My Life as a Mormon #8 (My Thoughts on the Temple)
Posted 09-19-2018 at 10:53 AM by Katzpur
My thoughts on the temple: Starting with the first time I went to the temple to receive my own endowment, it was not a pleasant experience for me. I did have a couple of people tell me beforehand that I shouldn't be scared. I couldn't imagine why anyone would be scared to go to the temple. It was a week to the day before our wedding. Matt's sister, Carmen, accompanied me, due to the fact that Mama was in bed with a detached retina and doing everything the doctor told her to do in order to end up being able to keep the sight in her eye. Carmen was a great escort, but I missed having Mama with me. I was absolutely mortified by the initiatory experience, and bothered by a lot of what went on in the endowment session. I don't know what most young people expect when they go to the temple for the first time. I didn't even have any preconceived ideas, but if I had, this wouldn't have been what I had imagined.
Wearing garments took some real getting used to. Of course, back then, only one-piece garments were available. There were essentially two styles, neither of which were at all comfortable or functional. I hated wearing them, and I missed wearing the clothes I'd been able to wear before I went through the temple. I'd never dressed immodestly, but a lot of my summer dresses were sleeveless, and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out (nor have I been able to, to this day) why baring the top inch and a half of my arm was such a no-no. Now, I went through the temple the first time in 1970. The mini-skirt had entered the fashion scene right about the time I graduated from high school in 1967. It was virtually impossible to find a dress that came to the knee back in the early '70s. If a woman could sew, she could have made her own clothes, but sewing a button on a shirt is about the most complicated sewing project I've ever been able to handle. I could have found someone to lengthen the hems of the dresses I bought, except that there was no fabric to be let out. I had to find the longest mini-skirts I possibly could, and keep a constant eye on my garments to make sure they hadn't slid down under my nylons to where they were actually supposed to be. It was a nightmare.
Mama and Papa were able to attend my sealing to Matt a week later. I don't know for sure how they managed to get temple recommends, but I doubt very much that either of them lied to the bishop or the stake president. I suspect that they were honest about not keeping the Word of Wisdom but that they bishop and stake president, both of whom had known them for years, signed their recommends anyway so that they could witness their daughter's wedding. The sealing was performed by then Apostle Thomas S. Monson. My parents were both on a first-name basis with him. He had grown up in Papa's ward, was best friends with my Uncle Jack, and had been in at least one (and I think two) bishoprics with my paternal grandfather. He had only been an apostle for about four years at the time. Back then, apostles did occasionally perform sealings when asked, and it hadn't been any problem at all for Papa to get him to officiate at our wedding.
After he had pronounced us husband and wife "for time and for all eternity," he told Matt that he could kiss his new bride as we kneeled across the alter. Then he had us look into the enormous mirrors that hung on opposite walls facing each other, so that we could get a glimpse of what eternity really meant. Then, he told us we could kiss again. We were standing up at that time and Matt put his arms around me. As he leaned in to kiss me, my veil slid backwards off my head. Immediately I reached for it and put it back in place. Matt put his arms around me a second time, and again, my veil slid off. Again I replaced it. When Matt tried for the third time to kiss me, and the veil slid off again, President Monson spoke up. "Don't worry about the veil," he said to me. "You've obviously married a very passionate man!" Talk about putting us both at ease! He was wonderful! After we had mingled with our guests for a few minutes, we headed back to the dressing rooms. My veil was still off my head, tied around my neck and resting on my shoulders. Just before I reached the dressing room, an elderly woman rushed up to me in a panic. "Oh no, my dear! You can't remove your veil until you're back in the dressing room!" she said, as she immediately reached to put it back on my head. I pulled away and looked her in the eyes. "It's fine the way it is," I said coldly. "If it's okay with Elder Monson, it ought to be okay with you, too." I then headed back to the dressing room annoyed, leaving her standing in the hall wondering at this impertinent young woman who had dared question her.
