All the answers

I have a lot of childhood memories of my mom teaching me. Even though I've rejected the religion she raised me in, I will always be grateful to her for her teaching. She taught me to love learning, to ask questions, and to think my own thoughts. I have several memories of her helping me with math homework. Several times I tried to get her to just give me the answers to the problems I was trying to solve. Like any good teacher, she refused, insisting, "you have to figure out the answer for yourself."

When I stopped believing in the church, the most devastating thing for me was the realization that I didn't have answers anymore. Worries about the the afterlife and how to tell my family of my apostasy were frightening, but the most terrifying thing of all was the realization that where I thought I had knowledge, I had only ignorance. My recurring thought during the month leading up to my final epiphany was that the rug had been pulled out from underneath my feet. I felt like a cartoon character who, after rushing off a cliff, looks down and realizes that there is nothing beneath him.

Not having answers is scary, especially when it comes to big questions like the meaning of life and what happens when we die. Mormonism gave me very neat and sensible answers. Leaving Mormonism meant leaving the answers. But I still wanted easy answers. I realized almost immediately that there probably wasn't a god, but I held on to the idea of him for more than half a year. I wanted him to exist and I wanted him to give me answers. I kept praying, sometimes desperately. I wanted so very much for there to be a wise, all-knowing being who loved me and had my back. But more than that, I wanted answers--solid, sure, indubitable answers.

Those answers never came. When I finally realized what I'd known all along, that pleading with the silence was not doing me any good, I had to accept that there was no cosmic authority figure who would tell me the answers. I had to figure things out on my own, I knew that I was fallible. Life doesn't have an answer key like my math book did. And I wouldn't have it any other way. As my mother taught me when she refused to tell the answer to that long division problem, the point isn't knowing what the answer is. It's knowing how to think for yourself--because when you think for yourself, the answers you find are really yours.

Dear God: What a year can do

I like looking through my old journal entries. I especially like looking at the things I wrote one year ago, and seeing how I've changed since then. I found this in my journal entry for June 17, 2010:

Dear God,
I don't know if you're real. It would be awfully nice if you were, because sometimes my life sucks. It would be nice if there were somebody who were in charge of it all, who is making all the good and the bad work towards some ultimately good end. But I don't know for sure whether to believe in you or not. Why should I? I mean, I wouldn't want to worship a being who is needlessly cruel. I would find that to be morally reprehensible.

Which brings me to my question--why all the weirdness? Why on earth would you do something so dumb as to hide all overt evidence of your existence, and then threaten people with hell if they don't believe in you? Where's the sense in that? I mean, seriously. Do you have insecurity issues, control issues, or what?

Basically, it would be nice if you could be up-front about who/what you are, and what you want of people. Let's be reasonable here. I refuse to treat life like a college class where the syllabus is a contradictory puzzle with half the pieces missing, and grades are awarded arbitrarily. 

I've got lots more to say to you, God, but I'm really tired now. I have class in the morning. So just think about that, OK? If you're really there, why don't you start acting like a rational grown-up? Just a suggestion.

I was essentially an atheist at that point. In an earlier entry I describe myself as a "peaceful agnostic." But damn. On June 17, 2009, I wouldn't have dreamed of writing something like that. And now, I've given up the last shred of wishing-for-God that I still had in the back of my mind one year ago. A year ago, I was figuring out how to define myself in terms of religion. I didn't really believe, but God was frequently on my mind. But after that final night on the temple grounds, I stopped worrying. Now I never wonder if God's really there. I really did give him a fair shot. I really tried to believe, but he never came through.

And you know what? I can safely say that since that last prayer that night by the temple, I've been the happiest I've ever been. I don't wonder or worry like I used to that one of the religions in the world is true, and that I'm condemning myself to hell through my ignorance/non-belief. My whole life, the people I've known have insisted that atheism is the most depressing philosophy out there, that it implies that life is meaningless and empty. But I've found that the opposite is the case. Life without God is free of so many of the worries I had when I believed in God, or when I was trying to believe in him.

One year ago I was a baby atheist. I wasn't even ready to call myself an atheist--I called myself an agnostic, just to be on the safe side. It's amazing what a year can do for a person. God and his existence/non-existence is not really on my radar, to be honest. It doesn't keep me up at night anymore (and it sure as hell used to). Now, I am free.

Double Bind

I remember my mom saying that one of her worst fears was that one of her children would leave the church. At the time, I was sure she had nothing to worry about on that score. I believed in the church with all my heart; for one thing, I'd never known anything else, and for another, I was convinced that it made sense. Sure, I'd had moments of cognitive dissonance with polygamy and misogyny and racism, but they were quickly suppressed. I had learned at an early age that whenever I found something about the church that bothered me, the thing to do was "put it on the shelf" and trust that I would find answers eventually. The idea that I might leave the church one day was inconceivable.

When I did realize that the church wasn't true, the scariest part about the whole thing was the prospect of telling my parents. I knew they would be devastated. I considered never telling them, and just pretending to believe for the rest of my life, but that was a losing proposition from the start. I hate pretending to be something I'm not. For the record, they don't know yet as of this writing. I won't be telling them for awhile for various reasons, but I have plans to do so as soon as it's feasible. But I have absolutely no intention of  pretending for the rest of my life. 

But this dilemma of mine made me realize shortly after I stopped believing that the church was not a benign organization. A healthy organization would not cause a mother to feel that she's failed at parenting if her daughter leaves the church. A healthy organization would not cause someone's "worst fear" to be that a loved one would leave. That is manipulative and evil. 

The church uses family members to create a double bind on apostates. We are faced with a choice between pretending to believe something we don't, or devastating our families. That is not healthy. It is a giveaway sign of a cult. An honest organization does not need to rely on guilt and fear to keep people in. An honest organization can take criticism. 

From a believing Mormon's perspective, there is no legitimate reason to leave the church, ever. Members are taught that people "apostatize" because they have been offended somehow, because they wanted to sin, because they were spiritually weak, or because they were prideful. Ironically, the church actively tries to persuade potential converts to leave their own churches, even if this means disappointing their families. I have heard dozens of converts tell stories about their families being angry with them, being sad, or even disowning them because they joined the LDS church. And the church glorifies these people for their fortitude. But when the situation is reversed--when someone who is already a member leaves the church--they are vilified and judged. 

According to the church, apostates cannot be happier outside of the church than they were in it. People are taught to fear and vilify apostates, and when a loved one apostatizes the believing member is left with an awful choice. Either they must view their loved one as having "fallen from grace," so to speak, or else they must somehow accept that their husband, wife, son, daughter, brother, or sister had a legitimate reason to leave. Like the apostate, the believing member is placed in a painful double bind. It is disgusting to me that the church manipulates and coerces its members in this way. There is nothing of good report or praiseworthy about it. And as members become apostates in increasing numbers, the problem is only going to get worse. 

As I said above, the church's attitude towards people who leave it is one of the major reasons why I consider it to be a harmful and coercive organization. Families are forever, but only if everyone toes the line. The church uses fear and guilt to manipulate its members, and that is wrong. 

