As I reflect back on those impressionable years between the ages of 12-18, I fondly recall having very real desires and aspirations to heed the counsel of my young women leaders, when the time was right, to choose a man who could take me to the temple. And I did. My first marriage was in fact a temple marriage. But like many temples marriages, unfortunately mine ended in divorce. I was six months pregnant with our son when I separated from my then husband. Our son was eight months old when our divorce was finalized. At that point, to say life was in a state of disarray is an understatement. Being in my early thirties with an infant, divorced, a full time student, and living at home with my parents through it all, was a very tough road to navigate day to day. Those girlhood hopes and dreams of having an eternal family, now null and void because of choices that were not my own, brought to the forefront of my mind the very subject of companionship. Deep reflection forced me to assess what was really important to me in a partner, especially now that I had a tiny son to consider even more than myself. Sure, I had a temple marriage. But I had been married to a man whose priorities, desires, and chosen path were not in line with those of the Lord’s. Fast forward a few years later. In terms of dating, a few things were not in my favor. The desire to date did not come right away. In fact it was a long time coming. Also, living in a small, rural town, I knew my choices to date a worthy member would be slim at best. I dabbled in online dating but never truly felt comfortable with it, and after several attempts it did not produce any results that I wanted. Moving to a bigger city was not an option either because I was bound by decree to remain within so many miles of my ex-husband. So, yet again heeding counsel, this time by my stake president, to “be open,” I sought the Lord in prayer. I poured my heart out. I told him I knew it was time: I was ready emotionally and mentally, and I would be open to options that I had not considered before. Soon after that prayer, I met my wonderful husband through a mutual friend. Almost immediately our compatibility was very evident. He was raised is a very traditional home by devout Catholic parents who instilled a very similar belief system in him and his siblings. We jived on so many levels, it was a little astounding to me. All through our courtship, which only lasted six months, I kept asking Heavenly Father if this was right. Each time I asked I received a witness of comfort and of peace, reaffirming to me that he was to be my husband and that all would be well. Navigating a marriage to a non-member has been really easy for me. I am blessed that he willingly attends church each Sunday with me and our children, and while we do discuss matters of faith and doctrinal subjects at times, there is a level of mutual understanding and respect that we allow one another. When he has a question, I happily answer. But in the beginning of our marriage I promised myself that in terms of the Church, this has to be a journey he initiates on his own. Am I there to support that discovery? Absolutely! But it must come from him, not from my pushing or prodding. Then and now, my testimony of temple marriage has never wavered. I still want it even now. One of the biggest lessons through all of this has been coming to believe that I will have it, but it will come in a way and in a time frame that is different from what we know to be traditional. My mixed-faith marriage has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, not because our faiths are different, but because we are two flawed, yet compatible people who at the end of the day are both seeking the same things in life: to love, to be loved, to raise God-fearing children who are moral, honest, and kind. I have peace in my heart knowing that one day he will accept the teachings of the gospel and that temple marriage will come.

I asked a friend for a blessing when I was considering getting engaged to my husband. I was told that I had made countless good decisions in my life leading up to that point, and that God trusted my ability to make a good decision here too. So nine years ago I chose to marry this guy I’d grown attached to, even though we were quite different. A few days before we got married I panicked and told him I didn’t think I could get married, because people change. I’d seen it. Several what-if’s emerged from my imagination, including: what if he decided to leave the Church someday? What if I decided to leave the Church someday? I had seen people who had differing views on religion — in those relationships it had been hard on their children. I never wanted to have to ask whether or not my children would be allowed to be baptized. He told me that he could never leave the Church considering his background. He and I both believed him. Several years later, when I was one month pregnant with our fourth and final child, he confided in me that he no longer wanted to go to church. He no longer believed in God or Jesus, and he wished that I, who was recently back from my own faith crisis, had continued to waiver for just a few more months. (I never stopped attending church, but I had had a hardness in my heart.) Since that time I’ve gone through periods of outright hatred, to numbness, to hope, and back to hatred as we evolve together and work on preserving what we’ve built together. It has been a bittersweet two years, heavier on the bitter than I’d like to say. After our baby was born, I was swallowed up by the ugly monster of postpartum mood disorder. I could no longer take my children to church by myself, (there was very little I could do alone during that time with or without my children), so I left them at home while I went. Several months later when I was well enough to take them, my husband was adamantly opposed to them attending with me. Out of all of the different aspects of this, that was the hardest pill to swallow. After several months, and some loud conversations we settled on a 50/50 agreement. They come to church with me every other week. Consistently for months they cried every week while getting ready. But luckily and unluckily our ward is very heavy on treats in primary — luckily because it won my children back over to what they steadfastly claim was a boring three hours (my third child thought cookies were the reason people attend church). Unluckily because it was another source of tension surrounding church (my third child thought cookies were the reason people attend church). Until just recently, I dreaded Sundays. Since that first conversation, my husband has