Unforeseen

My wife and I took a drive up one of the canyons this afternoon. We had a productive talk about belief and doubt. It's the first time we've spoken this long, and, significantly, without arguing, in quite some time. She talked about relying on what one knows (Spirit, comfort, eternity) to overcome or at least delay having to deal with what disturbs (polygamy, polyandry, Mountain Meadows, blood atonement, the papyri, rascism, sexism, etc........................). I asked her whether the Church's message-control efforts over the last several decades might be an effort to get people to the warm & fuzzy place of Forever Families with such fervor, that they never think to look under the rug. And so forth. But it was good.

At the end of our drive, as we sat in the garage waiting for my parents to pull up for Sunday dinner, she asked, "What would you think if I were to leave the Church?" To which I responded, "First I'd be surprised. Then I'd be very sad, knowing that my attitudes and actions--and, in many ways, my lack of action--had ground on you to the point that you'd abandoned something that used to be more important to you than anything else. [long pause, then with a smile] And then I'd ask if that meant that oral sex was OK again." To which she protested that her self-imposed prohibition on fellatio is a personal preference having nothing to do with her beliefs. To which I responded that it's not possible that it have nothing to do with her beliefs, especially when she explains her choice with words like "inappropriate." Then after that brief and utterly fruitless tangent, we got back to the substance of the discussion, which she continued:

"Because I've thought about leaving it. It's so hard to be with you, with you not wanting to really commit yourself to the Church and to the Lord, and to face that all the time."

Him: "But why leave the Church, which you believe in and hold so dear, rather than leaving this marriage, which you really don't believe in and has become more of a burden and source of distress than anything else?"

Her: "Mostly the kids."

Him: "The kids and the fact that you don't have an income, or the training to go create enough of an income to support yourself in the way you want to live."

Her: "Right."

Him: "You'd said that a while back, that you would have left if you had a job."

Her: "Right, but..."

Him: "...but it's interesting that you point to those two things, the kids and income, as being what 'tethers' you to this marriage, because you'll probably remember when I said a few months ago that I feel like nothing more to you or this marriage than a sperm bank and an ATM. Remember that?"

Her: "Yes."

Him: "It's a little ironic. Or maybe not ironic -- maybe perfectly predictable, that all that I feel I'm good for is all that you feel keeps you here."

Her: "Right, but I really can't say for sure now whether I definitely would have left then, or at year two or four or ten, or whether I'd leave now at year twelve. I don't know if I'd leave. But I know that I feel exhausted and empty."

Then my parents pulled up.

Tonight, as she went to bed and I headed in here to work on my resume and post some thoughts, we gave each other a characteristically-short, yet kind goodnight kiss--in fact the kindest and probably most sincere goodnight kiss that I can remember in a long, long time. It seemed nice. But it also seemed so very, very messed up.