Faith in Transition

A Note from my Heart

Before you read my story, I want to say this from the start: my intent is not to criticize, divide, or convince anyone to leave their faith. My story isn’t about being against something — it’s about learning to walk with Jesus in a way that’s honest, freeing, and deeply personal.

I carry love and respect for the faith tradition I came from. It shaped me in many good ways — especially in valuing family, service, and community. Those roots will always be a part of me. But over time, I began to realize that my relationship with God was growing into something I couldn’t fit neatly inside a label or denomination.

This is the story of how I moved from fear to freedom, from striving to rest, and from religion to relationship. It’s the story of finding Jesus not as someone waiting for me to get it right, but as Someone who had already loved me all along.

If you choose to read the rest, I hope you’ll do so with an open heart. Whether you still belong to the LDS Church, another faith, or none at all — I hope you feel loved, seen, and reminded that curiosity in your faith journey isn’t rebellion; it’s an invitation.

Because the love of Jesus isn’t fragile or exclusive. It’s wide enough for all of us — wherever we are on the road.

I grew up in a faith that centered around family, service, and devotion to God. Some of my earliest memories are of gathering together on Sundays, surrounded by people who genuinely cared about one another. There was so much goodness in that — the kind of goodness that teaches you early on that love is shown through service and that community matters. “Do everything in love.” (1 Corinthians 16:14, NIV) Those lessons have stayed with me, and I’m still grateful for them.

For a long time, being Mormon shaped everything about who I was. I loved the sense of belonging and the structure that promised answers to life’s biggest questions. But as I got older, I started to feel something stirring inside me — a curiosity that didn’t go away. I wanted to understand why we believed what we did. I wanted to ask questions, not to rebel, but to grow.

When I asked those questions, though, I was often met with silence, discomfort, or correction. I was told to “just believe” and that if I didn’t, it meant my heart wasn’t right. That confused me because my heart was sincere — I wanted to know God more deeply, not less.

There were also moments that began to make me feel disconnected — small but significant things. I noticed that people sometimes acted differently depending on who was watching. I felt uneasy when my prayers were corrected in front of others, as if talking to God required the right kind of words rather than the right kind of heart. “The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7, NIV)

I started to feel like my worthiness was tied to a checklist — whether I had done enough, served enough, or been obedient enough to qualify for love and belonging. But deep down, something in me knew love wasn’t meant to be earned. “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith — and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God.” (Ephesians 2:8, NIV)

It was in those quiet moments of doubt and longing that I began to realize I didn’t fit anymore. At first, that realization was filled with confusion, and then came guilt. I wondered what was wrong with me. I feared disappointing my family and friends. Leaving meant risking relationships I valued deeply, and that terrified me.

When I finally made the decision to step away, it wasn’t an act of anger or rebellion — it was a step toward honesty. I wanted a relationship with God that was real and alive, not limited by fear or performance. But leaving also meant learning who my true friends were. Some people stayed; others didn’t. That was painful, but it also brought clarity.

I’ll never forget the first time I attended a Vacation Bible School with a friend. For the first time, I could ask questions about the Bible and not be met with demands of not asking questions. I could be curious and still be loved. Later, when I began asking questions to my friend and to the man who later became my husband, I was met with grace — not pressure. They didn’t need me to change; they just listened and loved me as I was. That reflected the heart of Jesus to me — “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.” (1 Corinthians 13:4, NLT)

That was the beginning of finding Jesus in a new way — not as someone I had to work to be worthy of, but as someone who already loved me, completely and without condition. I learned that when Jesus died on the cross and said, “It is finished,” (John 19:30, NLT) He meant it. The striving was over. The love was already mine.

One verse in particular changed everything for me. “Such love has no fear, because perfect love expels all fear. If we are afraid, it is for fear of punishment, and this shows that we have not fully experienced his perfect love.” (1 John 4:18, NLT)

That was the Jesus I had always imagined — the Jesus who didn’t motivate through fear, but through love. For the first time, I felt like I was allowed to exhale.

Over time, my faith became less about doing and more about being. Less about perfection and more about presence. I stopped measuring my value by checklists and started resting in grace. I began to see prayer not as a formula but as a conversation with a friend who knows me better than I know myself. “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.” (Romans 8:26, NIV)

As I grew in my understanding of Scripture, I realized that my faith didn’t need to fit neatly inside a denomination. I didn’t want to follow a label — I wanted to follow the heart of Jesus. When I read 2 Timothy 4:1–5, I felt something inside me shift: Paul’s reminder to “preach the Word” and to stay grounded in truth even when people look for teachings that suit their own desires. That verse reminded me that truth isn’t owned by any church — it lives in the person of Jesus Himself.

“In the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who will judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom, I give you this charge; Preach the word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage—with great patience and careful instruction. For the time will come when people will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead,, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear. They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths. But you, keep your head in all situations, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, discharge all the duties of your ministry.” (2 Timothy 4:1-5, NIV)

And when I read Matthew 22:35–40, it felt like Jesus summed up everything I’d been searching for: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind… and love your neighbor as yourself.” Those two commands were enough. That was the gospel in its purest form. I began to pray that the law of love would be written on my heart — not as a rule, but as a way of life.

The hardest part of being ex-Mormon has been the distance that can form in relationships with people I still love deeply. I know I’ll never be what I used to be to them, and that can ache sometimes. There have been moments when I missed sharing spiritual conversations with my family — when faith was a language we all spoke together.

But time, grief, and love have a way of softening hearts. When my sister was diagnosed with brain cancer and later passed away, something shifted in all of us. In the middle of that pain, the walls we’d built didn’t seem so important anymore. We began to see that what mattered most wasn’t agreement, but love — and that we could still hold space for one another even when our beliefs were different. “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” (1 Peter 4:8, NIV)

The most freeing part of this journey has been realizing I don’t have to earn God’s love. I don’t have to check boxes or prove my worth. I can rest in knowing that Jesus loved me first — before I ever believed the right things, before I ever got it all figured out. “We love because He first loved us.” (1 John 4:19, NIV)

I still see beauty in the faith I came from — the family focus, the sense of service, the desire to be good. Those things are still a part of me. But now, I understand them through the lens of grace, not obligation. “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” (2 Corinthians 3:17, NIV)

If there’s one thing I wish my loved ones could know on a deep level, it’s that I haven’t turned away from God — I’ve drawn closer to Him. My relationship with Jesus is alive and growing, and it’s filled with peace. I still believe, just differently.

Leaving wasn’t the end of my faith. It was the beginning of truly understanding love — a love that doesn’t demand perfection but meets me in my imperfection. “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9, NIV)

So this is where I stand now: still learning, still growing, still held by grace. My faith no longer feels like a set of walls keeping me in; it feels like an open field where I can walk with Jesus, unafraid to ask questions, unafraid to be honest, and fully free to love. “You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart.” (Jeremiah 29:13, NIV)