awakened to God again. It has filled me with hope, but I’ve also tried not to be unrealistic in my expectations for him. It was disappointing to find that, even though I was largely alone in my faith in my family of origin for years before getting married, and despite the fact that I served what was to me a powerful mission, I found myself questioning my resolve to continue forward with my faith nearly weekly. I never realized how much his faith supported my own. That bothers me. I miss our unity of faith. I miss being able to share with him insights from the scriptures I read, or prophetic dreams I’ve had. Even though I know he’d be respectful, I can’t bring myself to share those things with him. It just isn’t the same sharing them with someone who has disengaged from religious belief. For the most part, ward members have been very kind. People tell me how strong I am. That I’m so good and faithful. They don’t see how often I doubt, and how mean I’ve been to my husband at times as we’ve been working on making this new dynamic work. That certainly isn’t the way of the God I profess to follow. If I could go back to visit myself that long two years ago, I would tell us to run, not walk, to the nearest well-referred counselor. A marriage like this is not impossible, but it is difficult, and we both could have used the support from the beginning of the transition. It isn’t at all the marriage I wanted, or thought I was getting into. But it isn’t without it’s good points, despite how ugly a picture I paint. As we’ve come closer to reaching an equilibrium, there has been a freshness to our relationship that was unexpected. A realness to my spouse I’d never known. That has been a gift while sifting through the unmet expectations. I’m learning more every day about letting go of my expectations for other’s paths. It is not easy when it is living in my house. But I do have faith in a God of love. So for now I choose to be grateful for small things, like being able to leave my baby at home with my husband while I go to church. Foremost, though, has been the realization that I didn’t really believe in the Atonement in the way I thought I had until now. Is He or is He not able to save my children who, even if they were to be baptized at eight, may or not have chosen to stay in the Church anyway? I’ve learned that Jesus’ grace is enough to save them from their parents’ imperfections and flawed teachings — mine as much as my husband’s. Jesus’ grace is also enough to save my husband, who, despite his faults, is a man who is trying to do good in the world. And it’s enough to save me too.

Perhaps my patriarchal blessing was subtly preparing me for this life; at age 14, I was told that I would be the spiritual leader of my home. As this was given 30 years ago, that was a surprise. It was just assumed that the father in the family would be the leader. I graduated from BYU. Twice. I had people ask to marry me. The answer was always no.  (Some of those no’s were heartbreaking.) But when I prayed to marry my not-of-our-faith husband, the answer was the most profound I’ve ever received. I think of that as an act of mercy. If I had no doubt I was to marry him, then I could have the stamina and strength to stay. My core was clear.   However, knowing you should be somewhere and having that be easy are not the same thing. Don’t get me wrong; my husband is a fabulous man. There is a reason I was praying whether I should marry him. But, the challenges we face in our marriage have been significant. My ward was incredible when I told them. I had been the YW President and then a Sunday School teacher and when I explained I had prayed and this is what I should do—they laughed at me. They simply exclaimed, “We know you, McArthur!” And that is the gift a family and ward can give—if they know who I am, they know me marrying a person not in our faith is NOT a reflection of my lack of testimony. God knows. I know. (And, thankfully, my ward knew.) Later, in a less-known place, I had one woman tell me it was nice I found my husband but she could “never settle” for someone outside the Church. I let the conversation go for a moment and then thought, “No, this does not get to stand.” So I told her calmly that following God was NEVER settling—no matter what path it took you to. But that is a hard pill to swallow when I go places I am not known. When I speak up in Sunday school I am already less legitimate because I married outside of the Church. When people teach about temple marriages, they skim by me (and all the others who are not sealed). Frankly, I now judge a ward on how welcoming they are to a single-woman-with-child-in-tow. Often wards are great. Sometimes not. Our faith is a faith of families. We believe in the eternal structure of families. Often it feels like we worship only as families. But those families and that definition can be very different. Once I asked my husband if he would come with me and bring all of our kids to church. I was excited for the literally  one  Sunday morning we would all be in the city where we usually have to fly to go to church. He agreed. But when the morning came he told me, “It’s just not my thing.” My response, “but I am your thing” did not change his mind. It hurt. Deeply. But I was also grateful for all the years when I was single. I know how to do church as a single person. You go; you serve; you worship and partake.  (And sometimes he does come. But then I am hyper-alert for crazy talk— and that’s exhausting.) My husband started out not respecting organized religion. Understatement. Here in India, there is sectarian violence. Religion has literally divided and killed people. We were put on curfew a few years ago as religious differences simmered. When a guru told my husband that I was actually more spiritual than he was, he was indignant. “What?!?! I meditate every day— she only goes to church!” He understandably saw religion as a negative thing. But, he saw spirituality as vital. I should be clear on that. He is a devout spiritual seeker. He reads holy books, he meditates, he serves. He actively cultivates a connection to divinity. There have been times when I am snotty and he gets the revelation our family needs. There have been times when I have asked God to push my husband on something—and my husband is able to receive those messages. (Not from me; direct from God is much better.) We agree on almost nothing except the need to be connected to the divine. (We don’t even agree on what divine is.) Is that enough? Maybe. Some days that aches. Other days it’s on par with him being a morning person and me being a night owl. Over the years, my husband has