Suddenly, nature called -- or rather, screamed. I excused myself and tried to find the bathroom. It wasn't obvious, and within moments, I was wandering around in the halls of the building looking for the familiar stick-figure sign. I found them, did my business, and had to find my way back to the cafeteria.
What I found, quite by accident, was an old-ish man with a palpable aura. I've always believed in God, but I've never met anyone before who felt like they might be God. He looked kindly, and he recognized that I was lost. "Can I help you, young man?" he asked.
Something about him made me think, and before I knew it, I was blurting out: "Is God more important than love?"
The man blinked, taken aback, but then smiled. "Son," he patted my shoulder, "God is love. How can He be more important than Himself? Now, what were you looking for?"
When I had made my way back to my table, I was lost in thought. I'd heard people say 'God is love' millions of times...but there's a difference, right? God isn't romantic love...he's unconditional love -- fatherly love. Trying to compare the distant benevolence of Heavenly Father with the heated fluttering I felt in my chest whenever I felt Zoe next to me...that was just...crazy.
Right?
I spent the rest of that trip mostly quiet. I never told my parents about the strange encounter -- though I did look up the leadership of the Church on their fancy new website, and I found that old man. He wasn't the Prophet that led the church -- but he was one of the Apostles who worked under the direct supervision of the Prophet to guide the Church.
So that wasn't just any random piece of advice, I reasoned. And to this day, I've never forgotten. It just took me a long time to realize that I had asked the wrong question.
August, 1999: Manistique, Michigan: The Danfield Residence
It was only the fourth time I'd seen the inside of Zoe's house. It was her birthday party, and her mother had made some incredible treats for everyone. Mrs. Danfield was one of those 'modern hippies' who believed in organic food, not eating flour, and getting lots of sleep. Looking at Zoe, I had to say I think it paid off. Mr. Danfield was off on one of his frequent business trips -- he was a negotiator for a local coal mine.
As it happened, everyone else was out in the living room playing games, and I -- in my classic dutiful role, I thought to myself -- had volunteered to help with the dishes. Just as I was getting into the swing of what belonged where, The Question hit.
"So, Pierce...you're Mormon, hmm?" Mrs. Danfield had never talked about religion around me, and Zoe didn't make a big deal out of it -- but for some reason, the question made me nervous. So much so that I kind of giggled without intending to. Then, I straightened up properly and nodded with what I hoped was a shred or two of dignity, if not solemnity.
"Yes, ma'am." I smiled. "Do you...want to ask me anything?"
"Actually," she smiled in a way that made her eyes sparkle, "I was wondering how you're getting along with my daughter."
"What do you mean?" That change of subject threw me for a loop...but it turns out it wasn't a change of subject at all.
"I mean, you like her, right?"
"Of course I do."
"Then why aren't you two...you know...closer? Because it's clear to me that she likes you -- she keeps telling me stories of guys she's turned down because they're not you. Is that a Mormon thing?"
I started to feel my cheeks turn red. It should have been blatantly obvious to me that there would be other boys interested in Zoe...yet the thought of her having to turn them down had never occurred to me. I wondered how many, how serious they were, and whether or not she had ever been tempted, knowing that I was still in high school and here she was about to become a college sophomore.
"Oh...I'm sorry, dear," Mrs. Danfield said hastily, "I can see I've embarrassed you."
"No, no!" I knew the words were futile, but I spoke them regardless. "It's not that, I just...I'm not going to be...to get...closer...until I know that it's going to work. That we're going to be able to be together." I felt like a moron -- an 18-year-old trying to explain the responsibilities of love to a 40-something-year-old.
Mrs. Danfield nodded solemnly and then broke into a smile. I could tell she'd had an idea.
That night, after the party, she invited me to spend the night. And like an idiot, I did. We slept in the living room -- all of us, including Mrs. Danfield -- but it was the first time I'd ever experienced the joy of waking up and looking at the face of the girl I loved as she slept. It lasted right up until the pounding on the front door.
