Cliff Diving Delusions

A bunch of LDS YSAs were gathering at a drown rock quarry.  A yearly ritual where we throwing our bodies off giant cliffs, and plunging ourselves into deep murky water.  I was not sure I was up to a day “I haven’t seen you at church?” but I was eager to try out my new swimming suit.  A bikini!  I was going to this activity and I was not going to pretend I was Mormon any more.  After doing a few death defying dives I wonder over to meet the others.  I was standing there trying to see if any girls would give me the “sinner” look.   Ha ha ha! That’s right ladies I have BOOBs and I’m not afraid to use them.

While I was standing looking for reactions, some guy came over and started talking to me.  “Ha ha,” I thought, “Wrong way buddy. Not interested. Take your strength of youth pamphlet else ware.”  We exchanged words back and forth. When RECORD SCRATCH   

He said, “Well I used to be Mormon but I’m not anymore.”

Suddenly a man whose name I had already forgotten had my undivided attention.  It was Elder Price!   Needless to say we spent the rest of the day together.  In fact he wanted me to hang out with him the next day.  He was eager to talk to me.  I felt a little uneasy about this.  I know, I know, two blog post ago I was fantasizing about running away with Elder Price (see: Book of Mormon Musical) but now having him standing right in front of me... I don’t know.  See I had been handling things on my own sort of.  Though on the outside I looked cool and collected underneath I’m fragile.  I do not like the feeling of being vulnerable.  I knew that there was no way I could hide that from him.

I drove over to meet him with my guitar.  He played me a song he wrote about leaving the church and I played him a comedy song I wrote about Utah.  We talked for hours.  I can’t tell you how wonderful it felt to be truly understood.  Our stories were so similar.  It was like we already knew each other.  Yes he was attractive but that didn’t even cross my mind.  As we were joking around he made a comment along the lines of “maybe I will see you naked tonight?”  It never occurred to me that he might have been serious.  When we did start making out I realized something very strange.  There was no red light.  No church authorities threatening to take away my temple recommend.  I also discovered that I am not afraid of a penis anymore. 

I did not have sex with him and I never will.  He is more like a mentor to me.  That and he asked another girl out in front of me like a day later.  Regardless I hope to maintain a friendship with this man.

“How long did it take you to get over the whole church thing?” I asked him

“ha, I’m still not over it.” he said

“I was hoping it could get it over with in like 5 months, maybe 3 if I worked really hard,” I said

“This isn't school. You can't graduate out of Mormonism. You need to just relax.  You go out to bars, ware tube tops, and sware because you feel like you have to prove something.   Like that you never were Mormon.  It doesn’t work like that.”

 I drove away pisst at him.  “He doesn’t know me.  When I was 14 I had major back surgery. My first Boyfriend tried to suffocate me.  I cured eating disorder and started a mentor program for woman.  I literally survived BYU.  Lived in Harlem NYC and fought off a crack addict. And I just recovered from a legit nervous breakdown like a Boss!  I crushed those issues and moved on in record time. Even my older sister was impressed. She said it took her at least a year to get where I’m at with the church now.  Don’t sit here and tell me it takes years…please.”

But as I was leaving the city limits I realized I my a have limit.  How long can I keep up this pace? Throwing myself into foreign situations.  Every beer I drank, every boy I kissed, every show I watch was all to help pull me out of what I had convinced myself was a toxic environment.   It is all in my head.  No one cares if I wear a bikini. I don’t need to watch the entire series of Sex in the City. I don’t need to get drunk.   I have been throwing myself off cliff after cliff.  Putting myself in dangerous situation.  Trusting people that are not to be trusted, and drowning myself in dark bitter feelings.  I have spent so many years feeling guilty for being me, but maybe me is not so bad after all.   

White Pickett Future

His name was Blake.  He was funny and played guitar which are the only qualifications in a man your freshman year.  We would jam together and talk.  I think of all the people at BYU he was one of the few who I felt a connection too.  I wrote him while he was on his mission. Two days ago as I was cleaning and one of his letters resurfaced in my life. The letter read"

“I’m sorry you don’t feel like you fit in at BYU.  Yeah you are loud and funny but that is the best part of you.  You deserve to marry a nice guy who is a MEMBER of the CHURCH. Do not settle for anything less.“

 I really can’t imagine anything worse now.  Don’t get me wrong.  Mormon boys can be sweethearts.  But the expectations of being married to a Mormon are very high.  If you want to have kids…forget it.  You will have too many opposing ideas. Even many liberal Mormons still hold on to guilt about the way they live there life.  I’m slightly afraid of Mormon boys now.   I would be very conflicted if I fell for one.  Mormons are afraid of that too.  So many times I was taught you should never date someone who is not a member of the church, you might fall in love.  Oddly enough both Mormons and post-Mormons feel sorry for one another.

