Not of This Fold, Page 3

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “This idea that Latinos are the descendants of the Lamanites and that we as Mormons have a duty to bring the gospel to them, there’s an inherent superiority and colonialist attitude about it. I see it in the way that Greg Hope interacts with people every Sunday at church. He’s the white guy with the truth. They have to defer to him.”

  I didn’t see Mormonism that way, but I couldn’t deny I’d seen others who did. “He’s white?” I asked, though it seemed obvious from the name.

  “Yes. He drives me crazy, the way he refuses to listen to them. He pretends, for about two sentences, then goes back to telling them what to do. Just be more like him, pretend to be white. Or be subservient. Accept your place in the world.” She spat out each word.

  I held up my hands. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Maybe he has other qualities that make him a good leader. Or maybe he’s just the kind of person who needs to be called into leadership so he can be shown to be the selfish person he really is.” That was my best attempt at explaining the situation. I didn’t know the man personally, but I’d seen other cases where the men who’d been called to serve were exposed as evil, and that was the only reason I could think of that God might have sanctioned their callings.

  “We have to give up the Book of Mormon, if you ask me. It’s untenable. The history claims, the DNA evidence, the mistakes.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t work as any kind of record, and it reeks of nineteenth-century racism.”

  I had mixed feelings about the arguments about the historicity of the Book of Mormon. Just because we hadn’t yet found archeological evidence or DNA that supported it, didn’t mean it had to be invented.

  “Gwen, I find some of its stories so inspirational. The one of Alma the Younger’s vision and return to the church, the story of Samuel the Lamanite testifying of the coming of Christ, the anti-Nephi-Lehites choosing death by the sword rather than killing again, and Captain Moroni raising the “title of liberty” to fight against the enemies of peace. Not to mention the whole idea that wealth makes people too proud, and always leads to a downfall.”

  Her expression was sour. “I find The Lord of the Rings inspirational, too, but no one calls Tolkien a prophet. Or says that a church should be founded on its teachings in the most literal way possible.”

  “What would we be without the Book of Mormon?” I asked. No different than any other Christian church, it seemed to me. I wasn’t ready to give up Mormonism’s unique points. Not yet.

  But Gwen shook her head again. “A better church. Better able to serve those who need us.”

  I could see why Brad was struggling to get along with Gwen right now. I wasn’t married to her, and felt like our discussion had somehow turned into a debate. She must push his buttons every minute.

  But I loved her, despite all. “I try to trust in God that the church is moving in the right direction,” I said.

  Gwen let out a huff of breath. “After the new policy, you can still say that, Linda?” she asked.

  Her question stung. The POX had been very difficult for me, and I still didn’t know what to make of it. It was a major stumbling block to me believing that the current leaders of the church had special access to God’s voice. I hadn’t seen racism in the Book of Mormon and the existing church structure in the same way, but I should have. Of course there were other problems besides LGBTQ issues that our leadership wasn’t addressing. I tried to remember that I needed to let Gwen vent to me, like I vented to others.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right.”

  We didn’t talk again for a few minutes, and then Gabriela entered with her children. I hadn’t known she would be coming. I waved at her, then at the baby, getting a smile and a wiggle in return.

  Gwen stood up and embraced her. “Gabriela, so good to see you,” Gwen said, and then greeted the woman in Spanish.

  “Linda,” Gabriela said, and gave me an embrace as well.

  “Buenos días,” I said in what even I could tell was a bad accent.

  “I’m so glad you could make it,” Gwen said, turning back to Gabriela.

  “Of course. I’m sorry I’m so late. I had to get the children ready, and you know how children can be . . .” Gabriela trailed off and flushed. Gwen didn’t know how that was, since she didn’t have small children of her own. “They were very grouchy this morning,” she finished.

  “Well, let’s get to work,” Gwen said.

  “Let me help with the little ones,” I said, holding out my arm for Amanda.

  Gabriela relinquished the baby, and I held out a hand to Manuel. Lucia followed after us to the other side of the meeting room, where we could play duck-duck-goose and Who’s Got the Button?, both of which I had to explain to them.

  Little Amanda kept escaping from my arms and crawling speedily toward the open door. I’d chase after her and bring her back, and then the process would start all over again.

  After an hour of child-wrangling, I needed a nap. I’d babysat my granddaughter Carla plenty of times, but she wasn’t as much work as these three. Maybe because she wasn’t mobile yet.

  I remembered that I had some candy in my purse, a couple of packs of leftover Sixlets and a few mini candy bars I’d stuck in my purse in case I needed to keep my strength up when I was out shopping. But I was willing to sacrifice them for a good cause. I let the children have a few pieces each, using the Sixlets as a lure to keep Amanda close by.

  Finally, Gabriela and Gwen were finished talking about the possibility of applying for DACA—Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals. Gwen gave her some numbers to call for further assistance and some paperwork to begin the process.

  “Thank you so much,” said Gabriela as she gathered Amanda into her arms.

  “Your children are wonderful,” I said. “I’m glad to have been able to help.”