Matt and I went to the temple probably about a half dozen times during the first year or so after we got married. None of the experiences were pleasant in the slightest. I may not have been scared to go to the temple the very first time, but every time I went after that, I was. Everyone was so accommodating on my first visit; I wasn't expected to know what to do or what was to happen next. But after that first visit, I might as well have been a hundred times for all any of the temple workers knew. I didn't really have a clue what I was doing, and several of them were clearly a bit irritated that I was causing them some inconvenience. I also witnessed a couple of other incidents in which patrons were dealt with in a way that, to me at least, seemed harsh. Frustration and anxiety weren't supposed to be part of the temple experience. I was pretty sure about that. But every time I went, things seemed to get worse. The straw that broke the camel's back came one Friday evening the following year. I was working at Zions Bank at the time, and got off at 6:00 P.M. It was probably our ward temple night. Otherwise, I don't know why we'd have chosen to go then. In order to make the session, we had to skip dinner. Friday evenings were exceptionally busy at the temple, and we ended up being there over five hours. By the time we got out, I was nauseated and had a splitting headache. I told Matt then and there that I was through. I'd continue to keep my temple covenants, but I wasn't going back. He wasn't happy about my decision, but he didn't try to change my mind.
We didn't go to the temple again until about 1990 or so. By then, more than 18 years had passed. I honestly don't know if we'd ever have gone back if it weren't for Mike Bevins, a friend and co-worker at QualiSoft. Mike knew I was LDS. When I told him that, while I was active in the Church, I considered myself to be a "liberal Mormon," he laughed and said there was no such thing. We worked together for about two years, during which time we became close friends. Although I can't recall how it came up, I told Mike at some point that although I had been married in the temple, I hadn't been for years and didn't anticipate going again. I also told him why. Mike was a convert and had an extremely strong testimony. He decided that Matt and I were going to go back to the temple and he wasn't going to let up on us until we did. At that point, we were no longer recommend holders, and hadn't even paid tithing for quite some time (a couple of years at least). Well, to make a long story short, his persistence paid off, and we eventually went back to the temple with him and his wife, Debbie. We went to the Jordan River Temple, which had not even been built the last time I went to the temple. I saw the movie for the first time, and was vaguely aware of a few differences in the endowment session, though I was not able to put my finger on them. I'll have to admit I was pretty nervous going back, but once we went for the first time, it was easier to go a second and a third time. Before long, we were going to the temple monthly, most of the time with Mike and Debbie.
After going a few times, I finally started gaining some self-confidence and no longer worried about messing up. I knew what to do and what to say and it felt good. On one occasion shortly after we had started going back (and as I recall, I don't believe we were with Mike and Debbie this time), something happened that, had it happened 19 years earlier, would probably have convinced me to never return. I was at the veil and was just ready to pass through to the other side when the woman veil worker at my side suddenly looked at me with scorn written all over her face, and quietly but very disapprovingly reprimanded me: "Sister, don't you ever wear those earrings to the temple again!" I stared at her, shocked and completely confused. Tears filled my eyes as I entered the celestial room. There, as I sat waiting for Matt to join me, I began to cry. I cried so hard that I'm sure people must have noticed me, but I really didn't even care. Now I have always liked big, dangly, funky and the-more-unique-the-better earrings, and most of my earrings were really not what I would have considered suitable to wear to the temple. I had chosen that evening to wear a pair of small, silver filigree earrings that lay flat against my earlobe. It was probably the most conservative pair of earrings I owned, and I hadn't hesitated in the slightest when I'd picked them. As far as I could see, there was absolutely nothing inappropriate about them. Whatever the sister who'd lambasted me thought she saw in those earrings, I will never know, but whatever it was, it was evidently horrific enough that she felt it justified her ruining my experience at the temple that night. After a good, long cry, and a brief explanation to Matt of what it was that had caused me to completely break down, I dried my tears and told him I was ready to go get changed back into our street clothes. Even before we'd left the celestial room, I'd decided that this one experience was not going to keep me out of the temple in the future. I'd let that happen before, and I wasn't about to let it happen again.
Ever since we started going back to the temple, we've held valid recommends. For quite a long period of time, we made a point of going monthly. There have been times when we've only gone three or four times a year, but we've never stopped going entirely. I have never particularly enjoyed going to the temple. Even so, it's usually me rather than Matt who suggests that it's about time we went again. I have tried desperately to enjoy it. Whenever we go, I walk in focused and ready to learn. I resolve to pay attention and not to let my mind wander. I commit to pick up on some little detail that had previously escaped me, and I hope so much to "feel the spirit." I have even dared to hope that I might sense the spirit of the person whose work I am doing, and know that they're excited and happy to finally be receiving this ordinance. Nothing really works. Inevitably I find my mind drifting to one thing or another almost from as soon as the session starts. I shake off the thoughts that have invaded my mind and try again to feel whatever it is I'm supposed to be feeling. And when the session ends, the experience has once again been less than I had hoped it would be. As I have told Matt, though, this is one thing I can do that Heavenly Father knows is a real sacrifice for me. Even though I don't really enjoy going, I feel that I am making Him happy because I'm trying to do what I believe He wants me to do.
