant irritant to
my companions, because by definition, I should not be successful if I
failed to toe the line in all respects. To say the least, this duality of
purpose made me feel guilty. But, it did not hinder me from doing what I
was supposed to do.
At this point, the reader might ask; "If you didn't believe in what you
were doing, why didn't you quit?" I will reiterate what I stated earlier in
my own defense. As a Mormon, one is expected to do certain things, and is
taught that doubts arise from Satan. I just figured that there was some
inner failing on my part that kept me from seeing 'the emperor's new
clothes", and that one day, if I was truly "worthy", I would be able to
truly feel that which everyone around me seemed to feel. Until that time,
my mind set was one of waiting.
Off to Ecuador I went after the requisite 2 month stint. Most of the other
guys in my group had no previous experience with Third World Countries, or
Latin American Culture, but I was fortunate to have spent quite a bit of
time in Mexico as a child, and so was better prepared to deal with the
cultural, and language differences that shock most citizens of the USA.
Needless to say, this caused not a little jealousy among my peers. This, in
combination with my own somewhat skewed perspective on mission life,
assured that I would be treated as something less than a "fair haired
child". When we went through the mission home in Quito, our luggage was
taken by the assistants to the president, and placed in another room while
we were all interviewed. Later, upon reclaiming my luggage, I realized that
they had performed a thorough search of all of our belongings while we were
occupied elsewhere. When I questioned them on this, they took offense,
telling me that I should not question them, as I was guilty of bringing
contraband into the mission - on my last P-Day stateside, I purchased
several music tapes, which were strictly prohibited.
It seems that my time today has run short, I shall write more later.
I suppose what I am trying to say is that for the most part, the local
people there did not adapt well to typical mormon life. Their lives are
very different than ours, and they work very hard just to keep food on the
table and a roof over their heads. Most of us cannot concieve of the sort
of life that they lead. It is simply beyond the realm of most people's
comprehension. If you think I am exaggerating, go live in a Third World
Country for a few months - as a local, and you will see what I mean.
Through the course of my mission, I saw many things that would open my
eyes. Mormons, as a rule are quite myopic in their views on truth. Being a
member of an elitist organization, it is easy to dismiss other people's
ideas, beliefs, and knowledge as pure balderdash because you "know" you
have a corner on God's own truth. You know, "the chosen people".
As a side note, during the first year of my mission, the girlfriend and I
corresponded quite regularly and passionately - proclaiming our undying
devotion to one another. But right after the one year mark, the letters
became less frequent, their content more distant. This gave me great cause
for concern, as my original 'raison d'etre' was contingent upon the
relationship remaining firm. Since I did not have a firm grasp on the
church, or vice versa, the success of our relationship was extremely
important to me. It gave me a reason to continue with my mission, despite
any misgivings that I had about what I was doing. Despite the reduction in
letters, I continued onward through the fog, hoping that everything would
turn out all right, but knowing in my heart that things would more than
likely not turn out the way that I expected.
There is a series of incidents stand out in my mind as being of particular
relevance to this missive. I had been on my mission about seven months when
I received a transfer to a town called Santo Domingo de Los Colorados.
Among the missionaries it had a reputation as somewhat of a "pit". Situated
smack in the middle of the coastal rain forest, the weather was merciless.
Like most equatorial countries, there are two distinct seasons; wet, and
dry. The "dry" season differs from the wet season in that instead of
raining almost all of the time, it rains every other day or so. After
having spent the first part of my mission in various mountain towns, the
warm weather was a relief to me - I spent most of my childhood on the Texas
Gulf Coast, so the humidity was actually comforting.
Santo Domingo was a town whose official church membership rolls showed over
600 members, yet the regular weekly attendance usually brought less than 20
people. What is wrong with this picture? In speaking with the locals, I
heard stories of previous missionaries holding meetings where large numbers
of minors were baptized without parental consent. A closer inspection of
the membership records confirmed this. The local people were friendly, but
reticent to do more than speak on a casual basis. During my six month stay
in "Santo", our main goal was to re-activate the membership and get them to
take a leading role in their branch. This was not an easy task, and while I
was there, we were not very successful. The town also had a quite a number
of evangelical/proselytizing type churches, and we came in contact with
them quite frequently.
One fellow, and his name escapes me, became friends with us. We would have
friendly, but rather heated discussions on assorted religious and
philosophical concepts. After several weeks of pestering him about the
lessons he finally relented, agreeing to allow us to teach him. Over the
next few weeks we met with him, feeling certain that this humble
pentecostal man would become a fervent convert, and future church leader in
Santo Domingo.
We challenged him to be baptized, and he accepted. Setting a date for the
following week. The fateful day arrived, but he failed to show up. Since it
was such a small town, we set about trying to find him. We had all of our
meetings with him at the church, so we did not know where he lived, but
figured that it wouldn't be too hard to find him. After a half hour, we
located him sitting on a bench in the town square, bible in hand. A very
serious look was on his face as we approached him. We must've appeared
threatening to him, because he assumed a rather defensive posture as he
stood to greet us. We immediately began to tell him how thoroughly
disappointed we were in his failure to keep his promise to us. My companion
told him that God was likewise disappointed - I felt rather uncomfortable
with this, but since I was the junior companion, I kept my mouth shut. At
this point he stopped us, saying that he had something very important to
tell us, and that it would behoove us to listen with our hearts.
We sat down on the bench with him, and he proceeded to bear an extremely
heartfelt and sincere testimony on the truthfulness of his own particular
beliefs. My companion told him something, I cannot recall what, and we left
him sitting there. On the way home, my companion dismissed the man as
completely deluded, chatting animatedly about how we should move on. My
frame of mind was completely different. I was completely and totally
stunned by the man's sincerity (no, I didn't think he was "right" anymore
than I felt that the mormons were), but the fact that a man would be able
to do that for a religion other than the LDS church was an eye opener. How
could I possibly have the temerity to go around trying to change peoples
minds about how to conduct their lives? Weren't we all given a choice? And
if this guy could feel so strongly about his beliefs, how could anyone want
to try and undermine his faith?
