Imagine me, a missionary, traveling through the land...

I must confess, I am no “hero” or “martyr”, just a guy who stumbles around, who fails and falls far too often, who struggles to see through a glass, darkly, and who tries to follow the light wherever he can find it. I give credit to the Lord (and not to myself) for every good and gracious thing I have ever received or done. And I do not consider myself “worthy” by any means.

That being said, the Lord has comforted me. I went to bed burdened and sorrowful two nights ago, but awoke (very early) yesterday morning (and, again, this morning) with insight that buoyed and inspired me, giving me hope.

I am an "annotated” Mormon, after all. Twice divorced -- but now happily married, with seven children born to me, all by the same woman, to whom I was “sealed” in the temple nine years ago. (Oh, joyous day!)

I joined the Church at 15 (against the best wishes of my parents and virtually all of my friends, enduring no end of derision, mockery and rejection for doing so); went to BYU at 18 and yearned with all my soul to serve a mission for the Lord, but had to wait (until age 19), only to be sent home early with everyone else during the recession of 1981-1983, when all missions where cut short by 6 months (for economic reasons). That broke my heart, because I had the means to stay out longer and had requested to do so! (I had been "called" to serve a two-year mission and I wanted to fulfill that calling!) But my request was denied by the leaders of the Church, only to have them re-extend the term to two years again soon after I got home. A crushing irony.

I was at BYU my freshman year when the Lord appeared to me in a dream and ministered to me by the power of the Holy Ghost at sundry times, by which I was baptized by fire and the Holy Ghost. I heard His voice, as clearly as any man's, only it pierced me to the very core. I even heard Him sing! He sang to me a song sung from before the foundation of this world, recited by all those foreordained to receive priesthood in this life, as a "preparatory redemption for such" (see Alma 13). He showed me many of His great creations and glory, including numerous worlds, and it was more than I could take in! I marveled that He had done all this before He was born of a woman! (I didn’t know it was Him at the time. This is a pattern, prototypical of ALL who would be gods. We "overcome" by faith in the Son, even in the worlds before, exercising faith in His atoning blood.) 

I saw the Lord's glory, as golden undulating beams of light emanated from His body. I saw those beams pierce my body -- and felt overwhelming, incomprehensible joy and love. I "melted" in His presence and wept for weeks afterward at the mere thought of that encounter. I already “knew” Jesus Christ was real; now, I knew that He is the Light of the world! And, more importantly, I knew that He loved me! A broken, wretched, filthy, sinful man. (I didn't know it at the time, but I would become that man. The Lord would show me my weaknesses, that I might be humble. And I needed to be humbled!)

But He did not leave me comfortless.

It is that Love that has kept me in this Church all these years, despite the persecutions, disappointments and betrayals.

My testimony of Him, born in fast and testimony meeting at BYU, was rejected. While I showered that Sunday afternoon in the dorms, the brethren of my ward and floor put my clothes in the toilet and took my towel, forcing me to walk naked to my room. They waited for me and laughed, refusing to respond to my pleas for help. They said all manner of evil things about me, calling me a liar about my testimony of Christ and imputing to me all kinds of wickedness, imagining many vain and stupid things. I was mystified by what I saw and heard in the Church, almost from the moment I was baptized. (One of my earliest memories as a “saint” is having the (then) stake president's son say to me, as a Mormon girl walked by in Church, something to the effect: "Wouldn't you like to have some of that?" I couldn’t believe what I heard and asked him to repeat it. When he did so, I was totally disgusted!) The Church (to me) was not what it (at first) seemed. My eyes were not yet opened.

To show the level of derision and mockery I was subjected to (for Christ’s sake) at BYU, I received a phone call, waking me in the middle of the night, from someone sounding distressed, claiming to be from my ward, saying he had heard my testimony in Church and "respected' me, requesting my "help". He confessed he struggled with masturbation and asked me for my advice on how to overcome that weakness. He asked me many probing, personal questions, inviting me to disclose my own struggles with sin. Only the following day did I discover that the elders in my ward and dormitory (at Deseret Towers) had set up a speaker system in one of the upper floor windows of the building and had broadcast my entire conversation with this “ward member” to anyone who cared to listen (to their great amusement). They left trash and rotting food at my doorstep and wrote "dork" in bleach on the carpet. They broke into my room and stole money and electronics. (I later discovered that my roommate had let them in! Because, he said, they threatened to do the same to him if he did not consent.) They even peed in my bicycle’s water bottle.

