Taft Givens - Rebuilding a Lazy Testimony: True Story of One Who Rekindles a Relationship With God After a Loved One Leaves the LDS Church

Prologue

I love to write. I have over twenty published works in both fiction and non-fiction. From first draft all the way through countless rewrites, the entire process is therapeutic for me. Unlike most of the other books I have created, I did not write this book to entertain. And although I do pray that these words will help some people grow in understanding, that was my secondary purpose in deciding to write this.

I wrote this book for myself. I have gone through so much turmoil with my testimony over the last handful of years that I needed to sit down and sort myself out. I wrote this because the process of writing forces me to slow everything down in order to organize my thoughts. Writing out my story helps me to take a step back and see my journey from the outside looking in. In fact, I was undecided about whether or not I would publish this until I finished the first draft.

Having someone close to me turn his back on the faith we embraced through our formative years forced me to honestly reflect on things I had never dared to question before. Does God even exist? What is religion? Is religion actually important if I consider my spiritual journey to be something personal? What are the aspects of my own religion that I find indispensable and beautiful?

My journey with my own thoughts and with my brother would take me into places I did not expect to goplaces that were simultaneously painful as well as uplifting. I would find myself covered in dirt from everything anti-Mormonism has had to throw at me, but I would also find myself shielded and renewed by gaining a deeper understanding of the beautiful things The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is truly about.

I can now see why people fall away from being faithful members of the church. There are a variety of reasons, all of which I now have a much better understanding. I say I have a better understanding, but that does not mean I agree. I do not.

It is also easy to see why many relationships do not survive the changes that so often come when a loved one leaves the faith.

The story I am about to tell is not a fun story. This book is not like the fiction I write where the plot gets thicker as it goes but everyone ends up peachy in the end. Most of this book is the story of two inseparable brothers who go through something so difficult that they have to rebuild their relationship from the ground up and, unfortunately, that relationship is never quite the same.

This book is also my own personal journey of discovering for myself what it means to have an intimate relationship with my Father in Heaven. And for large portions of this book, I abandon the storyline altogether in order to answer questions I have posed for myself and sort out my jumble of thoughts.

My prayer is that some people will take this story to heart in a way that they can gain for themselves some of the lessons I have learned as they take part in my journey. My hope is that some people can learn from what I have experienced in order to avoid some of the same mistakes I made and sidestep the need to walk the same route.

I love The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I love it even more now after spending a few years trying it by fire. Each day I have a greater appreciation for this religion because of the happiness its teachings bring to my life and the freedom it gives me to think for myself. It has helped me with what matters most: building my own personal relationship with my Lord and Savior.

I do not sit down at my desk to put into verse something that is already clear in my mind. If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand.

Robert Cecil Day-Lewis

Chapter 1: Little Brothers Keeper

For many years, my brother and I went into the backyard almost every day to jump on the trampoline, but one day stands out from all the others in my mind. It was another typical hot and sunny day at our childhood home near Phoenix, Arizona when we stepped out the back door.

Race you to the trampoline! Spence blurted out.

I do not know exactly why I did it, but in reaction to his words, rather than take off at a sprint like he was about to do, I stuck out my leg to trip him. He staggered for two steps before tumbling headlong into one of the large prickly agave plants in our backyard. I knew immediately that I was in serious trouble when I heard him shout in pain.

I sprinted across the yard, but once I reached the trampoline at the corner of the yard, I had only a few options left: I could continue to run or I could stop and take the beating I knew I deserved. I planted my feet, turned around, and braced myself for the worst.

As Spence bumped his chest up against mine, our difference in size became even more obvious than usual.

Spence is my brother, but we have different biological parents. Mom was six-months-pregnant with me when she met Dad and they were married a week before I was born. I took after Mom and my biological fathers Hispanic heritage with my black hair and darker skin tone while my two siblings were both blonde-haired and blue-eyed. The physical differences between Spence and me felt especially apparent as he bumped his chest up against mine next to that trampoline. Although he was only four months older than I was, at age thirteen he already stood about four inches taller.

This type of confrontation between two young teenage brothers would come as no surprise to most people. That is what boys do. But Spence and I were not typical brothers. That moment was extremely rare for us. In fact, the only reason I am opening this book with this story is because that moment out by the trampoline was the closest we ever came to fighting. I deserved at least a good punch to the stomach, if not a full big-brother beating, but he gave me only a single swearword and a nasty stare before saying, Dont ever do that again! and we went back to playing as usual, pretending we were professional wrestlers body-slamming and clotheslining each other on the trampoline.

We saw eye-to-eye on everything. Every cassette tape of music belonged to both of us, no matter who used their spending money to buy it. We did not share the same size of long pants, but in Arizona it was warm enough to share shorts and t-shirts for most of the year. The longstanding joke in our family was that Spence and I had two birthdays since we automatically considered every present to belong to both of us. We never had to ask the other if we could borrow something we considered joint property.

When Spence decided he wanted to learn to play guitar, he quit piano lessons. I followed suit within a month. Mom and Dad were not too keen on paying for more music lessons right after we had just abandoned the instrument they had chosen for us, so we had to teach ourselves. We had only one guitar between the two of usa forest green electric guitar we acquired in a trade from a friend in exchange for some football pads. We owned no guitar amplifier, so the only place we could plug in was into the living room stereo system where our big sister would complain about the noise while trying to watch TV.

Those first few years of learning the guitar involved one of us playing while the other watched, handing that green guitar back and forth as we both figured out how to play the simpler riffs from bands like Def Leppard and White Snake.

The week we turned sixteen, Spence and I turned in applications to work at the local Dairy Queen and before the end of summer we had pooled up enough money to buy a second guitara much nicer one. For the first time in our life we were able to start jamming together.

After high school, we got an apartment together while attending Arizona State University where we found two other musicians to round out the lineup for our first band. Although we still were not able to find any paying gigs, we were happy to play for free at parties and other places where college students hung out.