My Last Prayer

In previous posts, I've talked about my gradual change to atheism. The change didn't happen in a rush of realization like the loss of my testimony did. But if I had to identify a point in time when I realized that I was a complete atheist, it would be one night during the summer of 2010. That night was like many nights in that I was feeling very lonely and I had no idea what to do with myself. I went to the temple and sat on the grounds as the sun set and just thought. I thought about how much had changed since the last time I'd been inside a temple--it had been over a year. I looked up at the stars and wondered if there was anyone up there who cared about me at all. I had stopped praying a few months previously, because my desperate prayers just weren't being answered. But I decided to give it one last shot. If I was ever going to regain a belief in God, this was his chance.

I said everything that I had to say to God. I told him about how frustrated and lonely and confused I was. I told him how much I wanted to believe that he was real, but that I really didn't think it was fair of him to expect me to believe in him when all appearances indicated that he didn't exist. I asked him to help me know if he was real. I don't know what I expected. I didn't expect any kind of miraculous vision. I didn't expect a warm fuzzy feeling like the one I had been told to expect when reading the Book of Mormon. Even if I had felt something like that, I wouldn't have trusted it. I think that I was really expecting everything to suddenly make sense, that all my doubts and the apparent problems with a belief in God would vanish in a brilliant flash of logic. Whatever I was expecting, nothing happened. Nothing. In a way I wasn't really surprised by the nothingness, because that was all I had been getting for months, even before I lost my testimony of Mormonism. But this time was different, because I accepted it. No divine answer was forthcoming. I had done my level best to believe in God, and God had failed the test.

As I walked back from the temple to my apartment, I didn't really think much about what had happened. It was almost as if nothing had happened, because nothing had really changed. But I was finally at peace with God--that is, with his lack of existence. Since losing my testimony I had always wondered in the back of my mind if there really was a God, and if he really cared. I had now accepted that I was on my own and that there wasn't any supernatural force to guide me or comfort me, or even to lend me a listening ear. I had talked to God, and no one had heard me. I wouldn't even realize the significance of that night until later. Even though the experience itself was emotionally difficult, my reaction immediately afterwards was really just a shrug of my shoulders. So there was probably no God. That came as anything but a surprise. That night I let go of my angst over the God issue and got on with my life. I haven't worried since.

The Bliss of Heresy

I call myself a blissful heretic. I chose that name for a reason. I disagree with the old saying that ignorance is bliss; I have found that as I eliminate ignorance from my mind, I become a much happier person. During the final stages of my belief, the cognitive dissonance was very painful and I would not have called it bliss. When I embraced the truth, the shackles of dissonance fell away from me and I was free to explore reality, unhampered by obligations to ancient superstitions and corrupt authority.

I don't use the word "heretic" flippantly. There was a time when heretics were tortured and burned alive. I consider myself infinitely lucky to live in a time and a place where the worst consequences for my heresy are disapproval and possible rejection from my family. Even that's pretty bad. It's bad enough that, as of this writing, I am still "in the closet" to my family and friends about the fact that I'm an atheist. But the worst that could happen to me really is not that bad.

I have found that there is a strange bliss in heresy. I don't mean that I go about being contrary and unpleasant. But freedom of mind is blissful in a way that is unlike any other kind of freedom I have experienced. If a question needs to be asked, I'm no longer afraid to ask it for fear of the answer. I no longer shy away from difficult philosophical questions like free will and causation. I'm no longer afraid that the conclusions will threaten my "testimony." A friend of mine once asked me if my study of philosophy ever shook my testimony. Naturally, this friend did not and does not know that I am an atheist, and therefore could not have known the irony of her question. No, philosophy does not shake my testimony. Philosophy, philo sophia, is the love of wisdom. I am delighted to pursue my search for truth and wisdom wherever it leads. Perhaps it leads me wrong sometimes, for I am a fallible human being and I don't always think things through properly or have all the available evidence in front of me. But I am not afraid of being wrong, because I am always seeking to find what is right. My best defense against error is hardly going to be blind faith. I should keep my mind as open as possible, on the chance that my view of reality might be wrong or limited. I'm not afraid of my testimony, such as it is (or rather, isn't) being "shaken" because if something is false, it ought to be dislodged from one's mind, and if it is true, then it should stand up under scrutiny. The bliss of heresy is the utter fearlessness with which one can pursue wisdom.

It Gets Better

I remember how scared and devastated I was when I lost my testimony. Life was pretty difficult for me for a long time. Mormonism was all I knew, and I had no idea how I was going to live outside of it.

I don't know how likely it is that a Mormon who is doubting their faith will stumble across my blog, but if any ever should, this post is for you. And my promise is that it gets better, if I may borrow a phrase used by the LGBT movement.

I think that the best thing I did when I lost my testimony was reach out for help. I started posting on an exmormon recovery board, postmormon.org, and the people there were incredibly supportive. Another thing I did that was incredibly helpful was doing research on grieving and how it works. For many, perhaps most people who leave the church, there's a grieving process involved. It was incredibly helpful for me when I realized what was going on and why--and that it would eventually peter out and I'd be okay. A useful model for understanding this is the 5 stages of grief. The important thing to realize here is that this process is not like a game of Monopoly, where you land on each square, pay your dues, and move on. Everyone will experience these emotions differently, in a different order, and sometimes simultaneously. You will probably experience some of the different stages more than once. People are complex things, and leaving the Mormon church (whether you leave only mentally, or physically as well) is a long process for many people. The church entwines itself so entirely into the lives of its members. It permeates quite literally every aspect of life--from big things, like philosophical epistemology, to little things like what you can eat and drink, to intensely personal things like sexuality and relationships. There is no area of life that Mormonism doesn't touch. When you are freed from the church, it's a wonderful feeling. Your life and choices are completely your own and you don't have an organization trying to impose its one-size-fits-all dogma on you. But because the church is so completely a part of everything, the process of extricating yourself can be long and painful.

Everyone's experience will be different, but I am going to give a quick run-down of what the process was like for me in the hopes that others will be able to relate to parts of it, and recognize the differences in their own experience. The process started when I was exposed to information about the church that contradicted everything I had been taught. This information was online, and my initial reaction was to defend the church. I was convinced that the information being presented was false, and by Jove I was going to correct that misinformation! Obviously, this backfired badly. I was having references to the Journal of Discourses and LDS canon scripture thrown at me, and ultimately I realized that the discussion was going nowhere and gave up. The information I received perturbed me, but not so badly that it really affected me aside from irritating me.

Over a period of about a month, I repeatedly encountered things that chipped at my resolve. These things fell into two categories--reasoning and evidence. The reasoning was really the most powerful influence on me. I remember one day in particular when I couldn't get the conflict between D&C 132 and Jacob 2 off my mind. After my classes for the day were done, I remember sitting at the kitchen table in my dorm with my scriptures and laptop, poring over the relevant verses and trying to reconcile their differences. I spent the better part of the afternoon on this. And things like this kept happening, on average about once a week. Every time my attempt to reconcile the problem turned out to be futile and I gave up. One night it hit me that the church might not be true after all.

Doubt is a curious thing. It's like belief; you can't just make yourself doubt something. The philosopher Descartes tried to find truth by doubting everything, and then building his worldview back up starting with the self evident truth that "I think, therefore I am." But as the pragmatist philosopher William James pointed out, Descartes didn't actually change his behavior. He still kept his hand out of the fire, still ate and drank, still interacted with his world in the same way as always even though he was trying to doubt that any of it existed. I think that James has a more accurate conception of doubt than Descartes--namely, that doubt is uncertainty as to how one should act. And you can't make yourself doubt. Try it--try doubting whether you'll burn your hand if you stick it in the fire. Do you now have any hesitancy about how you should act with respect to the fire?

