Mormonism, the Matrix, and Me: My Journey from Kolob to Calvary

Preface

My purposes in writing this book are multifold; the greatest of which is to give glory to God for leading me on an exciting adventure through life, an adventure with unexpected twists and turns as He brought me increasingly nearer to Himself and His truth. He is still leading me, revealing Himself through His word—the Tanakh and Apostolic writings (Old and New Testaments).

I hope to show those who eschew Mormons that Latter-day Saints are not caricatures of their religion. They are individuals with hopes and dreams, wanting only the best for themselves and their families. As a whole they aspire to do great things, to make a difference, to live their beliefs according to the dictates of their own consciences without prejudice or reprisal. As with any religion, you will find a wide range of personal beliefs and practices among members. Some adherents will be very devout and strictly follow the fundamental teachings of their leaders past and present; while others identify themselves as members in name only. Along that spectrum are individuals who believe everything their religion purports to be true, as well as those who only believe some of what it claims to be true. Thus, to pigeonhole all Mormons, ex-Mormons, Jews, Protestants, Catholics, Muslims, or any group for that matter, as being or believing a certain way is both unfair and unwise.

I hope to show Mormons that those who leave the Church and speak out about its doctrines and practices should not all be vilified as mean-spirited anti-Mormons who, after being offended or too weak to live the gospel, have some axe to grind under the influence of Satan. To the contrary, most of us leaving Mormonism do so for intellectually and spiritually honest reasons. We, too, aspire to do good, to make a difference, and to reach out to our LDS families and friends who are not acquainted with the troubling aspects of the Church, who might make different choices if only they had known. People have a right to know all the available facts about the group or organization they are a part of (or considering becoming a part of). This applies to all religious institutions.

To the detractors (Mormon apologists) who use the same old worn-out criticisms of those leaving the Church, and who accuse us of using the same old worn-out arguments against Mormonism, let me say this: those arguments were not old and worn-out to us. They were new and fresh and raw and personally devastating. Perhaps you’ve been able to reconcile the discrepancies and problems in such a way as to maintain your belief in Mormonism, and if you value loyalty to the Church as paramount, then that’s an issue between you and God. It’s not my place to condemn your personal convictions. If you are being true to your beliefs, I can respect that. But I would ask the same courtesy. Those of us who have left the Church were not able to reconcile the problems we saw in good conscience. We valued loyalty to spiritual integrity and intellectual honesty as paramount. To launch ad hominem attacks or dismiss our heartfelt concerns as irrelevant or trite is unfair, uncharitable, and unbecoming of someone claiming to be a representative of Christ and his church.

This book is more autobiographical than polemic in nature. Ideally, readers will be able to empathize and understand Mormon life better through the eyes of a mother of ten children who lived, breathed, and believed it wholeheartedly. Because the book is not meant to be an exhaustive treatment of the LDS religion, extensive references are not included. The references are best considered as starting points for those who are serious about engaging in further research.

This is my story, my experience with Mormonism. If you’re LDS, some of my experiences may resonate with you and others will not. That’s okay. I’m not telling you what to believe. I’m just inviting you to share in my journey, and if you so choose, to examine your faith and see what it’s founded on. You might decide you like things just as they are, or you might decide you want to know more before continuing on your path in Mormonism. It’s your life, your eternal destiny to consider. No one can make that decision for you.

From a theological standpoint I can no more say that all self-identifying Mormons are going to hell than all self-identifying Christians are going to heaven. The matter of who is being redeemed and who is not is one of the mysteries known to God alone. All I can state with any assurance is to repeat the words of the Master, who warned, If you do not trust that I AM [who I say I am], you will die in your sins (John 8:24, CJB).It’s imperative that we not only know about the Almighty, but that we know Him on a personal level.

Each of us—atheist or theist, regardless of religious affiliation—must decide who Jesus is based on the evidence. Is he merely a man or is he divine? Is he our older spirit-brother and brother of Lucifer or is he God incarnate? Did he progress to the status of godhood over time or was he always God (John 1:1)? Was he conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit or was he the literal physical offspring of God the Father? Is he the Messiah foretold by Hebrew prophets to establish the Kingdom of God on earth or is he an Exalted Being from Kolob sent to establish the Mormon Church? Did he come to reconcile man to God or did he come to make gods of men?

Whatever our conclusions, let them be based on the preponderance of evidence and not on feelings, spiritual experiences alone, or wishful thinking. Truth has nothing to hide. The truth will set us free.

Introduction

My choice would be as monumental as Neo’s was in the 1999 movie The Matrix. I had the figurative red and blue pills placed before me, each carrying significant consequences no matter which one I chose. The movie’s plot is that humans have become slaves under a system of Artificial Intelligence that keeps their minds blinded to reality by the Matrix, which generates a virtual reality for its victims. While people believe they’re living as doctors, lawyers, businessmen, teachers, and more, in actuality they are hooked up to machines that use their bodies as fuel.