In retrospect, understanding what I do now about their culture, I can see
that he was just trying to be nice to us, and that he had no intention of
ever becoming a mormon.
Ecuador-
Rather than go into a full blown account of my entire mission, I will try
to relate a few events that occurred while I was there, and how they helped
me to come to my own conclusions about how my life should be conducted.
Because I am by nature a person who does not like to quit, I put my head
down and set about doing what the other missionaries were doing.
One thing that amazed me was the blase attitude that taken by the mission
structure in general towards getting people to be baptized. I do not mean
that no emphasis was placed upon gaining converts. The atmosphere of the
mission was quite the opposite. We were told in no uncertain terms by our
mission president, a former government official (he was always rather
secretive about his former career - go figure!), that our most important
job as a missionary was to see people baptized, period. In addition, the
regional representative at that time, Gene R. Cook - who is a former
insurance salesman/millionaire type, told us in various meetings that our
job was to BAPTIZE, and that we were not to worry about whether or not they
were; a) Truly ready - that was between them and God; b) If they would stay
active - that was the job of the existing local church members. His theory
was not unlike the obnoxious t-shirt applique that you see every now and
again that says "Kill 'em all, let God sort 'em out." Replace the word
"kill" with the word "baptize" and you have a pretty good idea about how
the mission was being run at that time. Here's a sober thought; not too
long ago one of my LDS friends told me that Mr. Cook is now a member of the
first quorum of the 70's. They would have these big mission-wide
conferences, and the leaders would get up and tell the Elders & Sisters
that we should be focusing on NUMBERS.
I cannot tell you how really disconcerting this mind set was to me. I
sincerely wanted to believe that the things that I was teaching were true,
and that by bringing this truth to others their lives would become better
somehow. But my experiences over the course of my mission showed me that
for most people this would not be the case.
As it has evolved, the mormon religion is a fully North American invention,
and the way it is structured fits the fast-paced type of lifestyle that is
fairly typical for most US citizens. Life in Ecuador, and Latin America in
general, does not run at that same kind of pace, and does not lend itself
well to the sort of frenzied activity that is required by membership in the
church. As a result, we as missionaries found ourselves constantly in the
position of having to gently (and sometimes not so gently) prod our local
converts to action.
The experience with our pentecostal friend was one that made me seriously
doubt that any one set of beliefs could hold a monopoly on The Truth. His
sincerity was such that there was no way to doubt that he really "knew"
that what he said was true, from his own perspective. The human mind is an
amazing thing, and there are no limits to our own ability to convince
ourselves of the veracity of anything - no matter how outlandish it may
seem to others.
How did this affect me? Up to that point, I at least made an attempt at
trying to be a part of things in the mission. After that, I went through
the motions, but did not really try to convince anyone that we had a corner
on the market for truth. My own pride kept me from quitting then and there,
and I figured that I could deal with whatever came my way until it was
over.
Many missionaries in Ecuador became infected with various types of
unfriendly intestinal flora during their tenure, and I was no exception.
Throughout the course of my mission, I was sick numerous times. The cures
for these infestations were almost as bad as the illness themselves.
Eventually, these parasites nearly got the better of me, but I shall go
into that later. The reason I am touching on this subject is that it
pertains to the incidents that I am going to recount next.
The locals are also subject to the same parasitical infestations as the
missionaries, and frequently are made quite ill thereby. Small children are
especially susceptible to these types of maladies, often with fatal
results.
One of the families that I knew well in Santo Domingo had a new baby. The
father once served as the Branch President, but his need to provide for his
family did not allow him time to do the job while I was there. I should
also note that they were EXTREMELY poor. He, his wife, their two small
children, and new baby lived in a 5'x5' wooden shack. It was made from
pieces of wood they were able to scavenge from the local garbage dump, and
they had no electricity or running water. He made his living as a day
laborer. One day we visited them, and the baby was extremely ill. He was
less than 4 months old, and I had attended this family right after his
birth, as well as witnessed his blessing. The fact that the child was ill
did no concern me too much at that time, as babies get sick all the time.
Several days went by, and this man came by to tearfully tell us that they
had taken the baby to the local clinic because the child's diarrhea had
become uncontrollable, and quite bloody. We hastened to the clinic without
delay.
Let me take a moment to describe this place. The clinic was made from
standard local red brick, and from the outside appeared to be no better or
worse than any other of the newer buildings in town. Once we entered, the
scene was far different. The floor was covered with mud, mixed with trash,
blood, and human excrement, and flies buzzed with impunity 'round about the
people who sat along the walls. The stench was overwhleming. There were a
few benches up against the walls, and some worn out old gurneys. Those who
were lucky got to use one of these, the rest sat, or lay on the floor
awaiting medical attention.
We walked through this nigthmarish scene to a smaller room where they had
taken the baby. There were mostly children in this room, and this man's
wife sat on a cot, holding this poor child in her arms. His lips were
cracked and dry, his skin was mottled and pale, his diaper was covered in
excrement, and there was blood oozing from his nose and ears. From time to
time he would go into convulsions, and his mouth would open as if to cry,
but no sound issued forth.
With tears in his eyes, these people plead with us to bless this infant so
that his life would be saved. My companion started to go through with it,
but I pulled him aside, swiftly telling him in english that this poor thing
was on death's door, and that we had no right to abuse these people's faith
by giving him a blessing to be healed when we knew very well that he would
more than likely not survive the night. I could not, and would not
participate in what I knew to be a sham. My companion told the parents that
he could not bless it tha tit would be healed, only that the passing would
be painless (more bovine fecal matter). All the while, the infant writhed
in pain.
