I was born into the LDS Church. My Mom and Dad were not very interested in going to church, but my brother and I would often find rides with other church-goers to attend the weekly meetings. We both made friends there, and were pretty active in our teenage years. My brother and I would agree that some things about the church doctrine bothered us, but talking about it in front of anyone else? Well... we knew better.
Eventually we both decided to stop going. We became special projects of the small ward. We would get visits from relief society ladies, kids our age, even from the bishop himself. They all wanted to know why we stopped going... Were we offended? No. Did we do something wrong and needed to repent? No. We came to our senses.
After I graduated High School, my Dad was diagnosed with cancer. I will never forget that night... it was the same night Princess Diana died in a car crash. Everything seemed out of place, and we knew nothing would be the same. He was given 3 days to live by his doctor, but he promised to fight. He did Chemotherapy and Radiation treatments. Since we lived so far from the hospital, friends and family would take turns driving him into Salt Lake City for appointments.
Early one morning I woke up to someone knocking on my bedroom door. It was my Dad. He asked me to wake up and join him and my brother in the living room. He said he had bad news, and told us that our Grandmother had passed away. I felt like I was punched in the face. I was preparing myself mentally and emotionally for losing my Dad, and out of nowhere I lose someone else who I love very much. I became very angry with God, and with life in general. My Grandma had planned parts of her funeral a few years back, and she had listed my father as one of the people she wanted to carry her casket. My Dad was much too sick and weak, but he did it anyway. We went through the burial and the little meal afterwords... the local relief society made their usual casseroles including the funeral potatoes.
It was soon Thanksgiving, and then Christmas. My Dad was planning his funeral on Christmas Eve, and my brother and I went into town to buy a Christmas tree. We tied it to the roof of my car and drove home. We were not looking forward to the usual festivities this time.
My Dad passed away in January, a week and a half after my birthday. He had everything in place, and I knew he wasn't in pain anymore. I was numb. Again we went through the motions of another funeral.
The Relief Society started stopping by the house more and more. They started giving my Mom lessons, and soon she was reading the Book of Mormon and going to church. I believe in my heart that she was scared she would never see her Mom or husband again... and if she did what the Church told her to do, she would be okay. She was changing.
One of my Dad's sisters called that spring and told my Mom that they were getting Dad sealed to his side of the family in the Manti temple. My Mom, brother and I would not be allowed in the temple because we didn't have recommends. We were the people who knew who my Dad was, we loved him very much... yet some church was telling me that I wasn't good enough to be with him in heaven? It's amazing that a church that claims to hold family as it's number one priority feels the need to seperate family in this manner. It was the last straw for me, and I refused to walk into another church ever again.
It's now 9 years later, and I am doing more research into the Mormon church. I am sad that half of my family insists the church is the only thing that matters. I am sad that they think they know everything, when in reality they don't know their own church is lying to them. I wish I could save them, and I wish they would accept me for who I am. When they find out I plan on taking my name off the records, I doubt I will hear from most of them.
I have been very honest about this with my Mom, and I tell her everything I learn. She has an open mind, but has real emotional connections with the Church. My extended family won't hear of it until it happens.