Hills Like White Lamanites

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_Dr. Shades
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Re: Hills Like White Lamanites

Post by _Dr. Shades »

Thank you for the fix, Mr. Bobberson!

Although I'm left wondering at the identity of "Kyle" and how he fits into this drama.
"Finally, for your rather strange idea that miracles are somehow linked to the amount of gay sexual gratification that is taking place would require that primitive Christianity was launched by gay sex, would it not?"

--Louis Midgley
_EAllusion
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Re: Hills Like White Lamanites

Post by _EAllusion »

His treatment at Sprucewood


I love that Bob is a perpetual fountain of these kind of clever bits.
_honorentheos
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Re: Hills Like White Lamanites

Post by _honorentheos »

So...am I the only one who wonders what's up with the emasculating of the mopologists in almost every story? It's kind of..."huh", as far as narrative devices go.
The world is always full of the sound of waves..but who knows the heart of the sea, a hundred feet down? Who knows it's depth?
~ Eiji Yoshikawa
_moksha
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Re: Hills Like White Lamanites

Post by _moksha »

Dr. Shades wrote:Although I'm left wondering at the identity of "Kyle" and how he fits into this drama.


Or perhaps wondering whether "Taizel" could have been substituted for a more up to date video game reference. Perhaps something like Balgruuf.
Cry Heaven and let loose the Penguins of Peace
_Dr. Shades
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Re: Hills Like White Lamanites

Post by _Dr. Shades »

moksha wrote:Or perhaps wondering whether "Taizel" could have been substituted for a more up to date video game reference. Perhaps something like Balgruuf.

Not being a video gamer, you totally lost me. To what/whom/which characters/which game are you referring?
"Finally, for your rather strange idea that miracles are somehow linked to the amount of gay sexual gratification that is taking place would require that primitive Christianity was launched by gay sex, would it not?"

--Louis Midgley
_moksha
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Re: Hills Like White Lamanites

Post by _moksha »

Dr. Shades wrote:
moksha wrote:Or perhaps wondering whether "Taizel" could have been substituted for a more up to date video game reference. Perhaps something like Balgruuf.

Not being a video gamer, you totally lost me. To what/whom/which characters/which game are you referring?


Taizel was the gal Krista was kissing in the last chapter. When you google the name Taizel, you find almost all the references point to a video game named Fire Emblem. Balgruuf is a good strong Nord name from The Elder Scrolls V. An alternative might be a good strong Hebrew name like Coriantumr. It can be found in the Book of Mormon.

Hope that helps.
Cry Heaven and let loose the Penguins of Peace
_Bob Bobberson
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Re: Hills Like White Lamanites

Post by _Bob Bobberson »

Part V: The Cruise

Howell Lambeth stood at the stern of the cruise ship, gripping the guardrail tightly and staring out at the wake as the sun dipped into the cerulean of the Mediterranean and the sky began to darken. How has it come to this? he mused. After a certain juncture in his life, he assumed that he would be able look forward to moments like this that were pristine and devoid of negativity. He had assumed that he would've at last surrounded himself with people he could trust. Instead, his very foundation, his marriage, was coming apart at the seams. Earlier that day, they had departed from Marseilles, en route now to Italy, and Lilith, who refused to touch him, and who spoke to him now in a clipped way, seemed to be having the time of her life: eating meals with relish, sunbathing on the pool deck and playing shuffle board with strangers. Howell noticed that she no longer wore her temple garments. He expected her to stop wearing her wedding ring at any moment, too. He looked at his own wedding band and thought momentarily about taking it off and pitching it into the sea. Instead, he let out a long hot breath of air and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the guardrail.

Later that night, while Lilith was off at some kind of dance-event, Howell went back to their cabin to sit in on a conference call via Skype with the Hinton Institute. They were planning what to do next with Brett Steves.

"As I see it, there are a number of different directions we could take," Jon Trout said.

"Should we contact him directly?"

