Almost a Mormon: The Story of Why I Gave up Joseph Smith and Gained Jesus Christ

By Adam Dommeyer

One family vacation to Utah back in 2002 changed Adams entire summer. One Mormon girl in his 9th grade English class altered his path over the following year. One book changed his outlook on faith. One true church had him hooked. Suddenly, one unexpected dream from God transformed the course of his entire life. Join Adam on his quest from Mormonism to the one true FaithChristianityand youll soon realize your own story is about to unfold before your very eyes. Youre about to meet and encounter the One True God!

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: May 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781973625889

Adam Dommeyer

ADAM THOMAS DOMMEYER answered the call of Christ in June 2003 after he almost joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He is the founder and President of Latter-Day Sense Evangelism Ministry, a Christian para-church outreach to the Mormon community. Adam is a licensed and ordained Evangelist through Speak the Word Church International. As an itinerant minister, Adam has been invited to preach and speak in university and church settings. He is currently pursuing his M.A. in Transformational Leadership at Bethel Seminary (St. Paul, MN). He holds a B.S. in Pastoral Ministry from Lee University (Cleveland, TN) and received his Certificate of Achievement from The Perry Stone Mentoring Institute for Ministry. Adam resides in Minneapolis, Minnesota, with his lovely wife, Hannah, and their two vivacious daughters, Ingrid and Liesel. Visit Adam at latterdaysense.org

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ISBN: 978-1-9736-2586-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-2587-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-2588-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018904512

WestBow Press rev. date: 05/01/2018

Unless otherwise indicated, scripture is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked (NIV) are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The NIV and New International Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible® (NASB), Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. www.Lockman.org

The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®) Copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. All rights reserved. ESV Text Edition: 2016.

Scripture quotations marked (NLT) are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright ©1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked HCSB®, are taken from the Holman Christian Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1999, 2000, 2002, 2003, 2009 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission. HCSB® is a federally registered trademark of Holman Bible Publishers.

Scripture taken from the Douay-Rheims 1899 American Edition Bible.

Scripture taken from the American Standard Version of the Bible.

The Holy Bible, Berean Study Bible, BSB Copyright ©2016 by Bible Hub. Used by Permission. All Rights Reserved Worldwide.

Scripture quoted by permission. Quotations designated (NET©) are from the NET Bible® copyright ©1996-2017 by Biblical Studies Press, L.L.C. http://netbible.com All rights reserved.

Scripture taken from the New Heart English Bible.

Growing up in a divorced home…

Jumping from church to church…

Reading a book that sounded too good to be true…

Bearing a testimony I felt was true…

Little did I realize, even the elect can be deceived.

Dedicated to Grandpa Ben and Grandma Lee. I have a relationship with Jesus and I have found salvation in Him because of the two of you. Thank you for being godly followers of Christ and for your endless, multi-faceted support and encouragement. Thank you for modeling an amazing, Biblical marriage. Because of your discerning intercessory prayers, I have received breakthrough after breakthrough in my life. I am eternally grateful for you introducing me to my beautiful and loving wife, Hannah Marie. Through my life, marriage, children, and future, your legacy will live on. I cannot thank the two of you enough. Endlessly, I thank you.

But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, keeping a clear conscience, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behavior in Christ may be ashamed of their slander.

—1 Peter 3:15–16 (NIV)

Yet, my brethren, I have not done these things that I might boast, neither do I tell these things that thereby I might accuse you; but I tell you these things that ye may know that I can answer a clear conscience before God this day.

—Mosiah 2:15

CONTENTS

Foreword

Preface: A Sure Witness

—PART 1—

LOST VIRGINITY

1.     Back Seat

2.     Mountain Dew In The Mountain’s Dew

3.     Sisters

4.     What Happens In Utah, Doesn’t Stay In Utah

5.     Mr. Young

6.     Molly, The Blond Mormon Maiden

7.     Playing Church

—PART 2—

UNPLANNED PREGNANCY

8.     Warm Fuzzies

9.     Green Jell-O

10.   My Prophet

11.   Façade

12.   Blazing Red Flags Or Sapphire Blue Pills

13.   King Joseph

14.   Devil’s Bookstore

15.   Temple Twister

16.   Dead End

17.   Going To Hell In A Hand Basket

18.   Knock-Knock

—PART 3—

NEW BIRTH

19.   Salvation In The Woods

20.   From Working Honey Bees To Graceful Doves

21.   Salt And Pepperdine

22.   Called To Serve

23.   Prophetic Things

24.   Fire And Water

25.   Tongues-In-Cheek

26.   Dreams In Dixie

27.   Y’all Need Jesus

28.   Trying Times

—PART 4—

ABUNDANT LIFE

29.   Verily, Verily, I Say Unto Thee

30.   Livin’ It Up In The Bible Belt

31.   Cult

32.   Elder Holden

33.   All Is Not Well In Zion!

34.   Mint Leaves, Neon Lights, And The Holy Spirit

35.   Latter Rain

36.   Full Circle

Afterword: An Invitation

Acknowledgments

About The Author

Latter-Day Sense Evangelism Ministry

Bibliography

FOREWORD

One of the most powerful, yet profoundly underappreciated scriptures ever written by the apostle Paul can be found in 1 Corinthians 13:11. He claims, When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me (NIV).