While I haven't ever had any particularly spiritual experiences in the temple, I did have something happen in my life that I strongly believe to have been tied to a decision we made to go to the temple one summer evening. When Mama quite suddenly got sick and moved into our home at the beginning of August, 2008, I knew we were bringing her here to die. She was weak and exhausted, and had lost the will to live, even though her illness was not actually terminal. She was 95 years old and the doctors had said she probably had about two weeks left. She had been at our house for less than a week, though, when something happened (I don't know what exactly) to make her change her mind and decide that she really did want to get well. "Elation" is not a strong enough word to describe my feelings when I realized that she probably not going to die after all. I have never been as close to another human being as I was to Mama. I knew that losing her was going to be the hardest thing I'd ever had to endure, and the thought that this might be postponed for even a few months was something I had not even dared dream just a few days earlier. The gratitude I felt that day was beyond measure. A couple of days later, I told Matt that we needed to go to the temple. I had to do something to show Heavenly Father how much I appreciated the mere possibility that I might be able to enjoy Mama's presence just a while longer. Going to the temple was the only thing I could think to do.
Jill came over on the evening of Friday, August 8 to fix Mama a little bit of dinner (she was on a mostly liquid diet at that point) and to stay with her while Matt and I were gone. When we left, Mama was lying quietly in the hospital bed we'd had delivered to the house and put in Brooke's old room. At just over 100 pounds, she looked unbelievably weak and frail. There was very little color in her cheeks and in her thin hand, she clutched a wadded up Kleenex. We realized that she'd probably sleep most of the time we were gone and would almost certainly be asleep by the time we got home. We left to go to the temple. I can't recall anything about it except for the heartfelt prayer I poured out to God in the celestial room after the session was over. I thanked Him and thanked Him, over and over and over again for the miracle of the recovery I was convinced was going to take place sometime during the next few weeks. When we got back home, Jill greeted us and said to me, "You know that mother you used to know?" "Uh, yes?" I answered, wondering what was going on. "Well, go in and see her," she responded. I walked down the hall to Mama's bedroom, with Jill following me. Mama was sitting up in bed, eyes sparkling. She smiled broadly at me for the first time in several weeks, and asked how we'd enjoyed the temple. I could be wrong, but I seem to recall that Jill had combed her hair; she may have even had a touch of lipstick on. I stood there absolutely dumbfounded, laughing with joy and shaking my head in utter disbelief. Within a three-hour period of time, while Matt and I were at the temple, Mama had transformed from a woman very near death to a woman who was undoubtedly going to live! I have never doubted the connection between our going to the temple that night and Mama's miraculous first steps towards her recovery.
Wearing garments took some real getting used to. Of course, back then, only one-piece garments were available. There were essentially two styles, neither of which were at all comfortable or functional. I hated wearing them, and I missed wearing the clothes I'd been able to wear before I went through the temple. I'd never dressed immodestly, but a lot of my summer dresses were sleeveless, and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out (nor have I been able to, to this day) why baring the top inch and a half of my arm was such a no-no. Now, I went through the temple the first time in 1970. The mini-skirt had entered the fashion scene right about the time I graduated from high school in 1967. It was virtually impossible to find a dress that came to the knee back in the early '70s. If a woman could sew, she could have made her own clothes, but sewing a button on a shirt is about the most complicated sewing project I've ever been able to handle. I could have found someone to lengthen the hems of the dresses I bought, except that there was no fabric to be let out. I had to find the longest mini-skirts I possibly could, and keep a constant eye on my garments to make sure they hadn't slid down under my nylons to where they were actually supposed to be. It was a nightmare.
Mama and Papa were able to attend my sealing to Matt a week later. I don't know for sure how they managed to get temple recommends, but I doubt very much that either of them lied to the bishop or the stake president. I suspect that they were honest about not keeping the Word of Wisdom but that they bishop and stake president, both of whom had known them for years, signed their recommends anyway so that they could witness their daughter's wedding. The sealing was performed by then Apostle Thomas S. Monson. My parents were both on a first-name basis with him. He had grown up in Papa's ward, was best friends with my Uncle Jack, and had been in at least one (and I think two) bishoprics with my paternal grandfather. He had only been an apostle for about four years at the time. Back then, apostles did occasionally perform sealings when asked, and it hadn't been any problem at all for Papa to get him to officiate at our wedding.
