(This was written for a religious studies class I am taking. I modified it slightly for privacy and removed the photographs that originally accompanied it.)
It was during middle school that the possibility that the church wasn’t true occurred to her.
She sat, as she often did after school, at the kitchen table. The hum of the sewing machine thrummed in the table. She enjoyed talking to her mom. The conversation somehow turned to Amy. She had just been called as Laurel president. She had tried to refuse. Tried to tell the bishop she didn’t want to, didn’t believe it. But he had pressed her into it. Said it would bolster her faith.
And it was as her mother spoke in that odd voice of her older sister’s disbelief that, for the first time, it became a real thing that some people did not believe the church was true.
I tell people I was a perfect Mormon girl right up until my apostasy. This is not the truth. Life is never that simple.
After the first apostasy followed the second and the third. The score stood four in, three out. My parents, Robert, and I still counted ourselves among the faithful. Becky and Brian joined Amy. I had never been particularly close to my siblings, so their defection did not affect me directly. However as the baby of the family, trailing by more than five years, I am very close to my parents. It hurt to see how worried and crushed they were. Still are. I saw a lot of prayers and futile gestures. The Ensign delivered every month. The dying hope in their eyes. And it killed me. Still does.
The whole truth and nothing but the truth is that I almost was. Almost.
Setting: A pale pink room. The walls are almost covered with posters, magazine clippings, pictures and figurines. A bed and dresser are against the far wall. The family computer is on the near wall. A picture of Christ is on the top left of the computer desk.
Characters: Dianne. A 12-year-old girl with long, straight brown hair, Dianne is the youngest of five children.
(Dianne enters stage left. She puts on pajamas and sits in bed reading for a moment. She is clearly distraught and fidgety. Finally, seemingly losing the battle, she gets up and turns on the computer. After some clicking she looks visibly upset. There is more clicking. She gets up and then kneels at her bed to pray, lit only by the blue glow of the computer. The Windows shut down noise plays and the stage goes dark.)
I was born of goodly parents on July 30 in the Bingham Memorial Hospital.
Foibles
Dammit!
Once again
I’ve slipped up
Done something
I did not want
To do.
I was baptized in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when I was eight years old. I went to church every Sunday for 19 and a half years unless I was sick or on a trip.
All of my siblings had been baptized by my father. Being so much younger, I actually had a choice. Brian was 18 and, as a Priest in the Aaronic priesthood, could baptize me too. I thought it would be special. Something not many other people had – an older brother performing the baptism. My dress was beautiful. White, with purple flowers on the hem, a purple ribbon tie and puffy sleeves. It was a wonderful day. With family and friends on hand, life was good.
Later I found out my brother was quite the drinker in high school. Did that somehow curse the baptism? Cast a shadow over what should have been a cleansing – a metaphorical rebirth? Was it foreshadowing – the sins of the brother visited upon the sister? Or perhaps it was just that I was now accountable for my sins. I could no longer die unblemished. So every snide thought and moment of weakness in my twisted heart added another shade of gray to my soul. Each indiscretion another number in the column that added up to apostasy.
I faithfully attended Achievement Days, Mutual and seminary. I was Beehive president, Miamaid second counselor and Laurel president.
young. in bed. she felt a crushing weight on her chest. she calls to her mother. it happened again. she’s so small and the concept of eternity is so large. alone in her bed she feels overwhelmed. the panic wells up. spills. overflowing. her mother comforts but does not understand. now older the thought still frightens.
I went on a handcart trek with my parents, visited Kirtland and prayed in the Sacred Grove.
It haunts me sometimes. The words that may never be fulfilled because of my choices now.
“If you will do all of these things and be able to endure in all that you will be called to endure and be faithful to the end you will be worthy to be called forth on the morning of the first resurrection, to there be crowned with glory, immortality, and eternal life having the signs and tokens that are necessary to walk past the angels back into the presence of your Father in Heaven to be there with your loved ones through the eternities.”
I do not believe this to be true. Yet in some part of my brain, I am a little afraid. I am a little worried that maybe – just maybe – I have completely and totally screwed myself over.
But I have my flaws. My weaknesses.
