tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14805108938372512802024-02-22T00:42:23.547-08:00Far from FolsomHomesick At Space Camphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882590055538174885noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1480510893837251280.post-70269137198604065132017-12-04T05:50:00.000-08:002017-12-04T06:03:35.250-08:00Bomb <div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When true believing
Mormons (TBM) and ex-Mormons converse it can be a tense time for both parties.
More often than not it can end in contention. A rational conversation can
quickly transform into a passive-aggressive one, resulting in a fiery explosion
which is hard to contain once the shrapnel starts flying. The shrapnel can be condescending
remarks, a judgemental attitude, and insulting words. This shrapnel will rip a relationship
to pieces, and the wounds can be difficult to heal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve been on
either side of the battlefield. When I was a TBM I felt concerned when my
friends would fall away from the Church. Why? Well, because I worried about
their salvation. I believed the gospel would make their lives richer, happier,
and more blessed. I thought that if they clung to that iron rod of truth then
in the next world they would inherit eternal glory and be with their loved
ones. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When close
friends went inactive it greatly concerned me. I would pray for them most
nights. I would ask the Lord to change their hearts and to bring them back into
the light. I would do my part by talking to them about spiritual matters; I
would try and see if my personal testimony would allow the Spirit of God to touch
their hearts and help them see they were on the wrong path, wandering lost into
the mists of darkness. Sometimes they would become more ‘anti-Mormon’. Those
conversations stung a little, but I never got angry at them. Instead I was inwardly
self-righteous and would comfort myself by believing that they weren’t as
strong as me, or as smart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When acquaintances
would leave the Church I didn’t take it to heart as much. Sure, I was a bit sad
to see them waver, I was perhaps a little disappointed in them for chasing the
things of the world over righteousness, but I never felt the need to run after
them and berate them for exercising their free agency. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This is why
I feel put out by having so many TBMs come at me since I publically spoke out
about my experiences with Mormonism. I never felt the need to justify my faith
to someone who was inactive or speaking out against it, so why do some of you? </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Perhaps some
of you feel threatened by my views, or disrespected? Maybe you just have a burning
need to defend your faith? There are better ways of going about it than
passive-aggressive social media comments or e-mails. I know I’ve been discussed
in certain circles at Church because I have been told about it, and that’s
fine, it was bound to happen when I announced a book. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everyone is
entitled to an opinion, but when we haven’t even had any contact for years and
you bring opinions laced with condemnation at me, I don’t value them. No good
will come out of it. I will just end up lowering myself to a level that I don’t
want to descend to because I in turn will get defensive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I don’t want
to tarnish every TBM with the same brush though. Some of you haven’t said a word;
some of you couldn’t care less, and some of you have been kind and respectful
about my departure and book. A couple of you have shown me genuine empathy and
it has been very much appreciated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now that I
am ex-Mormon, I know how it feels to be on the other side of the fence. I’ve
leapt that fence with 27 years worth of knowledge of Mormonism under my belt.
If you haven’t been on this side of the fence before then how can you really know
what I see now that I am here? How can you judge my life, my happiness, and my
new perspectives with any accuracy? I know where you are coming from, I know
what makes you say certain things, think certain things, and act in certain
ways, but do you know how it feels to come to the decision to disassociate
yourself with a faith you practiced for decades? Do you know how hard it is to
find yourself back on default settings? Do you know how stressful it is to
navigate yourself through this process, knowing it will strain relationships
and aggravate strangers? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I guess my
point here is to say that leaving the Church isn’t easy. I didn’t make the
decision to have my name removed lightly. I didn’t write my book to piss people
off. TBMs should be aware that there are thousands of others just like me, who
can relate to what I have been through, who do resonate with my words, and all
have their own reasons for deciding to leave. Like it or not, the Church does
fail people, some leaders do, some members do, some doctrines do. Just because
you love it, you find happiness in it, and you ‘know’ it’s the truth, doesn’t
make it a fact of the universe. Your ecstasy being a Mormon doesn’t mean
anything to someone who has experienced the opposite. So before you feel the
need to belittle someone’s experience by proclaiming yours, please keep in mind
that when someone leaves, it isn’t your place to get them back, to defend the
faith, to patronise them, or to be angry at them for doing it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The comments
which have irritated me the most during this process are ones like - ‘why can’t
you just leave quietly? If you’re so happy now why can’t you leave it alone?’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Is that not
a bit rich coming from people who belong to an organisation that sends
missionaries out all over the world, who constantly tells its members to be
missionary minded, to look for friends and people to convert? Me speaking out,
or writing a book is no different. That’s like me asking you, ‘can’t you just
live your religion quietly? If you’re so happy, why can’t you leave me alone?’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">My blog, my
social media posts, or my book, will not cause members to leave the Church. You
don’t need to worry. If you are all so sure of your faith then nothing I do or say
will change that. So why trouble yourselves with what I’m doing? If I see a TBM
sharing a testimony, or a conference talk on their social media, I don’t dive
in and start giving my opinion on it. I don’t e-mail them about how I’m
offended by it. Equally, as an ex-Mormon I don’t want e-mails, scriptures or
talks sent to me, I don’t want to hear that you’re praying for me, I don’t want
to hear patronising lines like, ‘you’re still a good guy’, and I don’t want to
hear about how happy Church makes you. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">All I really want is to find a way that
we can co-exist without tossing a ticking time bomb back and forth to each
other. I’m not forcing you to read my book or to listen to my views. You can
take it or leave it. I’m not trying to crusade against the Mormon church, or religion
for that matter, I just want to be allowed to express myself before I finally
close the chapter on my experiences with the Church. No one more than me wants
all of this to be left in the past. I’m looking forward to finally moving on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Homesick At Space Camphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882590055538174885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1480510893837251280.post-63692361097684128032017-11-29T05:26:00.000-08:002017-11-29T18:17:23.020-08:00Losing Heaven <div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There are
whales in the sea and giraffes in Africa. The sun will rise in the morning and
the moon can be seen at night. The trees produce oxygen so that we can breathe.
We need water and food to survive. We need shelter to stay warm and dry, and we
need sleep to allow our bodies to rest. If we touch fire it will hurt. If we fall
off a cliff we will probably die. When we die we go to Heaven. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Do you
remember the exact moments you learned about the facts of life? Do you remember
learning about the planet called ‘Earth’? I don’t, but somehow I have always
just known about it. Well, of course I’m not claiming that I was born omniscient, I was
obviously taught about life and the planet as a child, but this knowledge has
always been in my consciousness as far back as I can remember. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Some of you
reading this may not have been taught about the fact of Heaven though. Unless your
pet died when you were a kid and you asked your parents where ‘Fluffy’s’ gone.
