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. My eyes were at half-mast, I felt drunk as if with strong wine. I was the hypnotist’s stepdaughter, mesmerized by eyes rather than a pocket watch.
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 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.
“I am who I am,” the figure said, & when I entered his arms, the smell of sweet spices permeated my being, & I was in a euphoric state, awash in a wave of an ecstasy I hadn’t known existed. My breathing had become shallow, my heart beat faster, & I cried out, “Oh, God!”, & awoke in David’s embrace.
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.
This rapture didn’t spirit me up to Heaven, but rather, gave me a sense of belonging on earth I had never felt before.
I ask not for signs and wonders from You, God, but I will accept that You do, indeed, exist, and that Thou lovest me. Through faith alone, I will believe. That was my Doubting Thomasina prayer.