Even in Seattle, where we are “used to” the rain, it could still be depressing. Some days I loved the rain. The smell of fresh rain always brought a sense of newness, refreshing, and life-giving.  In Washington we knew that the winter rains would bring beautiful spring tulips and daffodils, and keep our grass and forests verdant year round. But sometimes, after a particularly rainy week, the clouds seemed to just bring darkness. Blocked from sunlight, it was isolating and dreary.

The first week of November 2012 was one of those sunless, tiresome weeks. My mind and heart were already heavy, and the rain wasn’t helping. I was struggling with the upcoming election and Washington’s vote on Gay Marriage. I was still very active at church, even though the doubts I had were deepening. But I was confused about the church’s stance on Gay Marriage. The church had been actively involved in the California campaign for Proposition 8. I remember talking to people who spent Wednesday night activities going door to door. I knew of the money that was donated, the hours spent by the members to campaign, and the urging from church leaders to support the cause.  That was just 4 years prior. But now that we faced a similar ballot in Washington, we heard nothing. Had the church changed their stance? Why weren’t we being asked to mobilize against gay marriage? Don’t get me wrong, the last thing I wanted to do was knock on doors (I did that for 18 months on a mission, which was more than enough for a life time) and ask people to vote against it. And why was the church so against it in the first place? I knew the church’s views on marriage, but I had always been taught about free agency. It didn’t make sense to me that we would be against gay rights. After all, it was their agency to choose whom to marry, just like it was my agency to marry J.T.  I was torn. And just like the dark rain clouds outside, I felt heavy and burdened.

When I was brave enough to share my doubts, I was directed back to The Family Proclamation: “Marriage between a man and woman is ordained of God”. I knew that was the belief for the Temple (although the wording might be better “between a man and a woman, and another woman if he chooses”) but did that have anything to do with legal marriage? The vote wasn’t whether it was “ordained of God” but if it was their legal right to equality in marriage. It just didn’t feel right to deny that. I was just as confused as ever. Then I was told the story that was once shared by Marion G. Romney where he was told “always keep your eye on the President of the Church and if he ever tells you to do anything, and it is wrong, and you do it, the Lord will bless you for it.” So there I was, staring at my ballot. Feeling like opposing gay marriage was morally wrong. But knowing that the prophet had spoken against it, and knowing that if I ignored my conscience and “followed the prophet” I would be blessed.

It was pouring down rain, and time was running out. I knew I needed to take my ballot in before the poles closed. I pulled on my rain coat and loaded three small children into the car.  It’s funny how time can slow down and imprint on our mind in moments like this. I remember that night so vividly. I remember how dark it felt as I was driving to Maple Valley, where the closest Elementary School was open late to accept ballots. I remember my kids asking where we were going, and I was trying to explain freedom, voting, presidential elections, and gay marriage in a way that 3 children under 6 could understand. I am pretty sure I trailed off into my thoughts, hoping they wouldn’t interrupt the silence.  I pulled into the parking lot and followed the winding line of tail lights. I was relieved when I saw that there were volunteers outside in plastic ponchos and excited smiles. They carried the ballot boxes right up to the cars. I looked back at my exhausted children, grateful that I didn’t need to go through the ordeal of unbuckling and trudging through the downpour to cast my vote. I slipped the envelope into the box, and looked up at the volunteer holding it. A terrible guilt swept over me as we made eye contact.

When I drove out of the parking lot, onto the highway, I was overcome with emotion. I pulled my car quickly off onto the muddy shoulder, laid my head down on the steering wheel, and broke down in tears.  I remember Blake’s little voice asking what was wrong. He has always had a tender heart.  How could I tell my children what I had done?? That I had just voted against my conscience, because I felt like my church wanted me to. Even 4 years later, I am filled with shame just writing about that night. Sharing my cowardice with all of you brings it all rushing back. Those thick clouds seem to be hovering over me now, I can smell the rain, and feel the oppression of the darkness.

After the tears stopped, I drove quietly home, with my kids falling asleep in the back seat. The one redeeming hope that lifted me up, was the fact that I was in Washington, a beautifully blue state. I knew that the other voters would compensate for my weakness. I knew that mine was a small drop in the bucket. I knew that overall my opposing vote was probably meaningless, except for the pain it was causing me.

When I woke up the next morning the state was already celebrating it’s victory. Happiness filled my soul as I watched people on the news hugging and crying with joy. I felt like an imposter, secretly celebrating with them, even though I had just voted against it.  Overnight, Washington state changed, and so did I.

I knew that what President Romney taught was false. I could no longer believe that God would bless me for following a prophet even if he was wrong. Why would God give me a conscience, my own ability to discern right and wrong, and then tell me to ignore it in favor of a prophet? Later on, I found out that some members of the church did, in fact, vote for gay marriage. I was shocked at their ability to hear the teachings from the church and make their own defiant decision! I don’t actually think they were being defiant. I think they just had a better sense of truth. They had an ability to trust themselves, in a way that I never did. It had never even occurred to me. The church had always been so black and white. It was true or false. It was right or wrong. It was follow the prophet or follow satan.  It was exact obedience. What was this new gray zone? And could I find peace there?