Maybe you were told about that ‘better place called Heaven’ then, but did you
really take it to heart, and know without a doubt that Heaven and its angels
were just as real as Africa and its giraffes? Did you know for certainty that Heaven is the human race’s next destination? I did. All the grown-ups said so
too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The fact of Heaven was as deep-seated into my psyche as the knowledge that birds fly. This
is what happens to young minds when they are moulded by religious notions. I
couldn’t possibly form my own opinion of the afterlife when the seed was
planted in my infancy, nurtured in my youth, and took root while I was an
adult. What chance did I really have of thinking any differently? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As a kid I wasn’t
mocked for believing in Heaven. I guess even the non-religious kids were being
told about Heaven too because the alternative was far too depressing for little
ones to have to worry about. We didn’t really hear about that other place down
south either. You know the one, right? I heard it’s scorching hot all year
round due to this gargantuan lake of fire and brimstone running through the
place. What a sight! Bring a camera. Apparently it also has better music. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hell no!
(Pun) No one wanted to talk about Hell or ruin someone else’s peace of mind by
downplaying the concept of heaven. I mean, even adults who usually think Elohim
is as real as Thor, will say to those in mourning, ‘<i>they’re in a better place now</i>’. If I had to hazard a guess I’d say
they are referring to Heaven, because it would be savagely inappropriate to
mean a wooden box, or a crematorium. Unless they are existential nihilists, but
come on, that’s just bad taste. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We all
need to take comfort from where we can, and I would never try and take that
away from anyone. I tend to think whatever gets us through the pain can’t be
bad. We need hope. We need help processing our grief.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As a young
man I had all the faith and hope imaginable. I knew Heaven existed! I prayed to
God that when my time came, I would get there, and if I did, well, the euphoria
would be indescribable. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There is no
actual evidence of Heaven, but I had the Holy Scriptures and visions from
prophets to aid my imagination of that paradisiacal realm. In Mormonism, the
highest degree of glory that one can attain is exaltation in the Celestial
Kingdom. That was to be my final destination after I was resurrected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Let’s
pretend for a moment that I haven’t left the Church, or written a book detailing
my experiences, which has evidently ruffled some feathers. For the sake of this
story, let’s say I’m still in <i>La La Land</i>.
(Not the movie, I’m a terrible dancer). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’ve died. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Let’s
hope peacefully in my sleep, but then again, as this is fictional let’s say
that I was last seen wrestling with a 20 foot crocodile while trying to save a
baby zebra in the Nile.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It didn’t go
well, so walk through the veil with me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">As the baby
zebra scurries up the river bank to safety, my body is dragged down into the murky
water by the croc’s powerful, unrelenting jaws. I had put on a bit of weight in
later years, so at least it was of some use in the end.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now in
spirit form, I’m not too worried about crocodile teeth. Sure it was an epic way
to go out. I’ll definitely re-tell that story around a campfire in heaven
sometime, but for now I am enjoying feeling weightless as I gently float
through a brilliant white mist. I guess this is the veil I kept hearing about
back on Earth? It really did blind us from seeing into the spiritual world. Now
I have new eyes. I can see things with much more clarity and depth. How long
have I been suspended in this white space for? Time doesn’t seem to exist here.
I feel calm, at peace, and dare I say, at home. I’ve always wanted to fly. I’m not striking a Superman pose or anything;
I’m just kind of drifting into white space. I could stay here forever. This
will do just fine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Time isn’t
relevant to me anymore, but during this spiritual flight my consciousness becomes
aware of others also drifting through the whiteness. I feel their presence but
I don’t need to talk to them. I don’t need any reassurance. I’m not afraid
here. We are all on our own mesmerising journey into the unknown. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As I stare
into the brightness before me, faces begin to appear. Suddenly, but not
alarmingly, someone is close to me. They are wearing a white gown, a warm
smile, and a hand is outstretched towards me. I take his hand and I find myself
taken out of the white nothingness. I’m in a new plain of existence now; it’s
more tangible here. The man shakes my hand and offers an embrace. He seems
familiar to me, like someone I have always known, but all I assume for
now is that he is probably an angel. Are we communicating? I can’t tell if we
are speaking telepathically or out loud? I feel like I have a touch of
spiritual jet lag so I’m not too sure now about what is happening. I still feel
peaceful though and I was definitely descending upwards. I couldn’t hear rock
n’ roll either, so I think I’m safe from ending up lodging with my fallen
brother, Lucifer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A golden
path in the clouds takes me towards Heaven’s pearly gates. They are colossal
and guarded by angels wielding fiery swords. The guardians smile and welcome us
through. Apparently you don’t need to show any ID here. When I get through to the
other side I am greeted by my family and friends who arrived before me. There’s
a lot of hugging, tears, and laughter. Our reunion is finally completed when
I’m greeted by family dogs which we lost on Earth. They absolutely love the new
white grasslands. As I throw a ball (which resembles a golden snitch) for them
I can’t help but wonder if they know not to pee up the pearly gates. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My family
show me my new mansion. I’ve been a good and faithful servant apparently, and
this is my reward. We all have them up here. My new home is bigger than a
Hollywood star’s house. What’s more is that there isn’t any mortgage or bills
to pay either. I'm told in the east wing of the house there's my own recording studio with hundreds
of wall-mounted guitars to use at my pleasure. A thought hits me. If James
Hetfield from <i>Metallica </i>is up here
too then I’m going to get to jam with him. Better still, we are going to write
some killer tracks together, all Church standard, of course. We have eternity
to do it, so I’m sure he’ll find a moment for me. I’m going to ask Lars to
teach me drums too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I find out
that Kanye and Bieber’s music isn’t permitted up here, and I ask a relative if
this day can get any better. I’m told it can, as I am shown my new back garden.
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s massive
and bursting with life. I can see deer running through the woods with tigers. I
can see apes swinging around in the treetops. Out to the coast I can see orcas
breaching in the ocean. I look left and see a lion lying down with a lamb,
basking in the celestial sunlight together. There is no animosity here, just
like the bible said. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Over to the
right of my garden I spot a full sized football pitch. A friend tells me that
Steven Gerrard practices his free-kicks there most afternoon’s and so I can
join him for a kick-about sometime if I’d like. This is amazing to me! I’m also
going to get the chance to give Michael Jordan a one on one aren’t I? My mind
is reeling at the possibilities. I’m finally going to meet all of my earthly
heroes here. I never had the chance in mortality, but here anything is
possible. It’s a lot to process. As I look back towards the lion and lamb, someone
tells me that we can communicate with animals here telepathically. ‘<i>You can swim with a Great White, stroke a Leopard,
and you won’t be eaten by a crocodile here’.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*Triggered*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My new
neighbourhood seems perfect. No, it is perfect! We’re in Heaven! The atmosphere
is electric with positive energy. There is so much love and calmness here.
Everyone is in sync. I see people who I didn’t like too much in mortality and
feel nothing but love for them now. I can’t wait to restore friendships and
make amends with people who I fell out with. Everything is going to be okay
now. I can’t wait for those I left behind to get here. They are going to love this
place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our intelligence
increases in Heaven. I see people learning how to organise matter. There’s talk that
some people are advancing so much that they will end up being able to create
their own worlds. Others are learning how to fly, properly fly, Superman poses
and all. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After I have
settled in and taken stock of this golden, white paradise, I continue to weep with my loved
ones. I can’t comprehend how incredible and miraculous it is for us all to be
together again. I can’t wait to hear about what they have been up to. I have so
many questions, but eternity to have them answered. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We’ll never get bored here.
