Mine started one day in the Kingdomhall library room about 12 years ago. It didn't affect me until years later, but what happened on that day sowed seeds of doubt that would lay dormant for another decade.
I was a young, impressionable pioneer who had a man crush on Rutherford, Russel and all the other spiritual giants that got the ball rolling over a century ago. I was oohing and ahhing over the collection of books we had in our library that went all the way back to the 1870's when the P.O came up to me and asked me why I spent so much time back here looking through "these old books". i told him that this collection was priceless antiquity that was helping me to learn about the roots of our wonderful organization. What he said next shocked me to my core. He said,
"A lot of these books aren't worth the paper that they were printed on."
I couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth. The P.O., a long-time missionary who had been in the truth for years and years! His father had come into the truth around the turn of the century. I couldn't believe it. It was borderline blasphemy to me. Disturbed and bothered by it, I safely tucked it away behind a wall of cognitive dissonance.
It wasn't until years later that scandals, injustice and hypocrisy forced me to re-examine those words. Now, here I am!