The child did indeed die that night.
We did not see them for several weeks. When we finally did run into them,
they avoided eye contact with us, and quickly begged off. A night or two
later, this man walked up, staggering drunk, apologizing to us for his
weakness and lack of faith. He felt that God was punishing him for his
sins, and that he deserved the loss of his child. He went on to explain
that he was once a member of the Otavalo Tribe of indians - they are a
reasonably pure strain of ancient natives from Inca times. They are
extremely clannish, and are not allowed to marry anyone outside of the
tribe. He met and fell in love with his future wife, who was not of this
tribe, when he was on a trip to another town. When he took her home to tell
his family of their intentions, he was told that if he was to pursue this
course, he would be completely cut off from his family, and it would be as
if he had never been born. Following his heart, he ignored their threats,
and married the woman. He related how their life had been difficult ever
since because he did not do as he was told, and the death of his child was
further proof of his sins. He clung to us, sobbing for our forgivness.
My companion derided him for being drunk, and I walked away from the
spectacle, unable to give any comfort to this man's grief, and angry with
my companion for being such a hypocritical ass.
I had been on my mission roughly 18 months when I received the Dear John. I
did not, and could not write her any sort of response. To do so would have
been far too painful. How does one deal with the rejection of a loved one?
The church would tell you that if she didn't wait, then it wasn't to be. I
have never been much of a fatalist, and felt certain that man cannot be so
blase about something as important as chosing a lifetime mate. I tried to
tell myself that we just weren't meant to be, but it didn't really help. In
our time together, she and I formed a bond that would prove impossible to
sever, despite time and distance, and no matter how our own pride and
stupidity got in the way. It was only in the past few years that I've fully
learned to understand, and appreciate the true nature of that bond.
At the time of my Dear John, I was working in a northern suburb of Quito.
The branch there was fairly well organized, and the local people took care
of the majority of the details as far as running things were concerned,
unlike most of the areas in which I had worked over the course of my
mission. As in other areas, the member activity level was quite low, but
due to sheer numbers, there were usually a fair number of people at church
every week.
During the weeks following receipt of the letter, I was laid low once again
by the dreaded amoebas. The recurrent illness had become somewhat of a joke
to me by that time, and another missionary in my zone was currently dealing
with the same stuff. We were living in the same quarters, and we used to
have mock "competitions" on how long we could keep our food down. Humor is
useful in adverse circumstances.
But, the seriousness of these parasites had been driven home to me quite
thoroughly by my experiences in Santo Domingo. After more than a month of
being unable to function, and visiting doctors who were unable to do
anything but give me the same medicine over and over, I decided to take
matters into my own hands. I scheduled a chat with the new mission
president.
He was a very personable; an easy-to-talk-with kind of guy. His name was
Wagner. Unlike our former mission president (David Farrell), he was older,
and had retired several years before becoming a mission pres. We discussed
my current physical state, and he was concerned also, but seemed to think
that since I was so close to completing my mission, that I should just
"tough it out" for the next five months. This was in September of 1979. We
talked some more, and he asked me to pray about it before making a
decision.
At this time I should like to diverge from my narrative to make a few
comments on prayer. I was taught as a child that I should pray about
everything - every decision, every event, should be subjected to God's
approval through the medium of prayer. This had always been difficult for
me, because we were told that if something was "right", then we would
receive a "burning in the bosom", and if it was "wrong" then we would
receive nothing at all, or confusion about the subject. My family was no
exception to the mormon rule of prayer; we prayed morning, noon, and night.
However, our prayers were more often than not the mormon standard of
"thanks for the blessings, the church, our family", etcetera. Whenever it
was my turn to pray, I always had trepidation, because it seemed to me to
be just so much repititious verbiage. When I was in my teens, I went
through the motions to please my parents, but avoided having to do it at
any church functions. It was bad enough to have to do it at home, but to do
it in public made the play acting even more unpalatable. Before I went on
my mission, I never received the old "burning", nor did I have any of the
opposite feelings either. At the risk of being repetitive, the most I ever
received was feelings of blandness.
The night before I went into the LTM, I hiked up Provo Canyon to pray. It
was a beautiful late winter night, and there were no clouds to obscure the
spectacular vault of stars spread above me. Once alone, I knelt and prayed
as never before. Deep feelings came out of me, and I begged to "know" of
the correctness of the course on which I was about to embark. I did not ask
for anything other than that which I had been taught my whole life, that
is; the burning in the bosom. I did not request signs, manifestations,
visions, visitations, nor any other celestial phenomena - just a simple
answer. The same answer that had been promised to anyone who humbly sought
it - to know of a certainty that what I was doing was right. I knelt until
my knees ached, but there was nothing. After a long while, I got up and
walked back to where I was staying. Disappointed, and feeling guilty
because I assumed that there must be something wrong with me, I went ahead
with the mission.
I am not a person who seeks proof, but somehow even the so-called simple
spiritual promises of prayer seemed to elude me. During the course of my
mission, I had a few of what might be termed small "spiritual experiences",
but I can liken them to feelings that I have also had while being
throroughly engaged in some type of "non-spiritual" group activity, like
team sports. None of them ever let me know that I was doing the right
thing. In fact, as I went through my mission, I was more and more inclined
to feel the opposite. I tried to avoid this feeling, because I had been
taught that to go contrary to the teachings of the church would be to
follow the father of deception (like many other religions, mormonism is
great at creating chimeras with which to scare the faithful!). So, I
supressed these feelings of doubt, hoping that one day I might be worthy to
receive confirmation.
You should know, however, that despite everything you have read up to this
point, I was still an optimist about the church at that time in my life. I
hoped it was true, and to even consider the opposite was too terrible to
even contemplate - that is, that everything I had been taught my whole life
was untrue.