developed respect for the traditions of my faith. We do family night (even when our children protest), family councils, Sunday school lessons, bless the food, and Christmas. Sometimes it’s tiring because many of these things don’t happen unless I push. But, that’s not about my husband—that’s about how much energy I have to do good. That’s up to me. And just this week, my husband asked me to bless his new conference room at his business. Usually the local Hindu priest here does the offering for a new enterprise. It made me laugh… it is not a role a Mormon woman usually fills… but I called on heaven as I knew how to do. And felt respected that he would want me to bless the room. Still, sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a partner in these things. But I have talked to some Mormon friends and they say it is not easy on their side either. One told me she doesn’t read the scriptures with her husband because they have such different styles that it is not edifying to mix them together. Many were married in the temple and then husbands took a different path. I think that’s the thing—no one has it perfect or easy. I just have to learn how to live with mine. Actually, better than live. Again, back to my faith. If I believe loving Heavenly Parents put me on this path—then I have to believe it is GOOD and right and beautiful. If it does not feel that way, then I am the one lacking the heavenly vision. So, I practice heavenly vision—I remember that I am KNOWN by my Heavenly Parents. They love me. They love my husband. They know what we need to develop as eternal beings. And that IS enough.

My husband and I have been married for nine years. The Church was extremely important to him when we were dating and engaged, and during the first few years of our marriage. He loved serving in the church, attending the temple, and especially had a deep testimony of the importance of reading your scriptures regularly and paying tithing. I loved him for the spiritual man he was, the loving companion he was to me, the way he honored his priesthood, and the fact that he was my best friend. As time progressed, and we met with some deep trials, my husband started to question whether or not God cared about him. Eventually he came to the conclusion that Heavenly Father didn’t know him or love him. That led to complacency in his callings, scripture study, temple, tithing, prayer, and he decided to question everything he had taught during his two year mission. Before I knew it, he had dug deep into online sources about church history, and was certain based upon what he read that Joseph Smith was a fraud and the Church couldn’t be true. When he shared this with me, we were on a date night and trying to enjoy dinner. I remember staring at my food, trying to figure out how to move forward from here, and was deeply worried about how this would affect our two boys, ages 4 and 7. He said he felt it was important to continue to attend church for their sake, and wanted to be able to baptize our son when he turned 8 in a few months. That decision lasted until a couple weeks after our son was baptized. While it was a good experience for my husband, he continued to be caught up in conversations within online forums and listening to podcasts from other non-believers, and his lack of belief was turning into outright resentment. My husband and I agreed the best thing for him to do was to step away from attending church, because going only aggravated his negative emotions and his negative feelings were a continual wedge in our marriage, driving us apart. I let my husband know that for a time, I was trying to figure out how I could stay married to someone that didn’t believe in the gospel and had so much animosity towards something that was central to my entire identity. I felt like a fish out of water, and honestly felt betrayed. I didn’t sign up for this. Now my dream of an eternal family was in jeopardy. For months, I had a really hard time even looking him in the eye and would often cry myself to sleep. A year prior to this, we had lost a little boy at 19 weeks gestation, after an incredibly challenging pregnancy. I had physically suffered a great deal to that point in the pregnancy as my body worked to bring this little boy into our family. When we found out at my 19 week appointment that there was no heartbeat, a heart we had just seen beating strong and healthy less than two weeks prior, I was devastated. I wondered why Heavenly Father would allow me to physically and emotionally suffer so much during my pregnancy only to deprive me of the joy of being able to hold my sweet baby in my arms and raise him in our family. Through our early mourning period, I found a deep sense of hope and faith in the Atonement as well as the promise of our eternal family. Now that my husband no longer believed, I felt that hope slip away and found myself mourning the loss of our little boy all over again, as well as the loss of the husband I thought I had married. After attending professional counseling, I decided that leaving my husband because he no longer believed wasn’t the right solution. We had more to our relationship than just our beliefs, and if I worked at it and he was willing to work at it, we could repair and rebuild our marriage. We agreed to the following: He wouldn’t interfere or undermine my efforts to raise the boys in the gospel. When they were of the right age, and had difficult questions, we would answer them together. We would focus on spending time together in ways that allowed us to reconnect and have fun. Date nights could no longer be sitting in front of a movie screen. We needed to engage with each other and basically court each other again. He would try to find a set of beliefs to anchor himself to, whether that was organized religion or not. He realized he needed something to hold on to and believe in, so he decided to try to come to know and believe in Jesus Christ, allowing Christ to still be the center of our home. While there is less contention now in our relationship, and we’ve found a new stride, things still aren’t perfect. However, I have been able to rebuild my love for him and see him for the man that he truly is. I’ve learned that talking about charity in a marriage is one thing, but to have to really exercise it much more difficult than I realized. I’m learning how to have patience, how to truly love someone where they are vs. holding them to my personal expectations, and that hope in Jesus Christ is something we can always hold on to. I don’t know how our story will end, but I have hope. And our children still have a loving home that is a safe place from the world.

