So why do I do this to myself, and more importantly, to him? I guess it could be the fact that I am selfish, but I’d like to think I’m a little more complicated of a person than that. Maybe it’s because, deep down, even though I don’t want him to be a member, I still feel that missionary part of myself nagging at me, telling me that he has the right to explore, accept, or reject the gospel for himself. That may explain the Book of Mormon I gave him, which, incidentally, has sat unopened in the trunk of his car for over a year. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that if we get married, I would like my kids to have that same, comforting stability of religious upbringing that I felt gave me the courage and pluck I had (and that my current self sometimes envies), as a child/teen. That last supposition brings with it a whole other litany of issues, such as, does the good the church does for the youth (uplifting firesides, dances, weekly social gatherings, the inculcation of good values), outweigh the negative influences (LGBT phobia, lack of opportunities for women, rigid patriarchal roles, guilt-laden talks, etc.)?