5 comments/ 14930 views/ 5 favorites Mormon Girls For Black Men By: Samuelx The right path in life isn't the one you choose, it's the one that chooses you. My name is Charlene Dickinson and I have a story to share with you. It's about how I found, lost and regained purpose, and eventually discovered what I was truly made of and who I was meant to be with. I was born on November 9, 1990, in Salt Lake City, Utah. My sign is the Scorpio, the craziest one and the most sexual sign. Must be why I turned out the way I did. My parents, John and Marlene Dickinson brought me up in the Mormon faith. Our family has been Mormon for generations, since the golden days of the church, when the faith sprang forth and grew. It's not common for Mormon girls to go on Mission, ( it's almost mandatory for Mormon males though ) but I was determined to go. From my earliest days my friends nicknamed me Sister Dick, short for Dickinson, since I was the gal who just couldn't wait to go on Mission. I attended Salt Lake Community College and graduated with an Associate's degree in Criminal Justice. I completed my program in sixteen months rather than the usual two years, and instead of continuing onto my bachelor's, I opted to do what I felt was my calling. I wanted to spread the Gospel of Jesus Christ according to the teachings of the Mormon Church. That's how I ended up in the City of Toronto, Ontario. When you're a Mormon Missionary, you don't get to pick where you will be sent for the mission. Like a soldier, you get yourself ready and then the representatives of the Priesthood will select where you shall go. It's what God wants, and like a true Mormon sister, I went where I was told. There's a lot of sexism in the Mormon Church, and I blame men's weakness for that, not God. Never God. Many Mormon elders believe that women should remain silent in church, others believe that going on Mission should be an exclusively male calling. I don't listen to such foolishness. Maybe I'm overstepping my boundaries here but I think Jesus Christ would teach the Gospel to anyone, male or female. There's records of female disciples in the Bible. In the movie Son of God, there's a female disciple with Jesus and his companions, and if the Lord shows her respect, shouldn't mere mortals follow suit? Like I said, I'm a devoted Mormon sister and I do as I am told, please don't mistake that for foolishness or stupidity. It's the twenty-first century and I know my rights. Since I was determined to go on Mission, my parents knew there was no stopping me. My companion on this journey was Heather Carlton, a tall, red-haired gal I've known since high school. We're not exactly close friends but she's pleasant enough. When I boarded the plane leaving Salt Lake City, Utah, for the City of Toronto, Ontario, I was ecstatic. I had never even left Utah before and now I was going to Canada! Of course, I didn't know much about Canada. All I knew about America's northern neighbor I gleaned from watching reruns of that old television show Due South. I got hooked on it after seeing how cute Paul Gross looked in a red uniform. Shoot, if all Canadian guys look like him I might move there permanently! We arrived at Toronto International Airport, and were greeted at the airport by Samuel Atkinson and his wife Fatima. Samuel is a tall, bespectacled black gentleman in his early forties. Dressed in a sharp gray suit, he greeted us warmly, then introduced his wife, Fatima Nasser-Atkinson. Instead of the black woman I was expecting, I was greeted by a short, rather pretty Mediterranean-looking lady with black hair, light bronze skin and green eyes, clad in a red sweater and blue jeans. Hello girls I'm Fatima, she said with a pleasant smile. I shook her hand, as did Heather. Good to meet you, I said with a quick grin. Once in the car, Heather and I exchanged a look. This was not what we expected. Understand that we're not racist, not by a long shot. It's just that we Mormons tend to be a fairly conservative bunch, and there aren't a lot of mixed marriages among us. It's not frowned upon or forbidden, but it just doesn't happen often. In Utah, the birthplace of the Mormon Church, we Mormons are a breed apart. We're both admired and reviled for this. As we sat in the back, Heather and I made small talk with the Atkinsons. How did you two meet? I asked Fatima. Smiling, she looked back at me and then regaled me with her life story. Fatima and her husband Samuel met at the University of Toronto twenty five years ago. Back then Samuel was a fledgling member of the Mormon Church, and an