There’s no more pain, no suffering, no hunger, no wars, no corruption, no hate,
no bigotry, no judgements, and no doubt. I now have a sure knowledge of my
faith, and I am suddenly humbled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I weep for
joy, and a reverence comes over me. I remember the reason all of this is
possible. Him. My older brother, who atoned for my sins, died on the cross, and
overcame the sting of death. He made this happen. As He approaches me I fall
silent and fall to my knees. I bow my head because I still don’t feel quite
worthy to be in His presence. He asks me to stand and so I do. He puts his arms
around me and we cry. He is the only one who truly knows my heart, who sees my
potential. He heard all of my cries, He felt all of my pain, and He saw my unworthiness
and loved me anyway. He cleansed me through His blood atonement and raised me
from the watery grave. He knows me more than my family, more than my wife, and
he loves me more than I can even comprehend. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As He
straightens up to look at me I continue to look down. I notice the scars in his
hands from the nails that were hammered into his palms. He shows me them and I
touch them lightly with my fingers. His voice is like rolling thunder when He
calls me by name. I look up into His face and marvel at His glory. His
countenance is like lightening, brilliant, bright, and powerful. Words cannot
describe His glory. His eyes are deeper than the oceans and His beardgame is
strong. He smiles at my thoughts for a brief second and then resumes reverence.
He then asks me if I would like to go and see the Father. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">That was how
I imagined Heaven to be when I was an active member in The Church of Jesus
Christ of Latter-day Saints. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Okay, not
everything about it is doctrinally sound, but my friends and I used to imagine
what we hoped it would be like. We used to have conversations about what we
could do there. Some Mormon prophets have stated that we mere mortals could
progress to be gods in charge of our own worlds eventually. It wouldn’t just be
singing praises and worshipping the Father, we could also progress and continue
to grow as intelligent immortal beings.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was
comforting to think that whatever I didn’t achieve in this life, I could
someday achieve in the next. God isn’t a respecter of persons, so it doesn’t
matter who you are here or what you have, one day little old me will be your
equal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the next
life I would be perfected from my faults too. No more worrying, no more
anxiety, no more hang-ups. How fantastic to finally shake off all of our flaws,
because I’m fully aware of mine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I have battled
with anxiety for decades now. I’ve tried all kinds of treatments but ultimately
self-management is how I cope. I will instinctively know what I am able to bear
on a day-to-day basis. It’s not an ideal way for me to live, but it keeps the monster
in its cave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sometimes
anxiety has limited my growth. I’ve had opportunities to further myself, earn
more money, meet new people, visit new places, but I’ve missed out because I
chose to save myself from the anxiety that would accompany it all instead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Occasionally
I find myself lost in a fog of irrational thought. I will conjure up everything
I am afraid of happening to me or those around me. I worry about people getting
cancer, I worry about people dying, and I even stress out about my dogs getting
older. I know that I will cope badly in these situations, so in some sick way I
start preparing myself for the worst. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m shy, but
in a social situation I will act confident so that no one will catch my
weakness. When I get home I feel exhausted, like I’ve just been performing on
stage in the West End. If we’ve ever had a conversation then there’s a good
chance I’ve gone to bed thinking about it. <i>Why
did I say that? I bet they think such and such</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If I imagine
you don’t like me, then I’ll save you the trouble of being around me and cut
you out of my life without even asking you. It’s a bad defensive mechanism, I
know. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My anxiety
is also in direct conflict with my passions. I love to draw, to sing, to play
guitar, and to write. I have a burning desire to create, so I indulge myself, and
then like Victor Frankenstein, I loathe my creation. Sometimes I will even post
on social media and then regret it. I will probably post this and then wish I
hadn’t. I’ve never read or really looked through a book I have had published, I
keep my art in a folder I never look at, and I never re-watch my music videos
when I’ve uploaded them to social media. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s
draining and when the monster goes back to the cave his pal depression comes
out for the scraps. What am I doing in life? Where am I going? What happens
next? Is it all meaningless? At my lowest I’ve pictured myself hanging, or
walking into a train, but I could never do that to the people I love, so
instead I hope someone launches a missile and nukes me into oblivion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The good
thing for me about hitting rock bottom is that I then start to ascend back up
until I feel like myself again. I’m sorry that all of this sounds heavy, maybe melodramatic,
but someone reading this has felt the same. Someone might be glad I'm admitting this. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I don’t care about how I look to
people anymore. I’m 36 and I’m bored of pretending I don’t have battles. Take me or leave me, I’m still going to be the
same either way. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It's not easy to talk about mental health. I sometimes wonder if I would still have these issues had I not been damaged by religion. Did all those years of feeling guilty and ashamed have an affect on the way I see myself today? Probably.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Heaven would
have given me a second chance though. To have an existence where I’m not
anxious Chris anymore, I could be who God intended me to be all along. I could
accomplish whatever I wanted in His Kingdom.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hopefully though I wouldn't do what I do now with my art or music. <i>Ah that world I've created is shit, I can't even look at it. </i>I'd be a crap god. Hey, maybe that's why we never hear from God? He's like me and hates His work too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Why am I
telling you all this? I guess so you can better understand where I’m coming
from before reading my new book. I’ve been getting some flak for <i>‘Brainwashed and Anointed’</i>, and I think
people are mistaking me for some bitter, angry, atheist, who just wants to
destroy other peoples happiness because my experience with religion was bad.
Even non-Mormons are getting offended because I no longer believe in God or a
heaven. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Do you think
deep down I really want there to be no heaven after what I have just described
I had hoped it to be? It doesn’t bring me any joy, in fact, it’s quite sad to lose heaven and to be in a position where I don’t have a single clue what happens next. There’s no evidence to say there
even is anything else. Feelings and ancient books aren’t enough for me anymore.
