On Being You

Chapter 20: Letters to a Leaving Mormon

I didn’t kiss a boy until I was sixteen. It was a small, pathetic kiss that finally arrived as a brief moment on my lips before I awkwardly hopped out the door of my boyfriend’s car in the driveway. I remember walking up the front steps of my house under the moonlight, not feeling excited, but nervous that I was going to have to account for all the ways in which I was changing.  I remember coming in the front door that Friday night at midnight and cautiously looking at my dad, wondering if he could tell. I was sure that there was some physical evidence of my act, some change in my countenance that would give me away. 

I said goodnight to my dad, who seemed unfazed, and went to wash my face and brush my teeth in the bathroom. I looked in the mirror for a long time, scrutinizing myself for some change. I did not tell my family I’d kissed a boy the next day, or ever. And no one ever guessed it had happened. When I kissed other boys, I kept it to myself. Each time, I was surprised that no one noticed a change in me because of my actions. 

In October of 2005 I was a missionary in Uruguay. Elder Faust gave a talk that, at the time, filled me with energy and vigor for the work. He spoke of the Jerusalem Center and the agreement to not proselytize in the country, and the response of a friend who said, “Oh, we know that you are not going to proselyte, but what are you going to do about the light that is in their eyes?”

More than anything in the world, I wanted light in my eyes. I wanted to be good. I wanted people to feel love and be cared for. I thought I could lead them to this by the specific knowledge I had as a member of the one true church. 

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