Not Your Nephi

A personal essay by Brandon Beltran

I wondered if I should be worse so I didn't get labeled a goody-two-shoes.

Have you ever wanted to fit in? Everyone wants to be a part of something. So say you waned to fit into a religion whose members are known for being kind, never smoking or drinking, being a missionaries and living chaste? Yet, within that group, there are even more divisions: members that are strict about rules and hold permanent smiles. Or the ones that are lax about the rules because they're "cool?" How much can you joke about the church before you get uncomfortable? How do you satisfy everyone, or do you even have to? What kind of "Mormon" are you? Defining my "style" of membership in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has been a lifelong endeavor, and one not free of discomfort.

She’s pretty, but all of her pictures are outdoors.

I like sleeping in, and maybe she’ll always want to be up early on Saturdays to go hike or somethi-

Swipe.

Oh, hey, I actually know this one. She’s from my art class. Better not; if I wanted to try, I’ll ask her when the class is over in a month.

Swipe.

I sigh because I have things I should be doing, yet being on a dating app for members seems like fun. Where else but in Provo, Utah would this be so fruitful? And so I keep casting my line.

Alan, my older brother, is in Las Vegas and has not cared for church in a long time. He had a small stand with bottles of alcohol in his living room when we visited him. He is a big, soft teddy bear, but his experiences have made him drift and sometimes lose his temper over the matter. He is a successful, self-started, artificial grass business owner.

Calvin, my younger brother, is on the other side of the country at Yale studying biochemistry. His studious manner resulted in a plethora of doubts and common fallacies against the church and its history swaying him out of its activity years ago. 

I have built my whole life on the foundation of what others consider a big what-if, impossibility, and unsupported belief. If none of this is true, I’ve built my life on a whole lot of nothing. I was an Eagle Scout, gave two years of my youth to missionary service in Portugal and came back as all of my high school friends graduated college and began their careers while I barely began my study of animation at a church sponsored school. 

I really love my life.

I know my brothers love theirs- at least I hope they do. But I hope they don’t love it too much. I hope they feel something is missing, and after years of running from it they’ll admit it: they need God again. Then, they’ll return to full membership, give great sermons at firesides and we’ll all laugh about this when their story appears in our church’s magazine, The Liahona. I hope the blessing my mom was promised years ago is true and all of her children will actually be with her in the Kingdom of Heaven. 

Mom had great intentions and the biggest heart, yet her combination of passion, virtue, and Mexican-temper might have been too strong, at times. She’d compare us to other young adults, sometimes. She never did it very seriously- it just came out when things were a bit tense. I know she’d pick us over anyone, every time, but I don’t think she knew how bad the comparison when she got heated could sound:

“I wish you were more like Cooper! He at least has a testimony as is going on a mission!” My dad would interject to calm her down, “Yes, but I bet his mom wishes her son were as smart as Calvin, Claudia.”

Or, when we were younger, “Such lazy kids! Why don’t you go learn something? Lupita’s kids already know how to fry an egg!” 

However, I never really got compared to anyone we knew like Calvin or Alan did. I was instead put in the awkward situation of being compared to Nephi, the big, obedient, prophet from the Book of Mormon. It happened when we were all seated on the floor for our weekly family night, which my two brothers were disrupting.

“Why can’t you be more like your brother? You two are so irreverent and bad, it’s like you don’t care! I’ve got Laman and Lemuel, here!”

That’s got to hurt. Laman and Lemuel were Nephi’s two disobedient brothers.

 And if it doesn’t hurt, it’s at least uncomfortable. 

Maybe that’s where it started. Maybe because Mom called them out and labeled them so young, it just subconsciously came true. But as I speculate that possibility, maybe I’m no better than my mom for thinking it’s true. Maybe they figured a church that produced parents that would say such a thing wasn't worth staying in. Or perhaps it was the toxicity of being compared that brought them to seek satisfaction elsewhere; childhood trauma of sorts, if you will. 

Whatever it was, I think cared more than they do. I wondered if I should be worse so I didn’t get labeled a goody-two-shoes. It followed me into my mission when my companion wanted to bend rules on our first day together. I questioned him and he snapped at me instantly. He told everyone in the apartment I thought I was better than them and annoying, only because I was trying to follow rules. 

Should I have risked the rule in order to preserve our friendship and unity? It was rule, not a commandment, after all. If a child were in a burning building, I would have picked him up and carried him out even though the mission manual told us not to pick up children, after all. So maybe I should have. It wasn’t a serious rule- we were going to visit one of his recent converts but she was home alone. I did the exact same thing a year later as a senior companion. 

I don’t know how I feel about being told I’m a “nice guy” or that I don’t think for myself. People see my tidy clothes or haircut and assume I’m boring. I feel judged so quickly;

I’ve had doubts about church. 

I’ve done things my parents don’t know about. 

I’ve seen R-rated movies, and I like Gordon Ramsey, despite his foul mouth. 

I’m not your Nephi. 

I guess even Nephi showed his weak side to his readers, but he sounded sort of preachy. I’d also probably have been a little jealous because of how big he was and simultaneously annoyed by how much he talked about how big he was. Sure, I’ve known people like that, yet it never bothers me much. After all, I’m glad they’re at church, as if their presence trumps any unfavorable quality. It's a "They're so frustrating, but at least they're not inactive." I’m glad Nephi didn’t leave his beliefs, no matter how often his brothers made fun of him for it. But did Laman and Lemuel leave because they were constantly rebuked and humiliated? How tiring could it have been to always hear: “Stop whining, the wilderness isn’t that bad,” “Why can’t you be more like this river or your brother?,” “Everyone was at the tree except you two.”

I often find myself feeling sympathy for them. When with members that may be doing something a bit contradictory, I avoid criticizing them because I'm afraid they will leave the church too. I know I should hope people are at church for their testimonies, but I’d hate to make someone uncomfortable and leave. 

I’m in a city filled with people in the same religion as I am, all scattered in the moments along the timeline of progress God desires them to be on. I try to avoid showing off the badges of missionary service or that I now teach missionaries for work. But in the end, it’s always tempting to not mention them; how can I avoid the little things that make me who I am?

I keep swiping, pausing to look at my own profile. I’m smiling so much in these; maybe I should post a funnier one, or one with more sarcasm. Is the temple one too self righteous? No, I look good in a suit- I hope. Do people avoid swiping up on what members call an innocent “Peter Priesthood?” Who are these pictures going to attract, anyway? I guess I’m ok with being Nephi, depending on who you are.