now that wasn't so bad

If you've been reading my blog for a few months, you'll know that last time I was in Utah was for Thanksgiving. On that trip, I had an allergic reaction to the very act of driving across the border into the Mormon state (manifest in the desire to get a tattoo or some body piercings--anything to look Not Molly Mormon). This time, though, I didn't get that suffocating feeling of needing to rebel, though I did lament the noticeably small numbers of coffee shops.

I'm not sure what was different this time; maybe it's the passage of time--I've been a non-believer for nearly three years now--or maybe it's that I had a week off and actually chose to spend it in Utah. Sometimes I think that must mean I am crazy. But really, it's about my family. I like them, whatever their beliefs. If they weren't there, I wouldn't have a reason to go to Utah (though the exmo meet-ups are nice).

The problem is we (my family and I) are virtually incapable of talking about my leaving the church. We pretend like it isn't there, that elephant in the room. Most of the time that's okay, really. There are other topics, of course. But sometimes I just want to blurt out, "I resigned my membership!"

There is one sibling, though, that surprised me with her openness and willingness to talk. Her husband recently resigned his membership, and--gasp--we actually talked about it! And other topics of belief, too. It was wonderful to have someone within the family to discuss things with. She's still a believer, but I feel like I can talk fairly openly with her (as long as I don't say something like Joseph Smith was a putz). The last time I had talked to this sister about religion, she had asked me to never talk to her about religion again, so this new openness is refreshing. The trip was worth that alone.

say a little prayer for you

A while back I wrote a post about how I assume my parents pray for me, and that's all fine and good since I know it brings them comfort, even if I don't believe it actually has any causative power.  I also wrote how I would prefer they don't inform me that they pray for my return to the church, out of respect for my world view. Further, I find it offensive to believe that god would help me on my exams or whatever, just because I or someone else prayed for it, while apparently ignoring bigger problems in the world like thousands of dying in natural disasters and wars, just because they aren't praying to him, too.   But I realize that as believers, they will and do pray for me, and I've accepted that, and they've had the good sense to keep it to themselves.

Until the other day.  

I was talking to my mom on the phone, informing her of my latest health woes (now you know why I haven't left the country yet), and at the end of the conversation, I could tell she was hesitating about something.  Finally, she blurted out, "Well, I'm praying for you.  I know you don't believe in that stuff...but I do.  So I still pray for you."

Her tone was upbeat and friendly, enough to make me laugh in reaction. It didn't seem self-righteous or like she was trying to shove her beliefs onto me at all; it was just a statement.  It was almost a little apologetic, like she was very aware I held different ideas than her.  

So I told her that's fine.  And it felt fine, too.  Praying for me during my hard times is something she does to feel a little bit more in control of circumstances way beyond her control, and a little bit of comfort.  And that doesn't seem so bad, does it?

surprise

In a phone conversation with my dad, he brought up Carl Sagan.

"I always wondered," he said with a chuckle, "what Carl Sagan thought when he woke up on the other side. 'Oops, guess I was wrong [about the non-existence of an afterlife and god]!' "

"Huh," I said to let him know I was listening. But I was quite bothered by his comment.

"Can you imagine? What do people who didn't believe in God think when they die and see God? What are they going to do then? 'Well, now what?' Bit of a shock." He laughed some more.

And once again I was jarringly reminded that I am a closet atheist.

Sure, it's easy enough to tell a random neighbor, or a non-believing colleague, or DAMU friends, or post about it openly on my anonymous blog. But tell family? Mom and Dad?

The conversation with my dad made me realize not only that I've never discussed my new positions with him, but how very far I am from telling him. How do I tell him? Just squeeze it in to a Sunday evening telephone conversation? Write a letter?

I've really not felt compelled to announce my personal beliefs like that at all, actually. I never was comfortable with testimony-bearing when I was a Mormon, though the culture encourages open and frequent professions of belief. Personal beliefs should not be the subject of casual conversation or family newsletter announcements, in my opinion.

I suppose the Carl Sagan conversation would have been the perfect opportunity to let him know. Possible phrases skipped through my mind as I listened to him. "You know, Dad, I'm an atheist." "Actually, Dad, I really respect Sagan, and I find it rather rude to talk to him like that." "Um, Dad, Sagan wasn't off the mark in my opinion."

But he was talking about atheists so dismissively, so derisively. My dad is generally quite nice. He doesn't make fun of people or speak rudely. It's weird for me to use "derisive" to describe anything he ever said. But atheists, apparently, are unworthy of the normal respect with which he would talk about the dearly departed.

I found it too difficult to come out and tell him he might as well group me with the non-believers whom he so obviously derides. It didn't occur to me that maybe he was trying to pull me out of the non-believers' closet, throwing out some bait and seeing if I'd bite. I'd assumed that the word had gotten around that I was an atheist; apparently not.

After some deliberation of whether to speak up or not, I decided on a compromise. Rather than tell him what I thought, I told him what I thought Sagan would have thought had he woken up in an afterlife after all. We'd discusses Sagan's ideas on aliens a few months ago, so I jumped off from there.

"Well, maybe Carl Sagan would think the same way about God as he would about aliens. He'd be pleasantly surprised, excited, you know, to find any aliens. He just thinks there's not enough evidence to support that idea that we will contact any aliens. Maybe he'd think the same about God. Not enough evidence to believe, but still, he'd probably say, 'Oh, okay, cool!' if he woke up after dying. You know?" Which is what I think a lot of atheists would think. We don't disbelieve in God because we don't want an afterlife necessarily, we just think there's not enough evidence to believe in one. But if there is, all right, awesome, next great adventure, huh?

