“You are not joining a cult!” my mother angrily spewed. “That will not happen while you are living in this house.” Spittle came from her mouth.
I was shocked at her response to my intentions of baptism. I had never seen her this animated, particularly about a detail of my life. “They aren’t a cult,” I stammered. “They are regular Christians who believe in the Bible. They are nice people.”
“They are sick, deluded people who prey on the ignorant and stupid.” My mother was getting mean.
“I am not stupid,” I replied defensively. “I have studied, thought, and prayed about this decision for a long time. Meeting with the missionaries has made my life happier. I think getting baptized is the right thing for me.”
“These people make me so angry,” my mother fumed. “How dare they teach my child behind my back in such a sneaky way.”
“Nothing was sneaky, Mom,” I said. “You knew I was going to church every Sunday. How come you have never said a word until now?”
“I didn’t know you were meeting with devils.” I thought you were just going to church because of some fling with a boy.”.
She wasn’t wrong in her observation about the romance. I started attending church initially because I wanted to be cozy with Caleb. But things had changed for me. I found myself looking forward to meeting with the sister missionaries, and sometimes, I wished Caleb wasn’t there because he was often disinterested or clowning around. Occasionally, I even thought he was flirting with Sister Byers.
But, I relished the feelings in my heart as I spoke with the missionaries. I felt they cared about me, and we could talk about anything. I appreciated calling them ‘sisters’ because they felt like sisters to me. I looked forward to meeting with them, not because Caleb was next to me, but because I received light and joy during our lessons. My soul seemed to enlarge, and my life began to have purpose. I didn’t know at the time I was feeling the Spirit, though it was often pointed out to me. I just felt beautiful.
“I like how I feel when I meet with the missionaries, Mom. Maybe you should meet them before you pass judgment. They aren’t devils. They are angels.”
Mom went crazier. “I will never meet with those evil monsters. They are stealing my daughter from me. If they are angels, they are dark angels sent from hell! What if I never see you again?”
I never felt that my mother cared that much about me. Mom hadn’t given me much thought in the past four years, particularly about my soul. Why did she suddenly care now?
Mom fumed about the house for the next week, often tearing into me regarding the most minor infractions. My father was not happy about my desire to be baptized, but he said I was eighteen and could make my own decisions. One of my dad’s bosses was a Mormon, who he admired and liked. My mom turned her guns on my dad, making the whole household miserable.
One night, I came home to see the pastor of my church sitting next to my mom, a pile of books in front of him. I had never talked to him, though I had listened to his occasional sermons over the years. I suppose I respected the pastor because of his title, but he had never shown any interest in me. Until now.
For the next three hours, the pastor tried to convince me of the evilness of the Mormon church. The pastor turned my church friends and their beliefs into monsters through books and videos on YouTube. He brought up teachings I had never heard of before, and when I mentioned this to the pastor, he told me that the missionaries were purposefully hiding this information, trying to trick me. The pastor told me about polygamy and massacres and racism. While those issues bothered me, the people I knew at church, including Caleb’s family and the sister missionaries, were the best people I had ever met. I’m sure they had reasonable explanations for me. I trusted them.
However, the pastor hit an insecurity in me when he made Joseph Smith out to be slightly worse than Hitler. I had always struggled with the idea of Joseph Smith as a prophet who God had appeared to, even somewhat disliking him. The pastor added fuel to a slowly burning fire inside of me that suddenly blazed. After the pastor’s presentation, I found myself loathing Joseph Smith, an aching pit opening up in my stomach when thinking of all that had transpired with the missionaries. I didn’t believe that Joseph Smith was a prophet, and I felt that the missionaries had tricked me into accepting the story of this questionable man. Had I been duped? I wanted to call the missionaries and cancel my baptism date.
So that is what I did in front of Mom and my pastor while the missionaries were on speakerphone. It was a short, dispassionate call that was abrupt and to the point, lasting no more than 45 seconds. I talked with Sister Byers, who calmly expressed her love for me while accepting my decision. I think she knew I was on speakerphone with other people and didn’t want any drama. I could picture my mother yelling at sweet Sister Byers, calling her all sorts of names with her vile mouth. I’m glad it didn’t come to that, and I am glad that Sister Byers didn’t try to beg me not to go. At the end of the call, I told Sister Byers I never wanted to meet with her again. With a choked-up voice, Sister Byers said she respected my choices and would always love me. I was surprised by her genuine showing of affection for me, though I was canceling our friendship. I thought she would be angry.
The timing of my stopping my meetings with the missionaries wasn’t so good, considering what was happening in Caleb’s life. He had just completed filling out his papers to receive his mission assignment, so the next few weeks were filled with exciting anticipation. I told Caleb about my decision to stop seeing the missionaries, which he took with his usual lack of caring.