After he had pronounced us husband and wife "for time and for all eternity," he told Matt that he could kiss his new bride as we kneeled across the alter. Then he had us look into the enormous mirrors that hung on opposite walls facing each other, so that we could get a glimpse of what eternity really meant. Then, he told us we could kiss again. We were standing up at that time and Matt put his arms around me. As he leaned in to kiss me, my veil slid backwards off my head. Immediately I reached for it and put it back in place. Matt put his arms around me a second time, and again, my veil slid off. Again I replaced it. When Matt tried for the third time to kiss me, and the veil slid off again, President Monson spoke up. "Don't worry about the veil," he said to me. "You've obviously married a very passionate man!" Talk about putting us both at ease! He was wonderful! After we had mingled with our guests for a few minutes, we headed back to the dressing rooms. My veil was still off my head, tied around my neck and resting on my shoulders. Just before I reached the dressing room, an elderly woman rushed up to me in a panic. "Oh no, my dear! You can't remove your veil until you're back in the dressing room!" she said, as she immediately reached to put it back on my head. I pulled away and looked her in the eyes. "It's fine the way it is," I said coldly. "If it's okay with Elder Monson, it ought to be okay with you, too." I then headed back to the dressing room annoyed, leaving her standing in the hall wondering at this impertinent young woman who had dared question her.
Matt and I went to the temple probably about a half dozen times during the first year or so after we got married. None of the experiences were pleasant in the slightest. I may not have been scared to go to the temple the very first time, but every time I went after that, I was. Everyone was so accommodating on my first visit; I wasn't expected to know what to do or what was to happen next. But after that first visit, I might as well have been a hundred times for all any of the temple workers knew. I didn't really have a clue what I was doing, and several of them were clearly a bit irritated that I was causing them some inconvenience. I also witnessed a couple of other incidents in which patrons were dealt with in a way that, to me at least, seemed harsh. Frustration and anxiety weren't supposed to be part of the temple experience. I was pretty sure about that. But every time I went, things seemed to get worse. The straw that broke the camel's back came one Friday evening the following year. I was working at Zions Bank at the time, and got off at 6:00 P.M. It was probably our ward temple night. Otherwise, I don't know why we'd have chosen to go then. In order to make the session, we had to skip dinner. Friday evenings were exceptionally busy at the temple, and we ended up being there over five hours. By the time we got out, I was nauseated and had a splitting headache. I told Matt then and there that I was through. I'd continue to keep my temple covenants, but I wasn't going back. He wasn't happy about my decision, but he didn't try to change my mind.
We didn't go to the temple again until about 1990 or so. By then, more than 18 years had passed. I honestly don't know if we'd ever have gone back if it weren't for Mike Bevins, a friend and co-worker at QualiSoft. Mike knew I was LDS. When I told him that, while I was active in the Church, I considered myself to be a "liberal Mormon," he laughed and said there was no such thing. We worked together for about two years, during which time we became close friends. Although I can't recall how it came up, I told Mike at some point that although I had been married in the temple, I hadn't been for years and didn't anticipate going again. I also told him why. Mike was a convert and had an extremely strong testimony. He decided that Matt and I were going to go back to the temple and he wasn't going to let up on us until we did. At that point, we were no longer recommend holders, and hadn't even paid tithing for quite some time (a couple of years at least). Well, to make a long story short, his persistence paid off, and we eventually went back to the temple with him and his wife, Debbie. We went to the Jordan River Temple, which had not even been built the last time I went to the temple. I saw the movie for the first time, and was vaguely aware of a few differences in the endowment session, though I was not able to put my finger on them. I'll have to admit I was pretty nervous going back, but once we went for the first time, it was easier to go a second and a third time. Before long, we were going to the temple monthly, most of the time with Mike and Debbie.
After going a few times, I finally started gaining some self-confidence and no longer worried about messing up. I knew what to do and what to say and it felt good. On one occasion shortly after we had started going back (and as I recall, I don't believe we were with Mike and Debbie this time), something happened that, had it happened 19 years earlier, would probably have convinced me to never return. I was at the veil and was just ready to pass through to the other side when the woman veil worker at my side suddenly looked at me with scorn written all over her face, and quietly but very disapprovingly reprimanded me: "Sister, don't you ever wear those earrings to the temple again!" I stared at her, shocked and completely confused. Tears filled my eyes as I entered the celestial room. There, as I sat waiting for Matt to join me, I began to cry. I cried so hard that I'm sure people must have noticed me, but I really didn't even care. Now I have always liked big, dangly, funky and the-more-unique-the-better earrings, and most of my earrings were really not what I would have considered suitable to wear to the temple. I had chosen that evening to wear a pair of small, silver filigree earrings that lay flat against my earlobe. It was probably the most conservative pair of earrings I owned, and I hadn't hesitated in the slightest when I'd picked them. As far as I could see, there was absolutely nothing inappropriate about them. Whatever the sister who'd lambasted me thought she saw in those earrings, I will never know, but whatever it was, it was evidently horrific enough that she felt it justified her ruining my experience at the temple that night. After a good, long cry, and a brief explanation to Matt of what it was that had caused me to completely break down, I dried my tears and told him I was ready to go get changed back into our street clothes. Even before we'd left the celestial room, I'd decided that this one experience was not going to keep me out of the temple in the future. I'd let that happen before, and I wasn't about to let it happen again.