Nephi Clark coughed. "Do I dare bring up the name Cameron Hendricks?"

Even in his cabin, thousands of miles away from the Hinton Institute, Howell could sense the tension rising.

Merlyn's face on the screen paled visibly. "Nonsense," he said. "Complete, utter, irresponsible nonsense. You ought to know better than to bring that up, Nephi, for Heaven's sake."

"Let's be calm about this," Howell said. "Hendricks, as we all know, was a troubled young man with a lot of problems."

"I'll say!" Herb McConkie grunted, and Bert Gelhorn chuckled.

"Now, now: none of that," Howell went on. "The way I see it, these are challenges that have been set before us by the Adversary. Hendricks, and even what happened with Franklynn. These things happen, and they're meant to test our resolve."

"What did happen to Franklynn?" said Jon Trout, his head tilted slightly to the side. Sitting next to him was Krista Severson, but her face was in the shadows, and Howell couldn't read her expression. "I mean, I heard about when they found his body, but..."

"Let's just say that he had some weaknesses. We knew about them, Elder Sutcliffe knew about this, and we had planned to engage in some 'in-house' cleaning, but he went AWOL before it got to that point."

"Are you suggesting it was the Danites?" Bert Gelhorn said.

"No, I'm not suggesting any such thing, Bert. And would you wipe that smirk off your face?"

"Look, the fact is that we no longer have Frank Carmichael to depend upon, but it could be said that we lost him a long time ago. Like I said, this is merely yet another challenge to us. Do we back down in the face of of the spirit of contention? Or do we know what's right? Each of us here..." He paused. He was about to mention the covenant that most of them had taken down in the PRIVATE room, but he realized that Sister Severson still hadn't yet been initiated, and in fact there had been some debate amongst the others as to whether or not she was worthy. "Each of us knows about the importance of defending the Gospel," he continued. "It's absolutely paramount. So, whatever may have happened in the past for whatever reason, the end goal is the same. This 'Skeletor' is an apostate anti-Mormon who has been callously attacking the Church of Jesus Christ for years on end. Years. It's time to remove his safety blanket."

All this time, Beau Taylor, the Canadian psychiatrist had been silent. He looked pale and sallow on the screen; his eyes behind his glasses looked like raisins that had been poked into a piece of dough, and he was sporting a heavy 5 o'clock shadow. "May I suggest something?" he said.

"By all means."

"Low and slow," he said. "We take a multi-faceted approach, and utilize the file we've collected on him to the fullest extent. We hit the boards. We use social media." He paused and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Look, if Howell is right, then now isn't the time to lay down our guns and play nice. We need to be aggressive. Elder Sutcliffe has counseled us to be like falcons on the breeze, vigilant and willing to strike. Hold no punches."

"How extensive are you talking, Beau?" asked Merlyn.

"Low and slow, public and private," he said. "A number of people from the boards have been helping me, folks from STAAM. We need to hit this from every angle. The anti-Mormons need to understand fully and unequivocally that their anonymous cowardice will not be tolerated, and that the consequences for engaging in a full-frontal assault on the Church will be severe."

Merlyn and Howell both nodded, urging him on.

"So, we do our due diligence first."

"I'll get in touch with my contact at the Strengthening Church Members Committee."

"What about the Brethren?"

"That couldn't hurt. I'll call Elder Pitt; Herb, you can talk to Elder Sutcliffe."

"Good idea. They may want to stay on top of this personally, or to forward what we've got to Steves's Stake President."

On the screen, Beau Taylor was smiling and nodding. "I understand that Sister Steves is a nice lady. She should probably know about what her husband has doing to her family and their connection to the Gospel. A good sister like that deserves a strong priesthood holder, and not some snake-in-the-grass, apostate liar." He cringed slightly and recoiled and then reached out to smudge something away from the camera on his computer. Howell and the others could make out a few flecks of spittle on the screen.