Neo must choose which path to follow. He can take the blue pill offered to him and wake up in bed as if nothing had happened and believe whatever [he] wants to believe. If he takes the red pill he’ll be shown, like Alice in Wonderland, how deep the rabbit hole goes. Neo carefully considers and chooses the red pill. His mind disconnects from the Matrix and he sees the world as it really is; a ravaged, desolate wasteland caused by a war fought between man and machine.

I contemplated the question posed by my husband, Scott; If the Church isn’t true, would you want to know? I thought about my life as a Mormon and how it encompassed every aspect of my being. All my decisions were based on the premise that Mormonism was the only true religion on the face of the earth, and no one could live in eternity with God unless he was a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

No, I answered, reaching for the blue pill. I wouldn’t want to know. It would be too scary. I mean, if Mormonism isn’t true, what is? Even if it isn’t, it’s still the best thing out there.

Scott nodded in agreement. Right, what other church teaches so many good things and is so family-oriented?

That conversation became a benchmark for what followed over the months ahead; for what purpose does truth serve if it isn’t sought after and followed? I came to understand that truth does matter, as it will either convict and condemn us or vindicate and set us free.

In what discipline does truth not matter? The artist must understand basic truths about color; hue, value, and saturation. A composer must understand the elements of rhythm, melody, harmony, and texture to create musical order. Rocket scientists must understand the dynamics of propulsion, physics, and mathematics. Everything that means anything must be based on some type of truth or it can’t function properly, if at all. Likewise, there are truths in the spiritual realm on which we must rely; truths which exist independent of our belief in them, bringing us back to the allegory of the Matrix.

As explained in the movie, The Matrix is a computer-generated dream-world created to keep us under control, to turn us... into a power source for advanced smart machines. By way of analogy we can say a spiritual Matrix exists; one that is demonically generated to keep us in the dark and turn us into fuel that feeds the very fires of hell. The Matrix is the system of spiritual deception used by the Enemy of our souls to keep us blinded to God’s truth. It manifests itself through all worldviews not in harmony with biblical truth, be it atheism, humanism, polytheism, or aberrant theistic philosophies and religions.

In my case it was Mormonism that kept me from knowing the truth about the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; Jesus the Messiah; and redemption. This is my story, my testimony of how the Everlasting God brought me out of the kingdom of darkness into the kingdom of light.

Chapter 1 Zion, Here I Come!

The Matrix is everywhere. It is all around us, even now, in this very room. You can see it when you look out your window or when you turn on your television. You can feel it when you go to work, when you go to church, when you pay your taxes. It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth.

Morpheus ~ The Matrix

I didn't see the telephone pole coming until it slammed into the front of my car. Actually there wasn't much damage, and it wouldn't have been so bad except for one minor detail; I had just turned sixteen and was taking the driving exam to get my license. I was trying to impress the test administrator with my amazingly skillful maneuvers while making a U-turn. Somehow the turn wasn’t tight enough, and before I could hit the brake I hit the pole.

The humor of the situation struck me so profoundly that I could barely contain my laughter. Subdued chuckles burst from me every few minutes on the drive back to the Department of Motor Vehicles like geysers at Yosemite National Park. Surely the examiner would write this off as some freak incident recited from Murphy's Law of Teenage disasters, like waking up on the day of junior prom with a zit bigger than the double-bacon-grease-burger you ate the night before or some other once-in-a-lifetime misfortune.

I kept glancing at the man, searching for any hint of a smile, but all I saw was his hands, white from gripping the seat belt too tightly, and a pained expression on his face that led me to believe he needed a bathroom fast. Being a keenly observant and astute young woman, I surmised that he wanted me to keep my eyes on the road. When we got back to the Department of Motor Vehicles’ parking lot (and after he leapt from the car) I asked him with unabashed expectation if he was going to give me my license. He mustered up a polite smile and told me to come back when I knew how to drive.

Six months after finally getting my license I returned to the DMV, this time armed with a motorcycle belonging to a friend. I wanted to be as versatile as possible and get as many permits as I could. Weaving in between the little orange cones was no problem. Executing skillful and smooth turns was a breeze. Coming to complete stops at the proper markings in the test area was a flawless feat no less professional than what you would see at a police academy for training traffic officers. What presented a problem was driving in a straight line back to where the examiner was standing, at which time I side-swiped a parked car with my knee, resulting in a slow motion, sliding crash. The last thing I remembered was hearing my friend, David shouting, Catch her! She's fainting! and waking up on the hood of a random car.

It was reminiscent of what you'd find in a romance novel. Not the crash itself, but being swept up into the arms of the hero after you've fainted and being gently laid down on the hood of a car (a sports model no doubt) and waking up to gaze into the eyes of…the handsome hero? Not this time. The eyes I gazed into belonged to the same guy who gave me my driving exam six months earlier. That was not romantic; it was a nightmare! I'm sure visions of monster telephone poles flashed across his mind when my helmet was removed and he recognized my face. Clearly I didn't pass the test. After being assured that I would survive, he turned without a word and walked back inside, probably to arrange for his family to move out of state and away from any roads I might be driving on.