immigrant from Bethel Town, Jamaica, and Fatima was new to Toronto, Ontario, having moved there from her hometown of Beirut, Lebanon. In a way, they were both newcomers, young people starting fresh someplace new. It was so...romantic. I was surprised when Fatima told us that she comes from a Muslim background. When I first saw her, I thought she was Italian or maybe Greek, but she was Lebanese. An Arab woman from a Muslim background who married a black Christian man from our faith. Wow. Samuel is the one who told me about the Mormon church and I fell in love with him and the Mormon way of life, Fatima said with a happy sigh. I considered that. What a touching story, Heather said. I nodded. I'm happy for you both, I said, and Fatima smiled at me. The car drove through the streets of Toronto, which was bigger than I thought. Finally, we arrived at a place called Mississauga, and pulled into a driveway at the end of a street filled with lovely middle-class houses. Home sweet home, Samuel said, then he got out of the car, and held the door first for Fatima, then Heather and I. Thank you sir, I said politely. I later learned that Samuel is a human rights attorney with a firm in downtown Toronto and Fatima is a professor of science at Seneca College. As we made our way to the door, it swung open and I found myself looking into a very handsome face. Good afternoon, said a tall, brawny, light-skinned young black man. When his eyes bore into mine, my heart skipped a beat. I was at a loss for words. Hi Stefan, Fatima said, and the young man skipped past me to give her a hug. You're their son, Heather said. Fatima raked her fingers through Stefan's hair, and Samuel put his arms around his son's shoulders. Our eldest son Jean-Luc is currently on Mission in Alberta, Samuel said proudly. Good for you, Heather chimed in. We went inside, and Stefan volunteered to help us with our luggage. I got it, I said, politely declining his offer and dragging my suitcase up the stairs as he led the way. I tried not to stare but Stefan Atkinson cut an imposing figure. He had to be at least six-foot-four. I'm constantly told that I'm tall for a female at five-foot-eleven. Stefan made me look positively short. He showed Heather and I to our rooms, and wished us a warm welcome both to Toronto and his parents house. Thank you kindly, Heather said as Stefan nodded at us then walked out. Heather closed the door, then shot me a look. Nice family, she snickered. I stared at her. What was she talking about? Sure, the Atkinsons weren't what we expected but they've been polite and kind to us so far. I didn't know we had nigger lovers in the Mormon Church, Heather whispered. I couldn't believe my ears. Watch your mouth, I said coldly. Heather rolled her eyes. I saw the way you checked Stefan out as we climbed the stairs, she teased. This caused my face to redden and my blood to boil. Did not, I shot back, and plopped down on the bed. Heather took off her coat, and changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants. The sooner we get to the real church the better, she said bitterly. I lay there, resting a bit. The long flight from Salt Lake City to Toronto had totally drained me. Two hours later, I was rested, showered and joined the Atkinson family for dinner. Heather was unusually chipper and friendly, but I hadn't forgotten about her racist outburst earlier. I eyed her coolly and she shrugged and smiled. Such a phony bitch! As I picked away at my food, something called Shawarma rice and potatoes, Heather was the congenial guest, laughing, asking questions and being oh so cordial to our hosts. Where do you study? she asked Stefan innocently. I'm a junior at U of T in the criminology program, Stefan said proudly. I looked at him and smiled. I studied criminal justice at Salt Lake City Community College, I chimed in. Stefan looked at me and smiled wickedly. Cop or lawyer? he asked, pointing his fork at me. I smiled and shrugged. Lawyer since I want to make some money, I said, brutally honest. Hey, they don't call me Sister Dick for nothing. Stefan laughed. I know you would join the dark side, he teased. Heather looked at me, and laughed. Loud and hard. You know those people whose laugh is louder than the joke requires it to be? Heather is one of those. Tell us more about yourself Sister Charlene, Samuel said, sipping on a Pepsi. Heather shot me a look. Everyone back home calls her Sister Dick, she said with a wink. I shot Heather a look that could melt a glacier. Stefan looked at me, incredulous. Your name really is Sister Dick? he