My life has been largely uneventful with periodic events of relative greatness. I grew up in a loving home, a home where my needs were met physically and emotionally, a home where the unconditional love of my parents was always felt by me and my siblings. The gospel was taught to me from a young age, as was a simple, albeit extraordinary, narrative about the foundations of The Church.

I grew up with an introductory knowledge and belief of this narrative based on the trust I placed on those around me: parents, bishops, young men’s leaders, general authorities, peers etc. I matured and at the age of 19 I left on a mission. I can, with decent conviction, say that I felt every emotion known to humankind before I left on my mission. For those of you who have served a mission, you’ll empathize with the sentiment. Among those emotions were, of course, feelings of excitement, pride (the righteous type), and honor.

I arrived on Halloween, wide-eyed-terrified of what was about to happen. The next 2 years of my life were spent knocking on doors and talking with the beautiful bible-belters of the southern Midwest. It was during these two years that my testimony of the gospel flourished. I found solace in the doctrine of the atonement, confidence in the message of the restoration, and clarity in the teachings of the Book of Mormon. I witnessed, what I would call at the time, miracles, every day.

I returned home in the fall, 24 months later, with the zeal still burning bright.

I’ll summarize the ensuing year with this sentence. A girl, a reconnection with ideals instilled in me from a young age, and the linking of a few chance encounters spurred my eventual crisis of faith.

It began with feminism, of all places. I, very reluctantly, began to intellectually confront the issues that women face in the church. I found the inequality troubling, to say the least, but not detrimental to my faith. Over time, my concern shifted from women in the church to the LGBT+ community in the church. Again, I found the mistreatment and misunderstanding troubling, but not detrimental. The church’s policy change on married same-sex couples and their children increased the detriment but still, my testimony remained intact. After all, the gospel is perfect, the people are not, right?

One evening, around thanksgiving time, I attended a dinner with my girlfriend and a few of her close friends. Before the meal began, the host of the party, pulled my girlfriend, myself, and a few others in to a back room. In short, this was my first introduction to the existence of the CES Letter (dunh dunh dunh!). Our conversation was cut short due to impatient party guests and no other words on the matter were spoken except for a lively debate about the recent church policy change. My girlfriend and I drove back home and during the hour and half long car ride, I listened as my girlfriend read from the CES Letter. To be completely honest, which is the goal of this article, I was minimally phased by this piece of literature. Some of it was new, some of it was old, and some of it was troubling. But overall, with a faithful attitude, and armed with the brazen apologetics from the folks at FAIR, I was ready to reconcile my doubts away and suppress the voice inside that, quietly, but undeniably, dissented. After all, the gospel is perfect, the people are not, right?

So I carried on for a few months, occasionally hashing out these issues in my head as well as out loud with my girlfriend and more selectively with roommates and close friends until something broke inside me. The shelf, where I had stashed the faulty Book of Abraham translation, shifted. The shelf, that held up the teenage wives of Joseph Smith, cracked. The shelf, where I hid The Prophet’s seer stones, divining rods, and treasure hunting escapades, caved in. The shelves that held my doubts came tumbling down in surreal fashion and buried my testimony in a pile of historical wreckage.

Now, here is the crux of the article, and if you read or listen to nothing else I have to say, read this. Is there room for me in the church? Is there room for a doubter, a naysayer, or a non-believer in the church? In a church with a lot of without-a-shadow-of-a-doubters and with-every-fiber-of-my-being-ites are you comfortable with a vocal disbeliever or verbal skeptic? And if my doubts and questions lead me out of the church, will you refrain from referring to me as weak or unfaithful? Because I’ll tell ya what, it sure as heck doesn’t feel like you will. Having attended a recent high priest group lesson about uncertainty in the gospel, and taking that class as an anecdotal pulse on the condition of the church, I’d say we need a doctor.

So here I am. A figurative fence sitter perched on heavenly lips, preparing for the spew. How will you decide to judge me? Before you commence with the apologetics, the responses, the testimonies, the answers, the we-don’t-know-everything’s, and the God’s-ways-are-not-our-ways, please, rest assured, I have already heard it.

There’s no way to state this enough. I have not walked willingly to my current position. I don’t want to overplay the emotions that have accompanied my experience dealing with these issues. However, fear, pain, anxiety, mourning, and desolation are all nouns that could characterize specific episodes of my experience. I don’t know where I stand on the spectrum of belief and I don’t know when I will know. For now I’ll sit here on a fence, diligently investigating my options and informing my worldview with historicity. And I will, although not always noisily, voice my doubts, questions, and dissent. All I ask in return is your respect, your love, and your understanding. If you are incapable of doing that, well, I’ll just keep telling myself, the gospel is perfect, the people are not, right?