Leaving the Fold
James W. Ure, editor

Chapter 9.
Helen Bowring Ure

Wisdom outweighs any wealth.

[p.101]Helen Bowring Ure’s service to Utah education began with a tentative commitment to the Libbie Edward Elementary School PTA in 1951 and eventually resulted in her becoming the first woman to chair the Utah State Board of Education, where she served two terms. She was president of the Utah State PTA, president of the Utah Public Health Association, chair of the Governor’s Committee on Children and Youth, chair of the White House Conference on Children and Youth, chair of the Utah Head Start Committee, vice chair of the Salt Lake County Board of Health, president of the Women’s State Legislative Council, president of the YWCA, a member of the board of directors of Planned Parenthood, a member of the University of Utah College of Nursing Board, and chair of the Salt Lake Commission on Youth.

Helen was also vice president of the National Congress of Parents and Teachers, vice president of the National Association of State Boards of Education, member of the board of the National Committee for Children and Youth, and a member of the board of the American Public Health Association. She was a delegate to two White House conferences in 1970, one for children in Washington, D.C., and one for youth in Estes Park, Colorado.

[p.102]She received the University of Utah’s Distinguished Alumna Award for Meritorious Service to the University and Community presented by the U. of U. Alumni Association. She is a recipient of the Susa Young Gates Award, the Merit of Honor of the U. of U. Emeritus Club, the Beatty Award of the Utah Public Health Association (first non-professional to receive it), and was named Man of the Year in Education from Phi Delta Kappa Educational Fraternity, University of Utah Chapter. She also served nineteen years as a member and chair of the Advisory Council to the Utah Department of Employment Security, for which she received a special citation from Utah governor Norman Bangerter. She is the author of several publications on health and education, and is a member of the Salt Lake Council of Women Hall of Fame.

It’s August 1996, and Helen is seated at the kitchen table in the modest home she and her husband, Jim, bought in 1942. It’s on Salt Lake City’s east bench, in the Mill Creek area. Helen was born in 1913 in Salt Lake City, and her alertness, trim figure, and beautiful thick hair suggest a woman twenty years younger than her eighty-three years. The benefit of mellowing through the years and the security of retirement from an active life in the community have in no way tempered the direct, sometimes indignant, view of the way things should be. She’s quick to respond. There are moments of anger that rise in her voice, especially regarding her defeat for a third term on the Utah State Board of Education.

Interviewing one’s mother requires discipline in formulating questions, especially if you think you already know the answers.

Do you attend Mormon church services?
Never, anymore.

What about funerals? Christenings?
Well, I go to funerals if they’re held in Mormon chapels, but I wouldn’t want mine to be held there.

[p.103]Where do you want yours held?
I think the best place is over in the Wasatch Lawn [a cemetery with a chapel], because I have many friends who aren’t Mormons. Some are good Mormons, too. But they kind of lost me during the 1960s.

Do you consider yourself a Jack Mormon?
I’ve thought of myself as a Jack Mormon, but I haven’t mentioned it to anybody. I think most of the people who know me well would classify me in that way.

You were born to parents who were active LDS?
Very, very active. As a family, we used to go to all the Sunday meetings. Until the older girls got a little bit wayward themselves, we’d all go together—Sunday school and sacrament meeting, the works.

How many siblings do you have?

Was either of your parents stronger in the faith? Or did they both seem to share equally a zeal?
I think probably Mother was more unshakable, but Dad had traveled a lot and been in a lot of little timber towns and small towns in the West. Although people would ask him to stay at their homes and preach in their wards, he was sort of taken aback when he’d come home … Of course, he hadn’t been around usually for eight or nine months, and he was welcomed, but he wasn’t given any special job to do. They’d always ask him to pray, and he made a lovely prayer, but I think he felt a little bit rejected, according to my brother who talked to him about it. I think he felt that they should have made a little place for him when he was home.

Did you ever hear him complain?
No, I didn’t.

So nothing anti-church was ever said by either your mother or your father to your memory?
No, although I think Dad was better-read than Mother, and he’d mention certain things he’d learned as a child. He was brought up as a [p.104]Catholic and went to Catholic schools. His mother was a Catholic before she came to Utah, and then she joined the church. When her husband married another woman in polygamy, she left. Dad, I think, had a jolt there.