I’m learning to respect my friends wishes to stay in the church and never learn the history.  I want to shake everyone you know and yell “STOP! OPEN YOUR EYES! CAN’T YOU SEE YOU HAVE BEEN DOOPED?”  Mormons have been taught to never ever question the church outside the church.  They believe all on faith.  When I tell them my findings they always ask “What are your sources?”  I always want to shoot back “What are yours?  I could list at least 20 accredited Documentarians, Writers, Biographers, Anthropologist, and Historian’s.  Many of whom were Mormon.  You have one source…the church.”   But most of them are happy.  I don’t want to take that away from them.  It’s because I love them that I want them to be informed.  What if someday after they are married they learn about the Book of Abraham, or Joes wife’s and lose it! I know I would have.  Thank God I never got married. Now I can really find myself.  The prophets are correct about one thing.  If you ever study Mormonism outside of the approved sources it will ruin your life for a while.   Finding out the truth was absolutely devastating. 

I used to know what my life would be like. After achieving my dream of being an amazing something in NYC I would meet a lovely Mormon boy.  We would be sealed in the temple. We would move to the suburbs and buy a little house. I would be a stay at home mom for a while. I would have the perfect family with my priesthood holding husband, my future missionary son, and my virtuous daughter.  We would raise our kids to memorize BOM stories, pay tithing, and bare testimonies.  I would work in Young Woman’s as a teacher and impart my wisdom onto children about loving God, chastity, and finding yourself.  When I got older I would serve a mission with my husband.  We would be old and in love and everything would be wonderful.    Now when I think of my future...  Maybe I’ll work at Starbucks and get drunk every weekend.  I’ll get a tattoo of a skull on my lower back and take up Larping. Maybe I’ll marry a duck dynasty look alike.  He will smoke cigars and we will live in an abandon barn. Maybe he will cheat on me and I will only see our meth head son on the weekends. 

Why do I think this way?  I’m not Mormon, not insane! There is so much opportunity for me to build the life I want. I can meet people who will enjoy my company.  I’m a smart woman and I can take care of myself. It’s nice to know that I’m not settling.  Settling for someone who will find fault with everything I do.  Judge me for not enjoying three hour church. The restrictions of whom and how I love are gone!  If anything I’ve ensured myself a genuine shot at happiness because I can be myself.  There are so many good people out there who build you up not tear you down.  Maybe the key is not to envision your future, but to welcome it.  Focus on the things I love and build a community with people who share my interests.  Sure there is no guarantee Happy Ever After... but was there ever?  

Mommy Daughter

My mother, like me, is a woman who speaks her mind.  She will yell and scream and occasionally swear. She is the breadwinner in the family.  An nontraditional Mormon Mommy.  That’s how I knew something was upsetting her when she wouldn’t say anything; she just went to her room and closed the door.

My little sister had just called to have a criticizing conversation about her wedding day —how everything had run smoothly until one certain moment where she felt my mother had interfered too much and therefore ruined it.  My mother looked pale as she told me what my little sister had said.  I know that mom had spent  sleepless nights to ensure that this would be the best day ever.

Being a middle child, it’s not unusual for me to take on the responsibility as mediator. I called my sister up very calmly but soon I had to lay down the law.

“Do you have any idea the sacrifices Mom made for you?  You got every damn thing you wanted at the wedding from the reception hall to the Italian soda bar. She never said 'No' to any of your wedding wishes.  Do you know why?  She loves you.  She would have sold her left leg to pay for your Italian soda bar.  Now I’m doing you a favor.  Mom does not want to talk to you but if you are lucky I may be able to get her to listen.”

My mother was lying quietly in her bed.  She would not speak.  I asked her to listen to my sister but she refused.  Finally the guilt set in on my sister as she frantically began calling Mom to apologize. Mom would not pick up.  She called me again, this time in tears, and gave me her apology speech.  I was able to convince my Mom to hear it and they mended fences.  After she hung up the phone, Mom just looked at me and began to cry.  I was a little confused.  Everything was settled.  The apology had been sincere. 