And even now. Now that I have made my choice, my life decision, there is still a sliver of my mind that asks, “What if?” What if I am wrong? But I suppose that is what got me here in the first place. The little “what if?” in my head that made me ask, “Well what if it’s not true?” And once you ask that, you have to find out. I did. I made my choice and now it’s really a waiting game. For a religion that asks you not to gamble, I sure placed a big bet on them being wrong. I think it’s a sure thing. But here’s the problem with me – I can admit that I will never know with an absolute certainty one way or another. That can be a little scary sometimes. The stakes are high and sometimes it feels like I went all in and might have to fold.
I heard a lot of talks directed to the young men that applied to me. I even considered writing to the General Authorities to alert them. Make sure they realized it wasn’t just boys with this problem.
newfound self
small skirmishes to start
then a civil war
conflicted person
deeply rooted feelings on both sides
a ceasefire
painful peace
one nation, under god?
We stand – divided
Patriotic duty; present an unbroken façade
I had struggled for as long as I could remember with masturbation. It didn’t help when pornography was added into the mix.
One of the things I hate most is concealing my occasional uncertainty. I feel like if I let even one crack, one hint of doubt show it will be pointed to by all my LDS friends and family as a sign that god is still trying to speak to me. I wish I could just have a theological conversation without feeling like I’m trying to be reconverted.
The guilt was overwhelming. I even stopped for the four years I was in high school. I wanted to be temple worthy, so I could attend temple dedications and go when the mutual group did baptisms for the dead.
She came from good pioneer stock. Daughter of faithful parents, who were in turn children of faithful parents. There was never really a question. She would be Mormon. Blessed and baptized, she was raised in the faith. She memorized The Articles of Faith and scripture mastery. She gave talks and sang solos. But through it, there was never really conviction.
She was reminded of Gone With the Wind. The part where Scarlett first attends the bazaar, and looks around the room only to realize she is the only one not blazing with devotion to the Southern cause.
She felt somehow like she was missing something. For those around her, this religion was a passion. For her it was more like a tradition. And she didn’t understand where the difference lay. Why it seemed to burn so brightly within them and not her.
I made a lot of promises to god. They were always too hard to keep. I never could quit entirely.
Hell Be Damned
What will it be like?
Hell, you know.
I’m headed there right now
Oh well, Hell be damned
I’m getting to Heaven
Eventually
Hopefully
In the end though, life was good to me. The guilt from what I felt were shameful and terrible sins weighed on me, but life went on.
Setting: The living room. Brown couch on one wall opposite a forest green recliner, the front door and the closet. The piano and TV stand on opposite ends of the room.
Characters: A barely 16-year-old Dianne. Her parents are in their mid-40s. John Olsen is the patriarch.
(Dianne enters the living room dressed in a pink and white summer dress. Her parents are both in Sunday dress.)
Dad: OK. Ready to go, Twink?
(Dianne nods)
Dad: (looking at Mom) Is dinner cooking so we can break the fast when we get back?
Mom: Yes. Everything should be ready.
(The three get into the family car, a gold Nissan Altima and drive to the patriarch’s house. They go up a tree-lined drive and arrive at a farmhouse.)
Olsen: Hello Sister. Have you come fasting? Take a seat here in the front room and I’ll explain what will happen.
(All four sit. Dianne says a prayer.)
Olsen: This blessing is personal revelation from the Lord specifically for you. The blessings promised are fulfilled dependent upon your faithfulness. Also remember that this is revelation for this life and the next. If a blessing is not brought forth in this life, it will happen in the next.
(Olsen lays his hands on Dianne’s head as the lights fade out.)
When I entered high school, I started debate. Perhaps it is the analytical thinking skills and argumentation necessary to be a good debater that eventually spelled the doom of my faith.
I had some sort of desperate hope that this would not only give me guidance, but also the inspiration I alone seemed to lack. Ultimately, though, it never came and I was left wondering if I was somehow defective.
I thought my best friend Eve was perfect. I assumed she never had problems or doubts. I was wrong. But in the end she solved them differently. She is at BYU now. I love her completely.
setting out
on my own
first time
i continue to
ctr
but a strange mania
fills my heart
a need to know
i am possessed of a strange spirit
that drives me
to know
When I began seriously questioning I would read the scriptures with Ty and we would get in hours long theological discussions. Ty is my brother in spirit only, but we are – to use the Anne of Green Gables phrase – “kindred spirits.” He understood my concerns and read my thoughts.