He told me about the pope’s cap and the writing on it. There was one that looked like 999, but it was interpreted by Mormons to be 666, which was the devil’s number. He told me about little things like that, which I don’t know whether he told any of the others in the family or not.

Was he raised a Mormon? Or did he convert along with his mother?
His mother married a Mormon, and he was born and raised as a Mormon when he was young. I know he had brothers and sisters from the relationship between his mother and original dad. But Dad’s father went to Brigham City to live with his new wife; his dad’s mother was really hurt, and she was kind of spiteful about it. She married a Mr. Black whom Dad didn’t like. Everybody thought he was sort of a bum. He didn’t work, he didn’t have a nice home for her, and she didn’t have the things his dad had given her.

Was Mr. Black Mormon?
No, he wasn’t. My father’s mother joined the Catholic church again after that, and I think that’s why Dad was sent to the Catholic schools. They did call it St. Mary’s on First South, and it was more or less downtown. He did get, I think, probably some indoctrination. Maybe he had more of a questioning mind than mother.

He went on an LDS mission, didn’t he?
Oh, yes, he did. He went to Oklahoma Territory.

What are your early memories of going to church with the family?
In the good weather, we’d usually walk to church from our place. Highland Park Ward was first just a little cottage-like ward, and then they built the new ward, and that was more or less a show place. That wasn’t too far—several blocks—but we’d usually walk in a group. Then Edith and Maureen [older sisters] kind of dropped out.

I really have no idea. They moved in quite a high-class social life.

[p.105]Was this in contrast to the way you felt the family was economically?
Sort of. Edith went with the mayor’s son, and Maureen went with the governor’s nephew.

Why do you suppose they went with these people?
I think they liked the things they did, and the kind of high falutin’ life they lived, and the places they had access to, and their lovely dinners that they went to.

Did this seem different from the Mormonism that pervaded your life?
Yes, it did. It felt out of my reach. Oh, Maureen would come home with some new ideas for dinner. The first time I ever had artichokes, she’d had them up at the governor’s mansion for dinner, or at her boyfriend’s mother’s house. They had some beautiful homes, and they did a lot of entertaining, which we seldom did.

Did you envy that?
I didn’t think of it in that way, but I thought it was pretty neat.

Did you ever feel any guilt or any conflicts between your actions and what the church taught?
Oh, yes. Growing up I did. We’d always listened to conference, and some of the speeches of the apostles used to scare me to death. I thought for sure I was on the wrong track and I was going to go to hell for some of the things I did. It was a different era for me than for them. I just didn’t see their way of looking at things. Things were being modernized. And the flappers were coming in, all the dances and all the kind of wildness that everybody accused them of. That was all part of my life. I was a little younger than the flapper age, but I could do the dances that my older sisters couldn’t do. It was just natural, being a little kid you’d pick it up. I’d have to teach them how to do some of those intricate steps. It was always kind of intriguing to me, but I did feel that I was kind of a fish out of water in my family, because all of them—even my older sisters—were really back into that last generation before the flapper age. They didn’t quite fit in.

You were the youngest of seven.

[p.106]And your sisters were in their twenties when you were just a sprout.
Yes. Edith was fifteen years older; Maureen was fourteen years older.

And they belonged to the nineteenth century? The Victorian to the Edwardian era?
Yes, I think essentially. They did finally get the flapper haircuts like Louise and I did, but I don’t think they were at heart into that. They’d just do it because it was being done by others they knew, and they thought they looked good.

Of the seven children in the family, how many would you call Jack Mormons or Mormons who became inactive?
Certainly Edith. Really Maureen, although she tried to sort of pretend to keep a connection with the church by being in the Daughters of Utah Pioneers and things like that, but she never went. She never really embraced it, I don’t think. Jarrold was kind of a Jack Mormon until he got married, and then Elsie changed him. Ed wasn’t a really good Mormon when he left home at eighteen and went into World War I. He was a deep sea diver in the navy, and settled in San Francisco after his stint was over, with some others—I think four or five other fellows whom he knew—some from Salt Lake. But I don’t think their main interest was going to church or Mormonism. They had their own apartment, and they were out of the navy and raring to go.

So it sounds like four of you came from very devout parents and chose to walk the inactive road rather than become active. Did it take time before you became inactive?
After Jim and I were married, we both had jobs in Winder Ward. I was a teacher and so was Jim.

