And It Came to Pass

by Laura Stone

  Adam stood still, dirty plate in hand and heart racing. In Adam’s house, there was no question that this would be considered outright blasphemy. His heart raced at the thought of them edging toward something dangerous. But as he’d heard in countless Firesides and Young Men classes, just because he experienced excitement didn’t mean that it was founded in something righteous. “Spiritual things were emotional, but not all emotional things were spiritual.” He had to remember that. He just couldn’t tell what this was.

  “I don’t know,” Christensen said, oblivious to the turmoil inside Adam as he reached for the plate that was forgotten in Adam’s hand. “I just… I wonder if the old way was better, that’s all. Feels like I’m being spoon-fed, you know?”

  Adam slowly approached where Christensen began filling the sink. His voice thick, he said, “Sometimes… sometimes I worry that we’re offending Heavenly Father by not wholly accepting everything we’ve been taught, though.” He took his place at Christensen’s left to start soaping up dishes.

  “Hey. If our religion’s own founder hadn’t asked questions, we wouldn’t even be here,” Christensen replied, took a wet plate from Adam to rinse it and bumped their shoulders together.

  That didn’t mesh with any of the doctrinal precepts his father had hammered into his head from birth, but the heck of it was, it sounded… true. And as questioning his beliefs had always been considered to be an act that was unfounded in righteousness. The inconsistency of this made it harder to ignore and certainly harder to go along with blithely, as his father would expect of him.

  “My mom said once that her job was to prepare me to be an adult, right?”

  Adam nodded and began scrubbing the silverware.

  “A parent’s job is to teach their child so they can become independent.”

  “Well, yeah,” Adam said.

  Chewing his lip, Christensen turned to rest against the sink. “But… if Heavenly Father is just that, our parent, then doesn’t He want us to become independent? We’re supposed to become Gods ourselves, after all. So wouldn’t that follow? The growing up and past-being-children bit?”

  “I… I don’t know,” Adam replied. He’d never considered that.

  “I guess I just wonder if God is tired of having to spoon-feed us.”

  Adam dropped his hands back into the water and scrambled for missing silverware.

  “Hey, um…” Christensen laid his hand on Adam’s shoulder. Adam couldn’t breathe. “I want to thank you for letting me be open about this stuff with you. I can’t really talk to a lot of people about this stuff except my parents, and that takes too long out here. And as much as I love the guy,” he laughed, squeezing Adam’s shoulder. “Sorensen’s too much of a goofball for this sort of thing. I just want you to know that I appreciate you. Thanks.”

  “I… yeah. Sure.” Adam pulled the drain plug and watched the soapy water swirl away. “I’m surprised you do talk to me about this stuff, though.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Adam carefully dried his hands and said quietly, “No one ever talks to me about this sort of thing.”

  Christensen regarded him, then said, “My grandma had a saying: Still waters run deep. I know you don’t talk much, but you’re always thinking. And it’s clear you’re smart. For a jock.” He ducked away from Adam’s wide swing, laughing. “Honestly, I thought I might explode if I didn’t have someone to talk to about all of this and not be scared you were going to turn me in to the Mission President. So really, thanks.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, no it’s fine,” he answered, thrilled that someone found what he thought to be of importance.

  Later, while lying in bed, he thought back on their conversation. What if Elder Sorensen, or heck, what if Ketchup had asked him any of these questions? He’d be put out, no question. He’d think they were apostates, probably, or on the road to becoming one. So why not with his companion?

  The thing was, Christensen was so sincere when he brought up these sticky topics that it made Adam pay close attention, made him wonder about these things, too, instead of dismissing them offhand as he would have before his mission. This wasn’t some disgruntled member trying to kick a hornet’s nest, or a lonely missionary wanting to go home so he could go to the movies, date and get back to being an irresponsible teenager. Christensen wasn’t trying to shirk his duty or rush home to friends and a social life. He was a great guy, one everyone in the mission field admired and one who thought deeply about his actions and beliefs. Something about his earnestness let those questions sink in, instead of Adam automatically bristling and dismissing them as anti-Mormon stuff. Adam’s parents had drilled in his head since childhood not to doubt but to trust, not to question but to have faith, that if his faith was strong enough, he would know.

