once again, the insignificance

I haven't had much to write lately, besides being a bit bogged down by some virus. I suppose it's a good thing for me that I don't think enough about Mo'ism to have something to write several times a week.

Trying to think of something in my life that was Mo-influenced, I remembered the most significant event in a while for Mormons--the death of the president, Hinckley, this past Sunday. My response was a shocked and sympathetic, "Wow" when my mother-in-law told me. While I feel sympathy for his family at their loss, I'll confess that just a couple days before the death, my husband and I had been wondering when the nonogenarian would pass. (Nope, that doesn't make me a prophet for predicting the future, as he was 97, and I'd been wondering when he would die for years now.)

The death would have been much more a significant for me had I still been a believer, as it is, I'm sure, for my family and friends who are. I imagine many of them will watch the four-hour funeral proceedings tomorrow. The most time I'm going to put in, though, is watching the Colbert Show coverage. 'Cause it's hilarious. Predictably, it links the death and the passing of the mantle to Thomas S Monson to Romney's candidacy, then switching into a writers' strike joke--showing exactly how little the small world of Mormondom means to the rest of the country.

On facebook, I noticed that some Mormons are "getting their panties in a bunch" about the video clip and have formed a group to boycott Colbert for it. But I also noticed that there's another Mormon group to boycott the boycott.

only the good stuff

I've been on a little hiatus, what with family in town for the holidays, Little FTA out of school, and my persistent no good, rotten, bad mood since Christmas. Unfortunately, this was one of those bad moods that kills my muse rather than brings it out. Sigh. I just haven't felt like writing or felt like I had anything to write.

But last night, on the way back from dinner with my husband, son, and believing brother-in-law, Little FTA busted out with a great line. And I thought, That is so going on the blog.

We were telling stories, and mission stories came up. Both my husband and his brother went on Mormon missions, so they've got lots of stories. Little FTA piped up, "What's a mission? Is that like when you go out and find something?" He was thinking of secret agent missions, in the vein of Backyardigans Super Secret Spy or James Bond.

I started to explain, "No, it's not like going on a secret mission to find something. See, Mormons and some other Christians go out as missionaries to try to convince people to join their church, to be Mormons or Christians too."

"Oh, right," Little FTA added in all seriousness, "but they only tell them the good stuff."

We laughed at that, and I said, "That's right. They only tell them the good stuff."

My brother-in-law was a bit shocked, but good-natured about it. "What are you teaching him?" he asked.

"Not to be a Mormon, that's for sure," I mumbled.

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.

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?

dreams

I've had a couple Mormon dreams lately.

In one, I was at the veil in the temple. Except there was no veil, the man representing god was just standing there. And he was a little creepy. I was trying to go through all the signs and tokens and names and kept screwing them up. Not on purpose, just because I couldn't remember them well. It didn't worry me, though. And in my dream, I didn't remember that I am actually apostate and should've just been messing with everybody for some laughs. Hey, it was a dream.

In another, I was lying in bed, sick. Some priesthood-holding man came into the room and started to put him hands on my head to give me a blessing. I most definitely did not want a blessing and I protested, asking "What are you doing?" in an appalled voice. He tried again to put his hands on me, and for some reason this was just the absolute worst thing that could possible happen (you know how dreams are). Short of physically moving out of the way, which I couldn't do because of my illness, I tried to think of the ways to get him to leave me the hell alone. I thought swearing might scare him off, so I started swearing up a storm, but it didn't seem to bother him. That's all I remember.

Why can't I just have dreams where I'm flying?

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.

another take on Mormonism

I've been reading god is not great by Christopher Hitchens. Hitchens doesn't even give god the respect of capitalizing the word god. And that is perfectly fine by me, since the monotheistic God is not any more convincing or real than all those other gods whom God-believing people don't give the dignity of a capital letter. But that's not the point of this post. The point of this post is to delight in Hitchens's take on Mormonism.

First of all, take note of the chapter in which Hitchens discusses Mormonism.

Chapter 11: "The Lowly Stamp of Their Origin": Religion's Corrupt Beginnings

This is the chapter in which he discusses the formation of modern religions, what he calls "openly manufactured sausage religions." This particular metaphor comes from the idea that if you want to continue to enjoy eating sausages, "take care not to be present when [they] are being manufactured" (p. 155). In other words, these are the easily-debunked, obviously-false religions. Mormonism is grouped here with Melanesian cargo cults and a Pentecostal preacher Marjoe, who was trained from a too-young age to awe and fool audiences. If I hadn't left Mormonism, I would have been appalled by the author's grouping. But now, I can only see too well why Hitchens would make the association.

He refers to Joseph as a "gifted opportunist" who "openly plagiarized Christian terms" and had a thing for Muhammed (p. 161). After that quick introduction, he moves on to Joseph's court appearance for peep-stoning, his residence in the Burned-Over District, and the local fascination with Native American burial grounds in the area. Joseph managed to combine interest in the treasure of the mounds with interest in their origins. It was a popular idea at the time that the Native Americans were really descendants of Hebrews, a lost tribe.

This sets the stage for "the imposture [that] is almost embarrassing to read" (p. 162).

And how was this same story rendered in Sunday School?

Joseph, age 14, wasn't sure which church to join, so he prayed and was told to join none of them, but to start his own.

It's flabbergasting to see that juxtaposition, isn't it?

