I have posted a short blurb here and there in regards to my leaving the LDS church, a quick story, short and to the point. I want to… share, I guess is the best word to use here – share, more of my story that maybe someone else who was BIC and doubts the validity of the church will know it is okay, it is all right, you’ll be just fine leaving the church. It may tug at your heart strings a bit, maybe dig at your conscious from time to time, and yes, guilt may pop into your head now and again. But, are those feelings of guilt, sorrow, and shame yours or is it those years of being told you would feel like that?

I have read many stories on here, maybe life stories are better words because what everyone here has is more than a story they are sharing, it is their life, their inner most thoughts, their soul cut and hung to dry as they have taken the biggest leap of faith they have ever made – and jumped into an unknown abyss. And guess what, everyone here has caught each one of us in some little way, has kept us from falling through the cracks into nothingness.

After reading so many different life stories on here and other sites I always thought that mine was pale in comparison.

Then, after reading so many different life stories on here and other sites I realized that my life was affected just as much as everyone else’s. No matter what I think or do now, so much of my life, my thoughts, my beliefs were carved into my soul from the moment I was born. (And yes, that is a purposeful repeat – the first sentence of this paragraph and the one before.)

I was BIC on 24 January 1972. I am the oldest boy, the oldest child of seven. All of us were (roughly) two years apart except for the last two – five years apart. It was me, followed by three sisters, followed by three more boys.

Out of seven children, the youngest two boys were the only two to go on a mission and stay active in the church.

It’s funny to me, how much of my youth I do and don’t remember. My brothers and sisters are always bringing up some little piece of my childhood that I don’t remember. Nothing bad, just funny things that we did… or I should rephrase that to read “that I did”. Like the time I played vampire with my sister and bit her, drawing blood. Or the time my brother ran naked down the street when I was babysitting because he didn’t want to take a shower. Or the time I caught my brother’s hair in the hand mixer and it had to be cut out (he blames me for his baldness). And many other events that I no longer remember. My wife calls it selective memory.

My selective memory also has no recollection of my 8th year of life other than my first brother being born – finally it was not me against the girls.

Being born into the church is a lot different than being a convert. My dad, was a convert. My mom, was born into the church. My parents are two totally different people when it comes to the church. My mom, she just simply believes. My dad, his salvation (the church) is first and foremost, his number one priority. Always has been and always will be. And the church is the one true church, the only way to everlasting salvation and you can not, or will not, tell him different.

Growing up my dad was either in the High Council or the Bishop. I remember my dad always being gone from the home, always doing something for the church. And I remember it causing problems at home (my mother stressed beyond her capacity), so many problems that my grandmother (mom’s mom – a member also), went to the Stake President and told him that dad was neglecting his family because of the time he had to devote to being the Bishop. I remember there being a little contention between the two for a long time after that, but she was right and he – well, he knew she was wrong. Anyway, he was released, and thank god, because he was put back on High Council where you are only gone about as much as a bishop – WTF… I digress, let me go a little further back.

From my first memories I remember the church, sitting atop the hill, the old style one with the steeple on top, painted white. It wasn’t too long before that it was a branch and not a ward.

Sunday School. The wonderful stories they told there about Joseph Smith and his visions, translating the Golden Plates into the Book of Mormon, how black people were less valiant in the pre-existence, how there was more revelation to come, how we were a blessed people, members of the only true church, how we would one day rule the world in the glory of Jesus Christ.

Sunday School. Where the brainwashing was really driven home.

I remember, watching that video of the First Vision, remember hearing that there would be more revelation, more scriptures to come in the future, and it would be translated the same way as JS had translated the Book of Mormon. I remember sitting there, awed by the fact that if I was worthy it could maybe be me, that I could be prophet one day. That I would bring forth the next chapters of the Book of Mormon, or maybe it would even have a much cooler name – like Book of Zelph, or maybe even the Book of Biff… Yes, much better books, with much better plot lines. (Again, I digress…)

Growing up, I had that feeling of superiority that I knew something that no one else did. That I had so much more going for me, I mean, I might even be a prophet if I really played my cards right. (Oops, I mean, if I was good – a prophet wouldn’t play cards – right SWK?)

