About 15 years ago my dad sat all of us kids (6) down to tell us about something important and amazing that happened to Grandpa. My mom was visibly uncomfortable and voiced a quiet plea for my dad to not continue with what he was going to say. After all, it was her father, not his that was the subject of the story. He resisted her pleas to stop and she submissively ended her protest. He then told us how our grandfather, a Stake President, was taken to the temple recently and that an apostle (Elder Ballard) had washed his feet. He said we weren't supposed to talk about it (hah) and that grandpa had his "calling and election made sure".

I knew what that meant and was happy that Grandpa was guaranteed the highest degree of the celestial kingdom. After a few minutes though I began to feel sad and confused. This grandpa, my maternal grandpa, was very quiet and didn't really talk to us kids. We were never allowed to touch anything other than toys in his house as my mom would recount how grandpa used to scold them as kids if they ever put their hands on the walls. I liked him, but he was very distant and unfriendly (and wealthy). I don't recall having any fun with him ever. My paternal grandfather, however was my hero and friend did all the stereotypical grandpa/grandkid stuff. He was warm and funny and gave us all his attention. He was a convert and had become less active and drank tea . . . in short, he wasn't in nearly the same standing in the Mormon God's eyes as my maternal grandfather.

And that's what bothered me. The cold, gruff, unfriendly grandpa was going to heaven and the warm, fun, giving grandpa's eternal salvation was at stake because he didn't often go to church and drank tea.

Another related incident about the second anointing occurred while I was dating my wife. My dad seemed to think I was better than her because her family wasn't Mormon (she was a convert) and that this obvious misfortune needed to be pointed out to her. She had come to my parents house with one of her girlfriends to visit me. Something she did or said must have made him upset so he decided to have her and her friend sit down to tell us something important. I had no idea what was coming, but this is what he said to the best of my memory: "Girls, sit down. I want to tell you about something so sacred that you can't repeat it." He looked at my future-wife and said, "you need to know the stock (old cowboy word for 'ancestry') my son comes from. A couple years ago his grandpa was taken into the temple and had his feet washed by an Apostle! Just like Jesus and the apostles of old. He had his calling and election made sure. That's the type of stock he comes from."

He left it at that. I don't recall anyone saying anything and slowly we all got up and resumed doing whatever we were doing before, but it makes me so mad looking back that he tried to use that experience to help her understand her 'place' in the world. My dad had no problem with status as he was, surprisingly, also a racist. But that's a story for another time.

A few months ago my son started wearing deodorant. He was so excited and for a few weeks would tell people, "I'm wearing deodorant", and excitedly raise up his arm. I remember going through that and the excitement of becoming a stinky grown up.

My son has sort of forgot about the excitement and my other son has now started requiring deodorant as well. I'm now watching him go through the excitement and telling everyone that he's wearing deodorant. In a few weeks it will become routine and he won't think about the fact that he is applying every day.

I sat ponderizing on my sons and the change of life and for some reason my mind went to coffee. The first few months of me drinking coffee upon leaving the church I told people what was in my cup. I was excited and wanted to talk to people about coffee. Nobody cared, it was just a drink that we enjoyed and drank every day. I'm sure I had people roll their eyes as I excitedly explained which coffee I picked.

Finally, after a few months, I became like everyone else and I started drinking coffee normally. In other words, I have my cup of Joe and I move on with my day. I look forward to it (coffee is actually delicious to me) with my English muffin. But, it isn't a big deal.

Ex-Mormons in the initial phase of apostasy and leaving are very adolescent, we are prone to anger and mood swings and we get excited over things that the rest of the world goes "meh" to.

We are not in adolescence because we are regressing, Mormonism tends to keep people in childhood. Decisions are made for you, morality is defined for you.

Here's to growing up.

This is the church I grew up in:

Zion in Missouri and we will all walk back

Restoration of the ten tribes from the north countries

Communists equal Satanic plot

Polygamy to be restored if law allowed

Blood atonement needed because Jesus didn't cover some sins

Native Americans kicking gentile ass like lions among lambs one day

Secret combinations taking over US and the boys from the mountains rallying to save the constitution as it hangs by a thread

Three nephites, John, and Cain walking the earth

Satan ruling the waters

Literal truth of BoM-all of ancient America in scope

Book of Abraham written "By his own hand upon papyrus"

Conversion of the Jews to Mormonism

Cutting your throat and spilling your bowels in the temple

Theocracy the perfect government as long as LDS

All other churches (or catholic if you believe Mckonkie) the church of the devil--whore of the earth

Birth control evil--limiting family size in any way evil

Women not to work outside home

Dark skin a curse to make people loathsome and avoid interbreeding

Being of the "Blood" of Abraham some magical talisman in the gospel

Garden of Eden in Missouri with Adam's altar

Translation of more and more ancient records to come forth including sealed bofm portion

One and then two year food supply and bomb shelters

No soul kissing (French kissing)

Shooting criminals in Utah so their blood will spill

Jesus conceived by sexual intercourse between God and Mary

Evolution an evil lie

Earth 6000 year "temporal existence"

Literal babel, flood, exodus,etc

Casting out--exorcism--of evil spirits in people common and accepted

Wiping dust from feet = curse

Joseph smith most "intelligent" human after Jesus

Garments impregnable to fires and bullets and all

Apostates were sons of perdition if they had a testimony and then denied it

Indians turning white one day

Blacks "fence sitters" in the war in heaven

Y2k = end of world or close

Tribulations and signs of the times everywhere

That church is gone. It is not coming back. And good riddance. But I have to wonder how it changed so dramatically without anyone really seeming to notice. After all, this was the Truth by which I was raised.

How many other things are going to go?

Dear Mormonism,

It's been a while since we've broken up. And I know that you didn't want the break up to happen. I know that you wanted for us to be together forever. And for a long time I thought we would be together forever.

But, you blamed me for everything that was wrong with our relationship when we were together just as you continue to blame me for the reasons why we broke up. Which is why I'm writing this to you right now. I wanted to at least tell you something really important.

Breaking up wasn't my fault. It may have been my choice to break up with you - but the reasons for us breaking up weren't my fault.

I know this may be hard to hear. And I actually don't expect you to listen to a word that I'm writing now. When we were together, you didn't listen to a goddamn word that I had to say. But I was expected to listen to every stupid word you said. I am still forced to hear every fucking thing you say now. You shout about yourself everywhere you go. You have all your fucking friends constantly talking about how great you are. But when we were together, you refused to listen to me. There were things I wanted us to work on together. I didn't like the way you talked about MY friends. I didn't like how you talked about people who were different then us.

And you refused to listen to me. You didn't want to hear it, so you shut me up. Then, you made ME feel like an asshole for even bringing it up. Well, guess what?

I wasn't the one saying shitty things about people.

Actually, I remember that you were annoyed that I wasn't saying shitty things about those people. Which is disgusting. And what's so weird is that now you are trying to pretend like you never said those things!

Well, fuck you. I remember all those shitty things you said. And I also know that you've changed - but you haven't apologized.

Oh no. You've just pretended like you've been nice this whole time.

And that's bullshit.

You know, when we were together, you wanted me to be sorry for everything I ever did. You wanted me to be constantly apologizing for all the shit I did that you didn't like. Even when it didn't affect you in ANY way. You wanted me in a perpetual state of groveling. Sorry, for everything yet grateful for you to "protect me from myself." Again, fuck that and fuck you.

You just wanted to control me. Yeah, I figured you out. And what is so ridiculous about you, is how fucking hypocritical you are.

You were constantly crawling up my ass about MY behavior. You wanted to tell me what words I could say, what clothes I should wear, who I could hang out with, what I should do with my free time, what I could and couldn't drink, what I should and shouldn't eat, what music I should listen to, what books I should read, what television shows and movies I should and shouldn't watch...and on and on.

But what about you?

What about the fucking shit you do and HAVE done?

Because I checked. And once again, fuck you. The shit you've done is so horrifyingly gross, that I can't even believe that anybody listens to you anymore.

You have literally robbed, raped, and murdered people.

Yeah. I remember that you wanted to know something as trivial as how often I jerked off, but YOU. Have. Killed.

People.

Killed them. Killed people. You want to tell other people how to live, but you have murdered people and raped children.

Fuck you. Fuck you so hard.

And you lied to me about it. You wanted to know everything about me. And you wanted me to NEVER lie to you - especially lies of omission. But, then YOU pull THIS shit?

Jesus Christ. And you want to pretend that it was my fault we broke up. God, you are so fucking self-serving and stupid.

You criticized me constantly when we were together, and you are still criticizing me now. You WANT this to be my fault because you CAN'T even look into the mirror. You just project everything.

You are so disgusting, but you are constantly screaming how great you are. Like I said, you constantly criticize EVERYONE, but you can't handle even the slightest bit of criticism.

I know you are so mad that myself and others make fun of you at times. But you are so fucking ridiculous. You made me give you my money. You made me promise that I would give you EVERYTHING I ever had or made. Then, after pretending that you had such a "big heart" and "loved charity." Went and built a mall.

A mall.

How could I not make fun of you? You told me what to do with my money, and then you went and built a mall.