My husband and I met while we were both new teachers at an inner-city high school in Las Vegas. We were young, inexperienced, and frustrated. We were transplants: Christian from Kentucky, I from Utah/Oregon. We fell in love quickly. He was my life raft at a time when I was doggie-paddling across a turbulent ocean. We were a perfect match except I am Mormon and he is not. My faith wasn’t an issue for Christian. He didn’t care that I didn’t drink or attended church three hours every Sunday. I was the one who struggled. It’s not easy to set aside a lifetime of temple lessons, even when you fall in love. I was afraid of letting down my earthly parents and my Heavenly Parents. I was afraid of the eternal impact my decision would have on our future children. I’d been taught that choosing a spouse is the most important decision I would ever make and I was terrified of making the wrong choice. But I was more afraid of living my life without Christian in it. So I chose him. Thankfully my parents love my husband as much as I do. While I know they would have preferred we married in the temple, we never once felt that they were embarrassed or disappointed. All we felt was their love. Early in our marriage, we were, however, pitied by many members. We were projects of many ward missionaries, home teachers, and ward councils who felt it was their duty to save our family. But Christian and I are a team and we’ve been good at not letting outside judgments seep between us. What has kept us close is our honesty and mutual respect for each other. I made it clear I wanted my children raised in the Church. He made it clear that he would come to church with us so we could be a family, but was not interested in joining. We love each other for who we are, not for what we want each other to become. I hearken back to the counsel of our first bishop who instructed us to always put our marriage before anything else, including the Church. That council has been a guiding force every day of our marriage. Twenty years and two daughters later, we still attend church as a family each Sunday. We now live in a ward that doesn’t ask me, “What’s his problem?” when they realize he’s not a member, but rather say, “That’s dedication!” We are lucky to have a bishop that has asked what our boundaries are and what they as a ward should or should not offer. We are honest with what we need and the bishop is loving and respectful in turn. We feel truly cared for. It hasn’t been easy. There have been members who have said hurtful things. There have been wards where few people talk to us. There have been neighbors who are kind and welcoming until my husband turns down an offer to attend priesthood. We have even had a seminary teacher who told our daughter that her dad was the broken link in our eternal chain. But more often than not, our friends and ward members have our backs. Those that take the time to get to know us know our marriage works, even if it doesn’t follow a prescribed plan. When someone does say something insensitive, there are many more willing to speak up on our behalf. It’s a welcome change from the early days of our marriage. I have learned life doesn’t follow a specific formula. One plus nine equals ten. So does five plus five. Seven plus three. Each equation is different, but they all add up to the same result. I have learned to turn to my Savior to help me figure out my personal equation. I have learned to rely on personal revelation. He knows the Cowart family best. My love for my Savior and Heavenly Parents has grown stronger over the years. Despite my youthful fears, our family is loved. Our children are blessed. The Lord has provided a way for us to be together forever and I know we will be.  I have felt the Savior’s love for us in the quietest moments when I’ve dared to ask. I no longer worry about the future. I’m not scared of making the wrong choice. I know I made the right choice. My equation will someday add up to ten.

Content warning: reference to unspecified sexual assault. My first boyfriend was a poster child for the church: intelligent, active, and preparing to serve a mission. He’d shaken the hand of the prophet and held several youth leadership roles. He sexually assaulted me before and after his mission. He now serves as a bishop. When another young LDS man in my ward repeatedly used sexually charged language about me in front of not only me, but half an Elders’ Quorum, I worked up the courage to speak to my bishopric about his gossip. They listened, but nothing changed. The young man began to stalk me, and damaged my belongings. I returned to the bishopric, and this time was more specific about the sexual content of the young man’s remarks and behavior. I was told that the gossip accusation was enough, and I didn’t need to “make up” a sexual component. The local LDS therapist told me I needed to go to church, but simply arrive late and leave early to avoid the young man. The bishop sent me a letter telling me I just needed to “date more.” I did date more. A young LDS man told me he loved me, but “God didn’t want him to be happy,” so we could no longer be together. A young LDS man laughed in his car as I struggled to open the passenger door he knew was broken, and told me that God clearly wanted us to make out. A young LDS man told me that he “appreciated my modesty,” but I should take off my shirt. I know so many good, loving, kind LDS men. But I also know so many cruel, abusive LDS men who embody Matthew’s dictum about the whited sepulcher. When a kind, intelligent, non-denominational Christian young man asked me on a date, I took a chance. I said yes. I dated him for a year. He respected my boundaries. He continued to be kind. He proposed, and I said yes. And I have never looked back. We share a belief in the goodness of God and of the majority of humanity. We share an urgent desire to work together to improve the lot of our neighbors and our world. Most importantly to me, we do not share a culture of patriarchy and performative religion. My husband will never assume he has the final say in our family decisions. He does not “preside” over me. He is not perfect, but if he proves hypocritical to his humanist, feminist beliefs, I can, if necessary, leave him without a community pushing me back into contact with him at every turn. My worship is now personal and private. It’s between me and the Lord. Now that I’m out of the young single adult ward, I’m discovering the joy of church attendance being solely about God, with no awkward, distracting, terrifying social component. I attend church alone, but I attend it with full purpose of heart, and it’s more joyful to me now than it has ever been. I feel confident that God’s grace will make room in heaven for both me and my non-member husband, who daily does his best to live by Christ’s words. When I first started dating my now-husband, I prayed to know if I should continue the relationship. I did not receive an impression from God one way or the other, so I chose to follow my heart and my head. I feel that I have, after the fact, finally received my answer. Through my loving, wonderful, imperfect marriage, God witnesses to me every day that I made the right decision for myself.