Returning to my apartment, I did as the mission president asked, and prayed
fervently that night to know the right thing to do. As always, there was
nothing. I thought about the children who had died in Santo Domingo, and
others who suffered from the same malady as I, and decided that I would ask
the mission president to get me transferred back to the States to receive
proper medical attention, and perhaps finish my mission in some semblance
of health.
to be continued...
Thank you very much for giving me the opportunity to post my views for
others to read. This is a new for me, and I hope that others might be able
to learn from my experiences.
"...Going to California with an aching, in my heart." - Led Zepplin
The following day, I met again with the Mission President. Once again, he
listened intently to the things I had to say, and my rationale for wanting
to go stateside. When I had finished, he looked at me for a good long while
without saying anything. His disappointment in my decision was written
plainly on his features, and I felt rather guilty - even though I knew I
was doing the best thing for my health. After the pregnant silence, he
asked me if I had really prayed about this, and said that perhaps it might
be a good idea if I gave it further consideration. I was somewhat offended
by his change in demeanor, and that he would try to manipulate me into
doing something that may well have permanent negative consequences as far
as my health was concerned. Mormon missionaries pay their own way, and I
was no exception, so why should I be made to feel guilty because I didn't
want to sacrifice my health, or even my life for a "cause" that I believed
in only marginally? Keeping my composure, I reassured him that I had indeed
prayed quite a lot regarding this matter, and that this was indeed the
proper, and only course of action. He questioned me one more time on this,
and I began to weary at his unwillingness to accept my decision about my
life.
Individuals placed in leadership positions often use their supposed
superiority to manipulate individuals in their charge. Church members,
especially missionaries, are taught that the leadership is "inspired", and
that they should submit their decisions to the "wise counsel" of those who
are placed in stewardship over them. Philisophically, this is a bad thing,
because it teaches people to question their own ability to make life
decisions, and makes them more dependent upon the infrastructure of the
church. The entire church organization is set up to make the membership
feel commitment. Tithing, endless meetings, ward budget and other
contributions, church jobs, and missions, are all designed to keep the
membership dependent upon the organization. After all, how many people
would want to give up something in which they have invested so much of
their time, money, and energy?
Unsuccessful at deterring my purpose, he gave it one last try, asking me
that since the lord had intended for me to serve in Ecuador, how could I
possibly be content to complete it elsewhere? This one was almost more than
I could bear, and I really wanted to tell him that I thought it was all a
bunch of nonsense, and that he should just send me home. Of course, decorum
(and years of conditioning) prevented me from doing so, and I just
reiterated my desires without responding to his arguments. With a look not
unlike disgust, he told me that he could arrange to have me transferred to
the California, San Diego Mission, and that they would see to the care of
my health problems. Then he picked up the phone and called the mission
secretary, telling him that he was to arrange for my departure the
following day.
I was met at the airport by the APs, who drove me to the mission home,
where I had a brief, and wholly disappointing 3 minute interview with the
president. His name was Middleton. He seemed distracted during the brief
time I spent with him, and more than a little annoyed that I should inquire
as to when I would get to see a doctor regarding my amoebic problems. He
told me that the APs would take care of it, then sent me on my way.
The treatment I received from both mission presidents was completely
unwarranted. I am sure that the fact that I was seriously ill, and making
an issue of receiving proper treatment, made them think that I was
something less than a dedicated missionary. Their whole attitude was one of
annoyance, and I was treated with disdain as a result of their mindset.
I was sent to stay with some other missionaries, and several days later,
the APs called to say that they had made a doctor's appointment for me. I
should note that few doctors in the United States have experience in
dealing with tropical diseases, and the one to whom I was taken had no idea
as to how to proceed. He said that I would do well to see a specialist. I
told the APs what had transpired, and they said that they would take care
of it.
A couple of more weeks went by, and I was becoming impatient with the lack
of attention being giving to my medical situation. At this point, I was
still unable to eat much, and what I did eat was (to be delicate)
"processed through" quite rapidly. Also, I had started passing blood.
I called my parents, explaining to them fully my current physical state,
and the action, or inaction taken by the mission in that regard. To say the
least, they were put off by the mission's apparent lack of interest in my
health. After a long talk, we decided that they should call the mission
president to discuss what was being done. A while later, they called back
to tell me that they had spoken with him, and were singularly unimpressed
with his attitude towards me. He told them that he had no intention of
having me hospitalized, and that it was not the mission's responsibility.
My parents said that their discussion had ended with him agreeing to send
me home to Houston, where I could be given proper medical attention - the
Univeristy of Texas Medical Center is one of the best in the world. Then,
if I so chose, I could have the option of returning to Sand Diego to finish
my mission after I was well. This was the best idea I'd heard in months! I
telephoned the mission president, who said that he did not need to give me
an exit interview, and so I caught a taxi to the airport the following day
for the flight home.
I spent the next four weeks in the hospital, being poked, prodded, x-rayed,
and tested. Just how totally anomalous my malady was in the USA was brought
to my full attention on a daily basis, as each day I would be visited by at
least half a dozen different doctors interested in tropical disease. Anyone
who has ever been hospitalized will tell you that it is not much fun, and
my experience was, on the whole, less than pleasant. But, I did receive
proper treatment, and my health was stabilized. The diagnosis was:
dysentery, colitis, and hepatitis B.
Being in the hospital gave me a great deal of time to reflect on my own
motivations for going on a mission, and the course that had led me back
home. I still had not been "released", so officially I was still a
missionary, but the thought of returning to the San Diego Mission for
another four months was not one that I relished. At that point in my life,
I had more than a belly full of the whole mission scene, and was anxious to
get on with my life. Since I had heard nothing more from my now
ex-girlfriend, I figured that I would just move ahead with my life, maybe
go to school, maybe even move out to California. Most of father's relatives
live in So. California, so I wouldn't be a complete stranger there.
