I come from one of those Mormon Royalty families, Heber C. Kimball's to be more specific.  This is the backdrop to my story.  A very serious, very active, true blue through and through upbringing in the church. 

 

The first significant event I remember church wise was my dad being called as Bishop of our ward when I was 10 years old.  Sadly around that same time my fathers job changed and required him to start traveling 5 days per week.  Thus he was gone on business M-F and the weekends were left for his Bishopric duties.  Over the next year, two years at the most my father changed from the fun dad that played games with us, the smiling dad we awaited at the door in the evening to a deeply depressed man.  As the weight of the ward fell on his shoulders it was too much.  The weeks turned into years, my dad was rarely home.  When he was home he was irritable, depressed and angry.  I fell into several roles during these years.  I was second mom, I was the oldest child, I was to be the example for both my siblings and the rest of the children in the ward.  The burden descended upon me, I also became depressed.  My childhood slipped away, years that I needed my father gone forever.

 

In 8th grade I developed an eating disorder.  By my senior year in high school it had become so bad I was hospitalized.  Days of therapy insued.  Group therapy, single therapy, art therapy.  My depression was finally diagnosed and I was able to take medication.  What happens with girls who develop eating disorders?  By and large you will find a sensitive child who finds themselves in a very micro-managed environment.  In my therapy this kept coming out.  I felt I had a hundred parents.  I felt that every move I made was being watched and reported.  I found the church environment to be oppressive.  I wanted to be free, wanted to make my own decisions, wanted to be allowed the same mistakes my peers were making.

 

The medication helped quite a bit.  For the first time in years I felt hope for my future.  In a few months I left for BYU.  I had a great time that first year.  Made friends, had some independence, enjoyed my classes, fell in love.  The year ended and it was time for my boyfriend to leave on his mission.  With many tears on both sides that's what happened.  He asked me to marry him and I accepted.  I was very much in love with him and would wait for him while he was gone.  The first few weeks after he left were horrible.  Two years seemed like such a long time.  I missed him so much.  I couldn't eat, I was crying all the time.  I prayed for relief, over and over.  If Heavenly Father could just help me a little I would be able to keep on going.  After one such prayer I got up to leave my room and felt as though I was being lifted off the ground and held in a warm, soft blanket.  My heart filled with peace and spread out to my fingertips.  My crying stopped immediately.  This was the strongest spiritual experience I'd ever had.  My insite was that I was doing the right thing.  My missionary was doing the right thing.  We would be blessed for our sacrifices.  The time would pass, we would marry, it would all be alright.  This was Heavenly Fathers plan for us. 

 

Two years passed, the most spiritual years I ever had in the church.  My entire focus was to do well in school and to be ready to go to the temple when my missionary returned.  We counted the days in our letters, professed our love, made our plans.  I could pray at any time and get the same confirmation I'd had since he left.  It's alright?  It's still alright.  Be patient, my child.

 

He returned at last.  It was not alright.  Although there had been no indication from him up till that point something was wrong.  That same day he came home even my stomach was in knots.  The warm, spiritual blanket was ripped from me.  It wasn't long at all before I was descending into the darkness.  Just a couple of weeks.  Something is wrong, something is wrong.  It's alright?  Silence.  Three months pass.  He says he still loves me but he's in love with someone else.  By this time I was living in blackness.  Nothing would ease the pain.  I received blessings, I went to stay with family, I saw a therapist, I met with the Bishop.  I fell faster and faster.  The darkness was so thick I couldn't breathe, eat or sleep.  I had to leave.  I had to.  If I stayed I was going to die there.