The functional application of these words can be applied to so many aspects of the life of a mature adult—the optimal phrase being a mature adult. It still baffles me, at the age of 61, how relatively intelligent men and women can so selectively and so totally disengage their ability to speak, think, and reason like an adult when the subject of religion is presented. I have interviewed and debated some of the finest LDS mathematicians, engineers, and scientists specific to the foundation of Mormonism, only to be completely stunned by their childish responses.

What you will discover within the presentation of this painful, tragic, and ultimately rewarding spiritual journey for the truth, by Adam Dommeyer, are several examples of the real-world demonstration of men and women being physically an adult and yet reasoning like a child.

Gone are the days when any member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints can claim any unfamiliarity or ignorance of the past lies and deceptions of this distinctively American Church. In just the past ten years the Mormon Church has officially and formally published the previously suspected facts confirming that Joseph Smith Jr. lied to his new Church and his new wife by taking nearly 40 additional wives, 12 of which were the wives of other men at the time. The current leadership of the Mormon faith have informed the world that Joseph Smith Jr. placed a small brown stone deep into his hat, then shoved his face into that hat to read the Book of Mormon from the glowing stone, not by translating those gold plates as was earlier claimed.

How much more does it take to dissolve the stubborn pride and arrogance of the Mormon people? As documented within this book and through the personal journey of Adam Dommeyer, the classic mind-control and cultish restriction of thought of the Mormon people has reached new lows.

Consider that the Mormon Church itself has acknowledged the fact that actual papyrus, drawings, and hieroglyphs used to build the fictional Book of Abraham, considered Scripture by the Mormon faithful, have nothing whatsoever to do with the Book of Abraham itself. Yet, year after year, hundreds of thousands of these books are published containing those very same hieroglyphs and drawings as if they do have something to do with the Book of Abraham. As a blatant insult to the limited intellect of the potential reader of the Book of Abraham, these unrelated drawings and hieroglyphs published within the Book of Abraham each has a completely invented translation, which also has nothing whatsoever to do with the Book of Abraham itself.

You will find within this book a complete series of well-documented experiences, exchanges, and examples of precisely this type of dysfunctional disassociation with any religious reality that is so foundational to the Mormon Church. I suggest that within these pages, you may find more than one illustration of both the opportunity and documentation to challenge a Mormon associate, friend, or family member.

Sincerely,

LEE B. BAKER

Former LDS Bishop and High Priest

Multinational Radio Host, Mainstream Mormonism

PREFACE:

A SURE WITNESS

You won’t ever fly fast enough to make time stand still. Stop, listen, and learn.

—August Burns Red, Meddler

There was a long hard time when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth.¹

Such a bitterly cold December day manifested in 2008.

I left the Wednesday night youth service called Elevate at the non-denominational church I attended—Freedom and Grace Church—and drove toward my dad’s home in Woodridge. I was in prayer while driving the van, hungry for the presence of God.

The Lord brought something to my attention.

I made a spontaneous stop.

Night was present.

Blackness in the top of the sky met a deep blue on the horizon and stars glittered the heavens. Such celestial beauty stared down as if God whispered to me, saying—Look at everything I’ve done—with sincere showmanship and a God-fearing say-so.

My route: northbound I-591 in Brickner.

I looked to my right. A gleaming golden statue of the angel Moroni topped the deciduous tree canopy in the distance.

I pulled off the Interstate onto exit 24 to once again see something I had nearly forgotten, though knew in my gut I could never truly forget.

I took a right onto Charleston Avenue. A mile north led me to a place of familiarity. I parked in the middle-class neighborhood on the right side of Charleston that had been developed back in the late 1980s.

Snow dazzled the ground below me and glistened the sky above.

Everything that came down from the sky was white with hues of silver—simply beautiful.

This particular snow drowned out all color, leaving a horizon of dark brown trees sticking out of an endless white surface.

I opened the car door. That same green mini-van I was in six years earlier in Utah was here with me now.

This time, I was not in the back seat learning about Mormonism for the first time. I was in the driver’s seat, and I learned more about Mormonism than I ever wanted to know.

My interest went beyond rudimentary curiosity.

I used to believe everything that the LDS Church had to offer its members and investigators: its doctrine, beliefs, community and family ethics, political outlooks, and most of all, I believed in my heart and confessed with my mouth that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the only true Church on the face of the whole earth. I had been a few weeks away from converting until God showed up back in 2003.

As I pondered those memories on that chilly night, I exhaled a breath of frost and quietly shut the car door.

Flakes landed on my nose, something I only thought could happen in the movies when a boy was about to kiss the girl.

I walked one block and crossed Charleston Avenue.

Walked right up to the dark gray iron fence that separated me from the St. Paul Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Lights lit up the light gray granite exterior at every angle.

’Twas a marvelous sight indeed.

I could not believe I was there.

Again.

Where did the time go?

I did not start tossing holy water on the gates or screaming hellfire at the building as some counter-cult novices would have, abhorring the temple and claiming it was a meeting hall for the devil’s apprentices.²

I simply looked at the building, grabbed the cold fence with my bare hands, put my head down slightly, and wept.

When Jesus Christ came to the town of Bethany where Mary and her sister Martha dwelt, He wept over the death of Lazarus, their brother.

While Jesus groaned in the spirit and wept profusely, some of the Jews said to one another, Could not this man, which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man should not have died?³ The Jews wondered why Jesus Christ did not raise Lazarus from the dead; more specifically, they were frustrated as to why Jesus did not heal Lazarus before he died in the first place!