Sometimes I miss my ignorance, but I’m also glad that at least I live with
reality now. It’s a relief for me to have escaped religious conditioning. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Having said that I’m still processing everything and it will take time. It
hasn’t been easy to let go of things that I once viewed as ‘fact’, but it never
was ‘fact’ to begin with, it was a concept indoctrinated into me by other
people who had been indoctrinated themselves. I can’t quite tell if the concept
of heaven is actually kind or cruel. It's wonderful if the bubble doesn't burst. Losing that belief is frightening. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Why can't I just accept death as a fact of life though? The odds of me even being on this rock with the chance to live one life should be enough. How selfish of me to want another one. Maybe I would just take life for what it is had I not been promised a Celestial Kingdom? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the future will people view our concepts of heaven the way we view Olympus or Asgard? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I know some
of you reading this have different philosophies and thoughts about it. I know
people who believe in an afterlife, Mormon heaven, another kind of heaven, I
know people who believe in ghosts and have their own intuitions and spiritual beliefs,
but on a purely selfish level, none of that helps me. If I take your word for
your experiences or feelings, I may as well just believe that two Gods appeared
to a fourteen year old Joseph Smith in the woods. I respect your opinions and
experiences, I wouldn’t dare say you are wrong or delusional, but until I know
for myself I just can’t rely on them as fact. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">All I know
for sure now is that there are whales in the sea and giraffes in Africa. The
sun will rise in the morning and the moon can be seen at night. The trees produce oxygen so that we can breathe. We need water and food to survive. We
need shelter to stay warm and dry, and we need sleep to allow our bodies to
rest. If we touch fire it will hurt. If we fall off a cliff we will probably
die. When we die we go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I don’t want
to leave on a hopeless note, so I will end with this; Love transcends death. I
know that for certain. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Available 28 December 2017</span></div>
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Homesick At Space Camphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882590055538174885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1480510893837251280.post-65140713867452827622017-01-10T19:21:00.001-08:002017-11-30T14:53:00.078-08:00I was a Mormon<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><b>Update: If you don't want any <i>Brainwashed and Anointed</i> spoilers then don't read this blog post. I wrote it before the book was written so it's pretty much a nutshell version of my story. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">My parents converted to The Church of Jesus Christ
of Latter-day Saints when I was two years old, so Mormon doctrine seemed as
natural to me as all the other life lessons I would learn growing up. Learning
about the prophet Joseph Smith and The Book of Mormon was just as normal for me
as learning about gravity. What goes up must come down, and that is exactly
what happened to my faith.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Before I begin, I should tell you that I have now
officially left the LDS church by having my name removed from its records.
Prior to this I had been inactive for about six years, although during that
time I was still battling with my feelings about the Church. For twenty-seven
years of my life I was an active member. I went through primary, the youth
system, the young adult system, I graduated from Seminary, I held numerous
callings, I served as a missionary, and I was married in the temple, so I know
the religion inside and out. In fact I know it so well that this honest account
of my personal experience with the Church will not be classed as free speech,
but as anti-Mormon literature. I will be classed as apostate and making my
reservations for a hot retreat in the afterlife. Touchy right? Back then I
would not have dreamed in a million years that I would be someone criticising
Mormonism, yet here I am. The reason I am doing this is because I have been
holding on to a lot of anger and this is my way of getting that out of my
system so that I can finally have closure and move on. I thought about just
hammering all this out on my keyboard and not letting anyone else see it. After
all, I do not want to cause offence to members of the Church, some of whom are
still my friends. I’m not trying to lead anyone else astray either, but the
fact is the Church and its indoctrination impacted my life in a negative way,
and so I make no apologies for illustrating just how it did that. Maybe others
have had similar experiences, or maybe this will help someone else already battling
with the process of unravelling its heavy chains. I want my parents to know
that I don’t blame them at all for raising me in the Church. Fortunately for
me, they were not militant or overly strict religious parents, but they
believed they were doing the right thing after being indoctrinated themselves.
I suppose the buck stops at the organisation itself, not those who fell under
its powerful delusion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Growing up as a Mormon can be extremely difficult
for children leaving the safety of home life and church circles when starting
school. I was lucky because I seemed to blend in well enough and although my
friends knew I went to church for three hours every Sunday, I don’t think I
came across as too peculiar. When I started secondary school I stood out a
little more because people caught on that I didn’t drink tea, coffee or
alcohol. They knew it was for religious reasons and I was lucky that it didn’t
really cause me many awkward situations. My close school friends didn’t really
drink either, so it was quite easy to not feel abnormal. My brother wasn’t as
fortunate. He really took on-board being told as a primary child to tell all his
school friends his beliefs and invite them to church on Sunday, as if such
missionary efforts would then convert his infant friends, then their parents,
and then a whole new family would be members of the Church! As expected none of
them came to Church, instead my brother became a target and was bullied until
he was finally forced to leave school. I suppose my point here is to highlight
how early children are taught to be missionary minded. If you were to attend a
testimony meeting you will most likely see little kids standing at the pulpit
saying, “I know the Church is true. I know Joseph Smith was a prophet, I know
Jesus died for me”. The same kids who believe in Santa Claus and the tooth
fairy. It may seem harmless to members, but is this not early
brainwashing? The Church even teaches
that if you want to gain a testimony, you should bear it. Isn’t that a nice
little affirmation to help re-wire your mind? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s difficult to really say when I gained my own
personal testimony of what I thought back then was the truthfulness of the
Church. My teenage life was pretty busy with church routine. Most mornings
before school I would get up really early to attend a seminary class, which is
basically a scripture study group. We were also encouraged to have a personal
scripture study session every morning too, so I was pretty drained before I
even got to school. Monday evening we had Family Home Evening, which for those
of you that aren’t aware is a time for family prayer, scripture study, followed
by a fun activity. Tuesday evening was a youth activity night, and on Sunday,
three hours of church, and sometimes an evening fireside or devotional. If you
aren’t a Church member all that sounds pretty intense, and it was, but there
are positives I can draw from it too. We did grow very close as a family during
Home Evenings, and I was able to do some fun and interesting activities during
youth activity nights. It was also a good chance to see my best friends, who to
this day remain my best friends. (They are all ‘inactive’ now). There were
additional responsibilities too, such as the various meetings we needed to
attend depending on what church calling we had. Home Teaching was another duty,
where once a month we would visit families assigned to us and share a spiritual
message and attend to any needs they might have. I bonded with some of these
families and it was nice being able to serve them when they needed some help,
so I’m not criticising this particular practice, I’m just pointing out how
immersed my life was in church culture. Again, I was raised in the church, so
the lifestyle was natural for me; it wasn’t until I reached the age of fourteen
or fifteen that I began to have struggles with it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m going to use sex words in this next part, so if
you’re easily offended then maybe go and put the kettle on and have a hot
chocolate if you’re a Mormon or a coffee if you’re not, and come back for the
next part while I continue my rambling. Or don’t. Use your free agency. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Being a teenager in the Church, well, it’s hard. (No
pun intended). Before I go down this road I want to preface it with how I viewed
myself at this time: </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I was a priesthood holder of The Church of Jesus
Christ of Latter-day Saints, the only true church, it boldly claims, on the