Fuck.

God, you suck.

I would have major issues if I DIDN'T make fun of you. Because, like I said, you are so FUCKING ridiculous. That is what the word means. Ridiculous. That you DESERVE ridicule.

If you didn't want to be ridiculed, you would stop being ridiculous.

But, I get it, you won't.

You're shoved so far up your own ass, you won't ever really understand. You live in this fantasy world where you get to tell everyone what to do, and everyone should just love you, and you get to do whatever you want even if it's moronic or horrifying.

You're obsessed with "morality," and everyone doing what you say. But...

You're a whore.

You will do anything for money or attention.

You walk around telling little girls they need to cover their shoulders in the name of your so-called "morality." But then you made a movie about yourself, and made all your friends go see it.

You're the whore.

Before we broke up, you told me what would happen if I ever left you. You had all these awful stories about everyone who ever left you. And that they died alone, miserable and broken.

Yes, I was sad for a while after we broke up. We were together a long time. But, I want you to know that I'm SO much happier without you.

And that's not me gloating so much as just pointing out another one of your lies. I'm not dying alone miserable and broken. For the first time in a long time, I'm actually happy. Something that you promised me but never gave.

Instead you just took. That was a lot of our relationship. You taking and taking, and never giving. Oh, you promised a lot - but it was always shit that I would get later. Meanwhile you just kept on taking. Well, it turned out that your promises were just lies.

You present this beautifully pristine image to everyone on the outside - and that's a fucking lie. I was with you a long time, and on the inside you are hideous.

I get why you don't want anyone who's ever been with you and left to talk. Because all they want to say is a warning for people from your creeping corrupt abuse. They just don't want anyone to have to go through what they went through with you.

It's ironic how much you talk about forgiveness. Because you have much to be forgiven for.

But you don't apologize, do you? You only demand that from others.

And hilariously you still want me to apologize to you. As if I would come crawling back.

Guess what, honey? That sure as shit ain't going to happen.

Nope. Fuck you. And fuck you for trying to control me after we broke up.

You get to do what you want; and so do I.

Our entire relationship was a double standard always in your favor - well, not anymore.

I'm not the one who robbed, raped, and murdered. And I'm not the one who is constantly lying. I'm just pointing out the shit YOU said and DID.

So, yeah, breaking up was my choice - but it wasn't my fault. I didn't say that shit. I didn't do that shit. I never tried to control YOU.

But you did.

I have never tried to take your freedom; but you took mine.

Now that we are apart, you're going to keep saying shit; and now that we are apart, I am going to say shit. However, you're going to keep lying - while I'm just going to tell the truth.

And we both know how much the truth can hurt.

Love, Raptor

Having stamped up the snow-crusted marble stairs at the entrance, we stepped into the brick-fronted Federalist building that housed the museum. Melodies of gently plucked cellos tickled our ears. The foyer consisted of a long hall with staircases to the left and right sweeping upward like a conductor's earnest arms. The air we inhaled moaned with the breathy sonority of a wood instrument, perhaps a bassoon or an oboe. Our every exhalation made a somber tone, and the winter forests without the great house fell silent in contrast.

We stomped the snow off our shoes on hemp carpets. The walls around us were covered with likenesses of the giants of the nineteenth century. No, not Lincoln or Grant or Darwin or Karl Marx. Only the men of God were featured in oil portraits hung at eye level. There was Martin Harris, formal as a penguin and Brigham with his collar turned up defiantly. Sidney Rigdon looked aged with his white sideburns. And Oliver Cowdery was captured in mid-thought, his eyes focused on something in the distance.

The representations of the prophet varied from near handsome to beakish. His Celestial proboscis was sometimes troubling to portraiture artists. He was at his worst in profile--chinless and proud with a big nose. So they posted his quotes to flesh out his beauty. "Men are that such a thing may be. Our children have bound us to unrequited love. Who among us will dare defy the inevitable and so hate the word of the Lord? Pews are seldom occupied with the disagreeable. Our meetings fill out the idle hours like tides flooding a beach. Where much is given, so is some quite appreciated."

We were brought to tears with the wisdom of the partially attractive martyr. Smith the man was born in Sharon, Vermont in 1805. His nativity scene includes a rocking chair and a pine crib in a dirt floored cabin corner. A glass rattle has been carefully placed on his swaddling blankets. There is a small four-paned window holding back a snowflake blizzard. The flakes are really soap, and the swirling wind is provided by a hidden electric fan. A plastic Christmas tree stands in the corner near the gas hearth, and a King James Bible lies at the foot of the festive tree.

A half door under a staircase opens to the theocracy wing of the museum. It is listed in The Guinness Book of World Records as the smallest museum wing in the world. All relevant theocracy is stored on a single rewritable disc that is updated hourly. Anything that was doctrinal more than eighteen months ago has a 90% chance of deniability. The Lord will not be made obsolete.

The interior of the museum seems to defy the limits of the exterior. In both size and stature there is more within than without. Rooms open into other rooms, and some hallways lead to closets or dead ends. There is an internal courtyard with a checkerboard marble floor. Statuary stands poised like chess pieces there. We could make out Brigham Young and Sidney Rigdon among the life sized figures. The furrowed brows of great men bullied the decor like Rocky Mountain outcroppings. Their rounded foreheads resembled the half dome at Yosemite National Park. They were like a side portrait struck onto a nickel, or a carved stone likeness at Mt. Rushmore.

Joseph as a youth was represented by a short mannikin lying on a mattress in an upstairs bedroom. He was to undergo knee surgery and refused the whiskey anesthetic. Even before God descended a sunbeam to meet him, the prophet was concerned with temperance. He had the instincts of a superman. Who could question his Nietzsche-like focus at so young an age? Even the most cynical among us beamed with admiration. We noted that he quoted from the Bible to explain his visitations from God and angels alike. His presentation was seamless. He had talked to the Christ, face to face. Any denial of that fact by visitors was regarded as churlishness or jealousy at best.

It is often forgotten of Joseph Smith that he rose to the rank of general in the Mormon Militia, a battalion that rivaled the U.S. Army in size. The militia was capable of policing Illinois, but the adversary rose up against it. Many people said that Joseph had no right to assemble a defensive force. He was maliciously charged with treason. No one could be more patriotic than a prophet of the Lord. Joseph Smith was maligned in the press and the public opinion. He was driven to the point of personal sacrifice. He went like a lamb to the slaughter.

Joseph's martyrdom was displayed tastefully in a diorama. He was shown entering the jail at Carthage with his arms full of Mormon doctrine. He proposed to study the holy scriptures while incarcerated. Another scene shows him beseeching his brother Hyrum to forgive the mob that clamors outside. When their cell was penetrated, Joseph faced the angry men and told them to desist in the name of the Lord. His words went unheeded, and he was made to breach the second floor window. The fall mortally wounded him, and he cried for mercy. No freeman so much as extended a hand. This was the most disturbing room.

The Nauvoo room was a glass-encased porch at the back of the building. Low clouds scudded at the gray sky outside. On a long table within there was a model of a hotel and temple anchoring an Illinois town that competed with Chicago for population at the time. Daguerreotypes of senators and journalists shaking hands with the prophet crowded the wainscotting. Most of the rooms upper walls were glass battered by the fluff of real snow. Overhead, waves of white flakes swept across the windowed ceiling. We had the shaky feeling of standing within a snow globe. That and the eerie sense of looking out from the inside of a goldfish bowl

At the exit, candy was offered. It was hard and unforgiving with a weedy aftertaste, and it brought to mind the dusty flavor of nineteenth century air in a tack barn, thick and rank. They called it horehound, and the terminal trash can was stuffed with wet pieces of it.

Are you comfortable, brother? The chair you're sitting in is real burgundy leather with hand tacked trim and claw feet--just like mine. And, like my desk, the wood is mahogany with a deep cherry stain. It's not the chair I use for worthiness interviews, just so you know. You're new to this ward, but your reputation as a member in good standing precedes you. That's why I've called you to my office, you see? I have plans for you. Much to my dismay, I recently had to let my second councilor go. He lost his testimony to some petty vice and refused his duties. Pornography, I believe. I hope I'm not being presumptuous when I say that you'd make a good fit for his office. After all, we've only just met. But the Lord doesn't stand long on temporal social protocol. He requires us to reach quick decisions, doesn't He?

This ward isn't exactly what you might call "high end,"considering your resources. I know some folks back home may assume that California wards are wealthy, but this is not always true. Perhaps in the bay area. Stockton has a dearth of high wage work, and, with few exceptions, these are solid, middle class folk. For instance, Elder Andress, a member who was inactive for fifteen years. I suppose he was content with his handyman position at the foster children's home. Until he retired a couple of years ago, we didn't see him at sacrament meetings, and now he's occupying a seat in the foyer every Sunday with a piece of hard candy for any little one who'll sit in his lap. The upshot of the deal is he'll pay about a half tithe--$200 a month. And he loves Primary children; it's a win win situation for the ward.

