Catholicism was the older sister of Mormonism: The Catholics had their pure nuns, touched by none, the Mormons their women, touched by one.
David’s face was bathed in beams of light, looking like one of those angels on Christmas cards. It was his face that eclipsed the moon.
I called God as my witness that night at St. Mary’s, that David & I would be static characters in the dynamic play we were being written in.
Though we were all invited—we could not enter heaven unless we brought the temple recommend, or invitation— which is how Brother Wiley put it.
The scent of the man David was like incense to my soul. I breathed him in. There was a very visceral part of me that wanted to take him in.
Even as Mother & David belonged together, so did David & I, in our own way—in a way the 3 of us together never could.
The man I thought was Jesus told me He’d been waiting for me all my life, & led me up the aisle like a bridegroom—the moonlight, my veil.
Sweet spices permeated me as His spirit entered. The olfactory sense was the closest thing to omnipresence a mortal could impose on another.
This rapture didn’t spirit me up to Heaven, but rather, gave me a sense of belonging on earth I had never felt before.