When I started doubting, I had no idea how to act. It was painful. When you don't know how to act, you can't really function. One term for describing this is "cognitive dissonance"--the painful phenomenon of having two opposing ideas in your mind at the same time. I believed that the church was true, yet I was aware of things like the contradiction between D&C 132 and Jacob 2, the heinous history of polygamy, Joseph Smith's false prophecy about the second coming of Christ being at the end of the nineteenth century, Brigham Young's Adam/God doctrine--and the list was growing. I didn't know what to think or how to act. The way we cope with cognitive dissonance is obvious--we suppress one of the conflicting ideas. So I suppressed my doubts. They were still there in a dark corner of my mind, but I ignored them so that I could function. I was in denial.

There came a point when I couldn't suppress the doubt anymore. I had shoved that "spiritual shelf" so full of different things that when I encountered one more problem--in my case, the Book of Abraham--it didn't fit on the shelf anymore and it came crashing down around my ears. I felt the full intensity of the doubt and uncertainty, and to this day I can think of only one other time when I was in more emotional pain (also connected to the church). It was then that I started posting on postmormon.org. Within twenty-four hours I was out. I had been resisting the notion that the church wasn't true, but by this time the only thing stopping me from admitting it to myself was intellectual honesty. I wanted to make sure that I had given the church a fair shake before I rejected it. But the pile of problems was just so enormous, the very honesty that made me initially hesitant pushed me to realize, it probably isn't true. The absolute relief that flowed over me when I made that realization was incredible. There was a long, hard road ahead of me out of the church still, but I entered into an acceptance phase for awhile. The last month of that semester at BYU was surprisingly pleasant. The month or so previously had been painful, and now I was free. I started exploring the boundaries of the new world that my mind was in, and found that it had none. I was as free as a bird, and it was exhilarating. In short order I accepted evolution as scientifically viable, gave myself proper sex ed with the aid of Wikipedia, and even started questioning the existence of God.

That last item was the one that drove me into another difficult stage of my deconversion. Atheism frightened me. I tentatively explored the idea with my mind, trying to get a feel for the world, and didn't find any God in this new, ex-Mormon world. It frightened me. About two weeks after I stopped believing Mormonism, I watched The Lion King with my roommates and ended up very distressed over the death of Mufasa. What happens when you die? I didn't want to lose my family forever. The problem of death kept me vacillating on the question of God for several months. At different points I was an atheist, an agnostic, a deist, and at one point almost a Christian. And then, after months of worrying that issue, I let it go. I realized that no easy answers were forthcoming, and almost imperceptibly, I began thinking of myself as an atheist.

That was the process of my intellectual change, but the emotional one was much, much more difficult. This is where the stages of grieving come in. Sometimes I would experience denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance all within a single day--sometimes a single hour. I knew it wasn't true, but sometimes I was still so emotionally attached to the church that I tried to make myself not know. Most often I was angry and resentful, which always seemed to throw me right into depression again when my anger proved utterly ineffectual. At one point I was so obsessed with the problem of death and whether or not life had any meaning that I was suicidal. The issue plagued my mind so much that it became like a vise on my brain that wouldn't let go. It was always there, looming in the background. I remember one dark night when my family was watching a movie, and I was so trapped inside my own mind that I locked myself in the bathroom, trying desperately to gain control of my mind, and the thoughts of death just wouldn't stop. Try as I might, I couldn't make them go away. There are few things that terrify me as much as not being able to control my own mind. I want to point out here that part of the problem in my case was that I have a history of problems with depression, especially in the winter months and as a side effect of PMS, and I have no doubt that this was an enormous part of the problem with my fixation on death. But it had never been this bad before.

My point in sharing this is that I want to show anyone who's in a similar situation that it gets better. You can move on, you can figure it out, and you can find meaning and purpose in life outside of God. It was really hard for me for awhile, and there's a chance that I might not have made it through. But I did, and I can promise that life on the other side is wonderful, and even better than life in Mormonism. It's going to be hard for awhile, and that's okay. Don't try to force yourself to be happy right away. It's okay to be sad. But don't give up, and if you find yourself seriously depressed like I was, please please please ask for help. Life is wonderful, and leaving Mormonism gives you so many wonderful options. Grieving is a part of letting go, but it doesn't last forever, and it WILL get better. :)

A letter I wrote as an angry ex-Mormon

This is a letter that I wrote some time ago to vent my frustration at the facade I was keeping. I had been an apostate for approximately six months, and would have described my religious status as "agnostic" (although, in retrospect, I really was an atheist, but wasn't ready to admit that to myself). For many people, leaving Mormonism has an anger stage, and this was mine. Many of the emotions that I express in this letter are no longer applicable to me, but at the time they were very real and nigh overwhelming. And, when I am feeling strong emotion, my typical coping mechanism is to write.

*      *      *

Dear roommates, visiting teachers, classmates, professors, FHE siblings and others: this letter is to inform you that I am not who you think I am. I may look like an innocuous Molly Mormon, but rest assured, more lies beneath the surface.

I am one of those who has never broken curfew. My conduct with respect to For The Strength of Youth is irreproachable. In other words, I seem like an ideal Mormon girl. Because of this, many of you seem to be quite fond of me. I appear very safe and docile and stereotypical. This is not the case.

If you asked, I could tell you things about Mormonism that would make your hair curl. From things you have heard about-- polygamy, blacks and the priesthood-- to things that would seem to you like they came from an alternate universe-- blood atonement, Masonic temple ordinances-- your life and perspective would never be the same.

I look to you like ideal temple marriage material. I can cook and sew and play the piano. I love children. I know the answer to all the questions in the Sunday School manual-- more detailed and sordid answers than you would be comfortable with, in fact. Mormonism is in my blood. It goes back six and seven generations in my family. In one sense, I will be a Mormon until the day I die. And yet, there is more. If you asked me what I really believe about religion, you would wish you hadn't.

If we should remain in contact, you will one day be shocked and surprised to learn that I have removed my name from the records of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I wonder what thoughts will go through your mind when you hear of this. If you should ask what happened, I will inform you that all those years you knew me, you never knew me. For the four years that I contributed to Sunday School, Relief Society, and religion classes, I did not believe a word of what was said by me or others. It was all a charade.

Perhaps you will ask why I pretended. Why did I deceive so many people as to my true self? The answer is complicated. Perhaps I do not really know the answer myself. Consider, though, what you now think of me. Is it positive, or negative? I would wager that the word "apostasy," along with all its negative connotations, has crossed your mind. Consider what it must be like to be branded an apostate by those you love. Consider-- if you were in my shoes, would you make yourself known at once? Would you be willing to take the consequences of coming out immediately? You have heard about how early Mormons were shunned and persecuted when they left the faith of their fathers-- be it Lutheranism, Catholicism, Presbyterianism or what-have-you. Do you pretend that Mormons do not do the same thing to those who apostatize? Do you think I wanted to make my mother cry and become a living example of the bitter fruits of apostasy?