Sister Moss is our organist and perhaps most dedicated member. She has vibrant red hair, pink cheeks and is conscientious to a fault. Our ancestors might have called her sanguine in appearance, but there is an inner turmoil in her. You'll find she'll call you frequently to report even the slightest violations of the Word of Wisdom or modest dress. Best to take her messages and sort through them once a week or so. She does pay full tithe from her deceased husband's pension. He was, unfortunately, found in his car in the garage with the motor running. Truly a shock to everyone. He'd had troubles with his faith, and she pushed hard to help him keep it. So I can overlook her occasional panicked call when she spies a member drinking a Dr. Pepper at 7Eleven.

I have to warn you about Brother Bass. He wears off the rack suits which bunch up in the back and give him the look of a traveler. He's very needy. He wants to advance so badly, it's almost palpable. He has a rebellious pot-smoking son and a promiscuous daughter. Not to mention five other children unlikely to amount to much. Even though they live in a ramshackle house on Blacklock Road, he donated an extra thousand dollars to the building fund. I asked him if he was sure he could afford it, and he said the Lord would replace and multiply it. What was I supposed to say to that? He'll approach you with an investment scheme, so head's up.

Then there's Brother Sawyer. A solid, if wooden, elder who pays full tithe. He has the conversational skills of a juniper bush--named his son Tom. He's who you go to for folding chairs and getting the hall floors buffed. Blue collar and somewhat coarse is how I'd describe him. But he's essential. His wife, on the other hand, is off the grid, so to speak. She won't take any calling and lives in her room with a doll house Brother Sawyer made her in the high school shop. He's a phys ed coach there. Twenty odd years now, I believe. Solid.

Brother Garcia owns a local lawn care business. We have a deal that he pays a half tithe and maintains the chapel grounds. His wife is Catholic to the point of difficulty, so beware. She will try to shield her children from primary lessons and worthiness interviews. Though it makes my job harder, I appreciate Brother Garcia's contributions to the ward. Having a man of Lamanite heritage with a good work ethic is a blessing.

Then there's John Reed. You might ask, why don't I call him Brother Reed? Because he's nothing like a brother. He will cheat you worse than Brother Bass, steal your wallet in a New York second. He allegedly ran a scam with a church-related audio recording facility. Thousands of dollars were said to have been siphoned off, though nothing was ever proved. He drives a van with folding chairs from our chapel storage for his family to sit on. They keep their laundry in the bathtub, and they take no showers. He does pay some tithe, though. You just have to squeeze him some. And tolerate his dirty family. The only alternative is disfellowshipping, and we can't afford the lost tithe, such as it is.

And Brother Henderson. "Stick" Henderson to his friends. He had an affair with Brother Bass's daughter, Janice. His excommunication is underway, but he's still a member. His poor wife is crushed. Her family is distraught, and her disturbed daughter is flirting with Brother Bass's son, David. She's nine and he's fifteen. Stick has brought an illness to our ward that is not easily healed.

I've told you about Sister Moss. our organist. Brother Bass has been observed leaving her residence at two am. I don't know how to approach him on the issue, do you? I mean, he's married with seven children, and she's a widow. The prophet could handle this, I'm sure. But I don't have the chops.

David, the son of Brother Bass, is resistant to the gospel. He says that Jesus "sucks."He argued with me during our last worthiness interview. He is not yet sixteen and well on his way to damnation. The boy hates Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. He hates his heritage. Don't get caught up in his misery. He is a sad little fellow.

Brother Sawyer, whom I've mentioned, has been accused of molesting boys at school. Frankly, I'm surprised it wasn't Brother Andress. He makes the darn kids sit on his lap for candy, after all. I guess you never know. The Lord gives us a certain amount of information and no more. We have to learn for ourselves. We apologize to no one. I'm not prepared to discipline him. He's never failed a worthiness interview.

Sister Moss does not like Brother Sawyer, so don't meet with the two in the same room. I believe she dated him in high school, and it didn't end well. She once described him as an international man--with Roman hands and Russian fingers, ha ha. Seriously though, she hates the man.

And the Dengue family--I have to tell you about them. Sister Dengue is a sweet and compliant person, but her husband hates the gospel with a feverish anger. He once told me to go consummate myself. They have three children: Heather, a sixteen year old of excellent posture, and Adam, twelve and lively. He'll pass the sacrament and work hard in Boy Scouts too. The youngest, Lacey, is a shy but pretty ten year old. Their father, sadly, is anti-Mormon. I don't know if anyone is safe from the internet--he spends a lot of time there, I understand.

As for Brother Marcus, well, he may seem a bit flamboyant at first, what with his coordinated sweaters and Dockers, but he's a faithful tither and music director. Our road shows are the best in three stakes because of him. I know he's unmarried at forty, but he's as solid as Brother Sawyer, who'd probably want to hang the man if he had a clue. Good things, I'm telling you, can arrive in rainbow-colored wrappers.

Which reminds me of bright candies spilling forth from a pinata. The Gonzales family is our largest, and most celebratory, family. They love pinata parties, the flash and delighted screams of children swinging bats at cellophane puppets. They love barbeques and fireworks, and why not? They contribute the most children to the ward. Don't ask me their names--I mean, Pedro, Paco, Lisa, Marisa, Angelo, Rosa, Jorge, Churro--II can't tell one from the other. But they do know how to celebrate, and a little food from the storehouse is worth it, I'd say. Wouldn't you? Now don't be alarmed when Brother Gonzales strikes at his offspring. It's his measure of discipline, and it's his prerogative as family patriarch. And we're all about family here.

I should not neglect to tell you of Brother Sorensen, my first councilor. He is a true man of God. There isn't a single chink in his armor, which is not to say there isn't one in the kitchen, if you know what I mean. He loves his Asian food. His Filipino wife is steadfast, though his children were of another mother. How they harry her. It's disgraceful, the way his sons and daughters carry on. You'd think he didn't provide them with the gospel. But he soldiers on, giving his all to the church. They seem to blame him after their mother died in the freeway accident when her brakes failed. I hope your family treats you better than his. He's always been more than a tithe-payer--his contributions to the building fund are unmatched, even by Brother Bass.

Brother Jude, an avuncular heavyset man, is our scoutmaster. He likes to wrassle (his word) with the boys. They'll grapple with him, rolling around on the floor, trying to get leverage, but he always dominates and tops them, rubbing his knuckles at their ribs. It's a good way for blowing off youthful steam. Unfortunately, he has a son named Noel who refuses to join the scouts. The boy has a tobacco habit and was caught trying to set the curtains on fire in his own bedroom. Watch out for this kid, as he seems to carry a grudge about something.

You might be surprised to find that we have a fairly recent convert presiding over the Relief Society. And a single woman at that. Her name is Annie Pewter, a self-confessed recovered addict, and she's quite a breath of fresh air. She charmed everyone when she once testified that Jesus was the son of Christ--yeah, I know. But she's been running women's pilates in the cultural hall for a year. Several of our sisters clamored for her calling to lead. She's a looker, too--very charismatic. The rumor is that Brother Bass sent her a valentine's card with three hundred dollars enclosed this last February. My only advice regarding her is to hold fast against immoral thoughts. Ha ha.

After all that I've told you, will you accept my invitation to serve as my second councilor? So many of our members are hanging on hope. Please help us in our hour of need and stand with me and the Lord in this essential calling.

I imagine what Mormons conversations would be like if they were honest and did not use magic language, double talk, or if their actions were not so passive aggressive.

Home Teacher: Hi Eric, this is John Branson. We don't know each other but I have been asked repeatedly to call you and schedule a very uncomfortable visit...oh, yeah and I am supposed to call you brother.

Me: Oh, wow. I don't know you and I since I don't do my own assigned visits because they are forced, the last thing I want is to put you in that position.

HT: That is very nice of you. Aside from anything meaningful, is there anything we can do for you, and I mean like offer to mow the lawn or tell some gossip about your family so it can be forwarded to the bishop?

Me: No. We really don't need anything. I tell you what, why don't I call you when I do, that way we you don't have to waste time every month with these super awkward conversations?

HT: I appreciate that. However, the real reason of the visit is for to us to spy on you and read you a lesson about doing what you are told. That way I can mark you off my list, this will get my wife and my EQP off my back and I can be self righteous when the topic of home teaching comes up.

Me: Oh I see. Well, I am going to be forced to lie to you and tell you that we have guests over on whichever date you want to come and tell you that perhaps next month would be a better time.

HT: Sounds good.

Bishop: Hi, I feel so uncomfortable running into you at the store, I hope that you don't mind that my face is red. I hate running into ward members outside of church.

Me: Not at all! I will use your first name sporadically to make our conversation seem more natural. I know that I saw you last Sunday, but today I want to know how you and your family are, while you answer, I will think of another topic to compliment or thank you.

B: Great. Hey, this is super awkward but I will feel guilty later if I don't mention tithing settlement. Have you made an appointment?

Me; No. I have told my wife that I was going to, to keep her from nagging me, but no, I will not, unless you put me on the spot. You see, I work very hard and need the money that I make for my own family.

B: Gotcha. Well, then I need to passively talk negatively to the SP about you, behind your back, and tell him that you are not paying tithing, he is very focused on this lately, but no worries, I will bring it up by saying "I am concerned" or some other code talk.

