You see I had more to say. And one final post was not enough. And as the Banner finished I decided to try a blog of my own. To telling all that needs to be said. But it took awhile to get set up and I never quite finished. But now a year later Jenn is trying to rally us to do annaversery posts. With not complet sucess yet as you can see, Septimus of course is not that excited. But I recognized it was a good oportunity to get my blog up and anounced. So here it is: Obey Aaron . And dont forget to look at my profile.

I dont know how often I will post there. As the spirit listeth and as seemeth me good I guess. But whenever I do post you can bet it will be important. As it always has been, in the past.

I’m posting from my friendly neighborhood Family History center. Right now an old man with a comb-over is giving me the evil eye because “Internet resources are reserved for the purpose of researching family history leads” (that’s what he told me three minutes ago when I was checking out the “microfiber vs. leather” controversy over at espn.com. Like he doesn’t do the same thing when no one’s watching). I know you’re thinking, “Wait a minute, didn’t you break up with your Mormon girlfriend and aren’t you living with your grandma in Pennsylvania?” She broke up with me, but other than that, yeah. My friendly neighborhood Family History center is at the Lancaster 1st ward, and my grandma is their newest family history specialist. My grandma was baptized two months ago. I can’t get away from Mormons.

Here’s how it went down. Last November my grandma had a stroke and my parents wanted me to go out and help take care of her and my grandpa. I had just bombed the GRE and gotten dumped, so it seemed like a good time to go. My mom drove across the country with me and all my earthly possessions in my 1993 Ford Taurus (with a $1500 rebuilt engine). We listened to The DaVinci Code on CD (Mom’s choice) and I barely kept myself from puking about every 7 minutes from Colorado to Illinois. We got to Pennsylvania by December 10th and Mom stayed until December 27th, getting everything set up and giving me an envelope with $300 in it before she left. That was nice of her.

Anyways, things went swimmingly with Grandma and Grandpa for the first couple of months. It took a little while to figure out how to put the right number of pills for the right days in about five different pill-boxes. I didn’t make any mistakes because I was scared shitless of sending one of them into cardiac arrest, but it did take me a while to get the hang of it. There were some other embarrassing/gross things that I had to figure out how to do. But it was okay, and I had nowhere else to go, so I never thought about leaving. I wouldn’t have thought about leaving anyway.

That’s when Seth and Melanie’s ward must have had a missionary sacrament meeting. Remember them? Seth was my roommate for a while; liked X-box; swore like a freaking sailor; married Melanie. One day I get this call from them asking for my address. That was amazing in itself, because my cell phone is out of range 98% of the time. But I happened to be driving back from Philly, so I gave them my grandparents’ address no questions asked. It didn’t occur to me to ask why they wanted it. When the missionaries knocked on our door three days later, I connected the dots and felt mildly pissed that Seth and Melanie had referred me like an Amway customer to their missionaries. But that’s okay—I decided to let them in, scare them with my uncanny knowledge about all things Mormon, and then send them on their way. And it would have worked, if Grandma hadn’t seen them come in and decided that she needed to make us some tea and cookies. So she comes hobbling in with a tray, and of course—you guessed it—the missionaries said they didn’t drink tea. That started a conversation about the Word of Wisdom, and then that started a conversation about prophets, and then that started a conversation about the Book of Mormon. Next thing I know, Grandma is asking me to read 1st Nephi to her instead of Habbakuk. We got through the whole Book of Mormon by June (the missionaries came for the first time in February) and she got baptized in August. Just like that. Seventy-nine years old.

I know what you’re thinking. Am I next? Hell if I know. I’ve got a few things on my calendar—retaking the GRE this Saturday, going to Philly on November 17th for the premiere of Casino Royale, hiking the Appalachian trail come March (I’m starting in Georgia)—and getting baptized isn’t one of them. But since I couldn’t even get away from Mormons in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, I’m not ruling anything out.

When I woke up this morning, I thought, “It’s All Saints Day.” Pretty freaky, since I’m not Catholic and I don’t even know what the hell All Saints Day is. But it got me thinking about the saints I know in this life. Annegb is one of them (is your daughter still hot? Is she still dating that non-member dude? I wonder what she’s up to sometimes). Mari is another one (you’ll never know how many times she talked us out of banning DKL). I’ve always thought Jean Luc Picard was kind of a saint. I look at Septimus more as a wizard or a Norse god than a saint, sorry man. The families of the Amish schoolgirls who were killed last month. That one really smart chick over on Times and Seasons—Rosalynde Welch—she seems pretty saintly. But my favorite saint these days is my grandma, the latter-day saint. At night, after she takes her pills and washes the dishes and checks the deadbolt ten times, she calls for me to read to her from the Book of Mormon. She claims her eyesight is too bad to tell the words, but that’s bull crap, because every night she has me read something that’s directed at me. This was from last night’s reading: “I am mindful of you always in my prayers, continually praying unto God the Father in the name of his Holy Child, Jesus, that he, through his infinite goodness and grace, will keep you through the endurance of faith on his name to the end.” So from one of your saints in Pennsylvania to the rest of you saints out in the bloggernacle, here’s to goodness and grace, today and always.

In many ways, the past year has gone by as if it were a dream! Brian and I have been engaged — really engaged, thank you very much — for three months now, and it’s been pretty great. You may remember my previous confusion over whether Brian had proposed or not…. well, he hadn’t. I didn’t know for sure one way or another for weeks until one day we were watching Law and Order, and it was a rerun with Angie Harmon, and I talked about how she got married to that football player, and then there was a commercial for the Jewelry Exchange in Paramus, and I said we should go out there and look. And Brian gave me this look, like, “what planet are YOU from??” and my faux-engagement just kind of shriveled up right then and there.

So, we weren’t engaged, but we did date pretty steadily for about eight months, and then one day he proposed! It was pretty romantic, even for a New York proposal. It wasn’t at the top of the Empire State Building or anything, but it was in the jazz hall of the new mall at the bottom of the new Time Warner building, and you could look out at Columbus Circle and everything. I wasn’t really expecting it, and he didn’t have a ring at the time, but we were sitting there waiting for Branford Marsalis and Brian got this funny look on his face, and then just blurted, “Iloveyoudoyouwantto marryme!” I laughed, and of course said yes. A July proposal! I couldn’t wait to tell my parents and of course my old roommate Melanie, who is now in the Union Square ward with her husband (and I think she’s pregnant, but she hasn’t told anyone yet).

So all was a bowl of cherries, until about mid-September. I was sitting in Brian’s bedroom while he made dinner in the other room. Here is the part where you roll your eyes in disbelief: I saw something under his mattress. Just the corner of a page, poking out. And I know I had no business rooting around in there, but I couldn’t resist. You guessed it: pornos. Brian had 3 or 4 nudie magazines under his bed: a Maxim, a Playboy, and a couple I’d never heard of and that, quite frankly, weren’t normal.

Look, I’m not naive. I know that guys have needs, and that any single guy over the age of 25 probably looks at pornography once in a while. But that doesn’t help me feel better about it. I feel like now I’m being held up to some weird standard. Worse yet, it cements my earlier suspicions that Brian has issues.

A part of me feels trapped. I’m not getting any younger, and Brian is the best prospect I have of getting married and having children. But I don’t want to marry into nothing but problems. I don’t think I have it in me to call off the engagement (not that we have a wedding date set anyways) and start all over again, not in New York. It’s just too hard.

When I first started blogging over a year and a half ago, I never thought I’d be in the position that I’m in. In a way you could say that I have everything I want: a fiance, a job, a calling… the whole package. But sometimes I feel even emptier than when I tried speed dating that one time. All these things I have, and I don’t think I’m any closer to understanding where I’m going or what I’m about. Does it ever get any easier?

In my dream, everything was normal. I was myself, just as I am, not as a child who forgot to wear pants to school or back in high school forgetting my locker combination, and I was lying in bed, wide awake, something that happens to me all too often. Scott was in bed next to me, snoring a bit, as usual. No movie stars or repentent ex-boyfriends in this dream. I went to push him onto his side to stop the snoring as I usually do (I always worry since I’ve read snoring is associated with heart attacks), but suddenly I thought, no, let him rest how he likes.

I got out of bed and quietly crept into the kitchen, where my mom’s wedding cake rested in pieces in the freezer, just as I had really left it before going to bed. I considered working on it. Wouldn’t it be great to get it done early? Mom would be so surprised and impressed by my hard work. If I had really been awake, and not dreaming, I probably would have, so that at least my sleepnessness could be put to good use. But I was dreaming, so I didn’t. As I’ve said, everything was normal, and yet all of these everyday actions seemed imbued with meaning and purpose. I decided making a cake was a good enough task by itself, no need to try to impress anyone. So instead of busying myself in righteous service, I sat down on the sofa, put my feet up, and looked around. I know everyone is tired of hearing about my neighbor’s undeliverable mail, but it was my dream, so bear with me. The package sat on the side table where I’d left it after my last frustrating attempt to return it (I actually went to the dealership where he worked, but as it turns out, he hadn’t been to work in a week and appears to have left town). I picked it up, but instead of shaking it or smelling it, I just held it in my lap. The thought came to me, clearly and gently:

-Open it.
-But it’s not mine, I thought back.
-If you don’t, who will? Open it.
-But I could get in trouble. I’m not sure I dare.

Then I thought:
-Everyone that asketh receiveth, and she that seeketh, findeth. It’s my gift. It’s been given to me now, for whatever reason.

I opened the package, and this is where the dream really departed from reality. In the box was the very thing I’ve been praying for, for years now. I would rather not say what it was, since it concerns personal things involving sensitive situations for me and Scott. But I will say that the beauty of what was inside was breathtaking for me.

I woke from the dream crying.

Scott was still asleep, but I didn’t wake him up. I felt like praying, so I did, and I felt a powerful reassurance that my concerns were known and that my problems and needs mattered. Then I did something I never thought I would do while conscious. I went into the living room, turned on the light, and opened the package. There were no answers to the big questions I face. In fact, its contents were comfortingly mundane. And delicious.

But the break-up comes at a good time. My grandma had a stroke a week and a half ago, and I’ve decided to go out there and stay with them for a couple of months, maybe even until May. They need someone to drive them around and read the Bible to. I’ll have a chance to work on graduate school applications (hope springs eternal) and brush up on my minor prophets. It’ll be a good time to think about things. Then my dad’s talked me into doing a summer internship at his office starting in June, and after that, we’ll see. The horizon of my knowable life stretches out to September. Plenty of time to think up a future for myself.

So that means that I’ll be retiring from the bloggernacle, for a while at least. My grandparents have dial-up at home, and they think the computer is a waste of time anyway (not too far off, in my case). I’ll be close to Miranda, and we may try to meet up sometime. I don’t think I’ll ever meet Septimus, which makes me sad since he’s my freaking Greek god of practically everything. I’ll miss you, man. Thanks for making me feel so included all the time. Aaron, you’re one crazy dude but I wish you luck wherever you go. Mari, thanks for being the most decent member of the Banner. You had more sense and more smarts than any of us combined. Miranda, thanks for being the life force of this blog. Jenn, now that I’ll be in PA, do you think we could finally give dating a try? Mormon girls love me, trust me on this one.