This story is about me—which feels odd because whenever I have written it before I’ve made it about my husband. We met at BYU, fell madly in love and were married in the Oakland Temple. We finished school, moved to Washington State, and started a busy life with children, callings, careers, and life. We have been a good match. I always credit his kindness and consideration and encouragement. He is steady; I am more like popcorn, exploding in every direction. Our daughters grew up and left home. My husband served in responsible callings, such as High Priest Group Leader and Stake Clerk. We hadn’t attended church together for years because of his stake callings. One day on vacation, he smiled. I realized that it had been months or years since I remembered him smiling. I was shocked to find out that my formerly happy husband was deeply depressed. He started seeing doctors and therapists, started taking medication, nothing helped. He also prayed, read scriptures, attended all his meetings and worked even harder to find answers. He dreaded Sundays because he would go to church with so many questions and there were no answers. He couldn’t wait for Monday to roll around so he could get back to work. He became tense, anxious and angry. He didn’t renew his temple recommend and was released from his stake calling, although he accepted a calling in the High Priest Group. I covered for him with his family, with my family, and at church. I covered for him by making it easy for him to avoid anything regarding church that he wasn’t comfortable with.  He didn’t want to participate at church the way he had in the past. In the meantime, my father passed away and I decided that I needed therapy to help me with my grief. My husband continued to be depressed and we went to therapy together. We visited an LDS therapist. I don’t know what the two of them talked about during their sessions, but after a few weeks the therapist suggested to me that I might want to consider what it would mean for me if my husband were to leave the Church. It had never entered my mind. A few weeks later we had a couple’s session where we talked about the Church. She suggested to me that it was perfectly acceptable for me to cover for him while he was deciding what he wanted to do, but once he decided he needed to “own” it. I wasn’t sure how that would look. I was really used to jumping in to “rescue” him when any topic or event came up that might make him uncomfortable. I thought that we would just continue that way. Three years ago, the bishop extended the call to me to be Relief Society President, which I accepted. About four months later, my husband stopped attending church. It felt traumatic for me. Attending church alone I felt vulnerable, I felt conspicuous. I was up in front conducting, teaching, and speaking and I felt like everyone was looking at me. But truthfully nobody seemed to notice. No one at church said anything to me. I had been covering for him for such a long time and now I was covering for myself. Even though I felt hurt and wounded, I didn’t know how to ask for kindness or compassion from my fellow ward members and I don’t think they knew how to respond either. Over time it became obvious that people did notice, they just had nothing to say. It was a painful time. There have been a few sisters who have been kind and sympathetic and let me sit with them in sacrament meeting and hold their babies. One or two men have asked me to let my husband know that they are thinking about him. But for the most part our friends and the people that we have served alongside have been silent. I guess that they don’t know what to say or how to respond. If he had been loud, angry, offended, lazy, or obviously sinning, he would have fit the stereotype that we have been taught at church. Since he was quiet, kind, and still made regular home teaching visits (without a gospel message), people are baffled. He was back to his old self. He is happier outside the Church, and many of our church friends cannot conceive of this. Among our extended family there was shock and disbelief, then acceptance and love. In our immediate family, several members left the Church for various other reasons within a similar time frame. We all love and respect each other’s choices. As a faithful member of the Church, I am in the minority when we have family gatherings, but we pray over meals and I am glad for that. He and I love each other in a less busy, more intentional way. He does not have meetings or callings. I do. He is supportive, but it’s my thing. We have had to work out how to connect in new ways. We take turns planning date night. We serve meals to the homeless with another local church. We are connecting with people inside and outside the Church. I serve as Relief Society President, read and study the gospel. I practice being grateful for all my blessings. I attend the temple as often as I can, which is usually weekly. I have found an amazing group of friends that I can have gospel conversations with. We connect online. I get to take care of me and I have asked God to take care of the rest of my family. This is how God planned earth life—we each get to use our agency. I am changed, and I like how I’ve changed. At church, the first year was so painful. It’s less so with time. Some weeks I am shocked by how unconscious some members are of the feelings of those who are not following the traditional family path at church. And then I am less shocked because I used to be just like them. I feel that I am more compassionate than I used to be. I am slower to judge, I am learning to trust in the Savior and the Atonement. At home, we are building the celestial relationship that comes from deep love and understanding and putting each other before ourselves. How we treat each other, finding common interests and a deep love for each other, brings so much joy to my life. This is good—not what I planned for my life, but in some ways better.