My dad laughed some more, but a pleasant laugh. "Huh, yeah, maybe. That could very well be true. Like the aliens. Ha!"

And I remained in hiding.

we're happier than everyone else

We got roped into attending a Baptist church's Christmas choir performance today, as my father-in-law was playing in the orchestra. Not our cup of tea, but we wanted to go at least to support him. You know, the "the relationship is most important" mantra I'm trying to use to negotiate this Mormon-EvilAtheist divide in the family.

I sat down with my already bad attitude about Christmas this year, wanting to just get this obligation over. And don't start thinking I'm foreshadowing to a big change of heart where I realized my inner love for Baptist Christmas music, either. 'Cause this ain't about that.

Recognizing my attitude, that I was there to fail to enjoy anything, I tried to soften up and just appreciate the music. Last year I would have appreciated it. I tried through "Go Tell It On The Mountain," and through "Angels We Have Heard on High" (which used to be my favorite Christmas hymn), and through a "Joy to the World" arrangement.

I kept reminding myself that it was just a religious celebration. Could've been Islamic recitations or Jewish singing or of any other tradition, and I would've appreciated it. But I just couldn't get into it. I couldn't get past the baggage. The Christianity. The history and traditions I have rejected.

Maybe if it had been only music and song, it would have been okay. But they had to throw in those proselytizing moments, too. Showing how wonderfully happy Baptists are above other Christians and those poor, lost scoffing non-believers. How Baptists have that special light, that special something-something people recognize in them, but can't quite put their finger on. It sounded all too familiar. The same attitude as a Mormon one, just presented in slightly different terminology.

That non-believer was not giving an substantial arguments, either. He was just a straw man, speaking nothing but what was easy to "answer."

"Nah, there's nothing after death. When you're dead, you're dead!"
"Oh, no! When we die, we got to heaven with Jesus! And we live there in His love forever."
"Oh, really? What was I thinking? Gosh, that'd be great to go to heaven. How do I get there?"

The killer was when the Christian-who-isn't-good-enough-because-he-only-attends-on-Christmas-and-Easter said there must be something to the Jesus story, since it's such an old story. "If people have been telling the story for 2000 years, it can't be just a fairy tale!" Wow, what an argument. 'Cause the story of Zeus? How old is that one? And how long were Egyptians worshiping Amon-Ra? And does that mean the Muhammad's story is only 600 years less of a fairy tale than Jesus'? So if you're going to judge by how old the religion is, should we all be embracing nature worship or something?

After that little proselytizing session, my husband and I were rolling our eyes and decided to sneak out with our son the first chance we got. And we did.

crazy stuff (Mormon) kids say

"Do you know who saved Baby Sister's life?  Me.  'Cause I was the one who prayed when Mom was bleeding when Baby Sister was in her tummy.  I said a prayer, and she was fine.  I saved her life."

Never mind the doctors.  Never mind biology.  Never mind that there were only two possible outcomes, and had it been the other one, they wouldn't have blamed him for saying the prayer that didn't save the fetus.  Never mind that if god really did intervene, it would have been god who saved the life, not the prayer-giver.

"There was a hurricane, but we said a prayer and it turned the other way and missed us."

And would the hurricane have turned away anyway?  What about all the people who prayed for the hurricane to miss them, too, but it flattened their houses anyway?  Are they not good prayer-givers?  Did they lack the faith it required?

"Jesus said tattoos are bad.  You shouldn't get tattoos."

Really?  I don't remember reading that anywhere in the scriptures.  

And the craziest thing?  They're saying this shit in front of my son.  

Like this little gem he reported to us:

"They said, 'We felt an earthquake, but we said a prayer, so the earthquake stopped.'"

We turned that into a skeptics' teaching moment.  "Well, let's think about that," I said.  "If they had not said a prayer, would that earthquake ended in a few seconds anyway?"

"Yes."  

"Earthquakes are about geology, about the shape of the earth, the earth moving.  How is a prayer going to change that?"

"It's not.  And besides, if god is way up in space," he wondered, "how is he supposed to stop the earth from shaking?"  He's really been into this idea that heaven is up in space somewhere.

"Know what I think?  I think saying a prayer during an earthquake or a hurricane helps them feel not scared.  There are a lot of things in the world we can't control, and saying prayers and thinking that god is helping them out makes them feel safer and more in control."

Sigh.  I guess my son has to learn to negotiate through this kind of thing, and on his own, too, since I won't be there every time someone brings up something believing.  So far, he's been polite enough to not say, "But god is just pretend!" when god is mentioned in conversation.  Today, though, I saw his face when someone recited a poem about god making this and that.  Oh, his face was precious.  Disbelieving and sassy, as if he was thinking, "Oh, these people!  How silly of them!"   But he held his tongue.

That made me smile, but really, I don't want him to be condescending to believers.  I want him to be sympathetic, polite, and respectful.  Which is why I explained that praying makes people feel safer in scary situations, instead of just leaving it at "Yup, aren't they silly for thinking a few words to a pretend friend in the sky will change the nature of the earth?"

as if that was all it takes

Sister: hangs up phone

FTA: Who was that?

Sister: [Our brother].

FTA: What'd he say?