I do not remember my baptism. I do not remember being set apart as a deacon, teacher, or priest. I do remember being asked if I played with myself for one of those “going to the temple to baptize a bunch of dead people” recommends. I remember looking at the bishop and asking, “what do you mean, I play with myself all the time. I play with my GI Joes, my Transformers, my Batman, my Spiderman, etc… I also remember the look on the Bishop’s face as he tried to explain it as delicately as possible. “Ummm, I mean, do you touch yourself in your private areas… for pleasure?” I had no idea that was a sin.

PPP intermission here folks, and by PPP, I mean Piss Poor Parenting. No, my father never had the sex talk with me – ever. I had never heard that Spanking the Monkey was wrong. If you have children, please, please, please talk with them, let them know it is normal to be curious and let them know it is more important to be safe than chaste because chaste only gets you so far against the fight against STDs and pregnancy. I still haven’t figured out where my children came from. Just saying… … … … … … … …

So, I lied to my bishop because what child in their right mind would tell that truth to a bishop because it was a private matter, something I never even talked with my parents, siblings, or even friends about. Even now, I know there are two people in the world, those who do play with themselves and those who lie about it. (I’m a sailor – do the freaking math.)

My first lie to the bishop. However, I figure I made up for that lie a short while later after telling my dad I had heard some of the Priests talking about smoking POT. Yes, they were talking about doing drugs and smoking pot, and drinking and I did the right thing. It was my moral duty, was it not?

I was well on my way to prophet hood up until my 14th birthday and I a girl name Carolyn moved into our neighborhood. She had big, big, boobs. (Please, don’t take offense, I was almost fourteen and, well, I was a teenager. Whatever.)

Back when I was a kid, we had Sunday Sacrament meeting, then the Wednesday primary or something, then the Monday Family Home Evenings. (Maybe it was Thursday Primary or something along those lines, I don’t really remember. I just remember a lot of church.) What I do remember vividly, is driving home from church on Sunday, looking out the window at my friends playing, riding their bikes, enjoying the one sunny day we had a week in Washington State, and my dad saying, “don’t forget, we have church next Sunday too, and you have to stay in your church clothes all day today, it helps you keep in the spirit…” Our blessed Sunday was spent reading the Friend, or Ensign, or taking a nap, or reading our scriptures, or any other church approved activity. It was not spent outside, with friends.

What I remember most about my dad as I got older was him shoving the church down our throat, smashing our faces in it 24/7, like rubbing a dog’s face in poo, making sure we knew Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday that Sunday, come hell or high water, was Church. I remember scripture time as a family, and listening to the constant barrage of “and I know this is the one true church on earth”, and how we would be cast into outer darkness if we apostatized, and how so and so was doing miserable because they left the church, and “you will go to church whether you like it or not” or “you can go to church and like it or go to church and not like it, but you are going to church” (or replace church with any other church related function.)

I know, by the time Caron came around, I was absolutely tired of having the LDS church shoved down my throat, and I wanted nothing to do with it. I wanted that “free agency” that we were always taught about but never seemed to be able to practice.

My fourteenth birthday, Caron took me out with some of her friends, got me drunk and laid – all in one night. Damn it, I think I lasted for at least one or two minutes with her friend. Or maybe two minutes is pushing it. Either way, that was the beginning of the end for me and the beginning of becoming a very good liar.

I lied about everything because I had to be a worthy priesthood holder, and so did the three or so other boys in church with me. We would drink, smoke pot, have sex, whatever on Friday and Saturday night and on Sunday we would put on our suits and ties and bless and pass the sacrament. Sorry to all you church goers at that time, your sacrament did not count, you will probably go to hell now.

My fourteenth year, yep, teacher. My sixteenth year, yep, Priest.

And on the eighteenth year, a few months before I graduated, this fat son-of-a-bitch in our church, and I do not use that term lightly – either one, the fat and son-of-a-bitch, saw me standing up with a bunch of my friends on “smoker’s hill” and just happened to see me drop my cigarette behind my back when I saw him walking towards his car. I thought I got away with it. Sunday rolls around, this fatty asks my mom and dad if he can talk to me for a few minutes.