Black Friday (today) was so named because it was supposedly when retail stores left the red and started turning a profit–entering the black, so to speak. That’s funny to think about. All year long, you wait and wait and wait and wait, manning the cash register, restocking the shelves, moving the supply chain along, ordering more products, advertising. All year long you do all this work, and only at the very end, with only a month left before the whole thing starts over again, do you see that little black “+ $.01” on the ledger. Is it worth it? All of this effort so you can enjoy one month of being in the black, one freezing, dark, sunless month of profitability? A penny’s profit for eleven months’ labor. Whose economy is this, anyway?

But maybe that’s not the analogy I’m trying to draw here. Maybe what I’m trying to say is that it is all worth it. Working in the red, risking on success, shacking up with the Mormons for a spell, taking the freaking GRE, writing for a blog, dating a beautiful girl just to give it a try. Everything that we’ve already gone through, everything in the past–that’s all sunk costs. That one-cent profit–that’s the grace of God.

At night I started thinking I saw light coming from Dale’s house. Not a lot of light, but shades of light, or sometimes I saw pinpoints. I knew it was empty so I figured it was nothing, but sometimes I’d hear noises coming from over there too—faint noises, kinda like whispers, sometimes creaks. I started thinking about when Dale told me about his wife dying of cancer in that house, about her crying from the pain in the room down the hall. I wondered what the old man meant when he told me he had helped her pass on.

I’d spend nights not sleeping, wanting to look over in the direction of Dale’s house, but afraid to, and every time I did look I saw some form of light coming from over there. I thought it would explain why his son hated Dale so much, if maybe he suspected something, if he thought his father put his mother out of her misery like she was a barnyard animal.

I thought I heard a word one night. “Hurt.” It freaked me out so much that I had to do something. I had to get off my couch, go to the window, and pull up the blinds to take a look.

I swear to you Sister Tidwell, I looked over there and a light was on in a room down the hall. I saw it.

I was terrified, not of the light so much, but that I knew I was losing my mind again. I read the Book of Mormon, thinking I don’t know what, that it might protect me or something. I almost finished it by the time the morning came. I stopped when I came to Moroni 8:16 where it says “perfect love casteth out all fear.”

I was starving and looked around the couch to see what food was left. All I had was the kool-aid packets. So I started to eat them by dipping my finger in the kool-aid mix and licking it. Pathetic. I’d eaten two packets when I heard a car pull up outside. I just sat there with my finger in my mouth as I heard steps walking up to my front door. There was some knocking and then I heard a voice call out my name. Did you ever meet Rita? She’s a member of the ward.

I wasn’t about to move a muscle or say a thing, but I looked up and saw her spastic son cupping his eyes and looking in my window. The brat shouted, “I see him sitting on the couch!” If I hadn’t been scared I would have shut those blinds. After that I had to answer the door.

She didn’t seem too horribly shocked about the fact there were empty containers and wrappers all around my couch, or that I hadn’t shaved in days and smelled, or that I was wearing sweatpants and a bathrobe. But she did ask me why I had one red finger and one purple one. I had to explain that. She wanted a favor from me. She wanted me to babysit her son for the day. She said she had to attend a mandatory training session in Rapid City. I felt special until she mentioned she’d asked everyone else. I could tell Rita was desperate. I heard Katie in my head again saying, “Say, yes, Daddy.” So I did. I wanted to say no though, because her son, Stevie, is a hyper-hypo. I thought he’d break my furniture for sure. He should probably be required to wear a helmet.

I hope you don’t have a hyper-active brother. Sorry if you do.

Anyway, she left me with Stevie and he was even worse than I thought. He spent the first half hour walking around my house asking me how things worked. He asked me how a bookshelf worked. I told him you put books on it. For his sake, I hope he was making fun of me.

He decided to open all my windows and I decided the best way to deal with him was to play some games. I came up with one called “Prison” involving him trying to escape from my shed. Clever, right? Well, he started body slamming the wall and my shed started to pitch over like the leaning tower of Pisa. At that point I let him out and dared him to catch me. I kept him at bay running around behind my house until I tripped and then he jumped on me and put snow on my face.

We had kool-aid packets for lunch. It was all I had. Stevie had already ate a packet of tropical punch when I realized that flavored sugar might not be the best thing for a kid like him. It was a mistake, all right. I had to come up with more games than I can remember that afternoon. I wanted to look respectable when his mother came back, so at one point I told him I had a dollar hidden somewhere in my kitchen and it was his if he could find it. While he tore the place apart I took a shower. When I got out everything in my cupboards was on my kitchen table. I still had to shave, so I let him watch me and even lathered up his face and taught him how it all works. It made me remember this time when my neighbor gave me a shave and I felt guilty for thinking he killed his wife.

I used the second hand on my watch to come up with a game called “Speed Cleaning.” That’s how the kitchen and living room got cleaned up. After that I was exhausted. It was dark and surprisingly Stevie started to slow down too. Finally, he fell asleep on the bed and I waited for his mom to come back.

When Rita saw Stevie sleeping on the bed she was so surprised she didn’t want to wake him up right away. I felt like I should offer her something to drink. I was down to my last kool-aid packet. Lucky for me, Rita likes pink lemonade.

We sat down in the kitchen to drink it and I told her that it meant a lot to me that she trusted me with her son. She told me not to be offended, but I wasn’t her first choice. I told her I understood and started telling her everything, about all the lies I’d told you, about Dale leaving me, about Katie, and about the horrible thoughts I was having at night.

When I was done she told me it took her a long time to realize there are some things the Church can’t help you with. She told me I was suffering from mental illness and I needed to get professional help, but not from her. I told her counseling wouldn’t get me back to see Katie. Church is good too, she said, and said I needed both. I told her I could never go back there. She couldn’t blame me after that baptism. “If you do go,” she said, “Steven and I will be there.”

She left after that. Didn’t even finish all her kool-aid. Before I fell asleep that night I thought about the perfect love casting out all fear and I wondered if my love for Katie would be perfect enough.

That Sunday I got up early because without Dale’s truck it was a long way to the chapel. I hitched a ride with some teenagers on their way to go sledding and nearly froze to death riding in the back of their truck. They let me out in front of the chapel and I just stared at it. It was so cold I could see my breath on the air. I could see my breaths were getting shorter and shorter and I saw yellow spots dancing in front of my eyes, so I closed my them. Why does everything have to be so hard for me, Sister Tidwell?

I thought the perfect love casteth out all fear and took a step toward the door. I don’t know if it was the cold, but I was shivering like crazy so under my breath I sang that song Katie likes, that one that goes “sing, sing a song.” That’s how I made it in the building.

Rita was sitting there on the couch in the foyer. I could hear Stevie pushing the metal hangars around down the hall. Rita patted the couch next to her and I sat down at her side. I looked at the chapel doors and thought about the people pouring out and seeing me. Rita offered me her hand and I held it tight.

I looked back at the doors and thought of that song. Be still. I was and I felt calm. I closed my eyes and breathed easy. I was holding Rita’s hand. My hand wasn’t even sweating. It was a miracle.

That’s all, Sister Tidwell. That’s it. You changed my life after all, in spite of all my lies. You need to know that. I promise you it’s the truth.

Sincerely,

Septimus

THE END

I felt sure he was dead because let’s face it he’s old, so I shouted his name. He didn’t move so I shouted it louder.

He screamed and jumped out of his chair and started doing martial art moves, some sort of Redneck Fu, or something like that. It startled me and I screamed back. It was all very disturbing. I thought he might over exert himself and really have a heart attack, so I got him to sit back down. I told him about the baptism and he listened to me, but he’s not Mormon and I’m not sure how much he understood really. After I was done though, he grunted and said, “Your heart’s in the right place.” Then there was like a five minute pause and Dale told me he was moving. He’d been getting back in touch with his son and his son wanted Dale to go live with him. Dale doesn’t even like his son. He told me so. I thought he loved his crappy little farm too much to leave it. His wife died there. His cow’s buried in the backyard. I can’t explain it to you, but it bothered me. It upset me. You’re probably like why are you talking about your neighbor so much. He was the only friend I had the whole time I’ve lived here. I mean how pathetic is it that I can only make friends with an old fart farmer?

Four days later Sister Harris brought your note, which made me realize what a sick bastard I am, and then the day after that Dale’s son came to pick him up. What a prick he turned out to be! Wait. I just used the word prick, and bastard before that, and you’re a return missionary. Can you forgive me for that too?

When they were cleaning out Dale’s place the son came over to give the bible I gave Dale back. He said something like, “Thank you, but we don’t need your Mormon bible.” Something snapped inside me. I wanted to shout, “It’s the King James Version!” in his face as I crushed his trachea with my bare hands, but instead I just smiled and shook his hand. It’s one of the few times where I was glad I have clammy hands. I was trying to sweat through my palms more than usual.

When Dale came over to say good-bye he apologized for his son. Sort of. “He don’t know nothing,” was what he said, but I noticed he didn’t want the bible back. Instead he gave me things. I guess old people like to give their crap away. My grandpa was like that. Dale gave me a bunch of left over kool-aid, three country Western shirts, a bolo tie which he said he could tell was my favorite, okay, whatever, and a Johnny Cash CD which he said he didn’t like because he likes old Cash and this one, he told me, had too much of Cash singing rock songs of other people. “You might like it,” he said.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Dale’s not exactly in touch with his emotions. He didn’t hug me good-bye or anything. He just put his hand on his shoulder and said, “Don’t stick around too long, son. A young man like you, it’s no way to live.” Once he left I realized he was just an old ignorant hick the whole time. I heard him drive off in his son’s gigantic SUV. After the sound faded away it was so quiet and I felt so alone. That’s why I’m telling you about Dale leaving because I’ve spent most of the last three years of my life alone, but I’ve never felt that alone like that in all my life. It just kept coming at me like waves.

I can’t explain why, but I became pathetic. Over the next few days I moved into my couch. I’d get up to go to the bathroom, sometimes to get a drink of water, but that’s about it. I put my laptop, a stack of paperback books, and all the food that didn’t need to be refrigerated in easy reach. I stopped showering and shaving and kept the same bathrobe and sweatpants on the whole time. It was disgusting. I’m sorry.

I started doing things over and over. I read things over and over. I read the note from you over and over. I read this letter from my mother-in-law over and over. I knew it was over. I knew I wouldn’t make it back to Katie. I kept listening to that Johnny Cash album over and over and over. The second song is called “Hurt” and it’s about me Sister Tidwell. It was written for me. I listened to it over and over.

I hurt myself today
to see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
the only thing that’s real
the needle tears a hole
the old familiar sting
try to kill it all away
but I remember everything

what have I become?
my sweetest friend
everyone I know
goes away in the end
and you could have it all
my empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt

I wear this crown of thorns
upon my liar’s chair
full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
beneath the stains of time
the feeling disappears
you are someone else
I am still right here

what have I become?
my sweetest friend
everyone I know
goes away in the end
and you could have it all
my empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt

if I could start again
a million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way

And I started thinking horrible things, Sister Tidwell. Very bad things.

