#extian

[swagpaws]

quitmormon.com (a pro-bono legal team that helps people resign from the church) is fundraising to get a full-time paid lawyer and provide free mental health services to people leaving mormonism (especially LGBTQ+ people and our allies)

link to send support:

Donate to Help Quitmormon.com Expand Free Resignation Services, organized by Mark Naugle

Help Quitmormon.com Empower More People in Faith Transitions … Mark Naugle needs your support for Help Quitmormon.com Expand Free Re

[seraphimfall]

i’ve read so much tradcath bullshit the last two years. i can confidently say tradcath men fit into one of two categories:

“protestant-raised and converted to catholicism because of his crippling porn addiction and racist tendencies. reposts crusader and conquistador memes. is hated in his local parish.” tradcath

“catholic-raised band kid who ate his lunches with the religion teacher. smells like mildew. cut off all his friends that came out as gay after high school. now larps as an aquinian scholar and cries after jerking off.” tradcath

[this-is-anti-apostasy]

it’s interesting that when you look up what the interior of a Mormon church looks like you only get like, one picture of an average church. The rest are of temples (only from the open houses) and historical buildings. The pictures you can find are fancy compared to churches I’ve been to (and they’re all of chapels, not of the rest of the building). I think it’s indicative of the church only really shows off the best looking parts of the religion. You don’t see the places an average Mormon person will spend a lot of their time because they’re not that pretty. You don’t learn about Joseph Smith’s wives because it’s too hard to explain. They don’t tell you about the temple or Mormon heaven because it’d make them look bad. They give you what looks enticing to pull you in.

[atthecostofmysoul]

Y’all know those stupid ass christian billboards? If I’m ever in a financially stable enough place to do it, I want to put up a billboard of my own that says, “If your religion needs a billboard, it’s a bad religion.” I just want to give them a taste of their own medicine for once in their lives.

[the-jesus-pill]

You did the right thing by leaving. 

Even if it feels scary or wrong, your life is ultimately going to be better for it. They made you afraid of practicing your free will because they want to keep controlling you. 

But they can't touch you now. 

You're free. You belong only to yourself. You can rest now. 

Your life is only just starting..

[the-winds-indecision]

Said Cain to his mother, "Am I my brother's keeper?"

Eve kneels in front of him, the boy barely old enough to understand what he is asking. Takes his face in her hand, looks him in the eye.

"Yes."

He must watch out for his younger brother, must keep him safe, must teach him how to be a boy, must make sure he knows how to pray and how to find his way home (though, to Cain, they are one and the same). He smiles at the boy who toddles behind him through the garden, mud up to his knees and elbows, smudged across his nose. This boy has his heart - he would be his brother's keeper even without his mother's word.

The first time Cain finds himself with Abel's blood on his hands, he doesn't know what to do. Abel lies bleeding in the garden - his knee is skinned and the blood is everywhere - it seeps into the soil and stains the stone and it is so sticky and red on Cain's hands as he cries for his mother.

Cain cries as Eve bandages Abel. He is still crying when Abel runs back outside to play in the garden. Cain is his brother's keeper. He should have been keeping a closer eye on his brother, should have told him to be careful, should have run slower, should have --

The rocks in the garden dig into his knees as he prays forgiveness. It feels right. It feels deserved. He stays out there until the ground is cold, the blood long since dried, and long after his mother has called him in for dinner.

* * * * *

Said Cain to his father, "Am I my brother's keeper?"

His father's back is turned but Cain can almost hear Adam roll his eyes.

"Yes."

Abel is a young man now, and almost never home. It is somehow Cain's job to know his brother's whereabouts, Cain's job to make sure his brother is home for dinner, Cain's job to ease his mother's mind when his brother is out after dark or before sunrise. Cain is, after all, his brother's keeper.

Cain has never known what it means to be a boy, to be a man, yet he has taught his brother without fail. He, however, has only ever known what it means to be the older brother. He knows that when his fathers feet ache, it is his job to pull the plow. When Eve tends the hearth until she collapses with fever it is his job to work in her stead. And his job to care for his mother as she rests.

When Abel comes home bloodied, his mother cries and his father scolds. Cain simply sighs, and hangs a pot of water over the fire. Pulls out the scrap cloth and soap. Abel grins as he regales his brother with the day’s adventure.  Doesn’t notice that the only response is a smile and a tired nod. 

Cain is the last person awake that night - tired body slumped by the dying fire as he washes his brother’s blood from his hands for the hundredth time. Cain is, after all, his brother’s keeper.

* * * * *

The last time Cain has Abel’s blood on his hands, he doesn’t know what to do.  Just stands still, sways in the breeze, watches as the blood paints the stones, paints the soil, paints his hands.  There is so much blood on his hands.  Cain knows he cannot hide from his Lord.  There is only so much time until he is pressed for a reason.  He should think - he should know what he is to say. 

He just stands there.  

Cain doesn’t know who he is without Abel.  He is - he was his brother’s keeper.  If not the older brother, who is he anymore?

It is not long before the footsteps approach and a voice sounds from behind.  Cain dares not turn to meet the gaze of the speaker.

"And where, Cain, is your brother?"

Said Cain to his Lord, "am I my brother's keeper?" and for the first time -

"No."

[chasing-girlhood]

wrap me up in blinding sunlight

(this one goes out to the pimos and those affected by the cold)

the church building was out of propane

no warm air to keep everyone comfortable

"the holy ghost is like a blanket" they say

we all sure could have used a blanket

maybe the holy ghost wasn't there

it was too cold for anyone to feel anything

they joked "it's warmer outside than it is in here"

but they weren't wrong

of course, no one could leave

who would dare leave church

they couldn't see that being out was far better than being in

the cold affects my body differently

I freeze up, my energy drained

so I sit in the foyer during second hour

I wouldn't have been able to pay attention in sunday school anyway

the sunlight hits my chair at a perfect angle

and I am warm

I long for the sun and light and warmth outside of church

it blinds me with its glory

I can't wait to leave

[apostate-in-an-alcove]

People who label creative media about religious trauma as "edgy" and those who create it as "edgelords" are only telling on themselves.