Zoe and her mother sat up with a start as the pounding resounded across the house, and my heart turned into moldy dust as I heard my father's voice. "PIERCE JOHNATHAN EVANS, YOU GET OUT HERE THIS INSTANT!"
For a brief moment, I hallucinated police lights outside the house, and my father ordering them to arrest Zoe's mom for kidnapping. I had assumed, somehow, that she had gotten permission from my parents to have me stay over...stupid me.
Mrs. Danfield looked at me and nodded toward the back door like she expected me to try to escape. She didn't know me very well. As I gathered myself and walked toward the front door, she glanced at Zoe with a 'what the heck is he doing?' look on her face. I stood as tall and dignified as I could manage wearing a pair of Mr. Danfield's Minnesota Twins pajamas, and opened the door.
My father took in my dress, and he blushed.
Blushed. He BLUSHED.
Suddenly, my perspective shifted, and I saw it all from his perspective for the first time. The ex-bishop's son, the one that the whole Young Men's group held up as an example of how to behave, had just spent a night at a girl's house. My father wasn't angry at me -- well, he was angry at me, but it was worse than that. He was humiliated. He was embarrassed. He was disappointed.
And just to polish off the morning, in a fit of emotional turmoil and too much birthday cake, I puked all over him.
Chapter 5: Maggie Marie’s Testimony
November, 1999: Manistique, Michigan: LDS Church
I had just sat down in my seat from performing my duty as a member of the Aaronic Priesthood (basically, the young and/or new guys) -- I passed the bread and water for the Sacrament. It fell on me to say the prayer for the passing out of the bread as well. It was the first Sunday of the month, which meant it was Fast and Testimony Meeting: the usually-structured "giving talks" part of the church was instead open for anyone to come up to the front and give their testimony.
It was usually either an inspirational story from someone's personal life, or a meaningful comparison of some event to something from the Book of Mormon or the Bible.
This time, however, something unusual happened. A woman who was so old she needed help to reach the podium came forward, and it was the first time in a lifetime of going to the Church that I had ever seen her come forward. I wondered what could possibly have brought her to the podium today.
"Many of you are too young to remember me, even if you've seen me around for years. My name is Maggie Marie, and long ago, I was the helpful and supporting wife of the best bishop this particular ward has ever had."
I was surprised to see many of the older people nodding -- it was rare to see someone show that kind of favoritism in church. It was OK, though, because the current bishop was nodding right along with the rest. He was a lot older than my dad, and kind of had that 'wisdom of the ancients' thing mixed with that 'relic of a bygone era' thing going on.
"Today is the twentieth anniversary of my husband's early death; he was taken away from me by lung cancer. Funny thing is…he never smoked a lick. For some reason, today, as I was taking the Sacrament, I recalled something that he told me once when we were young. Long before he ever admitted to being in love with me, he told me that he wouldn't ever be able to live with a girl who wasn't a Mormon.
"He said that he had had a girl who wasn't a member, and she just didn't understand how much of your life God asks of you when you receive the fulness of the Gospel from Him. He told me stories of the schedule -- events every
weekend, and normal Church, and special clubs after school. I understand from what the parents say that it's even busier today -- I think it's a plot to keep all you kids out of trouble."
The bishop said "You caught us!", and everyone laughed.
Maggie Marie continued: "The funny thing is…I grew up Lutheran. It was easy; it was what my Mom and Dad were. But when David told me all about how the Church took up so much of his life, I had a slow but overwhelming realization; I wanted that. I wanted God to be the focus of my life.
"I didn't want to be a nun, though -- and actually, David was really quite a hunk back then. I like to think," she glanced upward, "He will be when I see him again, too." Maggie Marie and her husband had doubtless been sealed at the Temple, which meant according to our beliefs that they would be together in the Celestial Kingdom after death. The audience chuckled.