face of the whole earth. I was a valiant spirit in the pre-earth life because I
had been born (well I was two, but let’s not ruin this mantra) into a Mormon
family. If I believed what the Church leaders were saying at the time, and I
did, I truly was one of the elect. I was privately self-important and arrogant
like the rest of my peers, thinking I was one of the chosen ones. Not even the
Queen could bless the sacrament on a Sunday or call angels down to minister,
but I could. My poor non-valiant non-member friends, don’t worry I’ll pray for
you and try and save your souls with conversion.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Seriously though, at age fifteen I felt a massive
weight on my young shoulders. Things were getting more intense for me now. I
really believed I had to stay clean, pure and worthy, so that I could start
preparing to serve a two year mission when I reached the age of nineteen. I
wanted to reach the highest degree of Heaven, Exaltation in the Celestial
Kingdom, where it is promised that I can be with my family for time and all
eternity. Let’s not forget that if I wanted to be blessed with an eternal
companion, I had better stay pure, clean and worthy, words I would hear time
and time again in my lessons as a young man. I had to learn obedience. I had to
always have the spirit with me and not offend the Holy Ghost or I’d be
unworthy, unclean, and shameful. My vice, (which is now my pleasure) back then
was music. I loved rap, punk and heavy metal, but the lyrics were not ‘conducive
to the spirit’ so I would throw them out in the trash. I would watch a film and
if it had swearing or sex in I’d either stop watching or if I did stick with it
I’d spend the night praying for forgiveness and asking that the spirit would
return to me. It was promised that the Holy Ghost would be my constant
companion unless I caused offence. Come back to me, I’m sorry. I know I
shouldn’t have watched that or listened to that. I’ll throw it out to prove how
sorry I am. Even if I swore I’d feel guilty! Then there are the sins of
omission. If I didn’t read my scriptures for ten minutes that day, I’d start
feeling like I’m drifting out of the light. There are so many things I could
list but what I want to concentrate on now was the real burden that hung around
my neck like a milestone – being a teenage boy with sexual urges. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve had many discussions with my church raised friends
over the years about how horrible the guilt was for us all when we ‘slipped
up’. At school I was taught that masturbation was a natural act. At home, well
who the hell wants to talk to their parents about that? I didn’t and I wouldn’t have if they had
tried, so that left Church for me, which after all was the most important stance
anyway, because... Heaven.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was never taught that it was a sin by any of my
local leaders, until it was too late. Church books educated me that it was
sinful and shameful, and it was confirmed for me during a confession session
with a Bishop. I don’t know if the Church has updated its information on it,
and quite frankly I don’t care if they have because it didn’t help us back then
when it was classed as a carnal sin that needed repenting of. My friends and I
spent years feeling guilty because we all had to stay clean enough so that we
could pass or bless the sacrament on a Sunday. One Bishop told us to imagine
the nails being smashed into Christ’s hands as a pleasant little aid to help us
concentrate on staying worthy. One book,
backed up by scripture, informed me that when we masturbate, demons watch, laugh
and mock us for it. So you spend however long you can resisting the urge, which
in itself makes you the most frustrated stressed out ‘stop tempting me Satan!’
individual in town, then you give in because it’s near impossible, to be left
feeling like the hosts of hell are surrounding you. It’s creepy and plays
tricks with your mind, so I would spend the rest of the night reading scripture
and praying desperately for forgiveness. I would ask that the spirit return,
that the demons would be cast out, I would feel sick and beg for mercy and
forgiveness, promising to change, promising to see the Bishop about it. Let me
tell you, it’s quite degrading to sit opposite a Bishop and tell him you’ve
been beating yours. To be fair to my Bishops, they didn’t really seem to want
to know or care, and kind of just shooed me along. They knew it was inevitable.
They could relate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">No sex before marriage. That was set in stone. I
knew that. The other stuff was a grey area for me and my friends. Again, it
wasn’t until it was too late that we were told, ‘Uh oh! That’s all serious sin
too. Phone the Bishop’. We all tried our
best growing up, but sometimes we fell short of what the Church demanded.
However I guarantee you that we paid the price for it and then some. The guilt
caused genuine suffering. We couldn’t even admit it to each other. It was
embarrassing and humiliating to sit across from a Bishop and explain what you
had done. It was heart wrenching to feel like you had disappointed God, caused
Christ to suffer in Gethsemane, and lost the companionship of the Holy Ghost.
You felt abandoned, alone, unclean, immoral and wretched. You felt unworthy to
carry out Church duties. If you were asked to give a talk in church, teach a
lesson, or assist in giving a blessing, you felt panic, because you need the
spirit for those things. I think life for any teenager is challenging enough
without the tremendous amount of unnecessary guilt and shame heaped on them for
what I now believe to be normal and natural experiences. The Church teaches
that through repentance you find forgiveness, so at times I did feel forgiven,
but the constant cycle of sin- repent- confesses-forgiven, was emotionally
exhausting. I wish I could have just been permitted to explore and experience
natural behaviours like most people do and not punish myself for them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When I was eighteen I was given the Melchizedek
priesthood, which added more responsibility.
At the time I felt it was a great honour and a privilege, despite being
told that I’d be held accountable in the next life if I didn’t receive it, and
that ‘... whoso breaketh this<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>covenant<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>after he hath received it, and
altogether turneth therefrom, shall<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>not<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>have forgiveness of sins in this world
nor in the world to come’. (Doctrine and Covenants 84:81) Damned if I do,
damned if I don’t. Damn it! I’m officially damned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I spent this whole
year being as righteous and proactive as I possibly could. I was preparing for
a two year mission as an Elder of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day
Saints. I broke up with my girlfriend at the time and I started attending seminary
classes even though I had already graduated. I would even knock doors in town
with a friend to preach the gospel. I gave a presentation at college about the
Church and my mission. I gave all my friends copies of The Book of Mormon. I
visited families, gave tons of talks at Church, taught lessons, and spent most
of my time listening to Church talk tapes and reading Mormon literature. I did
my damned best to stay as worthy and as pure as I possibly could. I threw out
more CDs and stopped watching anything deemed inappropriate by the Church. I
even cut out television completely for awhile to really focus on my scripture
study and meditation. As well as studying at college I was also working retail
jobs to contribute money towards my mission. I’m not meaning to sound arrogant here, but I
really felt like I could not have been any more prepared for my mission. I was
well versed in Mormon doctrine, I knew the scriptures well, and I was confident
in my ability of bringing souls to Christ. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I was nineteen years
old when my mission call arrived in the post. I was called to serve in
Roseville, California for two years. I spent Christmas with my family and then
the following month I was off. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">My Bishop at the
time was a lovely, kind-hearted and wise man, whom had really helped me prepare
for my new adventure. To this day I will not speak a bad word about him because
he really is one of the best people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing, despite
our now opposing beliefs. There are wonderful and sincere people in the Church
and my Bishop was one of the best examples. Another man I really valued was my
Stake President, a warm and gentle man. He set me apart as a missionary, and
the next thing I knew I was on a plane to America. It was horrendous saying
goodbye to my family. We were all upset at the airport and it felt gloomy. My
only contact to them for two years would be by letter, which I was allowed to
write once a week. This was the first time I had been on an aeroplane. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">My first stop was
Provo, Utah, where I would attend the Missionary Training Centre for three
weeks before going out to California. I expected a spiritual feast at the MTC,
but I was left starving. I was assigned an MTC companion and given an ugly,
bland, basic room, which we shared with two other missionaries. They were all
from Utah, the Mormon capital. They were nice enough guys, but I soon learnt my
companion was having masturbation problems and needing to see the MTC president.