Besides, being a surfer for many years, I was anxious to live someplace
where they had "real" waves. I wasn't really sure what I wanted to do next
- besides get well.
After getting out of the hospital, the Stake President came to visit me. He
was very kind and inquired solicitously after my health. We spoke at great
length about my mission, and after a while, he asked me if I had any desire
to complete it. If I chose to complete it, then I would be required to make
up the time I had been ill. If I chose not too, then I would receive a
"medical release" from my mission, rather than an "honorable release". This
issue did not concern me one way or the other. I was still not running on
all "eight cylinders", and the doctors had told me that it would be several
months before I would feel one hundred percent.
I chose not to return.
During my recuperation, I stayed with my parents, going through the motions
of being an active member. As far as the church was concerned, I was a
returned missionary, and they immediately set about trying to give me
various callings. I declined, citing health reasons (when I really wanted
to tell them that I didn't want any more church related responsibilities),
but I did go to church. I worked slowly at rebuilding my physical and
emotional strength; I started surfing again, I started running, I read a
lot, I even began dating - albeit somewhat tentatively.
A couple of months went by, and I had just returned from surfing when my
mother said I had received some mail. Along with the latest copy of Surfer
magazine, was what appeared to be a wedding announcement. It was addressed
in Tamara's (my ex-girlfriend) handwriting. Yes, she was getting married.
The wedding date was still a week off, and I knew that if nothing else, I
should at least call her. I really didn't know what I would say, but that
didn't matter. I knew that I had to make the call.
Tamara was still at BYU, so calling directory assistance, I obtained
hernumber. Scared stiff, I dialed. After three rings, a strange voice
answered the phone. It was her roommate. She told me that Tamara was in SLC
at her parents, and that if I wanted to talk to her, that I should call
there. I still had their number, so I called.
Her mother answered the phone. I asked if I could speak to her, and she
inquired as to whom was calling. When I told her who I was, she became
extremely upset with me, saying that I had hurt her daughter deeply, and
that I had a lot of nerve in calling a week before her wedding. Then, she
hung up. I was shocked, to say the least. After all, she had written the
Dear John, not the other way around. My mind went reeling through a dozen
different scenarios, but I realized that to act on anything would be
impossible. So I decided to just "let it be". In my heart, I wished her
well (I still loved her) and hoped that she would be happy in her new life.
So much for broken dreams.
While I was in Ecuador, I made the acquaintance of another missionary who
was from Huntington Beach, California, and was also a surfer. We had been
corresponding, and it was at his invitation that I decided to move out
there. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my future, but I knew that I
could in no way go back to BYU - the mormon "atmoshpere" was more than I
could handle. Besides, I might run into Tamara up there, and that was an
idea that I could not bear. At the very least, while in California I could
surf and go to school.
Southern California has a very large, and extremely well organized
population of mormons. As a result, there's plenty for a single person to
do. Since I knew only a few people, being a member of the church gave me an
instant social circle. My friend - the returned missionary - was active,
and we participated in the usual round of dances, firesides, and all of
that type of thing. I dated a little, but mostly I surfed, worked, and
started attending classes at the local Junior College. Life in So. Cal. is
very different than life at BYU, but there is still that subtle pressure to
returned missionaries to get married and start on that treadmill.
Six months after I moved there, I met Kathy. We started dating, then began
talking marriage. I should say at this point that the feelings that were
within in me for Tamara were still very much alive, and I figured that
there would be no way that they would be fully eclipsed by any other
relationship. Yes, I did feel love for Kathy, but it was not the same kind
of deep and abiding feeling that I had previously experienced. This may
sound rather convoluted; but, my rationale was that the sort of feelings
that Tamara and I had experienced was a kind of once in a lifetime deal,
and that through my own ineptitude (or unworth), I had blown whatever
chance that we may have had for a future. So, I decided that since Kathy
seemed to genuinely love me, and since we were both a mass of seething
hormones, it was a better idea to get married than to commit some type of
sin.
Prior to going on my mission, I - like most teenage males, did a fair bit
of sexual experimentation, but this had all been cleared up before I went
on my mission. Knowing my own proclivities, I knew that if Kathy and I
continued to date, we would sure enough end up in the sack. I still was
going to church at this point in my life, and my hope for the truthfulness
of the gospel was still there. I did not want to be excommunicated for
having sex, but I also wanted to indulge myself. So, like many, we got
married young, and for the wrong reasons.
I never felt comfortable with the temple ceremony, it seemed rather
strange, and smacked of something that was somehow less than honest. In
other words, all of the "great and wonderful" things that I was taught
about the temple as a youth never really measured up. The reality was far
less than the conception thereof. The promises bothered me, and the whole
thing about women being subject to men seemed somehow discriminating. All
of the old people running around, saying the same thing over and over
again, it was somehow comic, and tragic all at the same time. I would look
at them, wondering if that would be me someday - old and bent with age,
spending my time closed up in a pretentious building wearing a white suit
doing something that I didn't think was real. I just couldn't picture
myself doing that. The idea of being with the person I love forever is a
grand concept. But, what if you ended up marrying someone that you couldn't
stand? What kind of God would force two people to be together forever if
they didn't like each other? Sounds more like hell to me.
Since I had been off my mission, I had refrained from going to the temple
because of these reservations, but I knew that if what I had been taught my
whole life was true, that we had to get married there. During the course of
our nine month courtship, Kathy had had seemed to agree with most of my
ideas on life, so I figured we had a fairly good chance of being happy
together. But, I had some nagging doubts about it all. Afraid of being
alone for the rest of my life (and eternity???), I decided to go through
with it anyway.
