Being Mormon

I forget what it’s like to be a Mormon.
I forget that we’re different, peculiar even, anywhere outside of Utah.
In Provo I’m just another leaf on the tree, and believing in Christ doesn’t set me apart, it helps me blend in.

But I am different.
Here I feel it.
All our friends go out and have a glass of wine at dinner, and we don’t. They ask us why.
Travis says he lived in Argentina for two years on a mission trip and they ask why.
They say, get used to a lot of handshakes in Kenya and we say, we’re very good at handshaking because of our own culture. Why?
We say, Oh, we’re mormons.

I forget that it comes up every single day outside of Utah. And that saying “We’re mormons” isn’t enough because then they want to know:

Do you eat any barley or is it just beer you don’t drink? Do you drink caffeine? Are you against birth control? What exactly makes you different from other Christian religions? Do they just send you out on missions with a Bible and a good luck?
Our Muslim friend asked about our schedule and beliefs concerning prayer.
An agnostic friend wanted to discuss the nature of God and the spirit of the law, versus the letter of the law.
And after I was feeling a little guilty, like maybe they’re all sick of hearing about our beliefs or they feel like we’re judging them for drinking one girl said “I’m glad that you came, even for just two weeks. Before you came God was just a running joke. I didn’t feel like I could keep my religion here. ”

And a line of scripture came to me. Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.
And I thought, I cannot stop being a mormon, or toning down my mormon-ness to make people feel more comfortable. I need to remind them, even if just through my own belief that God is real, that someone out there cares about them.
It's weird to think that maybe me being more makes people feel less uncomfortable.

I guess that’s what I miss most in Utah. I miss feeling like God can use me for something.
If he needs a tool in Provo to work a miracle or save a soul or just say a kindly word, he has hundreds of people to do it. People more qualified than me.
But in Kilfi, if he wants someone to feel like maybe it’s okay to be a Christian, or be reminded that there is a greater power than them in the world, or just discuss and ponder God…
he can use me.

My bishop isn’t here, my good roommates aren’t here, my entire University isn’t here.

Only I am.

And I like when it’s only me. Or, you know, me and Travis. Because that’s when I remember that we aren’t like other people and we don’t want to be.

We want to be like Christ.

Mormon.org