Would you have been frustrated if you were Mary or Martha, one of the sisters of Lazarus?

Naturally, I probably would have been frustrated. Just a tad.

Martha interrupted Jesus.

Lazarus should’ve been healed before he died.

Lying dead for four days, Lazarus was raised.

Martha needed patience.

Jesus does things in His timing, not our own.

Just as Jesus wept over Lazarus, I wept because I remembered where I came from. I remembered who I almost became. What I almost joined. What I would have once died to uphold.

A pastor of mine once said, You won’t hurt over anything you don’t care about. You won’t hurt over anyone you don’t love.⁴ If a man does not love his brother or neighbor, does he truly love God?⁵

Even though I wept by the fence, reminiscing about the Church I almost joined, I remembered that even though Jesus Christ wept over the death of Lazarus, He eventually raised Lazarus from the dead, and then there was joy among the people.

Jesus was still there when Lazarus was sick.

Jesus wasn’t only there after I came out of believing in Mormonism, He was there when I went through the process of drowning in its teachings.

I thought for years afterward, Why did God allow me to go through this?

His answer was stunning.

He allowed me to delve into the false teachings, though pulled me out before I joined so I would not have to endure the deepest indoctrination while in Mormonism. He pulled me out before I was able to enter the LDS temple to perform unbiblical ceremonies. He allowed me to experience believing in Mormonism so I could go through a trial of faith, only later to be called and equipped to reach Latter-day Saints with the true Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Looking back, I knew I would not have chosen this.

I wouldn’t have even dreamed of this.

Yet, God chose me.

He knew that my life’s calling would not fit into the commonplace paradigm that people wanted for me—the traditional path to the American Dream.

Those who knew me growing up would not understand, and many of them still do not understand. And that’s okay.

I wiped tears from my face and knew that over the past six years of being numb and bitter toward my former Mormon beliefs, I now had a reason to love Mormons.

Madeleine L’Engle once said, The unending paradox is that we do learn through pain. Jesus Christ will judge the hearts of those who believe falsely in the end, as well as the messengers and teachers of their corrupt theology.⁶

I had to know my place.

My place is not a place of judgment against the Latter-day Saint as an individual or social castration of those who may have their hearts right but have their minds entangled in erroneous doctrine.⁷

We have to love people.

If we don’t have the love of God pouring out of us, how do we expect people to come to Christ? Sometimes people try to reach a person’s head, not realizing they need to first reach their heart.

I looked up at the golden statue of Moroni on top of the Mormon temple as a remembrance of a false gospel. Even more powerful, my real place is to look up to God who is priceless and more precious than gold, and follow His golden rule.⁸

Therefore, remember. At the same time, remember Lot’s wife.⁹

Know what you came out of and where you came from. Do not turn back to the thinking of your pre-deliverance, even if it may be enticing at times. Forbidden fruit is deceiving for a reason—the appeal is just too juicy, too elegant, and too good-looking to be true.¹⁰

No one could ever know how much I know that I know that I know that I could never ever go back to the Church I almost joined.

Nobody but God could ever fully know what my experience has been. That’s okay, because it is my experience.

True testimonies are grounded in faith, not in feelings. My testimony is not better or more grandeur than anyone else’s. I submit my testimony to everyone in a humble manner. Each Christian’s testimony is unique to them, and that’s what makes the body of Christ so unique and diverse.

If we all had the same testimony, what would be the point of learning anything from one another? Faith will always be birthed out of the fertile hearts of the repentant, and testimonies will always flood the earth. Unique and inspiring testimonies from Christians around the world shake our ears and, many times, make our eyes flood with water. The Bible says that we are able to triumph over the Devil by (1) the blood of Jesus Christ and (2) the word of our testimony.¹¹ Testimonies are important. Sharing them is essential.

If we believe in our hearts that Jesus is the Son of God, though never confess with our mouths and bear our Christian testimony to others, we miss a key piece of the puzzle to strengthen not only our own faith, but the faith of others.

The language in this book is written to assume the reader knows little or nothing to do with Mormonism, yet the contents are presented to give those who are more than familiar with the Mormon Church a more amply sliced piece of pie that provides fruitful documentation in support of this book’s claims and the affirmation of true, historic Christianity.

This book is not an attempt to be an exhaustive theological work, as there are dozens of books out there that categorically reveal how Mormonism strays from Christianity. There is no point for me to write yet another book on Mormonism for the sake of writing another book on Mormonism.

Many books have been written by ex-Mormons, sharing their stories about how they left the LDS Church and made their way into Christianity. Those are amazing stories, and we need to hear them. After all, many can relate to their testimonies and will be impacted as a result.

Yet there are those stuck in between both worlds: the almost-Mormons. Those who delve into Mormonism and have a testimony, but never end up joining the LDS Church.

One day, a college-aged girl from Utah sent me a gripping email. She told me that she could relate to my story. Her email started off by saying, I was almost a Mormon, too. She continued, There is often a lot of shame in the matter of almost becoming LDS and not going through with it. Shame from both sides, that is. Disappointment from family and having them wonder ‘where they went wrong,’ and disappointment from LDS missionaries and members who are trying to figure out how to still get you involved in what they do. Those words hit the nail on the head.