I never thought I was in a mixed-faith marriage because I believed my faith was the one and only true faith, and that my non-LDS husband was just a missionary work in progress. My insistence that my worldview is the only valid worldview is probably one of the primary reasons why I am in my third marriage. My first husband was a convert who stopped believing after seven years and wanted out of our temple marriage to leave me alone with two toddlers. I thought he just needed time to get his head straight. That was 29 years ago, and he is still an atheist. When my second husband fasted and prayed about his decision to join the Church and got the answer of no, I was taken aback. How could this be? If the Church is true—which I believe with all my heart—how could he get a no answer? That was about seven years before he said he wanted out of our 20-year marriage. I still wonder if he knew I was disappointed, and if he couldn’t live with a woman who thought he made the wrong decision about his faith journey. In both of my first two marriages, I was very happy and surprised when my husband informed me he was not happy and wanted a divorce. I thought that the next time I would for sure pick a man of my faith, so I would not run into this problem again. Nevertheless, I again married a man not of my faith. But my third marriage is different. He is a spiritual person. This helps a lot. He believes in prayer and following Christ. Although we had learned to follow Christ in a culturally different way, the big picture was still the same. He said that he had always wanted to marry a woman of faith and that he thought I made him a better person. Since we have been married, he has attended Sunday meetings at my LDS ward with me every other week. (The other Sundays he spends with his adult daughter). He gets along with the ward members very well, and they all ask him when he is getting baptized. I ask too, but I am afraid sometimes that I will push him away. Missionary work is in my nature, and I can’t help but push. I know this, but I am not disappointed in him for not joining. He is a wonderful man who gives me the support I need to endure in this life. Relationships are complicated whether you are the same faith or not. Once after a Primary program my sister asked me if the Primary songs about families being together forever was depressing. I told her, “Not at all. We came to earth for our mortal bodies that were capable of pain and sorrow, and sometimes that pain and sorrow comes from our families.” I always learn more through failure than success. Hopefully, by the end of this life I will be good at relationships. Moroni’s words inspire me in my quest:  “But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him“ (Moroni 7:47). Connecting with people through charity, the pure love of Christ, is what is most important.

Interfaith marriages are often underrepresented in LDS discourse on dating, marriage, and eternal life. Although I’ve often heard marriages like mine described as “backup” options, for me it has been a joy formed through much prayer, study, and lived experience. I see the essential barrier to interfaith dating and marriage is a reticence in the Mormon faith to actively befriend and genuinely associate with people not in our religion. We call them “non-Mormon,” but that term is so strange and so alienating; both my husband and I deeply dislike it. “Non-Mormons” are not non-persons, or non-entities—they are good, faithful, and beloved children of God. I think this labeling is born out of fear of “the world,” and continued emphasis on Mormons as a “peculiar people.” While I can see some of the historic roots of this mindset, to me it is bizarre. I believe strongly, and have felt inspired multiple times in holy settings, that God does not define us as Mormon v. non-Mormon. If you look at the vast numbers of people who have walked this earth, and walk it today, not only is this distinction demographically nonsensical, but also deeply limiting to God’s capacity to love and bless and acknowledge his creation. I believe that our Heavenly Parents want all their children to return to them. That method of return will be vast and varied. It simply has to be, if you consider the dimensions of history and global populations and diversity of cultures. If we widen out our concept of who we are as beloved sons and daughters of God, we can expand our own capacity to understand and love each other, across otherwise narrow religious and geographic and cultural boundaries. Boundaries that are ultimately rooted in prejudicial limitations of imagination and empathy in the natural man. “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.” Growing up, my father often counseled us to have an “eternal perspective.” For me, this means seeking out higher truths. If we are actually invested in creating Zion on earth, why would Mormons, as a people, be so exclusive? When I first met my husband at graduate school in England, I recognized immediately that he was a deeply good, kind, and thoughtful person. He was raised by a faithful Catholic family in Germany, and was committed to Christlike charity. We dated for four years before we were married—largely because of lengthy periods of international long distance, but also because we were conscious that coming from two different faith traditions we would need to seriously consider what we wanted our family to look like, including how our children would be raised. We didn’t want to enter into a marriage with these questions unanswered, and then feel resentful and sad later on. We decided we would always attend church as a family, and that we would attend both Catholic mass and Mormon services. We decided that the core similarities in our faith—a belief in God, a belief in the Atonement, the central message of Christ to love one another and center our lives around service—would be the paramount lessons we would teach in our home. We agreed that while