Me: Oh, that guy. Yeah, he once told me that he loved my family but he could not remember our last name, it was really awkward, he has avoided me ever since, so I am not too worried that anything will come of this, so I will take my chances and keep my 10%. By the way, I think he was lying when he told me he loved me because I love 21 people and I remember all of their names, it's not hard. We have never said more than 20 words to each other, so it's really hard to understand where he fell in love with me. I get the feeling that he says that to manipulate me.

B: Probably. You know that your temple recommend will expire, right? You will be on a list of people whose character we question and talk about.

Me: I know, it actually expired 8 years ago and no one has brought it up, in fact I haven't missed it. So I will still keep my 10%. I would not go to the temple anyway because it takes a lot of time and it is even more boring that sacrament meeting, I don't like dressing in those weird curtains with the silly hat and having to get up all the time to chant, it's emasculating with all the bowing and stuff, its weird. I am willing to endure the gossip and nagging.

B: Ok. We are all good then. That is all I could hold over your head. I hope we don't run into each other again.

Me: Me too! Oh I though of a comment: your lawn looks nice, have a great day.

B: Thank you, your lawn is nice too. Bye.

W: Why don't you go watch general Priesthood meeting at the chapel, I heard they are going to have ice cream afterwards?!

Me: No way am I wearing a tie and going to a sausage fest on a saturday night. Ice cream? Are they kidding, am I a 5 years old?

W: It will make me feel like our lives are going in the right direction and will help me ignore our problems, because mentally, I will shift them to the trial column...Oh, it will also help me feel less awkward around the RS sisters for the next few weeks.

Me: I really rather not go, they will give the same talks: "don't hit your wife and take her out once in a while, you asshole", "don't touch yourself, pervert", "pay tithing and then some", "pressure your kids with guilt and fear about going on missions" and "sacrifice for the church"...But if you continue to bring it up I will have to pretend to go, but I will just go to the mall or a movie.

W: Well, if you won't go, then at least pretend and go to the movie. If you run into another guy from the ward, don't make eye contact.

Me: I will go to a rated R movie, so no eye contact for sure.

W: Good. I will pretend you went and ask you general questions when you come back.

Me: Thank you! Do you want me to wear the tie from here to the car or can I skip it altogether?

W: Wear it until you get out of the ward boundaries, you never know who is watching us today.

E: Mister Eric, can we come over to your house for dinner.

Me: Dinner, why?

E: Well it's not just dinner, we will force a guilt-inducing message and ask you to host one of your co-workers for a christian intervention, a "discussion", as we call it. We will over-stay by 4-5 hours. Wait. I am supposed to ask this way: Brother Eric, will you let us come impose ourselves and leverage your friend's social politeness into a potential conversion opportunity for us?

Me: Sure, but actually its not a friend, I would never do that to a friend, so only an acquaintance. Because you have me cornered and I will probably work late and you won't be able to come into the house with just my wife because let's face it, you'd fuck my dog if we left you alone with him.

E: Hahaha, true that! They won't let us in the door! You should see how much we masturbate! One of my companions fingered an investigator's cat once! hahaha

Me: Hahaha, well, he had to get some pu$$y somewhere...We'll let's pretend to make an appointment for Friday but my wife will just give you $30 that night and apologize.

E: Sounds good. Do you know of any other members that we can help feel terribly uncomfortable and hit them up for dinner?

Me: Yes! there is this asshole that speeds through the neighborhood, go to his house and bother him!

E: Thank you!

SP: Hi!

Me: Hello! You don't remember my name again do you?!

SP: No. But isn't your kid named Eric Jr?

Me: Yup, you guessed right! so let's pretend you love me and care about me a great deal.

SP: Good. Listen, I need to make sure that you are being sheep-like, some members have gossiped that you don't always shave or wear a white shirt to church, so let me ask you: How are things in your life? You haven't been on the internet have you?

Me: As a matter of fact I have. So I can't pretend that you have power anymore, but I can pretend that I am pretending, will that work?

SP: will you still be obedient to whatever we or the "brethren" insinuate?

Me: No way. You guys can't keep you story straight and that is very irritating and disappointing. Oh and yes, I have been on the internet.

SP: Jeeeeesus!! you too?! Well can I get you to keep pretending this is all real? More importantly will you be paying tithing?

Me: Nope.

SP: Well, then we have nothing to talk about. I will start assigning more people to spy on you and see if we can dramatize something, enough to call you into my office and try to scare you, I will put you on the naughty list and through gossip, shame you. If that does not work I will give you a huge calling to try the carrot approach.

Me: I know, thanks, see you then.

Me: Hey John, how are you?

Scout nazi: Hi Eric! Listen Eric junior has a campout this weekend, it be great if you could come.

Me: This weekend. It's fucking 24 degrees John. It would be great for who?

SN: Well for Eric to see that you support him. It will be miserable but we are scheduled to do this nonsense all the time.

Me: I would rather him not go, its our family's weekend and specially I would rather me not go. I have a strong testimony that camping is how God shows us that he hates us. Listen what's with the flag thing?

SN: it's one of our fund raisers. We plant flags on people's yards at 5am and you they give us $36 a year for the service. Would you like to donate?

Me: Do you mean do I want to have you continue to honk at 5am outside of my house every fucking holiday to get my son up and then get to go help you do this? DO I enjoy my dog barking from 5 to 6 am? and at the end of the only blessed days I get off work, I get to go pick these same flags up again? and I get to pay for it? Oh, hell no, If I ever forget what country I am in, I will go buy a flag for $7 at Walmart, but I think we got it covered with the 34 flags on our street.

SN: Well its how we raise money.

Me:I have an idea. Can I give $36 a year not to honk and call our house at 5 am? I think that you will raise 12,000 in 2 hours if you do that.

SN: No, we have to do it this way, there is no other way to raise $400 a year and inconvenience and bother everyone on holidays.

Me: I see, well good luck.

Son: Dad! someone told me that we believe in Polygamy!?

Me: well yes, we do, it's how God lives, its required to enter heaven, that's what the church teaches.

Son: So why don't you do it?

Me: Because I would be excommunicated and go to hell, it's evil. That is also what the church teaches

Son: what the hell dad?! Will this make sense when I am older?

Me: No. But you will learn that the church also teaches that thinking about how these things don't make any sense is also a sin.

True Believing Mormon: Hi, co-worker! I'm going to be super-friendly to you for the next few weeks! (flashes fake smile and puts hand on Co-Worker's shoulder).

Co-Worker: Hi, TBM. We haven't chatted in a while, so this feels kind of awkward.(slides out from under the hand, which is now feeling for garment lines). By the way, it feels super creepy when you touch my shoulder like that. You're not trying to invite me to another MLM meeting in your basement, are you? By the way, how did SoapStar turn out for you anyway? I noticed you've been working lots of overtime.

TBM: Um, yeah. Let's not talk about SoapStar, OK? I join every MLM that comes along because everybody at my church does them, too. We're all desperate for extra cash because we have to fork over 10% of everything we get to the Church. Plus, we have to pay more money to send our teenagers on recruiting missions for two years. That reminds me -- that's why I'm spending my break time talking to you.

Co-Worker: Oh? Are you going to hit me up again to go to another lame activity at your church?

TBM: Yes! I don't really want to. I would never hang out with you if my church wasn't pestering me to find non-Mormons and convert them. I don't like you because you drink coffee. Well, actually I envy the fact that you drink coffee, that you go out on Saturday nights, and that you are 26 and don't even have any kids yet. But I have been pressured at church to find five people who will listen to our full-time recruiters give their sales talks.

Co-Worker: So you're just using me as one of your five?

TBM: That's right, Co-Worker.

Co-Worker: Wow. So you're pretending to be my friend so that I'll go to the lame activity and then listen to your sales guys?

TBM: Exactly. We call it "friendshipping."

Co-Worker: What will I get if I do it? At least the timeshare guys gave me a free weekend for sitting through their sales talk.

TBM: There'll be food at the activity. And next week, I'll leave some cookie dough on your doorstep.

Co-Worker: But you don't know where I live!

TBM: That's OK. My bishop or my Elder's Quorum president will get your contact information and then we will stalk you for the next ten years.

Co-Worker: Wow. I wish you hadn't started this conversation.

TBM: Me, too. It's really awkward to bug people I hardly know to get them to come to church stuff that I don't even want to go to. But if I don't do it, I'll have to stay home with three screaming kids -- and my Elder's Quorum president will gossip about me.

Co-Worker: Well, TBM, my break is over and I need to get back to work. Actually, I just want to get away from you. You are so weird!

TBM: Thanks, Co-Worker. I dislike you, too.

(1) Mormons buy their longish underwear from their church and feel a special obligation to wear this underwear wherever they go.

It has compass and square symbols next to their nipples (one per nipple), it has a little slit thingamabob symbol next to the belly button and one knee has another little slit whatchamacallit symbol. Symbols are good and normal. (This is so normal! How can anyone say this is weird?)

(2) Mormons believe that the coffee bean is Satanic or virtually Satanic.