You both were still active in 1938?
Right. And beyond that, I was activity counselor—that’s what they called me. Then we kept our fingers in it, but even at that time I felt like they shouldn’t have asked me to be a teacher. But I didn’t really have the spirit, I didn’t have the heart to insist on certain things when I was teaching. I’d skim over things I didn’t really believe in. So I didn’t feel totally immersed in the religion, even though I was active. We [p.107]went to Mutual Improvement because we were teachers in that organization. Then when we moved up here, they asked me to be a Sunday school teacher and activity counselor in the Mutual, and I did that. I also began smoking, probably just to show my independence, that I wasn’t going to be wholly taken in by the assignment. I was always a little bit rebellious.

Even as a child?
Oh, yes, even as a child. I remember going to all the organizations—Primary, religion class, and Sunday school. I remember my Sunday school teachers getting after me quite often for not being attentive or absorbing what I should be.

Were you interested in what they were teaching?
Not particularly.

Was it poorly taught or basically very dry?
Some teachers could get into it better than others, but most of them were so implacable and inflexible that you felt like you didn’t have any say in whatever you were doing. We just took orders and had to live with them. I think that’s probably what made me a little bit rebellious.

The demands of the church—did they seem rigid to you?
I thought so.

And you rebelled against that?
I did. And in Mutual we had a man, a Mr. Harmon, one of the builders in the city. He read the bumps on our head. I’ll never forget that night. I wasn’t being very cooperative, but anyway he wanted to read the bumps on my head. He did, and he said I was a leader in whatever I did, but I didn’t want to be. He said you do it reluctantly, but you’re a leader. I don’t know whether he was trying to put something in my head that I should be a better example for others or what, or if he could really read bumps. I have no idea.

So you’re married, you have children. What were your expectations of your children regarding Mormonism?
Really, we didn’t have any expectations of their being good Mor-[p.108]mons. Neither Jim nor I did. We could always see a little different angle. For instance, the two-and-one-half-minute talks, Jim would always think of something that was a little off-beat and might challenge the Mormons in the talks. I can’t remember exactly, but he did introduce some terms that maybe would make people wonder what he was thinking. I don’t think we ever thought of having you indoctrinated in the Mormon church. It was convenient for you to go, and we sent you. We didn’t go with you, but we sent you because all your friends were going.

Was that why? Or was it to make sure that grandparents were pleased?
That was partly it, too. Yes, that was the reason we went through the temple. We knew that Jim’s folks and my folks would be utterly devastated if we didn’t. So we just thought, Well, it’s better to keep peace in the family and make everybody happy, and it doesn’t hurt us. So we went through the temple. All of them were really quite religious. I think Will and sometimes Mabel [Jim’s parents] had some small doubts, because when Pop died, he said, “I wonder if I’ll ever see Mabel again.”

He was a bishop, wasn’t he?
Yes, he’d been a bishop in Ogden for years, and he was working in the temple when he got sick. We both thought that was quite unusual, because that’s a part of Mormonism that you’ll be with your wife, married in the temple, and have your children and everything. And to have him question that on his deathbed was a shock.

You were married in the temple. Your husband was physically handicapped. This was difficult?
That was one of the most difficult things we ever did. We were married in the Salt Lake temple, and if they had an elevator, we weren’t informed about it. Jim had to climb stairs. You have to do a lot of that to go in different places and different rooms, and then come back down and go back and forth. And you had to change your garments or your hat that men wore. You had to change those around when different ceremonies were performed. He was just in a sweat the whole time. His dad helped him, but it wasn’t a pleasant experience for Jim at all. And as a result, it wasn’t for me, you know, just being worried about him. We didn’t get anything spiritual out of it. Even when they [p.109]washed your body and told you all about your garments and things like that. And they gave us secret names, which I guess I shouldn’t feel sorry, but we didn’t keep secret. We told each other. Now I’m not sure what mine was. But it wasn’t an impressive ceremony, not at all. The words that they used sounded kind of silly to us. It just didn’t make a good impression on either of us, partly because of his condition and partly because our hearts weren’t in it.