“You know, no one from my side of the family came to the wedding,” she said.

“Well Mom, they couldn’t really go.  She got married in the temple and they are not Mormon. I didn’t even get to go,” I said, trying to not show my own frustration.

“I know, I know but… It just really bothered me more than I thought it would.  I really wanted my parents and my brothers and sisters to be there too,” she said through tears.

 I was surprised. I had been so focused on my own bitter feelings of being left out (see: Off White Wedding); I never imagined it would affect those who could attend.  I looked at my mom with brand new eyes.  I thought of the sacrifices she has made all of her life.  Her own parents boycotted her wedding. She lost all of her friends. She moved across the country to go to BYU.  This religion has isolated her from her family in so many ways. 

My mother rarely mentions her childhood.  From the tiny slivers I hear of her Dad, I’ve suspected he was an Iron Fist Father.  When I first learned the truth concerning the church, I would look at my mom and wonder, “How Mom? You are such a smart woman. How did you let them get you?”  Seeing her weeping under the covers I realized that there is something about Mormonism. Something good. Something that pulled my mother out of a shadowed place and into a light. I know she has never studied the history of the church.  Her family many times tried to have “anti-Mormon” interventions. I’m not sure how she got converted to Mormonism but I suspect the church acts as the father she never had.  I climbed onto the bed and held my mom as she wept.

“Don’t worry Mom,” I said, “ I will never get married in the temple so everyone can come to my wedding!”

My mother laughed, and with complete sincerity said, “Thank you Honey. You always know just what to say to cheer me up.”

Boobs

You know what I realized today?  I have really great Boobs. I do! I like to play with them.  Different shirts make um pop.  I don’t understand why woman feel violated when a man looks at their Boobs.  To any woman that feels that way I say spend a day at BYU Mormon University.  Men never looked at my Boobs out there.  I sort of forgot I had them.

When I was in high school I was in the pool with one of my best friends.  He and I were wrestling and he "accidentally" grabbed my Boob.  He did not let go right away.  Oh I felt so guilty!  I wondered if I needed to talk to my bishop.  I gave him a stern talking to about his getting fresh with me.  But secretly like it.  Probably why I felt so guilty.  That was the last time a man touch my Boobs. Now I would very much like a man to touch my Boobs.  They are very nice and I think we would both enjoy it. 

Right after I learned the truth of Joseph Smith I started spending time with a man.  My hands on Sex ED teacher.  It took about three sessions of making out before I let him see and touch my Boobs.  It was so fun.  I liked it.  I ended things with him after that.  He wanted to show me his penis and we all know what happens when I see a penis. (see: The “S” Talk)  It was just going too fast and I need time to heal…but I still like my Boobs.

To celebrate my Boobs losing their boobginity I went to Victory Secrets to buy two new bras.  I realized I will always get to ware fun underwear!   Mormons ware a T-Shirt and Bike Shorts under all their clothing to help them not have sex.  I get to ware sexy underwear and bounce around in it forever! I want to get fun colors and lacey and strappy and sexy. I want to wear them in front of a man.  Scandaliouse! It’s a whole new underwear world I live in!  

I just wish I could figure out a way to get a guy to play with my Boobs.  It is a real predicament.  I mean I can’t just walk up to some bloke on the street and say “Come on! Give um a squeeze won’t you?”  I could start by updating my wardrobe.  The other night I went to a bar alone(as usual) and I wore my slutiest outfit.  High heels, a swoop neck shirt, and a skirt that went above my knee.  I thought I was all set.  In-fact I worried I was giving of the wrong impression.  Gosh Damn It!  You should have seen these girls.  They knew how to treat there Boobs. They looked so good that I wanted to cup a feel.  They are all prancing around while I’m trying to convince this guy that ‘No. I’m not a flight attendant who just got off work.’  

So here I am.  26 with one fantastic rack and no one is shopping.  I don’t want a Boyfriend and I am certainly not ready to have sex.  I just want to enjoy the Boobalish-rights that have been denied of me all my life.  Is that too much to ask guys? I was unable to convince people I was not a flight attendant, or a school teacher, or a nun. I left the bar and walked around the city.  I poked my head into a few bars just to watch the people in their natural habitat.  At 12:01 I decided to stop in a bar and order one shot. 