Such was part of my "preparation" for serving a mission while I attended BYU.

Prior to leaving for Chile -- "the best mission the Church has to offer" (as my patriarchal blessing promised) and, coincidentally, the highest baptizing mission in the world at that time -- I got my "errand" from the Lord. He promised me that I would bring even a thousand people to the waters of baptism if I would exercise faith in Christ, be obedient and not fear.

Fear what?

I didn’t know.

On my mission, I preached with the Spirit and prophesied that I knew God lived, for I had seen His Christ and had beheld His glory. My words were received with nothing but derision and disbelief by the elders with whom I served and by the leadership, who relegated me to non-leadership status and kept me under close watch. I prophesied that the earth would shake at the preaching of the word, in fulfillment of the promise given to me in the desert by the Lord, who said He would do it "even if I [meaning the Lord] must shake the earth". My senior companion threatened to "get me into trouble" with the mission president if I didn't follow him and stop preaching and teaching such "foolishness". (And I feared!) But the earth nevertheless shook that day -- and my companion was amazed. He promised he would not doubt again. But when, weeks later, I was moved by the Spirit to prophesy again, he rejected my testimony and ran home in fear. When the earth shook again that very day, he confessed his sins to me and said he was unworthy of serving a mission and would go home a failure. I was sad for him. But even sadder that I served with men who had so little faith.

That was only the beginning of my “miserable” mission! The rest was an unending slew of similar failures, frustrations and let-downs, being frustrated by the "work" that proceeded largely without inspiration, but guided, rather, by principles of corporate control, goal-setting and micro-management -- down to the very words we were to speak in prayer, the physical gestures we were to emulate, and even the words we were to teach! All were given to us by our leadership. The Spirit of the Lord was restrained.

Nevertheless, I was guided by revelation – and led to those who would believe and be baptized. (But because I feared offending some Church leader – and did not follow through – I baptized only a tenth of the number promised.) Still, near the end of my mission, I was surprised by praise from a former junior companion (who was now my zone leader), who had hated me, but had come to acknowledge that he had heard that I had given priesthood blessings by which the sick were healed, the blind could see again, and devils were cast out. I thought it curious, because I didn’t remember doing any of those things! But, thinking about it, I did remember and had to confess that, somehow, the Lord worked through me, anyway, despite my “failures” as a missionary, being hated by so many with whom I served.

I returned from my (abbreviated) mission a "broken" man. I hadn't lost faith in God (or so I thought), but I had lost faith in myself. My experience in the Church had been disheartening. I was filled with doubts -- about myself, God's role for me, my future -- and I felt "abandoned". My family held me in derision. Women at BYU, by and large, rejected me. I did not fit "the mold". A "filthy" convert. Non-Mormon family. No "pioneer" heritage. No status. A “religious fanatic” of sorts.

I won't relate my sorry tale of heartbreak and woe. But I married (in the temple), got divorced, married (again, in the temple) years later and got divorced (again), all the while passing through a maelstrom of temptations, trials, and a "meat-grinder" of betrayals. (I didn't realize it at the time, but I would have been delivered "speedily", if only I had “mastered” the tests!) Fortunately, God never gave up on me and I was blessed with several true servants of God, who shepherded me and guided me back to the fold during my darkest days.

My virtue was tried to the breaking point -- and beyond. I didn't realize it at the time, but the Lord had intended to subject me to, what would be, a destructive test of my mettle – with new and better material being used for my “re-creation”, after His fashion, if I were willing.

I confessed all my sins “while in the way”. But confession only brought me greater censure, derision and remonstration from the Church, including prolonged disfellowshipment (when, in fact, what I needed was greater -- and better! -- fellowship!). I was abused by those who sensed my need for companionship and family and I succumbed to their temptations. I pleaded to be excommunicated for my "crimes" (as any honorable priesthood holder would do), and Church leaders consented (even as their own children blithely fornicated apparently without consequence either to conscience or church membership). The ironies were crushing.