That's why you can't enter a holy Mormon temple if you've ever had a cup of coffee and have not repented of it. Anything made from that demonic bean is a substance that, if ingested, can cause a person to be disqualified to live in God's presence. It's like drinking in damnation. Damnation in a cup. That's what it is to Mormons. The damned demonic bean is pretty evil. Same thing applies to green tea. Those vile, demonic, twisted, dirty little tea leaves will work corruption upon one's soul and cup-by-cup lead habitual drinkers to an inevitable destruction, until, one day, the tea-bibber finds himself face-down in a gutter, with sewage washing around his face, sobbing in the last moments of his life, as his soul fills with remorse thinking about that supposedly "harmless" cup of green tea that he drank last summer. Harmless indeed! Yes, it was that cup of green tea that set the whole process of eternal damnation in motion. Why didn't he just chug-a-lug a gallon of wholesome root beer and polish off a plate of brownies instead of violating God's divine prohibition against green tea?! (So are you going to try and tell me that this kind of belief is weird? How much more normal or normaler can you get?? This is like totally mainstream. Not weird at all. Deep in their heart of hearts, all normal people realize that coffee and tea are inherently and irredeemably evil.)

(3) Mormons believe that, if you are worthy (see number (2) above) to go to the Mormon temple, you can learn a set of handshakes and passwords that will enable you to enter into the grandest and most blessed heavenly kingdom there is in the afterlife.

Those handshakes and passwords make it possible for God to confirm whether the people knocking on his door are worthy to be in his presence. Mormons also believe that they are under a sacred duty to prevent unworthy people from learning about these extremely important secret handshakes and passwords. In fact, until 1990, they even acted out the types of executions they would willingly submit to (i.e., throat slitting and disembowelment), if they were ever to slip up and reveal the handshakes and passwords to unworthy people. (Now, please!!! Don't even try to tell me that this isn't one of the sanest, most reasonable beliefs you've ever heard of! These people are so well-balanced and normal in their beliefs that you find yourself wanting them to be your neighbors!!)

(4) Mormons believe that dark skin is the result of:

(i) a failure to be courageous and righteous as a spirit before one's birth on earth; (ii) your ancestors being wild and crazy Christ-rejecting heathens; and/or (iii) your ancestor being Cain, the first murderer on earth. The darker your skin is, the more evil your spirit was and/or your ancestors were. Darkness of skin has nothing to do with protection against UV rays. (Now what's NOT completely wholesome, well-grounded and, yes, very normal, about this belief concerning dark skin? Weird? Who could accuse Mormons of weirdness after finding out that they believe in such normal things as God making people's skin go dark as a curse?)

(5) Mormons believe in a "keystone" book of scripture, the Book of Mormon, which has many pages that are nothing more than passages copied verbatim from the KJV of the Bible.

It is also full of concepts that were common at the time that the book was published in the early 19th century (and it contains a lot of stories that are hard to believe, such as stories about barges that were "tight like unto a dish" and that had holes in the tops and bottoms, but were suitable as transportation of humans and livestock together for extended periods of time under water). The Book of Mormon is a book whose story is unsupported by any real-world archaeological evidence. Mormons believe that this Book of Mormon is so remarkable that the only plausible explanation for its miraculous creation is that their founding Prophet, Joseph Smith, had its contents revealed to him through a magic rock that produced glowing images that could be seen when the rock was placed in a hat. (This belief is is soooo not weird! You just have to agree that it's completely normal! To say that someone is a Mormon is basically synonymous with saying that he or she is the epitome of reasonableness and belief in normal things. It's the opposite of weirdness!)

The word Mormon rhymes with Norman. Likewise, the word Mormal rhymes with normal. So at the heart of things, you've got "Morm" on one hand and "norm" on the other hand, meaning that, with a few minor adjustments, "Mormon" is really close to "normal" and normal is not weird. In fact, if you spell normal backwards, you get the name Lamron, which is so much like a name from the Book of Mormon that you almost can't believe that it's not in the Book of Mormon. Coincidence? I thinketh not.

I moved from Utah Valley to Memphis (home to some of the largest mega churches (mostly Southern Baptist) in the country). Sometimes I feel like only the underwear has changed.

Luckily it's not so bad at work. Because I work for the corporate legal dept. of a very large company, most of our attorneys and professionals are not from Memphis, the majority being from the Northeast and predominantly Catholic. I can handle that much easier.

But when I read things like the Utah Legislature giving a standing ovation to a sexual predator who paid off his victim with the help of the cult, it reminds me that if I have to choose religious nut jobs, I think I'll take the Baptists.

It was High Council Sunday, which, in and of itself was bad enough, but to walk in and see Brother X, the reigning a$$hole of the entire stake if not the entire region, was to know that the meeting would ruin the entire day for everyone present. This guy was so bad that people who were in the know on such things as high council visitation schedules would visit relatives out of town or find reasons to attend other wards when he was scheduled to speak.

The problem there was that such things were often subject to change with vert little notice, so you'd get there and see him, and you'd be stuck. Besides, my dad was either the bishop or in the pric for a large part of my childhood, so we couldn't be skipping off every time Brother X appeared. Theoretically twelve H. C.'s should equal one official visit per year plus ward conference from the guy, but he always seemed to end up with us more often. Just the luck of the draw, I guess.

The man was a composite of the worst qualities of Thoms S Monson, Boyd K Packer, and Richard G Scott, or whatever his middle initial is. Brother X thought so highly of himself that he couldn't quite fathom why he hadn't been translated into a celestial being, or at the very least, sucked up into the great body of G.A.'s.

He once made an allusion to his calling and election having been made sure (is that called the second annointment?) though not in so many words. I didn't know they did that with regular people. I always thought you had to at least be in a temple presidency or something to achieve that status.

But I digress.

Anyway, it was h. c. Sunday, and I walked in to see him on the stand with what was then his entire family. My friend and I think there were six children at that point. The kids ranged from just a few months to almost two to almost three, to twin four-year-olds and a five -year-old, or pretty close to that.

The mother spoke first while the dad struggled with all the kids. In a normal situation, someone else might have helped the guy out while his wife spoke, but he was such a consummate a$$hole that even the righteous among us probably enjoyed seeing him squirm. Then the mother finished her talk, which absolutely no one heard enough to make any sense of because of the ruckus going on behind her, and she took the twin four-year-olds and the five-year-old to stand near the piano to sing for us while she accompanied them.

I think they sang "I Am a Child of God" and that one about "I love brother, he loves me, etc., etc,. we are a happy family." It was actually pretty funny because they were practically killing each other the whole time their mother spoke, and they were still poking and elbow-jabbing through the songs.

While they were singing, Brother X was dealing with the newborn, the less-than-two-year-old, and the almost three-year-old, who I would be able to say with certainty was the literal spawn of Satan and not the child of Brother X except for the fact that he looked so much like a miniature clone of Brother X.

At one point when Brother X was trying to stifle the next-to-youngest's screams, the figurative spawn of Satan reached into the diaper bag and pulled out a Kotex. He peeled off the strip covering the sticky part, then stuck it to his father's head. Brother X must have thought that his little angel was just patting him on the head, or else he was too preoccupied to notice.

So Brother X unknowingly had a Kotex stuck firmly to the top of his head, almost like a Mohawk haircut. The wife and older kids finished their World Wrestling Federation version of their unmusical number, and she rushed over to grab the baby with one hand and very deftly grab both of the younger brats plus the diaper bag with her other hand. She dragged them all off to a cry room or somewhere like that. Because she was flustered, or for whatever reason, she didn't even look at Brother X.

So Brother X got up and began his talk with a typically lame joke I can't begin to recall, but everybody laughed like he was John Stewart or Stephen Colbert. He was quite proud of the response, and improvised with a few more jokes. I don't think he noticed that no one was waiting for the punchlines of his jokes before they started laughing.

By this point, his older three kids were running around the chapel creating all sorts of havoc, which was the least of anyone's concern until one of them started banging on the piano; the ward clerk grabbed that kid and refused to let go. The kid cried for a few minutes, but eventually settled down. I suspect the attendance count was off that week.

A couple of other Good Samaritans grabbed the other two remaining brats and settled them similarly, which left us all free to focus on Brother X and his innovative headgear.

Then Brother X got to the point of his talk, which I didn't get then and certainly don't know now. At first people tried to stifle their laughter, but it became a lost cause. The bishop was trying to give stern looks, but even he was losing it.

Brother X finally concluded his remarks (he was known for his long-windedness, but this time we didn't really care because he had already cut into five minutes of Sunday School time, and what we had just witnessed was funnier than anything we could have seen on TV at the same time, even if we'd had cable, which hadn't yet reached our neck of the woods.

So Brother X sat down, not quite sure what was so funny in the serious part of his remarks, but convinced that he was the white version of Eddie Murphy and was probably seriously contemplating giving up his day job as an insurance salesman. As the intro to the closing song began, the wife returned with the three youngest offspring more or less under control. The ward clerk and remaining Good Samaritans returned their prisoners to the parents.

