Why I Stay: Growing up in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Part 2)

I grew up 25 minutes outside of Salt Lake City: Mormon Central. I had two friends who weren't Latter-Day Saints, one of whom I knew for three years before I believed that he really was not a member of my church.

From the time I was eight years old, I knew my family was "different". I knew it because we were the only family sitting in the chapel every Sunday sans Priesthood leader. I knew it because the bishopric and the Relief Society presidency took a special interest in my family. I knew it because I was baptized by one grandfather and confirmed by another while my own father watched from a soft-backed folding chair.

As a child, I knew only that my dad did not want to go to church anymore, and for some reason that excluded him from rituals like baptisms and family prayer. It didn't seem like a bad deal to me. When he did come to Sacrament Meeting, I enjoyed taking turns with my brothers playing games on his PalmPilot and helping him edit punctuation errors in the folded paper programs lying on our pew.

When I entered Young Women's, I started to realize that being a part of a part-member family was a Big Deal. We learned about the Priesthood and Eternal Families and Temple Covenants. I realized that while other kids could be with their whole families forever, I would only get to be with most of mine. I did not go inside the temple for several months after my twelfth birthday as I waited and waited for my dad to consent to my being interviewed by our bishop. I started to become angry. I wondered why my dad had made such a catastrophic decision for our family. I resented my friends' "perfect" families sitting just a few pews behind us each Sunday and dreaded any rendition of "Families Can Be Together Forever".

Amid all of this, I never once thought to question God or wonder why He would institute laws that would cause such division among families. I had never questioned anything about the gospel, always accepting what I was taught at face value but never feeling anything "sink deep into my heart" as the prophet Enos describes it.

The summer after I turned twelve, I attended Brighton Beehive Camp (a topic I am sure any avid reader of this blog is sick of by now). That camp changed my life. Never before had I felt the Spirit of God and recognized it for what it was; once I did, I knew I would never be the same.

Over the next six years, I immersed myself in the Church. I attended Young Women's, Sunday School, weekly Mutual activities, Girls Camp, Youth Conference, Trek, Seminary, firesides, morningsides, 4AM before-school temple trips, EFY, and General Conference. I woke up early each morning to study my scriptures and say my prayers. My life was saturated with the Spirit, and I was happy.

As I grew in my faith and understanding of the gospel, so did my questions about God's plan for His children. How was He going to save ALL of His children? How was my family going to be Eternal if my dad no longer believed? What was going to happen to my mom in the eternities after all of us kids grew up and got married to spouses of our own?

These questions, though serious and concerning for me at the time, did not cause me any doubt whatsoever. I KNEW the gospel to be true. I didn't understand how people could not know it. I trusted that God had a plan, and that I would like the end result. That was enough for me.

And so, I eagerly spent my high school years preparing to serve a mission. I began waking up early on Sunday mornings to attend Mission Prep and was thrilled to receive my acceptance letter to work at Brighton the summer after I graduated (which I considered to be an excellent Missionary Preparation experience). I spent the entire summer teaching young women (like I had been) to love their Savior. That summer was the best of my life.