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.

The Book of Abraham

Up to this point, I haven't gone into a whole lot of detail about what specifically caused me to come to the conclusion that the LDS church is false. I'm going to do a bit more of that now.

Like I said, there were lots of things that went into my conclusion. However, the straw that broke my testimony-camel's back was the Book of Abraham.

The Book of Abraham is part of the canonized scripture (also known as the "Standard Works") of the LDS church. It was purportedly translated by Joseph Smith in 1835. It was supposed to have come from Egyptian papyrus that had found its way into the hands of Joseph Smith. The papyrus had been discovered, along with some mummies, by Antonio Lebolo around the year 1820. Lebolo had them sold, and they were bought in New York by Michael Chandler in 1833. Chandler then made a travelling exhibition of the mummies and papyrus, occasionally selling parts of the exhibit.

In July of 1835, Chandler brought the mummies to Kirtland, Ohio, where the Latter-Day Saints were settled. Although the Rosetta Stone had been discovered in 1799, only a few people in Europe and certainly no one in America would have known about it, much less been able to translate Egyptian hieroglyphs. Chandler had brought them to Kirtland because he had heard of Joseph Smith's supposed abilities as a translator of ancient languages.

When the mummies had been brought to Kirtland, the LDS people were very interested in purchasing the papyri. Chandler, however, refused to sell the papyri alone; he insisted on selling the entire exhibit. The LDS members raised the necessary $2400 and purchased the exhibit. For this reason, the Book of Abraham and several related books are called the "Pearl of Great Price", in reference to a verse from the New Testament about a man who went and sold all he had in order to buy a single pearl.

After this, the story goes that Joseph Smith translated the papyrus, and the translation was published as the "Book of Abraham", along with several facsimiles of pictures from the papyri.

There are lots of issues with this version of the story. The question is further complicated by the fact that some of the papyri owned by Joseph Smith was destroyed in the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. In 1966, the surviving papyri were found in the Metropolitan Museum of Art and translated. The translation of the surviving papyri had nothing to do with Abraham.

However, this problem was not the major one for me. After all, some of the papyri were destroyed in the Chicago fire, and it's perfectly plausible that the papyrus that the Book of Abraham supposedly came from was destroyed. The main problem for me lies with the facsimiles in the Book of Abraham. These facsimiles are published in the Book of Abraham, along with commentary on what they are supposed to mean. Two of these facsimiles contain actual hieroglyphics. The third is problematic because it is actually included in the surviving fragments of Joseph Smith papyri, but part of the picture is missing.

Facsimile #1

The facsimile as published in the LDS Standard Works

A photograph of the surviving papyrus fragment

With this one, the argument goes that the fragments missing from the original papyrus were erroneously redrawn. In the LDS Standard Works, the picture is said to be of Abraham on an altar, being sacrificed by an evil priest. The bird in the picture is representative of the Spirit of the Lord, with the figures under the altar being heathen gods.

However, the contention is that the image is in fact a picture of Osiris being resurrected. The figure to the left is the god Anubis, effecting the resurrection of Osiris; the bird is his spirit, the figures under the altar are canopic jars, and the very bottom figure is a sacred crocodile symbolic of the god Sedet. Below is a professional reconstruction of the image:

As you can see, the indication seems to be that the existing papyrus fragment was already damaged when Joseph Smith acquired it, and that he drew in the missing parts as he saw fit. However, with this particular facsimile, it's perfectly possible that the image on the papyrus really was as pictured in the LDS Standard Works. It seems unlikely to me, but it's a perfectly rational objection.

Facsimile #2

This type of image, frequently found in Egyptian papyri, is called a hypocephalus. Hypocephali were typically buried with Egyptian mummies, and they represent Egyptian ideas about death and life after death-- further reinforcing the conclusion that the papyri that the Book of Abraham supposedly came from are simply funerary documents. As you can see, the hypocephalus (pictured above) has actual, translatable heiroglyphics on it. In the Pearl of Great Price, Joseph Smith's "translation" of said heiroglyphics is included in the text. However, when these heiroglyphics were translated by Egyptologists, they were found to have nothing to do with Abraham, Kolob, or anything else related to the Hebrew religion or to Mormon doctrine.