Word of Wisdom intermission: Why is it that someone with cankles, quadruple chins, and a huge dunlap can question an 18 year old, skinny kid about smoking?

Now resumes our story -

First Scene: Fat Bastard and 18 year old.

FB - “I saw you smoking the other day.”
18 - “No you didn’t, my friends smoke, not me.”
FB - “I saw a cigarette in your hand and smoke coming out
your mouth.”
18- “No you didn’t.”

Second Scene: Mom and 18 year old

Mom – “What did he want.”
18 – “You know how a lot of my friends smoke, he thinks
just because I was standing with them the other day I
was smoking.”
Mom – “Were you?”
18 – “MOM!?!?! No.”
Mom – “Okay, I believe you.”

Third Scene: Bishop and 17 year old.

Bishop – “Were you smoking?”
18 – “No.”
Bishop – “Are you sure?”
18 – “Yes.”

Fourth Scene: Dad and 18 year old after church

Dad – “I talked with your friend Kelly and his parents and
he admitted to them that you and he were both
smoking. His parents were not happy with him, but he
did the right thing by being honest.”
18 – “What, that asshole, I can’t believe he would rat me
out.”
Dad – “Do not use that language and he didn’t, you just
did. You get to tell your mom.”

Enter crying mom, enter crying dad, enter guilt trip, enter have to repent, enter blah, blah, blah… And I held out on my repentance, happy not to have to bless the excrement, happy not to have to give talks, happy not to have to do anything until right before I graduated.

Moms, they can just get to the heart. Did I repent, no, I lied repentance just to make my mom happy.

A few months before graduation my parents and I, especially my dad and I had a huge fight because I would be damned if I was going on a mission, I was joining the Navy. My dad actually said he forbid me to join the Navy and that he would not sign papers for my Delayed Entry Program and that I was going on a mission. I told him, I am not going on a mission, and I don’t need your signature after I graduate. Either way, with or without your permission, I am going into the Navy and I am not going on a mission. He grudgingly signed the papers and was not home the day I left for the Navy.

And no, unfortunately for you, this is not the end, but we can fast forward.

From 18 to 29 I had nothing to do with the LDS church. I tried a bunch or other churches out, didn’t like any of them, and was content with my belief in God and that as long as I didn’t do too bad in life I would come out okay in the end.

I joined the Navy at 18, got out four years later and went in to the Merchant Marines, working my way up to Captain. I am 39 now and have been working on the water for 20 years. This is important here, my career and the factor it played a little later.

I got married when I was 28, five months before I turned 29. When my wife and I met, religion was not a huge conversation piece or a factor in us getting married. So, do you go to church – no, (both of our answers.) Me, I was raised a Mormon. Her, she was raised nothing but had gone to a Catholic Church for a while, and some others, dabbled with the Muslims in college and whatever… Do you believe in a god – yes, (both of our answers). That was it.

We had been married a few months, me running a tug and barge between Texas and Haiti carrying rice, when I came home and gave her a call from the phone on the dock.

“Love, love, miss, miss, kissy, kissy, etc…”

“Guess what honey, I was watching this commercial and this church was talking about (whatever catchy commercial they had going in ‘99 or ’00) and I called for their Book of Mormon. Anyway these two guys came by and have been giving me the lessons. It is the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints……………………”

As I am listening to her I am just thinking, no way. As I am listening to her my mind is going back to my childhood, all the lessons I had been taught. All the stories of miracles happening to bring people back to the church. I mean, even what’s his name in the BoM, his son received angelic ministrations and he changed his ways – right?

“Honey, you do realize that the LDS church is the Mormon Church and that is the church I was raised in?”

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, - wave your white snot rag with green buggers if you want here…

You ever hear the story, the alcoholic who is dry for years, lets say 11 years for this story, and he has that one sip of beer, or wine, or shot of whiskey and it is right back in the saddle again? That was me.