Then Sister X took one look at her hubby and turned ghostly white. While holding the baby, she tried to reach across a few kids to carefully dislodge the Kotex from his head. It turned out that there was a reason she was trying to be careful in removing it. One of the twins decided to help out by yanking the Kotex off; it came off, along with Brother X's toupee. So the kid handed Brother X his toupee with a Kotex stuck firmly to the center. (If I'd known then what I now know, I might have suggested that it should be the new style of temple headwear.)

The look on Brother X's face more than made up for all my years of tedium in sitting through church meetings.

Word travels fast (and this was before the Internet), and from that moment on, Brother X was known throughout the stake as "Kotex Head." He has to be getting up there in years by now, and the kids who are now calling him that behind his back weren't even alive when the incident occurred, but the name sticks just like the Kotex did.

Things were so tense between DH and I that I was having trouble sleeping. I was lying awake one night (partially due to DH's snoring [foghorn leghorn])going over things in my mind for the millionth time when I thought I heard my cell phone ringing. I started to get out of bed to look for it and it stopped ringing.

Who would be calling me at 2:30 a.m.? Probably a wrong number, but I had to check. It started ringing again and I played a solo game of hotter/colder until I found it.

"Mom, it was DD#1, my water broke". Her due date wasn't for two weeks. I'd planed to stay with her a week prior to that, but I hadn't packed anything yet, I had nothing prepared.

"Mom we're leaving for the hospital, I need you. Please hurry". We hung up and I sprang into action without any kind of plan. I couldn't focus my thoughts I started into DS's room for the suitcase and then thought no, I'd better get on map quest first for hospital directions.

My mind was racing so fast I couldn't type the address. Video camera, I need the video camera, it's in the girls room. I started for their room and then thought my first idea was best, get the suitcase. I needed help, I'll wake up sleeping moody. I wasn't sure how to do that. In the past I would have shaken him, but we hadn't had any physical contact in quite a while and I didn't know how he would react to me touching him. Oh heck, this was an emergency, I shook him into a semi-consious state and told him DDs water had broken. "I'll call a plumber in the morning" and then he turned over.

I'd never thought of how vunerable we are when we're sleeping, and several mean thoughts flashed through my mind. I shook him with real urgency and told him "Our grandchild is coming". He too sprang out of bed and went from room to room accomplishing nothing. Apparently we still had something in common. He very strongly suggested, aka ordered, me to pack for both of us. He would warm up the car and get the mapquest directions. When we were leaving the house he wanted to say a prayer. I agreed because it would have taken more time to debate it than actually do it, but if it lasted more than two minutes I was prepared to have a coughing fit.

He said pretty much standard things germain to the situation and ended by asking Hf to "please let us be a help and comfort to DD". When we were on the road I asked him why he'd said comfort. Did he feel DD was going to be in a situation where she needed our comfort? Did he feel inspired to say that?

It was a strange time. We'd set our current situation aside, and though I wasn't sure about the church I'd reverted to a familiar way of thinking. It was all I could manage at the time. He didn't know why he'd said comfort but didn't think it was a sign.

I said my own silent prayer. "Heavenly Father please let me get there in time to help my daughter, amen". "HF I don't mean for her labor to go on longer than necessary. Please let her have a short labor,amen".

What if she could have an easy labor until I got there and then she could deliver? "Father, thy will be done".

Dh wasn't faring any better. "I hope someone gave her a blessing, she needs a blessing, I hope they thought of that" he was feeling helpless too, but he was adding to my anxiety. Even in a crisis we had nothing to offer one another. And there we were, two beacons of anxiety racing through the pre-dawn hours. Neither one of us having any way of knowing that DH had forgotten to put the suitcase in the car. A minor detail but upon reflection, neener, neener.

DH wanted to park and I wanted him to drop me off at the door and then park. I wanted to clobber him but once again acquiessed due to time that would be lost arguing. We were the last to reach the waiting room. DS and GF, and DD#2 were already there along with members of sil's family.

DD's mil came straight over to me and I knew something was wrong. The baby's heartbeat had dropped dangerously low several times during labor with more frequent occurances and doctor decided it was best to due a c-section. DD had been taken into surgery about 10 minutes before we arrived.

'Be a comfort to our daughter' flashed in my mind. Please HF, NO. DD's fil called for a family prayer, and as I stood in the circle I didn't listen to the prayer. I didn't want to bargain with HF, I didn't understand any of this but I still believed there was a plan. I stood there glumly knowing that this part of the plan for DD. I had my eyes closed trying not to have thoughts, and I experienced something that I can't adequately explain (and rarely share).

I had a vivid picture of my mom dressed in white sitting in a chair, holding a baby also dressed in white. She didn't speak. but I could hear her voice in my head. "No need to worry, I have him".

I immediately felt at peace and then had the knowledge the baby would be born ok.

I've since read quite a lot on events like these and know that the mind will do tricky things in times of trauma. I don't know if thats what happened but I still have a sense of awe about it.

After what seemed like a huge amount of time sil came out an announced that they had a healthy baby boy. Mother and baby are doing well. There was such a release of tension via laughing, hugging and hand shaking that sil had to stand on a table to get our attention.

The nurse is cleaning the baby and geting his statistics, you can go in two at a time to see him. There was an immediate visual assessment of pecking order. DD's mil came over to me and took my arm. "Grandma's first" she said determinedly. And not to be overly dramatic, the crowd parted. There were so many decision-making priesthood members in that room but nobody wanted to challenge the Grandma authorities.

We walked down a short hall both trembling and overcome with emotion. When I first saw him my heart filled to overflowing with love. Every bad thing that had happened fell away. The nurse asked if I would like to hold him and I nodded yes. I physically couldn't speak. A spell had been cast over me and I didn't want the sound of my voice to break it. This was a turning point for me. Something inside me had changed and I couldn't explain it, but I knew it was good.

And you guys know it was good. Look ma, no cliff hanger.

DD#2 said when she told DH about my not being able to speak when I first held our Grandson he said "Wow, two miracles in one day." Asshole.

I've been inactive long enough now to feel comfortable making this post.

My last day at church was the day I was released as Gospel Doctrine Teacher. I had been teaching the class for several years. The bishop knew I didn't have a testimony, but a lot of people told him that the only reason they went to church was to hear my lessons. My classroom was always packed. The reason was because I didn't stick to the manual; I planted small seeds of doubt and made people think. I was always walking the line, and I believe that the straw that broke it all was having the Stake President's wife as a member of the class. I'm pretty sure she returned and reported to him what I was teaching, and as my lessons departed farther from the manual, so did her discomfort level.

Anyway, here is my confession...I taught some of my "most spiritual" lessons without wearing garments and with a hangover. Despite how rebellious I tried to be on Saturday night, people would still come up to me after class and tell me they felt the spirit.

That's when I knew it was all bunk.

Mormons are like vampires. - anon

Showing a cross or crucifix will ward off mormons before they get close enough to suck your blood.

Not so charming charm - JBug

When I joined the cult [back when young and stupid], I wore a charm bracelet a special Grandparent had given me. One of the charms was a tiny cross. Church members would come up to me and tell me I could not wear that here! "It has a CROSS on it!!" It got them quite upset.

Now, that kind of behavior can really turn off Christian converts. Maybe they ARE vampires. It's a nice thought.

Visceral reactions - CA Girl

I know the intellectual, stated reasons why Mormons don't wear crosses. But the visceral reaction some Morgbots have to the cross is almost frightening in and of itself. It makes me wonder what exactly that creepy temple ceremony was all about or what master the Mormons are really serving. That kind of fear of the cross is usually only seen in movies like The Exorcist.

BTW, one of the first things back in my life after I quit believing in the church was a ring with a cross on it. I also have a Celtic cross in my garden and two decorative Southwestern style crosses in my Western-style master bedroom. I regret to say, they haven't kept away a single Mormon - and you can see the Celtic cross as you approach the front door.

Oh well, I guess I'll just keep buying them until I have a ring of them around my house :) lol

A form of life-draining vampirism - Tiphanie

Mormons suck all the joy out of social events and living.

Moism trains people to feed off each other by dumping jobs on them vs asking. By shaming people who stand up for themselves. By forcing lie after lie down people's throats. Yes, mo-ism is definitely a form of life-draining vampirism.

I transferred my DD into a new school in the 3rd grade - lamedandy

That I knew would be 90% Mormon children.

For the first week of school and as often as she wanted to after that, she wore a little cross with a faux ruby in it around her neck on a gold chain. It had been a birthday gift from another little girl-friend.

I figured that might keep some of the children from having to ask her if she was Mormon and definitely told the staff that she was not :-)

BTY-We had a great and positive experience in that school. Got a good back to basics education-no bad language or behavior tolerated and a conservative dress code.

My first Internet experience was with Exmormon.org around the time she was in the fourth grade. It helped me alot, and I then realized that I definitely had to move into a community with a more diluted population, which I did when she was ready for "Junior High".

Thank you Susan and Erik for helping me learn what this was all about back then. I spent hours clicking on different links at your site, reading everything!

My nevermo mom gave me a cross necklace - Fedelm

I've thought the same thing, especially since my TBM ex had a similar reaction when my nevermo mom gave me a cross necklace as a baptism gift, as she had no idea Mormons don't want anything to do with the cross.