TO BE CONTINUED…

If you’re even just reading this sentence I am so lucky. Please don’t stop reading. Please, please, please just give me a chance to explain. Let me at least ask for your forgiveness. You don’t have to give it. Ever since my baptismal service I’ve wanted to talk to you, but you went home just a few days later, and I was so ashamed I couldn’t even get off my couch.

Sister Harris brought by the note you wrote me before you left and you’re pretty polite about it, but I can tell you hated me when you wrote it and for all I know right now you want to wad this letter up into a ball and toss it in a trash can, and if you do I totally understand why, but please don’t, Sister Tidwell, please, I’ve read that note so many times that I have it memorized and you should know everything you say in it is absolutely true.

I am a liar. In fact, I told lies you don’t even know about. I did waste your time and I am a hypocrite. I had no right to make you feel guilty about emotionally manipulating me toward baptism when I was already a member, and I felt guilty about all those things, Sister Tidwell, I really do, but I why I can’t go on living with myself is that part of your note where you say what I did has tainted your memories of your mission forever. I was half the missionary you were Sister Tidwell and the mediocre memories of my mission have pulled me through some rough times, so I probably can’t, but I have to try to make those missionaries precious to you again by giving you more information.

There were things about me that you never knew, Sister Tidwell and not just that I was a member of the church and a return missionary. I was married before and I have a daughter and I had it all built up in my mind that if I could get back into church my daughter’s mother and her grandmother would let me see her more, but even that’s not exactly why I said yes when you asked me if I’d be baptized.

Before I went to that family home evening at the Bishop’s house I read in Alma 32:23 that “little children do have words given unto them many times, which confound the wise and the learned,” and that made me think about everything Katie said, that’s my daughter’s name Katie, when I talked to her on the phone a couple days before. When you challenged me to be baptized in front of everybody a phrase Katie said over and over popped into my head, “Say, yes, Daddy.” And so I did. I thought it was a sign. I think I might have a mental condition where I see signs where there aren’t any, Sister Tidwell.

I told myself it wasn’t wrong. I told myself God understood. A couple guys I met over the internet got me thinking about the history of rebaptism in the Church and I even thought I could justify it that way. But also I really just wanted to make you happy, Sister Tidwell.

What I want you to know is when the day of the baptism service arrived and I was standing with my bare feet on that cold lime green tile in the men’s room dressed in that awful white jump-suit I knew way back in my mind that it wasn’t right. I was horrified. I was sweating so much I had patches showing through. It felt like I was already immersed and when I saw Ronnie slowly get in the water ahead of me and turn around and wave me in, well, for one thing, I could tell the water was freezing which annoyed me because I specifically asked that it be luke warm after having baptized many people in cold water in Chile, but more importantly, I knew I had to get the hell out of there and come clean.

I don’t remember much else. I don’t even remember what I said when I came out of there and started babbling away at the podium, but I do remember standing there and seeing your confused eyes and that might have been when I fainted.

I still feel horrible about the whole thing. I mean there were a lot of people there and a lot of them brought refreshments and everything.

As soon as I came to I wanted to talk to you, Sister Tidwell, but once the Bishop and Ronnie made sure I wasn’t dead they were pretty disgusted with me too, and I don’t know if they were protecting me from you, or you from me, but I got the impression they wanted me to go home and soon. Ronnie even ushered me out to the truck and I can see him standing in the church parking lot, dripping, a puddle at his feet. He really should have toweled off first. I bet the church custodian was pretty pissed off about that, but I guess that’s beside the point.

The point is I wanted to come find you right away, I wanted to try and make things right, but the very next day I suffered kind of a big blow. I had this old neighbor named Dale, he’s the guy who loans me his truck so I can go to church and besides the two of you back then he was the only person I had to talk to so I went over to his house the next morning to tell him what an ass I’d been.

His house was really quiet and I knocked on the door a couple times and there was no answer. I finally went in and there were some beer bottles rolling around on the floor. Not too unusual, really, but I went in the living room and Dale was sitting totally still with his eyes shut in his easy chair. He had the bible I got for him on his knee and between his fingers was a cigarette burned down to the filter. He looked peaceful sitting there with the morning light coming in the window and I didn’t want to disturb him, but for some reason I started to freak out.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Northern Virginia just feels like home, and it’s going to be the perfect place for us to make a new start. We found the apartment that we’re going to be living in. The funny thing is that we’ll have a neighbor named Dale. He stopped by to welcome us. He’s just the nicest man. He overheard us talking about running some errands, and he actually offered to let us borrow his car. No lie! (One more thing we have in common, Septimus, but there’s no way I’m wearing his clothes to church.) Eric politely declined, but thanked him profusely. On the way back to my parents’, I told him about Septimus’s Dale stories, and we laughed like newlyweds.

We sat in the car talking until well after the sun set. Once he’d heard the stories about Septimus and his neighbor, Eric wanted to know every detail about Banner of Heaven–his sister Mari’s package, Jenn’s awkward moments with roaming hands, Greg’s finding of companionship among Mormons, Aaron’s doctrinal contentions, Septimus and his adoring Sister missionaries (Septimus deserves to be adored, doesn’t he?). We joked about my angry outburst and my dumb movie reviews. He bristled just a bit when I told him some of the things I’d said–enough to sympathize more than a little with DKL.

We went inside, and I finally showed him Banner of Heaven. His first reaction was that he loved the way it looks. He woke up early the next morning and started reading every post and every comment. When I awoke and found him sitting in front of the computer, he was laughing out loud at some rude comment by DKL. I flashed him a mean look and asked him how dare he make light of that. He turned to the computer and brought up my Xbox post–and my heart nearly stopped. Eric turned back to me and asked why I hadn’t mentioned anything about that one, and I was speechless. I just started to cry for how terrible I’d been. He pointed to it, laughed, and said that maybe DKL was the kind of guy he’d like to take out to dinner. Then he hugged me and somehow came up with all kinds of nice things to say. If you’re reading this, Eric, you’re the most wonderful man alive. I love you, and I’m so sorry.

Everything is coming together beautifully, but I still feel confused by how fast it’s happening. I’ve already started to feel like I’m going to miss Lewiston. Oh, well. Life is complicated.

We’ve got to prepare the house to be sold now. This is my first time doing this, and I don’t even know where to start. Any tips?

Matt Bowman’s Answers

Q 1: I figure the storytellers like Abe Mansfield set the stage for Bigfoot, but if you have something more substantial to say about it I would be interested. And why did Bigfoot take off more than, say, the Lemurians? Have any of you talked with Jeff Meldrum about his work?

A 1: About Bigfoot, in general, to set the stage for some other answers. In 1832 in Tennessee, the apostle David Patten claimed to have met with Cain, who was tall—according to him, about Patten’s height while Patten sat on a horse—dark, and hairy. I’ve found evidence that this story was fairly well circulated in nineteenth century Mormonism—Eliza Snow referred to it in a poem she read at one of Lorenzo’s birthday parties, and journals document that the Quorum of the Twelve talked about it formally. In the twentieth century, there’s evidence to suggest that both Spencer Kimball and Joseph F. Smith propagated the story. Particularly, Kimball recounts in in Miracle of Forgiveness (page 127, if you all want to pull your copy of the shelf). About twelve years after Miracle was published, there was a rash of Bigfoot sightings in Utah, following a national craze. I think that Cain gradually became Bigfoot for a variety of reasons—briefly, reflecting Mormonism’s assimilation into American culture, and the increasing marginalization of the negative association with Cain’s presumed dark skin with African Americans.

Q 2: If one did want to run into Big Foot or a Lemurian where would the best place to do it? What would be the best situation to do so?

A 2: Well, my paper provides evidence that Joseph Fielding Smith believed that Cain was sent on at least one occasion in an attempt to thwart a temple dedication. (The Laie, Hawaii, temple, to be specific.) It ties this in with a nineteenth century belief that Satan used physical means to attempt to stop the work of the Church. The dedicatory prayer of the Salt Lake temple stated explicitly that Satan was always more active when a temple was about to be dedicated. So maybe, Kristen, you should head to Draper.

Q 3: “We are pushing beyond the Three Nephites into new territory” Whoa. Hold on. What is there to push beyond from? I’ve heard folklorish stories and the like, but is there any historical bases for it? Do we have records of legitimate sightings or encounters? The Three Nephites might be old hat to you guys but we actually don’t have serious discussions about it often. What do you know about them?

A 3: I think Mike was referring here to the Three Nephites being an heavily studied folklore phenomenon. Mormon scholars like William Wilson and Austin Fife were publishing on them in nationally recognized academic journals forty years ago. They’ve been done—beaten to death. (Well, maybe not literally, but still.) There is a great deal of work on them, and they get assimilated into folk tales in interesting ways. The famous story about an old hitchhiker being picked up, uttering something apocalyptic about food storage, then vanishing, is clearly a Mormon version of the vanishing hitchhiker ghost story that everybody’s heard. Still, though, they remain a uniquely Mormon folk tale, which makes them interesting. As to legitimate encounters, well, that depends. I think there’s something about one of them in Wilford Woodruff’s journals, though I’m not certain where.

Q 4: You’ve already mentioned that Brigham Young believed in the Bear Lake Monster. To what extant in Mormonism do urban legends flow from the top down?

A 4: I think Kimball resurrected the Bigfoot myth in a big way with the Miracle citation, but that may be the most clear account of the top driving folklore. That said, Mormonism is a uniquely hierarchical culture, which impacts Mormon folklore in two ways—first, if some area authority Seventy speculates a bit, it’s going to be picked up in a way that it wouldn’t if it were your grandmother speculating. Secondly, tacking a General Authority’s name onto a folk tale is going to give it some staying power. This happens, even if not by name. A lot of Mormon folk tellers refer to a bishop or stake president, where non-Mormons might say ‘my cousin.’

Q 5: Why did Brigham Young believe in the Bear Lake Monster (I had never heard of this; I hope you have time to go more in-depth about this) and why did Spencer W. Kimball put a bigfoot story in the middle of The Miracle of Forgiveness? Is this why there is so much Mormon folklore, because our leaders buy into it too? What does this say about the prophetic abilities of these two men, that they believed in fairy tales like these?

A 5:I’d say that prophets can be as credulous as anybody else. In looking at Mormon conceptions of authority, I’m a big “the prophet’s only a prophet when acting as such” guy.

Q 6: I’d be interested in your thoughts about how you personally negotiate the line between believing certain spiritual phenomena (like experiences at temple dedications, etc.) and disbelieving certain superstitious phenomena. When is it easy and where does it get hard? I personally shy away from all things Ouija board and ghostie, but I seek to actively feel the Spirit in my life. So I have extremely negative associations with certain types of things, and extremely positive associations with others. I think perhaps this is what Septimus is getting at too-are those divergent associations simply socialized into me, and am I perhaps being close-minded and judgmental where I shouldn’t?