At what point do you think your faith was shaken?
There were several points. In fact, when you—my oldest boy—were in Sunday school and the teacher talked to you in some way that made you feel like your dad wouldn’t go to heaven because he smoked. That infuriated me, and I thought it was too narrow-minded, and his teacher should never have said it. And there were little things like that in the other children’s lives that were said and done that I didn’t like. And then when you kids got into your teens and were more independent—all of you more or less changed your lifestyle. And your hair was long. I thought it was just a way for you to show your independence from the church. But the fact that the church wouldn’t accept kids who had long hair … They’d always be riding them. And kids who smoked, they weren’t good. And yet people who drank—closet drinkers or anything like that—could go to church and be accepted as fine members. I thought the church did the opposite from what they should. I was quite active in community youth affairs by then, and I thought they should’ve accepted them and made them feel welcome. They lost a lot of kids in that era. They certainly lost me. I’d go to church, not very often, but I’d go into Gospel Doctrine class and I’d have questions. I’d raise my hand and ask them, and they all seemed so startled by my questions. I didn’t feel they ever answered them completely or even partially. I got disillusioned and decided it wasn’t worth my while. I didn’t think they liked to see me come, and I certainly wasn’t getting anything out of it, so I quit going.

Did you ever consider actually having your name removed from the church roles?
It occurred to me, but that’s about all. I thought, “I don’t want to go through that trouble.” They make it so miserable to get your name removed from the church roles that I figured it wasn’t worth it.

[p.110]Is there any advantage to appearing to be a Mormon?
Oh, I think so. In the political end of my life, I don’t think I would’ve been so easily elected if I’d made a point of not being a Mormon. I didn’t stress it at all, but I think people just thought I was and were surprised when eventually they found it out. I was a Mormon still, but I wasn’t a good Mormon.

When you say “good” Mormon, how do you define “good” Mormon?
A person who goes to church and pays tithing and obeys the Word of Wisdom and does what the bishop wants her to do.

Did you pay tithing at some point in your life?
We did for some time, and the fast offering, as well. In fact, we had to to get in the temple. It didn’t last at all. We didn’t have within us the feeling that it would bring any blessings like some people thought, and many people still think that if they don’t pay their tithing they’ll be condemned and held back for some reason or other from getting to heaven. That just didn’t enter our minds.

What about your basic faith in the Book of Mormon and the teachings of Mormonism?
I had a hard time accepting the story of Joseph Smith and the way he translated the Book of Mormon and how the angel appeared when he was so young. How he even understood what was happening, I don’t know, at that age—fourteen. It all seemed more or less like a fairy tale, and I have an impression of the pictures that they showed of Joseph Smith receiving the plates in the forest. But it’s not a picture that I revere. It was just there. I had a hard time accepting Joseph Smith.

Did you ever wish you were stronger in your faith?
I don’t believe so. The only time it even crossed my mind is when someone would die who I knew was a Mormon or lived intimately with Mormons. I thought, Oh, it would be nice to feel that safe and secure just knowing that you’re going to be all together and be in this wonderful place.

Did you ever have any open conflict with active Mormons?
I have no way of identifying them, because it was always done in se-[p.111]cret meetings. But just before my last try for elective office [to the Utah State Board of Education in 1974], when I wasn’t elected, I had reliable reports of a John Birch meeting up at the Mill Creek Library. A person called after a Saturday night meeting there and said, “I don’t know you, but I voted for you all the way along.” She said, “You wouldn’t believe the things they said about you.” I know a lot of Mormons were followers of the John Birch Society. The president of the church, Ezra Taft Benson, and his son Reed were. So I’d imagine there were a lot of Mormons at that meeting. But at that meeting she said they accused me of teaching about sex. I’d taken a stand on sex education in the school, and they accused me of going into the schools and teaching the kids while I was naked. That just blew my mind. It was Saturday night before the election, and there was really nothing that I could think of to do. Besides, I was informed from one of our good Mormon elders at the board of education that his wife had been called and they had a chain call going on in Granite School District urging people not to vote for me and telling them some of these lies. Chain calls are so expansive and so fast, they can get through a ward in a hurry. Afterwards a lot of people told me they’d been called by either a bishop who’d been a Republican Party chairman or somebody of that kind in their ward—“Don’t vote for Helen Ure.” So that kind of turned me off to the church. In fact, it turned me off completely. I was furious about it, because they didn’t tell the truth and they got me defeated.