Once I left Mormonism and divorced my TBM (True Believing Mormon) ex, I started to get a collection of cross necklaces. After a friend that both my ex and I knew died of cancer about a year after the divorce was final, I wore one of my cross necklaces to the memorial service.

My ex avoided me the entire time, and left quickly when he saw my necklace, which is what I was hoping for. For Christmas over a year ago, my brother gave me a metal cross that is hanging on a wall in my bedroom.

Sister-in-laws has to see it from time to time - sherv

I have a metal cross on my wall in our study right now...am looking right at it. I kind of like the fact the SIL has to see it from time to time. I resented that my daughter, who we got a beautiful cross necklace for in '02, stopped wearing it in just 8 months due to meeting a Mormon guy who she later married. People have told me not to ask for it back as she may still have it hidden somewhere. I guess that is true. It was just so beautiful. I would like it!!! DARN cult!!!

Crossed at baptism - just another anon

When I attended my daughter's Mormon baptism, I wore a cross to honor her, despite my objection to her decision. I was also trying to be supportive as a Christian.

As a nevermo, I had no idea about the Mormon view of the cross. When I was introduced to the head Elder, he visibly recoiled while looking at the cross. I had a thought in the back of my mind that only a vampire would react that way.

Recently my daughter was telling me all about the beehive symbol and how it is on the temple. She laughed as she said that people probably think she worships bees because of it. I should have said "That's because people usually expect to see traditional Christian symbols on a Christian building, like a cross...not beehives. I think it would be natural to question."

How symbolic, a hive, hive mentality just like the 'Borg' on Star Trek - They don't want me back

Yes, they are vampires in every way, a parasitic society, they suck the up all the resources and use them to build their hive. The difference is that in a real bee hive all the members benefit, in this parasitic model members are just used and don’t reap the rewards, all the resources go to build up the Kingdom of the False Prophets.

They do suck - Don Bagley

It's true, they are repelled by the cross! They are wide awake nightmare daylight vampires.

At the very least, having been raised Mormon, I can testify that they do suck.

Looking back, I realize I just wanted to live my life, and not be bothered by Mormonism.

I never could see, precisely, why it was so "important," or "vital" that it be in my life. I was badgered, pushed, pulled, belittled, beaten up once, and forced to "accept the gospel."

The told me it was the best thing in the world for me. It had, I was told, "plain and precious truth" I HAD TO OBEY.I would never find happiness without it. In fact, I was told leaving the fold would only bring heartache and misery.

Growing up in Provo, with a rather fanatical set of parents, did not make it easier. I attended the church of THEIR choice, I was interviewed about masturbation by our neighbor, and my Bishop.

I was told I needed to attend every Sunday, pay the church ten percent of my money, and accept the various admonitions of the "brethren. " "The Twelve" knew what was good for me. Yes, they did. The bookcase at home groaned under the weight of the works of the "brethren."

The temple was set as an ideal for me, as was marriage in the same place, A mission was required, and I was told how vital it was I go.

At no point in any of this was I ever asked "What do you want Louie?" No-one ever pulled me aside, and professed any interest in what I thought. It was all done for me. I had no more say than a person growing up in a dictatorship. Maybe that's because I was growing up in a dictatorship.

And all I ever really wanted was to be left alone,to live my life. I would have been moral, law abiding, and decent. I did not need all the rest. Why did they keep shoving it down my throat? They NEVER CARED about me, or any other individual. I had been assimilated, made a part of the collective. And I never wanted to be.

"Dare to be Different," Paul Dunn wrote as the title of one of his dishonest books. He forgot the subtitle: "As Long as You are All the Same."

Mine was years ago when I was on a commitee for a homemaking lunchion. We decided on the menu and made food assignments. We had the 4 basic food groups and a desert, we were done. One of the ladies on the commitee said "oh no, no, we forgot jello". She spoke as if it were a food group and she was so disapointed that we were not going to squeeze it on to the menu. I held my laughter until I got in the car but then I laughted so hard I almost peed myself. Just one of many moments that make you say WTF.

Distracting Deacons - 6 iron

For me it was when I was a Deacon and sitting up there waiting to pass the Sac. if someone did anything funny, trying to stop laughing is soooo hard, and just looking over at the person, made you want to laugh but trying to stop made it even more funny I thought I was going to burst.

Is there a breeze up here? - toasty

When one of the most pious sister's in our ward walked from the back of the chapel up to the stand to give the closing prayer. As she passed each pew a chuckle would erupt as she'd obviously gone to the bathroom (was probably nervous) and had tucked her dress into her pantyhose. She didn't realize this until she'd finished the prayer and the bishop got enough courage to let her know. After that, she was a little less snooty.

Marriott Center Crossed Legs - CA girl

I've been friends with these twins, Shauna and Hannah, since kindergarten. Hannah had just gotten engaged but I hadn't met her fiance yet (it was one of those quickie BYU love stories). There was a very important GA (one of the 12) coming to the Marriott Center for a fireside so Hannah invited me to come with her, her fiance and Shauna to hear him talk.

Unfortunately, I wore a very straight skirt and very high heels. During the talk, I crossed my legs and in in the steep Marriott seating amd found I couldn't get them uncrossed without making a very obscene move. This struck me as funny and I started laughing silently to myself. Shauna leaned over and asked what was wrong and I told her. She started laughing quietly. Pretty soon we both were laughing so hard and trying to control it so hard that we had tears running down our faces. And I STILL couldn't get my legs uncrossed. People in our section were giving us filthy looks for being so disrespectful to a GA and Hannah was giving us the worst looks for embarrassing her in front of her fiance. Finally I wiggled free and afterward, when we told Hannah and Kevin why we were laughing, we were forgiven.

This is one of the funniest Temple stories! - SuzieQ#1

Sometimes a little humor lightens the mood of a dull, repetitive temple session.

Many years ago, I attended the temple with a group from our Ward. One of the ladies was a very small spry (probably about 80 yr old) widow, who had recently lost her large built 90+ year old husband.

She arrived with us at the temple , carrying her matching suitcase with the temple garb. Remember those!?

When she opened it, she realized she had her deceased husbands suitcase!

Laughingly, she remarked that she probably gave them the wrong suitcase for her husband's burial, and she wondered if he was buried in her temple clothes. (Not likely as those are different - but she probably didn't know that.)

Not to be deterred, she put on his one piece men's garments! She didn't have quite enough clothes in her size, so one of the matrons brought some for her.

The three of us women, who knew what happened could barely keep our faces straight through the session knowing she was wearing her deceased husbands, very large, men's garments, which she later remarked were more comfortable than her own!

Operatics - 6 iron

My BIL could sing exactly like a member lady with an operatic voice, and he would sing that way sometimes even when she was singing. Made us chuckle

I had a roommate who used to do that. - Makurosu

We'd be sitting in Sacrament Meeting, and he would be belting out the hymns in powerful falsetto with very exaggerated vibrato. The people in front of us just sat there pretending not to notice. I thought I was going to cry laughing.

Test-o-money meeting: Ward campout shows LDS woman the trials and hardships of the pioneers. - Jonny the Smoke

By going on a chuch campout for one night at the church property located about 30 minutes from her home, this woman was able to testify of knowing the trials and hardships of the pioneers as they crossed the plains.

The ward had a one night campout and provided breakfast and BBQ lunch. Everone slept in tents with sleeping bags, pillows and cusions, used flashlights and bathrooms with flush toilets.

The woman bares her test-o-money about now being able to understand what the pioneers went through..."the trials and the hardships", etc.

What trials and hardships? She and her family drove the car 30 minutes out of town and are camping about 10 minutes from a store with the church providing most of the food.

All they had to do was sit around a fire making smores at night, swim in the river and play field games in the day, then drive home.

She should have pulled a handcart, had a child and her husband die, then gotten sick with cholera and then sealed to another man that was already married to 3 other women on the way to the campout to get a better understanding of the pioneers.

Ha ha--that's so true! - Ms.

Some of my family does a handcart thing, which is perhaps slightly more difficult, and they go on and on like they had actually risked their lives! One of my cousins told me her mom smudged her face with dirt for the photos, but during the "trek" she was obsessed with keeping her very expensive specially made pioneer dress clean. This aunt isn't typical of my relatives, actually, but she's still amusing.

Finger in nose - Wanda

The Bishop had 7 stairstep kids. All 7 of them had to get up every F&T meeting and give their testimony. 5 of his kids were blonde, the youngest 2 were red heads. I don't know which of his 2 red heads it was, but one of them would go up there and say his piece with his finger stuck up his nose. It happened EVERY time. His mom would always die of embarrasment, but we always thought it was hilarious!

Snake out of the Garden of Eden - Sally

A woman in our branch had a primary age son who carried his rubber snake with him everywhere. It was his version of a blankey. So during a Sacrament Meeting given by the Primary, this boy walks up to the podium and being one of the smallest he stands in front. As they start to sing the song he whips his snake over the railing like he's casting a fishing rod and starts to sing. The whole branch was in stiches.

Oh, that might have been me. - 6 iron

In Branch Presidency mtg the BP said what is that gas smell (he meant heating fuel gas) one guy said oh that might have been me.