As she went through the temple to get her endowment, I watched her
reactions during the ceremony. She seemed alternately surprised,
bewildered, and shocked. This made me sad in some strange way, but I
suppose that my own reactions to the first time were somewhat similar. At
the end of the ceremony, when everyone goes through the veil, there was a
mix up, and some old geezer ended up bringing her through, instead of me.
When she finally showed up in the Celestial room, she didn't really want to
talk about it all. In retrospect, I should've taken this as a harbinger of
things to come.
We were married in the LA temple in June of 1981.
During the first year of our marriage, we did what we were supposed to do.
We went to church, had callings, and paid tithing (even though we couldn't
afford it). I was teaching the 14 year old sunday school class, and the
lesson plan that year was "lives of the prophets", or something like that.
The lessons were built around small scenarios and stories pulled from the
lives of presidents of the church since Joseph Smith. After doing this for
several months, and not feeling so great about it, I started to really
study the lesson plans. They were so superficial, transparently naive, and
sometimes patently false in the ideas that they were trying to convey.
Basically, each lesson plan was virtually identical; a story would be told
about how noble and virtuous thus and such a prophet was in his youth, and
it would always culminate with the recommendation that "at this point the
instructor should bear his/her testimony on the truthfulness of the
principle being taught". I felt real uncomfortable teaching type of ideas
to the kids, because I had come to the realization that I could not do the
things that the lesson plans asked, namely give my testimony that they were
true.
So, I chucked the lesson plan, and taught three or four weeks of classes
from stories that I enjoyed from the bible. The sunday school president was
not pleased with my deviation from the lesson plan, so I resigned.
Kathy's family comes from "mormon pioneer" stock, and the church is a very
strong tradition in her family. In spite of her upbringing, she also had
serious doubts about the church (for very different reasons which I will
not go into), and it was during this time that we began to talk about our
own feelings on the church. Many of the feelings that I had hoarded
throughout my life, and more especially, during my mission began to
surface. This was so for a number of reasons. Our marriage was less than
the mormon ideal - like many young married couples, we were not very well
prepared for our life together, and it was not long after our wedding that
we found out how very different we were. I am an adventurous, risk taking
kind of person, whereas she was mostly interested in security, and
stability. There were many other differences which really have no bearing
on the church, per se, but the increasing realization that we were not
really happy with our marriage did affect our outlook on the church.
We did work very hard, and had a difficult time making ends meet because it
costs so much to live in California. During this time I was approached by a
co-worker about a potential business opportunity. Being financially
desparate, I agreed to take a look at his business plan. We met for
breakfast one morning, and he took out a piece a paper and began drawing
circles and lines; talking about uplines, and becoming financially
independent. He told me that he and some of his business associates would
be having a meeting later that week, and that my wife and I should come to
check it out. In my naivte, I agreed.
We met at the pre-arranged location, and Kathy and I rode with them to an
industrial park complex. There were at least two hundred people in the
building, everyone was running around, shaking hands, and smiling that
insincere sort of "I'm so happy" smile. It reminded me a lot of going to an
LDS service. Once the meeting began, they had a dozen or more people who
got up to tell us how this business had changed their lives (you guessed
it, Amway!). After three or four of these testimonials (testimonies), I
began to have this strange feeling that all of this was very familiar. The
speakers would get real emotional, talking about how their lives had been
changed by the business, how their time was so fully occupied, and all of
the things they expected to get as a result of their association. The
feeling of similarity was overwhelming, and when we went home that evening,
I realized that the Amway meeting was run exactly like a mormon testimony
meeting.
The similarities in emotions. The constant repetitions of testimonials. The
total immersion in the cause. The association of those who are likewise
engaged, it was all the same. This has no bearing on the truthfulness of
the church, but it made me take a serious look at the whole thing, and
analyze why it was that I had never felt anything for the church throughout
the course of my entire life.
After our experience with the Amway meeting, as I said earlier, I really
began to analyze objectively why it was that my feelings, and experiences
about the church we such as I have described in this account (by the way,
we didn't join that organization either). Having tried for so many years to
force myself into a mold that did not fit, I realized that there was really
and truly nothing "wrong" with me at all. The reasons why I never felt what
the other mormons felt, or experienced that "burning in the bosom" to which
many people testified was that I simply did not require that level of
organization, regimentation, and control over my life in order to be
spiritual - or experience spirituality. For me, I found that spirituality
did not arise from living my life according to the dictates of some
pre-designed set of tenets, but from living my life in a spirit of love.
A person cannot be true to any other individual, job, organization, or
religion if they are not true to themselves. Because I was raised in the
LDS church, and because I love and respect my parents, I falsely assumed
that in order to "do the right thing" I must live my life as they had
taught me. With respect to the mormon church I had tried to do this
throughout my life, but somehow never received any of the confirmation that
was supposed to accompany this type of life. Even from the time I was a
small child, I had always felt like a square peg being shoved into a round
hole (or a fish out of water - pick the metaphor), and I finally realized
at that time in my life - I was 23 - that in order for me to be a "success"
as a human being and for my life to have value and meaning, I would need to
live my life without the mormon church as its center.
The answer that I had sought my whole life had been right in front of me
all the time, I just never noticed it because I was too busy trying to
focus on something that FOR ME made absolutely no sense - the mormon
religion.
Prior to that time in my life, I had had doubts about the veracity of the
church, but I had always shelved them away. Freed from the dogma, they
began to come forth, and it was a singular experience. I began to share
them with my wife, who was 8 months pregnant. As I mentioned, her doubts
came from a very different source than my own, and she wasn't really
interested in my own views on spiritual philosophy, nor was she interested
in living life as a mormon either.