Everyone was smiling and filled with energy: Howell could feel it even all these miles away. "I'm sensing that the repentance process for Brother Steves will be a long and humbling one. But my hope, at least, is that we can one day welcome him back into the fellowship of the Saints."

"Amen," they all said.

Bert Gelhorn offered up a closing prayer, and the meeting was adjourned, though Howell stayed connected on Skype even after Beau Taylor had logged off. The rest of the Hinton Institute apologists cleared out, save for Merlyn.

"So, it's official, then?" Merlyn asked.

"No, not quite that far, but it's coming."

Merlyn nodded.

"The editorship is fully in your hands, but the plan is that I'll step down as Director of the Institute. You, of course, are our go-to guy."

"I promise it'll be in good hands, Howell. You'll retain emeritus status, of course."

"I've been praying on this, though, Merlyn, and I've been sensing something strange. These are dark times. Tumultuous times, and during moments of change, we should be alert to threats, both within and without."

"Of course. I agree emphatically."

"Do you know of what I speak?"

"Yes. And I've been looking into it."

"Beau's research will give us some leverage, but it may not be enough. I just...."

"We will do everything in our power. You know we will."

"I know that. It's just that I sense that we're overlooking something. I fear that we will be tested."

"If that's the case, then we will rise to the challenge."

Howell stared into the screen at his old friend. He'd known Merlyn for almost 30 years, and he loved him like a brother. "You're right, of course, Merlyn. I shouldn't worry."

"No," Merlyn said, smiling. "We'll handle it. We have the light of truth on our side."

"I appreciate you saying that."

"Uh," Merlyn began. "Maybe I shouldn't ask, but how are things otherwise?"

Howell shook his head. "You shouldn't ask," he said. "Suffice it to say that the Lord has many, many ways of testing us."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Well, it is what it is. Take care, Brother Young."

"You too, Howell."

And he disconnected from Skype. He sat there for a few moments, thinking about what had transpired. He set aside the laptop and looked over at the nighttable and saw that, sure enough, Lilith had removed both her wedding band and her engagement ring: there they both said, plain as day. Did she want me to see that she did this? Howell asked himself. Or, had she just been absentminded? It doesn't matter one way or the other. What's mine is mine, and he scooped both rings up and tucked them into the inner pocket of his jacket.



Back in Provo, Krista Severson had hustled back to her office after the meeting, and now she sat at her desk, wondering what to do. She'd never logged into MormonDiscourse.com at work before because she knew that the administration monitored everyone's internet activity. She had to get word to Skeletor and Zelph Junior as soon as possible, though. Her hands were shaking as she held her fingers over the keyboard. She sat there for perhaps five minutes, before finally pushing away from her computer. And then she did something she hadn't done in a meaningful way in over five years: she folded her arms across her chest and began to pray.

Dear Mother who art in Heaven, I pray that thou might help me and guide me....



To be continued in Part VI: The Gathering Storm
_Bob Bobberson
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Re: Hills Like White Lamanites

Post by _Bob Bobberson »

Part VI: The Gathering Storm

Dear Ms. Liebrandt,

I hope you've been well. I was just writing to check in. You may remember that, some time ago, you promised to provide us with "research" (your exact word) showing that Mormon women are dissatisfied with the Church. I realize that you're probably busy, but if you've got a moment or two, I and my colleagues would be most interested in seeing your data.

Cordially,

Merlyn Young, PhD


Merlyn made sure to BCC Mitch Findlay, Howell, Nephi, Herb, and a few others, and then he hit SEND. Years ago, when they were working in Turkey, Dora Liebrandt gave a talk at an event hosted by the American embassy. Liebrandt was a prominent feminist ("a loudmouth," as Howell put it), and her speech dealt with women's rights in "oppressive religious regimes," and in passing she had mentioned that in the US, a number of Mormon women felt "oppressed" by the LDS Church, and that she had "research" to back up her claims. Afterwards, Merlyn and Hiram had approached her, asking to see the "research." "I can send it to you after I get back to Washington," she said, and so Merlyn always made sure to follow up. He sent her an email every single year.