That became a popular joke with me, Anytime anyone said what is that smell (refering to a pleasant smell) I say that might have been me.

Beer jingle - Chic in the heart of Moville

I also remember the 1st C's young daughter walking down the isle singing "Weekends were made for Michelob". Oh I really needed a good laugh,

Fasting rumble - Moira

During college I was the Chorister for our Institute. One Fast Sunday, I was sitting behind the podium with everyone else and my stomach growled so loudly that the microphone picked it up. The Institute President turned around and looked at me, then turned back and said, "Well, we know Moira is keeping the law of fasting today." I was mortified!

The time my former hubby was giving a slide-presentation on Joe Smith to the Adult Class. - wine country girl

He was describing the tar & feathering Joe got from an angry mob and mentioned that Joe and Emma stayed up into the wee hours "picking the tar off Joe's foreskin." (He meant regular skin.)

Barf-O-Rama. - Sandie

A little boy in the pew in front of me had eaten something that obviously didn't agree with him. By the time he was through hurling the mass of vomit around the room, he had nailed just about every member of the family in the pew in front of his.

His mom's frantic attempt to drag the kid from the room only caused additional airborne barf across the entire chapel.

The carpet in the lobby was stained for years. It probably still is.

One night at MIA, we had a cookout. - Randy J.

The guy cooking the burgers was this big cowboy from Yuma, Arizona. He was a real John Wayne type whom everybody respected because of his he-man powerful presence and strong testimony. He would have been about 40 at the time, and I was probably 14 or so. He managed a cattle ranch for a local major beef producer, so he furnished the patties.

Anyhoo, here's all these teenagers standing around the grill talking etc. I took a spatula and began pressing on the patties to squeeze the grease out. Cowboy shouts at me "Hey, don't squeeze my meat!" You can imagine the look on the faces of the crowd of teenagers. It was all we could do to hold ourselves together. Cowboy calmed down a little and explained, "I don't like my meat squeezed because the grease is where the flavor is."

Another one: I was about 23, and was leading the singing in priesthood meeting one Sunday morning. The guy playing the piano had limited talent, but I didn't know it, because he was kinda new in the ward. He was kind of a stodgy anal type guy too. So, we're in the middle of the first verse of one of those rousing priesthood-type songs, when the pianist stops and shouts "I can't play this damn thing!" That caused some chuckles, and it flustered me a little, but I suggested that we just sing it without music, and we continued on.

MIA blackout - flash

One MIA night when I was 14 (early 70’s), the MIA was having a dance. I and 2 other friends decided to have some fun by turning off the main power switch to the church building. We drew straws to see who would be the “Son of Perdition” to lead the entire MIA into outer darkness. The straws were pulled and it fell upon me to perform this transgression.

The main power switch was located in a panel on the stage so we snuck back there during the dance to get access. The switch was located in a panel on one side of the stage and there was a window on the opposite side of the stage. In order to buy myself time to flip the switch and be able to get to the window and jump out, I piled up several metal folding chairs in the stair well that accessed the side of the stage where the electrical panels were. My friends, by now, had quietly slipped out the window and headed to our pre-arranged meeting site outside.

With the chairs in place and the window open, I quietly opened the panel housing the main switch. It was very large and I decided to flip the switch in the middle of a song hoping the music would drown out the sound of the switch clicking off. The moment of truth was now upon me. So with a great effort I pushed on the lever with a mighty snap. Thick darkness quickly engulfed the whole building. Girls began to scream and the music on the record player slowly ground to a halt. As I began to run across the stage to the open window, I could hear the adult leaders scrambling up the stair well stumbling across the strategically placed metal folding chairs and themselves in the darkness. I never knew so many colorful metaphors could be uttered by our priesthood leadership as they struggled through the tangling and collapsing folding chairs to reach the switch and to apprehend the fiend who would defile their sacred MIA dance. And no, I did not utter any Masonic phrases as I dove out the window.

Once I was outside, I and my two friends met at our pre-arranged spot to gaze upon the now dark, great and spacious building before us. Oh, how great was our joy and loud laughter at this marvelous work and a wonder we performed. We almost passed out from not being able to breathe due to our laughter.

Before the lights were restored, we snuck back in and split up so when the lights were finally restored, we looked as though we were there all the time. I strategically placed myself at the punch bowl trying to keep a look on my face of bewilderment like everyone else to avoid suspicion. My two friends did likewise at different places in the cultural hall. To this day, no one knows who the “Son of Perdition” was that cast the entire MIA into outer darkness on that memorable Tuesday night.

This one was at my expense. - Chic in the heart of Moville

I grew up in a small town of 350 people and there were not alot of things to do for entertainment. For Mutual as it was called then, the leaders took the boys and girls to some farmers pond to swim and made a mud slide down the hill. It was a blast, I ran up that hill and slid down more than anyone.

At the end of the night they loaded us into the back of a cattle truck but before they did they hosed us down to get rid of some of the mud. When they hosed me off both cheeks of my little 16 year old hiney were there for all to see. I had wore holes in my jeans and some of my underware. I think my ass was numb because of the cold water and sliding that I couldn't even tell.

I was mortified at the time, now it just makes me laugh. One lovely sister offered her jacket to me probably because she wanted her son to quit trying to catch a peak.

Party Poppers in the hymn racks. - Makurosu

One Sunday before Sacrament meeting, the youth decided they would put exploding "party poppers" in all the hymn racks. It was a bang-up success. After the opening hymn, everybody dropped the hymn books back into the racks, and there were loud pops like caps going off all around the chapel. Some people even screamed. There was no reaction whatsoever from the leaders up on the stand, and the person giving the opening prayer looked around the room sternly for everyone to quiet down and get reverent before praying.

Salty Shame - Chic in the heart of Moville

My *FRIEND* was going to Ricks College in Idaho and was in a biology class. They were discussing the make up of sperm and that it was mostly glucose.

There was this big hair bonde girl in the class that said without thinking of course "Then why does it taste salty?"

He said she left class crying, never to be seen again.

Sunday topless - JennyAus

The Bishop took all the youth from our ward and another ward (who were billeted out for the week), to the local art gallery, where he worked, for a show. Probably about 40 or so youth were sitting on the ground, excited that we got to do something different on a Sunday.

The music starts to play and one by one practically naked people come dancing only a few feet away from us. We were so shocked. Not only were they topless, all their pubes were hanging out of their nickers. They weren't aboriginals but I think they were dancing as if they were. I can't quite remember the dance or the music, we were just trying so hard not to laugh.

Bishop didn't even stop the dance, we sat there through the whole thing. It was hilarious.

Pajamas - CA Girl

When I was in high school, I became friends with a girl who had a father in the Stake High Council. Between work and church, he was never home. I'd only met him twice, when she invited our group of girls to her house for sleep-overs. And both times, we'd come in late from a dance or movie and he'd already gone to bed. I met him when he came out of his room in his pajamas at 1:00 a.m. and told us to quit making so much noise and go to sleep.

One Sunday he came to our ward to be the Stake High Council Speaker. Before sacrament meeting I went up to the front for some reason I can't remember now. He was talking to a group of bishopric members and other important Stake guys. I didn't even recognize him but he knew me and said "Hi CA girl." Surprised, I replied "Oh hi Brother ______ I didn't recognize you with your clothes on." And quite cluelessly returned to my seat, not even realizing what I'd said. I'll bet he had a fun time explaining that one!!!

"Bitch" being said over the pulpit - anon this time

When our district president spoke in district conference and told a story about going on a trip with his brother. He used the word ‘bitch’ 5 times in his talk. He kept saying, “all my brother did was bitch at me”. The mp and his wife were there. The mp’s wife’s face was awesome. It was a mix of shock/horror/disgust. I still giggle thinking about it.

Anyway DP got released soon after that. He’s a pretty nice guy and has a lot of common sense. I think he planned the whole thing.

Bass Ackwards Baptism - Michael Pace

When my father fell head-first into baptismal font that he had just filled for baptismal service.

Wow, look at those huge undies! - JennyAus

They had a gust of wind blowing up random people's dresses. This was set up for the show. The host says, "wow, look at those huge undies. Now that is some pair of undies."

Lol, it was a woman in her garments.

The guy kept going on and on about the size of her undies and they kept replaying the scene. I felt embarrassed for her.

I have another one.

My son Brendan taught the 4 year olds in primary. When sacrament had finished, one of the young boys yells out at the top of his voice. "Brendan, when I tell you I have to go to the toilet you have to let me go real quick because I have diarrhea." Everybody laughed.

Oh.. one more

There was this elderly couple in our ward and they loved working in their garden. Maybe they hadn't had much success with their flower growing, so they had plastic flowers planted in their front garden. lol.

I'm talking about church business - Don Bagley

In my early teens, I occasionally attended church in La Grande Oregon. Some of the young priesthood boys decided that we would use the word "business" to mean poop. We would say we had to go to the restroom to take a business.

One Sunday, an arrogant high priest addressed the young men. "I'm talking about church business, here," he said. And we all laughed riotously, which pissed him off. "Hey," he said, "this is serious business." And we laughed and laughed until he had the sense to change the subject.