It’s 2008, I’m at the Temple doing marriage sealings for the dead with JT.

Wait!

What did I just say??

My mind is racing and confused, and straining to remember.  I have knelt at this alter before, and made these covenants for years. How did I never catch this before? But it is my turn again, and again, I promise to give myself to my husband. But he is only asked to receive me. Why doesn’t he promise to give himself to me? That seems strange. Shouldn’t we both promise to give ourselves to each other? Why is he only asked to covenant to receive me. Like an Amazon package on his doorstep.  I try to give JT “the look” across the alter that says “Hey Babe, I am freaking out here! I just made a crazy promise, that I don’t agree with it. And apparently, I have been saying this for the last 7 years without even knowing it! But we need to talk about it right now, because the minute we walk outside of the Temple, we are not suppose to discuss what we promised in the Temple. Help me!” He looks back at me with the knowing look that says “Oh, yes sweetheart, I get it. You want to go to Dairy Queen after the Temple? Sounds good. I love you too.”

I leave the Temple depressed and confused. JT is sympathetic to my concerns, but can not relate at all. I do what I am taught, I search the scriptures, I search the LDS website, I start asking people that I love and respect. But I don’t find answers or peace. I am paranoid when I try to search out the answer online, because I know there are “anti-mormon” sites filled with lies to try to confuse me. But I can’t find answers in my scriptures, or the Ensign. I finally go to a member of the Temple Presidency. Through tears I explain the pain I feel when I covenant to “give” myself to my husband, and he does not return the promise. I cry that the only explanation I can think of is Polygamy. Of course JT can’t “give” himself to me, and still be able to take more wives in heaven, there would be nothing left to give. His answer is weak, and emphasizes the importance of polygamy in God’s kingdom. And then I am reminded to not worry about those things. They will work themselves out. But how can I make an “eternal covenant” and not worry about what I have promised? I quietly take my concerns, and my heartbreak and leave the Temple office.

When I am alone, I open up the dark closet in the back of my mind. The closet I keep closed, that holds my worries, concerns, and doubts.  It looks a lot like my regular walk-in closet, some areas are neat and tidy, carefully ironed, rarely disrupted, but the floor is a mess. (JT is laughing to himself because he shares my real closet, and knows that anything that is carefully folded is probably his. And my side is mostly organized chaos.)  There are shelves in my secret closet stacked infinitely above my head. And there is one of those awesome ladders on wheels like they had in old libraries, so that I can climb and reach the top shelves (and occasionally hang from and sing like Belle in Beauty and the Beast).

I place this doubt in a box, packing it in with the despair I feel, and label it “Polygamy”. I look around at the other doubts and concerns that I stashed away over the years. Strangely, there is already a “Polygamy” doubt box on the shelf. I guess that is the box filled with Brigham Young’s wives, and rumors I have heard that even Joseph Smith had multiple wives (even though I am almost certain that he didn’t). The box that has my confusion about why polygamy was practiced, and why it will be practiced in the next life.  That box has dust on it, I am not brave enough to look at it right now.  So I cross out “Polygamy” on the new box and write “Temple Polygamy” so I can tell them apart more easily.  I climb down from the ladder, ignoring the creaking sound of strain as that shelf moans under the new weight.

Beneath these shelves are the racks where my excuses hang. Each one has been ironed with precision, delicately hung in order. Many are the standard answers I learned in Sunday School, or shared on my mission. Like the always popular one that I was given to “not worry about it, things will work out” from the Temple president. It hangs neatly next to “if he was a true prophet then it is all true”.  I have spent a life time rearranging and tending these reasons and explanations. I know how delicate the balance is, and that to disrupt one, is to disrupt them all. Some of them have been handed down to me. Others I have created myself. All of them are there to stabilize and protect the shelf. To give my closet order and justification. And to give me something to try on, while I ignore the boxes on my shelf.

I try to pull the closet door closed behind me. But this time it is stuck, slightly ajar. I want to go back to my regular daily life, I want to just think about the orderly row of explanations, but I can’t ignore the groaning shelves.

I didn’t know then that my shelf was about to break.