Perhaps you are not aware of certain aspects of the CES Honor Code. You know that my education is one of the most important things to me in my life. I chose the school I did because I thought it would be an excellent beginning to my academic career, and because I still believed in the Mormon church at the time I enrolled. When I discovered what I did, I was already on the road to a degree. I still liked my school, in spite of all its trappings in which I no longer believed. I had no money to transfer. This is where the Honor Code comes in. Religious freedom does not exist for BYU students; if they are LDS at the time of enrollment, LDS they must remain for the duration of their education. To do otherwise would mean expulsion. Expulsion, you say? Yes. Students must be members in good standing of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. As I am sure you are aware, apostasy does not constitute good standing, and as you may or may not be aware, it is grounds for excommunication. Expulsion from an LDS school on grounds of apostasy entails educational credit revocation. I refused to allow this to happen. Therefore, I put on the act that you thought was my true identity. Perhaps my motives were not the best. Perhaps you think I should have made myself known to the world at once, and let the chips fall where they may. Perhaps you are right. However, I did not and do not ask for your approval. My actions are my own, and I do as seems good to me. I do not believe that I have any responsibility to an organization that deceived me. The time, place, and circumstances of my revelation are to be on my terms, not those of an organization that has manipulated and lied to me from the time I was a child.

You don't know me. You never knew me. Until you have walked through the valley of the shadow of doubt, you cannot know me. You cannot possibly understand the feelings of shock, betrayal, anger, depression, fear, and resentment attendant to the apostasy that you so vilify. Similarly, you cannot know the irony of the bitter fruits of apostasy. The fruits of apostasy are bitter, yes, more bitter than you can possibly imagine. Yet the knowledge of the truth is often bitter. I have learned not to fear the bitter fruit of knowledge.

Therefore, I ask that you judge not, lest ye be judged. You may need me one day. Should you one day find yourself in my shoes, you will know where to find understanding. When you have nowhere to turn, you will have a friend who has walked the road less traveled. When you grapple with the fear and uncertainty, someone who has already grappled with them will be there to shine light and hope in the darkness. Perhaps you will never find yourself in that situation. Perhaps you will believe until the day you die. One never knows where the road of life may take one. But, perhaps, you will one day find yourself on a road that you never expected yourself to walk. For that reason, I ask that you not censure the road I have taken until you have walked it yourself.

-BlissfulHeretic

Bluebeard

From childhoodreading.com:

Once upon a time, in the fair land of France, there lived a very powerful lord, the owner of estates, farms and a great splendid castle, and his name was Bluebeard. This wasn’t his real name, it was a nickname, due to the fact he had a long shaggy black beard with glints of blue in it. He was very handsome and charming, but, if the truth be told, there was something about him that made you feel respect, and a little uneasy…

Bluebeard often went away to war, and when he did, he left his wife in charge of the castle. He had had lots of wives, all young, pretty and noble. As bad luck would have it, one after the other, they had all died, and so the noble lord was forever getting married again.

“Sire,” someone would ask now and again, “what did your wives die of?”

“Hah, my friend,” Bluebeard would reply, “one died of smallpox, one of a hidden sickness, another of a high fever, another of a terrible infection… Ah, I’m very unlucky, and they’re unlucky too! They’re all buried in the castle chapel,” he added. Nobody found anything strange about that. Nor did the sweet and beautiful young girl that Bluebeard took as a wife think it strange either.

She went to the castle accompanied by her sister Anna, who said: “Oh, aren’t you lucky marrying a lord like Bluebeard?”

“He really is very nice, and when you’re close, his beard doesn’t look as blue as folk say!” said the bride, and the two sisters giggled delightedly. Poor souls! They had no idea what lay in store for them!

A month or so later, Bluebeard had the carriage brought round and said to his wife, “Darling, I must leave you for a few weeks. But keep cheerful during that time, invite whoever you like and look after the castle. Here,” he added, handing his bride a bunch of keys, “you’ll need these, the keys of the safe, the armoury and the library keys, and this one, which opens all the room doors.

"Now, this little key here,” and he pointed to a key that was much smaller than the others, “opens the little room at the end of the great ground floor corridor. Take your friends where you want, open any door you like, but not this one! Is that quite clear?” repeated Bluebeard. “Not this one! Nobody at all is allowed to enter that little room. And if you ever did go into it, I would go into such a terrible rage that it’s better that you don’t!”

“Don’t worry, husband,” said Bluebeard’s wife as she took the keys, “I’ll do as you say.” After giving her a hug, Bluebeard got into his carriage, whipped up the horses and off he went.

The days went by. The young girl invited her friends to the castle and showed them round all the rooms except the one at the end of the corridor.

“Why shouldn’t I see inside the little room? Why? Why is it forbidden?” Well, she thought about it so much that she ended up bursting with curiosity, until one day she opened the door and walked into the little room… Of all ghastly horrors! Inside, hanging on the walls were the bodies of Bluebeard’s wives: he had strangled them all with his own hands!

Terror stricken, the girl ran out of the room, but the bunch of keys slipped from her grasp. She picked them up without a glance and hurried to her own room, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Horrors! She was living in a castle of the dead! So that is what had happened to Bluebeard’s other wives!

The girl summoned up her courage and she noticed that one of the keys – the very key to the little room – was stained with blood.

“I must wipe it clean, before my husband comes back!” she said to herself. But try as she would, the blood stain wouldn’t wash away. She washed, she scrubbed and she rinsed it; all in vain, for the key was still red. That very evening, Bluebeard came home. Just imagine the state his poor wife was in!

Bluebeard did not ask his wife for the keys that same evening, but he remarked, “You look a little upset, darling. Has anything nasty happened?”

“Oh, no! No!”

“Are you sorry I came back so soon?”

“Oh, no! I’m delighted!” But that night, the bride didn’t sleep a wink. Next day, Bluebeard said:

“Darling, give me back the keys,” and his wife hurriedly did so. Bluebeard remarked, “There’s one missing, the key to the little room!”

“Is there?” said the young girl shaking,

“I must have left it in my room!”

“All right, go and get it.” But when Bluebeard’s wife put the key into his hand, Bluebeard turned white and in a deep hoarse voice demanded:

“Why is this key stained with blood?”

“I don’t know…” stammered his wife.

“You know very well!” he retorted. “You went into the little room, didn’t you? Well, you’ll go back again, this time for good, along with the other ladies in there. You must die!”

“Oh no! I pray you!”

“You must die!” he repeated. Just then, there was a knock at the door and Anna, Bluebeard’s wife’s sister, entered the castle.

“Good morning,” she said, “you seem rather pale.”

“Not at all, we’re quite well,” replied Bluebeard.

His wife whispered in his ear, “Please, please give me ten minutes to live!”

Bluebeard replied, “Not more than ten!”

The girl ran to her sister Anna who had gone up to one of the towers and asked her, "Anna, do you see our brothers coming? They promised they would come and see me today!”

But Anna replied, “No, I don’t see anyone. What’s wrong? You look agitated.”

“Anna, please,” said the shaken girl, “look again! Are you sure you can’t see someone?”

“No,” said her sister, “only one or two peasants.”

Just then the voice of Bluebeard boomed up to them, “Wife, your time is up! Come here!”

“I’m coming!” she called, but then said to her sister: “Oh Anna, aren’t our brothers coming?…”

“No,” replied Anna. Again Bluebeard shouted up.