Sister: The baby blessing is a week from Sunday at nine.

FTA: Ah. I'd probably even go to church for that.

Sister: Oh, yeah?

FTA: At least until after the blessing. laughs

Sister: laughs But you'll be out of town by then.

FTA: Yeah.

Sister: teasing Well, I'll call him back and tell him you'd come, and he'll call mom and tell her and then they'd change it to tomorrow so you could be there.

FTA: Right, so I could maybe feel the Spirit and come back!

Sister: laughs The sad thing is that it's probably true that they'd think that.

FTA: Yep, they totally would.

invitations have started

I've had a couple invitations to attend church with my relatives this summer, but now the invitations to church activities have started. A Relief Society craft night here, a Halloween party there. Luckily, I've had other plans during these particular activities, and so was able to decline politely and easily.

But what's the matter with going to church activities? Would I go? Would I not go? And why? (I'm asking myself these questions, though I'd love to hear your points of view.) First off, I don't want to go because it's the church. Yes, I still think the church is a sick institution and I don't want to support it even with my casual attendance at a church activity. If it were something important, like a funeral or a wedding reception (of course not the wedding itself; I'm not invited ever again, now am I?), I would be okay with attending it in a church building. Second, the activities aren't fun or interesting or stimulating to me, and I don't have any good friends there to catch up with.

Third, I can't help be think that I'm being invited not because they'd think I enjoy it or because they want my company, but because they think it'll help me, even if only a little bit, come back to the church. As in, "See what nice and friendly people we are? See what fun activities we have? The church can't be a bad place if we are such good people!" As in, "Maybe she'll feel the Spirit again." As in, "Something is fundamentally wrong with your life, and I'm going to do every little thing I can to fix it."

Maybe they don't think that. Maybe I should be a little more forgiving. Maybe attending a function now and then would help sooth the relationship, help them be a little more comfortable with my current position. But remembering back to when I was a devout Mormon, how I used to think, I would have seen any "inactive" coming to any function as a step in the right direction--back to the church. Not as a "fine, I'll do it for the sake of the relationship," not as a "I thought the activity would be fun," but as a return to the fold. So why would I lead my relatives on like that now?

no more hiding

This last weekend, we went to a dinner concert with my in-laws. A whole hour before the concert was set aside for people to eat, drink, and mingle. We got all dressed up, and my husband and I went a bit earlier than his parents so we could have a little time alone with the open bar. The very presence of alcoholic drinks apparently keeps my in-laws away from the eating and mingling.

When the parents showed up, I had just finished my drink, and my red-stained glass was still in front of me. My husband's cup was still half-full of Cabernet.

So, there it is. Not only do they know we drink (I think they suspected it before), but we drank in front of them. It was, hmm...no big deal. To us, anyway. I wouldn't know how they felt about it, seeing as they didn't say anything. And I doubt they ever will.

The reason I suspect they know we drink is because I was drunk and extra loud and expressive one evening in their hot tub a couple years ago. I was too drunk to realize how loud I was, and my mother-in-law looked at me a little weird, but I'm not sure how familiar she is with drunkenness. And I was too drunk to care and really be aware. She eventually left, and I regaled the rest of the group with exactly what I had had to drink that night, still in a loud voice. I didn't realize how loud until I left to get a glass of water, and could hear the hot tub group from the kitchen--the opposite side of the house. My in-laws bedroom is right next to the hot tub. So I'm sure they heard all about my drinks, but everyone in the tub with me had thought it so funny to see me drunk that they didn't try very hard to shush me.

The next time I got that drunk was this summer, and I drunk-dialed Sideon along with Christy and smoked a clove cigarette. Ahem. There, I admitted it. First and last cigarette.

tea

I sat at the kitchen table drinking some herbal tea. My son asked where I got the tea, and I told him my mom gave it to me.

"She drinks tea?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, herbal tea."

"Even though she believes in god?" he asked.

"Yes," I smiled, "even though she believes in god," I answered. "But, you know, most people who believe in god still drink tea. It's Mormons that don't drink tea."

"Oh," he answered. "So Grandma FTA is not Mormon? She drinks tea."

"Well, yes, she is Mormon. And she drinks certain kinds of tea. Like herbal tea."

"Why?" he wondered.

"She thinks herbal tea is okay, but not other kinds of tea. It's kind of weird."

"But my other grandma doesn't drink tea?"

"No, I don't think she does."

"Is she Mormon too?" he asked.

"Yes, she's Mormon too," I told him.

"They're both Mormon?" he marveled.

"Yes," I confirmed.

"You know what I was thinking?" he said.

"What?"

"If got caught in a tunnel like Curious George did," he said, "and they covered the holes with metal, I would use my lasers to blast a hole and get out. Wouldn't that be cool? If a laser came right out of my forehead?"

"Dude, that would be sooo cool."

tattoo

Since I was raised to abhor tattoos and believe they were a slap in the face to god, who, after all, gave me my body as a temple to keep holy and pure, I never thought about tattoos for myself until I left Mormonism. Once I had the true chance to think for myself on the matter, I realized it just ain't none of anyone's damn business but my own whether or not I get a tattoo, or enough of them to cover my whole body. I realize, still, it can affect people's perceptions of me, and this could affect personal relationships as well as career situations. Which is dumb, but a fact of life.

