Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Some people, who have never been members of the Mormon Church, have asked me why I am so bitter towards that church. They see the good that is in my life and say that the church hasn’t ruined my life. They point out that I wouldn’t have met my wife had I not been a member. They point out all the great youth activities, dances and sports that were provided for us. They point out that I was kept out of harm’s way in many cases because I didn’t use alcohol or drugs, at the church’s bidding. They ask me why I hate Mormons.
First of all, those who are asking these questions don’t understand what it is like to be completely taken in by a mind controlling cult. If you have belonged to a church, you may think that it is the same as having been a Mormon, but I assure you, it is not. Although it may not be a clear line, there is a distinction between your average Christian religion and Mormonism.
I do NOT hate Mormons. I love many of them. I hate their church. I hate their corporation. I hate what it does to them and has done to me and my family. I hate what it stands for and how they THINK that it stands for good when throughout so much of it’s history and preaching, it stands for pure evil: Racism, Misogyny, Polygamy, Dishonesty.
I do not, for one second, try to convince anyone that there is NOTHING good in the Mormon Church. But…what is the cost?
How many times did I contemplate taking my own life, because I masturbated and couldn’t live up to the level of perfection that was required? In the world outside Mormonism, it is laughable that someone would be so upset at this most human of behaviors, yet within the Mormon community, it is forbidden, dirty and sinful.
How many HAVE taken their own lives because they felt they couldn’t live up to “God’s” expectations? The answer here is: many.
How many hours have I anguished at the state of my sinning soul…as I was taught to do in Mormon (false) scripture?
How many hours have I poured over the man made, false scriptures of that church?
How many daily, early morning seminary classes did I sit through as a teenager?
How many hours have I spent in voluntary service, whether it was moving chairs, or cleaning the church and temple or the many other things we were expected to do?
Being a full tithe payer most of my life, how much of my hard earned money (10% of everything I ever earned) is lining the pockets of the church elite?
I spent two full years of my life in what I thought was the service of my God, but in reality, was the service of a corporate, money making machine. I was an unknowing dupe in this corporation’s lust for more paying minions, to further fund their nefarious cause. Hour after hour, day after day, week after week, month after month of knocking on people’s doors, rain or shine, cold or hot, pushing on them our American brand of corporate religion. I hated it. I hated it. I did it only out of love of God and duty to my family. I missed my family badly. I wanted to go home every day. I remember wishing to get hit by a bus or have a bad fall on my bike, but not be hurt TOO seriously, so that I could go home “with honor” and be finished with the whole nasty business.
I missed love. I wasn’t allowed to look at women, much less love one.
I wasn’t allowed to watch movies, TV, listen to modern music, read anything that was not approved by the Mission President or the church.
We had a little rule book. We were to carry the rule book with us at all times…that was a rule. There were so many rules, they were hard to keep track of! Every facet of our lives was controlled and governed right from what time we were to wake up, to what time we were to sleep and what to do with all those waking hours.
We were not allowed to call home except Christmas and Mother’s day.
We were never to be alone except to go to the bathroom.
I remember looking forward to bedtime, because I could escape the hell I was in for a while. I would dream of being home…many times, wracked with guilt because I was supposed to be on my mission.
I made promises in the Mormon temple to give everything that I have or would ever have, to building up the church, whether it was my time, talents or money. I made blood oaths swearing to do this or have my throat slit open or my belly slit and my guts to fall upon the ground (I’m not making this up…I really did make these oaths!) Then I lived in fear of not being able to live up to these commitments…not that I thought I would really have my throat slit, because I still believed the church to be a benevolent organization, but in fear that my efforts on earth would not be good enough and therefore, I would be forever separated from my family. Talk about having a gun to your head!