“Come down at once! Or I’ll come up!” Trembling like a leaf, his wife went downstairs. Bluebeard was clutching a big knife and he grabbed his bride by the hair…

“Sister, I can see two horsemen coming!” called out Anna from the tower that very moment.

Bluebeard made a horrible face, “They too will die!”

His wife knelt to implore, “Please, please don’t kill me. I’ll never tell anyone what I saw! I’ll never say a word!”

“Yes, you’ll never say a word for eternity!” snarled Bluebeard, raising his knife.

The poor girl screamed, “Have pity on me!”

But he fiercely replied, “No! You must die!” He was about to bring the knife down on the girl’s delicate neck, when two young men burst into the room: a dragon and a musketeer. They were his wife’s brothers.

Drawing their swords, they leapt towards Bluebeard, who tried to flee up some stairs, but was caught and killed. And that was the end of the sad story. Bluebeard’s poor wives were given a Christian burial, the castle was completely renovated and the young widow, some time later, married a good and honest young man, who helped her to forget the terrible adventure. And that young lady completely lost all her sense of curiosity.

*    *    *

The lot of a Mormon apostate is similar to that of Bluebeard's wife. We are told our whole lives that everything is fine and dandy, that the church is true, that Mormonism is the only way to happiness, when in reality there is an ever-growing stash of mutilated bodies in the closet. We are told never to question, never to look at "anti-Mormon literature," because then the Spirit will leave us, and we will become apostates. Those who do open the closet door find themselves shamed, villainized, and ostracized. In other words, their stories are hidden in Bluebeard's closet along with all the rest of the unpleasant facts about the Mormon church. 

When I first read the story of Bluebeard as a child, I thought that the wife was quite foolish for disobeying her husband and opening the forbidden room. She had a pleasant life in a fine castle full of treasures, with a husband who treated her well. If she had never opened the door, she likely would have gone on forever in happiness, never knowing about the morgue in her own house. 

Later I realized that, even though the results of opening the forbidden room were unpleasant, it would have been awful for Bluebeard's wife to live forever oblivious to the horrors in her own house. She was not foolish for disobeying her husband. The moral of the story isn't "wives should obey their husbands and check their curiosity." It's "don't marry a serial killer." And how are you to know if you are married to a serial killer if you take everything he says at face value and ignore the fact that all his previous wives have mysteriously disappeared? 

If you were married to a serial killer, wouldn't you rather know about it? 

Is this really what I want?

I think that I've always been a feminist. By feminist, I don't mean the man-hating, bra-burning, reverse-chauvinistic kind of feminist. I think that kind of thing goes against what feminism is supposed to be-- the belief that all people are born free and equal, regardless of gender, race, religion, nationality, or anything else beyond the control of the individual. But from the time I was small, I've always had big plans and big ideas. I want to do things, know things, be something. When I learned that, throughout history, other women have been kept from their dreams simply because they were women, that knowledge ignited a passion in me for women's rights. No one should be kept from their dreams. No one should be forced into a prefabricated mold.

As a child, I was convinced that I was as good as any boy at anything I wanted to try. No one told me otherwise, to be sure. No one ever told me that I was less smart, less strong, or less anything than a boy. I was frequently even told that I was better than the boys-- see my previous post, "Pedestals and Prisons." But, as I described in that post, my self was circumscribed into a very limited, idealized role. I might have goals and dreams, but they had to be compatible with my divine calling as wife and mother. 

I was never told not to pursue dreams outside of being a wife and mother in Zion. But when I went to church on Sundays, the women who were held up to me as examples were not women like Susan B. Anthony, Mary Wollstonecraft, or Elizabeth I. Our role models were nurturers and helpmeets-- Florence Nightingale, Emma Smith, Ruth. (As a side note, I feel that the LDS church has committed an enormous travesty in its portrayal of Emma Smith. She is shown as a demure, compliant follower of her husband Joseph, when in fact she was a woman with intelligence and spunk. She threatened to leave Joseph multiple times because of his antics, and very nearly did on at least one occasion.) 

My patriarchal blessing told me that I would marry a priesthood holder in the temple, that we would build a home that glorified God, and that I would be charged with bringing up our children unto the Lord. In seminary, we had an "education day," where we watched a BYU video about college education. There was a special section for the girls-- it showed a pretty young women with an embroidery hoop in hand, telling the young women that "even though you probably won't need a career to support your family, it is still good to have an education so you can teach your children, and so you can work to support your family if your husband is incapacitated." No mention of intellectual development for its own sake. No mention of women pursuing careers for their own sake. We were encouraged to go to college, but with our divine roles in mind. 

I've always been a bit of a nerdy type. I would read nearly anything I could get my hands on, and my parents had a substantial collection of church books. I would spend hours poring over these. I developed a habit of looking up things like "women," "polygamy," and "plural marriage" in the index of nearly every historical book I read. I had become aware at an early age that most history books didn't say much about girls until modern times, and this bothered me. I felt left out. Surely the women deserved as much attention as the men when it came to telling the story of the human race. Slowly, I began to assemble a picture of what it meant to be a woman, and what it meant to be a woman in the LDS church. 

One of the ways I rationalized polygamy was that women in polygamous marriages could leave their children with their "sister-wives" and pursue education and careers. This did happen in a few cases, like that of Martha Hughes Cannon. But these cases were the exception, not the rule. Even Martha lived towards the end of the polygamy era in Utah, and received her medical degree before she became a plural wife. A woman's lot as a plural wife was not generally so rosy, particularly in the early years. Ann Eliza Young, one of Brigham Young's plural wives, wrote about her experiences in her memoir Wife no. 19. It was not pretty. 

In Mormonism, a woman's primary role is that of a wife and mother-- I hate to use such a blunt and perhaps clichéd term, but the ideal Mormon woman is a baby machine. I don't intend to belittle, marginalize, or otherwise disrespect women who choose to have children, perhaps even many children, and to stay at home to raise those children. Such women do, if they take their job seriously, contribute a great deal to society. But no woman should be forced, coerced, or pressured into motherhood. It must be her choice, a product of her genuine desire for motherhood. Motherhood isn't a "divine assignment." It is one of many equally valuable options available to women. 

This role of woman as baby-maker does not end with this life. According to the LDS view of God's great "Plan of Salvation," men may become gods. This is summarized in a couplet by Lorenzo Snow: "As man is God once was, as God is now man may be." In this vision of the universe, a god (who was once a man) creates a world, and populates it with his own spirit children, who are in turn tested for their worthiness to become gods themselves. 

And where do these spirit children come from? 

Why, a woman has to bear them. 

Think of how many people live, have lived, and will live on our earth alone. Think how many spirit children that is. Now, obviously one woman, no matter how perfect and eternal, couldn't bear that many children. The solution is simple: the gods practice polygamy. [Source: Discourses of Brigham Young, volume 11, page 313.]

This is the eternal destiny of the faithful LDS woman. An eternity spent sharing her husband with who-knows-how-many other women, perpetually producing spirit children to populate her husband's planets. Not planet. Planets. [Source: Moses 1:33] Women: know your place. 

It didn't take long for me to put these pieces of the puzzle together. On this issue, I never read a single anti-Mormon source until after I stopped believing altogether. I learned all this doctrine while I was a teenager. I learned it in bits and pieces-- a comment from a seminary teacher here, a passage in a church publication there-- and when I opened the door to questioning my religion, the obvious picture of eternity that I had been hiding from was staring me in the face. A woman's divine calling was nothing more than sexual slavery.