I still didn't get tattoos, though, and wondered how people could choose a design they would like the rest of their lives. Or how they deal with tattoos they learned to dislike or will be embarrassed about later (like the one I saw on a young father's chest: Money over Bitches). Or why someone would even want to put permanent art on their bodies. I started watching Miami Ink now and then, as often as I could beat my husband out of the remote control because it was on the same time as the reality show about climbing Everest. I watched Miami Ink and listened to the people's stories. There was always a story behind the tattoo--a death of a beloved relative, an overcoming of a destructive drug habit, a birth of a new child, a success in career, the turning of a new leaf. These tattoos meant something personal, something beautiful. They marked an important part of their bearers' lives, and served as constant memento to that. For others, tattoos are a celebration of the body, of self, using the body as art, a canvas. Now I understood.

I've often thought about getting a tattoo of a phoenix, complete with fire still burning. It would show my rebirth from Mormonism, with the burning and destruction a necessary part of that rebirth. But I have yet decided upon a design I like, or decided to spend the money to hire a tattoo artist to design one. Maybe I'll get around to it, and maybe I'll decide I don't want one. Perhaps I'm a little reluctant to have people (read: Mormon relatives) see me with a tattoo. Perhaps I would regret it. I don't know. And since I don't know yet, I'll wait. I have had extensive henna tattoos and loved, loved, loved it. But perhaps my ability to love them was their impermanence. I'm not sure.

One funny thing about Mormonism and tattoos is that the proscription has extended to temporary tattoos. You know, the kind you get in grocery store quarter machines, the wet-and-stick, kid ones. I got one once when I was dating my now-husband, and put it on my belly, lower and to the left of my belly button. My mom caught a glimpse of it and flipped out. Never mind that it was temporary. Never mind that I was nineteen. She lectured about body-is-a-temple and tattoos-laced-with-LSD and avoiding-the-appearance-of-evil. And I rolled my eyes, as any nineteen-year-old would do.

I've continued to have fun with temporary tattoos since then, and enjoy buying them for my son, too. He loves them, too, but is scared of "needle tattoos" because "that would hurt" and "they stay on forever and ever until your body breaks up into tiny bits and returns to the earth." His opinion of tattoos he's formed entirely by himself, as far as I can tell, but because we certainly haven't said anything to knock them and admire them on people when we see them. And I'm proud of him for having his own mind on the matter. I imagine he'll change his mind when he's older and not as afraid of needles, but either way is fine with me.

So when my mother-in-law accidentally bought all her grandsons some temporary tattoos, which she thought were stickers, we stuck them on my son's arms, exactly where he wanted them. Around the same time, I found some tattoos I had bought a couple months ago, and my son wanted those on his arms too. Pretty soon, he had a full sleeve of temporary tattoos.

The adults all thought it was a great irony that Mormon Grandma had bought the tattoos, even on accident, and we weren't going to let her take them back. My mother-in-law, as soon as she discovered her mistake, freaked out, and tried to dispose of the other grandsons' packets of tattoos. I rescued them, knowing that the other grandsons would like their present as much as my son did. She keeps making comments wondering when those things will come off, and if she could bathe our son tonight so she could scrub his arms clean. We keep telling her not to worry about it, he loves them, but she keeps pushing. Why? She's afraid that this youthful episode will "get him used to having tattoos now, and what if that makes him want a real one later?"

She didn't express this fear to me, or else I wouldn't have given her an earful. One, the connection between temporary now and permanent then is silly. Two, so what if he wants one later? If he wants one, then he'll get one. Hell, if it bothers you that much, I'll go get one at the same time he does! Three, if you'd just bother to ask him yourself, he'd tell you he only likes temporary ones. Four, remember that your other daughter-in-law has tattoos? And would love it if her sons decide to get inked when they are older? Five, it just ain't none of your damn business.

publicity

I was with my devout Mormon relatives this last week, and some interesting conversation topics popped up. One topic was "any publicity is good publicity," a view apparently held by some of the apostles. You know all the Mormonism-in-the-news that's been going on? The polygamist Warren Jeffs trial (guilty!), the 150th anniversary of the Mountain Meadows Massacre and the movie September Dawn, and Mormon Mitt Romney running for president? Yep, it's all publicity for the mainstream LDS church, even if only tangentially through history and the FLDS church.

Apostle Perry, for his part, believes all this to be a good thing for the church. Why? Because when people hear about the funky doctrines of Mormonism that Romney equivocates about, and the FLDS church's prophet-accomplice to rape, and the ugly, ugly history of fanatical mass murder, people ask questions. And, Perry must believe, the curious place these questions to devout Mormons who know little enough about them that they can make them look okay.

You know, like, we're really about family values and we don't actually worry about man-becoming-god and the New Jerusalem and denial of the priesthood to blacks. And the FLDS church is in no way related to us; we're LDS, see? Those FLDSers are bad and not Mormon and a big fat embarrassment to us. They have nothing to do with us, and their version of polygamy is in no way anything like the LDS historical polygamy, no, no. And those MMM murders, well, okay, they were murders, but it was a bunch of fanatics. If they had just listened to their leaders, they wouldn't have been led astray. It was their own sick brand of Mormonism that they interpreted to allow for the murders; that wasn't true Mormonism. Besides, the Arkansans were claiming they killed Joseph and all that--of course the Mormons were angry!