A man from New Hampshire sent me an email, saying, "Adam, I live with my wife and five children on the East Coast. I believed in the Book of Mormon, though never joined the Mormon Church. I still feel the temptation to revert back into believing LDS doctrines, even though our family continues to attend a local Baptist church. I feel a lot of shame, and I’m not sure how to talk with my wife about this. Any advice?"

Over time, several others reached out with similar stories. This shame is hard to explain, though it can be overcome. This book is a voice to the voiceless, written to those who have difficulty putting into words how they feel about their experiences. This book is written as a testimonial memoir to both Mormon and Christian readers, encouraging everyone to strip down the relentless pride of their particular denominational affiliation to get to the heart of the matter—discovering Truth. This book is also designed for people who have not yet come in contact with Christianity, who have been burnt out by the church, or who have been hurt by religious people.

Life is short. We need to promptly accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior instead of waiting until the eleventh hour in our lives to make that decision. While deathbed confessions of faith that lead to salvation are acceptable to God, why wait until then? Choose Jesus Christ now, for we are not promised tomorrow. James 4:14 states, You do not know what will happen tomorrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.¹²

Back at the fence in front of the Mormon temple, I was no longer ignorant of the worth of what I had almost thrown away. I had nearly forgotten my testimony, though I could not deny my testimony any longer. This story is told in its reality, without a glossy sugar-coating.

With this said, all I can do now is share my uncompromised, unadulterated, unaltered story. It is neither watered down nor embellished. I do not desire to itch people’s ears, nor do I desire to keep hidden things hidden. My story is told in boldness. I am transparent with you. What happened, happened.

While it is not my intention, contents in this book may offend some who read through its pages. Then again, there are people who will get offended by anything. Jesus Christ often offended people—mostly, the religious people.

No matter what side of the fence I’m on, people will be offended either way. If I’m pro-Mormonism, evangelical Christians would disagree with me. If I’m pro-historical Christianity, Mormons would disagree with me.

As my Grandma Lee always says, People criticize what they do not understand. There is good wisdom here, and this is so true.

There are some people who easily whip out the I’m offended card and cut the silver cord to block the Lord’s allowance to plant a seed of hope into their lives.

Instead of getting offended, let God work through your own life as you read this book. Let God’s Word from the Holy Bible stir you to conviction and repentance.

You may not have a passion to reach the Mormon people as I do. That’s okay! Allow God to use the desires and passions He has given you to accomplish His will in your own life. If you do this, you will be amazed at how God works through the process.

Not every aspect of one’s testimony needs to be told publicly. Some facets should only be kept between oneself and God for certain reasons. Some may be kept between the Lord and a third person. For example, there are some things in my past only the Lord knows about. Then, there are other things only my wife knows of that we would never tell another soul. Next, there is public testimony, which is what this book covers.

Experiences in general, if in alignment with the Word of God, are worthy of mention and should be promoted. If experiences are not in alignment with the already-revealed scriptures in the Bible, as in Joseph Smith’s case, then we need to take precaution.

God gets the glory for everything related to this book and my story. In eternity, I will be exalting His name anyway—why bother glorifying myself?

What I present to you in this record is a sure witness of the grace of God.

The struggles I encountered cannot be fully understood by anyone but myself. You are the expert of your own life. No one knows you more than yourself (and God). If you are feeling sick and need to go to the hospital, your body will send you signals, telling you to get help. It is only when you ignore your body’s signals that you stay sick.

Today, many are spiritually sick. Their spirit is telling them that they need to repent and that they need the Lord, though they wrestle and are not able to lay down their life to God because of past hurts, their own ego, and pride. They may deal with a dose of False Legitimacy,¹³ paralyzing them and making them numb to the Truth.

Maybe this is you. Whatever you are struggling with, now is the time to come to the Lord Jesus Christ, repent, and give your life to Him.

Everyone who is now saved by the blood of Jesus Christ has their own personal story of what God delivered them from. This book tells of what I came out of, how I came out of it, and why the true, Biblical Jesus Christ is my rock and foundation to this day and forevermore.

This is my experience. Regardless of what anyone thinks about it, a man with an experience is never at the mercy of a man with a theory. No one will ever know how firmly I gripped that fence on that cold December night. I did so out of love. I did so out of remembrance. I had to stop, listen, and learn.

For your sake, never forget what God delivered you from.

Remember.

But for God’s sake, never forget to press ahead.

Persevere.

—PART 1—

LOST VIRGINITY

My parents bore me for the risky and the beautiful game of life, for earth, water, air, and fire. I failed them, I was not happy. Their youthful hope for me unfulfilled.

—Jorge Luis Borges, Remorse

CHAPTER 1

BACK SEAT

Words are things, and a small drink of ink, falling like dew upon a thought, produces that which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.

—Lord Byron

Crisp blades of green grass lingered in stillness, covered in the morning’s dew. Looking outside into the backyard from my downstairs bedroom window, a sunrise had yet to manifest in its fullness. Only a dim ray of light unveiled beyond the horizon.

Rubbing the sleepiness out of my eyes, I threw on a pair of shorts. Being all-too-prepared for the blistering June day our family was about to embark on in the summer of 2002, the twentieth day of the month was such a beautiful Thursday.

Flick. A light switch came on in my memory. Not only was summer a plus because school was out—it was also the first day of a week-and-a-half vacation. Double plus. Thank God I had already packed my forest-green suitcase, the same one I burned a hole in by letting it sit under a light bulb for too long in the trunk of a car during a vacation two years prior.

