Awkward Balancing Act

How do you tell one of your best friends that you're proud that he's giving two years of his life to something you don't believe in? How do you cheer when you know he doesn't know what the gospel is that he's professing? How do you promise to write, all the while knowing your letters will be full of lies about your faith and love of the Church?  Last night, these questions were answered in a crash course on the beauty of mission call opening.

Last night was my first one--since they lowered the missionary age last October, a bunch of recent high school grads are getting their calls and heading out. It has become a new thing to throw these "parties" where everyone you ever talked to in high school is invited to your house to watch your cry and bear your testimony. At first, I was worried about last night. I knew there would be tears. I knew there would be "I'm SO proud of you!"s, and that I'd be expected to contribute at least a few of each. As the room of 50 people grew more and more excited as we sang "Called to Serve" and had a slightly-too-long prayer, I felt myself being absorbed by the atmosphere. And when he opened his call, I DID shed a few tears, and when I said, "I'm so proud of you!" I MEANT it. To see how happy the Church makes him--and everyone else in the room too--almost made me want to stay a member. I wished, more than anything, that I could have been one of them. To believe so strongly that you can say you "know" the truth, to want to go on a mission more than anything else, to have your ultimate goal to be marrying in the temple--it would be a dream. Everyone in that room was so happy, in that sort of tangible way that only new mothers and newlyweds get. It was absolutely beautiful.

 And yet, as they talked about going to the temple and a recently endowed elder talked about how weird garments are to wear, I realized that as much as I might wish it, I could never be one of them again. The temple is no longer sacred to me, and garments are nothing more than uber-underwear. I know the connections between the ceremonies and Freemasonry; I know about Joseph Smith's womanizing; I know about the Church's outright lies and contradictions. Sometimes, I think I hate the church. I hate what it has made me:  scared of the real world and lost. But other times, like last night, I love it. I love that it makes my friends so happy, I love that it protects them and sets them up to live a safe, happy life. I love it. And I want that for them. It would break my heart for somebody to tell them the Church's full history--and I'd be the first to explain it all away.

Below is a video of students opening their mission calls. It really is a wonderful experience if you've never witnessed it yourself.

3 a.m. Brain Children

A couple of weeks ago, I delved into the mysterious world of post-Mormon blogging. I stayed up to ungodly hours of the night (the spirit goes to bed at midnight, so that's probably why I enjoyed it so much) reading blogs from brilliant people who have made incredible steps toward their happiness. And just as I was falling asleep at 3:30 one night, I came up with the most clever idea for a blog of my own. Too bad I forgot it, but I thought it might be a good thing to experiment with nonetheless.

So here I am. As of this moment, I am officially one of those post-Mormon bloggers--those anti-Church anarchists who have nothing better to do than bag on Joseph Smith. Frankly, that's probably true. I currently don't have anything better to do, but this blog is a testament to my hope that one day I will have something better to do. (And I don't meant temple-marriage-relief-society-president-PTA-chair better things to do) I'm attempting to break away from the only thing I've ever known, and I'm terrified. And what better way to voice your fears than anonymously on the internet, right?

Basically, I'm not here to ruin testimonies or to destroy the church, I'm here to vent my feelings when my only non-Mormon friend has heard enough and wants to punch me. If you like what I have to say, cool. If not, also cool.

Sheesh. I feel like I'm writing to nobody--I got all serious for nothing. If anybody ever reads this, I may cry. Internet famous? The only dream I've ever had worth following.