CBA Marketplace, Aug. 2001
"Balanced and nonoffensive... recommend it as a conversation starter with Mormon women as well as a ready reference for readers."


Christian Retailing, Aug. 20, 2001
"thorough analysis of Mormon teachings versus Christian truths…useful resource for witnessing to others in need of guidance."


Book Description
A Woman's True Story of Heartache Turned to Joy When Judy and Jim Robertson felt a spiritual void in their lives, they found "the finest people in the world" to embrace them and a beautifully packaged religion to entice them. Once drawn into Mormonism, they quickly climbed to leadership positions and became worthy temple Mormons, only to become disillusioned with the teaching and demands of the LDS church. From her unique insider's viewpoint, Judy shares her life as a Mormon woman, her rediscovery of the Jesus of the Bible, and how she and Jim found freedom as they left the LDS church in the face of persecution and confrontation.


Excerpted from Out of Mormonism : A Woman's True Story by Judy Robertson. Copyright © 2001. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Part I Mormonism Looks Good The WeaknessHow can such good people be wrong? I thought. There’s gotta be something there. Surely if God designed His church for today’s world, it would be like this one. Jim’s account with Campbell Soup took him to the Arizona farmlands each year from May to the first of July. He needed to be there during potato harvest to oversee grading, loading, and shipping to ensure top quality spuds. Although this was my first time accompanying him with our kids, I heard my husband rave so much about Joe Jackson and his family, I’d gotten sick of it. “Judy, these are the finest people you’ll ever meet.” At first, I made serious accusations. “Jim, these people just want your business,” I said cynically. “That’s why they’re being so nice. They’re snowing you.” “Judy, how can you say that? They’re just sincere, hard-working people.” “Well, I have a funny feeling about them. And what is their religion? Mormon? I’ve never heard of that before.” “They are totally committed to it. I’ve never seen anything like it. Everything they do revolves around their church and family.” After a summer of observing this “all-American” family in action, I began to see their appealing qualities, too. Boy, they really do have something! Certainly something we don’t. I want to know more. My depleted spiritual life needed to be recharged, especially after a recent incident at our home church in Fayetteville, Arkansas. I guess you could say my spiritual candle was flickering. At a vacation Bible school planning meeting, I sat with my co-director in her elegant living room. I opened my heart and unfolded what I thought were innovative and fresh ideas for the kids. In the middle of my presentation she interrupted me. “We’ve never done it this way before, and I don’t know who you think you are, trying to change our VBS!” she sputtered, eyes glaring at me. Her words stung and I sat speechless. Unable to go on, I swallowed hard, gathered my things, and left her home like a whipped puppy. I choked back tears all the way home. Once in our bedroom I lamented, How could she be so cruel? I knew after a good fifteen-minute sob I needed to get my feelings under control fast. The kids would be back soon from their friends’ house and Jim home for supper. After eight years of marriage, Jim’s way was to try to “fix” my hurt feelings. He’d say something like “Why didn’t you just tell her off?” But I couldn’t bring myself to tell off anyone. So I stuffed it in my hurt-feelings bag never to tell anyone—not even God. I didn’t know how to share my hurts with God, and I hadn’t studied the Bible enough to know we should “bear one another’s burdens.” I’d been a church attendee all my life, listened to lots of sermons, but I didn’t know how my faith should work in times of crisis. That’s why I looked forward to this family trip and meeting these “fine” people Jim kept telling me about. * * ** * * The Jackson family put us up in an apartment house they owned right off Main Street, near the center of the city of Mesa. After we had a welcome shower to get the accumulated dust off, they took us out to dinner. Our kids enjoyed the apartment complex’s swimming pool. Across the street from our summer home was a lush green park, and we were only a block away from the gleaming white Mormon temple. Its acres of cool grass, tall palm trees, and sparkling fountains were an oasis in the desert. They treated us like family, taking us out to eat and to church and to family cookouts. “I’ll have to admit, Jim, any people I’ve ever been around that I’ve thought were really Christians have these same attributes. They are good, loving, family-oriented people.” In no time, I forgot the unpleasant experience with the church member back in Fayetteville. Jim and I agreed before we married that we would join a “neutral” church if we couldn’t agree on his Lutheran background or my Disciples of Christ upbringing. We believed that if our family prayed together we’d stay together. After hopping from church to church to find our niche, we finally settled on the First Christian Church. I had attended it as a college student at the University of Arkansas. We jumped right into the activities. Jim was on the church board and eventually became vice chairman. One summer, I co-directed the vacation Bible school. It was during this time I felt the sting of the sharp words of my co-director criticizing my ideas. Even though I attended church regularly, I didn’t adequately know how to call on God for my needs. Perhaps you could call me a social Christian. I never searched the Scriptures I’d learned about, sung about, and heard every Sunday during my entire life. I was president of Christian Youth Fellowship, played piano for Sunday school, attended church camp every summer, and sang in the choir with my mother. Jim received “proper training,” too. Raised in the Lutheran faith, he learned many Scriptures to be able to pass the exam for catechism. “I didn’t continue learning Scriptures and eventually forgot all I’d been taught,” Jim recalled. Satan is subtle, catching us in our weakness. Nursing my wounds from the sharp tongue of a less-than-tactful church member, the kids and I traveled with Jim on this fateful trip into the desert of Arizona to buy potatoes. Little did we know this journey would change our lives forever.

FROM THE PUBLISHER