Sunday morning I was sitting on my couch, sipping my coffee, and watching my little kids play. I felt good. Peaceful. Content.

Outside, I could see my TBM neighbors running in and out of the house, wrangling children, attempting to get to church on time.

And I noticed I felt pity. I actually felt sorry for those poor bastards.

Rushing, rushing, rushing… and for what? What are they getting out of this? Why do they do devote all that time? All that money? Why do they hand over so much control over their own lives?

Anyway… I guess I’m just happy that my disdain has finally turned to pity. I think it’s a move in the right direction.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 05/02/2017 08:21AM by bohica.

Thousands of dollars a year to a Corp of Buddies that spend your families money as they see fit (See bottom of tithing slip) for the privilege of screaming, fighting, shaming your loved ones for the coming facade of church participation.

bohica is right. Pity. Not respect, not admiration, not tolerance. Pity. When you have made it to the state that you see it for what is is, pity, for those trapped you have pretty much recovered.

Years ago someone posted an incident like this on an exmormon discussion board.


A non-Mormon family was loading up their car on Sunday morning with picnic baskets, balls, and beach towels, laughing and joking and excited about their anticipated day at the beach. The Mormon family next door, dressed in their Sunday best and carrying their quads and lesson manuals, were also getting in their van to head to the ward house. Seeing the neighbors, the little Mormon boy said to his father, "They're not REALLY happy, are they, Dad?"