Nephi had immediately sent a reply: "Maybe this'll be our year! Fingers crossed...."

Merlyn laughed, and looked over the notes on his desk. He noticed that a light was blinking on his phone. He picked up the receiver and punched the button.

Yes, hello Brother Young! This is Elder Gladstone. I wondered if we might have a chat for a few moments. It's about Brother Lambeth's retirement. Give me a call when you've got a moment.

Merlyn frowned. It was somewhat odd that it would be Elder Gladstone to deliver the news about his new appointment as Director of the Hinton Institute. Why wasn't Elder Pitt the one calling? Merlyn called over to the Church Administration Building, but Elder Gladstone was in a meeting, the secretary said. Merlyn hung up and moved on to another task.



Skeletor: I don't know what the story is with the constant denials. You guys lied. Why not just own up to that? You lied. Admit it and we can maybe thinking about trying to get past that.

Ammon: The usual drivel from the bottom feeder scumbag know as 'Skeletor.' Your pathetic and dissembling accusations are completely without merit. As usual. But that will be coming to an end I suspect.

Merlyn Young: Sigh. I tire of this. Day in and day out from you, Skeletor, often completely baseless. We've explained to you at length about the so-called "2nd Grissom" letter. You know what it is and the authority it carries with it. As for your other accusations, Dr. Sanderson passed away, as you know. Your questions would best be directed to him. Good luck with that.

Brett Steves read over the exchanges, smiling and shaking his head. It never ceased to amaze him how dishonest the apologists could be. It was just past midnight, and he figured he should probably get to bed. He had hoped that he would find new information from Grendel's Mother, but there was nothing. He decided he would give it a few more minutes, and then call it a night. He clicked on another thread that was devoted to discussing peepstones.

For Brett, the excursions on the board represented one of the few escape outlets that he had. He had grown up in Ogden, the fourth of seven children, and he had done everything that he was supposed to do: scouting, BYU, mission, temple marriage, and yet he wasn't happy. For the longest time, he felt bored and dissatisfied. As he and his wife, Ginny, began to have children, he even wondered if he had married too young. He felt guilty that he had a wandering eye, and he sometimes worried that Ginny would catch him looking at the younger women in their ward. Then, six years ago, a few months after his mother passed away, he hit a crisis point. It occurred to him that he had never really thought to ask himself whether or not he believed in the things the Church taught. He felt suddenly as if he had never been living his own life: as if, instead, every move and every choice he was supposed to make had been laid out for him, and he began to blame the Church, and to resent the things it had taken from him: two years in the mission field, a chance to spend more time dating a wider variety of girls, and 10% of his income each month. Though he had been counseled repeatedly to avoid looking at anti-Mormon materials online, he eventually found himself sneaking off at night to read various things on the internet, and eventually, he found his way to MormonDiscourse.com.

It was all so shocking at first: he'd had no idea about all of Joseph Smith's wives, or the Kinderhook Plates, or any number of other things that came up. He realized that there were hundreds of other people out there who were just like him: stuck in the Church, and yet struggling to believe and feel connected to the Church's teachings. He got to know the others on the board, and he took a special interest in the postings of the BYU professors who participated. They struck him as condescending, mean, and dishonest. He felt that they were abusing their power and their authority, and so he began to criticize them. He made friends with a poster called "The Needle," and they, along with a few others, made a number of posts that frustrated and angered the Hinton Institute apologists. At one point, Merlyn Young even threatened to sue them after they suggested that he was using tithing funds to pay for his overseas trips.

