In the Rough - The Blog of Joel McDonald Jr.

I sat down to write yesterday to attempt to relieve myself of some of the melancholy that has set in over the last few days; but as I wrote of current frustrations and anxieties, I realized that I wasn’t making a whole lot of sense. I even snapped a picture for the post, which is above. Often melancholy forces us to examine our pasts with a wistful longing and a wonder of “what if”. This picture was meant to be an illustration of that state of mind. While staged (for who would be here to snap such a picture?), it portrays a very real moment what occurred right before deciding to take the picture.

Here I am holding a scrapbook of sorts, filled with articles, pictures, cards, and letters that I collected while serving as an Latter-day Saint (Mormon) missionary. And while my mission, and relationship with the church, is only a portion of my thoughts at this time; it is still a heavy weight upon my soul. As I flipped through this book, I felt again the ups and downs, the joy and agony, which I endured for twenty-three months. This past week, a co-worker who was raised in Nebraska asked me why Mormons placed so much emphases upon the trek west to Salt Lake City. My answer illustrated the mentality of church members in their equating the trek west to the exodus of Israel from Egypt. Then, in brief discussion I mentioned the existence of the Post-Mormon community and my involvement, and explained the internal difficulties I faced as a missionary who didn’t believe. My co-worker made a comment about my “probably still working through it all”. In honesty, I am.

I know how redundant the topic may be, but even after more than a year of being home, I am haunted by the “what ifs” of Mormonism and my mission. By coming home, and having rejected everything about Mormonism that I held so dear, so sacred, and sacrificed for is an admittance of guilt in my being wrong. It is a mark against my strength as a thinking person, and even a crack in my integrity. I wanted so badly for it to be true, and because of this desire it was. The reality is that what we want to be true may not really be true. Truth is reality, but when a person’s desires shape their reality, what does that say about that person? For now I ponder, and ask these questions, while flipping through pages of the past and trying to make decisions about the future.