Today I was standing across the street from the Provo LDS temple, watching a group of MTC missionaries heading up for a session, and I thought of the snowy day in 1983 when I trudged up the hill carrying a paper bag of garments on my way to the temple for the first time. I felt an overwhelming sadness for the loss of the innocent, believing young boy I once was, because I know that part of me will never return.
I guess I’m at the point in my life at which arguing about the church and who is right just makes me sad. Mormonism will always be part of every day of my life, but sometimes, like today, it hits me how much my life has changed. The change has been good in many ways, but it is still painful. I have no idea why I needed to share that.