asked, grinning. I nodded. I've been called by that moniker ever since I could remember. In high school and college I got teased for it. I'm a proud Mormon sister on a mission, I said with conviction. Fatima nodded and smiled. Good for you sweetie, she said, gently touching my hand. I looked at her and nodded, silently thanking her for her support. I'm the butt of jokes wherever I go because of my odd nickname and my devotion to Mormonism. Good to see someone's finally on my side. We finished the meal, then Samuel said that a representative from the local chapter of the Mormon Church would pick us up tomorrow morning. You'll be on your way to your permanent spots and then begin the mission, he said enthusiastically. Amen, Heather said, with almost admirable false cheer. I swear I could smack her. Thank you for this meal and everything else, I said, looking at Samuel and Fatima. Our pleasure, Fatima said, then gently kissed her husband on the cheek. Heather visibly flinched at this, and I had to smile. The racist cunt is a good actress but no leopard can hide its spots... Since Samuel and Fatima had a busy day of work tomorrow, they wished us goodnight and went upstairs. Heather followed suit. Stefan stayed downstairs in the kitchen, doing the dishes. It's my turn, he said sadly. Like the helpful soul that I am, I volunteered to help. I've never known any male who enjoys doing dishes and Stefan was no exception. He all but handed me the whole shebang. You're a real man, I teased. Stefan laughed. You volunteered for this bit, remember? he poked me with his elbow. When his elbow touched my arm's bare skin, I shuddered. Yup, I said quietly, hoping he hadn't noticed. Stefan went to the living room and watched TV. They're giving The Dark Knight on Space channel, he shouted. I all but dropped what I was doing. I'm a big fan of both Christian Bale and the late Heath Ledger, and I never pass up a chance to see either on screen. I rushed to the living room and plopped down on the couch next to Stefan. Scoot over, I said, reaching for the remote. Okay boss lady, Stefan laughed, then said he was only indulging me because I'm a guest. Thank you kind sir, I said in a mock-British accent, then turned up the volume. The movie was about to begin. Sitting next to Stefan, a good-looking guy I just met, in a town I didn't even know, I was oddly comfortable. Stefan and I had similar tastes in music, as luck would have it. We didn't really watch the movie. Stefan had a zillion questions about life in the USA, the Mormon Church there, and of course, President Barack Obama and black celebrities like Beyonce and Jay-Z. I'm not as well-versed in pop culture as I would like but I tried my best. I need to go to the U.S. one of them days, Stefan said, a dreamy look on his handsome face. I stared at him, then caught myself. I bet you say that to all the American girls, l laughed. Stefan nodded thoughtfully at that, then stroked his chin. Hmmm, he said, and then, without warning, he snatched the remote from me. I reached for it and kind of bumped into him and since I'm, um, somewhat of a hefty gal, I sent Stefan and myself stumbling down on the carpet. And that's when his mother, Fatima, saw us. Apparently she'd come down to grab a drink or a late-night snack or something. And she found me and her son in a compromising position. Hi mom, Stefan said, looking guilty-as-hell. We were just looking for the remote, I said sheepishly, knowing how lame that sounded to my own ears. Fatima Nasser-Atkinson, the lady of the house, glared at us. I think you should get back upstairs Charlene, she said evenly. Nodding, I shot Stefan an apologetic look, then went upstairs. I need a work with you young man, Stefan's mom said, and I heard his sigh all the way upstairs. Atop the stairs guess who I found waiting for me? None other than Heather. Great. I saw you on top of that darkie, Heather whispered maliciously, shaking her head. Shut up bitch, I warned. Laughing, Heather went back into the guest room. I went to bed, wondering how big a fool I'd made of myself tonight. I mean, I acted like I had no home training at all! Shit, I thought. Want Stefan to come tuck you in? Heather snickered. Shut up you cunt, I spat. Undaunted, Heather eyed me coldly. I'll be sure to tell all the folks back home about tonight's episode you nigger-loving bitch, she said. Then she shut the light and went to sleep. The next day, when we woke up, Samuel and Stefan were gone to school and work, respectively. Fatima made breakfast for everyone, omelette with bacon and cheese