The other day I had a conversation with a neighbor, at the conclusion of which I was greatly saddened. Let me set the stage. We’re been friendly neighbors for nearly two years, since we bought our home in Snowflake, Arizona. Our move from Mesa was traumatic, to say the least. As adults well past the three-quarters-of-a-century mark, we have not the energy which once characterized us. But we found a beautiful brand-new home that fit our needs and the price was right. We recovered quickly.

It was both refreshing and revitalizing to discover friendly neighbors all around. I have had numerous conversations with the neighbor in this episode, and all were just delightful. I found him to be knowledgeable in his work and willingly helpful to me with that knowledge. He and his wife, (who we also find delightful), are not LDS. In this conversation he mentioned that the LDS missionaries had dropped by and that they were friendly but a bit young for this kind of work. I added that when Joseph Smith sent out missionaries, they were mature men, not boys. He knowingly nodded recognition of a better idea. 

Then he said something that cut me to the quick, as in deeply sorrowful. I asked him if he was busy in his business of earth-moving and preparing for building with his ample machinery. He responded that he had work in other areas but never did much business in the local area because he is not Mormon, and they don’t use his services. I responded that the local LDS people don’t like me much, either, because I tend to point out things about the church as Brigham Young reinvented it, and his successors continue the charade. He told me that, as a life-long Protestant, he was not predisposed to change. I respected his position.

Since that conversation, a few days ago, I have been sorely dismayed. I’ve wanted to say something to someone, in the ward, that might make a difference but, over and over again, realized that I couldn’t change iron necks and brass brows. It saddens me greatly to compare that attitude with that required for Zion. It’s a million light-year gulf but those who cause it are the same people who profess to be well on the way to it’s realization. Well, they do have the bank.

Hence the title of this piece, I am deeply ashamed of my own. I was baptized in the church at 8. I grew up being told that LDS were kind people. In early 2007, I read a book about “Conversing with the Lord through the veil.” Bishops and stake presidents recommended the book. The message was clear and concise. I read another and another by the same author, all pointing directly to our Savior. The author had been on his stake high council and was a regular teacher of the Gospel in various settings. Then he wrote a book that told historical truth and they excommunicated him for that. 

Since that time I have realized that the evil brought about by Brigham Young, and his cadre of prophetic assasins, has metastasized into an organization that mixes ample philosophies of men with a tiny bit of scripture in the hope that it will purify those evil philosophies. It works for those who value false, but faith-promoting, history and strict social structure, over truth. For me, that has never worked. 

Today, there are thousands world-wide who agree that truth is worth more than social approval. In joining with these others of like mind and heart, I have gained faith lost in the realizations of evil all around us. My solace found anchor in those others. They are not perfect, but neither am I. Most of the time, we do our best, to do our best.

The conversation I had with my neighbor reminded me of innocence lost. I hate that feeling. I know I’m not alone, but I do so long for a place of equality and our Savior’s love and administration. I’ve especially grown increasingly weary of blatant hypocrisy.

And they wonder why I don’t attend their corporate church meetings.