I go home, missionaries come over, we all talk, my wife and I think it is so cool she found the church on her own and so do the missionaries because it was planned by god for this to happen. My wife decides to be baptized. I am interviewed; found that even though I have been inactive it is still appropriate to baptize my wife since I have committed no great sin in my past. (Drinking, sexing, etc… doesn’t really matter as I hadn’t done that since getting married – except with my wife.) So, I baptize my wife.

Flash forward one year, temple recommend time, my parents proud and beaming come out to Florida, we have our interview, the Bishop and Stake President both think we should wait a little longer, but then the Stake President has an epiphany and says no, “it is better for you to go to the temple because it will bring you closer together.” Or something like that.

Temple, my wife finds out that her daughter can not be sealed to us because she is my step-daughter, but my son can. She finds out you can not wear a black bra to the temple, but someone just happens to have a spare white one. She is disgusted and pissed off because she can’t be sealed to her daughter. Wife finds out she has to be called another name in heaven. Wife finds it all a bit creepy. Wife, does not leave filled with the spirit.

Temple, me, years of brainwashing and expectations, life altering, wonderful, happy, greatest thing to happen since sliced bread. And I wonder did JS come up with that also.

(I did go to the temple 2 more times. Once with my brother and once by myself. To this day, I find it funny there were only married couples that went the day I did - and every single one of us were there singally because the other spouses were inactive. So, me and some lady played Adam and Eve. I told my wife about that when I stopped going, that at that moment, I knew I wouldn't like heaven if I was assigned a wife. I didn't really feel all that close to the lady during our part as Adam and Eve, nothing that connected eternally that is....)

Fast forward some more.

Wife – “Did you know that Mormons did not allow blacks to have the priesthood until 196whatever? Did you know the Mormons believe I have black skin because I was less valiant? Did you know that the Mormons think I will become white after I die? Did you know that Brigham Young taught you should be killed on the spot and your children should be killed because you mixed your seed with mine? Did you know that you were supposed to marry within your own race? Did you know _______ (fill in the blank).”

Husband (me) – “Ummmmmmmmmmmm…………………”

And no, it never entered my mind, not once. I never thought about those teachings because I had not heard them in so long. And my wife, she was pissed and that was it, enough, done, over. My wife, walked as easily out as she had walked in.

“Well, I’m glad I found out what all the fuss was about with the temple and all. It was worth it just to see the inside and see what they do. By the way, it’s funny how my temple name is your mother’s middle name. That is some funny shit right there buddy.”

And me, my mind comes crashing down on itself, all the years of being told about the temple, being an Elder, etc… all of it comes flooding in and I am not going to apostatize. I am not going to put my everlasting soul in jeopardy. I can’t, right?

My wife, whatever, you can go if you want, but I am not going and those Relief Society ladies really piss me off all their cackling hen gossip and complaining about their husbands and etc… etc… etc…

I’m crushed, I go to my bishop…

“Well, Eric, I knew this would happen. I told the Stake President not to let you go to the temple, that your wife was not ready. But, he said that it would be best to let you go. What you have to do is be strong, show your wife the right path, keep reading your scriptures, read all good books and subscriptions printed by the church, etc… And you know, you being gone does not help matters. If you were home more, you could be a constant guiding light to her and your family.”

“I should quit my job? I don’t know anything else. I make good money and can support my family.”

“Yes, I think god is telling you that you need to be home more for your family.”

I’m crushed, I call my parents…

“Remember honey, so-and-so, their wife was inactive and he never stopped being strong, being faithful, doing his duty to the church. Remember son, you are an Elder, you have been to the temple, you can not loose sight of the truth. Do not let Satan mislead you……
If you do the best you can, if you live your life worthy, no matter what happens in life you will still be worthy of having an eternal companion in heaven and your children, should they live a worthy life, will be yours also…
And yes, your job is getting in the way of the church, you should quit and find another means of employment…”

Two things strike me as really, really, really wrong:

One, quit your job.

Two, you will get a new wife.

In answer to one. WTF? I am a captain, and I am damn good at it and this is what I know. I can’t just quit and start working for, for, for, for, McDonald’s. I support my family with what I do.