sandwiches, and hot coffee. Delicious stuff thank you ma'am, Heather said, once more the picture of politeness and propriety. I rolled my eyes at her, but she ignored me. Heather excused herself to go to the washroom, leaving me alone with Fatima at the table. About last night, I began, hesitantly. Fatima eyed me coolly. Know that I protect the men in my life at all costs my dear, she said. I looked at her, and she looked at me. Understood, I said, and that ended the discussion. Heather came back, and we finished breakfast and got our stuff ready. Half an hour later, Sister Peggy Rameau and her colleague Rose Anderson picked us up. The two tall, middle-aged white women made small talk with Fatima as Heather and I loaded our stuff at the back of their minivan. Then we drove away. Heather shot me a look. Remember what I said last night, she said, smiling sweetly. I rolled my eyes. I know it's wrong to wish death or serious bodily harm unto anyone, it's un-Christian, but if anyone deserves it it's that cunt Heather. Seriously! As the car raced down the road, taking us to someplace called Ajax, I admired the Toronto scenery. It's amazing how much Toronto resembles America's major cities. I didn't really see its beauty, though. My troubled mind kept thinking about recent events. I left Salt Lake City happy and eager to begin my mission, like any proper Mormon sister. And yet, only one day into it, I had made so many mistakes. I ended up with a horrible companion like Heather, a dirty cunt and a racist, to boot. Oh, and I completely forgot myself when I was around Stefan, and now his mother, a member of the local LDS Church, had it in for me. Great. I wonder what's going to happen to me tomorrow? It was decided that Heather and I would stay with Sister Peggy Rameau at her duplex in Ajax. The lady was a widow and her two sons, Earl and Jacob, lived far away with their wives. Like most young Mormon missionaries, we'd saved up for an entire year to go on the mission full-time. The LDS Church doesn't provide much in the way of financial help to missionaries. We work and provide our own monies, and we take up the burden gladly to spread the Good Word about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. It's what the disciples did in the days of Jesus. They dropped everything and followed the Messiah, spreading the good Word. How could we call ourselves true Christians and do any less? We arrived at Sister Rameau's place, and she showed us to our rooms. Fortunately I now had my own room and wouldn't be any closer to Heather than I had to be. Have some sweet dreams about your darkie boy toy, she teased as I walked into my room with my luggage. I shut the door, hard. I plugged in my laptop and was delighted to see that we had Wi-Fi. I logged onto my Facebook, and checked my messages. Guess who sent me a friend request? One Stefan Josiah Atkinson. I hesitated for all of ten seconds, then added him. To my immense surprise, he immediately sent me a message. Sorry about last night Miss Charlene, Stefan's message read. I smiled at that. Your mom nearly bit my head off Mr. Man, I wrote. A bit of an overstatement on my part, but not by much. Stefan and I began chatting, and before I knew it, we'd been at it for over an hour. He sent me his cell phone number, which started with 416. I saved it, of course. I still had my old Salt Lake City cell phone, which starts with 801. I sent Stefan a text. Stay out of trouble Mister Toronto, I wrote. Immediately he sent back "thanks gorgeous". Flirtatious, isn't he? I told him I had to go to lunch with Sister Peggy and Heather, then logged off. That Sunday, I was formally introduced to the local ward of the Church of Jesus Christ for Latter-Day Saints. The local ward was overseen by Mr. Elias Constantine, a rather tall, dark-haired and green-eyed Greek-Canadian preacher. He was presiding during the service that Sunday, and warmly welcomed long-time churchgoers, visitors and new members. Among the throngs of worshippers, guess who I saw? The Atkinson family. Samuel and Stefan looked handsome in dark suits, white silk shirts and ties, and Fatima looked regal in a dark blue dress. Heather sat next to me, and waved at them warmly, like the hypocritical cunt she is. As the service rolled on, I kept stealing glances at Stefan. Our eyes met and he smiled without moving his lips. Your favorite darkie is here and you're blushing, Heather whispered, smiling all the while. She looked at the Atkinson family, smiled at them and then looked at me, clucking her tongue. Shut up you racist bitch, I