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Ah, Mormons Love Me.

June 11, 2013

Why, yes, I’d love another copy. Thank you! Maybe I’ll actually read this one.

Some day, I might grow up and get a spine, but until then, I’ll keep getting visited by Mormon missionaries.

The thing is, they’re really, really nice. I love Mormons. I’m not kidding. I’m moderately obsessed with the show Sister Wives, which is about an FLDS (not LDS; mind the difference) family. I love that they seek to share what they so deeply believe in. I enjoy learning more about their faith. I have had friends who are Mormon, though they have not been the particularly religious type (or they likely wouldn’t have been friends with me).

But it is not a faith I will ever adopt as my own.

I eventually scared the last two brothers away a few years ago after I burst into tears during a discussion on my porch about gender identity. It wasn’t what they were expecting to happen. They weren’t sure how to handle my questions about transgendered youth, in particular. They had sought their elders’ wisdom to questions I had for them, and when they told me their thoughts on a return visit, we all agreed that I would never ever reconcile my beliefs to be in line with theirs. We parted amicably, and it’s become a funny story to tell for parties: Oh, this one time Mormon missionaries made me cry. Hahahahahaha.

Today, a pair of sisters came to visit, and they were as sweet as pie. Cute as buttons. I told them about the book on Mormonism, specifically Fundamentalist Mormonism, that I just finished reading. I decided to spare them my obsession with Sister Wives.

They invited me to attend a Mormon church service, which I thought was awfully nice, but I did tell them at least that my interest was merely academic. Or I meant to. They still want me to go.

What I actually told them was that I was still searching for a place to rest my religious beliefs, but that I didn’t think Mormonism was it; I didn’t tell them why. I decided that telling them I’m pagan may not have been the wisest approach to things.

On the other hand, I’m wearing my pentacle around my neck, as I almost always do. I suspect they were not oblivious to this. I lied to the Mormons. I’m going to hell.

“My partner,” I told them, “is Buddhist. We’re very open people.” That much is true, at least. I just don’t think I need to complicate the sisters’ missionary work with them trying to have to talk to me about paganism and LGBT issues. I know where they stand. They’re lovely people, and if I can avoid offending them, I will (I apologized, in fact, for being on my porch in Spongebob pajamas in the middle of the day).

Should I stand up for myself? Should I be honest with them? Likely. But sometimes, it’s just easier to play pronoun games and tell little white lies. Sure it flies in the face of everything I stand for. But I do really respect what they do, and I respect their beliefs. I would hope they could respect mine, but I really just wasn’t in the mood to find out. Instead, we chatted happily for a few minutes on the porch. I lied through my teeth.

Maybe I’ll read the whole Book of Mormon this time. Maybe. And maybe the sisters won’t call me up on a regular basis to preach the good word. Right.


From → rants

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