Eventually, I got my motorcycle permit and life in Utah continued to be a wonderful adventure. The move from Canoga Park, California eighteen months prior was exciting for my whole family, but especially for me. You see, I planned on marrying my Prince Charming, Donny Osmond, and living happily ever after. My heart was set on this teenage heartthrob, the seventh of nine children born to George and Olive Osmond. In my estimation Donny was the handsomest one of six performing brothers who made the Top Ten pop charts numerous times during the 1970’s. The Donny Osmond dream didn’t work out so well for me, but in time the happily ever after began the day I met my eternal king; the Prince of Peace. I guess I should start at the beginning.

I was raised by my mother, aunt, and maternal grandparents until my mom remarried when I was nine years old. As an only child I was precocious, spoiled, and curious about the world around me. Except for my baptism in a Methodist church and brief attendance at a Baptist Sunday school when I was quite young, I had very little formal religious training and was left to my own devices on how to find spiritual truth. Intrinsically I knew there was an All-Powerful God, but He seemed a little scary to me.

My mother bought me a book of Bible and faith stories with pencil-sketched illustrations in it. The drawing of Noah’s Flood depicted terrified naked people crawling over each other to escape the rising waters. One story in the book told about a sick boy in the hospital who saw Jesus by his bedside before dying, which in my young mind meant if you see Jesus when you’re sick, watch out! The couple of times I had been to a Catholic Church for a relative’s wedding or confirmation, I saw a porcelain figure of a bruised, broken, and bloody Jesus hanging on a cross mounted to the wall of the sanctuary. Frankly, as a child with no understanding of these things, the pictures and stories frightened me.

I had a typical American upbringing. Although there was some alcohol, cigarettes, and occasional swearing in the home, I had no desire to do any of those things. I was loved and well cared for. My mother conscientiously sheltered me from the social chaos of the sixties and early seventies. I only became aware of the Vietnam War when I entered junior high school in 1972. Bumper stickers were as abundant as hip-huggers and bell-bottoms. Almost every locker had one plastered on the front reading Bring Home our P.O.W.’S or God Bless the M.I.A.s.

It was 1974 when my best friend began asking me to attend the Mormon Church with her. Every Wednesday Liz would invite me to a mysterious meeting called M.I.A. (Mutual Improvement Association).¹ I asked her what the acronym stood for and she didn’t know. The only thing I knew was that M.I.A. meant Missing in Action and I wasn’t about to go to some strange church meeting that used non-descript acronyms. Eventually though, common sense won out and when Liz invited me to a square dance at her church my love for dancing prompted me to accept the invitation. It was incredible! I felt like I was coming home. The people were warm and friendly, the kids my age were accepting and not driven by worldliness. The local Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was an organization full of people just like me. It felt so wonderful to fit in.

When I got home from the dance that night, I excitedly told my mother I wanted to get baptized. She wisely advised me to wait until I knew more about the Church, and no amount of pleading would change her mind. Disappointed, I said that all I wanted for my fourteenth birthday was to be baptized Mormon. Mom gave me permission to continue attending. I jumped into full church activity with my whole heart and soul, becoming the darling of the Canoga Park Second Ward.²

During the following four months I asked any adult in the ward who would listen all about the gospel. By the time my birthday approached I was considered a dry Mormon.³ Bishop Aylesworth informed me I was required to take the formal missionary discussions before my baptism. At that time there were seven official lessons which were taught once a week to prepare an investigator for baptism and membership in the Church.

The missionaries assigned to me were two young men about 19 and 21 years old. I was surprised they both had the same first names, Elder Peterson and Elder Backsendale, until they explained that Elder was a title. They taught me the basics of LDS doctrine; however, I kept plying them with questions about concepts I had heard at church, such as the Second Coming, the millennium, the New Jerusalem, getting one’s Calling and Election made sure, the white stone we’re given in the next life, and other things I had heard about from Church members. Much to my dismay they insisted on sticking to the official lesson plans, stating they weren’t supposed to teach me deeper doctrines. I had a voracious appetite for knowledge, but especially for spiritual knowledge. The elders advised me that I needed the milk before the meat.

It meant so much to me to be spiritually re-born on the day I celebrated my physical birth that the Stake⁴ changed their customary baptism schedule so I could be baptized on my birthday. My baptism was held on the sunny Saturday afternoon of my fourteenth birthday. About forty people were in attendance to see nine of us getting baptized; four children of record⁵ and five converts. When everyone began singing the LDS hymn The Spirit of God Like a Fire is Burning, the air felt electrified to me, like angels had joined in the chorus to celebrate the occasion.

As