Facsimile #3

The last facsimile in the LDS Standard Works is supposed to picture Abraham sitting on the throne of Pharaoh, with other people (Pharaoh; "Prince of Pharaoh, King of Egypt"; Shulem, a waiter; and Olimlah, a slave) standing about. In the Pearl of Great Price, the interpretation of the figures explicitly states that the names of the several of the figures are written in the hieroglyphics above them. However, when these hieroglyphics were translated, they were also found not to say the things Joseph Smith said they did.

These three facsimiles alone seem to me to be adequate to show that Joseph Smith was not what he said he was. Unfortunately, the Book of Abraham is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to Mormonism.

Metaphors for the Process

Losing one's testimony is a long process.

I can point to that night in November as the defining moment, the epiphany, the moment my mind fully accepted that the church wasn't true. And, in one sense, that moment was it, because after it happened nothing was the same. Before it happened, I was clinging to remnants of sanity/insanity in the face of massive cognitive dissonance. The human brain can only handle so much cog dis for so long before it has to re-frame its paradigm.

It wasn't really that simple, though.

In the weeks leading up to my heretical epiphany, I vacillated between two states of mind. The first was stubbornness. I knew the church was true, and any information to the contrary was just misguided, or propaganda, or the wiles of Satan. I had a testimony and by golly, I wasn't letting it go! This was my state of mind most of the time.

But there were moments . . . you might call them weak moments, or you might call them strong moments. It all depends on your point of view. I remember one moment in particular. I had just gotten out of a class and was walking back to my apartment. I remember meditatively watching my feet as I walked, my hands in my coat pocket. I thought, "what if the church isn't true?" I thought about the implications of that. The world looked so different through that pair of glasses. I couldn't even comprehend what it might be like to not believe, but I remember feeling fear and, simultaneously, fascination. I had never allowed myself to entertain that possibility before, even hypothetically.

As the weeks went on and my thoughts about the church evolved, I got closer and closer to my "moment of truth." Sometimes I just wasn't sure. At times I felt very depressed. One thought that constantly played in my head was, "I feel like the rug has been pulled out from under me." That is what doubting felt like for me. Or, to use another image-- in a Loony Toons cartoon, a character runs off a cliff and screeches to a halt in midair. They look down and feel for the ground-- they only fall once they come to the realization that they are no longer on solid ground. I was trying to metaphorically keep from falling when there was nothing but air in all directions.

One of my favorite novels is Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. Near the end of the novel, the character Javert is forced to come to terms with the idea that the thing that he has placed his entire trust, his entire identity on-- namely, the law-- is fallible. The realization is too much for him, and he throws himself into the Seine. The lyrics from his soliloquy in the musical adaptation capture this emotion:

"And must I now begin to doubt,

Who never doubted all these years?

My heart is stone and still it trembles

The world I have known is lost in shadow.

Is he from heaven or from hell?

And does he know

That granting me my life today

This man has killed me even so.

I am reaching, but I fall

And the stars are black and cold

As I stare into the void

Of a world that cannot hold

I'll escape now from the world

From the world of Jean Valjean.

There is nowhere I can turn

There is no way to go on...."

All through the process, both before and after my epiphany, these thoughts and similar ones bounced around in my head as I walked to classes and waited for sleep at night.

Besides the online support community I had found, music became my main solace. I listened to a lot of Norah Jones's music. One of my favorite songs was "Nightingale":

"Nightingale

Sing us a song

Of a love that once belonged

Nightingale

Tell me your tale

Was your journey far too long?

Does it seem like I'm looking for an answer

To a question I can't ask?

I don't know which way the feather falls

Or if i should blow it to the left

Nightingale

Sing us a song

Of a love that once belonged

Nightingale

Tell me your tale

Was your journey far too long?