I'm telling you all this only to introduce a happy ending.

My patriarchal blessing said I would "teach in the priesthood". But this wasn't happening. Because of my divorce(s), disfellowshipment(s) and excommunication, once rebaptized, I was placed on the "do not use" list. I have never held a calling of consequence in this Church in all of my 37 years as a Latter-day Saint. In fact, many of my callings have been of the type that could be (and have been) filled by non-members: jobs like “ward chorister” and "choir director". Currently, my assignment is to clean toilets for the ward. I teach high school chemistry and physics, by profession, but I’m forbidden from ever working with youth in the Church. They won’t say why, but I think it’s because I married one of my former high school students…a Baptist minister’s daughter, whom I introduced to the Church. (Boy, her family wasn’t happy about that!) I therefore cannot serve in any capacity of leadership. When I tried (on one occasion) to teach the Elders Quorum the actual history of our Church, the "magical" circumstances and culture surrounding Joseph’s upbringing, or the means by which he translated the Book of Mormon, I was asked to sit down and was never allowed to teach again. Wherever I go now in Church (in my ward), a counselor in the bishopric follows me, sits down beside me, and listens to and reports back to the bishop everything I say. (I know, because I hear about it from the bishop!)

One day I was asked to "substitute" as "chorister" in Primary. (I guess the bishop hadn't yet "gotten the memo" about not letting me work with youth.) As we sang "Follow the Prophet", I felt moved to tell them that we should remember that we really follow our Savior, Jesus Christ. "Perhaps we should sing ‘Follow the Savior, follow the Savior, follow the Savior, He is the Way!’” I said. Later that same day I told a group of older (baptized) children that they should “seek the baptism of fire and the Holy Ghost as an essential step in your spiritual progression. Without it", I said, "your baptism by water will mean nothing. It alone cannot cleanse you. But by the Holy Ghost you will know God!” The women in the room were shocked! They called for “backup”. The first counselor came and sat beside me.

My bishop later called me into his office and lambasted me for preaching, as he put it, practically false doctrine! "Milk before meat, brother!" he said. As if the baptism of fire and the Holy Ghost and being “born again” were some great "mystery" only to be explored after we depart this life! As if "following the Savior" was blasphemy! I had told the children that we follow the prophet "only as long as he's following the Savior" (which I had no reason to believe he wasn't). But this was a distinction too dear for my bishop to countenance. “Why confuse the children?” he asked. The mere suggestion that "following the prophet" was anything less than (or different from) "following the Savior" bordered on apostasy, he said. He never let me substitute again.

So what's the good news?

Last week, as I drove to work, I prayed to the Lord, asking Him how I might fulfill His promise to me in my patriarchal blessing that I would “teach in the priesthood”, being prevented from doing so all these years, at every turn. (I would never be allowed to teach in a quorum, serve on the High Council, or hold a leadership calling, given my “annotation” and history.) How could my patriarchal blessing be fulfilled now, after I had so “hopelessly” broken my covenant with Him years before? Now my “destiny” was ruined!

Well, that was Friday. By Sunday the bishop was calling me to say I was invited to appear to defend my membership in the Church at a disciplinary hearing before the Stake High Council! I was being invited to “teach in the priesthood” after all! In fact, I would have a wonderful audience! The highest councils of the Church in our stake! It is a great honor for me (though, I’m sure, it was not intended to be such by those who extended the invitation).

If they ask me questions, I will answer them in humility and frankness. The stake president and bishop have already “grilled” me for five hours and have come up with NOTHING with which to accuse me – except that I “associate” or “agree with” that “apostate”, Denver Snuffer! Oh, and they hate Rock Waterman, too! And Daymon Smith! We’ve all got to go!

If they don’t ask me questions, I will have very little else to say. Most of the men on the High Council are my friends and associates. My life is an “open book” to them and I have not been shy about sharing my testimony – which my bishop, frankly, ridicules and my stake president flatly condemns. Instead they counsel me to stick to the elements of the “testimony glove” and recite only the "five pillars of Mormonism”, whatever the hell that is.

I wonder what they will find during my “inquisition”.

At least I’ll be among friends.