A 6: I’d say largely socialized. Both Mike Quinn and Richard Bushman have documented the extent to which the early church existed in a “visionary age,” one in which manifestly supernatural phenomena—seer stones, dowsing, astrology etc.—was neither rare nor suspect. Indeed, Eliza Snow, Joseph F. Smith, and any number of nineteenth century figures seemed to have no problem with Cain being big, hairy, and roaming the woods of Tennessee; the Times and Seasons published an astrology column, and the Book of Commandments lauded Oliver Cowdery’s dowsing skills. Indeed, one of Joseph Smith’s seer stones was still being used in sacred ritual as late as Wilford Woodruff’s time. So I think it’s largely a matter of association—for Joseph Smith, a seer stone was a tool that facilitated communication with God. For us, it arouses connotations of the occult. I don’t think you’re being judgmental, because the Church and American culture in general have altered the boundaries of respectability. It’s a matter of functioning in your own time. However, that means that we should not cringe when we see what earlier times accepted.

Q 7: Mike, Matt, Alan, I heard something a few years ago about a young lapsed Mormon silicon valley executive-I think his name was Joe Firmage-who was visited by an extraterrestrial, put together some writings, and spent a bunch of his fortune promoting it. Could you tell us about this more completely and accurately than I have, and discuss similarities and differences with Joseph Smith and Moroni?

A 7: I haven’t heard of Firmage, but I can refer you to this person.
www.thesealedportion.com He claims to have received a translation of the sealed portion of the Book of Mormon while working as a janitor in the Salt Lake temple. (And he’s giving a speech at the Salt Lake library in December! Utah people, take note!) This isn’t too different, I think, from James Strang, who translated the Book of the Law of the Lord from some plates he claimed an angel gave him. There’s really no reason, I think, other than spiritual experience, for us to claim that Joseph Smith was not a kook and these men are. You can compare the quality of revelation, I suppose, but that sort of thing is often highly subjective; there are plenty of religious and literary figures who have dismissed the Book of Mormon as poorly written tripe. (Harold Bloom—whatever else he might have to say about Joseph Smith—being one, Alexander Campbell being another.) Ultimately I think it comes down to personal testimony, one way or the other.

Q 8: Have you found anything about cow mutilation and UFO sighting in Utah, or highly populated Mormon areas?

A 8: Again, dude, all the answers you seek can be found at www.aliendave.com. Read and find enlightenment.

Alan Morrell’s answers

Q 9: What are the Bear Lake and Loch Ness Monsters?

A 9: I’ll speak to the Bear Lake Monster and let the reader decide who it might apply to the Loch Ness and other Lake/Sea monsters. As for the Bear Lake Monster, I believe it was a good promotion and a fun diversion for several isolated settlers in the Bear Lake area. The first person to write about the Bear Lake Monsters (there were adolescent monsters as well as adult ones) was Joseph C. Rich, son of Apostle Charles C. Rich, who was 27 years old when he first wrote about the monsters in 1868. Years later in 1894, he claimed responsibility for “that wonderful first class lie—The Bear Lake Monster.” Joseph Rich was known for his pranks. Soon after moving to Bear Lake, messages from beyond began to appear on eggs from Mrs. Clifton’s Plymouth rock hen that were sold at Rich’s store. The messages included pieces of philosophy, scripture, and personal advice for local residents. Saints at Bear Lake became so involved with the prophecies that Apostle Rich eventually had to declare that when the Lord wanted something revealed he would do it by way of proper authority, and not through the hind end of a chicken. Soon after his father’s declaration, Joseph put away his invisible ink. After the initial sighting of the Bear Lake Monster, any unexplained occurrence could be attributed to it. With regards to the second question. I’ve been to Bear Lake several times and never seen the monster. But once when water skiing at Willard Bay, a large carp swam into me (or at least I supposed it to be a carp).

Q 10: Please summarize everything you know about Bear Lake Monster

A 10: While Brigham Young believed in the Bear Lake Monster, or at least never ruled out the possibility, he never claimed to have seen it. He sent a rope up to Bear Lake to help catch one, but I believe that was simply a cheap investment that he hoped would return a large reward if one could be caught. The Deseret News recored that on a visit to Bear Lake, Young peered out across the lake in hopes of catching a glimpse of the celebrity. He reportedly brought up the Bear Lake Monster in some of his sermons, so he likely believed. But why not? One of his own apostles and several good people from Bear Lake confirmed the stories. Wonderful discoveries were being made throughout the world. Why couldn’t descendants of some of these large animals be found in remote areas, like Bear Lake? The world was in a state of incredible change at this time. Anything was possible. Some church leaders who claimed to have seen a Bear Lake Monster about 13 years after the initial sighting were John Taylor, George Q. Cannon, Wilford Woodruff, Lorenzo Snow, Franklin D. Richards, John H. Smith, and Joseph F. Smith. The relationship of Joseph C. Rich to his apostle father along with the belief of Brigham Young and sightings of other apostles certainly lent to the credibility and spread of the folklore. I believe that the tendency among many in the Latter-day Saint community to hold their prophets and apostles as omniscient helped in the spread of the folklore.

Q 11: Please share your thoughts about how you personally negotiate the line between believing…

A 11: I rely upon personal experience and tend to be skeptical while not ruling out most stories that I hear. Belief doesn’t mean much until it moves into the realm of action. The validity of many things don’t really matter to me. If my belief in a story is going to cost me something or change my behavior, then I take it a little more seriously. If I were to give up family, friends and fortune for a belief, I believe it would require a personal experience, not just faith in another’s words. At the same time I realize how little I know and appreciate that I can’t prove all things before moving. So it is a balancing act.

Mike Van Wagenen’s Answers

Preface: I must admit that I am disappointed that Miranda ended up being a guy named Dave and not the pretty young woman in the picture. Nonetheless, in the spirit of this paranormal day (Day of the Dead) I have tackled a few of your questions. Please keep in mind that I am still collecting UFO stories so please email me the stories you have heard on missions and in Sunday school classes: maximon999 at aol dot com.

Q 12: What about UFOs?

A 12: There have been several questions about unidentified flying objects and Mormons. Let me first qualify my answers by saying that I consider UFOs to be exactly that—unidentified. In an academic setting I do not see them as the traveling Lost Tribes of Israel, satanic plots or evidence of life on other planets. They are objects people see in the sky which they cannot explain. Such sightings can be traced back to the Roman Empire. That said it must also be understood that UFOs are interpreted differently by different peoples depending largely on their culture and the time period in which they live. I divide Mormon UFO encounters into two categories for just that reason.

Nineteenth-century Mormons interpreted UFOs much different than their twentieth-century counterparts. During the life of Joseph Smith, many Mormons saw and recorded sightings of unusual lights hovering in the skies. Almost to a person they interpreted these phenomena to be signs of the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. They were often described in the church-owned newspapers and it is clear that Joseph Smith agreed with the millenarian interpretation until 1843. During his last year Smith distanced himself from this celestial sign seeking. This corresponded with the Millerite prediction of the Second Coming. The Millerites, like the Mormons, looked for signs in the heavens to support their claims of Christ’s imminent return. Smith sought to distance himself from the Millerites in 1843, and admonished the church to stop sign seeking. From that point on the Mormons largely ignored UFOs in the nineteenth century. At the end of the century the nation was gripped with a UFO frenzy and church leaders continued to discourage celestial sign seeking. Instead they focused on finding proof of the Book of Mormon’s legitimacy in the ancient ruins of Meso-America. I am still researching the twentieth century, but can offer some preliminary findings. When the “flying saucer” phenomena made headlines in 1947, Mormons took notice. While the Latter-day Saints were not the first ones to associate extraterrestrial life with unidentified flying objects, they created a unique Mormon folklore that exists in the Church to this day.

Some of the modern-Mormon explanations of UFOs include the belief that these are merely visitors from God’s other worlds or the Lost Tribes of Israel preparing to return to earth. Both of these arguments can be supported through the teachings of church leaders both in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The New Era even ran an article about UFOs which claimed them to be evidence of God’s “other” people. The Tribes of Israel story seems to come from an early Mormon belief that pieces of the earth (including people) had been broken off to start other planets. Some Mormons speculated that the Lost Tribes of Israel disappeared from the earth in one of these separations. This was solidified in Mormon culture when LDS television producer Glen Larson, created the popular “Battle Star Galatica” series in the 1970s. Larson fused Mormon folklore with popular science fiction to create a thinly veiled story of twelve colonies of humans trying to find their way back to the mother planet of “Kobol.” I believe this program (very popular with the LDS) solidified the Tribes of Israel in space theory in Mormon culture. With these two ideas floating around the Mormon psyche, it is perhaps no small coincidence that many significant UFO sightings and abductions have occurred within the greater Mormon cultural sphere of the intermountain West.

Q 13: What about Lemurians?

A 13: I spent a few years of my childhood living in the shadow of Mount Shasta. It was the 1970s and the paranormal was starting a revival in American culture. I heard stories of Lemurians throughout my years there. This is a summary of what I recall hearing. First the Lemurians were the descendants of the people of Atlantis. When their land sunk into the ocean they were sucked
into the center of the earth. They found a conduit to the earth’s surface via the lava flue in Mount Shasta. They are more technologically advanced than the surface dwellers of the planet and travel in flying saucers. They can also ride gold and crystal elevators to the top of Mount Shasta if they would rather walk than fly. It seems to me that the topic was brought up among both the LDS and
non-LDS people. My parents even owned a book entitled “The Lost Continent of Lemuria,” although my father thought all the UFO hype of the time was bunk. I can think of no specific connection between Lemurians and Mormon folklore, but it really isn’t my area.

Q 14: What about Joe Firmage?

A 14: Joe Firmage is a fascinating character who I have followed via his website for a few years. Yes, he definitely was and perhaps still is LDS. He is brilliant, wealthy, and clearly a colorful character. For the sake of space and time I will refer you to a few websites about Brother Firmage: www.firmage.org and www.disinfo.com

Q 15: What about Drugs?

A 15: I’ve not heard of early Mormon experimentation with drugs before. The church in its early, pre-Republican days was a rebellious group. Could some of these out-of-the-mainstream thinkers tried drugs? It wouldn’t surprise me, although I know of no evidence.

Q 16: What about Ouija Boards?

A 16: The ouija board is a modern version of the old spirit or witch’s board. While a number of early Mormons turned to occult practices such as stone scrying and diving rods, I have never heard of early Mormons using spirit boards. D. Michael Quinn has demonstrated how Mormon folk magic fit within the larger magic worldview of the time. Perhaps the use of ouija boards fits this model. Once Parker Brothers commercially introduced ouija boards to the American public, they became a part of America’s culture. While I am a bit out of touch with the modern church policy, I suspect that the brethren in Salt Lake discourage the use of ouija boards. Do I know of modern Mormons playing with these? Absolutely. But I also know plenty of Evangelical Christians, Catholics, and Jews who have experimented with them. I believe that Mormons are no more predisposed to playing around with ouija boards than any other religious group. Spirit boards are a part of twentieth-century pop culture and are therefore shared across the cultural spectrum in the United States.

Q 17: What about Folklore in General?