 

Two months passed before the darkness started to clear.  I was back home.  I was somehow standing on my feet, starting to take baby steps into this life I didn't want.  I'd continued to go to church but to be honest my heart was not in it.  Everywhere I looked was a reminder of him, his broken promise to me, Heavenly Fathers' broken promise to me.  It's alright?  Silence.  Probably sensing all was not well this very gruff Singles Branch President started to hound me at church.  He had me called into his office and asked thouroughly about my finances, my love life (ha), asked me the temple recommend questions although I had no need for a new recommend.  He didn't believe my answers.  His voice got louder - are you having sex??  Are you morally clean?!?  He didn't like me living alone.  He arranged for me to share my 1 room apartment with a woman I didn't know.  This kind of thing went on for three weeks in a row.  The 4th week I drove to church, sat in the parking lot, started the car back up and drove away.  That was the last time I went to church for all intents and purposes. 

 

I let myself into my apartment.  I had no furniture but one bed.  I had no friends as I'd left them back at BYU, all newly married by this time.  I had no money.  No friends, no money, no boyfriend, no family, no plans for my future.  No hope.  No happiness.  Isn't this the EXACT situation I was supposed to be avoiding?  Isn't this the reward for someone who doesn't live a righteous life?  I have done everything asked of me.  In that moment I was no longer afraid of what lurked outside the gospel.  I had nothing left to lose.   I stepped out over the line.

 

One year later would find me happier than I'd ever been.  In love with life.  The self-esteem that had eluded me my entire life was finally in my grasp.  The world was beautiful and vibrant.  It was a Sunday and I was driving through the country in my little car, radio blaring, tears of happiness running down my face.  So happy to be alive.   So happy.

 

Five years pass.  I've fallen in love, married a great man.  Three years later we had a child.  I'm a mother now.  Holy Crap.  I'm a mother now.  The seriousness of the situation was constantly on my mind.  I was willing to be flighty with my own life but my baby - I could never forgive myself for doing wrong by her.  In all this time I intended to return to the church.  Oddly enough it had never occured to me that the church wasn't true.  I expected that someday the magical combination would happen and I would go back and it would be better this time.  Of course that would happen because it would happen for any reasonable individual.

 

I started back by praying although to be honest I haven't felt God's presence since that last semester at BYU.  I pleaded with God to soften my heart towards the church.  Please show me the way.  Please lead me down the right road.  I would hold my tiny baby in my arms like an offering.  Oh yeah, you obviously have some problem with me but look at this tiny, innocent life.  I'll do whatever you ask me to do.  For her.  I will do it.  Just please, please give me something, just any tiny feeling, just 5%. 

 

I called the missionaries to see if they could help.  I took the discussions.  I read my scriptures.  I did start attending the local ward (although I don't really count this as 'being active' since it was pretty forced on my part.)  I was trying, I was really trying to get back that testimony I felt I had way back when. 

 

None of this had worked thus far so I tried a sensible approach.  Working on the premise that the church is true - any road I take is going to get me there.   Any approach any inhabitant of the world takes will lead to the church.  Much like the magnetic pull to the North - it's there for everyone and I will ignore these emotional responses and use my brain instead. 

 

I started to read up on the life of Joseph Smith in an effort to spark my feelings about him.  I had a huge book, The History of Joseph Smith as written by his mother.  I read through it.  I was very troubled by much of it.  I felt I was reading up on a different church than the one I was raised in.  Something continued to bother me and I finally realized polygamy was never mentioned in the book at all.  Not one word. I double checked the references, nope nothing.  Suddenly I was doubting my own knowledge.  He did start it, didn't he?  Why isn't it in here? 

 

Since I have already taken so much time - I will sum up this part by saying the answers to those questions led to more questions and the answers were such that suddenly I had a really big problem on my hands.  You might think that at this point it would have been no problem to pronounce Joseph Smith a fraud but this was an idea that had never occured to me in my life.  It took a while.  My brain was very upset, trying to work it out.  I became consumed with the panic, the trying too hard to fold up the mental map like it had been, trying to pound that square peg into that round hole, trying to make 2 + 2 = 5 and many other metaphores.  At last, in one moment it all lined up and the chaos stopped suddenly.  It just stopped.  He made it up.  He made it all up.  He made it all up!!  Yes, that explains everything!!!  

 

At that point the door was fully open, sunshine outside.  I walked out into it and shut the door behind me.