“Hey honey where is your Boyfriend?,” said a greasy inebriate

“Oh ha…don’t have one” I said

“Where your girlfriends?”, Said greasy

“I’m just out by myself tonight. Thought I stop in a get a shot because it’s my birthday!” I said proudly

“You’re by yourself on your birthday?” Said Greasy

“Yeah… It’s okay. See I got a shot to celebrate. My girlfriends and I used to do shots to celebrate but we would use orange juice. They don’t drink… I don’t see them much anymore.”

I suddenly awoke to my sad situation and left.  It is strange leaving Mormonism.  I often wonder if I will be able too. I certainly can’t imagine going back and singing Praise to the Man.  It takes real courage to walk away.  There is so much pain when you discover the truth.  To stay happy you must focuses on the little things… or in my case the two big things.  

Book of Mormon Musical

I went to see The Book of Mormon musical yesterday.  I saw it by myself witch was fine.  It's to be expected when you are straddling two different worlds.  I decided to make it an event for myself.  I had my BreakingMormon T-shirt, my personal progress necklace,  my hopes up,  and my Book of Mormon with my new testimony in it.  This was my trip to meca. When BOM Musical first came out I hated it.  Oh... the idea that someone would mock the noble Joseph Smith.  Then I study the hidden history of Joseph Smith.  Within a matter of day’s Matt Stone and Trey Parker went from my enemies to my heroes.  To any non-Mormon this was just a fun show about a silly faith. To anyone who actually knows the truth behind Mormonism you see Stone and Parker are making a very clear statement about Joseph Smith and his Book of Mormon. 

The play is a comedy complete with spectacular musical numbers, Sequins, and giant Starbucks coffee cups.  Ben Platt played Elder Cunningham. A lovable nerd who is a compulsive liar.  His story parallels the story of Joseph Smith.  Mormons never to look too deeply into Joseph's  his life.  We should just read the Book of Mormon and pray.  Elder Cunningham rewrites the BOM to convert the villagers in Africa.  He is severely punished for writing his own religious text. (Irony) Nabulungi, a young African girl, is devastated when she learns what she was worshiping was a lie.  Devastating can only began to describe the emotions of finding the true story of Joseph Smith.  You praise and worship this man all your life.  Only to discover that he (and I’m biting my tough hard here) made mistakes.  

The lead characters name is Elder Price.  He was played by Nic Rouleau. Price was a hard working peter priesthood kid who knew the church was true…until he didn't.  I was surprised at how emotional this show would be.  Maybe I saw it too soon. I expected it to be hilarious and poke fun at the church. I didn't expect the second act to bring me to tears. It was cathartic. I wondered how many people in the room knew what it is like to try and leave the Mormon Church.  When Nic Rouleau sang I believe I realized I was watching myself two months ago.  Holding on desperately to something I didn’t really understand. The play beautifully illustrates how every Post-Mormon feels in a scene where Elder Price is in the doctors office. 

At intermission people asked me about my shirt.  It was fun. I answered questions and told them a little of my story.  I only said good thinking about the church.  I know I have bitterness and hard feelings but i'm working on letting that go. I don't want to viciously angry with the church.  I know that it's not all bad.  Mormons are really wonderful people. I have yet to find that balance but unlit I do I will smile and speak highly of the church.

Elder Price is sitting with 12 cups of coffee.  He has turned his back on the church.  “We are Brainwashed” “we are a cult” he said.  It’s a strong accusation that only a post-Mormon can understand.  I hate to say the church Brainwashed me but I will say that I have had Spooky Mormon Hell Dreams(see: Spooky Mormon Hell Dream).   I hate to call it a cult but I will say that I’m a member of faith that is very very hard to leave.  Elder price finds a happy medium between being a Mormon and being what he is.  He learns to love the church again.  Something I long to find. 

At the end the worst thing that can ever happen to a Mormon missionary happens.  They are dishonorably discharge from their mission.  I gasped! Being discharged from your mission is a death sentence to a young Mormon boy. I’m not sure people in the audience really understood that.  You are shamed.  Mormon girls won’t date you. People treat them like a mistake.  They have to explain to their friends and family.  Many men feel they are a failure. But my buddy Elder Price dose something heroic!