I would sit in church on Sunday and watch the men pass the sacrament. I had never been treated badly by a man at church-- oh, sure, I had been harassed as a Beehive by immature deacons, but that hardly counted. All the Mormon men I knew were good, kind, caring men who treated their wives and daughters with love and respect. But, no matter how good of a man my future husband might be, did I really want to spend eternity as one of his many wives, eternally bearing his spirit children? 

The pieces snapped together, and I realized what awaited me. And I wanted nothing to do with it. 

Pedestals and Prisons

A pedestal is as much a prison as any other small, confined space. -Gloria Steinem


If you ask a Mormon if women are suppressed, second-class citizens, they will tell you no. Women are not limited in the Mormon religion, or considered to be less than men; if anything, they are greater than men because of their greater spirituality and divine roles as mothers. Virtually any Mormon will tell you that they believe that husbands and wives are equal partners. And these Mormons won't be lying to you; they really do believe these things. Women are not subjugated in the Mormon church in the same sense as a chattel wife in the eighteenth century. But they are still prisoners to their prescribed roles.

Subjugation of women in the Mormon church is much more subtle than it once was, but that makes it no less real. Mormonism is very restrictive in the sense that it prescribes virtually every stage of a person's life for them, from cradle to grave. This prescription varies according to one's gender. The place of a woman is in the home.

As a child growing up in the Mormon religion, I was aware at a very early age that girls were treated differently from boys at church. The boys got to pass the sacrament on Sundays. The boys got to go to Cub Scouts, where they had camping trips and hikes and Pinewood Derbies. The girls got Achievement Days, which met half as often as Cub Scouts did, never had camping trips (although we did have hikes sometimes), and typically did things like painting wooden snowmen, baking cookies, and learning how to sew. I recall one activity where we learned how to be "ladylike"-- how to sit, walk, stand, and bend over like a lady.

It wasn't long before I learned about the priesthood, and learned that only boys got it. When I asked why, the response was memorable. I was fairly young at the time, perhaps seven or eight years old. The teacher made all the boys cover their ears, because she was going to tell the girls a great secret. Then she whispered to us, "You can't tell any of the boys this, because it's a secret-- but girls are special because they get to have babies. So God let men have the priesthood so they wouldn't feel bad."

I remember cocking my head to the side and thinking, "that doesn't make sense. Isn't having babies supposed to hurt a lot?" That explanation was so ridiculous, even when I was a brainwashed seven-year-old. It didn't seem fair. Besides, boys got to have the priesthood when they were twelve, and girls couldn't have babies until they were all grown up and married. That didn't seem fair at all.

Later on, when I was sixteen or seventeen, I was spending a Sunday afternoon reading some church books from my mom's large collection. One in particular was written for women, and this book talked about how bad it was for women to have careers, how it was vitally important that they stay at home with their children-- because their divine callings as mothers trumped all else. By this point, I had begun to amass a store of dreams for my future. I wanted to go to college and learn as much as I could. I wanted to write a book. At this point in my life, I was thinking about becoming a lawyer, or maybe a politician or journalist. I had ideas, and I had plans. I wanted children, because I had been taught to want them, but I did not plan on my children being my only contribution to the world.

What this book had said upset me. I thought, men get to be fathers and have careers at the same time. They get to go out into the world and engage with other people and make a difference in the public sphere. Why can't women be mothers and do the same thing?

At this point, I still had another two years of the Young Womens program ahead of me. And by the time I had finished with those two years, I was convinced that I didn't really want a career after all. I was enamored with my "divine calling" of motherhood. Shortly before I turned eighteen, I wrote in my journal that I had been so foolish for worrying about what I was going to do with my life. God, in his wisdom, had already planned that out for me. He knew what would make me happy, and I would follow that plan.

This change was a direct result of my time in the Young Womens program. About half of the lessons I had on Sundays were about women's divine roles. They had titles like "Preparing to Become an Eternal Companion," "Eternal Families," and "Obeying Commandments Helps Us Fulfill Our Divine Roles." I recall leaders regularly having the young women make lists of ways that Satan might try to keep us from fulfilling our divine roles. I want to make clear that I have no ill feelings towards my Young Women leaders; all of them were wonderful women, for the most part highly intelligent and genuinely caring. They were just as brainwashed as I was, and it wasn't their fault. But the organization that I was a part of attempted to steal my identity and replace it with pink pastel conformity.

Women are indeed placed on pedestals in the Mormon religion. They are supposed to be ever-faithful spiritual bastions and pure Madonnas. All our efforts were supposed to be ultimately focused on raising up a righteous generation. Our goals, our dreams, our intelligence, our creativity, and our sexuality were all subverted to this end. We were raised up on high pedestals, and our identities were circumscribed into the square foot of standing space on that pedestal. Our humanity was ignored in favor of our supposed perfection. In this way, we were placed in an elevated prison by an organization that wished to use us for its own ends.

Becoming Atheist

After I rejected Mormonism, I wasn't sure what I believed anymore. It wasn't like I had a Plan B for my religious beliefs. For the first few weeks I avoided the subject. I had strong suspicions that no true church existed, but I knew that I'd just gone through a long and complex process of giving up my childhood faith. I didn't want to be reckless and reject all religion out of hand. However, after spending so much time in a religion that claimed to be the One True Church, I had difficulty with the idea that there was a single true church. The whole idea of faith was suspect to me.

I remember one day in particular. It was a Sunday afternoon in early November, about a week after the final remnants of my testimony shattered. My roommates were all taking their Sunday afternoon naps and everything was quiet. I wrapped myself in a blanket and stood on the balcony outside my apartment like I had the night I lost my testimony, only this time the sun was out and it was almost warm. I looked at the grass, the trees, the sky, and I asked myself if all of it could be just chance. If it was possible that there was no God at all. I didn't like that idea. It was nearly incomprehensible to me. I wanted there to be a God. If there wasn't one, what was the meaning of life? What was the point of doing anything, of existing at all? In spite of my these thoughts and feelings, however, I strongly suspected that there was no God. I'd already rejected the Mormon concept of "The Holy Ghost" as a manipulative hijacking of my own feelings. Besides the Holy Ghost, I had absolutely no experience with God. I had absolutely no basis for believing in him.

I stood out there just thinking for a long time. I think I knew, even then, that I had no real reason to believe in God, but I didn't want to admit that to myself. My internal conversation went nowhere. I didn't come to any kind of conscious conclusion that day.

I wasn't comfortable declaring myself an atheist, even to myself. I didn't actually talk to anyone else about my redefinition process. It something I did purely for my own benefit. I told myself that I was agnostic, and that was true, more or less. I wasn't comfortable with taking a position one way or the other yet. For a few weeks I let the issue rest.

Several months later, I started talking with a friend of mine who had left the Mormon church for Christianity. We had several long conversations about Christianity and I explained many of my reservations about it. My friend did clear up some of these for me and gave me some resources to research Christianity some more. I realized that after my testimony shattered, I hadn't really given Christianity a fair shake. I didn't know much about traditional Christianity except what the Mormon church had taught me about it, and that could hardly be fair. So I researched.