  So far that hadn’t really worked. Maybe… maybe his companion had a better way to get answers. Maybe asking questions and continuing to ask questions until they got real answers was the way to go. Thank goodness Christensen’s parents weren’t like Adam’s.

  Adam added Sister Christensen to his prayers of thankfulness.

  * * *

  After that conversation, it was easy to bring up concerns during their downtime. Christensen’s regular response became, “Let’s look it up.” He loved that Christensen didn’t dismiss him or make him feel stupid or ashamed for not knowing or fully understanding some complex principle. He was still pretty shocked with himself for daring to pose philosophical questions out loud.

  “So don’t get weird,” Christensen said as they packed up their laundry on another P-Day, “but I asked my mom about some of the questions we’ve had about the Book of Mormon and history and stuff.”

  Adam’s skin prickled all over as if he was suddenly cold. “You asked your mom about that?” General philosophical questions were one thing, but questioning what they’d been told about the Church and its founders seemed disloyal and dangerous.

  “Yeah, dude. She’s the smartest person I know.” Christensen set down the laundry basket and laid a hand high on Adam’s shoulder, almost covering his neck. “Don’t worry. My mom is super cool. She’s the least judgmental person there is. Oh, she got you more Skor candy bars, too.” He jogged to the kitchen and grabbed a small box.

  Dumbfounded, Adam opened the lid to find it filled with bubble-wrapped Skor candy bars, his favorite. “What… more?”

  “Eh,” Christensen said, dismissing Adam’s concern with his hand. “She knows they’re your favorite. I may have mentioned that I assumed your family kept forgetting to put some in your care packages.”

  Adam hadn’t gotten any care packages beyond extra socks and a new tie two weeks ago.

  “But anyway, back to the doctrine stuff. Hang on, let me get it.” He grabbed an opened letter from his dresser drawer and skimmed it for a minute, before reading out loud. “‘Mistakes are to be expected, I’m afraid. Remember that the scriptures were written by humans, and we all mess up. We all make mistakes. There isn’t a book published without typos and errors, after all.

  “‘I want you boys to think about how you feel when you read and study certain things. I want you to ask yourselves how you feel when we live the principles of the gospel. That’s what’s more important than all the editorial corrections in scriptures. Ask yourself if you feel good? Do you feel righteous? Do you feel selfless? If so, then you’re following something good and worthy. You believe in something good and worthy. I hope that makes sense.’”

  Christensen folded the letter and snagged a candy bar from the box in Adam’s hand. “Let’s pray about that tonight, what do you think?”

  Adam held the gift in his hands and stared at his companion. Light appeared to be emanating from Christensen, just as the Church leaders had always said would happen around righteous, good men of God. He was just… so noble and thoughtful, and so was his kind mother. And everything seemed to make sense when he said it. It
didn’t feel scary, trying to understand these tricky doctrinal… flubs, these knots in the doctrine that tangled up Adam’s heart and thoughts.

  “See? Told you she was awesome,” Christensen said. “Come on, man. We better get these clothes in the wash before they grow legs.”

  They decided to go tracting after regular P-Day chores and after Adam wrote a thank you letter to Sister Christensen while still sucking toffee from his back teeth. They’d gone old-style door-to-door for a solid week. They weren’t having any luck. No long chats, no discussions, certainly no baptisms. Most people saw them coming and went the other way or refused to open the door and yelled at them to keep walking. One woman had crawled under her dining table—she was completely visible from the front glass door—and waited them out as they pounded. Adam had considered shouting, “I can see you!” but had refrained, knowing that wouldn’t help them. It hadn’t occurred to him until much later that his father would have expected just that.

  Why wasn’t he forcing the issue with these lost children of God?