Looking at the church from this new perspective, we stopped going to church
right after our daughter's birth. I shied away from other religious
organizations, but studied heavily on all different types of religious and
spiritual concepts. I felt that in order for me to be truly objective, that
I must have a more wide ranging knowledge of as many different views on
this topic as possible.
At first, the blatant contradictions that lie at the heart of mormon belief
became glaringly obvious to me. The challenge that "the Joseph Smith Story
has to be true, or else all of mormonism is a lie" did not stand up to the
light of extreme scrutiny by logic. I knew that the mormon myths, legends,
and fairy tales that had been taught to me as a child may have had their
basis in some truth, but were twisted along the way in order to accomodate
a growing worldly organization. By the same token, in the course of my
studies I found that most of the world's organized religions cannot stand
up to the same sort of logicial scrutiny either.
Where did that leave me?
Yes, just where did that leave me?
After spending a great deal of time studying other religions, and spiritual
philisophies, and talking with people of all different types of faiths, I
came to a conclusion that has seemed to work well for me. I mentioned early
on in this communication that a person's religious beliefs have absolutely
nothing to do with anything that can be "provable"; it is based wholly on
faith. Any attempt to prove the truthfulness of a belief system is bound to
fail, because they are based on faith.
Webster's dictionary says that faith is " a belief not based on logical
proof or material evidence", and I remember something that I heard once at
church when I was a teenager (if I may paraphrase); Faith is the belief in
things yet hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. I never sought proof
that the mormon church was true, and for the first 23 years of my life, I
tried with all of my heart to believe. But, for me it was not to be so.
To the reader who might say that I simply did not have the faith, or that
my faith was not true, I have this as an answer: Since my ambiguous
feelings about the church have always been with me, does that mean I was
faithless as a child? And if so, where does that leave the teachings of
your god in regards to little children? Throughout my life I wanted it to
be true, I hoped it would be true, but the promises made by my teachers,
church leaders, parents, and general authorities were all empty as far they
related to my own life.
The human mind can convince itself to believe just about anything. And once
convinced, if that person has enough "faith", then that belief becomes
"true" - relative to that individual. I have likened religious faith to
romantic love, and it is so. No matter what other people may think, if a
person has enough faith, then it is true to them. No amount of logical
disputation can gainsay that belief. Truth, as far as religion is
concerned, is relative to the individual.
Relative to my life, the mormon belief system was not true. But then again,
I also found that no other set of religious dogma would be required - for
me - to live my life according to the dictates of my own heart. The world
is full of disparate religions. Religions that have been, and always will
be at odds to one another. According to the myth, Joseph Smith was confused
because they all claimed to be right. What I found out was that if a
religion teaches good, and helps people to become better human beings as a
result of these teachings, then it is "true" (again, relative to
individuals), no matter how ridiculous or outlandish its claims may be to
outsiders.
As far as religions claiming to have a monopoly on God, it is my personal
belief that God cannot be so small minded as to restrict humans to one set
of "true" beliefs. There have been too many people on the earth over the
course of time to think that this type of thought would be fair. What I do
think is that individuals will more than likely be judged according to how
they have lived their lives with respect to their own individual beliefs -
the truth relative to themselves.
Basically, what I found was that I did not need the things that mormonism,
or any other type of religion, had to offer in order for me to; a) be a
good human being; b) be a spiritual human being; and c) try to live my life
according to the golden rule.
Enough of heavy philisophy.
During this time, my wife and I slowly drifted apart. Like many, we got
married for the wrong reasons, and as time passed, it became more apparent
that we would not make a successful life together.
When I started this letter, I stated that I have never set out to disabuse
any mormon of their beliefs. With the bishop, such was the case. I did not
try to convince him that he was wrong, and that I was right. I really did
not want to make him feel like I was belittling him for what he believed,
but he asked me to be honest, and I felt that unless I was anything less
than honest, then he would more than likely keep badgering me to come back
"into the fold". I still remember the look on his face, it was almost as if
I had told him that I did not believe in Santa Claus. I felt bad, but there
was no guilt in my actions; for the first time in my life I had been
vocally honest about what I really felt regarding the church, and it was
most liberating.
They did not keep after us, although in the years since, I have had several
occasions where they have attempted to contact me. Their persistence is
quite amazing, because I have moved quite a few times in the ensuing years.
Being unshackled from the drudgery of the mormon lifestyle, I was amazed at
the mental and spiritual peace that slowly came into my life. It did not
happen all at once, for there were years of mental conditioning that had to
be undone. I have never felt any guilt for leaving the church, and my life
has been far better as a result. I will go into more of this later.
With leaving the church, Kathy and I lost whatever common ground that we
may have had, with the exception of our daughter. During the last year of
our marriage, I was paid a visit from a "ghost" from the past.
It was a fine spring day, and I was cutting the yard. Kathy came out to
tell me that there was some lady on the phone for me. After wiping the
sweat out of my eyes, I thought 'who would be calling me?'. I hoped it
wasn't someone from church. After answering the phone and hearing the voice
on the other end, I nearly dropped the receiver. It was Tamara.
We talked for a while, and she told me that she and her husband had several
children, and were now living in Ohio. We chatted for a while, sort of
playing catch up, then said goodbye. Why did she call? This troubled me,
because my marriage was certainly failing, and this "ghost" raised even
more questions and doubts. I still loved Tamara, after a fashion, but I
wasn't "in love". In other words, I had no intention of leaving my wife to
chase her across the country, nor did I want to cause any problems in
Tamara's life. So, I left things as they were. I had enough problems with
my marriage to know better than to try and stir up something that might
cause many people grief.
Several moths later, Kathy and I separated, then divorced. We did not
pursue a "temple divorce" because we never believed it anyway.