When I was going through my painful separation from that church, my wife was panicked. From a young age, Mormons are taught to be defenders of the faith so this was a very strong instinct for her. Also, by leaving the church, I was essentially ending our ETERNAL marriage and our ETERNAL family. I no longer believed in this, so it wasn’t as difficult for me, but for my wife, it was tragic and very painful. She thought long and hard about divorcing me and keeping the children schooled in Mormonism...to keep her eternal family intact. This was a time of great emotional upheaval in both of our lives. Kerri went through such mental and emotional stress and anguish that when people tell us we took the easy road, I wish they could have seen her curled up in a fetal position on the bathroom floor, sobbing for four hours as I witnessed.
Extracting ourselves from that church/cult, was one of the most difficult and painful experiences of either of our lives, despite the fact that it had caused so much misery in our lives. I have heard it said that we left that Church so that we could drink beer. Well, there’s not enough beer in the world, to make what we went through, worthwhile.
OK…I never had to live through a war. I’ve never had to go without food for any extended period. I’ve pretty much always had a job. I haven’t had to live through a great economical depression, so I realize that comparatively speaking, many of these things may seem small on an individual basis, but when you add them all together, I think that it is no small thing. I also realize that I can never expect someone who has never been on “the inside” to really understand what being a Mormon really entails and how they control so much of every part of your life…even right into your bedroom and to the type of underwear you wear.
That church does it’s best to churn out cookie cutter Mormons. Good little Mormons don’t ask hard questions. They do what they are told. They never question authorities of the church. They live a dull, hopeless life in hopes of glory and happiness in the next life. There are many wonderful people in that church. I feel bad for them. They don’t realize how brainwashed they are. At this moment, those of you who are LDS who are reading this, are thinking how deceived I am…just as I would have in your spot when I was one of you. We have been lied to, over and over until it became the truth. When the truth needed to be changed, we were told the new truth and told that the old truth is no longer true. Then, we are lied to, over and over, until it too becomes true.
How can any healthy mind exist in the state that Mormonism inevitably traps you? It can’t. The mental gymnastics that are required to balance the reality of the world and science that is around us, with the mind controlling retardation of Mormonism is a recipe for personal disaster.
I think I can honestly say that many of the good things that have occurred in my life which appear to be because of that church are really incidental. They are not due to the teachings of the church or its puddle deep doctrines. If anything, the good things in my life have happened DESPITE that church.
I lived 39 years as a part of the LDS mind control cult that robbed me of many things in my life including my time, my happiness and personal freedom…both physical and intellectual. Thankfully, they could never quite rob me of my individuality or my ability to think critically and thus, I am writing this. I hate Mormonism…and yes, I’m bitter.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Then the application can be filled out if they have a bishop and stake president who can or will take the time to take process it and to send it off. However, if they do get accepted they have to begin paying off the loan immediately. Not when they get a job, but right away, even just the smallest amount just to get them in the habit of paying.
Wouldn't you want your money to be loaned to them until they could start earning money? Can you imagine going to school on an empty stomach and then having the added stress of having to find a way of obtaining some money to pay back the loan that you received due to the the loving sacrifices of members of your church; some of whom live in luxury? This is an inspired system? NOT! It reminds me of the REAL Perpetual Immigration Fund of the early days of the church. It was supposed to secure passage and somewhere to live for all the converts. Many people who sent money for a home to come to found that they were homeless and there was no money. How do people think that Brigham Young got so very rich? He was loaded by the time he died.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
I wanted to go home to support my daughter and grandchildren, but the words of the stake president kept repeating in my mind. "I counsel you, not to come home early from your mission, no matter what happens." I wanted so badly to be obedient. I wanted so badly not to have to make this choice. There was no choice; it had been made the minute he had uttered those words. Obedience is the first law of heaven; I will obey.
We went to a beach to say our own goodbyes to Mark. He had talked to our daughter about surfing out in the ocean during the nights when he was on pain meds, so it seemed like a fitting place to remember him. We sat on the sand with another missionary couple and discussed his wonderful qualities and the care and love that he had given to our daughter and grandchildren. It brought some measure of comfort to our aching hearts but I couldn't see her eyes; I couldn't hold her and let her feel my love and support. This is one of the things that I regret the most about being an obedient servant - obedient enough to abandon your own kids when they need you, and they, obedient enough to abandon that mother and grandmother later when she needs them. What kind of church has that kind of hold over its members?