"David helped me understand the Plan of Salvation; he helped me see my way into getting baptized in the Church, and once he'd seen that I wasn't just goofing, he admitted something to me; he’d had a crush on me for years. He told me the whole thing about being with a Mormon girl because he'd hoped that I might convert. And when I did, well, we made each other the happiest people on Earth.
"I love Heavenly Father," she began to cry silently, "Because I know that He arranged it all just for me. He knew that I needed David and David needed me, and He also knew that I needed to understand the fulness of the Gospel for the health of my spirit and soul. I have a testimony that God has a plan for each and every person on this Earth -- and if they just sit still and listen, they will be able to understand it.
I say these things to you in the name of our Eternal Brother and Savior, the kind and gracious Lord Jesus Christ. Amen."
I couldn't help but wonder. God's plan for Joan of Arc seemed to involve an awful lot of suffering and violence -- was His plan for me going to be more like Joan's, or more like Maggie Marie's?
I'd tried, ever since that day at Zoe's, to think about my father and mother when I decided what to do with my time. I still kept in touch with Zoe, of course, and we'd made plans for Christmas Break, but I tried to keep everything in the open and make sure that I balanced my desire for love with my duty to my family -- and, by extension, the Church.
Chapter 6: The ‘Spirited’ Debate
December 1999, Gulliver, Michigan: The Evans Residence
"So, are you a religious girl, Zoe?"
It had to happen at some point. No matter how much I begged him to keep the Church out of it, just for a single night, my father just had to grill Zoe while he had her captive at our annual Christmas party dinner. I could see her pale just slightly and squirm a little. She knew very well how important the answer to her question was, but I told her under no circumstances to lie to my father. I winced, but before I could finish opening my mouth to object, my father held a finger up in my direction, indicating that I'd better let her answer.
I felt like my chest was going to burst open and extend a pseudopod of pure I'm sorry/I love you/it's OK to pet Zoe with. Zoe, however, took it well. "I'm a spiritual girl," she smiled a winning smile, "but I have a problem with religions. They all claim to be right, and they all claim to have proof. Statistically speaking, choosing any one of them is likely to be wrong...so I don't."
It was true. Mrs. Danfield regularly chose a church at random to go to on a given weekend, and just showed up to participate. Zoe had been in mosques, churches, temples, and several other exotic kinds of places of worship. The idea of settling on any one of them didn't sit well with her. My father, of course, wasn't having any of it.
"What kind of proof do you need?" he smiled a contented little smile; this was one of his favorite lines of conversation to take with people who were interested, but not ready to convert.
Zoe blinked in surprise. "Something that wasn't subjective," she began. "Something that objectively showed that one organized religion was the one that God liked best."
I was amazed. I couldn't have thought of a more perfect foil to my father's usual line of argument if I had tried. He used the same theme that they had been teaching missionaries since the dawn of the Church; tell people to pray, and that the Spirit will give them the answer they seek. By specifically narrowing her parameters to objective proof, she had just stripped away my father's entire argument.
Or so I thought.
"What does 'objective' proof consist of? What would that look like?"
Zoe pondered. "I don't know...maybe something like an angel coming down from Heaven and telling everyone."
My father nodded. "What if it was better than an angel? What if it was Jesus?"
Zoe nodded also. "That would work."
"Well, it's already happened." My father looked triumphant. "Jesus Christ himself came and spoke to Joseph Smith, and told him that he would recreate the original structure of the Church. The structure that Jesus himself began."
Zoe shook her head quite firmly. "That's impossible." I felt my heart sink as my father's Spock-like eyebrow cocked in one direction and his head cocked in the other. It was his 'I'm both intrigued and offended' face. "See, Jesus didn't actually have an organized Church when he left the Earth. He had followers -- but the actual Church as an organized body didn't start for at least another hundred years. The Gospels weren't even written for several years after Jesus died. The oldest Christian documents we know about are Paul's letters -- and Paul himself admits that he never actually met Jesus, so even those are only allegedly Christian. They're probably more Jewish-with-influences-from-Jesus."