our children would likely hear messages at church services from church leaders that disparaged our family arrangement, or were contrary to the teachings of the “other” church, we would reinforce the central messages to our children back at home, and ask them to pray, search scriptures, and seek truth for themselves. We’ve stuck to this, six years into the marriage and two kids later. We have both had wonderful and enriching experiences in Catholic and LDS congregations. We feel closer in matters of faith than we did when we first met—in many ways we’ve grown to be more similar in matters of religion. I realize I’m lucky, and there are certain circumstances that make my situation easy: my husband was raised with similar Christian tenets, is happy having his kids raised religiously, is happy to be involved in an LDS ward. I also have lived in places where we’ve been welcomed without question, especially our current home in Washington DC. Our families have been wonderful and accepting, and we’ve never felt any sincere pressure from anyone close to us to convert, either way. I also realize there are challenges ahead: our kids are still very young, and we haven’t had to deal with tough questions or conversations with them yet. Our faith may warp and change. But at the same time, aren’t these issues in every marriage? I have many friends who were married in the temple, but now one member has left Mormonism, or changed beliefs, or their children have struggled with faith. A mutual testimony of Mormonism at marriage isn’t a guarantee for a lifetime of stability and easy family life. We’re all in this for the long haul, and life is complicated. I believe compatibility, mutual respect, and genuine kindness are the most important things to look for in a marriage partner. I wish that we encouraged Mormons to befriend and date outside the faith more often, starting in their youth. I met my husband when I was 22. I have never thought of him as a “last resort.” He is a person, a beloved son of God, capable of all the goodness and understanding Mormons too often ascribe only to people of our same faith.

We were waiting for our early morning flight for our family’s long-awaited trip to Disneyland.  My husband came walking down the concourse with a Starbucks drink in hand. Our 10-year-old daughter asked what he was drinking, and he replied, “a caramel macchiato.”  I inwardly fumed, as I was exhausted by preparing our family of seven for a big trip and this was the venue my husband used to tell our children he drank coffee. This was no news to me, but his decision to tell them was not something we had talked about beforehand. The first year or so of big changes after my husband of 17 years decided to leave the Church left me feeling like I was bobbing, tethered to a ship headed in an unknown direction. I couldn’t anticipate or predict the changes that were coming so quickly, and I felt anxiety all the time. I could intellectually understand that it made sense that someone who didn’t believe the word of wisdom would not feel the need to follow it. Accepting these changes in my mind was one thing, but my heart was trickier. I remember thinking that if the changes would stop, I would probably be able to get used to where we were at. Wearing temple garments, having home teachers in our home, baptizing our children, drinking alcohol and paying tithing were just a few of the many hot topics that we regularly debated. I would consider myself to be a strong believer with an open mind. I have two openly gay brothers whom I love, accept and support. My parents have devoted their lives to living the gospel, serving in the Church and raising their family. I watched how my parents who served as temple president and matron could love and support my brothers without sacrificing their beliefs. The key to their success was love. It was loving someone without trying to change them. As the changes kept coming in my marriage, I wondered if this same love and tolerance could be the key to healing the wounds in my heart. I hoped it could, but I had a hard time believing I could really be happy again. I felt like I had to start at the bottom and decide who it was that I wanted to be. At times, it would be way easier to just leave the Church with my husband. This answer was the easy way and not the way my heart knew was for me. The experiences that had developed my testimony still burned in my heart. I love the gospel and I love Jesus Christ. I had to find a way to be me in my changing marriage. I learned to think for myself and find my voice.  I learned that there is no guidebook for my marriage. We are still working on our marriage. I have tried to make small sacrifices that show I love my husband. For Father’s Day this year, we skipped church and headed to the mountains to go for a big family bike ride. I don’t stress when my husband has a countertop full of groceries from Costco when we arrive home from church. When we travel in the summer, I may be the one to suggest we choose to do something he would enjoy on our Sunday instead of finding a local church to attend. I know these gifts of time show that I am trying to find a way to show my acceptance. He in turn shows his support by doing things like making a nice dinner for us when we get home from 4:00 pm church. A few Sundays ago, we climbed in the car after our meetings and he had a large McDonald’s coke zero waiting for me in car. He knows I feel the burden of taking our five children to church alone each week and fulfilling my primary calling. Sundays are tough at the best of times and him leaving me a cold drink was a small way to show that he loves me. We must figure out our new normal and accept that our lives may not look the same as the other families at church; I am now okay with this. Without a doubt changes will continue to come, but I hope my husband and I can respectfully discuss our beliefs and navigate the issues of parenting that lie ahead.