Each night, after posting, Brett would log out from the site, clear out his browser history, and close his laptop and go back to bed. The next day, he'd get up, say morning prayers with the family and lead in a reading of the Book of Mormon, eat breakfast, go to work, come home, say evening prayers, eat supper, watch a bit of TV, go to bed, sneak out to surf the web, and on and on. Each Sunday they spent three hours at Church. It felt like a grind, and he wondered what he was doing to his family, to be leading them down the same path that he'd followed. Shouldn't the children be given more of a choice? But he was terrified what Ginny would do if she found out. He was confident that she wouldn't take it well.

He turned back to the his computer: there were new posts on the Grissom Letter thread.

Merlyn Young: I understand the weather up in Logan is lovely this time of year.

Ammon: Yes, but does it make a good hiding place?

Beau Taylor: I sure wish I knew what you two were talking about!

Howell Lambeth: The truth will out, in the end. Every knee will bend.


Brett noticed, too, that he had a new Private Message, and sure enough, it was from "Grendel's Mother." It contained only two sentence:

They're coming for you. Watch your back.



To be continued in Part VII: Moments of Regret
_Dr. Shades
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Re: Hills Like White Lamanites

Post by _Dr. Shades »

SWEET! A double-feature!

And as a certain little English girl once said, "Curiouser and curiouser. . ."
"Finally, for your rather strange idea that miracles are somehow linked to the amount of gay sexual gratification that is taking place would require that primitive Christianity was launched by gay sex, would it not?"

--Louis Midgley
Bob Bobberson
Nursery
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Re: Hills Like White Lamanites

Post by Bob Bobberson »

Part VII: Moments of Regret

Howell stood with his plate perched on his arm, tapping his finger on the side of it as he waited in line for the prime rib carving station of the cruise ship's buffet. He'd loaded his plate with poached shrimp, crab legs with a small ramekin of drawn butter, rolls, French fries, slices of glazed ham, a small iceberg lettuce salad with ranch dressing, and a cup of chili. Eventually he made it to the front of the line where the carver, dressed in a white chef's jacket and a tall white toque, carved him off a thick, bloody slice of beef and put it on his plate using a two-pronged fork.

"Thank you!" said Howell, forcing a smile. He turned and made his way back to the table, where Lilith sat picking at a salad and a small pile of shrimp cocktail.

"Not hungry?" he said as he sat down. She shrugged; he nodded. "Gotta get the sustenance in," he said, and he dug in.

"I imagine I'll get some pasta later," she said with a sigh. Howell nodded again and chewed his prime rib.

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and cleared his throat: "I have another conference call with the Institute later, but after that, they're screening a movie on the top deck. How does that sound?"

"Howell..." she said. She was smiling faintly. "I know this is a bad time. But it's going to be a bad time no matter what."

He felt himself stiffen. The lights in the dining room had been dimmed, but now they seemed to glow a bit brighter; a bit more harshly.

"This just isn't working, Howell. We need to move on. I want a divorce."

He stared down at his plate. He saw fries that were half submerged under a pool of ketchup and pink meat juice from the prime rib. The bottom of his rolls were stained a bright pink. "I....I don't know what to say, Lilith. Can't we give this another chance?"

She laughed, and sighed, shaking her head. "How many chances do you want, Howell? We can't change the past. You're never going to be able to forgive me, and I..."

He looked away, back down at his plate again, and he cut off a chunk of meat and stabbed it into his mouth. "Forgiveness isn't the issue," he said. He didn't look up, but he could feel her eyes on him.

"Oh, Howell," she said. "Well, it doesn't matter, then, does it? It doesn't have to be about you. It can be completely about me: you can blame all of this on me if you want."

" I do," he snarled. "Know that I do. You are the one who sinned. You are the one who broke your covenants. Not me."

She held up her hand: "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought this up over dinner."

"It doesn't matter," he said. "There was never going to be a good time. Just like you said."

"All right then," she waited a few moments more and then stood up. "We can talk later about next steps."

"That's fine," said Howell. Lilith turned and left. Howell swallowed down the bit of food in his mouth with some difficulty and then he looked back down at his plate, and found that he was no longer hungry.