All the voices that are spinnin' around me

Trying to tell me what to say

Can I fly right behind you

And you can take me away

You can take me away

Losing my testimony was-- and is-- a long process. For those first few months, I was grieving. It was like losing a loved one. Only, I could not ask my friends and family for support as I grieved. They would not, could not, understand. It was not that they did not love me. I don't know if this is a Mormon thing, or a human thing, but people have a hard time with people who don't believe the way they do. It's frightening for a Mormon when somebody stops believing. It's safer to compartmentalize them as lazy or sinners. When a loved one loses faith, Mormons are faced with the choice of compartmentalizing that loved one or accepting them. Nobody wants to make that choice about somebody they love, so most people will try to convince the heretic to recant. They want the other person to get back into the safe box, where the believer can understand them and relate to them. This was the reason I could not turn to friends and family for support. I didn't want to argue. I didn't want to compromise my personal integrity by recanting. So I remained silent.

Grief is hard; grieving alone is even harder.

Beware the Bitter Fruits of Apostasy

As the days and weeks went on, I learned to be OK with my conclusion. That may seem strange to somebody who has never questioned the church; it certainly would have been strange to me when I believed. Yet, a rational person does not reach a conclusion because they want it to be the right one. A rational person weighs the evidence and chooses the conclusion that seems most sensible to them-- regardless of their own desires about the truth or falsity of said conclusion. A sane person does not force themselves to believe something that seems to them patently false. Truth does not change; only our perception of it does.

The LDS church is not very generous to people who leave it. Someone who has left the LDS church is usually labelled an "apostate"-- the worst thing in the world to be, if you are a Mormon. The LDS church publishes Sunday School lessons and the General Authorities give talks about "Beware the Bitter Fruits of Apostasy" and "Avoiding Personal Apostasy." Since the leaders of the LDS church naturally believe that it's true, they have to come up with reasons that people would leave (besides finding the church to be false). One of the most common is "offense." The concept of being offended is often illustrated by stories from the early LDS church. One is the sad tale of Symonds Ryder. When Symonds was issued a mission call, whoever wrote it up spelled his name "Rider" instead of "Ryder." Symonds decided that if a church that was supposed to be true couldn't even spell his name right, why should he believe that it was right about other things? He apostatized.

Another is the Tragedy of the Milk and Cream. Two sisters of the church had agreed to an arrangement involving milk and cream for cheese. One sister cheated the other, keeping more cream for herself than had been agreed. The slighted sister confronted the cheating sister, who denied any foul play. The case was taken up through the home teachers, the bishop, the stake president, all the way up to the president of the church (why they thought a disagreement over cream was something the president would care about is beyond me), the cheating sister denying her cheating the whole way. When the ruling was consistently against her, the cheating sister and her husband left the church, and her husband supposedly got Governor Boggs to issue the infamous Extermination Order. (As an aside, it seems to me that the moral of this story is that church and the judicial system ought to be separated.)

Thus we see the bitter fruits of apostatizing because one has been offended. And, as we all know, a rational person is easily offended by the misspelling of a name or a correct pseudo-judicial ruling. We must take especial care to avoid such things.

Another cause commonly ascribed to apostasy is presumption-- the apostate has criticized church leaders. This version of apostasy irks me because I'm a free-thinking sort of person. I believe that anybody and everybody who holds authority (read: power) over somebody else can and should be open to questioning and criticism. Trusting authority implicitly leads to slavery.

As you should be able to see, I don't fall into either category-- unless you interpret the definition of criticizing authority very loosely (a good part of the body of evidence I found against the church was the fact that Joseph Smith was a charlatan. Polygyny, polyandry, fabrication, Book of Abraham, theocracy, destruction of freedom of the press-- deception and misdeed upon deception and misdeed).

Since apostates are painted in such an unfavorable light by the LDS church, and since I was a student at an LDS-run school, I was in a delicate situation. I couldn't exactly "come out" to those around me-- apostasy is an excommunicable offense, and excommunication while at an LDS school leads to expulsion. The LDS church is very interested in using the Brigham Young Universities to turn out individuals who are good representatives of the church-- educated, articulate, and with strong testimonies. Conformity is the rule at BYU.