My footsteps hammered up the stairs to the top floor of our house and then I jumped into our family’s brand-new laurel green, 2001 Honda Odyssey minivan. A vehicle most compatible for driving to soccer games two miles away was about to be tested for our 3,300-mile circle tour out to the American frontier, the Wild West, and back. We were about to drive through South Dakota and Wyoming, south into Idaho and Utah, and back east to Minnesota through Colorado, Nebraska, and Iowa.

A fourteen-year-old boy (such as myself at the time) always sought out new adventures, whether it was vacationing, hunting the well-populated black-capped Chickadee birds with my camouflage Daisy BB gun, or building defensive forts in the backyard to guard against the non-existent neighborhood enemies during my childhood. This trip was not the usual drive up north to a family cabin on a lake such as the typical Minnesotan getaway was for some families. A land full of dry arid weather and huge insurmountable mountains (which seemed to mirror Everest) was ahead. I sat jittered in the back seat. I was crammed and cramped at first. Another growth spurt made me taller for the girls. As a term of endearment, people called me Bean Sprout, so I had to own up to the nickname.

The positive anxiety of impatiently waiting for the vacation to come just never seemed to end. But why should it? The thrill before a trip is half the exhilaration. Pulling out of the driveway, I looked at those green blades of grass I was so used to cutting when I mowed the lawn every summer. I loved making that extra twenty bucks. What a sheer memory of such a shear-looking yard. Chores were momentarily over. Choruses rang. My role was to sit back in the back seat of the van and enjoy the nine-hour drive to Rapid City, South Dakota.

Along the drive, I did not hesitate to pull out my Aiwa CD player my dad bought me for my tenth birthday in 1997. I slipped Nickelback’s Silver Side Up album into the player and began listening to all ten tracks. I needed something else. Another CD would perhaps fill the void. Even though I owned Hanson’s Middle of Nowhere album and Creed’s Human Clay album, I left them at home. The first one was left at home for a reason. I knew I wouldn’t miss the Hanson album. Those days were gone quickly. I was not into the Mmm-bop, doo-bop tunes anymore, though I later learned Hanson was one of my wife’s favorite bands. Oh how life goes in full circles!

My dad drove the entire time and my step-mom sat shotgun. Aaron and Lindsey, my brother and sister, sat in the middle seat. Once a year, our family had a tradition of taking a summer vacation to some part of the country. Since we had outgrown Disney World, the stereotypical land of unwanted outlaws with boot spurs was next. We endured south on I-35 for a few hours, then turned west onto I-90 at a 90-degree angle.

We were out of Minnesota and into South Dakota.

Cornfields. You know you’re bored when you’ve become gratified by seeing green bean fields.

Finally, the terrain changed after crossing the Missouri River. We passed Badlands National Park. Our western expansion continued. All of a sudden, we reached the westernmost part of South Dakota—Rapid City—the state’s second largest city, and also one of the Midwest’s last border regions when it came to the regional U.S. Census map. We were going to enter, well, the middle of nowhere! Middle of Nowhere started to remind me of that Hanson album. We stayed overnight in the Black Hills and continued our journey.

Characteristically, driving through Sturgis is a disappointment if you don’t own a Harley. That’s like going pheasant hunting without a gun. Well, sort of. We made it to Wyoming and found a quaint town named Sundance. Devil’s Tower was in sight to the north. Stopping for breaks on a vacation meant more and more snacks and sodas to a teenager. Those pit stops caught my attention. My attention being my appetite.

I sipped on a can of Mountain Dew. Sure hit the spot.

Finally, back to that Nickelback CD. "It’s too bad, it’s stupid, too late, too long, so wrong … We had no time to rewind, let’s walk, let’s talk…" My favorite track, Too Bad, kept on repeating over and over in my head, reminding me of the time in my life when my parents divorced and how I wished I could have rewound the clock to prevent it from happening. The song made me sad, angry, and vigorously excited all at once. Such a trinity of feelings made my heart shine of glitter. Not in the Edward Cullen way. In a vivacious way. Yet it made me feel like I could change the gears in the lives of my parents. Replace the dead spark plugs, so to speak.

I felt as if I could change whatever I wanted to in the lives of others. Such was not the case. I learned the hard way. There were some things I knew deep down I wished I could change.

What parents oftentimes do not realize is that their kids pick up on the emotional atmosphere in their home. Children know when something’s wrong.

I was in kindergarten at the time of my parents’ divorce in 1994.

And so it was. When parents decide to divorce, the children often suffer silently. I tried to walk a fine line between my parents, trying not to upset one or the other.¹⁴ I never blamed myself for their divorce, and rightly so. I knew it had nothing to do with me. I never blamed either of them for it. However, that didn’t stop me from being negatively affected by it.

Hidden Prairie Elementary was the perfect school for me as far as the teachers were concerned. As to the situation with my classmates, I was in the tornado’s anticipated path, ripped to shreds by bullies. That’s how every day in the hallway at school felt. According to them, I was too quiet, my clothes weren’t cool, my front teeth were too big, and I didn’t have the same interests. I withdrew from everything.

I was so quiet that I was even assigned a teaching assistant who pulled me out in the hallway every day in an attempt to grasp why I wasn’t talking to anyone. As if a professional was about to analyze me and fix everything? I doubted that.