It was nighttime when Krista Severson finally managed to pull herself away from her work at the Institute. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and didn't think she could survive another day of listening to the men cackling about the imminent harm that was about to befall Brett Steves. Merlyn had planned an entire issue devoted to "responding" to Internet critics, and two articles were specifically aimed at Steves: one extensive one written by Beau Taylor, and another written by Herb McConkie. Reading over the piece written by Taylor had made the hairs on Krista's arms stand up: what Taylor had done amounted to borderline cyber-stalking, Krista thought. He'd pored over the man's Facebook posts and his LinkedIn account, and the article even took swipes at the man's parenting skills, claiming that his foray into online apostasy was rubbing off in a negative way on his kids. Herb's article was bad enough, but at least it focused strictly on Brett Steve's Church-related posts. Taylor's, though, was far more personal, and there was something about Taylor himself, with his protuberant Adam's apple, his sunken, dull eyes, and his pallor that gave her the creeps. It was as if he was fueled by a quiet hatred that nothing would ever quell.

Compounding the issue was the fact that, apart from notifying Brett Steves via private message, there was nothing she could do. If she spoke up, it would raise suspicion, and the last thing she needed was to be subjected to the kind of scrutiny that Merlyn Young, Herb McConkie, Howell Lambeth, and the rest of them relished. And so she drove on towards Poplar Grove, trying to take her mind of the Hinton Institute and thinking about Taizel, and about how to get out of the mess she was in.



For the first few days after he'd gotten the message from Grendel's Mother, and then the cryptic and frankly menacing messages from the Hinton Institute apologists, Brett Steves had been living in a state of borderline panic. He had read all the stories about them interfering in people's lives: threatening their careers; trying to get them excommunicated; damaging their family relationships; or tattling on them to the Strengthening Church Members Committee. After that initial barrage on the message boards, though, things had been quiet. Apart from logging on to MormonDiscourse.com in order to see if there was anything new from Grendel's Mother, Brett had laid low, and had tried his best to stay away from Church-related topics.

The weekend came and went, and after Family Home Evening, Brett sat on the sofa watching SportsCenter, picking at the remains of a bowl of popcorn that they'd popped for the kids. Brett was thinking about calling it a day and heading off to bed, when Ginny came in carrying the phone. He face was blank and expressionless.

"It's for you," she said.

"Who is it?" he asked, reaching for the phone. She handed it to him and went and sat down with her hands in her lap.

"Hello?" said Brett.

"Hello! Brother Steves?" The voice was paternal and familiar. "This is Stake President Leonard."

"Hi, President Leonard," he said, and he looked over at Ginny, but she wouldn't meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your evening, but something has come up, unfortunately."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I'm wondering what your schedule looks like this coming week? I'm hoping that we can arrange a time to meet and talk."

"Well, uh, I don't know," said Brett. He could feel a sickening sensation growing in his stomach.

"It's important," said Stake President Leonard.

"Can I ask what this is about?"

"Well, I'd really prefer that we talk about this face-to-face. But to put things simply, I have some documents in my hands that are very concerning, and to cut straight to the point, I'm concerned about your spiritual welfare."

"I...I don't understand. My spiritual welfare?"

"These are very, very serious issues, Brother Steves. As serious as it gets. Can you come down to my office tomorrow? Say, 6:30? Will that work for you?"

"Yeah, I should be able to do that, I think..." he said. "What is this about? What documents are you talking about?"

"We can get into all of that tomorrow. I'll plan to see you at my office, tomorrow at 6:30."

"Uh, okay. Sure. I'll see you then."

Click

He pressed the "OFF" button and looked up at Ginny. "Is everything okay?" she said.

"I don't know," said Brett.

"You have to go to a meeting?"

"Yeah," he said. With Stake President Leonard."

"Are you in trouble?" she asked.

He looked at the images flickering on the TV and felt cold and numb. "I don't know," he said. "I honestly don't know."



To be continued in Part VIII: Photo Opportunity
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