I felt fed up. No one seemed like they wanted to be there. I genuinely wanted
to serve and teach people the gospel, but they felt like they had to be there
for their families. One guy even said that girls wouldn’t date him unless he
went on a mission. This is another bugbear for me. We were taught that it was a
commandment to serve a mission, and the young women are taught that they
deserve nothing less than a returned missionary for a husband. Don’t you worry
about who people really are, or who you fall in love with, just make sure they
tick all the Mormon boxes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I assumed everyone
would be buzzing in the MTC, but I found the atmosphere depressing. The only
time my roommates seemed happy was when playing pranks on each other. We would
get up at the crack of dawn, go and share a shower with a bunch of other
strange naked dudes, and come back to our room for scripture study. The whole
day would be filled with classes hammering home the need for obedience. I was
used to teaching people from the heart and the scriptures, but now we had to
learn scripts and sales techniques. I saw some people in tears because they
were struggling with it and others half asleep. It felt so forced being told to
share our testimonies with each other in the cold light of day. The class was
just full of the same old phrases and mantras, nothing was heartfelt or
sincere. I can’t recall much else about the classes anymore. All I remember is
the word ‘obedience!’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I liked everyone in
my class, but there was blatant ignorance among some of them. I think it was
during our second week in the MTC that a few of them were questioning why they
weren’t feeling the spirit. One of them chirped up with, ‘Well, my parents told
me that because we live in Utah we are so used to feeling the spirit that we
are immune to it now’. They all nodded in agreement, feeling pleased with that.
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">My one saving grace
in the MTC was a Canadian missionary in my class. (He has also left the church
now). We instantly bonded and had a lot in common. He too was feeling the Utah
culture shock. The Church wasn’t really like this back home was it? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">One day of the week
we were allowed to wear casual clothes, catch up on laundry and exercise. I
remember putting on a Greenday hoodie that my brother had given me as a leaving
gift. Nothing was on it apart from the band and its name. I was off to play
basketball but was stopped. ‘Elder Yeoman, that isn’t appropriate for a
missionary to be wearing’. Sorry mate, but they don’t have BYU hoodies back in
England. On my suit I wore a small pin badge which had the Union Jack and the
American flag on. I was stopped in a hallway by an MTC leader and told to
remove it because it ‘detracts from the message’. Maybe this all sounds petty
to you, but it was these little things that really started to grind on me,
stripping away any personal identity I had, and making me a Utah robot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I felt nothing
spiritual in the MTC or the Provo Temple sessions. I felt homesick and deflated.
My letters home just read like brainwashed affirmations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">After three weeks
of robot school, I travelled to Roseville California where I met my new mission
companion, another young lad from Utah. We lived above a garage on a member’s
property. It was a nice enough room and my companion was a decent type. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I think I was a
couple of weeks into the mission when I suffered my first panic attack. I
remember being in the shower finding it hard to catch my breath, and I started
freaking out. My heart was pounding and adrenaline coursed through my veins. I
felt so much dread and fear, I just wanted to run. I know now this was the
fight or flight scenario, but I didn’t know what a panic attack was at the
time. I assumed Satan was attacking me, trying to stop me from serving the
Lord, so I kept repressing it and hiding it away. I’d go to bed begging God to
rescue me from what was happening. A God of miracles could surely stop this
happening to me, right? The panic attacks kept coming. What is happening? I’m
an ordained missionary, so why does the phone line to Heaven seem off the hook?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I had never felt so isolated. I was so far
away from home and my family. The letters arrived so late due to airmail that
we were never up to speed with each other. Even God had apparently abandoned
me, so try as I might to fight; the only logical solution for me was flight. I
was a pale, shaken up, nervous wreck, which meant I was a burden to my
companion and ineffective in the mission field. I talked to my companion and
then my mission president about what was happening and that’s when the first
piece of advice came in. Spend the day getting a nice milkshake at a local
diner. Wow, this must be some milkshake! I wonder if they prescribe it on the
NHS? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Meanwhile my parents were being told to not write to me, nor take my phone
calls. Anyway, my mission president was right- a nice break from riding my bike
all day and knocking doors, did allow me a moment to gather my thoughts
together. My companion was a great guy too, and I agreed not to be hasty and
give the missionary work another try. I was still getting doors slammed in my
face, still teaching people about the Church, and trying my best, but the panic
attacks would not relent. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. I
couldn’t even sit in a Church meeting on a Sunday without walking out feeling
despair. Try as I might, I just couldn’t get my thoughts together. I was sick
of shaking, I was sick of feeling dread, and I was sick of pleading to God for
help. All I wanted to do was escape. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I wanted to call
home, but I needed permission because it was against mission rules. Then I had
to find out the country code and after some frustrating attempts, I eventually
got through to my dad and told him what was happening. He knew what panic
attacks were because he suffered, and still does suffer with them. At least now
I had a name for what was happening to me. It wasn’t the Devil after all? I
told my mission president that it wasn’t the Adversary or homesickness, it was
panic attacks, and I needed help. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I was so stressed
out during this period of time that I can’t remember the order of events. It’s
just one big anxiety ridden blur to me even now. What I do know though is that
I again told my dad, companion, and mission president that I wanted to stay and
try and serve. I did try again and then quickly failed. Another batch of
attacks had finished me off and all I knew was that I was done and I wanted to
go home. During this time I was sat down by a local Bishop and the ward mission
leader after they heard that I was leaving the mission field. The conversation
is a blur to me, but I remember it feeling like an interrogation where two
grown men, who ought to know better, told an ill nineteen year old boy that he
had best hope that his plane doesn’t go down on the way home in case he ends up
in hell. Don’t worry though, my awesome stake president from England would
phone me later and boost me up. Actually scrap that. He told me that if I came
home I would be ‘letting my family down, my ward down, and my stake down’. It
was heartbreaking to hear that from a man I had respected and looked up to as a
spiritual leader. If only I knew then what I know now, that he was cheating on
his wife at the time and abusing his calling as stake president, maybe then I
wouldn’t have cared what his opinion was. I vaguely remember talking to my home
ward Bishop who was one of the few people that showed me any
understanding. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I spent my last day
with a bunch of missionaries who were silently judging me for leaving. So long,
Roseville! I really appreciate your well
wishes and compassion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I got a flight to
San Francisco on my own and then flew to Utah where I would meet my dad at the
airport. We would be staying with the missionary who baptised my parents and
his family while I would get some ‘care’. At this point I had to play along
with the notion that I wasn’t going home to England, I was just going back to
Utah to get treatment and then return to the mission field. They assumed a
little time with my dad would do the trick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">In Utah I got off
the plane and had to walk through a bunch of Mormon families greeting their
returned missionaries with banners and welcome home signs. What a happy affair!
I don’t think I have ever felt so embarrassed and ashamed in all my life as I
walked through that crowd and over to my worried looking dad. He said I looked
deathly white and frail, while I wished the ground would just open up and
swallow me whole. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I don’t even know
how long we stayed in Utah for. It felt like a year, but was probably a few months.