When I broke the news to Caleb’s mom, she said, “Sweetheart, just follow your heart, no matter what. If your heart says to stop seeing the missionaries, then that is what you do. If your heart tells you to keep pursuing baptism, that is what you should do. Don’t let outside influences like your mom or me determine your decisions. Politely consider what we say, give us a good listening, and then act where you think God is pulling you. He loves you far more than your mom, me, or that silly boy of mine. Listen to your heart, and you will never go wrong. No matter what you decide, I will not love you one penny less.” She hugged me.
Those words brought tears to my eyes. If I joined the Mormon church by being baptized, then my mom threatened to kick me out of her house. Caleb’s mom would continue loving me if I stopped seeing the missionaries. The contrast was stunning. Somehow, I wished my mom would allow Sister Byers and Sister Richardson to teach her. Her life would likely be much happier.
When Caleb’s mission call came through, a big get-together was planned at Caleb’s house to reveal the destination. A game had been planned for people to guess where Caleb would be assigned, with most people guessing foreign places. I heard names like Australia, Brazil, Chile, Mexico, Tonga, Japan, Spain, and a host of countries I couldn’t find on a map. I opted for countries reminiscing of our first date, Thailand or Taiwan (I wasn’t sure which.) I arrived at Caleb’s house an hour earlier to make the monkey bread for the guests, which I had become an expert at. Sierra had offered to help make the bread.
By this point in our relationship, I usually just walked into Caleb’s house without knocking. Caleb's mom would scold me if I did ring the doorbell or knock.
“Family is family,” she would say. “I don’t make my husband ring the doorbell unless I am mad at him, and I won’t make you either.”
When I walked into the kitchen, I was surprised to see Sister Richardson sitting at the table with a girl about my age who I didn’t recognize, though her nametag indicated she was a missionary. The name written in white letters was Sister Pennock.
Sister Richardson jumped up when she saw me and rushed to hug me.
“Mackenzie,” she squealed. “It’s been too long. I’ve missed you.”
Though it had only been two weeks, I realized how much I missed my friends, the missionaries. I thought they would be angry with me for stopping our meetings, but Sister Richardson was genuinely happy to see me, seemingly holding no grudge. I became emotional as I held onto Sister Richardson, and I clung tight to her for a minute. I missed her. I missed Sister Byers. And I missed the light and joy that came from meeting with them. My life had been dismal since they left, and I wondered where I could find a substitute for what they brought to me.
“Where is Sister Byers?” I asked.
“She moved to Waco yesterday,” Sister Richardson said. “She cried when she got the notice to be transferred because she couldn’t say goodbye because of your situation. She worked all night crocheting you this gift.”
Sister Richardson took from her dress pocket a small, red heart made out of yarn. Attached to the heart was a note written in elegant cursive that said, Mackenzie, always follow your heart, and you will never go wrong. Sisters forever! Elizabeth Byers.
The heartfelt gift and touching note moved me to tears. I genuinely loved Sister Byers and wondered if I would ever see her again. Plus, her words were nearly identical to Caleb’s mom, encouraging me to follow my heart. My mom and the pastor were bullies, while Sister Byers and Caleb’s mom were filled with compassion regardless of my path in life. Sister Pennock rushed to bring me tissues.
The sister missionaries helped Caleb’s mom prepare the party's refreshments while I tackled the monkey bread with Sierra. I hadn’t yet graduated to pies. The whole hour of preparing for the party with all the girls was sweet and joyous, filled with laughter and happiness. I desperately wanted the sister missionaries back in my life with their enlightening teachings and warm companionship. I wondered if we could just read the bible and talk about life instead of wandering to Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. Surely, they would be okay with that. Would my mother?
Around thirty people piled into Caleb’s house that night, awaiting the mission destination's reveal. Another thirty followed online. Caleb was gregarious, working the room to greet all of his friends. I noticed plenty of pretty girls from church and school. Caleb was a natural flirt, occasionally stirring jealousy in me. I hoped I was the only one he was kissing.
I found a seat next to Sister Pennock, who seemed quiet and contemplative. Being new, she likely didn’t know anybody at the house. I felt like I should say something to her.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“I’m from Atlanta, Georgia,” she said quietly.
“How long have you been doing your mission?” I further queried.
Sister Pennock looked at her watch. “I’ve been in Texas for 18 hours.”
“Oh my goodness,” I said, shocked. “You are brand new. How is it going?”
A tear formed in Sister Pennock’s eyes. “I’m trying my best. This is all so new and strange. I am not sure if I am cut out for missionary work. Sister Richardson is a pro, and everyone loves and misses Sister Byers. I’m just a shy, quiet girl from the real South, not Texas. I think I want to go home.”
I felt compassion and sympathy for Sister Pennock. She seemed lonely and sad.
“Try some of my monkey bread,” I said, getting up and walking to the refreshment table. I returned with some of my artistry, fruit, and cookies, which I handed to Sister Pennock.
“Thank you,” she said, returning a teary smile.