  That question began to weigh heavily on him.

  “I think we’re not making any headway with anyone because… well, because we’re questioning the Church ourselves.” Adam worried at his tie and squinted at it as the sun shone on the mirror, reflected from the cement sidewalk. “If we could just have a perfect faith, we’d be able to find the people who need us.” What he didn’t say out loud was: If he would only stop questioning, he could finally believe it all. He could get a baptism just as Christensen had and prove to his father that he was worthy of his priesthood, worthy to, well, exist.

  Christensen attempted to placate him. “Dude, we’re sowing seeds. Don’t let it get you down, man. ‘Success is the progressive realization of a worthy goal.’”

  Adam laughed. “Was that the daily quote in your Franklin Planner today?”

  “Nope.” Christensen threw an arm over Adam’s shoulder, chuckling as he playfully ruffled Adam’s hair, then smoothed it back to rights. “That was yesterday’s. Thanks for giving me the chance to actually use it.”

  “Well, then. What’s today’s?” Adam asked.

  Christensen glanced at the open organizational-planner on the dilapidated coffee table and read, “‘Happiness is measured by the spirit of which you meet the problems of life.’ Someone needs to send that to Ketchup. Glass half full right there.”

  “Practically empty,” Adam agreed, warming at the sound of Christensen’s laughter and flushing all over when he slung an arm around Adam’s neck.

  “Man, I’m so glad they sent you to me instead of pairing me up with Guymon again. Three weeks last year was enough. Well, ready to get a move on?” He grabbed both of their bags. “I thought we might try down by Güell Park. If we don’t get any bites, at least we can check it out. There’s this water fountain with a big dragon covered in tile, these cool built-in terrace thingies, it’s awesome. I love that place. It’s like Tim Burton reimagined Saint Basil’s Cathedral.”

  “Was that supposed to mean something to me?” Adam asked, taking his bag and locking their door.

  “You’ll see. I’ll educate you yet, Provo.”

  “Oh, okay, California,” Adam laughed. “I forgot how urbane and sophisticated the ‘burbs of Sacramento’ are.”

  “Whatever, dude. My folks took us to museums and let us watch cable television,” he said, gently punching Adam’s upper arm.

  They continued to tease each other as they made their way to meet investigators. They were comforting, if disconcerting, these random moments of affection and camaraderie. Adam almost couldn’t believe how wary he’d been at the start, how he’d questioned letting Christensen past his barriers. He’d never really allowed himself to have a close friend. He’d hung with his team, socialized with the local guys, and that was about it. Christensen was more than just his missionary trainer and companion, however. He was Adam’s friend.

  And friends did things like touch each other with joke punches, shoves, stuff like that. Christensen had been a demonstrative guy from the start, and some of that demonstrativeness was rubbing off on Adam. He didn’t balk at the head rubs and close contact the way he had in the beginning. It was… nice. He supposed he’d been touch-starved, and now lit up at the simplest of contacts.

  Adam told himself that he wasn’t doing anything to encourage the contacts. That was how a lot of guys were with each other; that certainly was true among the other missionaries here, Sorensen especially. He would sit in any available lap if no chair was free.

  “I don’t do floors, man,” Sorensen said, wriggling his tush more comfortably into LaSalle’s lap. All the missionaries were gathered at the apartment to give a quick evening report to Christensen.

  “Man, get your big butt up,” LaSalle groaned. “You’re going to break my legs in half.”

  “Nah. You’re comfy as heck, bro. Now, if you were a stick like Ketchup here,” Sorensen said, ducking when Guymon threw a book at his head.

  “LaSalle isn’t that sturdy,” Christensen said.

  “Thank you.” LaSalle shoved Sorensen’s solid mass off his lap.

  “Look, you can squeeze in over here. Stop throwing my things, Guymon.” Christensen shifted over and tugged Adam closer to make room on the sofa for Sorensen to shove himself in. It was for everyone’s comfort that Christensen had his arm on the back of the sofa and that was why Adam ended up angled under his arm, pressed against Christensen’s side.

