Hello all! Thank you for taking the time to check out my blog. I don’t know how often I will write, or for how long. But for a while now I’ve felt like I should write down my story. So without further ado…

I would like to start my initial post with this disclaimer: Although I no longer attend services or share some of the core beliefs, I am not anti-Mormon. This is simply a place for me to share my story, both the good and the bad. If you fear that your faith is so easily shaken, then click that little red X and continue on without a care in the world. Seriously, I won’t be offended. But for those of you with the fortitude to carry on, thank you.

Like any good story, I suppose the best place to start is at the beginning. For those who don’t know me, my name is Shawn, and I’m the oldest of three children. My parents grew up in southern California and were raised as Jehovah’s Witnesses. If you’re unfamiliar with that religion, they’re the people that come to your door like clockwork almost every weekend to hand out The Watchtower. Sometimes it’s hard to tell them apart from the Mormons that ALSO come knocking on your door all the time. But to make it easier for you, I’ve created this handy little guide:

Young men in white shirts and ties = the Mormons

Older men in colored shirts and ties, and probably even a full suit = Jehovah’s Witnesses

As for the women, if they’re young look for the nametags. Nametags = Mormon.

But moving my story forward, I’ll just say that over the years my parents became disillusioned with the organization. When I was about seven my great grandfather lay in the hospital dying of cancer. My mom and sister stayed behind to tend to him, while my dad and I moved up to Oregon for work. During this time, unbeknownst to the other, they each stopped attending services. When my great grandfather finally passed and they rejoined us, the news got out. For years my parents had dutifully attended their meetings, each assuming that the other person was into it and wanted to go. With the realization that both of them were done with the religion, the burden was lifted. For those that aren’t aware, Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t celebrate…well pretty much anything. I had my very first Christmas at the young age of seven, and it was marvelous!

For those of you with some knowledge of the Jehovah’s Witnesses, you probably know what happened next. When you choose to leave the fold, you essentially get shunned and treated as if your “apostasy” is contagious. Family ties were strained for a time as we were repeatedly told that “we had left the Truth and would one day return.” Here we are, almost 20 years later, and that still hasn’t happened…the harsh reaction of close family members put a sour taste in my mouth for religion. Over the next nine years we didn’t attend any churches, and frankly I was happy to keep it that way.

When I was 16, my sister became friends with a Mormon girl named Chelsea. Over time, she invited my sister to youth activities with her local congregation (called a ward), and eventually to attend Sunday services. Initially my parents were hesitant, but they quickly changed their minds. Even without any religion, my parents had always taught us good morals. My dad talked about how the two big rules to follow were, “Have a relationship with God, and treat others well.” How could they ask us to do that when they said “No” the first time someone offered to bring us along? When Chelsea asked if my sister could attend the following Sunday, my parents gave their consent. Although to be completely honest here, my mom still told my dad, “You better go out and meet this girl’s father in case you have to describe him to the police!”

When she returned home and wasn’t traumatized by all the animal sacrifices and blood oaths….I’m joking 😉 .I mean after she came back and said she had fun, Chelsea invited the whole family to attend. For our first meeting I was basically forced out the door and told I had to go. I had built up such an evil image of organized religion in my mind that when it WASN’T what I expected, I was intrigued. In fact, I even liked it. Weird! I was a bit of a homebody, so it was a nice change of pace to be out of the house making friends.

We were eventually baptized into the church, although I can no admit that I didn’t know fully what I was agreeing to or “have a testimony.” But I liked going and hanging out with my friends, and all the stories and lessons were new to me. That was good enough for me, so when the 19 year old missionary tasked with determining if I was fully cognizant of my decision and “repented of my sins” asked if I believed in the church and Joseph Smith and all that entailed, I stumbled out something that equated to, “Uh huh…yep…sure, why not? I totally believe all that.”

And just like that, I was a member of “God’s true church!” Who knew it could be so simple? It’s so easy a caveman could do it!