Experiences that haunt you cannot be expressed with words.

I remained 100 percent quiet. Silence speaks. And it often speaks loudly.

As the elementary years progressed, or should I say, digressed, friendships were nonexistent.

After I got home from school one day, I sat under the ash tree in our front yard. Bowing my head, I talked to God. I knew from an early age that God was real. Jesus, I want my family to be okay. Make Mom and Dad get along. I want to be happy. Keep me safe. Prayers of rest in a time of unrest purified my conscience, and I knew this at the time. I prayed whenever I could. I knew Jesus Christ existed and that He was God. Something inside of me from a very young age knew God existed, even before what some would say was the age of accountability. I wanted my parents to want to be with each other. I didn’t want them to see spots in each other.¹⁵ I wanted them to ravish each other’s hearts.¹⁶ I knew that my dad did truly, truly love my mom.

Why didn’t God answer my prayers for my parents to get back together? So many times, believers get so behooved when they pray for something that does not come to pass the way they want it to. The Epistle of James says if we lack wisdom, let [us] ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him. Right, that’s true, but the next verse says, "Let him ask in faith, nothing wavering. For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed."¹⁷ True faith was the key! If our prayers are not in God’s will, they will not come to pass. If our prayer is in God’s will but not in God’s timing, it will not come to pass the way we want it to.

I tried praying in the van as I drowned my ears in secular music. That was like asking Gideon to pray to the gods of the Amorites under his breath right at the moment when an angel from the Lord spoke with him under the oak tree.¹⁸ It just didn’t happen.

I asked my dad if I could borrow the map. After all, I toyed with the childhood aspiration of being a cartographer when I got older. Maps drew out my nerdy side. That never got me in trouble, especially when I rode shotgun while my driver was lost and didn’t have a map. As Brendan Fraser once eloquently said in one of my favorite movies, The Mummy: Relax! I’m the map!¹⁹ That’s exactly how I functioned and answered anyone if they ever got lost when I was around.

Paging through the Rand McNally U.S. roadmap, I turned to the state of Utah. I didn’t think Utah met the bar of the required 60,000 people needed by Congress to even qualify for statehood.²⁰ To my surprise, Utah had five times more people than Wyoming, so that counted for something! To that end, I was surprised Wyoming was even a state.

My preliminary quirks began to dissolve as soon as I actually looked at the map. Salt Lake City stood out to me like a sore thumb. Another place appeared: Mormon Temple. I was unfamiliar with the term Mormon.

I grew impatient.

Why had I anticipated something on the trip I could not explain?

CHAPTER 2

MOUNTAIN DEW IN THE MOUNTAIN’S DEW

When God seems absent and everything is going wrong, will you still trust God enough to patiently allow Him to prepare you for what’s ahead? ²¹

—Bruce Wilkinson, The Dream Giver

Something bulged out of the van seat pocket in front of me. I pulled out a travel book titled Fodor’s Utah. I went to the topical index and looked up the term Mormon, only to find at least a dozen pages which referenced early Utah settlements and the pioneer days.

I paged through the book for hours.

Everything was new.

The book talked about the first Utahns—Native Americans known as the Anasazi, Shoshone, Ute, Navajo, and the Paiute people. There were several Native American sites in Utah, along with prehistoric fresco patterns on walls that the natives embellished hunting scenes thereon. Fines up to $20,000 and possible imprisonment were dished out if the Native American ruins were tampered with.²²

After Spanish forces under Cortez took over Mexico, a conquistador named Coronado rode north into what is now New Mexico, Arizona, and California, looking for gold. The Spanish needed a route around the Natives in order to trade from coast to coast. Father Francisco Atanasio Dominguez and Father Silvestre Velez de Escalante ventured on an expedition out West only one month after the Continental Congress issued the Declaration of Independence in 1776. Their specific mission was to establish missions amongst the Natives. I strongly desired to see this land that Dominguez and Escalante described, in that the river poplars were so green and leafy, the flowers and blooms which the land produces so flamboyant and without damage whatsoever.²³

The two Catholic priests did not succeed in their mission.

The Native Americans did not convert.

A northern route to California through Utah’s passageways was not found. Utah was never fully colonized by the Spanish. According to early explorers, present-day Utah was seen as the most pleasing, beautiful, and fertile site in all New Spain. If the Catholic priests succeeded in converting the Native Americans, Utahns would be speaking Spanish, and the state of Utah today would be the home of Spanish-speaking Catholic priests instead of English-speaking Mormon bishops.²⁴

We stopped at a local gas station. Thirst arose. Growing up on Mountain Dew, I settled for nothing less. Sometimes H2O came in second to that neon-green sugary goodness. After all, Mountain Dew was the nectar of the Gods. That would be a true statement if there were many Gods. Growing up in church, I knew there was only one God. I mean, obviously. Everyone knows that, right? God is the Most High, and there is none like Him! The prophet Isaiah quotes God himself as saying, Remember the former things of old: for I am God, and there is none else; I am God, and there is none like me.²⁵

Mountain Dew was the nurtured by-product of familial taste and chartreuse-green allure that practically ran down our family lines and pumped through our veins, starting with my paternal grandfather, Ben. The inerrant soda drink might as well have been embedded within our strands of DNA, the brand itself an heirloom of essential importance and unneglectable savor. Every time my brother and I left our grandparents’ home in Hudson, Wisconsin, Grandpa Ben offered each of us a can of the yellow-green lifeblood that kept us coming back for more.

