Bring more chairs.

My wise father-in-law used to say, “There’s room for everyone in the church.” His commitment to this belief made him one of my heroes. And I’ve spent my adult church life hoping to prove him right.

I was talking with a new friend the other day, feeling delighted by the fact that we seem to have so much in common, when she announced, “Susan, I don’t think we are good for each other.” It isn’t exactly the kind of thing one wants to hear on the brink of a new friendship, so I lost no time in explaining to her why she had it completely wrong. We are actually very good for each other, and I will tell you why.

We were discussing a sticky church-related topic, an area (and yes, there are quite a few) in which my faith is not perfect. It’s not important what that area is; what is important is that you know I have them, and I know you have them too. We all do. But as I began rather hesitantly voicing my ideas/doubts/whatever, I could see a light go on in her face, and then the light became a nod, and then she was adding her own similar thoughts to mine and we were suddenly sharing a moment of transparency, the truth of which I guess felt somehow uncomfortable to her.

But it felt strengthening to me, because in that moment I was suddenly not the lone square peg in the church’s round hole that I often perceive myself to be.

Sometimes I sit in church and look around when something that strikes me as a bit off-track or even downright wacky pops out and wonder, “Am I the only one in the room who isn’t sure about that?” Even though I know I’m not.

But no one says a thing. Everyone just sits there looking comfortably round, peg-perfect in their white shirts and modest-length skirts. Or maybe that’s just my perception. At any rate, it’s in those moments that my square corners chafe a bit.

The fact is, my friend and I are both at church every Sunday for a reason, because heaven knows no one’s making us attend. So I confided that my reason is a pesky little testimony of the Book of Mormon that I gained as a 14-year-old girl. It brought with it a lifelong responsibility, binding me through association to a whole host of doctrines, some of which I struggle with from time to time. And then she explained a bit about her own reasons, and I think she felt better and we suddenly had that much more in common.

It’s not good to feel alone. In fact, the whole point of the organized church is that we don’t have to be so. I rarely find strength or comfort in another's silence. It’s difficult to learn or grow, to help or understand, from things that remain unsaid.

To be a Mormon is to have a story – of conversion, of doubt, of faith and hope and wending our infinite separate ways. We're on the road to somewhere, and we can and should make the journey easier by sharing our stories as we go. They may not always be faith promoting, but then faith isn’t one-size-fits-all and one man’s questions can lay the groundwork for another man’s testimony. Or for a whole church, now that I think about it.

So when I question, wonder, chafe or complain, be assured that it's not because I'm in the process of leaving. It's because I'm in the process of staying. So sit by me. You probably know a lot of things I don’t, and I may even surprise you with a bit of my own understanding from time to time. We should talk. I think we could all be really good for each other. 

- S.