As a result of this situation, I was forced to pretend to be something I was not. It was easy, in the sense that I knew how to act. I didn't have to change my behavior at all. It was difficult in the sense that I don't like keeping my thoughts and feelings secret. I prefer to be up-front-- "This is who I am, this is what I believe. If you disagree with me, then I'd love to have an intellectual debate with you, or we can agree to disagree. But you have to accept that this is who I am." Faking interest in saccharine Relief Society activities became a chore-- I would study late at the library just to avoid being roped into going to activities. My saccharine interactions with the bishopric and other church leaders developed a slightly ironic edge. I found that a sarcastic tone would creep into my comments in church classes, and before long I was expressing mild disagreement with teachers and FHE siblings. In short, I became frustrated at the cage that I was imposing on myself. True, the cage was somewhat imposed by the LDS church and its conformist school, but I chose to go along because I wanted to stay at that school. It was my choice, though I resented it.

As time went on, I found that this cage forced me to explore my personality in new ways. I felt defiant. I no longer believed that the primary purpose of my existence was childbearing; I defiantly threw myself into my studies and other intellectual pursuits. I decided to develop a persona that, while still within the boundaries of BYU-acceptable behavior, pushed the edges of the cookie cutter.

Aftermath

I remember the night I lost my testimony very clearly. It was a cold, clear night early in November. I wrapped myself in a blanket and stood outside on the balcony outside my apartment. I looked at the stars and cried-- there was nothing else that I could do. I don't know how long I stood there, reeling.

It was very late, and I had a class fairly early the next morning. I knew I was going to have to go back inside, brush my teeth, go to bed, and get up in the morning as if everything was the same. That night, I prayed like I'd never prayed before that I'd be able to make it all work, that I'd be able to understand, that the data would compute somehow. Of course it didn't. "Facts are stubborn things," as John Adams put it.

My early class was a religion class. It was surreal to sit there and know that since the last time I had sat in that chair, my world had turned 180 degrees. I knew that the implications of my conclusion could be devastating. I loved my college, and didn't want to leave it-- but now I was an outsider in my own culture. Everything I had been, everything I'd worked for and wanted, had gone up in smoke.

One of the clearest memories I have of that day is between two of my classes. I went into the restroom and just stood in one of the stalls, leaning my forehead against the cold, white tile of the wall. There were small, rectangular windows up near the ceiling. I looked up at the windows and tried to calm my reeling mind. I had a class in ten minutes, and I had to get it together. It felt like the world had come to an end, and yet the hundreds of people in the hallways and the classrooms and the bathrooms went on as if nothing had happened. I felt like a tiny, black, frightened, still dot in the midst of swirling white chaos.

By that evening I was desperate for someone to talk to-- not just to talk to, someone who would understand. I was still trying to convince myself that I could believe, but it was like trying to reconstruct a million pieces of shattered glass. It was impossible. None of the people I knew-- friends, family, classmates, roommates-- would be able to comprehend my situation or sympathize with it. I was afraid of being branded an apostate. I was worried that they would try to convince me otherwise. However much I wanted the truth to be otherwise, wanting didn't make it so-- I knew this acutely. I was in no emotional condition for intellectual sparring. I was spent.

In my desperation, I did something a bit foolish, but also the best thing I could have done at the time. I created an account on a website meant to offer support to people in my situation, and basically spewed my thoughts and fears onto the Internet for all to see. I was worried that the people on the website would try to push me away from the church, but at that time I basically just needed a shoulder to lean on. Surprisingly (to me), this website provided that shoulder. People responded with kindness and empathy and advice, not the pushing or judgement that I felt like every person in the whole world would give me if I shared my thoughts. I think I can safely say that these people, whom I will never meet in real life, gave me a life preserver when I was drowning. I learned that a change of world view is a survivable, and even a positive thing. There was still pain ahead of me, but the worst was over. I had lost my testimony, and I had survived.

Questions, Anti-Mormons, and Cognitive Dissonance

As I said before, I had very little exposure to "anti-Mormon" literature prior to college. My first real experience with anti-Mormons was in the first few weeks of my first semester.

While browsing YouTube one afternoon, I stumbled upon a "Banned Mormon Cartoon," which purported to expose some of the more controversial teachings of Mormonism, such as (among other things) the Curse of Cain doctrine and Adam-God theory, and the LDS belief that 1) God was once a man, and 2) we may become gods. I actually found the cartoon amusing in what I supposed to be its inaccuracy. It was amusing because some of its claims were, in fact, true, but most of them were patently ridiculous. I posted a comment on the video expressing this opinion, and almost immediately was rebuffed by former-Mormons armed with facts and references to Brigham Young's Journal of Discourses. I proceeded to argue with these comments, until I became so frustrated that I snapped off my computer in frustration and did not engage in the debate again.

