And every year, the same question threatened to consume me with shame.Įach time I lied, I plunged into a very Mormon kind of hell. Rumors would flood my neighborhood in Utah Valley. I’d be excluded from joining my family and friends in Temple rituals. Everyone in my life would know if I failed. I grew up Mormon, and every year I endured a hair-raising interview to get my “temple recommend.” (Think of it like Mormon “security clearance.”) It was a firewalk in the guise of an annual interrogation.