whispered in Heather's ear with an equally phony smile. We took Communion when our turn came, and after a few more sermons, the ceremony ended. After the ceremony, everyone mingled freely, as was our custom. I made my way over to the Atkinson family. Hello again guys, I said, shaking Samuel and Stefan's hands. Fatima shook mine with some hesitation. Hello Charlene, she said evenly. We made small talk for a few minutes, then I wished them well. We had to get on our way. Tomorrow, Monday, Heather and I go on the mission. At last. The day I'd spent years dreaming of, prepping for and obsessing over was upon us. I didn't sleep a win that night, as you can imagine. As I lay on my new bed, in a strange new house, under the Ontario sky instead of my beloved Utah, I thought about the events of the past twenty four hours. Everything happens for a reason, and I'm here in Canada to spread the Mormon faith. Toronto is a strange new town, full of strange people. Salt Lake City is fairly diverse, we have the Irish, the Italians, the Greeks, and of course, African-Americans, Chinese-Americans and a growing number of Hispanics. In Toronto I saw ethnic groups I didn't even know existed. Girls in hijabs from places like Bangladesh, Gambia, Senegal, Pakistan and Saudi Arabia. Bearded and dark-skinned men from India, Yemen and Palestine. So many different groups. We're diverse in the U.S. but Canada has a lot of different groups we know little about in America. I hope to learn about all of them as I go about the mission. And that's how it all began, ladies and gentlemen. Every day, heather and I would walk through Toronto, going into schools, restaurants and malls, to speak to people about the LDS Church. Growing our faith, spreading the Good Word, that's what it's all about. Just like Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and Saint Peter and the other disciples did in the old days. Working alongside Heather didn't appeal to me but typically, sister missionaries are only teamed up with the same partner for an eight-week period, and then we switch up. Someday soon, I'd be free of Heather the bitch. Mormon Girls For Black Men In the meantime, I was curious about Canadian society and the City of Toronto in general, and who better to guide me than Stefan Atkinson? With him by my side, I got to know Canada's most fabulous city. Toronto is vast, bigger than Salt Lake City, and it's full of people from all over the world. Stefan has been here his whole life, and he knows all the cool spots. He took me to the local Cineplex, and we watched the movie Riddick. I'm a big fan of Vin Diesel, so that totally works for me. Stefan and I had fun at the movie, and afterwards he took me for a bite at Toronto's Eaton Center, one of the biggest malls in town. We ate some delicious Arabic food, the Shawarma stuff. I had a great plate of rice and potatoes, with beef, pita bread and lots of hummus. Being half Arab and half Jamaican, Stefan knows a lot about the stuff. He also revealed to me that he speaks several languages including English, French, Spanish and Arabic. You're going to love it here, he said. I looked at him, my handsome and oh-so charming new friend and smiled. I like Toronto already, I said with a contented sigh. Indeed, Toronto was starting to have an effect on me. The place is beautiful and diverse, but a lot of the local people are assholes. With my trademark enthusiasm, I approached the mission with a smile on my face and hope in my heart. I didn't even mind dealing with the close-minded people on the street who would walk away or cuss me out when I approached them. I swear, if you're a young woman with a Bible trying to talk to people on the street, they look at you as if you're a weirdo. Some of them will cuss you out, or flip you the bird. People can be so mean. It can be quite draining, especially when you're far from home, in a strange new town, with very few friends. Don't get me wrong, I was made quite welcome at the Latter-Day Saints Church in Toronto. The brothers and sisters come from all over. They've got people from Nigeria, Egypt, India, Haiti, China and even Pakistan, to name but a few. Quite a few people from other religions such as Islam, Sikhism and Buddhism have embraced Christianity after contact and study sessions with elders and sisters from the LDS Church. Of all the different branches of Christianity out there, we Mormons proselytize the most. We're dedicated to teaching the entire world about Jesus Christ. Yes, I loved my ministry, but I also felt lonely. I talked to my parents every