From that moment, I knew that if God ever asked me to choose between a prophet and my conscience again, next time, I would make the right choice.

 

(since I know we all love references, this is the talk from Pres. Romney)

I feel like there is a little frame work I should set up before we get started. Just so we can all start out on the same page. So, let’s start with the most offensive phrase in the English language “No offense…”. What about “Don’t take it personally”, is that any better? No, same affect?

Even just hearing the phrase “Don’t take is personally” makes me want to take whatever is said next very personally.  I can’t help it! And it doesn’t help that I already think everything is about me, so of course it must be personal.  But it doesn’t have to be.

As I have said before, it is not easy to leave the church. But I also recognize it is not easy to watch someone leave the church. I know that it is difficult for the family and friends to see their loved ones walk away. It can be heart breaking, I remember how it feels.

If you are raised in the church, it is part of your identity, long before you even know you have an identity. We sing songs like “I hope they call me on a mission” and “I belong to the church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints” and “I am a child of God”.  We grow up knowing that Sundays are just for church, even if you see your neighbors playing outside.  We have pictures of the Temple in our homes, and an expectation that we will be married there (long before we even think about getting married- this was a hard one for my son even as a 6-year-old).  We pay tithing on our allowance, we wake up early to go to Seminary, and laugh at inside jokes about dating at BYU.  Being Mormon is also just being alive. As a child, there is no separation.

For many members of the church, myself included, it becomes your life. You plan on serving a mission, where you dedicate years of your life to converting others. While on your mission you eat, sleep, and drink the religion. Then you hope to get into a church school, and if not, you attend Institute and Young Adult activities in your area so that you can marry a fellow latter day saint. After a while, you may find that you mostly have things in common with other Mormons. Your ward becomes your family, and fulfills your social and spiritual needs. You no longer have time for as many things that aren’t related to church. You start to see yourself as worthy and good, based on things like your Temple Recommend or your calling. You may also see yourself as weak, unworthy, or unlovable based on your failings in the church.  Soon, how you feel about yourself, your family, and even your success in life, may be connected to your ability to believe and live your religion. And eventually Mormonism isn’t just something you believe, it is something you are.

Then a friend begins to question the things they have thought were true their whole life. They begin to notice things that bother them, that leave them uneasy and unhappy.  They realize that maybe the church is not what they thought it was. Or maybe they don’t agree with the things being taught. They may even completely hate some of the doctrine and the culture.  And they may decide that they don’t want to participate in the church. Chances are, facing those doubts is terrifying for them. They may decide that it is too painful to try to stay active when it goes against their conscience and their new beliefs. They may leave the church.

The hard thing now, for the person who still loves the church and all it teaches, is to be able to accept the choices and changes in this friend.  For your whole life there has been no separation between you and your religion. You are one and the same.  You see them reject the church and you may feel like they are rejecting you. Not just as something you believe, we all have people who disagree with us from time to time. No, it feels like a rejection of who you are.  They are rejecting your faith, your happiness, your decisions, your life.  You may even feel attacked, even though no one is attacking you. I know, they may be attacking something that you believe in, but they are not attacking you.

I have been on both sides of this scenario. I remember feeling threatened and sad when someone I cared about left the church. Like it was a statement against me. (And remember? I think everything is about me.) I felt the need to strengthen my defenses and double down on what I knew. I worried about their salvation, and struggled to understand their new choices. I sometimes felt like I was being mocked by their leaving. (Truth be told, some may be mocking you, but again, that is a statement about them- not you. And those that are mocking you aren’t the ones we are talking about here. The ones that have been your friends and who love you will always love you.) I felt insecure and attacked, because I couldn’t see where I ended and the church began. To leave the church was to leave me.

But when I decided to leave it had nothing to do with you.  It was not a reflection of how I feel about you. It is not a statement on who you are. It doesn’t have to change our relationship. If anything, now that I have left, and found more peace and happiness, we might be able to have a stronger relationship.  It is kind of like how I love Thai food, and you hate it.  Thai food is what you hate, not me. Just because I love Thai food, and can rave about curry and phad thai all day long doesn’t make me Thai food. So, you can still love me. And we can choose to eat at different restaurants. Then, when we get together we can go out for pizza. Because it is something we have both always loved. And in the end, we aren’t there to eat, we are there to be together.

Many of my relationships have been strengthened in the time since I left the church. It has been extremely fulfilling for me.  Most of those relationships have been enhanced by the basic principles of love and acceptance. Through listening, understanding, asking questions, and patience. I have also lost people that I loved because of leaving the church. And that is sad. But either way, I hope that the people I love know that I don’t see them as their religion. I see them for who they are, and that’s why I love them. And I hope they can do the same. That’s why I sincerely hope that while I share my story, we can all feel loved, accepted and not take it personally.