About 6 weeks after surgery on my wrist, we were finally transferred from the office to Port Elizabeth.
The drive to Port Elizabeth was a wonderful break for us; something that we had needed months before. We went to the Cango Caves Zoo where I had the marvelous opportunity to pet a cheetah. Somehow I saw this as a healing moment; a touch of the surreal and new beginnings for us. We would be working with the people together as missionaries. I really looked forward to this new start and being away from the MP's gaze.
One week later the MP, on a flying visit announced to my husband and another male half of a couple, that they were to serve as branch presidents. My husband was to serve in a black township; places that we had been told previously to stay out of due to the dangers of armed robbery etc. I was totally shocked that the MP would do this to us. He knew what we had been through; knew how much pain I suffered especially in my back. The daily commute to the township took about 40+ minutes in the car. While my husband was busy being important (not something that he had asked for)there was no calling that had a name for me. I was just the branch president's wife. Most duties of a branch president require him to be alone with members of the ward and I didn't know what I would do while these meetings took place. I did what I should have been doing at home in Canada; I became a surrogate mother to all the young people in the branch. I plead for them to the higher up leaders to try to help them in sustainable ways. I emailed Jo'burg to try to get humanitarian farms or gardens going. I had no success at all. I sat for hours and waited for my husband to come out of meetings; all the while dreaming up jobs that I could do to feel that I was of some use.
One of the things that stands out in my mind is the sacrifices that the black people were/are required to make in order to be members of the church.
Next blog, the Perpetual Education Fund and other lies.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
In 2001 my husband and I began to talk about serving a mission; something I had really looked forward to once the kids were grown. We sent off our applications with assurances from our stake president that no matter where we were called to serve, we should accept even if we could not afford it. We were not as fortunate as some of the couple missionaries - set for life financially, so it was a sacrifice for us, but one that we were so willing to make. We were assured that our home ward and stake would make up the difference financially if necessary.
As a child I had longed to be of service to the god I had been taught to believe in by serving as a missionary in
We sent off our acceptance letter and in March 2002 we were on our way to the MTC in
We had a son-in-law suffering with cancer and felt that this was our huge sacrifice, but when it comes down to the truth of that matter I realize that we were bargaining with god for his life. "If you love them, leave them." This is the motto for couple missionaries. All will be well with your family and our family was praying hard for a miracle for this young man that we all loved so much.
We were at the MTC for 10 days and excitedly departed on a Thursday for our long, long trip to
We were picked up in a shiny volkswagen combie (passenger van) by the mission president and his wife, other couples and the AP's. On the trip to the mission home I was dismayed to see the shanty towns lining the roads; it was hard to believe that people lived their lives like this. At the mission home we were given a room and told that we could sleep for a couple of hours, get cleaned up and then go for dinner at one of the couples' flat, after which we were to travel to the stake center to attend the general conference broadcast in the evening. My ankles were like two puffy balls, but we did as we were told. I could not stay awake for much of it; my dreams and the talks were all muddled together.
We met some people and looked forward to getting to know them better; loved their accents. Got back to the mission home and had a fitful night; trying to adjust to the heat, and the change in time zone. We got up in the morning and headed out for a whole day and evening watching general conference broadcast again. The view from the chapel was wonderful and the people seemed nice. Still had puffy ankles and was thinking that if I could just lie down the swelling would disappear. After about 32 hours of air travel and then all this sitting at conference, lying down would be such a luxury. I didn’t know at that time that I would be spending the next week lying down.