Over the course of the next several years, I changed careers, and was able
to finish up my college education. During that time, Tamara and I talked
occasionally. In these conversations we were able, because of time and
distance, to analyze what it was that we had experienced those many years
ago, and the actions/inactions that had led to our eventually letting go of
one another. She related to me what had occurred to her after the Dear
John, and I was floored. Her intention with the letter had been to simply
"put the brakes" on our relationship, not to end it. Since I had failed to
write back, she assumed that I did not want anything to do with her, and
became quite ill. It was during that time that her future husband, who was
a friend, helped her through it all. In her convalescence, he proposed to
her. She decided that although she wasn't in love with him, she did care
for him. She related that he was nice and loved her, and that was
sufficent. So, they got married.
Knowing this, I could understand her mother's reaction to my phone call one
week before her wedding.
This also liberated me from holding onto an ideal of the past. Sure it
hurt, but there was no one to blame but ourselves. The church didn't make
us do, or not do anything. We made our own choices, and the relationship
that has evolved as a result of those choices has been very important to
both of us. With our periodic phone calls, we have used each other as a
sounding board for ideas, thoughts, and relationships. She is my very dear
friend, and something more, because of the bond that we formed so many
years ago in our youth. Yes, she is still married, happily so, although it
took her husband a while to adjust to the idea of us speaking. The pain
associated with past memories is gone, and I cannot feel anything but good
towards her, and the life she has made with her husband and family.
I have also served as entertainment for her - for she has loved to hear
stories of my travels and experiences, and I have also given her ideas to
ponder regarding the church.
In the years since I have left the church, I have had occasion to share my
views with my parents, family, and friends. My parents are quite active (in
the church), but they are tolerant of my views, and respect the fact that I
try to live my life according to the dictates of my heart. My father is
very intelligent, and has experienced many things in his life. He
understands how I feel, and does not make an issue of our differences. He
knows that I am happy with how my life is unfolding, and feels confident
that I am doing that which I feel is right for me.
Many of my former mormon "friends" have nothing to do with me. This is very
typical, and it does not bother me. They were never anything more than
social acquaintances anyway. On the other hand, there are still individuals
in my life whom I consider to be my very dear friends - they just happen to
be mormon. Like my father, they are people of integrity, and are secure
enough in their own beliefs not to feel threatened by a former mormon. I
consider it a measure of an individual's emotional and spiritual maturity
to be able to be accepting of belief systems that do not coincide with
their own.
To anyone who might read this I would say: Find out what your own truth is,
then hold true to it with all of your might. For some reason that I cannot
fully fathom, the mormon church did not provide that which I needed in
order to be spiritually fulfilled. I know many people for whom it works
very well indeed. If it is "true" to you, then live it. If it is not, then
get out! For it will only cause you frustration, guilt, and anger. I am
tolerant of other's belief systems because I feel that God is big enough to
encompass all beliefs that teach good.
What has happened in the ten years since my wife and I separated? I have
done many things, and been many places. I have traveled extensively, and
used my time to gain a more complete understanding of my own nature, and
thereby a fuller understanding of human nature. This journey is a
continuing one, and I do not make any claims at having the secret to
happiness, or salvation. I have experienced good and bad, success and
failure, love and heartbreak, exhilaration and abject depression. All of
these are part of the human experience; Life is never an 'arriving', but a
'becoming'. The good of life comes in the journey, not the end.
And my daughter? She is now 12 years old. She is a wonderful human being,
and a very sweet young lady. Until four years ago, I still lived close to
where she, her mother, stepfather, and stepbrother live. After moving to
Texas, we still have stayed in close contact. I just can't see her on a
weekly basis because of our geographic separation. She is a deep thinker, a
reader, a poet, and a child after my own heart - sometimes her mother tells
me that she is so much like me it makes her want to scream!. She is not
being raised in the church, so she will not have that to deal with along
with all of the other trials that growing up has to offer.
Over the last two years, I have experienced more completely than any other
time in my life, a happiness and singularity of purpose unlike anything
before. I mentioned earlier on that I have only met two people in my life
whom I felt of certain I have know before (where or when? it does not
matter). When I met my wife, Elise, was the second time.
Because of my past, I have never been one to rush into relationships with
those of the opposite sex. If anything, I have tried to shield myself from
becoming too emotionally involved - a holdover from my past, no doubt. But
when we met, we both felt an emotional bond unlike anything before. I have
been able to give myself without reserve to Elise, because we are kindred
spirits. We are very much alike, and friends have said that we are mirror
images of one another. Not in any physical way, but who and what we are.
Less than a month after we met, we were engaged. We have now been married
one year, and our life together is the stuff one reads of in books.
We live on a sailboat, and are preparing for a journey across the Gulf of
Mexico, across the Caribbean, through the Panama Canal, and up to Costa
Rica, where we plan to live for an unspecified period of time. Once in
Costa Rica, we will be starting a family - something I have never felt
compelled to do before. Before we met, this journey was one for which we
both had planned and dreamed. Upon meeting, we knew that our lives must be
joined.
My wife is one of the most spiritually "in tune" people I have ever met,
and she is not a member of the church, nor has she ever been one. The life
that we are making together is one of which I have always dreamed. Together
we are making it a reality. This oneness of purpose is something that I
have never experienced, and I am certain that it is rare. I have been
blessed beyond my ability to count, there is no doubt in my mind of that
fact. Call it a testimony, call it what you will, but I know that we were
prepared for one another. There are too many similarities to not think it
so.
The teachings of the mormon church would have one think otherwise. Because
I have rejected them in my own life, the church would say that I should not
be recipient of such blessings. All this does for me is confirm the fact
that I made the right decision in leaving the mormons. I have never
regretted my decision, and the events of the past two years have served as
an even greater confirmation of the rightness of that decision. I never was
more certain of anything in my entire life.
Had I not left, I would not be where I am today.
"The Beginning."
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Page Modified November 11, 1998