You’re sure this was church-driven?
I’m absolutely sure, because the wife of one of the assistant superintendents in the state office got the call. He told me what happened. And Duane Cardall at KSL attended our meetings and we did an interview before the election. He said he went to work the next morning at KSL, and his question was, “What happened to Helen Ure?” One of the men up there said, “Well, I know what happened. We got called by several people to not vote for her.” So I feel sure that it happened, and it happened with Mormons leading the cause. Another board member, she was the wife of a stake president … I liked her a lot, too, but she told me they had a Republican Party gathering the night before the election, and they were all discussing politics and everything. She was running for the state board, too, again. She’d won one term. She asked one of the men who was there … She said, “Of course, Helen Ure will [p.112]get it.” And he said, “Oh, no, she won’t.” And she said, “How come?” He said, “The word’s gone out from 47 East South Temple” [LDS Church office headquarters at the time]. He was as sure as he was standing there that I wasn’t going to be elected. I had little reports like this from several different good Mormon people who worked in the same circle I did.

Politically, where do inactive Mormons go in terms of a party in Utah, in your opinion?
I’d assume they go to the Democratic party.

Does the Republican Party seem to be a home for active Mormons? Does it seem to better fit their philosophy?
It seems so. They embrace the same kind of thing that the Mormon church preaches, and the Mormon church keeps going along those lines. And that reinforces being a member. I think that’s the main reason we have so many Republicans in the state. There aren’t too many people who want to take an open stand against the church. It’s too scary.

Did you ever feel any stigma from being a Mormon?
Yes, sometimes at national meetings, national conventions. People would look at you a little differently, and they usually never said anything. But if they found that I smoked, they were astonished, because Mormons didn’t smoke, you know. I did for quite a while. I think, as I said, it was sort of in defiance to show my independence that the church couldn’t own me and couldn’t run me.

Have individual active Mormons ever created any animosity in you because of their religious views?
Yes. I remember being resentful of some things that they were saying and clinging to, but I never made an issue of it. It’s not my way. I don’t like to create trouble.

Were you ever confronted by an active Mormon about your degree of faith?
Yes, after I got notice of this meeting at East Mill Creek by the John Birch Society, I had several calls that night and the next day by Mormons who questioned did I go to church regularly and did I believe this or that, and was I a good member, and different questions. I could [p.113]tell they were Mormons and they were questioning the plausibility of my being a good Mormon. I never claimed to be, but people just accepted it because I had been. I never used it in any of my elections. I deplored that. I deplored having men saying they were active in their priesthood and had so many children, and their wives were active in the auxiliary organizations and things like that. I thought that was dirty pool.

What do you like about Mormonism?
Well, I think Mormons more or less are honest. They’re faithful, and they do a lot of good in a neighborhood. I think they give a lot of their time to helping kids and arranging entertainment for people, and I suppose old folks, too. They give of themselves a lot in the church, but they’re not very willing to give of themselves outside the church.

Why do you think that is?
I think their time’s too taken up with Mormonism. I don’t think they have time to even think of anything else, and they don’t read enough to broaden themselves, they’re so involved in the church and the church work and the church books and the church magazine, and just doing what the church tells them to. I don’t think they have the time. They don’t give it much thought. They think they’re on the right track, and that’s that.

What do you think the church could do to keep more of its members from becoming inactive?
I think if they weren’t so authoritative. If they’d involve people in questions of community, of church, and of philosophy, I think people would be more interested, but they don’t. You just feel like you’re being told by someone on high, and you don’t feel you’re really involved. You read what you’re supposed to and pass that on to whomever you’re supposed to. I don’t think there’s enough chance for interchange or any discussion of things that are in question. Intelligent people have things that they question about the church that the church can’t tolerate being asked about them. They just cut them off. Get rid of them so they don’t have to answer any hard questions. And yet we’ve seen a lot of things come out in the church—stealing—like the guy out in the prison who tried to sell church writings and killed a couple of good church members.

[p.114]Mark Hofmann.
Yes, Mark Hofmann. I don’t think they tell us the truth about those things. They probably don’t even say it to themselves. They just cover it and think everything will work out, and they have the power. I just feel there are lots of things that intelligent people in the church have asked and have not been answered.

What about women in the church? Is this an area that troubles you?
It does bother me. I think they’re losing half the population who could give them leadership and direction and challenge their minds if they’d use women in the right way. But so far as I’ve seen, women have always been under the thumb of the men in the priesthood, in the church. Relief Society was under the direction of the men, and the auxiliaries also. You didn’t have any authority as an organization. You had to go through the hierarchy, and I think they haven’t used women to their advantage at all—or to the women’s advantage.