On the way home from the stake center once again as passengers in the shiny red combie, we were involved in a terrible accident sustaining among other injuries nasty blows to my head which took away my memory of most of the events which transpired for the next several hours. I had blotches of memory after the accident but no coherent memories about the accident itself. I have since been hypnotized to try to come to terms with this terribly traumatic event but I feel that I was mostly hypothesizing what would have been the case and re-constructing things from what I had been told by those less injured. I know that I was cut out of the back of the vehicle. I remembered later, a voice telling me that he was a paramedic and informing him that I had a broken wrist – that was one of many injuries. I also remember trying to negotiate a deal with god once again; my life for my son-in-law’s life. He was young and I somehow knew that I was in rough shape.
Being wheeled along a concrete corridor is my next coherent memory and thinking that I was in a morg. I called out for my husband and heard his reassuring voice. Everything was so confusing as I tried to piece together the events. I watched blood soaked gauze pads; one after the other being pulled away from their mopping job on my left forehead and temple. The doctor told me I had a 13 centimeter gash which needed to be stitched up. My wrist WAS broken and I would need surgery in the morning. My husband came and stood by me; his head a mass of lacerations and his eyes rapidly turning black. I finally said, “Were we in an accident?” He said yes and things became confused again. Yes, they were admitting me and my husband wanted to stay with me. His neck was sore and he was obviously injured and he needed rest. They finally admitted him too and we were put into a ladies ward with 4 beds but just the two of us as occupants – then blessed oblivion.
I awoke in the morning as they were moving me to go for surgery on my left wrist. I asked my husband how his neck felt and he said it was very painful. I believe I was quite bossy in demanding that they x-ray his neck; something that had not been done in emergency. I was a first aid instructor until our mission and I was trying to take charge of the situation. I had to have a plate and screws in my wrist to hold it together. When the anesthetic and pain pills effects began to weaken I realized that my husband was now sporting a neck brace. His neck was broken; how close we had come to dying right there on the second day of our mission. God must have wanted us to survive, although for the life of me later on, I couldn’t understand why. If he had needed me in
- We had just traveled all that distance and the thought of returning with those kinds of injuries did not bear thinking about. Couldn’t even rummage in my suitcase when we were released from the hospital to the mission home one week later.
- God wanted us to serve in
and this was another sacrifice South Africa
- Maybe this would be the sacrifice that would save our son-in-law
- We had rented out our home to some young women so had nothing to return to
- Our family was already struggling so hard to support our daughter and her dying husband; the last thing they needed was two badly injured parents to house and care for.
- Our stake president in setting us apart for this calling counseled us to stay on our missions and not come home, no matter what happened.
So within two weeks of the accident we were learning our duties in the mission office, up two flights of stairs, with my husband now in a much more substantial neck brace, black eyes and a head that looked like it had been grated. I had two wrist casts and a sling for the collar bone, a giant concussion combined with the memory loss that kept interfering with my recollection of my duties. I sat in the cheap office chair with the broken back and ribs, answering the many phone calls, trying to open envelopes and file documents etc. It was the worst experience of my life and what made it worse was that our mission president was an MD and did nothing to help. He had absolutely no compassion for the severity of the pain as he dumped letters on my desk telling me to sort them or to type letters from his dictation machine. My husband slogged away at learning the mission finance work.
Immediate results of the accident were that the mission president paid for the hospital expenditures because money was needed immediately to cover those costs. We had insurance but until we had all the receipts etc. there was no way of making a claim.
Nobody from the mission bothered to phone our kids; my husband did that on the Monday or Tuesday.
Nobody from Salt Lake HQ bothered to contact us to see how we were and what would be best for us.
Nobody from the area office in Johannesburg bothered to contact us until some time later when the travel arranger called and asked how I was making out with my job and my injuries and I cried and told him how callous the mission president was. Then I got a call from a member of the area presidency in Jo'burg. He must have talked with the mission president because I got somewhat of an apology from him admitting that he was not a very caring individual. Glad he wasn't my doctor.