night, and my dad told me he was proud of me. I remember my mission days well, he said, laughing. I smiled at that. In my father's younger days, ninety nine percent of the Missionaries were men. Today, thirty to forty percent of all Missionaries from the Mormon Church are women, and the number is growing. Runs in the family, I said quietly. When I made up my mind to go on mission, my father was one of my staunchest opponents. It's dangerous out there for women traveling alone spreading the Word, he warned. I argued that I could handle it as well as any man could, and eventually, dad stopped arguing with me. Give mom my love, I said, as I wished him goodnight, then clicked off. Stefan and I had plans to hang out the next day. I like him a lot, and the more I learn about him, the more fascinated I become. His mom knows we've been in touch, but she has no idea we're constantly together. Honestly, all due respect to her, Stefan and I are adults and we don't need her permission to hang out. I've been in Toronto for four weeks now, and Stefan and I have grown real close. At the end of a long day of mission work, I honestly don't want to deal with Heather's bitchiness. Our host, Sister Peggy Rameau is cordial but distant, so I don't get any warm fuzzy feelings toward her. Also, she's rather close to her neighbor Rina Singh, a tall, dark-haired and rather pretty Indian lady in her early forties. Rina visits us on most nights, and has introduced us to Indian food, something which delights me. Rina practices the Sikh religion, so I found it odd that she and Sister Peggy are such close friends. I shared this with Heather, and it was a lousy move on my part. Heather thinks Sister Peggy Rameau and her friend Rina are lesbian lovers. The thought didn't disturb me in the least. It's the twenty-first century, ladies and gentlemen. Gays, lesbians and bisexuals are here to stay. So Sister Peggy and Rina Singh might be queer. So what? I said, glaring at Heather. Shaking her head in disgust, Heather stalked off. I swear, this bitch is filled with nothing but prejudice and hatred. What is someone like her doing spreading the Word of God? Still, Heather's observation skills are second to none, it must be said. Her suspicions proved to be right on the money. One afternoon I came home early from a study session, and found Sister Peggy and Rina in the living room, making out while watching Fried Green Tomatoes. Oh my, Rina said, gasping in shock. Sister Peggy looked flushed, and somewhat angry. You're home early Charlene, she said evenly. I looked from one woman to the other, and held my hands up. I respect your right to loving who you love, I said quickly. Rina and Sister Peggy looked at each other and smiled. This is surprisingly progressive of you, Rina said. I nodded and smiled. Seriously, why do people always expect me to be close-minded and judgmental simply because I believe in Jesus Christ? Fundamentalist freaks give Christendom a bad name. We're not all like the Reverend Phelps. I wished both women a good night, then went to my room. As I lay on my bed, I had to laugh. What a world we live in! Sister Peggy Rameau, a lifelong LDS Church member and her neighbor Rina Singh, together. An interracial, interfaith lesbian couple. How do you like them apples? I called Stefan, and we ended up chatting for three hours, a record for us. Usually, we're only slightly over sixty minutes. He's got a life here in Toronto. He's got his school, Seneca College, and the soccer club he plays for, and his friends. Me? I'm alone in this city. My school, my town and my home church are far, far away. How far is the City of Toronto, Ontario, from Salt Lake City, Utah? I'm going to Google that someday. Stefan told me he wanted to take me someplace special tomorrow, and I was oh so excited about that. Look, I'm passionate about the LDS Church and mission work, but I'm also a young woman...with all that implies. Stefan and I met at the Eaton Center, and then from there, he took me to the Spadina Museum. For a taste of Canadian culture and history, Stefan promised. I went, and I was absolutely fascinated by the place. It's funny how this old house which reflects 1860s Canada reminded me so much of certain Victorian-style mansions in Salt Lake City's Old Town sector. I've been all over Utah, and I never thought I'd see anything in Ontario that would remind me of home...but I did. Stefan and I stood in the Billard room, along with the other visitors, and just soaked up the moment. I was so lost in thoughts of home that I almost didn't feel Stefan's arms