A 17: Wherever groups come together in ethnicity or purpose you will find folklore. Bus drivers, Catholics, Tejanos, Amway salesmen, and countless others all have their own specific folklore which both defines themselves and interprets the world around them. Mormons are a part of that tradition. Our folklore is as colorful as any other group, and is unique to our own community. The purpose that it serves however is universal. There are the didactic tales which warn and teach the young. Remember the countless temple garment stories? There are the stories that validate us in our mission. If the founding fathers appeared in the temple then we must be right. Then there are all the stories of premonitions and visions that prove the power that each of us has to control an uncontrollable world. While I know many LDS who are embarrassed by various aspects of Mormon folklore, I’m all for embracing it as part of our heritage and legacy.

Yesterday, APJ wrote, “Try dealing with the fact that this blog struck a lot of people as a bad idea, instead of justifying it by explaining yourself as innocent as possible in hindsight.” I think that has been one of the hardest things for me over the past few days—letting go of my protestations about being misunderstood and realizing that I’ve been deceiving myself. I don’t exactly know how this self-deception, which has had such seismic consequences, first began or how it managed to color the way I thought about what we were doing. I suspect that my self-deception was fed by a certain giddy delight in attention and, to a certain extent, acceptance and power. I also really liked the camaraderie of my fellow Gadianton robbers, who have been friends through several major junctures in my life over the past six months. In any event, I managed not to see the wrong in what we were doing for a very long time, and I feel sick as I come to realize that I have misled and mistreated a lot of very good people.

This brings me to another apology: that it took a debacle like this to extract an apology in the first place. I have been compelled to be humble, so to speak, not because of my innate sense of right and wrong, but because suddenly everyone was mad at me. I know that casts doubt on the apologies you’ve been reading—you probably wonder where this would have all gone if we’d managed to get away with it after all. So I realize that this apology is extremely self-serving—I’m sorry because you’re mad at me. But I’m also sorry, and getting sorrier, for my part in the bad decisions that took place all along.

Okay, I don’t want to stray into the hyperbolic or ridiculous. It would be pretty underhanded of me to make anyone feel bad for making me feel bad, so I want to stop well short of that line. I did something stupid, I had a fast, fun ride, and now I’m paying up. Quite frankly, the duped Bloggernacle is having the last laugh, and we deserve every bit of it.

Now some more specific apologies. In creating the character of Greg Fox, I wanted to see if there was a place for a nonmember in the Bloggernacle. I based him on a guy I met just before my mission while working at Catholic Healthcare West. He wasn’t Mormon, but he’d just broken up with a Mormon girlfriend of several years, and he recognized my religion from my CTR ring, my backward sense of style (sorry to all you more fashionable Mormons out there), and the four younger siblings I frequently towed around with me. I was amazed at how much he knew about the church—the different offices in the priesthood, the first principles and ordinances, current General Authorities. I had a hard time believing that he could know so much about Mormonism and not believe it was true. It was actually quite disconcerting for me, and I think it was a valuable thing to experience as a soon-to-be-missionary. In any event, I have remembered him ever since, and I have often wondered what he must have felt like at church and among Mormons. But I realized, as I tried to write about things that Greg would write about, that this was an arrogant goal. I *didn’t* know how someone like Greg would feel in a community like ours, and I was not being very fair or respectful toward people who are actually in his position. So I would like to apologize to any of the readers that have felt particularly betrayed or disgusted by the fact that it was a Mormon writing a non-Mormon the whole time. Especially to my good friend who is not Mormon but who reads here occasionally—Greg was not based on you and was not meant to be a caricature of your experience.

I would also like to reiterate the apologies of my fellow bloggers to our commenters who bought into this. Annegb, on one of Greg’s first posts—the one about the apartment he was living in—you said that you enjoyed reading the interactions between the roommates because they reminded you of how your future son-in-law may have been with his friends. It was at this point that I should have thought, “Oh no, I am deceiving someone I like and respect.” Instead, I thought, “Wow, I really sound like a boy?” I’m sorry about that—this was extremely prideful and very juvenile. At this point, I think you would be a better friend to all of my non-Mormon friends than I have been. Not that you want more people to take care of.

I also apologize to my mom, who, if she ever finds out about this, will be absolutely sick. She’s had to clarify my heterosexuality in public before; I’m sure she’s sick of me making a fool of myself in such exposed places. I am the most oblivious and least reliable of the Frandsens, and my actions in no way reflect on any member of my family. Also, if she ever reads any of Greg’s posts, she’ll be even more saddened to see how easily foul language comes to me when I’m trying to sound male.

Finally, my apologies to my fellow bloggers for being such a coward and taking so long to put this up. We’ve all put ridiculous amounts of time into this wrong-headed endeavor, and none of them ever made me feel inadequate or guilty, even when my posts were mediocre and infrequent. I truly hope that the bloggernacle will not suffer any casualties because of our actions. I actually predict that by tomorrow afternoon, you’ll all be talking about something else, and my 15 minutes of infamy will be cold to the touch. But the bloggernacle has been an exciting and welcoming place to me, both as Naomi and Greg, and I am sorry that I did anything to weaken its power to do good.

How did I keep Aaron’s true identity hidden for so long? As Joseph is quoted in the Truman Madsen tapes, “I can keep a secret.” Alas, it is a boast that rarely can be sustained. You may think no man knows your history, but the fact is that men come to know your history after all. Fittingly, in this case, Aaron was unmasked by the AKA plugin, briefly turned on for public view, at the Banner itself—the one place I was not careful. Rusty, give the man a T-shirt. (The AKA tool is not a perfect tool, as noted, but in this instance it is accurate. As the only unknown I was going to post last, but now I see no reason for delay.)

Of course, the irony of Aaron being the only one not unmasked until the last moment is that Aaron was the most unmasked of all. Judging from the responses he was getting in comments, he was unbelievable to virtually everyone, at least eventually. Maybe this means I have less to apologize for to the readers—maybe not, I invite your judgments if you wish to render them—but it also means I have more to apologize for to my co-bloggers. As previously mentioned, this project was conceived as an attempt to develop interesting characters with interesting stories, and not be (at least primarily) about parody or satire. (As Rosalynde testified based on her participation in early planning discussions, I also bear a second witness that it was never about being intentionally mean-spirited. The unlooked-for quandary of eliciting “heartfelt confessions and sympathy from the readers”—as one reader judged our intentions—was regrettably not on our collective radar screen, and certainly not part of our intent.) But in spite of our stated goals, my weakness and utter inexperience as a narrative writer left open to me only the low and easy road of satire, to the detriment of the goal of a realistic dramatic blog. In fact, however, the parody may not always have been obvious, and I may not be adequately owning up to the feelings of those who were not vociferous doubters. (A couple of heated exchanges early on pricked my conscience, for example. I’m relieved to have read in a comment that at least one of Aaron’s early interlocutors feels okay about his intense encounter with Aaron.) Hence I may well deserve as many or more lashings (and thrashings) as anyone here. Please feel free to administer them. I hope to learn from this, and an important part of that would be hearing from you how my responsibility for Aaron affected you personally. I wish no one any harm, and would aspire to be, or become, friendly with all.

While on one level my desperate resort to parody made Aaron simply over-the-top and fun, there were a couple of “serious” things I tried—and perhaps failed miserably, even inappropriately—to explore in writing Aaron.

One thing, eventually detected and publicized by Rusty (or perhaps leaked, I’ll have to ask Steve and Rusty about their big conversation), was some caricatured shades of Joseph Smith, the original rough stone who sought only the learning and wisdom of heaven. This had at least one serious purpose—a purpose, I might add, not necessarily partaking of what Rosalynde recently called the anti-prophetic tradition, lest anyone defenestrate me prematurely for even contemplating such a caricature. I won’t take your time here to list in detail traits, actions, or sayings in posts and comments that pointed to this.

Aaron was truly a strange thing in the land, and not surprisingly the reaction to him was not exactly an open-armed welcome. (He certainly did not elicit heartfelt sympathy.) He struck people as completely ridiculous (or “rediculous,” as one reader called him while chiding Aaron’s penchant for misspelling), and it seemed to me that with few exceptions he was dismissed without people making an effort to engage him in a serious way. This is completely proper and understandable. With limited time we necessarily make quick decisions about what merits our attention and effort, and detailed arguments with Aaron were opportunities understandably passed over. Believe it or not, however, I think a dispassionate review would show that I tried to construct real arguments from scripture and unmistakably Mormon (if sometimes outdated or not universally accepted) beliefs—arguments that, given some traditional Mormon premises, would actually require a little work to refute—sort of like how Nate has said there’s actually some thinking going on amongst Islamic fundamentalist legal theorists. Maybe I’m wrong, but having had no choice but to spend more time than anyone on this planet reading Aaron, I think his arguments were stronger than he was given credit for.

Aaron was an irrepressible budding neoprophet. A wild voice in the wilderness, he offended us modern educated readers, comfortable in the sensibilities of our contemporary prophetic conventions, modest and tame, with cultivated public respectability. Is it possible that Joseph seemed similarly strange to his respectable contemporaries? That he got about as fair a hearing in his generation as Aaron did among us? That Joseph’s amazing stories seem so much more comfortable to us in no small part because of his historical distance, and perhaps our lifelong acquaintance with another kind of caricature? I was interested in stimulating thought about how difficult it would have been to give Joseph a fair hearing in his day—something, by the way, that could be explored in a unique way because of the facade.

Related to my dubiously bold claims about the putative hidden strength of Aaron’s arguments, a second idea I was interested in exploring was the surprising extent that our beliefs, assumptions, and sensibilities are underdetermined by our written canon and record. As I said, I made something of an effort to derive Aaron’s discomforting views from scripture and other genuinely Mormon sources. Is it possible that some of the discomfort with and reluctance to engage Aaron was a sense, perhaps subconscious, that arguing with Aaron could lead surprisingly quickly to the uncomfortable position of seeming to argue against scripture and traditional Mormon notions? (I remember one commenter finally coming out and saying that The Miracle of Forgiveness is full of errors and false doctrine—something I don’t think most would end up liking to say!) Is it even possible that Aaron’s position is not just an alternative derivation, but perhaps even more faithful to the written record than our contemporary sensibilities? If so, whence the changes, what really drives them, what fills in the blanks—continuing revelation, external cultural influences, … —and what are the implications?

This ‘underdeterminedness’ helps me recognize—and maybe even appreciate, I’m not sure yet—the importance the presiding authorities attach to some things some Saints come to the Bloggernacle to discuss and escape and complain about and transcend. The ‘unwritten order of things,’ the active and intrusive shepherding, all our many idiosyncratic standards and conventions on things that, to outsiders, ought to fall under the purview of individual discretion, the overwhelming correlation of lessons and learning and literature and love, in short, of life: perhaps all this really is necessary to maintain the strong cohesion and, yes, uniformity, that we’ve come to expect from our Zion. (Nota bene: The Bloggernacle thrives outside this correlated greenhouse, whose controlled environment is carefully prepared to foster the growth of plants of tender faith. By definition, therefore, the Bloggernacle consists of alternate voices. Caveat lector.) A written canon is not enough, not nearly enough, not by a long shot. Aaron can take you a long way on a strange ride on the strength of the written canon alone.