Hitchens also calls Joseph's story "almost embarrassingly easy to uncover" (p. 162.) I had mixed feelings about that statement. He is so flippant when he points out the fact that Mormon origins are so obviously fraudulent, and that they are so easily uncovered to be embarrassing. And yet I, along with millions of others, were duped. And to uncover that truth? Embarrassingly easy? Hardly. Perhaps the process of finding the information was relatively easy--once I got past the cultural block that all that information is just a pack of lies I shouldn't touch with a 10-foot pole. Really, the information to show that Mormonism isn't all it claims to be is legion and, since the advent of the Internet, easy to find. But actually disbelieving it? Actually letting my brain put the pieces of the puzzle together, against all socialization and family support? That, my dear Hitchens, was agonizingly hard. Nevertheless, I forgive Hitchens this slight, because, you know what? It is embarrassingly easy to uncover, when viewed from the outside.

One thing that struck me was his sentence about Fawn Brodie and her No Man Knows My History, a biography of Joseph Smith. From a faithful Mormon point of view, this book is positively anti-Mormon (but, then, what isn't, besides syncophancy?). Even I wouldn't touch Brodie's book while I was exploring church history, thinking it was just unfairly harsh. I hadn't read it, of course, which is the way I formed that opinion. When I did read it, I found it to be great, and nothing more anti- than refusing to tell the story as if Joseph actually saw god. Hitchens, interestingly, called it "a good-faith attempt by a professional historian to put the kindest possible interpretation on the relevant 'events' " (p. 162, emphasis added). Isn't it telling that an outsider thinks it good-faith and kind, when Mormons see it as despicably anti-Mormon?

The author goes on to tell the basic story of Smith, with the characteristic unsympathetic voice he employs through the rest of the book. He even makes a couple minor mistakes, saying baptisms for the dead are performed through prayers said in weekly meetings. It couldn't have been that hard to find an insider to confirm the itsy-bitsy details, could it? But then, who cares? Mormonism is, in the grand scheme of things, embarrassingly insignificant.

The way Hitchens tells the history, it is embarrassing that I didn't figure it out before. In my defense, though, I didn't have the information I needed--and I gobbled it up when I found it.

LDS library

Because of a water leakage problem, I had to pleasure (read: chore--I was the only one home and awake when it needed to be done) of removing all the books from a seven-shelf bookshelf so the carpet guys could get under the shelf. Some of the shelves were stacked two deep, too. But it wasn't all bad, since this particular shelf happens to be where my in-laws store all of their Mormon books. So as I performed the tedious task of transferring all these books to the pool table, I checked out some of the titles. What on earth is in a devout Mormon family's LDS library, besides Books of Mormon, triple combinations, and Sunday School manuals? I variously gagged, cringed, and laughed as I found out.

There were your presidents-of-the-church superficialities, like Way to Be! and the bio of various church, ahem, prophets.

Then the "deep doctrine" writings, such as McConkie's Messiah series, Doctrinal Commentaries on all the Mormon scriptures, The Miracle of Forgiveness (two copies!) and Isaiah for Today. Because, you know, Hebrew poetry figures into the daily lives of just about everyone I know.

Then you've got your let's-pretend-the-Nephites-really-existed books, such as Charting the Book of Mormon, In the Footsteps of Lehi, and Early America and the Polynesians. Also, a book about the Incas was mixed among these books, because, you know, the Incas were really the Lamanites (gag). And the one to make Nephites more accessible to kids: Tennis Shoes Among the Nephites.

Don't forget the homages to BYU football, either, with books about Lavell Edwards, Ty Detmer, and Steve Young.

There were even some potentially subversive we-used-to-teach-what?!? and Joseph-did-what!?!? books, such as History of Joseph Smith by his Mother Lucy Mack Smith, Lectures on Faith, Encyclopedia of Mormonism, and History of the Church volumes 1-7.

I was amused to find advice-for-better-living books, too, such as Marriage and Family: Gospel Insights, Fun for Family Night, and When a Child Wanders (there were a couple sticky-tabs marking pages in this one). My favorite by far, though, showed a man and woman in front of a rainbow, with the title Do it Yourself Destiny. Wow. I mean, wow.

The only thing more awesome would have been How Awesome Will it Be? A Teenagers Guide to Understanding and Preparing for the Second Coming. 'Cause apocalypse? Burning? Slaughter? All that? It could only be, like, totally awesome. Good thing I'll have plenty to read. Until I burn up like chaff, that is.

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.

party

Utah. Invitation to a party--a BBQ. Maybe thirty people shuffle in and out over the course of several hours. The living room, kitchen, and deck (and sometimes garage and bedrooms) are filled with happy, chatting people, circulating in and out, greeting and laughing. I know hardly anyone here, but after a shot or two of tequila, I strike up some friendships and talk like we are high school buddies. A counter top is crammed with bottles of liquor and sodas to mix it with. The fridge is full of six-packs of local brews, Polygamy Porter, and Captain Bastard's Oatmeal Stout. The table groans under the weight of fruit soaked in port and other treats, both sweet and savory. I discover my love for brie and bagette. Loud music plays for a while, and some guests dance happily, if a little unsteadily, to the beat. The living room becomes a make-out zone, and I laugh, and stick to the kitchen. I enjoy the commotion and the conversation while my drinks wear off, and I drive home sometime after midnight.


California. Invitation to a party--a game night. Five or six couples, some board games, pink lemonade, three types of chocolate chip cookies, angel food cake, and brownies. I don't know anyone here, and the host forgets to introduce me. Chit chat about children and days gone past. In a game listing famous people, everyone knows who John McCain is, but no one knows Michael Moore. In a game of charades, when I pull thumb and forefinger to my mouth and puff deeply, no one guesses weed. Someone mentions the gathering to Missouri, only half-jokingly. "Don't we believe that?" I've had enough, so I pipe in, "Not if you're Mitt Romney. He denies it." People laugh. But I'm not entirely sure they know what the hell I'm referring to.

We drive home and compare notes on how painful we found the party. I think he wins, since, even though he knew at least half the people there, I'd had a shot of vodka before coming.

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