It was Gordon B. Hinckley’s Book of Mormon challenge that did it. It was the impetus, the catalyst I needed to know for myself. So I read. And prayed. I studied other doctrinal issues I was troubled by – gay marriage, blacks and the priesthood, a history of extremes. Prayed again. Cried. Prayed. And never got an answer. I couldn’t understand why, if god wanted me to know the Mormon church was true, he had not answered my prayers. For years I had prayed for an answer without a whisper. Now when I pled with him, the heavens were silent. That was my answer.
I also called my apostate siblings. I wanted to know why they left, to see if they had reasons that seemed valid to me.
They were roommates and best friends. They even had a name together – Jilie. Julie and Di.
“No matter what you decide, I lurve you, Di.”
“I know, Jools. It means a lot to hear that. I lurve you too.”
But Julie didn’t keep her promise. It took a year to mend their broken friendship.
That killed me. Julie’s defection. I knew I could count on Eve through anything. She is truly my best friend in the world and would support me no matter what. But to know that my other friends could simply begin ignoring me or being rude to me just because I left the church really stung.
Jools
you got frustrated with me
a lack of understanding and empathy
at every turn
you hated me leaving an argument
to preserve the peace
yet you ran just as much as I
sure, you didn’t leave the apartment
but in every awkward conversation
every word left unsaid
every refusal to listen
you ran further than I did
Something had to give though. I was in too much turmoil to keep living in question.
Spring Break two years ago. I had come out of the ex-Mormon closet to my friends. But I was dreading something else – telling my parents. We were so close. I never did the sneaking, lying teenager thing. I knew now, with something so important, I couldn’t deceive them. So I went home. I told them. It broke my heart to hear my father ask in a tired, beaten voice, “What did we do wrong?”
How do you explain it was nothing they did? How do you erase the pain of one more empty seat at the celestial table? How do you explain how you can still love and value them when their world is crashing for the fourth time?
How?
I watched my parents as my siblings left. I knew exactly what I would be doing to them. I still think it would have been worse to lie, but sometimes I wish I hadn’t told them just so there would be less pain in their eyes…
re•def•i•ni•tion
be•lief n 2 : something (as a tenet or creed) believed
val•ue n 6 : something (as a principle or ideal) intrinsically valuable or desirable
self n 1 : the essential person distinct from all other persons in identity
mor•al adj 1 : of or relating to principles of right and wrong
My world awoke anew. Sometimes I wonder if life would have been easier if I had stayed Mormon. No awkward conversations with parents. A structured life. Not having to decide what my value structure is. I guess I will never know.
It’s all up to me now. Who I am. Who I will become. What I believe and value. To tell the truth, it’s all a work in progress. I still find myself being drawn to religion. Whether from superstition or a greater force, I don’t know. I want to believe there is something else out there. I don’t know if I do. For now it is enough for me to simply try to be good to myself and others.
That’s all I need now. To know that I am doing good.
why i left…
my escape was quickly made
a flurry of truth
great discontent
upheaval
but a need to know
to realize that
the natural (wo)man
is a creation of god
not an enemy
to know i can be motivated
by good and yearning and peace and truth and beauty
not fear and loathing and guilt and hatred
to live a life of freedom
not slavery
i can know happiness
i am that i might have joy
and i finally know how to do that
we must live, love, and be merry
for tomorrow we die
and who the hell knows
what’s next
i do not know all
but i know some
some peace
I know my story is nothing new. But it is mine – the Life of Di.
I <3 You…
Some things never heal…it is a sad truth.
I feel like I have healed now. Some things just take longer than others.
I read this through a couple of times (random visitor to your blog)- and it would be redundant to say how much of this I identify with and feel very connected to, especially the family dynamic, but this was written very well and encompassed so many different aspects of an experience that is, in the details, intensely personal but also touching to a broad range of people.
In short, thanks for writing this. It was oddly cathartic (being someone else’s writing) to read.
Thanks. It’s probably one of my favorite pieces of my own writing as a whole. It was, as you said, cathartic for me definitely in many ways, but in others opened up a few new issues in my heart and head.
I find it interesting how you still capitalized the word “Mormon” and corresponding words with the LDS church, but not God or words associating with Him. Well spoken Dianne. You always have been.