My head spun. It had never occurred to me that Zoe, who grew up with such a diverse religious background and was never required to study the Bible, would know so much about the early Church. My father was clearly impressed as well. Zoe wasn't quite done, however.
"So the idea of 'the church that Christ created' is kind of a huge misnomer. Christ was Jewish -- his life's work was to change the Jewish culture and religion, not to start his own."
My father sat still and absorbed all of this calmly, and then smiled broadly. "I appreciate a girl as well-educated about the Savior as you are, Zoe. But I have to ask -- if Jesus didn't intend to start a church of his own, why would he talk so explicitly about being 'the Way'? Why would he refer to the people who followed him as 'my sheep', and why would He sacrifice himself for the sins of all mankind? That's the act of a Messiah, not 'some Jew'."
It was Zoe's turn to look thoughtful, but before she could reply, I had to speak up myself. "None of that is necessarily indicative of wanting to create your own religion," I blurted. "What if Jesus accidentally created a new religion, and then saw what he had worked from Heaven once risen, and decided almost two thousand years later that it was actually something that the world was finally ready for?"
They both looked at me. My father shook his head, but Zoe nodded approvingly. I couldn't help but continue. "I mean, yes, the Church says that Jesus is perfect, but why does that mean that during His mortal life, He wasn't just as fallible as the rest of us? What if Jesus knew before he was born that He was going to show people God's true will, but he was just as subject to the veil that keeps mortals from the spirit world as the rest of us?"
Amazingly, my father started to look...amenable. And the next words out of his mouth only backed that up. "You know, Pierce, I think that's actually a question worthy of praying about."
Zoe, on the other hand, was looking at me a little weirdly. "Why would he wait two thousand years?"
At that, I had to shrug. "I have no idea." I grinned. "I never said it was a great answer, just a possible one."
Zoe grinned and squeezed my leg under the table. My father nodded slowly and turned to Zoe. "I always appreciate it when someone makes me think about the Savior in a new light. It seems that there's always more to learn about Him and His works. Thank you, Zoe."
But the look he gave me told me he was far from ready to accept her as a 'good' girlfriend.
Chapter 7: The Assignment
March, 2000: Escanaba, MI: LDS Stake Center
I was sitting in front of the Stake President again, and I was sick to my stomach. I was about to be told where I was going to go on my mission -- a mission that I was seriously considering skipping out on.
I could see the two futures laid out in front of me, and both of them scared the crap out of me. On one side, I’d turn my back on the church -- and by extension, on my father, and by further extension, my entire family -- but I had a good chance to actually spend the rest of my life with the girl who loved me. On the other, I left the girl behind and did my duty like a good child (of Father and Heavenly Father), and I had no idea what would become of Zoe while I was away.
"Pierce, I've spoken with the Branch Missionary Leader, and we believe we've found the right place for you." He paused for dramatic effect before declaring, "You'll be going overseas!"
I blinked. I knew that it wasn't uncommon for missionaries to go far away, but I had essentially no linguistic skills and my family wasn't really wealthy enough to send me across the ocean for two years...were they? I glanced at my father, who had a knowing smile on his face. "We set aside an account specifically to pay for your mission, and we've been slowly paying into it for your entire life, Pierce. You'll be well cared for."
When I looked back to the Stake President, he gave me a huge smile. "You're going to Hong Kong!" My brain boggled, but he continued. "Hong Kong speaks English, and is fairly American-friendly even though it's Chinese-owned. There are four stakes and over twenty thousand members there, but temple attendance is low and there are naturally millions of non-members who need to be introduced to the Plan of Salvation. Will you help them?"
I looked carefully between my father and my Stake President. Both looked like it was a foregone conclusion. I had always been the good boy. The moment stretched on, and slowly, I could see the President's smile become slightly strained. "Pierce?" he asked.
My father's face became alarmed. "Pierce..."
I closed my eyes, and I did what every good LDS person does when they have a crisis. I prayed. Aloud, right in front of both of them.