In answer to two. WTF? I love my wife, I love my children, and damn it, I love her color. I don’t want some “white and delightsome Molly Mormon crazy bitch” and I sure as hell don’t want four or five hundred of them. (I have a hard enough time with one.)

These two things phrases were the beginning of the end for me. It took me a lot longer to pry myself away from the church than my wife. I had to work through the emotional guilt of consigning myself to purgatory for eternity. I had to shove all those thoughts aside, and then I started reading for myself. I started researching the teachings of the church and realized just how much crap is covered up, changed, and just how much I had been brainwashed. I did not have a healthy grasp on reality. I was done. My last day in church was on Easter Sunday.

Over the next two years we put up with the random missionary visit, rude Relief Society Presidents, etc… My wife, never me, being the one being looked for and found. Finally, it all came to a head one evening, when we were all sitting around enjoying our time together, watching a movie, when a knock came on the door.

My wife answers, and I hear, “I think you have the wrong person. I don’t even go to your church any longer…” The door slams and I hear, “Eric, you have visitors.”
I go to the door, open it and there are two smiling missionaries.

“Funny, we don’t have your name,” they tell me.

“Funny, as I was the one born in the church and my wife is a covert. How do we get you to stop bothering me and my wife?” I ask them. “Can you tell the bishop to put a note out to stop coming to our house or something.”

“Well… if you do not want us or any church member visiting you any longer, you have to have your name removed from church records,” the kid tells me.

“How do I do that?” I ask, and he tells me.

The bishop, someone I had never met, gave me a call on the phone when he got my request.

“Eric, I see you want to have your name removed from church records. You do realize that if you do this, you will have never been baptized, you will have never received the priesthood, you will have never been to the temple, and your sealing is null and void,” he said.

This part of my story, is where everything comes together, everything loops back around to the beginning, to me having selective memory.

“Bishop, do you remember you baptism?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Funny thing bishop, I don’t. I do not ever remember anyone asking me if I wanted to be baptized. I do not remember ever being asked if I thought this church was true. I do not at any time, at that young age, ever remember being given the choice to practice my free agency. I do not remember anything but having this religion shoved down my throat from my earliest memories,” I said to him.

Silence.

“I remember being taught that black people had been less valiant and that I should marry in my race. I remember being told, when my wife left the church, that if I was faithful I would get a new wife in heaven and new kids too. I remember being told I should quit my job to be the guiding light in my wife’s life that she needs,” I said.

Silence.

“I love my wife, very much. She is my guiding light bishop, because there are times where I am a huge asshole and she reels me in. I love my children, who teach me more every day about patience and life than I ever learned in the church,” I tell him.

Silence.

“Bishop – no one ever asked me. Did they ask you?” I finished.

“Well, I see no reason to prolong this Eric. I will send this to the Stake President, who will be more than satisfied with our conversation. You will receive a letter from SLC after it has been processed letting you know your names have been removed,” he said.

Eight weeks later we got the letters, telling us our names had been removed, thanking us for our patience, and that “if at any later date you decide you would like to come back to the Church, please feel free to call your local bishop or the missionaries who will be happy to come and talk with you.” And my wife took both letters and threw them in the trash.

In the end, I learned that it is wrong to force anything on anyone (and no, I am not going to go through and give historical examples to prove my point, it has been done already). I realized that everything should be taught and shown, with love and understanding – by example. You can not force anyone to believe in anything.

My wife and I, we have an open relationship with our children. I don’t mean we are there friends, I mean we talk with them, we tell them about life, we let them know what is out there, we talk about drugs, alcohol, and yes – SEX and even Rock & Roll. My kids hate my 80’s music – whatever. I can’t even force that on them.

If you read this through to the end, I thank you and grant you everlasting eyesight – or at least hope you maintained your eyesight throughout my story.

And I thank everyone here for sharing their stories and if they have not yet found peace in their heart and in their life, I hope from the bottom of mine that you do. Life is too short to carry anger for too long.

Nick Erickson

(And yes, mix the letters in my “name” around and you will eventually pull Eric Nickerson out of it all.)



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/11/2011 08:52PM by nickerickson.