But I would venture to guess that, for the most part, all this publicity mostly makes Mormonism look worse than it already did to the general US public. Most Americans think Mormonism is as strange as Scientology and Moonie-ism and JW-ism. To hear more about polygamy and massacre and funky doctrine is only going to solidify that opinion in most minds. And when the curious ask questions, they are going to ask Google as often as their faithful Mormon neighbor, and get very different answers. In my experience, when people do ask faithful Mormons questions about their religion, it is often out of simple curiosity, and the only thing keeping them from saying "That's sounds idiotic!" or "Oh, please, you actually believe that?" is politeness.

So when my family was talking about all this, I was polite. I put in my two cents about MMM and the polygamy trial, to be sure, but I chose my words and tone carefully so that they would actually listen, rather than automatically ignore my opinion because it's so exmo. The interesting thing about those topics, though, is that we, as devout Mormons and exmo, can somewhat agree. The MMM was disgusting. Polygamy is disgusting.

The difference between us lies in the beliefs about the origins. To them, MMM came from local, fanatical leaders--so it is not a part of the True Church of God. To me, it came from local and regional leaders and from a fanaticism that Mormonism itself engendered--so Mormonism is not the True Church of God. To them, polygamy came from God for some incomprehensible reason, but as long as we ignore it, it won't bother us, and a church that once demanded it for salvation can still be the True Church of God. To me, polygamy came from Joseph Smith for personal power and sexual pleasure--and no god would tell a man to do such a thing so Mormonism is not the True Church of God.

Publicity for Mormonism? Yeah, I guess it's a good thing. From my point of view, anyway.

remembering

Do all churches do this? Do all churches eulogize and remember a person as if he had been a perfect, faithful, believing member? Even when he hadn't been to church since he was old enough to tell his parents, "I ain't goin' "? Do they all pick songs to sing at the funeral that the deceased probably didn't recognize, let alone like?

"Rebellion" and swearing and alcoholism and bar fights and no-mission and no-temple are all rendered "free spirit" and "did things his own way," with a sideways smile. They are, I suppose, trying their best to be nice and polite and remember the best of him. Which is fine. Who doesn't want to be remembered well? For people to forget the foibles and faults. But foibles and faults according to whom? The deceased? Sure, I'd bet he'd admit he did some stupid things in his life, that there were some things that he'd not repeat if he had the chance.

But to judge him according to the tenants of Mormonism when he didn't even care for them in his lifetime? To give more time in the funeral to the plan of salvation and Mormon hymns than to a sketch of his life, a portrait of his charcater? It just feels unfair and conceited.

I found myself at the funeral, looking at the program, with Jesus on the front, and five Mormon hymns listed inside, obviously picked for their content and not for the deceased's preference, wondering how I would handle this. Should I sing along about knowing my redeemer lives and how I am a child of God, when I don't believe in either? Should I mouth that I stand all amazed, when I don't? Does it really matter? I was standing next to my sister, the one who knows I'm a secularist, deciding whether to sing or silently protest the singing.

It struck me, as I watched others, particularly my parents, sing, that these songs bring them comfort right now. They really do. And that I couldn't do anything then, at my uncle's goodbye, when my mother was grieving so much, to hurt her further. I couldn't have them look over and see me in my silent religious protest, my religious politics kniving them once again. And I thought, if I think of it as mythology, a story, the savior and the afterlife and all that, it could be kind of comforting in death, even as a myth--a world view, a paradigm. Humans in all of history have found some way of comforting themselves about death, about the reality of their own mortality. And my family sings these particular songs to do that. Okay. I can sing. And I sang.

Except during I Know My Redeemer Lives, I thought of my last post, about crying for the loss of Heavenly Mother and Heavenly Father who will never open their arms to me. And I thought about the readers who connected with me on that, who felt as I did. I thought about the people surrounding me, who didn't get me. I said that line in my head over and over and I cried behind my sunglasses (for we were singing at the graveside), and everyone thought I was crying for my uncle, who I never know and will never know. And I wondered, what would I want at my funeral?

asserting myself (a little)

At a family dinner with my devout in-laws, my never-mo sister-in-law and her kids, and us, all the food was out on the bar ready for us to fill our plates and take them outside to the patio. I saw my in-laws were feeling the meal couldn't start without a prayer, but my mother-in-law got distracted by something. I wasn't going to stand around doing nothing until she was ready. So I started filling a plate for my son. My sister-in-law and husband followed, and we headed to the backyard. We all began to eat.

My father-in-law made it out with his plate to join us, but my mother-in-law was still inside filling hers. Oddly, perhaps to try to joke, my father-in-law looked at us and said, "Whoever eats first has to ask the blessing."

I wasn't sure how to react to that, but I decided in a split second it needed more of a response that a courtesy laugh.

"We don't say blessings on food," I said pointedly.

"I've noticed," he replied.

And then I felt awkward. I wished I had been able to turn it into my own joke, to ease the tension rather than increase it. I'm not good at that.

My mother-in-law then came out to the yard, set her plate down, and said to her husband, "All right, let's say the blessing." He acknowledged her, and she called out to all the kids who were on a picnic blanket nearby, "We're saying the prayer! Everybody--just--close your eyes."

I leaned over to watch the kids during the prayer. One nephew immediately closed his eyes. My son didn't (and I did an internal cheer). The nephew later opened his eyes and thought it was funny that lots of people weren't closing theirs either. I smiled at him to show my approval and to share in the funny situation.

