Monday, October 6, 2008


Last week my wife and I had a very long talk about where I stand on the church. I haven't really come across anything in the last few years to make me think its claims of moral and authoritative superiority are true, and she, despite disagreeing with the recent actions against homosexuals and other issues, continues to fall back on "but it's true." We're both even-tempered, so while these can be animated, passionate discussions, they're (happily) not real fights.

Nonetheless, this one left me particularly frustrated. Perhaps because it's been such a long time since our last one.

The next night she said, "If you don't want to go to church you don't have to."

Wow. I never thought that that day would come. My mind raced--was this my one chance at "freedom?". Was I looking at a once-in-a-lifetime chance to escape from endless, mind-numbing Sundays? The door to my prison left ajar by a thoughtless guard?


"Yes. I don't want to be a controlling wife or anything."

I took one last look out of the prison door and turned back.

"I want to be where my family is. I'll keep coming with you."

What can I say? I know my attendance makes her happy, even though I complain to her about all the crap that gets taught. And I see so little of my kids, I'd rather play quietly with them in Sacrament Meeting (or in the foyer!) than stay at home.

Strange, really. I feel like some progress has been made, even though nothing's changing outwardly. One never knows what to expect, here on the middle way. But I was careful not to lock the door when I closed it behind me.