Any chance you’d consider becoming active again?
I can’t think of any right now. It just doesn’t hold any interest for me. I’m more comfortable being with different kinds of people. In fact, I get more out of going to the Unitarian church and listening to their programs and their wide-ranging discussions than I ever did at the Mormon church.

Do you ever feel isolated?
Yes, I do, sometimes. There are things going on in the neighborhood that are sponsored by the church that I get invited to. I usually decline because I don’t want to go. We just don’t seem to speak the same language. They’re so involved in every church thing that’s going on that you do feel a little isolated, but I’m also not interested. I find this true especially going down to the PTA conventions these later years in Provo at BYU. That’s the only place that’s big enough to hold the convention, so they always go to BYU. There are usually four of us in a car—three of them are active Mormons. And that’s all they talk about—what they’re doing in the church, and who’s doing this, and who’s doing that. I think, my gosh, they don’t know anything that’s going on in the world, but they know everything that’s going on in the church. It’s almost like a little gossip society, but it turns me off. I’m [p.115]sure they think that I’d love to be involved. And that’s the hitch. Actually, I don’t. I don’t want to be, and that’s the truth.

The Mormons have a superior way of clinging together and keeping out other people who aren’t Mormons, especially children, and that grieves me. I think they could spend some discussion on, and explore, that feeling that’s just embedded in the Mormon culture that if you’re not a Mormon you’re not as good as they are. And you can’t be as good if you don’t go to the ward for the scouts and meetings and …

There’s the implication you can’t achieve anything like a spiritual afterlife if you’re not Mormon?
No, you can’t. And even the scouts. Your nephews, for instance. But they make so many announcements in church for what the Boy Scouts are going to do this or go there or do that. And a Boy Scout outside the church just never hears about some of the things they’re doing or some of the things they should be doing. The Mormons, I think, could spend a lot of time working on that subject, because I think it’s wrong to hurt the kids. They don’t even know why they’re being ostracized—little kids. It just burns me up. Kids living in Mormon neighborhoods and being ignored or worse—actively rejected. I think that’s terrible. That’s one of the worst things they do. And some of the times I don’t think they even know they’re doing it, it’s such a part of the culture.

Do you believe in God?
I really don’t know. I sometimes think somebody has to be directing an orderly world, and yet when I look at the world I think it isn’t very orderly and maybe it was just happenstance that it all came together and we have human life on the planet, and we’ve just evolved because we had to. Maybe I believe in nature. Some natural thing, but I can’t quite believe that there’s an omnipotent person who pulls strings or affects my life personally. I can’t quite believe that’s happening. And I think that if there were such a person, he wouldn’t be like the God of the Old Testament. He’d be more like the God of the New Testament, and be more understanding and more kind and more friendly, and he wouldn’t deliberately put things in your life to make you unhappy or to make you sick or put obstacles in the way of your attaining something. I just can’t imagine that there’d be a personal God [p.116]who’d take that much interest in every person in the world. It just doesn’t seem logical to me.

What about an afterlife? Is that a possibility?
That keeps coming back in my life, especially at this time because your thoughts go back to your fundamental beliefs and the way you were raised. And I find myself thinking along those terms and thinking, oh, it’d be nice to see Louise [a sister] and it’d be nice to see the folks. And yet I think, gosh, if it’s the way it’s supposed to be, I won’t be on their level. They all have to come down to the other kingdom to see me. I told Louise to be sure to do that. Your mind just reverts back to the fundamentals that were drilled into you for so long. And then I come to and think, “Oh, that’s ridiculous.” I don’t know whether there’ll be anything or not. I have no idea. I have no inclination, no revelations have come to me, and no people have appeared before me. And I just wonder where your dad is … if he is or if he isn’t. And there was a time that we talked about that. I guess it was about in the 1970s. I asked him point blank if he believed in God. He said no.

He told me that, too.
I waiver about it. In my mind now I think no, there isn’t, and yet I find these thoughts from way back just creeping into my mind when something like this comes up … and thinking of some of the ways I used to think, about the family and how they’re going to be able to all be together if there were three kingdoms, and some of them were married in the temple and some of them weren’t, and some of them were divorced—how’s that all going to work out? I just can’t believe it. But it just creeps into my mind. I think about it once in a while, and yet I don’t really have any reason to believe that there’s a God.