How I Was Almost A Bad Mormon

Sometimes we are all guilty of of being bad Mormons.

I love people. I love getting to know people. There is something about meeting someone new that always makes my spirit feel like erupting into a million pieces but a few months ago, I realized that despite my best efforts, I had become a bad Mormon.

I mean, don't ex-communicate me or anything just yet. I haven't broken the Word of Wisdom even though I go into my favorite coffee spot just to smell the coffee grounds. I didn't get a tattoo of skulls and bones or listen to satanic music but to me my crime is still pretty big in my eyes.

 I Sassy Mormon being of somewhat sound mind and ultra sassy nature accepts the punishment for my crime. You may be asking me to just get on with it so here goes.

-ultra deep dramatic sigh-

I Sassy Mormon was mean to someone.

I mean like nobody expects us new converts to be perfect. I mean my general mood without coffee falls somewhere in the Danger Zone. I am sure that Kenny Loggins was singing about me while all those planes flew in the background of his music video.

A few months ago, a new investigator showed up at church. Those who have read my last blog post will know I'm talking about this guy named Calvin. Calvin was everything I wasn't as an investigator and while most times it was evident that we were polar opposites, his ability to constantly put his foot in his mouth drove me up a wall.

Now I will blame my coffee addiction for half of my grumpiness during this period. My grandmother would constantly make coffee before church obviously loving that she could torture her only grandchild.

But the rest was on me.

I remember as I listened to Calvin ask questions week after week trying to piece together why he never seemed able to figure out things for himself. Most times in my ultra feminist ways, his words seemed to be the effects of verbal diarrhea that didn't seem to stop until the hour of Gospel Principles was almost over.

I couldn't get a word in. Gospel Principles became about Calvin and his questions. While I didn't feel jealousy over the attention he got, often my faith felt stagnated by his questions, some of which didn't often match the topic of our Sunday classes.

I remember on one occasion after another lesson of questioning, I complained to the missionaries how I felt during classes when bombarded with another hour of rapid fire questions. My head was spinning and my frustration levels were high.

What was wrong with me?

Had I been this mean all along? Was I suddenly a mean mean person incapable of understanding the plights of others? Did I somehow think that because the missionaries had dubbed me 'a golden investigator' that somehow it made my conversion more important than others?

I took a moment to reflect on it.I told myself to be kinder, more understanding and made myself drop my ego at the church steps every morning. I prayed constantly to ask for help in understanding someone else's frustration.

Most importantly, I stopped calling myself 'the golden investigator'. What was only there to give credit for my ability to stick to meeting times for lessons, reading and over-reading chapters and all the wonderful stuff that I was doing was also a dagger in my side that made me unintentionally not like someone because I had deemed myself 'better'.

I remembered the girl who at the beginning of teaching the gospel was scared and felt alone and asked a million questions during lessons with the missionaries.

Slowly over time, I changed my approach to dealing with new investigators.

I needed to be that girl who understood the plights of others. Doing that in the past few weeks has strengthened my testimony by leaps and bounds.

There are no perfect Mormons
There are no 'perfect investigators'. 
There are no 'golden investigators'

We are all equal in the sight of Heavenly Father.I'm so glad I've come to that understanding in the past few weeks.

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