My dad was getting pressure to convince me to return to Roseville, while I was
seeing a local church councillor for my panic attacks. By then the Holy Ghost
was like a long lost friend. Anxiety was now my constant companion. I felt
highly strung, always on the verge of a breakdown, and depression set in. I was
so desperate to just go home that I stopped caring who I was letting down. I
knew I was definitely finished with being a missionary because someone asked me
if I’d go back to Roseville if an angel appeared to me and commanded me to. I
replied that I felt so sick that I would have to say no. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The Church couldn’t
bear the thought of me just resting in a house during the day, so it decided to
tell me to go and work in a Church canning factory. My dad out rightly refused.
‘Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m a relative of the prophet Wilford
Woodruff!’ said the voice on the phone. ‘I don’t care if you’re the Pope!’ Dad
retorted, and hung up on him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I was put on
medication and had a few sessions with a church psychologist, neither of which
helped me. I ended up on a drug that made me feel numb and disconnected. I
later learned this drug was heavily linked to suicides. When I first arrived in
the States I was given a cocktail of different injections which I apparently
needed. Some people think this may have caused a chemical imbalance in me which
resulted in panic attacks. I haven’t really looked into it enough to draw a
conclusion. The fact is I was having them then and I still am sixteen years
later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Sometime during the
anxiety blur I stormed out of the house we were staying at after an argument,
probably with someone who was trying to get me to go back out to California. One
of the daughters of the family we were staying with followed me out, calmed me
down, took my hand and walked me back. This innocent little act was spotted by
a nosey Mormon neighbour and reported to the Church. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The Church’s final
attempt to get me to change my mind about leaving was by setting up a meeting
with a General Authority, whom they discovered I admired and looked up to. I
went to his office in Salt Lake City where he interviewed me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">This particular
Church leader was a real inspiration to me. Before my mission I had read
several of his books and listened to many of his talks, so I was quite pleased
to have the opportunity to meet him, despite my desperate to flee state of
mind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I had hoped to be
uplifted, or at least understood, but I found myself in a confessional
situation. First of all I was chastised for holding a girl’s hand. After that he
didn’t accept a medical reason for my problem, but treated it as a spiritual
issue. I was asked if I had any unresolved sins that I needed to repent of. I
told him that I hadn’t, but that wasn’t good enough. He continued to probe, so
I had to mention that I had sinned in the past but that I had repented of them
correctly with my Bishop back home. Apparently that answer wasn’t adequate because
he asked me what those sins were. It’s a bit embarrassing having to confess
your sexual experiences to someone you had put on a pedestal. I wanted him to
think highly of me, but instead I was going over what the Church would call my
sinful acts. This was totally irrelevant and I’m still wondering why I needed
to repeat them after saying that I had sorted all that out long before my
mission. Well, he must have drawn a blank to why I wasn’t coping on a mission
because I was then asked if I was homosexual. The meeting left me cold. He gave
me a blessing before I left his office but it was as insightful as a brick. The
only thing I did agree with him on was that I needed to go home. I never could
pick up one of his books again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Maybe you’re
wondering why my dad and I didn’t just leave and fly home ourselves? The reason
for that is the Church was holding on to my passport and for awhile we couldn’t
get it back. I believe they wanted me to return to California and it wasn’t
until my dad threatened that he would go to the press about it that they
reluctantly handed it over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Before we returned
to the UK, the missionary that baptised my parents kindly tried to cheer us up
by taking us to some amazing places. I was really grateful for that and I feel
sorry that I wasn’t in a state of mind to really enjoy them. We left the
snow-capped mountains of Utah and visited the Hoover Dam, Arizona, the Grand
Canyon, and stayed a couple of nights in Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas. Incredible
places, but I just wanted to be home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">It was immensely
frustrating trying to convince the Church that I wasn’t going to be a missionary
anymore. In my mind I was done. I wasn’t sleeping and I was close to breaking
point. My Dad and a member of the local stake presidency supported my decision
to leave. With the latter’s aid it was finally set up for us to leave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I remember the
relief I felt as the plane left the tarmac and I was finally in the air above
Utah. I sobbed like a child. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Are you all playing
your violins for me? I know this may come across really pathetic in the grand
scheme of things, but it’s all relative. This was a big deal for me. The
spiritual stress took its toll. I’d been at the heart of my religion and it was
nothing like I had imagined or been led to believe. All the leaders I spoke to
kept saying, ‘Don’t you go inactive now. Go home and get better and come back’.
I tried going back to my local ward when I was back in England, but it was too
hard. Rumours about my return started to circulate. I heard one person say that
I was just homesick, that my family was too close and it was unhealthy. Someone
else decided that I had probably had a relationship with one of the daughters
that we were staying with and so I was sent home dishonourably. The fact is I
received an honourable release from the Church, but I couldn’t attend it
anymore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I started seeing a
non-Church psychologist and I was still taking the drugs which caused me more
harm than good. He confirmed that I had
indeed had a breakdown. I was numb and I knew I wasn’t myself anymore. I left
the Church but I still believed in all of its teachings. I found it hard to fit
in to normal life again but when I did start socialising and going out with
friends I met someone who I had a nine month relationship with. When time had
passed and we broke up I started to come back out to Church, but a new Bishop
had been called by then and I found myself put on Church disciplinary
probation. I was on it for far too long, and treated unfairly considering what
I had been put through. It took the Stake President to finally release me from
it. He even told me I had been on it for too long and enough was enough. The
Bishop said the spirit had told him to take me off it, which I knew wasn’t
quite true. One Sunday I was outside of church rather than in a lesson with a
few of my friends, just talking. A sister of one of my closest friends was
talking with us. She was a lot younger than us and someone I had babysat many
times over the years because our families were close friends. The Bishop pulled
me in and angrily suggested that I was being inappropriate considering I was on
probation. He made out like I was on a sex offenders list and I couldn’t be
trusted. What an ugly assumption and a horrendous insult. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The Church never
felt the same for me ever again, but after some time I got myself into a
position where I was doing all it was asking and trying to ease back into its
spirituality. As time passed, I baptised my new girlfriend into the Church and we
were later married in the London Temple. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Members argue that
the Church is perfect, but its people aren’t. Some have suggested to me that it
was imperfect people handling things badly that caused me more stress, but even
if that were the case I find it disturbing that people are allowed to be put
into influential positions which can cause a lot of damage. People are given
life advice, marriage advice and counsel by leaders that aren’t trained or
qualified to do so. It is widely believed that when someone is called to an
office it comes direct from God and so when they speak you should take it as
sound advice from the spirit. They are taught not to question or criticise its
leaders. They are basically told to obey and not to question. How dangerous is
that? I knew all this was nonsense but my testimony in the Church allowed me to
shrug it off. The indoctrination was so ingrained in me that despite my mission
experience I still wouldn’t speak out against its leaders. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">My faith was
smashed to pieces when my wife miscarried. Since I was eighteen years old I had
been giving members priesthood blessings. The Church teaches that if you are
worthy and spiritually in tune then you can bless people through the guidance