After the show I raced out to meet the actors.  I wanted them to sign my Book of Mormon.  When I tell Non-Mormons I’m leaving the Mormon faith they don’t think much of it.  Many faiths only take a second to leave.  You just say “I’m leaving.”  Not so simple with the Mormon faith.  It’s not a religion.  It’s a lifestyle. It’s your world. It’s everyone you know. It’s all you know.  It’s who you are every single day.  I’ve felt so alone these past two months.  No one understands what I’m going through. I don’t want to leave but I don’t know how to stay. 

As the actors were signing my BOM I told them my story.  I didn’t need to say much.  I saw sympathy and compassion in their eyes.  They knew!  They understood. For the first time I was surround by people who didn’t look at me from a distance.  They know the truth.  They sing and tap dance it every night.  They gave me hugs and told me I would be okay.  When Nic Rouleau AKA Elder Price walked out the door I quietly shouted “There he is!”.  I forgot he was an actor.  He was the only other Post-Mormon I knew.  He knew better than anyone what I must be going through.   Sure, he is not really a post-mormon but it is what I wanted to believe so I just believed.  That skill comes in handy. I wish there was such thing as an Elder Price.  I imagine he and I would run away together.  But there are no post-Mormons around here. Nic and I talked, he gave me big huge and told me how excited he was for me.  That everything would be okay.  

 

The actors all left but I stayed at the theater for some time.  I didn’t want it to end.  Come back my friends!  Alas, I was alone again.  I contemplated going back and seeing them again after their show the next night. I could come back every night. But then I remembered I’m not a creepy weirdo.  I would have to return to the world.  A world where men offer to help me get drunk, and woman ware things that show off their shoulders.  “I will be okay” I thought, “tomorrow is not another Latter Day.”

Seminary Buff

  You are lying in a peaceful field of butterflies. The wind playfully dances across your arms, the clouds are in the shapes of bunnies and centaurs are braiding your hair. All is right in the world. Whack! Sudden burning light scorches your retinas. The warm field of butterflies is dragged from you as your father tears off your covers and yells, “Wake up!  It’s 5am! Time for seminary!” 

There is a battle every teenager must fight.  It is the wake-up call, and the earlier in the morning, the fiercer the combat.  It takes every ounce of determination and very rarely is there a compromise.  Every morning the loud crack of the door coupled with the light and ceremonial tearing-off of the covers put me in a state of panic. I was convinced that ripping me from my sleep so abruptly was going to give me brain damage. I had to fight back. At first I tried to be diplomatic, but my father is not capable of peacefully awakening someone.  I had to take drastic measures. I only had one goal for my early morning church class: barely pass. Technically I could show up 20 minutes late and still be marked as present, though tardy. So, I developed a few schemes to help ensure my tardiness.  When you have to get up every morning at 5:00, you will be surprised at the lengths you will go to for an extra 10 minutes of sleep.
I started with the alarm clock.  Every night I would sneak into my father’s room and set the alarm clock back.  Sometimes I would turn it off entirely.  Unfortunately my father soon caught on to this. He puppy guarded his alarm clock so I had to try something else.

As far as I saw it, there were three things dad had on his side: the sound, the light, and the cold.  Sound was easy:  ear plugs. Light? …hmmm…duct tape!  How, you may ask?

5:00am:

Wack! Door bangs open.

 “Wake up! …Hey! What the??  Why is there duct tape all over your light switch?”

For 5 minutes my father had to peel away the sticky tape as I sweetly, slowly, and rationally drifted into wakeful reality. Then dad hid the duct tape. A worthy opponent, he was. Soon I went directly to the source by unscrewing the light bulb every night before bed. My father quickly adapted to this as well. One morning the lighting fixture just exploded. I was thrilled! But that very night my father was right there in the ceiling fixing it.  Curse his handyman hands!

While the fight against the light was an ongoing battle, it was the freezing-cold air that seemed to have me beat. Every morning he would steal the covers from me.  Electrocuting me back to life. I begged—I held my covers as tight as I could—but alas, there was nothing I could do... or was there?

Wack! “Wake up! Time for seminary! Here, I’ll turn your light on for you! Now you don’t need those covers –“

“Dad—don’t—I’m naked!” I screamed.  And I was naked. As an actress I was not going half-ass this role.  My father stared at me, stunned. He dropped the covers.

“WHY ARE YOU NAKED??", he said shielding his eyes, "Don’t you have pajamas?”

“Yes, but I just wanted to sleep naked.”