I was irked. Their praying over their food is perfectly fine, but don't include my kid in it. There was no reason she couldn't have just had a little prayer on the side with her husband--the only other one there who participates in that particular ritual. There's a certain conceitedness in it, that everyone should do what they are doing. Sure, I'll be polite and quiet, as an outsider. But I won't participate any more than I would any other random religious ritual of any faith. Just don't presume that I'm doing something wrong by not getting involved.

read my lips

I dreamed last night that I was standing in the kitchen of the house we're staying in, my in-laws' house. My husband and his parents were there, and a couple different conversations were going on. My mother-in-law, having just gotten back from a shopping trip with me, encouraged me to try on a new red shirt I had bought. I put it on and showed the group.

Only mother-in-law was paying attention, and she, oddly enough (hey, it's a dream), asked me to lift up the bottom of the shirt a bit so she could see how it fit over my garments. In the dream, it wasn't an odd request, expect for the fact that I haven't worn garments in over two years.

"I don't wear garments," I said. But with the conversation between my husband and his dad going across us, she didn't hear me. I thought to myself how strange it was that she didn't know I don't wear garments. Hadn't she seen my sleeveless shirts? Does she think I could conceal cap sleeves under no sleeves or something? Perhaps I said it a little too quietly, not wanting to say it so blatantly.

"Let me see how it fits over your garments," my mother-in-law repeated, a little impatient that I hadn't complied with her request already.

I forcefully set down the cup of water I had been drinking from. Just say it. "I. Don't. Wear. Garments."

She was immediately flustered and said said, "Well, how do I know what you guys do? How am I supposed to know?" She then wanted to launch into a Q & A of what we do and don't do now. I was happy that it was going to be talked about. But the dream ended.

Of all the things Mormonism and leaving the church has put in my mind, the single thing that still bothers me the most is dealing with devout family. In a way that helps them be comfortable, but doesn't bowl over who I am at the same time. Be me, because I have got to be me, but also avoid shoving things in their faces.

personal

My sister (the one whose husband is disaffected) revealed to me over the weekend that she knows I resigned my membership from the church. Her husband, whom we had confided in, told her. No-secrets-among-spouses kind of thing, I guess. She said her only shock was that I hadn't done it sooner. Her email was quite nice, actually, saying she loves me and wants me to be happy, and if I'm happiest outside the church, then so be it.

She also thinks I should tell the rest of the family, and that their reactions would be similar to hers. Except Mom, who would totally freak out, but, hey, I'll be out of the country for a while, so she's have a chance to calm down.

When I told her husband we had resigned--he had asked--he encouraged me to tell my parents. They shouldn't find out from the tithing settlement print out where it will show that all my ordinances have disappeared. Which would be a cruel way to find out, really. So I figure, yeah, he's right, I should tell them myself.

And then I pushed it out of my mind. Until I got the email from my sister.

How do you tell someone that you've rejected everything they gave you to the point that you even cancel all rites and rituals? To me, they mean nothing, but to them, they are everything. They are salvation.

So why did I resign if that idea bothers me so much?

When I stopped believing, and when I decided the church did more harm than good for me and for others, I stopped attending. When I realized that all churches are man-made, the Mormon church became nothing but an institution to me. Not the giver of the Gospel, not the keeper of keys, not the Only Way to Heaven. It is just an institution, and a really crummy one at that. It discriminates against women, gays, ethnic minorities (even where those minorities are majorities); it's youth education program is nothing short of f--ked up; and it provides One Spiritual Path instead of helping people find their own spirituality--or decide they aren't the spiritual type. If any institution that did any one of those things asked me to give them money, time, or membership, I'd raise an eyebrow, then walk on. Not even worth my consideration. And the Mormon church does them all. Join that? Yeah, right. Not for me, thanks.

And here I am, having joined that institution under extreme familial and peer pressure at the tender age of eight, without knowing any of its problems. Without knowing anything about any other option. I could've said it was too insignificant to bother to resign, but I found I just couldn't have my name down as a member of that institution. I had to symbolically distance myself, break that last string attaching me.

But is that what I say to my family? Is it any of their business? I am torn between "this is personal" and "they would want to know." Is it my love for them that makes me feel that obligation to tell them? Or is it my Mormon mindset that makes personal spirituality public, that doesn't understand or respect boundaries, that is guilting me into telling?

And what is it that is making me not want to tell? Is it the idea that this is my own personal thing, and none of their business? Or is it fear? Guilt? Love? If I fall back on the "the relationship is the most important" mantra, where does that lead me? Keep it silent, don't hurt them? But will it hurt that much more if they find out from a tithing settlement?

prayer ritual

We don't pray before meals, as we were raised to do. But here in my in-laws house, they are sure to. Especially since we're here. They didn't do it very consistently when we were faithful Mormons, but now that we're Apostates, boy, do they ever. It's quite common to hear my mother-in-law say "Let's say the prayer now. Everyone fold your arms." or "We're saying the blessing on the food now. Everyone get ready." or "Shh, quiet, we're saying the prayer now."

I suppose they see it as setting a good example, though the effect on us isn't anything of the sort. It doesn't make me angry at all to be around their ritual, but it does make me angry when they try to push it on our son and his cousins (whose mother is Christian and father non-religious but Mormon by baptism).

Their mother, my sister-in-law (who knows about my blog and sometimes reads it--hi!), has never folded her arms to pray in her life; she's never seen it done that way in the variety of churches she's attended in her life. But since she lives so near our mother-in-law, and doesn't want to pick fights about everything, she's always just tolerated the "everybody fold your arms" thing with her kids. One day at a big family meal, her three-year-old interrupted his "reverent" arm-folding and head-bowing to tell me in a whisper to fold my arms, too. I said, "Nah." "Fold your arms!" he repeated. Again, I refused, with a smile. I related this story to his mom; she decided to start putting her foot down about it, too.