around me. Are you okay? he asked me gently. I turned around, smiled and nodded. I'm fine, I said, and gently touched Stefan's face. He had three days stubble on his chin. Typically, Mormon men are clean-shaven, we're the only branch of Christianity that makes such a practice borderline mandatory. The LDS Church doesn't approve of facial hair in men, or anyone for that matter. Even though Jesus Christ, Abraham, Isaac, David, Moses, Solomon and pretty much every important man in the Bible wore a beard. I usually dislike facial hair in men, but Stefan looked good with his. Kiss me, I said. Stefan hesitated, then smiled. I looked into his eyes and saw that gleam of mischief I knew so well. I'd seen it in his eyes that first night, as we wrestled for the remote right before his mom busted us. I thought you'd never ask, Stefan grinned, then he kissed me. Our first kiss was slow, and gentle, nothing like what you see in the movies these days. Stefan's lips tasted of gum, and the coffee he had earlier. I hugged Stefan tightly, and kissed him back passionately. Sweet lips you got there Mister Toronto, I said, pinching his chin. Stefan laughed and shrugged. He cocked an eyebrow, trying to look all cool and stuff. I got it like that Miss Utah, he laughed. We were bantering like this for several minutes before we realized that our tour group was in another section of the Spadina House. We should catch up, Stefan said. I nodded at that. Good idea, I said, and linked my arm with his. Stefan and I discussed our feelings for each other at great length, and decided to give a relationship a shot. It would not be easy. For starters, his mother doesn't like me. Oh, and there's a certain code of behavior that's expected of sister missionaries. Once Stefan and I went public about our fledgling relationship, Heather just about lost it. I can't believe you're dating a nigger, she said, glaring at me. For once, I didn't reply. I just smacked the bitch, hard. I grabbed her by the collar and looked into her eyes. Don't talk that way about my boyfriend, I said.Heather stared at me, and for the first time I saw something different in her eyes. Not contempt or hatred but fear. I liked it. I walked away with a smile on my face. The next day, my world came crumbling down. Heather pulled a bitch move and reported my conduct, and apparently inappropriate relationship with Stefan to the church leadership. Word made its way to my parents, and my father told me to stop any further contact with Stefan and to return to Utah immediately. I raised you better than that, dad said, bristling at the thought of me, his daughter, dating a black man. Jesus Christ considered all races of men to be equal before God, I countered. My dad remained undaunted. You're dead to me Charlee, he said. My heart broke when he said those words over the phone. My dad is the only person to ever call me Charlee. I hung up the phone, knowing that I was burning my bridges. My family no longer wants anything to do with me. If I return to Salt Lake City, Utah, I'll be shunned by the LDS Church. We consider ourselves a progressive people but there's a lot of racism among Mormons. I never heard my father refer to people of any color using racial slurs, and he always voted democrat. Indeed, he voted for Obama, twice, even though Mitt Romney was the darling of all Mormons. Yet my liberal-minded father didn't want me to date a man of color. Wow. You learn something new every day. I had lost so much because of my love for Stefan Atkinson, the young man who stole my heart. Would he support me in my hour of need? Or would he abandon me? Only one way to find out. I went to his house, in tears, after that last conversation with my father. In front of his parents, Stefan put his arms around me and told me he loved me. You poor thing, Samuel said. Stefan's dad looked from Stefan to me, then looked at his wife Fatima. I looked at her, the matriarch of the Atkinson clan. My heart stood still. What is she going to do? Come here sweetie, Fatima said, and gently hugged me. That was almost a year ago. I'm still living in Toronto, but I am no longer a missionary with the LDS Church. I still believe in Our Savior the Lord Jesus Christ, and I still read the Book of Mormon faithfully. God loves and man kills. I forgot who said that, but whoever said it was absolutely right. I cannot find any passage in the Bible stating that darker-skinned peoples are better than lighter-skinned peoples. Don't all men and women alive today stem from Adam and Eve? If that's true, then why are people so damn