I sipped on the can. Back in the car, we continued driving west through the Bighorn Mountains. In this lonely expansion of empty land, I studied Fodor’s Utah, learning an unbiased story of Mormonism. The book wasn’t biased.²⁶ There was a picture of a rare sketch of Joseph Smith and his brother, Hyrum Smith.²⁷ Another picture showed Joseph receiving the Urim and Thummim from an angel.²⁸ Joseph Smith started a church, became the movement’s prophet, and persecution arose as they moved from New York to Ohio, Missouri, Illinois, and finally to Utah. Smith was martyred in Illinois by a mob. Brigham Young took over and led the Mormons out west.

I looked out of the car window. The scenery outside of the van was breathtaking. Everything was uphill from here. Literally and figuratively.

Next up, Cody, Wyoming, was a town that emulated cowboy-central, right on the foothills of the Rockies. Mountains blanketed the background. I acutely beheld accurate beauty. The Alps might’ve been one thing in Europe, the Himalayas in Asia, the Andes in South America; but in North America?—the Rockies were unlike any other mountain chain imaginable on this continent. I was smack-dab in the middle of a supernatural foundry of God-breathed works and wonders. Noticing such raw nature of the world God made, I began to believe that God doesn’t speak to us through the cool of culture; he speaks in gentle whispers.²⁹ These gentle whispers could be found in the wild where no distractions existed in the arid desert valleys and snow-capped peaks of the Rockies. Earthly beauty was beheld alright, but I held onto God’s glory even tighter.

Instead of the arid orange eastern Wyoming basin and Bighorn Mountains, moss-laden green forests manifested. For two nights we stayed at the Old Faithful Inn in the center of Yellowstone National Park. We ate dinner at the lodge, a dwelling that reminded me of the cabin in The Great Outdoors, yet seven times classier. I thought of the glorious outdoor environment that surrounded us. This North American Garden of Eden would be more than a quip after learning about this phrase’s application to Mormon doctrine.³⁰

My thoughts returned to what I read about the Mormon Church. I was aware of the Presbyterian Church, the Methodist Church, and the Baptist Church. Presbyterians followed a presbyter model of congregational leadership, Methodists were adherents of John Wesley’s Methodism influence, and Baptists focused on baptism. Every denomination’s name described what they believe, what they practiced, or whom they were founded by. What did the Mormon Church mean? What was the name Mormon anyway, and where did it come from?³¹ I needed knowledge. The Bible says, The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge: but fools despise wisdom and instruction.³²

What did Lutherans think of Mormons?

What did Mormons think of Lutherans?

Could there be any compromise between the two?

Any common ground?

A bridge built between the two?

Mormonism drew me in. An angel appeared to Joseph Smith. Why didn’t an angel appear to Martin Luther, the founder of my denomination?

I yearned to know more.

I could not wait to enter Utah.

The following Mormon hymn described how I felt inside:

Does the journey seem long, the path rugged and steep? Are there briars and thorns on the way? Do sharp stones cut your feet as you struggle to rise to the heights thru the heat of the day? Is your heart faint and sad, your soul weary within, as you toil ’neath your burden of care? Does the load heavy seem you are forced now to lift? Is there no one your burden to share? Let your heart be not faint now the journey’s begun; there is One who still beckons to you. So look upward in joy and take hold of His hand; He will lead you to heights that are new—a land holy and pure, where all trouble doth end, and your life shall be free from all sin, where no tears shall be shed, for no sorrows remain. Take His hand and with Him enter in.³³

CHAPTER 3

SISTERS

I saw its birth, I watched it grow. I felt it change me. I took the life, I ate it slow. Now it consumes me.

—AFI, The Leaving Song Pt. 2

I found myself in an unfamiliar place.

Salt Lake City, Utah.

Smack-dab in the middle of the West.

Halfway north and south between the Mexican and Canadian borders.

Halfway between the Pacific Ocean and my home in Minnesota.

I felt as if I was caught halfway between heaven and earth—everything was gorgeous.

As soon as we entered the Salt Lake Valley, I realized it was heaven in a bowl. Nestled between the Wasatch Front and the Oquirrh Mountains, Salt Lake City shared the nest with its suburbs to the south.

A grand metropolitan area like this distinguished itself from what I was used to: this city was nice and, for the most part, well kept. The Salt Lake City skyline was modestly beautiful. There were a handful of high-rise buildings, though this was no Chicago or Atlanta.

Our family stayed in a hotel downtown. We started our Sunday afternoon walking to Temple Square, entering through the South Gate. Temple Square resonated in my mind.

I had visited the St. Paul Cathedral in St. Paul, Minnesota, as well as St. Mary’s Basilica in Minneapolis, yet this architectural feat was notably different at first glance. There were large walls surrounding the entire Square that took two square blocks of downtown space.

My dad told me something important about Temple Square: I want you to look out for the Mormon missionaries. They will be nice, but they’ll try to convert you. Just be careful. They tend to use really pretty girls to pull you in.

A travel guidebook agreed, saying, Be forewarned, though: Mormons are practically missionaries by definition, and will, with only the slightest encouragement, want to enthusiastically help you see the wisdom of their ways.³⁴ Anyone from any religious sect would want you to join their church, right? This made perfect sense. I put my dad’s remarks on the back burner.