Now, I've decided my way to approach these prayers is to sit quietly, eyes open, arms unfolded. I do not say amen. I won't interfere with her ritual, but I won't participate either. It's the same way I've handled being at Islamic Friday prayers or Episcopal Eucharist; I watch, but I don't participate. I ask my son to be quiet, too, but I also won't have his grandparents telling him to fold his arms and participate. If they ever asked him directly, rather than the general "everybody fold your arms," I'd like to say, "That's your ritual, not ours. Don't ask my son to participate." When he's older and understands more what's going on, he can make a decision about it.

I think this weirded my in-laws out, especially at first, to not hear us say amen, to not see us unfold our arms and look up at the end of their prayer. I wondered if they'll even ask us why we don't participate. I would like to say something like, "I find it offensive to thank an unseen being for your food, when what went into getting this food on this table--the farmers, pickers, packers, truckers, grocers, you yourself as shopper and cook, as well as the earth, then sun, and the water--remain unacknowledged."

If I'd ever have the guts to say it.

Yesterday, though, it seemed like my mother-in-law is catching on. Instead of her usual universal call to prayer, she simply said, "I'm going to say a prayer now." I smiled. What a difference changing "we" to "I" and "the" to "a" made for me.

biting my tongue; speaking up

My time with my Mormon relatives has found me alternatively biting my tongue and speaking up when I come across differences in our beliefs, values, and attitudes.

For example, I had a long conversation with my dad about sex work--more commonly known as prostitution--as a choice; how some people consciously enter the profession as one work option among many; how some have histories of sexual abuse, but not all; how some are addicted to crack or heroin, but not all; how the price of drugs affects the price of sexual exchanges; how legalizing prostitution would probably do the most to help them be treated as human beings as they should be, etc. My family knows I study this kind of stuff, so when it comes up, I am sure to voice my opinions and knowledge on the matter--all decidedly more liberal than what they would expect a good Mormon girl to have.

This conversation led my dad to share some experiences from his leadership position at church. He reported that he had a couple guys he's working with (as in, conducting a series of ecclesiastical interviews with) who have "problems with sexual addiction." I can't even bring myself to type that without the quotes. As he was telling me about this, I thought to myself, "Should I argue with him? Should I ask about the nature of these 'sexual addictions'? What, are they masturbating? 'Cause that's hardly an addition, unless they're doing it 50 times a day and can't get work done because of it."

As I listened to my dad, I discovered it was simply masturbation. It made me angry that something as natural and normal as that was "keeping them from going to the temple." I thought, "Well, it's you keeping them from going, because you bothered to ask them in the interview, and you think it's big enough a deal that it makes them 'unworthy'." I debated with myself whether or not to call my dad on this issue, to have a discussion about it. But then I remembered his biting his tongue when I talked about prostitution, and I decided to give him the same respect. Surely, he disagreed with me on prostitution just as profoundly as I did with him on masturbation.

(Plus, it would have been awkward to talk to my dad about masturbation. It came up once when I was a teenager. He was my bishop back then, and I had my semi-annual interview. He asked me if there was anything in the For Strength of Youth pamphlet that I wasn't sure about. I asked innocently, "What's masturbation?" He looked a bit embarrassed, smiled, and said, "I don't think you need to worry about that." That was almost as bad as my mom's birds-and-the-bees talk when I was Twelve. Twelve. "It's a very special thing that happens between a husband and a wife." Thanks, Mom.)

On another day, my mom said something intolerant about gender. I don't remember what it was--something about how ridiculous it is to count more than two genders?--but I knew I couldn't just let it slide. I launched into a discussion about the differences between sexual orientation and gender identity, and the experiences of gay Mormons. I wasn't combatant about it; I've found a way to discuss things I figure my family will disagree with in a way that is academic and detached. Rather than pin down what my opinion is, I say, "This is what research has shown..." or "Some would argue that..." or "One theory is that..." It may be a little cowardly, but I find it's more comfortable for them--and me. Then they don't have to worry about how influenced by the world I am, how liberal I am; they can just think I've knowledgeable about it, but more from the sidelines. I'm sure they think I'm an "intellectual apostate" and that my grad school education has made me put more value on evidence than faith. Which is true. But I don't have to rub it in their faces.

On another occasion, my dad and I were looking at the stars. I brought up Carl Sagan, and we discussed him for a minute. My dad has read his stuff, and used to watch Cosmos. (Sometimes I think my dad is an intellectual apostate at heart, if he would just quit that compartmentalization.) Then my dad said something about "Carl Sagan's world view" with a bit of disdain in his voice. I decided to let it pass that Sagan's world view and mine are quite similar. I decided to save the argument for another day. Instead, we continued to enjoy the "billions and billions" stars.

brave?

If I drank coffee in front of my in-laws, does that count as rude or courageous?

Either way, it's frustratingly lame that it even matters to me. I can't believe my Mormon heritage exerts so much control over me that I have to think about whether or not to buy a cup of coffee on the road to help me stay awake.