In this moment of justly expected candor, reciprocating the openness of our commenters, I will open up about some things and own up to some things. So often, creative energy is born of pain. If this applies in my case, it may be the ongoing pain of being a rather epistemologically challenged Mormon who chooses to maintain an impeccable attendance record. Perhaps as one way to deal with this I at times approached the task of constructing my straw man with a bit more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. (The recurring Truman Madsen tapes were a nod to the pedestrian means by which one such as Aaron could potentially garner exotic knowledge.) I will also acknowledge something I share with Aaron: a tendency to see in black and white, something I may learn something about from you all. Oh, and I too own a deluxe leather-bound limited edition of Mormon Doctrine. And I too think breast implants are generally a bad idea, preferring in the end things as they really are.

How do those lyrics go by Deep Blue Something… ‘So what now? You say that things are over, and I hate when things are over, there’s so much left undone.’ In his brief life, Aaron may have managed to achieve iconic status (see also here), but many interesting doctrinal sequelae were left undeveloped (several of these would have been inspired by insightful comments on his early posts that he did not get the chance to, in his words, “dignify with a post.”) The narrative of his life was also left unfinished: We didn’t get to see Aaron go beyond the written canon, on to revelations of his own… The HUGE MISTAKE from his past and its sudden new impact on his life… Why he comes to retroactively see his abecedarian choice of a pseudonym as unwittingly inspired… And what was it of such apocalyptic importance he saw in Elder Nelson’s talk, that left him so dumbfounded he couldn’t blog for two months? Not to mention all the Truman Madsen tape references he had up his sleeve… I won’t say any more about his fate in this post. My co-bloggers and I may not have the heart—and few readers seem to have the stomach—to continue these stories further. Part of me wishes it were still possible, now that we’re all in on the fun. Who knows: if Aaron really is irrepressible, perhaps his voice may reappear from time to time after all, bereft of co-bloggers and readers, stripped from blogrolls and a spot on the Archipelago—truly, a lone voice in the wilderness.

They say you hurt the ones you love and I think it’s true. When I stumbled across the bloggernaccle, as we call it, about a year a go I fell in love with it and I wanted to contribute to it and be a bigger part of it. I imagine a lot of people have felt that way when they first discovered it and that’s why it’s a place that has grown. I think for people that are lawyers, economists, literary critics, and other intellectuals it’s a place that is easier to contribute to than for people like me. I’m a hack writer.

Kaimi knows I work in reality TV and compared this blog to the worst shows that genre has to offer. I don’t really think that’s a fair comparison, but I can see why he feels that way. Many of us enjoy blogging to escape the unsatisfying drudgery of our daily work and to momentarily be a version of what we really want to be, but aren’t, or aspire to be, but haven’t achieved yet. Lawyers stop reviewing documents to share dazzling and insightful arguments. Professors stop grading papers to share the answer to a big question they’ve discovered. Stay-at-home moms put the kids down to nap and go tackle a thorny doctrinal issue. I’m a storyteller. I wanted to do the same sort of thing, escape the world I work in which I don’t always care for, and tell a good story, one about the culture I know and love, one about redemption. I wanted to show what I can do and tell a story like I never get to tell to a unique audience I thought might appreciate it.

It was a simple and pure desire at first and I want you all to know I recognize that it got corrupted along the way. I recognize that my pride and ambition and desire for attention blinded my better judgment, things escalated, and people were hurt by my words. I think a lot of people in the bloggernaccle community have had the same thing happen to them, but only on a much smaller scale in the daily heated exchanges on threads everywhere. Obviously, what I’ve done is far worse, but that’s why I can only ask for a far greater gift of understanding and forgiveness.

*****

Naomi quoted what I thought our goals should be over on T&S. It was never intended to be the cruel prank so many people feel it has been. In retrospect we should have explicitly said it was fiction from the start, but I felt that no one would interact with us at all beyond giving us faint praise, or not-so-faint criticism if we did that. In fact, the reaction to nearly all my posts as Septimus, especially recently, appeared to me as if people were reacting to my work with full knowledge that it was fictional in precisely the way I was afraid they would if we didn’t do something a little different. From the start, I didn’t think we would be good enough writers to fool many people for long at all, but I thought if we created a semblance of reality then people would get hooked on our stories and remain interested.

Clearly, I’m a moron, but I thought that was what happened. After the first month we were constantly being called fake and it’s been fairly consistent since then. Early on Kaimi linked to one of my posts, saying we “jumped the shark.” I was pretty sure the post where Sep blacks out in his backyard blew the lid off any illusion that Sep was a real person and since then on nearly every post I wrote as Septimus people have said it was fictional in one way or another. This in no way mitigates the damage I’ve done to this community or the pain I’ve caused certain people, but I want to explain why from my perspective it seemed much more like an open secret that everyone who had invested much time at all in our blog was just playing along with and not a cruel insider’s prank.

*****

Many of the people who have expressed the most outrage over our blog have admitted to not liking it, and not having read much of it, and not being very invested or interested in it. Still I think they have every right to be upset on behalf of the people that were invested in it and feel hurt, and on behalf of the community at large. I understand the desire to protect and defend a community that you helped build.

We had a community of our own at the Banner and the people who were part of it know who they are. Thank you for participating, commenting, reading, and collaborating along with us. I felt at the very best most rewarding moments that we were telling stories together. I feel like many of you found a place where you could speak more freely and more openly and be a bit more real, and not be intimidated. I think a lot of people had fun, actually. However, I realize now more of you feel genuinely betrayed than I thought. I want to apologize to as many of you as I can. If you have been silent and don’t want to admit you were hurt in public, please contact me privately to express your anger. I will do my best to apologize. My email address is brianngibson at gmail dot com.

*****

Kaimi, Bryce, Geoff J, and Kristen J, I believe you’ve all expressed regret in one way or another about not standing up and saying it was fake earlier, and I can understand how this has led to guilt and other conflicted feelings. I apologize for being partly responsible for that.

Rosalynde, I’m sorry that I used our friendship to briefly involve you in this blog and I hope your credibility remains intact. Everyone should know that Rosalynde’s involvement was minimal and always against her better judgment. I’m not a good influence on her I am afraid. Rosalynde, I’m sorry I got your little sister involved too. I feel like I owe the entire Frandsen family an apology for tainting their good name. I’m afraid if I go to the Miller-Eccles Group to hear Richard Bushman your dad will kick my butt.

I want to apologize to Steve Evans for coming to him with this idea. He put a lot more relationships at risk than I did and everyone should know that I deserve a lot more of the condemnation than he does and has already received.

I want to apologize to Rusty’s posse, Ned, Random, Kurt, John Mansfield and any others if they bear me any ill will. We were clearly outgunned. I think you guys enjoyed hunting us down and I think we enjoyed being hunted, until of course, we were backed into a corner of the OK Corral and filled full of lead, but we deserved it.

I want to apologize to John Mansfield for impersonating the Hulk and Yoda. I want everyone to know that the Hulk and Yoda are actually fictional just like Septimus.

I want to apologize to DKL for apologizing to so many people; I know he wouldn’t like it.

I want to apologize to Aaron Brown for all the many times he was accused of being involved. I want everyone to know he had absolutely not a single thing to do with this ever at any time. We wouldn’t even let him guest blog. Even fake blogs have standards.

I want to apologize to Aaron Fenton; if I ever see him in real life I will surely crap my pants.

*****

I want to end on a serious note and sincerely apologize to the people that I believe I know have been hurt.

I am truly sorry Sue, meems, Howie, Bananas, measure, Stephen M, Blain and others I am sure. Again, if you’ve been hurt by my actions, please demand an apology from me in public or in private.

Finally, most of all, more than all these other apologies, I want to apologize again to Annegb who taught me an invaluable lesson in forgiveness earlier today when I apologized to her in private, and I would like my apology to stand for all other people who like her may have believed in spite of it all.

Anne, you have a special gift for believing and I am ashamed that I took advantage of it. Please don’t feel ashamed of the ease with which you believe in other people and care about them. Thinking you might feel that way makes me sick. I know I put you in a position where you might feel that way and what I did was wrong, but please know it’s a good believer like you that makes the best member of any audience, or a church, or a community. There’s never any shame in believing. It’s what makes you a wonderful, compassionate person. Thank you for forgiving me.

Sincerely,

Brian

Unlike my co-bloggers, I offer no general apology. After all, I have historically been among the most reviled participants in the Bloggernacle. Why stop now? And I’m not generally sorry for what this blog accomplished. On the contrary, I’m very proud to have participated in this blog.

Most of the comments condemning Banner of Heaven ignore the fact that it has been a tremendous success. And the reason for this success is that Banner of Heaven has the best commenters in the bloggernacle–they deserve a hell of a lot of credit. From the deepest depths of my heart, I want to say: Thank you. It pains me to think that you might be hurt. You will never be laughed at or mocked, and you shouldn’t feel kicked around. You should feel immensely proud. You are the best and the brightest in the bloggernacle, and I have the utmost respect for you. Look at the difference between the discussion at Nine Moons, which was heavily weighted with regular Banner contributors, and the discussion on the other blog, which was not. The Nine Moons discussions were funny and they even gave away prizes. The discussion on the other is dominated by a lot of moralizing and condemnation. That’s the difference between Banner of Heaven commenters and the folks that hang out over there. That’s why I was not banned here, but I was banned there (and we’d have banned me, too, if the public sentiment had supported it). I wouldn’t trade you for the world.

Personally, I put a lot of time into writing posts and making comments as Miranda Park Jones, and I wrote them for you, the readers. I sincerely hope that you enjoyed them. I made sure that the blog had all of the polish of a professionally developed web site. All this, when I stood to gain nothing from it materially. In doing so, I provided a forum for public discussion wherein people participated in good faith, and this forum was provided in good faith even if it was provided under false pretense. I understand that these efforts are not appreciated by many who are reading this post, and I regret that.

Those who made personal disclosures did so in public when known private avenues of communication were available. And I, as DKL, participated right alongside you in public. I’ve made all of my most candid comments here at Banner of Heaven for all to see.

I have offered a private, individual apology to annegb, and I re-iterate it here. annegb goes above and beyond the call of duty in responding to and caring about those with whom she corresponds. Her level of participation and devotion is without precedent and without equal. Moreover, she seems to get what I write, and she’s always been kind enough to defend me from unfair criticism—including Miranda’s. annegb, I’m sorry.

Why did I choose to participate? Because I thought that we could create something fun and interesting. I think that we succeeded.

Why did I choose to play a feminist woman from Lewiston, Idaho? Because it is funny, and because I wanted people to have something to laugh at when we finished. My posts are still up, and you can see them if you click on the “Miranda” button. (Ronan, my first post was not on anti-depressants, it was on a feminist reading of Esther; you missed the “Next Page” button.)