While this incident did not really affect me in any way other than making me exceedingly frustrated, it marked the first in a series of incidents that would lead to my eventual loss of faith. Some weeks later, I got into a disagreement with my roommates on the subject of-- of all things-- nylon stockings. Apparently, a number of stake presidents had issued statements asking that all sisters wear nylons to church. I, personally, am not a fan of nylon stockings. They itch and scratch and are a pain to get on and off, and they get runs in them and are expensive to replace. I felt that if a stake president wanted to mandate that all women wear nylons, then he could wear them himself and see how he liked it. I voiced this sentiment, and the attitude of my roommates was that since a priesthood leader had given this directive, it must be inspired, and who was I to question it? After my roommates had gone to bed, I decided to look online to see if I could find anything about the legitimacy of priesthood leaders dictating feminine attire beyond modesty. I didn't find anything, but I did find several blogs, including Feminist Mormon Housewives, where other women voiced sentiments similar to mine. This led me to other discussions and articles about sexism in the LDS church. I don't remember precisely why this made me doubt the validity of the church, but it did. That night I wrote in my journal that "if the church is true, then I'll stick to it to the end. But if it's not, then shouldn't I look for what is?" I felt lost and sad, and didn't know what to do with the issue.

As the days went by, daily life and the routine of classes and homework pushed my concerns into the back of my mind. Not a few weeks later, however, a Google search in attempt to verify an LDS urban legend led me to a Christian site devoted to converting Mormons. The site listed a dozen or so things about the Mormon church that I had never heard, or had heard in the YouTube video but thought preposterous. However, I was easily able to verify that the Mormon church had taught such things as the Curse of Cain (the belief that blacks couldn't have the priesthood because they had been less valiant in the premortal life, and so were born into a line that was denied the priesthood) and the Adam-God doctrine (the belief that Adam was, in fact, God). I was confused and more than a little upset by this information. I emailed my Book of Mormon professor with my questions, in the hope that he would be able to shed some light on the subject. He was rather dismissive towards my findings, saying that anti-Mormons were always bringing up little things and blowing them out of proportion. They didn't seem little to me, though. If such things really had been taught as doctrine, and were later abandoned, what did that mean about the church? The thing about the LDS church is, it teaches that it is headed by a living prophet and always has been. Herein lies the conundrum: if Brigham Young taught one thing, and Spencer W. Kimball and Thomas S. Monson taught another, even opposite doctrine, which is the true prophet? One has to have been wrong. But the LDS church teaches that a prophet will never lead his people astray. How was I to reconcile this information? It was impossible.

As the days wore on, I forced myself not to think about these things. I started to feel physically ill when I did-- my heart rate sped up, I felt nauseated and clammy, it wasn't pleasant. This was making it difficult for me to focus on my studies, so I chose to "put it on the shelf," as Mormons say. I was willing to just stick with the LDS church in spite of my doubts, because I was sure that the problem was me, not them. I just wasn't smart enough to see how it all made sense. I was sure that if I just stayed true to the faith and endured to the end, the answer would make itself clear somehow.

The final straw came one Sunday night in early November. It's almost ironic how trivial that last straw was. I was up late, finishing up some homework that was due the next day. As was my habit, I checked my Facebook when I was finished, and saw that one of my friends was "attending National Hug a Mormon" day. I thought this was cute, and wondered if it really was a national holiday or just some dumb Facebook thing. So, naturally, I Googled it. As I browsed through the search results, I found more anti-Mormon information-- Joseph Smith's polygamy-- the Book of Abraham-- multiple accounts of the First Vision of Joseph Smith-- it seemed virtually endless. It all came crashing down on me; the last shreds of faith that I had been clinging to were destroyed. I felt so alone and helpless. The world was dark, everything had been destroyed, I was trapped, and there was no way out.

Prologue: Molly Mormon

I was born Mormon; it's that simple. Mormonism is what I was taught all my childhood, and I never questioned it.