The coffee was good, by the way.

my reply, part 4

the final part of an email I wrote to my sister, continued from my reply, my reply part 2, and my reply part 3

What you see as my forgetting what I once thought about Mormonism and Christianity, as my dwelling on the negative aspects in favor of the positives, I see differently. I see a necessary, and at times painful, deconstruction of my old world view. I spent nearly 25 years seeing and being taught the positives, of thinking Mormonism was The Way, The Truth. What is it then, to spend a couple or even a few years, in dismantling and critically examining what I thought I once knew? I don’t see it as something bad I need to get over, but as a necessary stage in my personal development. I see it as dismantling the ruins of my destroyed house, chucking out what is broken, and sifting through to find that which is still workable, to build something new. Much as we shouldn’t see a teenager’s difficult times as immature angst and rebellion, but as an essential—though difficult—part of her growth toward personal identity and independence. That said, I don’t want to dwell in anger or sadness, nor do I want to cast them off immediately for happier emotions. I seek instead to understand them, feel them, work through them, and learn from them. I used to see anger as sin; I now see it as human.

Also from your email, and from one sent several months ago that I never replied to, I see that I have been self-centered about talking about my beliefs and changes, while ignoring yours. I hope you know that my egocentrism in this regard has stemmed from my multi-year, consuming examination of myself and my beliefs, rather than a disregard for yours. I recognize that I have simplified your complexity of belief into what I remember as my old beliefs. This is not accurate, to be sure, as we both have different experiences. I apologize for this. I also know how Mormonism characterizes people like me: prideful, lost in the dark and dreary wilderness, relying on the arm of flesh, worldly, they who are learned, apostate, hell-bound, etc. Can you imagine how hard it is to fight such ill-feelings, attitudes I myself developed, against myself? From this, I think, comes a too-eager desire to justify my new self and beliefs. I appreciated our conversation where you praised certain aspects of humanism. I hope I can find it easier to likewise praise the positives of your beliefs and attitudes, and to give you more room to express your thoughts about your beliefs, too.

I hope also that we can continue our conversations over the years (in better goodwill than I conducted our phone conversation). A good way, I think, to approach our continued religious differences is to look for commonalities on which to draw. I like, though, our ability and willingness to also talk about differences, too. Even if only by email.

I love you, and I'm glad we stopped in Utah for a while to spend time with you and everyone. I want to continue to feel comfortable coming to Utah, being with family, and enjoying each other's company.

fta

my reply, part 3

from an email I wrote to my sister, continued from my reply and my reply, part 2

I said on the phone that Little FTA’s simple message from the movie was a “pretty good representation of what the movie was trying to say.” You took issue with this, and I can see why this offended you. I’m sorry I said it in such as way that hurt you rather than in such a way where we could have discussed our differences and learned more about each other.

I think my statement was due to two things. One, a short memory with regards to the movie. I haven’t seen the movie in many years. The only thing I remembered was the basic plot of one man’s struggle between the “good side” and the “bad, worldly side,” and his receiving forgiveness through Jesus at the end—while many died in the destruction. I had completely forgotten about many of the plot elements, such as the non-believers conspiracy to kill the believers. I had also forgotten that its main idea was based on a Book of Mormon story; had I remembered that, I could have recalled that conspiracy. Nevertheless, Little FTA’s young mind missed those elements.

Two, my humanist, rather than Christian, point of view. When I saw the movie as a Christian, I was touched, and buoyed by the power of forgiveness through Christ. That message of forgiveness is, indeed, quite powerful, whether or not Jesus was actually divine, as you said. This is why I found myself with a continued affinity for Christianity, long after I ceased to believe in his divinity. As time went on, though, I started to consider what I see as the fundamentals of Christianity—the desire or need for forgiveness of sins, the state of humans as fallen and in need of saving, one person as the archetype for living—an undesirable way to approach life. Expanding on the first fundamental, for example, I still see the benefits of forgiveness, surely, but I see the source of forgiveness more appropriately placed in the people who were hurt by the wrongdoing, whether it be self or others. Additionally, I do not see wrongdoing as sin, but as hurting self or others. I think it is fundamentally very close to the same thing, but with different terminology—forgiveness for sin, getting second chances, improving oneself, always trying to do better. I just don’t think we need an ultimate, outside source, a God, to forgive us for being human, for making mistakes, for living life as (very fallible) human beings.

Through Little FTA’s interpretation, I saw the movie as simplifying and vilifying the atheists, the secularists—me and Mr. FTA—as the “worldly, sinful, bad guys,” rather than people who appreciate the capacity and limitations of humankind, and seek to live life to the fullest (since this is the only life we are certain we have), while trying to make the world a better place and refraining from harming others. That is, I saw anti-secularism. From the more complete summary of the movie, I certainly agree that the people who wanted to kill others were in the wrong, the “bad guys,” in child’s terms. But then to have the resurrected Jesus’ kill them through fire and earthquake (for the Jesus of the Book of Mormon does claim these killings as his doing)? Why is his killing others justified? Why is God excused killing those who wanted to kill and those who simply didn’t believe, when he subsequently delivers his sermon of forgiveness and love in Third Nephi? This is like teaching your child to not hit her sibling by hitting her and yelling, “Don’t hit!” then talking about love and goodwill the next moment. While you got particular messages, such as the power of forgiveness, from the movie, I saw, as a humanist, different messages. Or rather, I reinterpreted based on my memory and your summary of the movie. I am curious if I watched the movie in full now, whether I would still make similar comments. I imagine I would, and I imagine I would have many more besides.