For about a month I was very close to becoming a Christian-- albeit a much more liberal Christian than most. I prayed nearly every night. I read the Bible and Christian apologetic literature. But I never felt totally comfortable with Christianity. Sure, it seemed to have a lot more internal consistency than Mormonism, but that still didn't make it true. It still made absurd, unprovable claims. And the more I read and researched, the less I was satisfied with it intellectually.

Emotionally, I liked Christianity very much. I was very depressed at this time, and I was really desperate for something to hold onto. I'd lost Mormonism; what was left? I prayed to God and asked for comfort, but I knew I wasn't being completely honest with myself. I was taking a totally emotional approach. My conscience wouldn't let me accept Christianity without adequate evidence. When I prayed, I would say something like this: "Dear God, you know I'm looking for the truth. You know I'm doing the best I can with what you gave me. If you're really there, if you really exist, then show me somehow. Help me find the evidence of your existence. If you're real and if you are what they say you are, you'll understand that my integrity won't let me accept an unsubstantiated proposition. So if you're really there, I ask that you not play mind games with me. Just show me that you actually exist."

My answer?

Nothing.

It was the same as with Mormonism. I found lots of apologetic stuff that looked pretty convincing on the surface but fell apart on close scrutiny. I found a lot of stuff that I considered complete hogwash-- the doctrine that all non-Christians go to hell, for instance. I found the whole concept of heaven and hell to be utterly ridiculous. What kind of a psychopathic god would create a giant lake of brimstone for everyone who didn't join a particular sect? What kind of god would hide his own existence from the world, demand that everyone accept his existence on "faith", and then throw everyone who didn't believe into said lake of fire and brimstone? I found this and many other Christian doctrines to be untenable.

So I got no emotional or spiritual confirmation of any kind, and the more I looked at the evidence, the less likely Christianity looked. I can't pinpoint a specific moment when I finally concluded that it was false like I can with the loss of my Mormon testimony. It was a more gradual process, and the emotional stakes were much lower. I wasn't holding myself hostage, so to speak, torturing myself for not getting the "right" answer.

After that, I toyed briefly with a few other ideologies, primarily paganism and Buddhism. I wasn't so much looking for the "one true religion" anymore as I was trying to create my own religion. I still felt like I needed some kind of organized religious creed and practice, some set of rituals and beliefs. So I went through a brief "Build Your Own Religion" phase. It didn't last long, however. I was coming out of my depression, and realizing that I didn't need religion to be happy; that I was happier without it, in fact.

At this point I was back to agnosticism again, mostly because I still didn't want to admit to myself that I was an atheist. But I dropped the issue. I was at peace with not having all the answers. In short, I moved on. However, I eventually realized that there probably isn't a god, and that until and unless I see some good evidence for one, I'm not obligated to give equal weight to the proposition that there is one. I had chosen agnosticism because it seemed to me to be the most intellectually honest position. However, I now think that the existence of a god of any kind is highly unlikely, and I don't have to reserve judgment on the subject any more than I have to reserve judgment on the existence of unicorns.

Once a Mormon, Always a Mormon

I no longer consider myself a Mormon. But, in some ways, I will always be a Mormon. There are certain parts of my Mormon upbringing that are a part of me.

When I first lost my testimony, everything associated with the Mormon church that had used to bring me joy was unbearably painful. Listening to old favorite hymns like "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" and "Come, Come, Ye Saints" felt like a razor to my heart. The sight of a temple made me ache inside. One evening a few months after my apostasy, I went to the grounds of a temple near where I live, just to think. It had been over a year since I'd gone inside a temple. The sight of the temple, glowing white against the evening sky, awoke such a sense of loss in me that I just cried for nearly an hour. And on top of all of this, I was angry. I shoved all these things that I used to love away from me. I wouldn't allow myself to feel anything positive about them anymore.

But I will always be a Mormon. That is something that I have to come to terms with. I can remove my name from the records, I can never set foot in a Mormon building again, I can delete all the hymns from my iPod and throw away my scriptures and hymn book, but I'll still be a Mormon. I've had to learn to tell myself that that's okay. It's okay if "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" still makes me feel the way it used to. It's a familiar hymn, and, to be fair, it's a beautiful piece of music. It's okay if the sight of a Mormon temple still makes me ache; what else would you expect from someone who grew up singing, "I love to see the temple, I'm going there someday"?

My former, Mormon self would tell me that the things I feel when I see or hear these things is the Spirit of God telling me that the church is true. I think most Mormons would say that. But just because I still feel this way doesn't make the church true. I was raised around these things. They are safe, comfortable, and familiar. I can't speak for another person, but I'd venture to suppose that a person who was raised Catholic would have similar feelings when visiting a cathedral and hearing Mass. All religions have beautiful things in them. For centuries, the most beautiful music, art, architecture, and poetry was religious. The words of Isaiah are exquisite, the Sistine Chapel is an incredibly beautiful edifice, and Handel's Messiah is a masterpiece of composition. I can't praise those things enough; they represent some of the highest achievements of human endeavor. But that doesn't mean that the religions they represent are true. The same goes for Mormonism. Mormon artists have written hymns, painted pictures, and designed temples, many of which are very beautiful. I am learning to accept the beauty of these things without feeling intense sadness or visceral anger.

The sadness is an interesting thing. Since I no longer believe, I feel that these things no longer belong to me. But I will allow myself to feel what I feel in response to beauty, even if that beauty comes from a religion that betrayed me.

Young Women

I have come to believe that the LDS church's youth programs are programs of control and manipulation-- particularly the Young Women's organization. The LDS church is very big on traditional gender roles-- the man as the "priesthood authority" and the woman as the compliant housewife. A lot of this is subliminal, but what is overt is shocking.

Consider, for example, the Young Women theme. Every week, all the young women stand and recite the following word-for-word: We are daughters of our heavenly Father, who loves us, and we love him. We will stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things and in all places, as we strive to live the Young Women values, which are: Faith, Divine Nature, Individual Worth, Knowledge, Choice and Accountability, Good Works, Integrity and Virtue. We believe that as we come to accept and act upon these values, we will be prepared to strengthen home and family, make and keep sacred covenants, receive the ordinances of the temple, and enjoy the blessings of exaltation. Listening to a room full of 20-odd young women reciting that in monotone unison is chilling.

Another example is the the Sunday lesson manual. Sub-sections include, "Fulfilling Woman's Divine Roles," "Contributing to Family Life," and "Learning about the Priesthood." Lessons are packed with teachings about how the divine role of women is to stay at home and raise children. True, there are sections on such things as education. However, while these sections may appear innocuous on the surface, even they serve to reinforce the idea that women belong at home and are made to serve others. The lesson I provided a link to, for example, suggests using images of a mother teaching her children and a woman teaching at church as part of the lesson. The message is clearly that a woman's education must train her to serve her family and the church.

Another lesson is devoted entirely to marriage-- specifically, the Mormon conception of it. A significant portion of this lesson is devoted to a story featured in the New Era some years back.

“It all began that first Sunday in March. Or did it? I guess it couldn’t really have had a beginning, because Karen, Emily, and I have been best friends forever. Whether celebrating birthdays and knitting identical purses in Primary as young girls or marching on the drill team and double- or triple-dating in high school, our vastly different personalities somehow seemed to complement each other, and for 15 years we were practically inseparable.