I also did it because I could do it. Not that I could get away with it, but that I was constitutionally and intellectually capable of credibly playing a feminist housewife from Lewiston, Idaho who contributed and produced a prodigious output while still holding my own as DKL. And that means quite a lot to me. So much so, in fact, that I couldn’t help but boast in an earlier thread:

As far as the time that it takes to blog: Get real! Writing original content doesn’t scare me. I could write [Miranda’s] posts, [Miranda’s] comments, my comments, manage my family relationships, magnify my church callings, and hold down a job.

I’m also responsible for the look and feel of the Banner of Heaven. Steve chose the Northern Web Coders template and found the domain. I modified the template to it’s current look, and I wrote all of the plug-ins that we use except the ones for live comment preview, the spam blocker, and the Creative Commons icon.

How do I feel now that it’s over? Sad. I’m going to miss my co-bloggers, Naomi, Allison, Brian, Steve, and Christian. People who group blog will understand, but you get to know people that way. You all put up with me, and that says a lot (it’s more than the crew at Times and Seasons was capable of). And you were a joy to correspond with on an almost daily basis. We no longer have a good excuse to correspond regularly, and I’m really going to miss that. And thanks for all the pointers and the feedback on making sure that Miranda didn’t slowly become DKL over time.

What I didn’t predict, and what I couldn’t have predicted, was the high quality of the group of people that took the time to comment here and make this a fun and interesting place. I couldn’t care less about the johnny-come-lately’s that are moralizing, but I want our regular participants to know how great they are. They should be proud of what they helped to create here. All those nay-sayers who self selected themselves out of the comment pool missed out on a lot of fun. Again, thank you. You all are the best!

First, let me say that although I can’t speak for everyone here, I don’t believe any of us ever considered this blog as a joke or a parody. At no time did I get the impression that any of the Banner bloggers were snickering at people for believing in us. All the same, I did worry a little about this angle going into the project. I probably should have paid more attention to these misgivings. In my defense, soon after we started, we began getting comments pointing to our fictionality, and as time went on, the general consensus from these commenters seemed to be that it didn’t matter, they were still enjoying the ride (which was one of the explicit goals from the beginning: good stories, not realism or convincing fakery). I was very surprised to find that this wasn’t the case for some or most of you. I realize now I was wrong, and I really am sorry about that.

I was and still am excited to write alongside my fellow fake bloggers, however. As a collaborative creative writing exercise goes, there couldn’t be a better group to work with, and they’ve been supportive and helpful behind the scenes. I’m not too proud to say I was the last of them to be asked to join, and that the person they had in mind originally is a wonderful writer who apparently had better judgement than I’ve shown. I took over the character she had outlined and altered her personality and storyline to explore my own fascination with just how far many adult women will go to try to please everyone. Again, it wasn’t my intent to poke fun, because I’m not immune to this particular problem. Many of Mari’s experiences (even the missing neighbor and undeliverable package) have really happened to me, friends, or family members. I had a few more odd occurences and familial strains in store for her (more family members and near-strangers moving in with her, as well as the calling as nursery leader, with the mysterious package outcome and a wedding saved for the very end), and was building up to a crisis wherein she would be forced to rethink what a good person should feel obligated to do for others. Some of these situations were tied up with Miranda (Mari’s brother’s wife, going through a rocky patch in her marriage and mental state) and Greg’s stories.

I know some of us have already contacted people we know have been upset by our duplicity. I add my very sincere apology to the mix. And if anyone else would like to comment here or email me, either with questions or just to make sure I feel the full extent of my blame, I’m up for it.

I guess I have some explaining to do.

There are a lot of questions and a lot of emotions out there, and I want to address as many of them as I can think of in as respectful a way as I can. In keeping with my native cheery temperament, I’ve assembled this Frequently Asked Questions list, which may help as a starting point. If you have any more questions for me, please comment or email me. These questions and answers are only regarding me and my experiences with Jenn; my co-bloggers have thoughts of their own, to follow in the days to come.

1. So, you’re Jenn?

Yeah, well, she doesn’t exist. But I wrote her.

2. Why on earth would you do such a thing?

I like to write, and I like to tell stories and explore ideas. Jenn was a way for me to look at commonplace situations in a new way, to provoke reaction and to stimulate new thoughts. It was a creative writing experiment for me, and a chance to use a different voice.

3. Isn’t that lying?

Yes. The writing itself I don’t view as a lie, any more than any other piece of fiction. But to keep reactions to her as real as possible, and to keep her world as uniform as I could, I fed people along. Some people I even lied to. I regret that.

4. Don’t you feel ashamed of yourself?

There are some things I feel very bad about: lying to people, certainly. I feel bad that some people, even people who know me, feel like they can’t trust me anymore. And I feel bad that I wasn’t able to complete my work. Ashamed? No. I feel very proud of the writing I’ve done, very proud of the people I’ve blogged with, and very happy for those of you that have enjoyed reading.

5. What was next for Jenn?

Jenn was in for a wild ride. Brian, her boyfriend, was going to cross the line again and she was going to confront him, while at the same time falling in love with him completely. She was also going to shed some of her naivete and come to grips with her place in the world. She had a good job and was going to look forward to her career, something she’d never done before. In other words, she was going to learn and grow and make mistakes, just like the rest of us. Then she was going to get engaged, for all you naysayers who thought Brian was just stringing her along.

6. Anything you want to say in your defense?

I have no evil intentions. This wasn’t an exercise in satire, parody or anything like it. The only reason for any illusion was to help the characters be more real and more enjoyable. I have nothing to sell, nothing to gain by this exercise, except to share stories and tell them. There was no mocking of people behind their backs, or pointing fingers at buffoonery. I picked no one as the brunt of any joke.

7. Was it worth it?

I believe so. Go back and read her stories again. Read the laughing comments by readers. Jenn is real - I made her out of real emotions and real concerns from friends and family. Those of you who shared your feelings, you need feel no shame. I shared mine too, whether as Jenn or as myself. Everything she said and felt comes very close to what I have said or felt myself. Thank you for letting me share her with you.

8. Who did you do this for?

It was a selfish enterprise, but there are some people I’d like to thank. I’ll first dedicate Jenn’s experiences to a Random John, whose dogged research and tireless speculation was an inspiration. He came as close as anyone to finding out the real Jenn, and only a lie — to his face, over a barbeque lunch — was enough to throw him off the trail. Jenn is also thankful to the women and men that gave her sage advice — and warnings — about Brian and his nefarious boob-shelvings. Thanks also to my fellow friends and bloggers, here and elsewhere.

9. What about the ethics of blogging and lying? Where did things go wrong? What about the people you fooled?

People should not judge me or this blog in the abstract. To do so is the pinnacle of ivory-towered intellectualism. Let people read what I’ve written, here and elsewhere, and then judge what I have said and judge my heart. Those who are not interested in doing so should find something more important to complain about. To the rest of you, I apologize if I’ve hurt you, and hope to make things up to you someday soon.

10. What’s to become of the Banner of Heaven?

We’ll see.

Yep, that’s me and my children, yesterday. After Stake Conference we went on a hike at a nearby nature preserve, racing the season’s first winter front to the bottom of the gully where we stopped for this photo and an impromptu bathroom break.

I was going to call this post “The Lacanian Rhetoric of the Family Photo,” but decided that would make me seem like an irritating theory show-off. It’s hard to hide your true nature for long, though, especially around here, so I’m not going to try anymore.

If one is going to show off on the subject of family photos, the obvious place to start is by pointing out that, although I really was there with my kids, we really did crouch and smile among the leaves, the photo nevertheless constructs the family in a particular—and particularly artificial—way. The direct, full-face pose, the centered composition and sharp focus, the clustered faces with their unison smiles—they all tell us that the family is an inevitable and transparent social construct, at the center of human institutions and experience, transcendently free of context and history. When the camera goes back in the bag, of course, I walk out of the frame, the kids start arguing, and the family takes its place in history as a pliable, painful, particular social arrangement.

Don’t be too impressed with the foregoing, because it’s not a profound point, and it might not even be correct. It’s more interesting, I think, to consider the ways in which the photograph constructs not the family but the viewer. All photography insinuates the viewer into the scene as the absent presence whose gaze calls the scene into existence. But family portraiture in particular, with its open pose and smiling face and earnestness, positively invites the viewer in: go ahead, cross the bridge, walk through the middle distance and up the path out of the frame with us.

It’s all a ruse, though, and, like it or not, you’re complicit. Someone really did stand there with the camera, but it wasn’t you, even though the photo claims it was. Photography, the truth-teller of the artistic media, is also the most outrageous liar. It’s a beautiful lie, though, the implied viewer, the invitation, the smiling family, all of it. It’s the absence that end-stops lines of poetry, the Imaginary that holds the Real, the lack that feeds desire. Come on, everybody, say cheese.

Yes the picture I have used is not real. Is that so surprising. I didnt use my real picture for the same reason I didnt use my real name. We all know there are times when protecting oneself from ones enemies is the right and necessary path. Remember Joseph and others had to use false names in old versions of the Doctrine and Covenants. He often had to hide from his enemies. And keep his doings secret from those who did not understand the ways of the Lord, those that sought to lay snares to destroy him. And withold revelations for a season from unbelievers. Like the Book of Moses. And the revelation on the new and everlasting covenent.

And they who do charge thee with transgression, their hope shall be blasted, and their prospects shall melt away as the hoar frost melteth before the burning rays of the rising sun; and also that God hath set his hand and seal to change the times and seasons, and to blind their minds, that they may not understand his marvelous workings; that he may prove them also and take them in their own craftiness; also because their hearts are corrupted, and the things which they are willing to bring upon others, and love to have others suffer, may come upon themselves to the very uttermost; that they may be disappointed also, and their hopes may be cut off; and not many years hence, that they and their posterity shall be swept from under heaven, saith God, that not one of them is left to piss against the wall. Cursed are all those that shall lift up the heel against mine anointed, saith the Lord, and cry they have sinned when they have not sinned before me, saith the Lord, but have done that which was meet in mine eyes, and which I commanded them. But those who cry transgression do it because they are the servants of sin, and are the children of disobedience themselves. And those who swear falsely against my servants, that they might bring them into bondage and death—wo unto them; because they have offended my little ones they shall be severed from the ordinances of mine house. Their basket shall not be full, their houses and their barns shall perish, and they themselves shall be despised by those that flattered them. They shall not have right to the priesthood, nor their posterity after them from generation to generation. It had been better for them that a millstone had been hanged about their necks, and they drowned in the depth of the sea. Wo unto all those that discomfort my people, and drive, and murder, and testify against them, saith the Lord of Hosts; a generation of vipers shall not escape the damnation of hell. Behold, mine eyes see and know all their works, and I have in reserve a swift judgment in the season thereof, for them all; for there is a time appointed for every man, according as his works shall be.

It is an ugly thing to dig in the dust hoping to find some small thing with which to condemn a man. Why do you think Satan is called the accuser of the brethren. Do not judge a man for protecting himself. Rusty and your minions I wish I could thrash the stumps with you in person. And anyone else who seeks to impeed this work. Well I cant but I wont hestitate to do what is within my power, to immediately destroy comments to this blog that detract from it’s mission. And if thou art not aware, cut you off. Truth is being erected. And I wont allow any unhallowed hand can stop the work from progressing. Persecutions may rage. Mobs may combine. Armies may assemble. Calumny may defame. But the truth of God will go forth boldly, nobly, and independent. Till it has penetrated every continent. Visited every clime. Swept every country. And sounded in every ear, till the purposes of God shall be accomplished. And the Great Jehovah shall say the work is done.

