I left The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on January 1st, 2020. On Friday, January 3rd, I had this dream: My parents are visiting me and my family in our big yellow house in Japan. My dad has gone to the little grocery store at the bottom of the hill, and brought us everything that looked delicious. We spread all the food out on the table in my kitchen like a banquet and start sampling our feast. We’re sharing what we love, recommending what we find particularly delectable, and just having a great time. But then, I look down at my food and notice it has a weevil in it. I’m a little alarmed at first, but it’s just one weevil. One weevil among so many delightful things. I pick it out, figuring that one weevil won’t ruin my meal. I don’t tell my dad. I wouldn’t want him to feel bad. I go to eat the food again, and there are more weevils, three or four this time. I put my bowl down and say, “I don’t think I can eat this…there are weevils in it.” “Go ahead and pick something else!” my parents say, “There’s plenty more good food here!” My dad is still smiling, but a little quiet. He feels bad that my food had weevils. I open another container, and I’m relieved when it looks clear. Just in case though, I dig a little bit, just to check, and there are hundreds of weevils just below the surface. I set it aside and calmly tell my parents that there are weevils in that one too. Their chewing slows. I open another container of food and there are so many weevils it looks like the food is moving. “Weevils?” my parents ask. My dad is mortified. He brought us this food. We’ve all already been eating it. I take a closer look, and I realize this bowl doesn’t just have weevils… I tell them, “This one has centipedes.” “What?! No!” My mom is disgusted and incredulous. She can’t believe this is happening. I show my parents the bowl, and a big orange centipede rises from the swirling mass of weevils and other little centipedes. The huge centipede just keeps coming and coming, getting bigger and bigger, until it’s curled around the top of the food like the world’s most revolting, massive, glistening jello salad. There is no food at all. I am expecting my dad to scream. He hates things like this–he hates creepy-crawlies. But instead he just sits in his chair, looking at this thing, not saying anything. And I realize it’s because he feels so bad. He’s so embarrassed, and so disgusted, that he doesn’t know how to react. So he just stares at it, and I don’t know what he’s going to do. And then, I wake up. *** Image: It’s Great Except For…