Mormons are taught not to question. Oh, sure, leaders say that members ought to "gain their own testimony" and all that jazz, but in reality, members are discouraged from reading or watching anything not "faith-promoting." Any source of information which isn't openly pro-Mormon is labelled "anti-Mormon," even if it is in fact sympathetic to Mormonism, but is open about facts.

I was a very good Mormon. In Primary (the children's organization), I was a good little girl-- I memorized the Articles of Faith, paid attention in class, and I got baptized as soon as I turned eight. When I turned twelve, I joined Young Women, the LDS church's organization for teenage girls. I read my scriptures daily, attended all activities, did not date before 16, dressed modestly, earned my Young Women Medallion-- all of that. I had a very strong testimony. After high school, I applied and was accepted to one of the church's Brigham Young Universities.

As I was taught, I set my sights high. All I wanted out of life was a good Peter Priesthood who would take me to the temple to be married for time and all eternity, and with whom I would have five or six children. I never seriously considered what career I wanted, because working was plan B-- in case I didn't get married right away, or my husband got laid off or something. I planned on college, because the prophet had counseled women to get an education-- but never seriously planned on doing anything with my degree.

Growing up, I was exposed to very little literature that was "anti-Mormon." The closest I came was when, as a teenager, I stumbled upon a copy of Fawn Brodie's No Man Knows My History; the first non-hagiographic biography of Joseph Smith. What I read was very disturbing; Brodie painted a picture of Joseph Smith that did not at all resemble the picture that I had always been given-- namely, that of an honest, bright young man who was, like Samuel, called to be a prophet in his childhood. I did not get very far into Brodie's book before I had to give it up; reading it was too painful. In my mind, it was literally impossible that her account of Joseph Smith could be accurate. There was no question; she was either lying or misled. That was the end of that; the book was returned to the library, and I thought no more of the issue for the time being.

Growing up, I based much of my self-esteem on my... Mormon-ness, for lack of a better word. I played the piano and organ. I could be counted on to serve effectively in any number of church "callings." While I was assertive-- I made my voice heard when I objected to a certain activity or policy-- I never actually questioned the church itself. Any problems were the fault of the fallible humans running the program.

I was fascinated by the "Last Days" aspect of the LDS church. Mormons believe that the second coming of Jesus is very soon, and that it is being preceded by such things as war and natural disasters. In fact, there is a very specific sequence of events that is supposed to precede the coming of the Savior, particularly involving the Holy Land. I loved reading and discussing all this, and I was very excited for it to happen. I looked forward to being immortalized in the Millennium, and eventually becoming a goddess in my own right in the Celestial Kingdom.

As a teenager, I received what Mormons call a patriarchal blessing. That's where you visit an ordained patriarch, and he lays his hands on your head and gives you a blessing, wherein he tells you what types of blessings you may receive in this life and the next if you are true to the faith, what kinds of trials you may have to face, and such things (although the LDS church insists quite adamantly that these blessings are not any form of "fortune telling," but "pages from the book of possibilities").

My blessing was pretty generic, as these things go. It told me that I'd have the blessing of marrying in the temple and being a "mother in Zion." It mentioned missionary work, temple work, and homemaking. Later on, my blessing would become one of the hardest things for me to let go of.

It's sometimes difficult for non-Mormons to understand how difficult it is to lose one's faith in the Mormon religion. Mormonism promises literally everything-- that we have the opportunity to become gods and goddesses. The church was my primary social network. All my closest friends were members. My youth leaders were almost like relatives. All of them were depending on me to be true to the faith, and I let them down. I can't describe how hard it is to look back on the youth conferences where I sang, "Shall the youth of Zion falter in defending truth and right? While the enemy assaileth, shall we shrink or shun the fight? No! True to the faith that our parents have cherished, true to the truth for which martyrs have perished, to God's command, soul, heart, and hand, faithful and true we'll ever stand." The youth temple trips and girls' camp testimony meetings, where we promised each other that we'd be true to the faith, no matter what. I was so naive; I never imagined that there could be anything but Mormonism. It was my everything. Starting over after losing my religion was like literally picking up the shattered pieces of my life and rebuilding from the ground up. My self-esteem, my friends, my family, my future, my past, my present, my political views, all the happy memories of my youth and childhood were wrapped up in Mormonism. Losing that is truly devastating.