He was speechless.  There was nothing he could do. Then something amazing happened.  He left my room.  My covers were still on and he was gone.  From that day on I never wore PJs again.  My father was very annoyed.  He would bring it up at the dinner table.

 “She needs pajamas.” He would tell my Mom.

“No I don’t. I sleep just fine without them.” I would say.

My mother was smart enough to stay out of it.  I would come home from school and there would be a nice new pair of PJ’s laid out carefully on the bed. Unfortunately for my dad, sleeping in the buff was growing on me. I figured I’d better enjoy it then before I was forced to wear those Mormon Underwears every night.  Early morning wake-up calls were never as bad—I could lay with the butterflies in the sunny field just a little longer.

 I did pass seminary… “barely.”
  

The Perfect Problem

Dating in the Mormon community is a blood bath of high heels, bleached hair, and eating disorders.  

Utah has some funny statistics despite being nicknamed “Happy Valley”.  This state has one of the highest teen suicide rates.  Women pop anti-depressant pills like Pac Man. Plastic surgery is what gets you into heaven! I remember my brother telling me the reason Mormon men usually date stick-skinny women. They are terrified of an eternity of bad sex. 

 Mormons have a lot to live up to. People have callings that take up at least 20 hours a week.  More if you get a really “good” one.  Everyone is just perfect so to fit in you must be perfect too or else you can expect to die alone. The expectations put on Mormons are insane.  I don’t blame most Mormon men for being male chauvinists.  They don’t know any better.  Just like how most women have a laundry list of expectations for their men. (See: Poop Monsters) There is not a ton of respect on either side if you ask me.  People can't be loved for who they are, they are only loved for how much they believe in Joseph Smith.  If you are a single Mormon with a doubts about the church…better get a cat and name her Emily Dickinson.

The other night I was on one of my online creeper dates.  We went to see the movie “Silver Linings Playbook”.  At the end of the movie Pat declares his love for Tiffany.  They were far from perfect.  He was in a mental hospital and she slept around. Something happened in me. Uncontrollable tears began shooting out of my eyes. My date obviously noticed. (Yet again proving to myself that I’m the weird one on these dates.)  I realized that of all the relationships I have had, I was never loved for who I was. I have had men break things off with me for reasons like, “I would love you more if you had served a mission,” or “How often do you read your scriptures...not enough” or,  “I’m worried because your great grandparents are not pioneers.” or  “I need a woman who will raise our children to memorize the articles of faith,” or “I’m worried some day you might drink alcohol.”  Well, they were right about the alcohol. 

 I was a dating ninja at BYU.  My older sister had given me some really great marital advice. “If you want to get married you need to just pretend to have a perfect testimony. Then later after you get married you can question the church.” So I tried. Toting my scriptures around, wearing the full-sleeve dresses, attending all THREE hours of church, and hiding the fact that I was NOT a full-tithing payer. (Thank God because the Church don't give refunds.) Gosh, I was acting so hard I even fooled myself. I tried so hard to have a testimony but I always knew deep down it was not true. 

 Every year that I was at BYU, I would move to a new apartment complex because I had to “start over”.  I moved in with the perfect Mormon attitude.  I smiled, sat quietly, and talked about how badly I wanted to be a mommy...like right now.  Someone please put a baby in me. Inevitably my true independent, sarcastic and sacrilegious side would come out. Time to move again.  Time to pretend to be what you want.  Be submissive. I was not submissive. I was not in love with Joseph Smith. I was not perfect.  Therefore I was not a good person.  Though I did good for friends and family, I was not good enough where it counted.  In every relationship there would come a moment where I got tired of acting and just wanted to be myself.   My beautiful, loving, caring, compassionate, less-concerned-with-Mormonism self.   Hold on! Did you say less-concerned-with Mormonism?? …

I know—I’ll go get the cat.

In a way my stubborn desire to be loved for myself saved my life.  80% of married Mormons who have a partner who leave the church get divorced.  That means 80% of Mormons woman are more in love with a man who lives on another planet than the one they have on Earth.  

I still get choked-up at the thought of being loved by someone and never hiding from them.  How strange that must be.  It never even occurred to me that that was possible.  No more ninja moves. No more on the spot testimony bearing. No more lying to myself.  I could be with a man who won’t interrogate me about what I learned in church.  I will tell you this, when I get married, everyone will be invited, no underwear check at the door (see: Off-white Wedding).  Well everyone except Elohim…he knows what he did.