  The children waved goodbye to me as Gabriela clucked for them to follow her.

  I didn’t tell Gwen about the phone call I’d overheard at the Trunk or Treat, but I did ask, “What about her husband?” since this was the second time I’d met her and neither she nor the children had mentioned him.

  Gwen explained, “Luis was deported early last year. He first came to the country as an adult from Mexico on a temporary visa and overstayed it for several years. When ICE found him, they deported him immediately, and she was terrified they’d do the same to her, so she had to move and give up her job.”

  “How awful,” I said. Deportations had become all too common lately, in hospitals, courtrooms, and parking lots. It made me wonder what our country had come to.

  “They were married in the Salt Lake temple, but that doesn’t make them legal citizens,” Gwen added.

  “At least they’re sealed eternally, then,” I said, but Gwen gave me a look that made me wish I hadn’t said anything. What use was it for a couple to know they’d be together with their children after they died if they had no time together in the here and now?

  “Gabriela’s parents brought her to Utah from Mexico when she was fourteen. She was only supposed to stay as a visitor, but her parents kept her here in high school long past her visa permit. She’s been getting removal orders ever since, but her parents didn’t tell her anything about it. They’ve both passed away now, though, and it was only after they died that she realized there was a problem with her residency. By then, she felt the United States was her home.”

  “If she gets the paperwork filled out, she should be fine,” I said.

  “If they don’t change the laws again,” Gwen said.

  It was true. The recent rise in anti-immigration sentiment around the country had made it dangerous for all immigrants.

  Gwen and I talked about the tendency for Mormons to vote Republican, even when it seemed anti-family, because of specific social issues like abortion and same-sex marriage.

  “You must
worry about reversals on protections for LGBTQ people after the last election,” Gwen said, making the transition to Samuel again.

  “I am. Every day,” I said.

  It was nice to finally talk to someone who was at least as liberal, or perhaps a bit more so than I was politically. Anna Torstensen, my best friend in the ward, certainly wasn’t. I’d learned not to talk to her about politics, but I felt it had made us less close than we had been. Maybe that was part of the reason I was talking so earnestly with Gwen.

  Toward the afternoon, two more women and one man came in. Gwen talked them through the process, gave them some numbers to call, and loaded them up with paperwork. Then we packed up and headed home.

  Chapter 4

  As Gwen pulled up in front of our house, I spotted Kurt’s car in the garage. So he’d made it back from the scout camp alive. I hoped he’d showered and put a load of laundry in. Since Samuel had gone on his mission, we’d divided some of the household chores. I still did all the cooking and dishes, while Kurt handled bathroom cleaning and laundry.

  Gwen parked in our driveway and turned off the car, meaning she wanted to talk. “I just don’t know how to reconcile the racism I see with what I think the church should be.”

  “The church is filled with flawed people,” I said. “It can’t be anything other than flawed. Our leaders speak to God sometimes, but I’m not sure they can ever fully translate His perfection into our language—or into our institutions.” That was my best way of explaining the gap between the ideal church and the real one for me.

  “It’s one thing to say that there’s a gap. But how can you say that the prophets were listening to God and that they refused to let black people be full participants in the church? How could they have gotten it so wrong?”

  I’d heard Mormons argue that God was behind the priesthood ban, but I couldn’t see it. “I’m not trying to justify it,” I said. “It’s problematic, but I have to say that I don’t see any other church that offers me more of the Christ I love. Mormonism is so good at community, so good at reaching out to the lost sheep, and at teaching us to be less selfish.”

  “I’m not sure that’s my experience lately,” Gwen said darkly. It was probably why she’d decided to become a police officer, because she felt like she could do more there than in the Mormon church to help other people.

  “I’m sorry, Gwen,” I said. “We all have spiritual crises, I think, as we realize that the old God we once believed in is no longer sufficient to our current needs.” Maybe it was the wrong thing for me say to try to convince her about what her experience should be. I often thought people just needed to listen more, and I would try to model that.

  “What? No calls for me to pray and read my scriptures more? Fast every week? Go to the temple?” Her sarcasm was biting.

  I wondered how often Brad had made these suggestions to her. It had clearly been a bad idea. “I know you’re a good person, Gwen. I don’t need to preach to you.”

  “Well, Shannon Carpenter certainly feels like she does,” she sniffed.

  “I know,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean you’re off base. It’s not an easy equation sometimes. Humans aren’t mathematical, and there’s no right or wrong here. We have to try to give each other the benefit of the doubt, and look for the good people are doing even if it’s not what we think is best.” I could tell I was sounding preachy, even after I’d told myself I would listen.

  She sighed. “It sounds like you’re telling me to stay in the boat.”

  That was a phrase used in a recent biennial General Conference pep talk, where the prophets and apostles speak to the members of the church about modern-day issues and their words are considered even more important than older talks or the scriptures. I shook my head, frustrated. “That’s not what I mean at all.” This wasn’t going the way I’d hoped. I needed to be a little more vulnerable, offer her some real truth about my personal history.

  “Then what do you mean?”