Jennifer Kambourian is a lifelong member of the Church. At 42 years old she married John, a man of Catholic upbringing who had recently lost his first wife to cancer, leaving him to raise his three children. Coming from a part-member family herself, Jennifer had always been determined to marry a faithful Latter-day Saint man in the temple. But a revelatory process of prayer, fasting, temple attendance, and conversations with trusted friends led her to know she was meant to join this family and give her heart to raising the children and supporting them through their grief. Jennifer and her husband have been married twelve years, and she attributes their success to their mutual support of each other’s faith practices and respect for each other’s autonomy. She feels peace that the questions of eternity will be answered later, and that her current job is to love her family.

I am a returned missionary, married in the temple to a returned missionary. This summer we marked our 33rd anniversary. About two months into the marriage, my husband told me that he had serious doubts about the Church. Over the next couple years, those doubts became more persistent until he completely quit coming to church in 1988. At that time, it was taught and believed that anyone who left the Church either 1) was lazy, 2) wanted to sin, or 3) never had a testimony. Most were headed to Outer Darkness because they’d denied the witness of the Holy Ghost. Since we had no children at the time, many expected me to divorce the apostate. All my life I’d heard lessons on how important it was to work towards an eternal marriage, how a temple marriage was the key to happiness both in this life and in the eternities. Heartbroken and torn between the ideal I’d been taught and the reality I’d been dealt. I went to the temple often, seeking guidance and understanding. But most of the time, it never came. However, one time when I went in fasting, I heard the voice of my Heavenly Father say “I have sanctified your marriage. Now it’s up to you to decide if you will do the same.” I realized that my marriage wasn’t about adherence to a set of beliefs, but about faithfulness to the covenants of love and devotion. Fortunately, my husband was more tolerant of my involvement in the church and was insistent that our children be raised in the Church. He said he wanted them to have the full church experience: church attendance, Primary, Seminary, YM/YW/Scouts, temple trips, youth conferences, etc before they decided whether or not the Church was true. He felt they needed to know what it was they were rejecting (or embracing) before they made any decisions. But still, it was a challenge juggling the expectations of the Church with what my husband wanted. Some commandments and church teachings were not a problem: Word of Wisdom, law of Chastity, modesty, wearing garments, etc. Some he had no interest in observing: scripture reading, family prayers (we do pray over meals), FHE. But others were more difficult and were sometimes a source of conflict: keeping the Sabbath holy, temple attendance, having demanding callings and tithing. I don’t work outside the home and he didn’t want our money going to an organization he disbelieved. Several years into our marriage, I had a wonderfully insightful bishop. Tithing settlements began shortly after he was called to be bishop and before he put the sign up sheets on his office door, he called and talked to my husband. The bishop asked if he would like to come in for tithing settlement. Of course, he had no interest in doing so. So the bishop asked if he would mind if our sons and I came in for tithing settlement. My husband said that would be fine. Then he asked what time could we schedule that would be the least intrusive on our family’s schedule. In this one phone call this bishop Acknowledged my husband. In 33 years, no other bishop has ever called and talked to my husband to see what his thoughts were about church or church issues. Recognized that talking about finances without including both spouses in the conversation can create problems. Recognized that extra meetings (even short ones like tithing settlement) can be intrusive on a family’s schedule. While recognizing all the ways that the Church can intrude into the family, he did what he could to minimize that and reduce any friction I would otherwise have had to deal with. This bishop set the standard for how to deal with couples in a mixed-belief marriage. I resolved that I would do everything I could not to undermine or color my husband’s relationship with his sons. I never said that their father’s disaffection was a sin or that he was inferior in any way. There was no judgment, no diminishing their father. This was hard because the lessons at church said otherwise: by not living up to his covenants, my husband was a bad person. He attended their baptisms and ordinations and most Scout Courts of Honor but church members studiously avoided him whenever he came to these events. I understand that members were probably uncomfortable, not knowing what to say. But it reinforced in my children’s minds that the Church considered my husband an apostate, less than, someone to be avoided. My relationship with the Church during all of this has been a roller coaster. Not only do I have to deal with my husband’s feelings about the Church, but I have to deal with the church members’ feelings about his disaffection, as well as the disappointment (and too often, judgment) of extended family and friends. I also have to deal with how all of this impacts my own faith. My beliefs today are very, very different from my beliefs as a recently returned missionary. The teachings I’d received from my youth on up were wholly inadequate for the challenges that disaffection brings to marriage and to faith. I’ve had to completely deconstruct and rebuild my faith from the ground up. And until the last few years, I had to do this alone, completely unsupported and unguided by my church family. This is not a challenge I would wish on anyone. I wanted others who found themselves in this place to feel supported. About 18 years ago I started an online forum to support mixed-belief marriages (Faces East). Now I admin a Facebook group, Another Testament of Marriage, that supports the believing spouse of a mixed-belief marriage. I commit a lot of my time helping others that find themselves in a mixed-belief marriage. I know how hard it is to walk this path; no one should have to do it alone.