I put my arm around her and gave her a squeeze, “You’ll love Texas,” I said. “Give it a chance, and in eighteen months, you’ll never want to leave.” I knew sister missionaries stayed for eighteen months.
“I hope so,” said Sister Pennock without confidence. “How did you come to meet Sister Byers and Sister Richardson,” she asked.
I pointed to Caleb, talking to a tall girl with a cute ponytail. “I broke his arm a few weeks ago.”
Sister Pennock laughed. “And the next step was meeting with the missionaries?” she asked.
“Just about,” I said, hitting Sister Pennock in the shoulder. “Caleb and I started dating after I broke his arm, and eventually, he invited me to church. After a while, I met Sister Byers and Sister Richardson, and they started teaching me some lessons. I almost got batized, but decided that wasn’t for me. I stopped meeting with the sisters, but I still miss our lessons, and I will definitely miss Sister Byers. She was amazing and became a good friend.”
“A lot of people say that about Sister Byers,” Sister Pennock said dejectedly. “I feel people are let down when they see it is me who replaced Sister Byers.”
“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” I sincerely apologized, chastizing myself for sounding callous to Sister Pennock’s feelings. “Sister Byers and I became close. It is a mixed blessing to see her go. I am sad she is so far away in Waco, but I am glad to meet you.” I put my arm around her. “Maybe we can become friends.”
“I’d like that,” said Sister Pennock, momentarily putting her head on my shoulder. “Misery loves company. Maybe we can help each other out of our blues. I feel I need to survive the next few days somehow. I am not sure if I can do that. I’m seriously thinking of going home.”
I could imagine Sister Pennock's loneliness. What the sister missionaries were doing was extraordinarily challenging, altogether leaving home for eighteen months, putting their lives on hold, and trying to share a message most people didn’t want to hear. Sister Byers and Sister Richardson had brought so much joy into my life. Perhaps I could return the favor and help Sister Pennock.
“How about we have lunch tomorrow at Wacko Taco?” I suggested, trying to brighten Sister Pennock’s spirits. “My treat. Maybe we can read the Bible together.” I didn’t want to get near the Book of Mormon.
Sister Pennock brightened. “I would like that. Sister Richardson will be happy. She said she misses meeting with you.”
I missed our meetings, too, more than I wanted to admit.
“Attention!” yelled Caleb. “The time has come for the magic moment. Does everybody have their guesses in as to where I’m going? The winner gets one of my mom’s apple pies.” A cheer went out from everyone in the room.
Caleb’s dad flashed a slide on the TV screen of everyone’s guesses placed on a map, blanketing the world. Most of the guesses seemed to be in Central and South America, with a few in Europe, Australia, and Asia. Caleb hoped he would be called to Europe; he said he wanted to learn a foreign language in comfort. The room was filled with anticipation and excitement, and my heart was pounding. Where would my boyfriend be for the next two years?
Caleb started reading from the beginning about being called on a mission. Caleb said the words, “You have been assigned to serve in the …,” then he stopped. I could see a flash of anger come to Caleb’s eyes, then a look of disappointment. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who noticed the look on Caleb’s face. He then started the sentence over. “You have been assigned to serve in the Columbus, Ohio mission.
A roar went up from the crowd, and I saw Caleb force a smile on his face. Caleb’s mom had tears in her eyes. She was the first to give Caleb a huby followed my nearly everyone else in the room. I waited in line to put my arms around my boyfriend. I wasn’t sure what I should do following that. I tried to stay by Caleb’s side, but I felt he didn’t want me there. Eventually, I made my way back to a corner of the room.
As people finished their food and made their way out of Caleb’s house, I decided to leave, too. I thought Caleb and I would spend the evening together, but he seemed agitated and troubled, and my presence seemed to irritate him. After telling Caleb goodbye, I moved to give him a small kiss, but he moved his face away from mine. My heart was troubled.
I squeezed Caleb’s hand affectionately, receiving nothing in return, then moved quickly to the door. I was confused and frustrated. Just as I turned the knob, Sister Richardson tackled me.
“Mackenzie! Sister Pennock said we are having lunch tomorrow at Wacko Taco to read the Bible! I can’t wait!”
In my confusion with Caleb, I had forgotten about my lunch with the sisters. “Yes,” I stammered. “Let’s shoot for noon. My treat. But can we stick with the Bible and stay away from the Book of Mormon?”
“Yes, of course,” said Sister Richardson. “I love our talks.”
Deep in my soul, I knew I was jumping back into the deep end of the pool with the missionaries. With God. Though I honestly wanted our conversations to stay with the Bible, I knew I was going to have to have a confrontation with the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith. It was a struggle to reconcile the profound positive feelings of the Spirit with the story of Joseph Smith. How could I feel so good about a Gosepl whose origins were so tightly entwined with a man I despised? There was a battlefield forming where Joseph Smith and I were destined to meet. I was worried that I was going to walk away from that battle a changed woman, one way or another.