racist? If a black man needed a blood transfusion, a healthy white donor from the same blood type could help him out and vice versa. A kidney taken from a black donor will fit a white patient. Yet people are so hateful toward one another. Why? When Stefan and I walk through the streets of Toronto together, we get stared at. We get a lot of stares from all kinds of people, but mainly black women and white guys. The white guys think I'm yet another white woman gone to the other side, and the black women think Stefan is yet another black male sellout. Whatever. People will always make assumptions about those they don't know, and most of the time, they're wrong. The world is changing, around the globe, major cities are becoming more diverse. There are white minorities living in Africa's big cities among the blacks, and there are millions of black people living in Western countries. I'm told that in London, UK, there are over a million people of African descent. Wow. Maybe one day things will change. I decided to stay in Toronto with the man I love. Stefan is the one for me, I know this now. His family has accepted me, and I embrace them as though they were my own. Someday soon, they shall be. Samuel and Fatima's other son Jean-Luc finally came back from mission work in Alberta. And he introduced the family to a tall, lovely young black woman named Nadine Sanders. Apparently they met at the University of Calgary and just clicked. She accepted the Mormon faith and he wants to marry her. Good for them. Canada amazes me more day by day. I want to build a life for myself here. First, I had to go through the system. I had to apply for a work permit and a study permit, then I obtained a social insurance card and a health card. I had to get an account with the Ontario Universities Application Center or O.U.A.C. before I could write to my old school, Salt Lake City Community College, and have them send my transcripts to the University of Toronto. I got accepted as an international student. It's expensive, but Stefan assured me that once I become a permanent resident, they'll charge me the same rates as everyone else. I have come to love my new life here in Toronto, Ontario. I'm now a third-year student in the criminal justice program at the University of Toronto. I work as a cashier at a Wal-Mart. It's okay, just a job to pay the bills. Stefan and I live together in a three-bedroom apartment two miles from his folks house. It's expensive as hell and the neighborhood is not the greatest but hey, for now it's home. That's all that matters, right? I formed an interdenominational Christian group on campus to encourage Christian students at University of Toronto to wake up. It's the Mormon woman in me, I want to preach and proselytize. There are a lot of Muslims, Sikhs and Buddhists at U of T and while I respect people's right to follow their chosen faith, I firmly believe that Judeo-Christianity must be upheld and protected across North America. Stefan and I are together on this, and our friends ( of all colors ) are helping us spread the faith. The way I see it, in an era where Christendom is endangered, we must unite whether we're called Methodist, Baptist, Adventist, Catholic, Orthodox, Maronite, Episcopalian, Mormon, Jehovah's Witness, Unitarian, Apostolic or whatever. And since our group is full of Africans, Asians, Hispanics and other 'ethnic people' the campus authorities can't say shit because we're numerous and diverse. I'm the white chick with the black boyfriend leading the so-called radical Christian group. I'm not what anyone's expecting, and that's why I'll succeed in my crusade to defend and uphold Christianity while opposing racism, sexism and creeps. I hope to graduate from the University of Toronto real soon, that's why I'm taking summer classes. Stefan recently filed for me to become a permanent resident of Canada, he's sponsoring me. We contacted a lawyer about it and she's optimistic. That's good, because I want to set my roots here. Canada is a beautiful country but it's gone too far with its multiculturalism bullshit. I don't care what race or religion you fall under, you have to respect Judeo-Christianity, gender equality and democracy or Western society isn't for you. Canada needs to be more of a melting pot. This place needs an injection of Americanism and I, a young woman from Salt Lake City, Utah, am just what the doctor ordered. This ought to keep me busy until graduation. After that, Stefan and I need to make some babies. We're proud Mormons, you see, and we have real BIG families. Hallelujah!