We stumbled into the South Visitors’ Center right next to the South Gate and viewed a number of interactive exhibits, ranging from Strengthening Families to Building the Salt Lake Temple. The spark to my flame grew. I read quotes from past Church leaders. Mormon faces and their vast empire of followers came alive to me. Being a witness to this kind of a place took guts.

What was their Church really all about? I read all of what the travel book had to say, though I still did not understand. Missionaries shined light on their ways and gave off an outward sparkle. Outward beauty had to reflect an inward beauty, right? Beauty was definitely in the eye of the beholder. The temple was the beauty and I was the beholder. Such a sparkle snatched my attention and I could not drift my attention away.

Salt Lake City was the Mecca of Mormonism—Temple Square was the Ka’ba of Mormonism. Temple Square is the number one tourist center in Utah and the world headquarters of the Mormon Church. Temple Square acquires anywhere between 3 to 5 million visitors annually from around the world, even more than Yellowstone National Park, or any of Utah’s national parks. Forbes Magazine is in agreement that Temple Square ranks sixteenth in number of visitors out of any tourist spot in the United States.³⁵ We decided to take a tour of Temple Square.³⁶

Immediately, we were assigned two Mormon missionaries as our guides. One was a black-haired girl who hailed from Hawaii and the other was a skinny blond girl from Austria. The Mormon Church has female missionaries offering tours at Temple Square, rather than male missionaries.³⁷ I couldn’t complain. The two female Mormon missionaries were nothing short of pure gorgeousness. Walking the grounds was, well, wow. The landscaping was intricate and pretty. Everything bloomed. This beauty reminded me of Japanese cherry blossom fields. The Mormon Church really did have the greatest first impression. I wanted in.

I looked at the Hawaiian girl and smiled, blushing a little bit too. I gave a smile to the Austrian one. And yes, they were even prettier than my dad had warned me about.

I’m Sister Meissner and this is Sister Kealoha, said the blond Austrian, pointing to the Hawaiian afterward. "We are sister missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints³⁸ and we will be your tour guides for the afternoon!"

Yes! This was the first time I ever wondered if a Mormon girl could date a non-Mormon guy.³⁹ Just sayin’.

First, we walked westward out of the South Visitors’ Center and saw a statue I would never forget. The Seagull Monument was created by Mormon sculptor Mahonri M. Young, commissioned by the Church to create the structure,⁴⁰ and later dedicated by Mormon President Joseph F. Smith in 1913. The monument consists of two bronze seagulls on the top of a granite pillar; at the base are four relief panels, depicting the miracle of the seagulls as an engraved mural. In front of the monument is the Assembly Hall, a Victorian Gothic structure with several white spires on its roof, constructed between 1877 and 1882. Next, we walked along the pathway and meandered around to the Salt Lake Tabernacle, home of the world-renowned Mormon Tabernacle Choir. This was a large, oval-shaped building fashioned like an egg, which seats 7,000 people and has an intimidating 11,623-pipe organ inside.⁴¹ The best part about the Tabernacle was its acoustical resonance. If a pin is dropped from the pulpit, the audience can hear it from the back of the tabernacle. The architecture was unique and Temple Square had a vibrant juncture of modern artistry and nineteenth-century influences that made everything distinctly Mormon. Inside the North Visitors’ Center, we ventured up the circular staircase into a striking room. Right in front of me was an 11-foot-tall white Christus statue. Behind the lifeless Savior was a ceiling mural resembling starry heavens.⁴² We went down to the first floor. Displayed on a round tiered table were copies of the Book of Mormon in every language. Reminded me of a literary cupcake display.

As you can see, our missionaries take the restored gospel of Jesus Christ around the world to people who have not yet had the chance to hear the good news, the von Trapp look-alike said gracefully. The Biblical gospel was the good news⁴³ of the New Testament: Jesus Christ was God incarnate⁴⁴ and He made the one-time sacrifice for the sins of mankind by dying on the cross.⁴⁵ He was buried,⁴⁶ resurrected,⁴⁷ and ascended into Heaven.⁴⁸

Most importantly, by believing in Him and His work, we may have eternal life.⁴⁹ How did the Book of Mormon contain the restored gospel? That would mean that the Good News had been lost, right?

I picked up an English copy of the Book of Mormon from the round table. Wow, I said aloud. Shaking my head up and down, I said, This is really something.

Looking at my dad, Sister Meissner asked, "Would you like a few copies of the Book of Mormon to take with you? We would be happy to give them to you and your family!"

Thanks, but no thanks, he responded politely. We walked out of North Visitors’ Center and over to the Salt Lake Temple—the big kahuna of Temple Square.

Sister Kealoha spoke. I watched her lips as they opened, and yes, I finally looked at the temple. This is the Salt Lake Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is not open to the public; only worthy church members may enter. Made of granite, it took the Saints forty years to complete.⁵⁰

Wait a second—hold the phone—the general public couldn’t go in?

Dad, I whispered, Why can’t we go in?

Responding without rudeness, my dad whispered to me, saying, Because we’re not members of the Church—they only let Mormons go in there. First thing that popped into my mind was wondering what went on in the temple. The second thing that popped into my mind was becoming a Mormon so I could go inside. At the time, that second half-joke/half-serious thought tilted a little more toward the half-serious side.

I was curious. Something drew me in.

Sister