  I knew Kurt would be furious if I encouraged Gwen to leave the Mormon church, but sometimes that was exactly what needed to happen. “Well, I don’t know if you know this, but I left Mormonism for a while, many years ago. Before I had children.”

  Gwen looked surprised at this. “You, Linda?”

  I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or not. I smiled. I guessed this wasn’t what people imagined when they saw me next to Kurt at church on Sunday. “Yes. I was going through severe depression, and I blamed God for some terrible things that had happened in my life.” I wasn’t going to get into the details now. “Time away was useful for me. I realized I missed that spiritual high, and even the frustration from interacting with people who didn’t see the world as I did. I needed the community, I guess. I needed that challenge to look beyond myself.”

  “Hmm,” said Gwen. “How long did this last?”

  “Several years.”

  “And when you look back, do you wish you’d stayed in the church?”

  “No, not at all. It was important for me to leave, so I could know what I missed and understand that I valued it.”

  “So is this just a routine story of repentance? You know, one of the ones they show in seminary classes, where a kid’s in a rehab center and finally changes his life for the better?” There was an edge to her voice now, and I knew I had to tread carefully.

  “Gwen, I don’t see you as someone in need of rehabilitation. And no, you never come back the same, if you come back at all. What I’m trying to say is that you need to embrace the truths you find along the way, not push them away. If God exists, and I believe He does, then all of the goodness is part of Him. Just because it doesn’t fit someone else’s rigid view of righteousness, doesn’t mean you should throw it away.”

  Gwen looked directly at me, her eyes soft as her voice had not been. “Thank you, Linda,” she said, and restarted the car.

  I guessed that was my cue to leave, though I felt like I hadn’t done more than touch the surface of the question of her crisis of faith. I hoped I’d given her enough of a reason to trust me with more when she was ready. I got out of the car. I looked back from the porch; Gwen waved at me, then drove away.

  I went into the house and found Kurt in the kitchen, making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  “How’d it go?” he asked.

  I briefly told him about Gabriela and her children. I didn’t feel it was right for me to share any of the questions Gwen had asked me about the history of the church or the literal truth of the Book of Mormon as a record of the American Indians.

  “Do you really think Gwen is a good fit for the Police Academy?” Kurt asked as he pried open the peanut butter jar.

  He must have talked to Brad about it. “I don’t see why not.”

  “You don’t think she’s too . . . small?”

  “That doesn’t mean she’s weak. I think it will give her purpose,” I said. We all needed purpose, didn’t we? And I assumed they’d teach her moves that could compensate for her physical size at the Academy.

  “Maybe,” Kurt said, stirring the jelly absently.

  “What do you think we should send Samuel for Christmas?” I asked, hoping Kurt would go along with the abrupt change of subject.

  Bless him, he did. “I have a few ideas. He might need some cold-weather clothes.” It was true, Samuel hadn’t had to go through the full Boston winter last year since he was in the Missionary Training Center in Provo for part of it.

  “I suppose,” I said hesitantly. I wanted to protect Samuel from the cold as much as any mother did for her son, but hats and gloves were such a boring gift. I wanted to get him something more personal, more fun.

  “We could do the Twelve Days of Christmas for him and his companion,” Kurt said. “Just send some little things every day.”

  I wasn’t sure the mail system would cooperate with us, but I liked the idea. I co
uld mix in store-bought items with homemade goodies. I wished I knew more about his mission companion, though.

  “Why do you think he was transferred again so soon?” I asked. Samuel had written us an email on his last P-day (the once a week preparation day when missionaries didn’t have to proselytize and could have a little fun and get laundry done). He’d told us that he’d been transferred to a new area. Then the next week he wrote that he’d been transferred again, on a non-transfer day, to a new companion. It was odd, but I was trying not to go into full-on mom-worry mode yet.

  “I figure the mission president has his reasons,” Kurt said, taking his first bite of the sandwich. Kurt hadn’t skimped on the peanut butter, and I wondered how he could talk without pausing to unstick his teeth.

  “You’re not curious about what they are?” I asked.

  Kurt shook his head and swallowed hard. “Inspiration strikes at strange times. And maybe there was a personality conflict that he had to deal with.”

  “You think Samuel had a problem with another missionary?” I asked. Samuel was one of the easiest people in the world to get along with. If there was a problem, the odds were that it was about Samuel serving a mission while openly gay, which was very unusual in our church these days. Gay missionaries had served for years, of course, but only secretly.

  “I doubt it,” Kurt said, then took another bite. “Really, the kids in his generation are much less likely to have a problem with someone’s sexual orientation than in ours.”

  That didn’t mean that none of them did, though. “Can you call President Cooper and find out exactly what’s going on?”

  I figured he would have better luck talking to another male priesthood authority in the church than a concerned mother would. Besides, we weren’t supposed to call Samuel directly except twice a year, on Mother’s Day and Christmas. May felt like a long time ago, and I was looking forward to Samuel’s call soon. He could Skype us from a member’s house while the whole family was here, and it would be like we were all together again. Almost.