Ever since we started going back to the temple, we've held valid recommends. For quite a long period of time, we made a point of going monthly. There have been times when we've only gone three or four times a year, but we've never stopped going entirely. I have never particularly enjoyed going to the temple. Even so, it's usually me rather than Matt who suggests that it's about time we went again. I have tried desperately to enjoy it. Whenever we go, I walk in focused and ready to learn. I resolve to pay attention and not to let my mind wander. I commit to pick up on some little detail that had previously escaped me, and I hope so much to "feel the spirit." I have even dared to hope that I might sense the spirit of the person whose work I am doing, and know that they're excited and happy to finally be receiving this ordinance. Nothing really works. Inevitably I find my mind drifting to one thing or another almost from as soon as the session starts. I shake off the thoughts that have invaded my mind and try again to feel whatever it is I'm supposed to be feeling. And when the session ends, the experience has once again been less than I had hoped it would be. As I have told Matt, though, this is one thing I can do that Heavenly Father knows is a real sacrifice for me. Even though I don't really enjoy going, I feel that I am making Him happy because I'm trying to do what I believe He wants me to do.
While I haven't ever had any particularly spiritual experiences in the temple, I did have something happen in my life that I strongly believe to have been tied to a decision we made to go to the temple one summer evening. When Mama quite suddenly got sick and moved into our home at the beginning of August, 2008, I knew we were bringing her here to die. She was weak and exhausted, and had lost the will to live, even though her illness was not actually terminal. She was 95 years old and the doctors had said she probably had about two weeks left. She had been at our house for less than a week, though, when something happened (I don't know what exactly) to make her change her mind and decide that she really did want to get well. "Elation" is not a strong enough word to describe my feelings when I realized that she probably not going to die after all. I have never been as close to another human being as I was to Mama. I knew that losing her was going to be the hardest thing I'd ever had to endure, and the thought that this might be postponed for even a few months was something I had not even dared dream just a few days earlier. The gratitude I felt that day was beyond measure. A couple of days later, I told Matt that we needed to go to the temple. I had to do something to show Heavenly Father how much I appreciated the mere possibility that I might be able to enjoy Mama's presence just a while longer. Going to the temple was the only thing I could think to do.
Jill came over on the evening of Friday, August 8 to fix Mama a little bit of dinner (she was on a mostly liquid diet at that point) and to stay with her while Matt and I were gone. When we left, Mama was lying quietly in the hospital bed we'd had delivered to the house and put in Brooke's old room. At just over 100 pounds, she looked unbelievably weak and frail. There was very little color in her cheeks and in her thin hand, she clutched a wadded up Kleenex. We realized that she'd probably sleep most of the time we were gone and would almost certainly be asleep by the time we got home. We left to go to the temple. I can't recall anything about it except for the heartfelt prayer I poured out to God in the celestial room after the session was over. I thanked Him and thanked Him, over and over and over again for the miracle of the recovery I was convinced was going to take place sometime during the next few weeks. When we got back home, Jill greeted us and said to me, "You know that mother you used to know?" "Uh, yes?" I answered, wondering what was going on. "Well, go in and see her," she responded. I walked down the hall to Mama's bedroom, with Jill following me. Mama was sitting up in bed, eyes sparkling. She smiled broadly at me for the first time in several weeks, and asked how we'd enjoyed the temple. I could be wrong, but I seem to recall that Jill had combed her hair; she may have even had a touch of lipstick on. I stood there absolutely dumbfounded, laughing with joy and shaking my head in utter disbelief. Within a three-hour period of time, while Matt and I were at the temple, Mama had transformed from a woman very near death to a woman who was undoubtedly going to live! I have never doubted the connection between our going to the temple that night and Mama's miraculous first steps towards her recovery.
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