Thirty-eight years ago today — or two missionaries’ worth.

Chatting with a friend this week and I noted a couple of interesting things: I always remember the date of my baptism (08 September 1973), but barely the date of my excommunication (sometime in early 2001). One was significant in my life and the other, not so much.

I guess by that time in my life, I was pretty much done and the fight had gone out of me.

Being rejected for being myself is more a badge of honor than a symbol of shame.