Joseph destroyed the press in Nauvoo;
May the Lord destroy Rusty’s wordpress too.

I had this fear that she might not remember me or might not want to talk or something, or had heard bad things about me from her mother or grandma, but it wasn’t like that at all.

Maybe my ex had coached her a little beforehand to make it easier on all of us. Anne’s pretty cool. I still like her and sometimes I let myself think that she might break away from mommy’s clutches and the three of us could be back together and it would be good again, but I shut those thoughts down. I know Anne thinks I’m a freak—a freak and a disappointment.

For example, when I called Anne put me on speaker phone. I hate speaker phones and after hello the first words out of my mouth was, “Why am I on speaker phone?” Anne said so we could all hear each other. I said, “What? Don’t you trust me enough to talk to my own daughter? Is anyone else there?” It wasn’t the right thing to say. I get too defensive sometimes.

Anne was like, “No one else is here, geez,” and I knew I’d been a freak again. I never mean to be a freak, but I could see her mother standing in the corner of the room listening to the conversation to pass judgment on me. That’s the kind of thing she does. For all I know she was there in the corner listening anyway, it wouldn’t surprise me.

Anne said she was going to go get Katie and I was so glad I hadn’t flipped when she was listening, but the sweating began and I began to wonder if I might faint and be discovered unconscious in the bottom of the phone booth by some crap-kicking cowboy.

I put my hanky between my hand and the receiver so it wouldn’t get slippery. Thanks again to the person who recommended hankies to me.

God, it was great to hear Katie’s little voice and she seemed glad to talk to me. She just turned five and the experts all say that at five the personality is pretty much formed, and this makes me sad because I would have liked to have more to do with Katie’s personality. On the other hand, though, maybe I’ve saved her from being the freak I am.

It was Anne who suggested that Katie ask me to sing. Anne used to do this to tease me because she knows I hate to sing, but she knows I’ll do it for Katie. I tried to fight it.

Say yes, daddy, Katie kept saying. Say yes, daddy. She wouldn’t let up. She’s stubborn. That’s a good thing I think. I kept trying to get out of it, but she kept saying, say yes, daddy. So I agreed to sing.

My singing voice sucks ass, got to be honest, but I sang two songs from this Sesame Street collection we had. I sang that supercheesy, “Sing, sing a song” song, the one that’s like, “Don’t worry that it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear.” Oh, man, I was worried. It was like the first week of American Idol. I did better on the second one because it was that song where all I had to do was say, “Muh nuh ma nuh.” Anne and Katie did the, “Do do do dodo, duh do do” part. I blow as a singer, but I’m the best muh nuh ma nuh man ever.

It was pretty cool.

I miss Katie and I think she might miss me. That’s all I have to say.

I did better on the second one because it was that song where all I had to do was say, “Muh nuh ma nuh.” Anne and Katie did the, “Do do do do-do, duh do do” part. I blow as a singer, but I’m the best muh nuh ma nuh man ever.

It was pretty cool.

I miss Katie and I think she might miss me. That’s all I have to say.

I want to end all the controversy and speculation once and for all. So I’m going to do something I should have done long ago. I’m going to share a picture of myself, photographic proof I exist. Me. Septimus. A living, breathing, human being.

You might have to squint, Rusty, but trust me, I’m right there in the background.

Look, Rusty and his “Warren Commission” want me to write a rebuttal, but to what? In my e-mail to Rusty, I said, “if you do a post, please make it exhaustive, with all the evidence you can muster,” because I wanted to lay the issue to rest and I hope his post accomplishes this. We here at the Banner want to move on. There will be no rebuttals. I only ask that you ask yourselves one question, if that’s all six highly intelligent men can come up with after months of investigation, what is more likely, their theories or the truth?

For a long time I was at a loss as to what has caused all this insanity among our commenters, but a recent post by a blogger I really respect put it all in perspective for me. Clifton’s Six should check out the last sentence in comment thirteen and they’ll learn the truth is out there. Sometimes if you just try and do something even a little different people can’t stand it.

Sincerely,

Sep

P.S. If anything good came of your little investigation, Rusty, it was this: the funniest comment I’ve ever read. Hah. Aaron is real, but I’m sure that comment is driving him up the wall. I give him two days to put up an uglier picture of himself. And D., you’re welcome to come flirt with him anytime, sometimes I think all the other boys already do.

Consider the advantages: instead of reading, “I Nephi, having been born of goodly parents, therefore I was taught somewhat in all the learning of my father; and having seen many afflictions in the course of my days, nevertheless, having been highly favored of the Lord in all my days; yea, having had a great knowledge of the goodness and the mysteries of God, therefore I make a record of my proceedings in my days, ” you could read, “Hi, I’m Nephi, and since my dad, who’s a righteous dude, taught me what’s up, I can write to you here about how my sucky life actually brought me to God.”

Here’s another possibility: the Book of Omni condensed into one short paragraph: “Omni: my dad told me to do this, but I suck, so I’ll go ahead and give them to my son; Amaron: don’t have much to say so I’m handing them off to my brother; Chemish: what he said; Abinadom: nothing new to add.”

And then of course, my roommate Abe’s favorite verse, “And my father dwelt in a tent.” Actually, on second thought, that one is about right.

My girlfriend doesn’t recognize the brilliance of this idea. She mutters dark things at me about being blasphemous and how I just don’t understand. But I’m being serious: I think there might be a niche market for an NIV Book of Mormon. At least for people like me, who weren’t raised speaking scripture-ese. I’ve been thinking about this stuff lately because I’ve actually been reading the Book of Mormon. Yes that’s right; I probably read more than Septimus these days. My roommates leave their bibles on the kitchen table, and between my GRE study guide and the Book of Mormon, I have to say that the Book of Mormon is more interesting. Most of the time. At least it’s less depressing and there’s no math.

But seriously, why is the Book of Mormon written like that? Is there any possibility that it will ever be updated? I’m not trying to be blasphemous or disrespectful, but it’s already been translated into Russian and French. Is it that much trouble to translate it into valley girl or ebonics?

I hope no one will complain that I’m posting about something personal again. Please bear with me. I promise it has nothing to do with my (still unopened!) package or unfriendly missing neighbor, which seems to have bugged many of you for some reason. And I’m not going to post about the insinuations that we’re not “real,” since Aaron, Miranda and Jenn have all addressed that. Honestly, people. But I keep turning something over in my head, and I can’t reach a satisfying conclusion to a problem that’s been bothering me. Here it is: I have never once questioned a bishop’s judgement before. After all, he’s the one with the authority to receive revelation and inspiration for the ward. Our bishop is a good man, and I truly believe that we have a duty to uphold and support his decisions. I know we are each entitled to our own opinions, and we have stewardship over our own lives, but when it comes to directing our lives as they affect the church, that’s his calling.

“For verily thus saith the Lord, it is expedient in me for a bishop to be appointed unto you, or of you, unto the church in this part of the Lord’s vineyard.

3 And verily in this thing ye have done wisely, for it is required of the Lord, at the hand of every steward, to render an account of his stewardship, both in time and in eternity.

4 For he who is faithful and wise in time is accounted worthy to inherit the mansions prepared for him of my Father.

5 Verily I say unto you, the elders of the church in this part of my vineyard shall render an account of their stewardship unto the bishop, who shall be appointed of me in this part of my vineyard.” D&C 72:2-5

I know that the bishop may not always make decisions that will please everyone in the ward, but I’ve always considered it a point of honor to never join the ranks of the murmering. Until now.

I’ve been released from the Young Women’s program after serving in it in some capacity for almost five years. I am very sad about it. I guess I can accept that it might be time to let someone else have that experience. I am going to miss those girls, and the wonderful times we shared. It was an awesome experience, but I can accept that the Lord has other plans for me. But, I’m having a hard time really and truly beleiving those plans include Nursery. I have a hard time even thinking about it. I don’t have kids. I don’t spend much time around toddlers, and that’s not accidental. I really don’t think I would be able to do a good job or put my heart into it, and I think that would be bad for the nursery kids and for me spiritually.

Whether we receive callings for our own benefit or for the sake of those we serve, I don’t see any winners here. And yet, I don’t want to have bitter feelings toward the bishopric and Primary presidency and I really don’t want to let anyone else down. I have always tried to be a reliable and dependable member, and I think it would be a bad thing if everybody refused callings they weren’t excited about and tried to pick and choose when they will or won’t support their leaders. I have shared my reservations with the bishop, and he says he understands, but still feels strongly that this is where I need to be. I feel like I’m at a fork in the road. I don’t want to start a habit of personal apostasy. Isaiah says that the Lord will guide us continually, but I feel uneasy about either direction I could go.

I haven’t given an answer yet, but I dread giving one either way. I’ve already asked myself what Jesus would have me do. Now I’m throwing the question out to all of you. What would you do?

As Truman Madsen says in the Joseph Smith tapes there are many who dont like God telling them what to do. Messing up their life with instructions. And commandments. And Truth. And so what happens.

22 And behold, others he flattereth away, and telleth them there is no hell; and he saith unto them: I am no devil, for there is none—and thus he whispereth in their ears, until he grasps them with his awful chains, from whence there is no deliverance.

23 Yea, they are grasped with death, and hell; and death, and hell, and the devil, and all that have been seized therewith must stand before the throne of God, and be judged according to their works, from whence they must go into the place prepared for them, even a lake of fire and brimstone, which is endless torment.

Simarlarly Korihor was even told by an angel of light that there was no God. And that Korihor could see an angel of light and then not believe in either God or the devil is amazing. But as Korihor explains in the end it shows how blinded men are when they resist truth. And ignore obvious evidence and believe obvious falsehoods, because they are pleasing to the carnal mind. Yea the devil whispereth in their ears that there is no devil and also no God. And then they imagine they are free. Well they are about as free as an ostrich with his head in the sand. They will find at the judgement bar, how like the ostrich how free they are. When they deny Gods word.

Let me remind you how we know what is real. President Hinckley recently pointed out something important. About the Book of Mormon. It is a tangible thing that can be read. And held in your hands. Is this not real. And again as the Lord told Oliver, we have even the Lords own words.

by my power you can read them one to another; and save it were by my power you could not have them;

36 Wherefore, you can testify that you have heard my voice, and know my words.

So to all who marvel and wonder. You can wish me away. And the truths I declare which you find to be hard things. But I and my words shall not pass away. Maybe you think like Enoch I am a strange thing in the land. Well Joseph also took upon himself the name Enoch. And he finally was to the world too strange for the world to abide him. And I Aaron, am happy to be in their company. Your eyes are open to my words. You can read them. Wherefor you can testify you have heard my voice. You can grab your computer screen with both hands. Or even print out this post. And heft the screen or the print out in your hands, tangible proof. For if I did not exist all my posts would have vanished away.