None of the missionary couples who were serving in other areas as much as sent a get well card. I felt so alone and so uncared for. I felt abandoned by god and my husband and I were sleeping in separate rooms to allow us both to get the rest we so badly needed. I was spaced out on pain pills for weeks.
We were barely making it from one day to the next emotionally and physically. We were living at the mission home temporarily until the couple we were replacing had taught us our numerous duties and left for home. They were wonderful and so patient. Mormons are some of the best people on the earth. They helped prop up my mattress when we got home from the hospital and provided dinner.
The mission home's maid was helpful in making our beds and changing the bedding often for us. The MP and wife headed out for Port Elizabeth and we were on our own to make meals and entertain ourselves in the evenings. With no energy left over from a day at the office we mostly just read, wrote in my journal if it killed me; I wanted to remember all the details.
My collar bone was not healing and I had to have surgery after 12 weeks of working with the bone ends jamming into each other.
More about that in the next blog.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
When I allowed the missionaries to teach me back in 1967, I was impressed with their love for the gospel and integrity to their beliefs. They were so convincing, young and sweet; really, I mean that from the bottom of my heart. My own sons, who were barely more than babies at the time I joined the church, later served missions to Japan and England. I know that they went with full purpose of heart to teach people exactly what I had taught them and what they had learned through all their years growing up in the church. They believed it and wanted to share it with others. I want to make it quite clear as I post on this site, that I in no way hold the missionaries responsible for teaching what turned out to be a huge pile of lies. The people that I do hold responsible are the leaders of the organization from Joseph Smith down to the present day. Those who have been mind controlled to believe everything that they are taught from birth are not responsible for believing the wonderful dream.
We are all responsible however for what we do with the information that comes our way. We all have the right to dissect information and form our own opinions. This is what we do with any information that we encounter throughout our lives and it is not only acceptable, but very wise. Unfortunately, when it involves religion, there are so many taboos placed upon our dissection methods. The acceptable ones; answers that come through prayer or scripture study, the 'promptings that seem to come to many in the temple, keeping ourselves free of sin so that we are worthy vessels to receive promptings from the Holy Ghost and failing that, going for help to the bishop or others 'in authority' over us, just don't seem to help for many of us; hence the dilemma. What do you do when all of those efforts have failed? Many continue on though they have lost their belief; they believe that they can put on a front and they do until it wears away at their integrity and peace of mind. It eats at you and like a new cancer patient you frantically search for a cure. The cure is within you but you know or at least think you know how painful this will be for you and those that you may have born testimony to for many years; especially any children that you love or a spouse as in my case. You know that they will look upon you as an unfaithful person; one who could not endure to the end. They will think that Satan has his hooks into you most likely because you have sinned in some way. In fact in their eyes we sin the moment we look at pro-truth literature. I refuse to call it anti-Mormon because that is not what most people read unless you want to label the Doctrine and Covenants, The Book of Mormon, FARMS and FAIR articles and The Journal of Discourses as anti-Mormon literature. This is where faithful Mormons go for their information usually; though the latter has been largely ignored except for the favorable sermons that are still published in LDS lesson manuals. It is a shock to see these writings in a new light - frightening as you feel your faith wavering.
I felt the pre-shocks in South Africa on our mission and will post more about those in the future, but for now I just want to say that once a person's faith has been shaken so badly that they go in search of the cure and the answers, they will find them. If they finally decide that they can no longer keep up the charade and leave the church, they may go through more hell than any that Christians may describe as the just desserts of a sinful life.
I did let go 2 years ago; at least I thought I had, yet when I attended my very first Exmormon Foundation Conference in Oct 2008, I finally let go of the beautiful dream in a flood of tears during one speaker's presentation. Letting go means turning the corner and that is just what I needed to do. The cure is validation. Just as Mormons and other religious groups like to gather together for strength and enjoyment of one another's company, so do ex-Mormons. I have not felt so validated and loved since I was love-bombed into the church all those years ago.