Why I Decided to Become a Mormon - Part Four: Family Exodus and Early Thoughts on Missionary Work

It wasn’t long after I turned twelve that my family completely ceased all participation in church activities. No sudden or abrupt change took place, but the transition seemed to occur over a relatively short period of time. However, I recall not being surprised. I don’t remember why I felt this way, but it had seemed to me that our retirement from the Church was an inevitability that was one day bound to occur.

My family didn’t all leave together, but rather, seemed to slip away one at a time. It came to the point where only my mother and I continued to attend meetings. She was a teacher for the young women, which required her presence each Sunday. Why I continued to attend church with her remains a mystery to me. I knew I didn’t have to go, but for reasons unknown, I felt the need to be present.

Eventually, the day came when my mother also stopped attending church. There were no family announcements, nor was any final consensus reached. It happened naturally. In the years since, I have held numerous conversations about this topic with my family members, attempting to better understand the causes of our exodus. I feel I have learned much, but I won’t presume to explain their reasoning here. For many, leaving the Church is a deeply personal decision. At times and for some, this decision can even be as hard as the decision to join the Church is for others. Sharing such personal decisions is an act best left to the actual decision-maker.

Even after my mother stopped attending church, I continued to go alone, though this only lasted a few weeks. While my parents still were willing to drive me to the church house on Sunday mornings, I soon followed suit, and officially became an “inactive”* member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

At the time, I really didn’t understand how profound the decision I was making truly was, and how much it would ultimately affect my life. In subsequent years I have strained my thoughts, trying to recall my feelings and sentiments of the time, curious to be able to better understand my own personal mental and spiritual development. In truth, this time of my life is rather hazy in my memory, though a few scattered recollections remain.

I remember that there was something that I actually did like something about church, even beyond the social benefits. I actually liked learning and thinking about things of a spiritual nature.

I never received what one might call “spiritual insights,” and I still gave my Sunday School instructors a hard time. But, despite my façade of smart-mouthed comments, I really did pay attention to the information we were fed. I would analyze it in my head, accepting what I thought made sense, discarding what I thought was meaningless, and remaining neutral on a number of topics. I began, probably for the first time in my life, to create and form my own personal opinions regarding God, religion, life, the universe, and everything.

It should be noted, however, that just because I enjoyed learning about these things didn’t mean I agreed with them. Pertaining to one topic in particular, I developed a rather strong opinion. This topic was one that was increasingly being put before the young men in church. Missionary service.**

As a younger child, I looked forward with great anticipation to the day when I could go on a mission. At one point I remember telling my grandparents that I wanted to go on five missions – India, Africa, Australia, South America, and one more that I have since forgotten. These choices had nothing to do with any personal desire to share the gospel with the people in these places. Rather, they spawned from my absolute fascination with the tales my grandparents would tell me of their travels to these exotic corners of the world. I really liked animals at the time, and it seemed that going on a mission would be as good an opportunity as any other to see wildlife.

But as I verged on adolescence, my thoughts on missionary work changed drastically. On one occasion, a church instructor asked members of my class to indicate, by raising their hands, who was planning on going on a mission. I was the only one who defiantly did not to raise my hand. When my leader asked why I had not, I told him the truth. “I don’t want to go on a mission.” Seeing that it was an option, a couple other young men lowered their hands to join me.

The truth was, by this time, I considered the idea of representing the Church as a missionary was one of the most ridiculous concepts imaginable. Why would I want to sacrifice two prime years of my life to talk to people about, of all things, religion? Could they not come and find out that information on their own if they were interested? Could it not be possible that they were perfectly happy in their lives, and didn’t need my brand of religion to make them happy? Such were my thoughts of the time.

Perhaps the instructor thought I was just an annoying kid ruining his lesson plan, but I was being honest. It was something I had decided for myself. I would never serve as a missionary. Not a chance.

Oh how things would change. But for the time being, I was separated from the Church, happy to carry on with my new life, void of religion, and void of Mormonism.

*The term “inactive” is typically used in Mormonism to denote someone who does not attend weekly church services or otherwise participate in church-related activities.

**At the age of 19, all Mormon men are taught that they have the responsibility to serve as a full-time missionary for two years.