“After high school graduation, though, things began changing in our gleesome threesome. Karen and Emily lived at home and attended the university, while I lived three hours away in a small state college dorm with five strangers. After enduring so much together, we wondered what a few miles could possibly do to our great friendship. But we soon knew. …

“I realized that our special communication had vanished, but I was still shocked one day to open my mail and find a wedding announcement from Emily. Even more surprising was the absence of the wordtemple in the announcement.

“I rushed home that weekend and headed straight for Emily’s. There we talked—talked in the almost forgotten way we had that eternal year ago. She had only known Ted two months, but he was the most handsome, intelligent, popular guy on campus. They would both finish college, and then Ted would go on to dental school. His folks had already agreed to help them with expenses, so that would be no problem. After he graduated, Emily joked, all they would have to do is sit around and rake up the money.

“Once again I had begun to feel close to Emily, when suddenly, I heard myself wondering out loud why there had been no mention of the temple on her announcement. ‘Well, we can’t,’ she said, her flippant attitude not quite covering the concern I sensed. ‘Ted’s a Baptist in the first place, and besides, we want to be married in his parents’ ski lodge and write our own ceremony. A wedding should be really personal and meaningful, not just the same words for everyone. Ted will join the Church someday. But even if he doesn’t, my dad’s not a member and it hasn’t stopped my mother from being active. It won’t stop me either.’

“By the time Emily was through with her well-practiced little spiel, her defiance had built a wall between us once again. What could I say? After a few moments of fumbling chatter to try to ease the discomfort, I said goodbye.”

Pause in the story and have the young women consider this question:

• • If you were Emily’s friend, what would you say to her?

Continue with the story:

“Three weeks later I attended Ted and Emily’s ski lodge wedding. Contrary to my expectations, it was a very striking event—though not religious in any way. They both read poetry to each other for the ceremony, while a flute played lightly in the background. After there was dancing, with punch for us Mormons and champagne for the others. Ted’s parents were super rich, I could tell, and they had just about planned the whole wedding. They were deliriously happy with their new daughter-in-law (and probably a little from the champagne, too). But I noticed Emily’s mom had really red and swollen eyes—like she’d been crying a lot. Mothers are that way—especially when it’s their only child.

“Surprisingly enough, Emily did stay active in the Church. With all her school work and married duties, she attended her meetings faithfully and also served as the assistant librarian. She and Ted lived in an apartment in our ward and I saw her quite often. She always gave me glowing reports of marriage and told how great Ted was to her. ‘What a life,’ I thought.

“Six months later Karen married a returned missionary who was just completing his master’s degree in education. They were married in the Logan Temple, so I couldn’t go, of course. But I did attend the reception in our cultural hall, and it was really beautiful. …

“I kept seeing Emily now, coming to church radiant and excited about everything she was doing. ‘No problems at all,’ she would say. ‘He’s really very liberal. “You go to your church and I’ll go to mine.” Only he doesn’t even go to his.’ But in the back of my mind I could also see Emily when we were younger: praying her nonmember dad would baptize her, wondering if her dad would take her to the Primary daddy-daughter party, trying to pretend it didn’t matter when he went golfing instead of coming to her seminary graduation. But then childhood is such a small part of life. What difference does it really make in the long run?

“Karen and Emily, still doing things together, had baby girls within a week of each other. I took a pink dress to Emily’s little girl and absolutely fell in love with her. Karen’s mother told me in church one day that Karen, David, and their little Melissa would be coming in March to show off the baby and get her blessed where Grandpa and all three of Karen’s adoring older brothers could stand in the circle.

“Then came the first Sunday in March. …

“As I made my way … into the chapel, I met Emily and her baby in the foyer. It was her first time back to church since Julie’s birth. We talked for a minute and then entered the chapel. Emily and her mother sat in the row in front of me. …

“Through the rows of heads and shoulders that I saw from my position on the fourth row from the back, I caught a glimpse of Karen and the rest of her family taking up an entire center bench. …

“After the songs and announcements were over and after we had taken the sacrament, Bishop Edwards stood behind the pulpit and said, ‘This afternoon we have a special treat. I know many of you have known Karen Evans since she was a little girl.’ Emily looked back at me and winked knowingly, but then turned her head sharply forward as the bishop went on. ‘Well, this afternoon Karen, now Karen Sanders, has brought her own little girl to receive a name and a blessing from her husband. Assisting in the circle will be her father and brothers.’

“As I watched David take his little girl from Karen and carry her almost reverently to the front, I could see a side view of Emily. Tears were rapidly filling her deep blue eyes and streaming down her face onto Julie’s downy head. Her shoulders shook violently as she buried her head in her baby’s neck. Emily’s mother tenderly put her arm around her daughter’s throbbing shoulders, and I could see that she, too, was crying. Emily looked up, and I heard her gasp in a desperate whisper, ‘Oh, Mama! Who is going to bless my baby?’

“ ‘I bless you, Melissa, with a sound mind and body,’ I heard David Sanders say at the front of the room, ‘and that you will live a righteous life, that when the time comes, you will meet a choice son of our Father in heaven, one who honors his priesthood and who will take you to the temple of the Lord to be sealed to him for eternity.’ Through the entire blessing and for the rest of the meeting, Julie’s baby shawl absorbed her tears.

“And now, even though a year has passed … whenever … I see a mother and baby alone, something grabs at my heart. For I keep seeing Emily” (Carolyn White Zaugg, “I Keep Seeing Emily,” New Era, June 1975, pp. 26–29)."

The message of this story is, in essence, "if you do not marry a good Mormon boy in the temple, you and the children will suffer for it." I remember being given this lesson several times while growing up, and each time I promised myself that I would not suffer that kind of pain. It was very effective.

Marriage is considered to be the ultimate goal for an LDS young woman. In the Young Women Theme, "mak[ing] and keep[ing] sacred covenants" and "receiv[ing] the ordinances of the temple" refer to marriage-- Mormon marriages are performed in temples. Temples are presented to young women as the ultimate fairytale castle for their weddings. Young Women are expected to complete "Personal Progress", a program that stresses the eight values listed in the theme. Elements of Personal Progress include preparation for homemaking and church service, preparation for marriage, and reinforcement of "keeping the commandments."

Chastity in young women is so important in the LDS church that there are annual firesides specifically dedicated to chastity. A new "value" was recently added to the list of values that Young Women are required to memorize-- Virtue. I'm not criticizing the idea of virtue or chastity; only the LDS church's treatment of it. If a young woman in the LDS church commits some kind of sexual sin (which can range anywhere from French kissing to actual intercourse), she must go to her bishop and go through a lengthy "repentance process" in order to regain her "worthiness." This process entails not being allowed to take the Sacrament (the Mormon equivalent of communion), meeting regularly with the bishop, and "confessing" the sordid details of her sin to the bishop. How does this compare with Christ's treatment of the woman accused of adultery? Christ was the most perfect human being ever to walk the earth. He was perhaps the only person who ever had the right to condemn anybody else for sin. Yet, his words to the adulteress were, "Neither do I condemn thee. Go, and sin no more."

Young women in the LDS church are frequently told that they are of "infinite worth", but actions speak louder than words. Is the "virtuous woman" the only one whose worth is "far above rubies"? The attitude of the LDS church towards women indicates that their worth is contingent upon conformity. Pink pastel conformity.