of the spirit. I always felt good doing it, but then that’s because I’m placing
positive affirmations on people which is naturally uplifting. I felt very
experienced in this area. I thought I knew when the spirit was with me and I
spoke as I felt directed. When my wife was pregnant I was giving her blessings
which talked about our baby and how it would be healthy and well. I was
convinced our baby was going to be a boy and I blessed my wife and child with
all the love that I felt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">When my wife and I
went to our first scan at the hospital expecting to see our baby, the screen
was black. We were told that there was no heartbeat. We were informed when she
had miscarried, so all of those feelings and blessings just couldn’t be true. I
was blessing a baby that was already gone. So what were all those feelings and
assurances I felt? Now I know it was nothing more than my own desires and
wishes. It shook my faith and I never gave another blessing to anyone again. I
have never accepted a blessing from anyone else either. I had lost my faith in
blessings but I still had faith in prayer. So I prayed that my wife would be
comforted and helped through this heartbreaking time. She wasn’t comforted or
helped because she ended up going through an agonising miscarriage as her body
passed the pregnancy sack. She was in hospital twice in horrendous physical
pain until it all finally passed. We didn’t have time then to deal with the
emotional grief, which came later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The same week that
she was released from hospital she had a Church member visit. She was told that
even though she had miscarried it was her duty to procreate, so to try again. A
few weeks later when my wife wasn’t coping well the same person told her to not
look back anymore. ‘Look what happened to Lot’s wife when she looked back, she
was turned into a pillar of salt’. This is just typical of the harmful damage
people can do when they feel like they are acting with the spirit. I was told
our baby was too precious for earth so that’s why we miscarried. None of this
provided us with any sort of comfort. We continued to try for a baby but it
just wasn’t happening for us. The next piece of advice given to us was that we
needed to come back to church and put ourselves in a position for God to bless
us. Oh, so it’s our fault for not conceiving now is it? We aren’t attending Church so we aren’t going to be blessed. How do they really believe that logic?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The truth is we
couldn’t attend a church where everyone else seemed to be falling pregnant or
hearing all about how we need to raise families up unto the Lord. The Mormon Church
is very much family focused and we felt beaten over the head with it during
lessons, talks, and every time someone tried to put a spiritual band aid on our
miscarriage. Anytime members can’t answer a difficult question I hear some
cheap tagline like, ‘God works in mysterious ways’. That isn’t good enough for
me anymore. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Since then we have
been inactive from the Church for about six years. It really took me stepping
well away from it so see it for what it is. I don’t see anything that it claims
to be anymore. I see control, indoctrination, and arrogance. It’s taken me a
long time to really undo its grasp on me. I was thirty years old when I had my
first proper alcoholic drink, and even then I felt a slight twinge of guilt. I
quickly shook it off because I realised how infantile it is to be made to feel
like a naughty child when I’m a grown man. Since that time I have had to
recondition my brain to be free thinking. I no longer give the Church’s opinion
on certain matters like I used to, I give my own. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The process of
untangling its sticky web wasn’t an easy one. It took time to eradicate its
guilt which would creep up on me unexpectedly as I changed my lifestyle. It was
also hard accepting that I no longer had the comfort of being one of the elect,
chosen to hold the priesthood and sealed to my family for time and all
eternity. I don’t rely on prayer or blessings when things go wrong anymore. I
don’t even have faith in an afterlife, which was perhaps the hardest pill to
swallow. I feel like I’ve been told that all my friends were imaginary, and I’ve
only just realised that I’m on my own. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I don’t know
anything for sure, but never again will I allow myself to be tricked into
religion or take people’s feelings and testimonies as truth or fact. Most
members will say ‘I know it’s true, rather than I believe it’s true’. I don’t
know it and I don’t believe it anymore. All I trust now is what I actually know
for sure. I’m done relying on my gut to think for me, now I use my brain and
seek actual evidence. It’s not as bleak as I first thought either. There is a
wonderful beauty knowing that we, against all the odds are living here on planet
earth in a beautiful vast, wondrous universe. Maybe we all just have to find
our own meanings and purposes in life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Even if God does
exist, would a supreme being really be easily offended by petty little earth
activities when children are starving in a world of corruption and injustice?
Do you really think a god cares what a teenager or anyone else for that matter
gets up to in the privacy of their bedrooms? Does a supreme being care if I
wear a Greenday Hoodie or listen to Metallica? Does God frown down at me when I
have a cup of coffee? Does God really answer the prayers of privileged Mormon
kids that have lost their car keys, while ignoring starving children in the
world? If God loves us all beyond imagination and is full of mercy then won’t
we all be saved in the next world anyway? None of it makes much sense to me
anymore. Right now I’m just accepting life for what it is and I’ll live it
however I choose to live it because as far as anyone knows, we are only here
once.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">A recent talk by a
Mormon apostle asked the following question: ‘If you choose to become inactive
or to leave the restored Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, where
will you go? What will you do?’ Well, I
have chosen to leave the Church and I will go wherever my free thinking mind
wants to go, and do whatever my free thinking mind wants to do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I can’t tell you
how liberating it feels to have the weight of Mormonism lifted from my
shoulders now that I have left its clutches. I live my life for myself and not
for the Church. I no longer feel its guilt, I no longer feel shame or unworthy,
and I no longer have to feel uncomfortable about its sexist and homophobic
views, because they no longer represent me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Now that my name
has been removed from its records I can also speak freely about my experiences
in the Church without it invoking disciplinary action against me. When it was
confirmed that my name was removed I had a few minutes where I felt solemn. I
had invested so much time and energy into it over the years and it really was a
way of life for me. Now I had undone everything. Again, this shows how deeply
rooted this religion embedded itself into me. When I realised this I finally
felt like a leaf on the wind. I was free.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Some members say to
me, ‘you’re still a good person though’, like morality is only exclusive to
Mormons. If anything I am a better person today because I’m not judgemental and
I’m far more accepting of alternative lifestyles and people. I know that the
Church will view me as lost, or apostate, or the nicer members will be worried
about my salvation. That reality only exists in their minds though. Just
because that’s what they believe does not make it true. It’s impossible for
them to see any other view unless they break out of the delusion and reevaluate
it with fresh eyes. Most of my true friends left the Church for their own
reasons. People that gossiped about me or treated my family like crap over the
years are still going out feeling better than everyone else. This fact alone
speaks volumes to me. Of course not all the members are like that. I know there
are genuinely great people in the Church who do a lot of good and are living
happy, fulfilled lives. I don’t wish to offend them or insult their beliefs,
but I also feel the need to express how Mormonism has affected my life because
it clearly has. I feel like I was hoodwinked for so many years and I will never
get that time back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Whether I have
succeeded or not, I’ve tried my best to focus only on some of my own personal
experiences with the Church rather than critiquing its doctrines and the
organisation as a whole. I hope my Church friends won’t be too offended and I
hope my non-Church friends won’t find all of this too insane. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m thirty-five
years old now and I still have dreams that I’m back on a mission, trying to be
obedient and trying desperately to get home. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Homesick At Space Camphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882590055538174885noreply@blogger.com5