  “Don’t worry,” Sorensen said, perching on the edge of the cushion. “We won’t be here long. We have a dinner appointment—”

  “Another one?” Gardener cried. “How the heck are you scoring so many meals?”

  Sorensen looked at his nails, huffed on them, the buffed them on his shirt. “Guess we’re the new stars of the mission field, huh?”

  “Man, don’t even front,” LaSalle said. To the rest of them, he said, “It’s like this. Sorensen here is the champion of looking starved. He works the sympathy angle with the older types. Plus, they like that I speak Basque—”

  Everyone laughed and fake applauded.

  “Thank you. That’s a Canadian education for you. And we get some good food out of it. Now be nice about it, and maybe we’ll bring y’all’s sorry butts some leftovers.”

  Christensen leaned close to Adam and whispered, “We have got to get the hookup on some home-cooked meals. No offense to your mad grilled cheese skills, of course.”

  Adam flushed from head to toe, worried that the others would misunderstand what they’d seen. If they’d seen anything. He forced out a laugh, because who would be watching him? Also, there was no reason to be uncomfortable. What, just because he could almost feel his companion’s lips graze his ear? They were wedged in like sardines, of course weird touching would happen.

  Okay, so maybe he was uncomfortable because it was new for him to allow that sort of contact. Maybe because Christensen was in a position of power over him, maybe that made it inappropriate. In the army, captains and majors weren’t supposed to fraternize with the grunts. He understood the principle. But part of him thought that fraternizing was what made Christensen such a good leader. And part of his thoughts twisted ugly and bitter later that night when he saw Christensen hug and wrestle the other guys as they went off to their own apartments.

  So, fine. He now had a habit of hanging on Christensen’s every word, and he had a pattern of becoming upset with himself for being so worshipful of his senior companion.

  God wasn’t a respecter of men and all that. And Adam shouldn’t be, either.

  It was confusing, all that there was to learn. There was figuring out how to navigate this huge city, the people and their customs, and how to live in such close quarters with another person, especially one with as big a personality as Christensen, let alone his physical size. And those close quarters were another problem of their own. Adam’s family had a big
house in Provo, big enough that Adam never had to share a room with his brothers. And they just weren’t close, not the way he’d seen other brothers behave, always hanging off each other, frogging the other’s arms, jumping on each other’s backs. Okay, that last one was mostly Sorensen, who was a big goofy puppy, and usually pretended to crack a whip, demanding horseback rides from everyone.

  One morning, thrown off balance when he and Christensen headed for the same narrow path in their tiny living room, Adam planted his hand on his companion’s broad chest to keep from falling over. He quickly pulled his hand back.

  Christensen said, “Hey, man, it’s okay. No big. We’re going to ding-dong each other on occasion.” He laughed. “With eight of us in a four-bedroom home, you either learn to get comfortable around other people in tight quarters or you go bananas. Plus, we were the hangout house. Nonstop crowds at Casa de Christensen.”

  Adam nodded, trying to avoid watching Christensen tuck his dress shirt into his suit pants.

  “I loved it, though. We had a big screen TV down in the basement,” Christensen said, looping his belt and heading to the kitchen. “Everyone in the neighborhood was always coming over. We had a huge backyard, too. Half the neighborhood had sleepovers all summer long, like, twenty kids in sleeping bags playing Graveyard or Truth or Dare until a neighbor would yell at us to shut up. Mom won’t know what to do with herself when we’re all moved out and on our own. She still has four of us kids living there, not counting me, so she’s making do.” Christensen poured two glasses of juice and handed one over. “Honestly, this is the most space I’ve ever had to myself.” He smiled brightly. “You’re better company than my older brother, that’s for sure. Easier to get along with, too.”

  “Heh, yeah. Um, same thing. The easier to get along with part, I mean.”

  Christensen squeezed Adam’s arm and shot him another of those infectious grins and went off in search of his scriptures.