Us Versus Them

The last few days have had turmoil. Brother set against brother, kind of turmoil. Bible versus flung back and forth, justifications and accusations, with rebuttals and more justifications. It's the news that broke as a whistleblower reported that the Church has $100 Billion dollars it's been sitting on, either legally or illegally un-taxed is still up for debate. It's been a grand old time for a fence sitter.

Why do I call myself a fence sitter? Because I am. On most issues, generally, I am. This happens because I believe that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is the church that God is choosing to work with at this time, in restoring doctrines and principles to bring souls back to God. I believe this because of spiritual direction. No facts or figures to prove it. Just feelings.

But I'm also well-versed in those facts and figures. I know the darkest pits of our Church's history and present. I've made it a point to know, again, because I have felt those spiritual promptings and direction TO know. Learn everything I can. There have been moments where I have fallen to my knees in tears and pleaded with the Lord to help me. "God, I feel like I know too much to ever be happy again! Am I wrong? What can I do to feel peace about this?" God quietly, lovingly directed me to stand back up, pick up that history book, and keep reading. Because what God wants me to do isn't slide happily through life. What God wants me to do is have knowledge. God wants me to know the good from the evil, with all the joy and pain and grey area that accompanies it.

So here I am, playing referee to both sides, trying to take a stand for truth where I see it.

It's messy. It's super, super messy. Made messier by the fact that I'm not supremely eloquent. Made messier by the fact that I am a red personality type who doesn't run from fights, and can often let my emotions and anger get the better of me. I speak when, as Christ taught, sometime's it's smarter to say nothing and doodle on the ground instead. I'm still trying to figure out that lesson. So I'm sorry. And forgive me. Chances are, you're a red personality type too, and we're both trying to figure out this "peacemaker" quality together, am I right? Friends?

I said I have anger. Why is that? Because I have a fundamental human need to feel like I belong, and it's not being met. At church on Sunday, someone made a comment along the lines of feeling so sorry for those who question the church, because they don't know anything, and they've lost everything. It's very lonely to have someone say that.

Why? Because the implication is that I am dumber then them. The implication is that I am pitiful, someone to be felt sorry for, and potentially, that I have no reason to live. Frankly, I didn't feel like I deserved any of that. I think I'm pretty smart, I think I have a pretty great life, and I think that God and I are both pretty proud of me for being a good listener to divine instruction, and for doing what I feel is right. Again, I can't prove that to you, it's just the spiritual directions and feelings I've been given.

I cannot prove to you that God loves me. I cannot prove to you what God tells me. I cannot pull out a whiteboard and sketch out a lifetime's worth of promptings and directions, and present a numerical value or percentage on just how "right" I am, or how "on the path" I am. My salvation is between me and God. But I know where I am, and I know how I feel. And right now, I'm in the right place and doing well. (Still working on that anger thing, and speaking without thinking, along with pride and a couple other sins like sugar, eye-rolling, and catastrophizing.)

I know I'm not the only person who has felt this way. I know I'm not the only person who has felt lonely this way because I talk to a lot of people in a lot of different places inside of the Church. Because, contrary to popular belief, the Church is not a "You're in or you're out," kind of place. That's black and white thinking, and is not actually how God works. God doesn't consider us as boxes to be checked, dates to be entered for a particular ordinance, etc. It's not so simple. (Unless you're dead, in which case, it is that simple in the temple. Though I'm certain it's not so black and white on the other side of the veil.)

There are so many places a person can be, in the Church. You can be a TBM - or Traditional Believing Mormon - someone who accepts everything: history, doctrine and all. A TBM strives to check all the worthiness boxes, and meet and follow all the outlined goals. You can be a Questioner, like myself - someone who looks at what is taught and has questions through all of it, judging the fallibility of doctrines, histories, and practices.  A Questioner strives to find and act on the truth, even if it disagrees with the authority. You can be a Doubter - someone who doesn't believe in the history of the Church, or any of it's authoritative claims.

Any given Sunday, all three types of Mormons are present in your meetings. (Yes, I said "Mormons." How very Questioner of me.) I would argue there are a TON of them present, mostly Questioners. Questioners are the ones who keep saying "Mormon." They're the ones that don't believe Polygamy was ever divinely inspired, for whatever reason. They're the ones who argue and debate that science has found nothing wrong with tea, or that a glass of wine has been proven to assist in heart health. They're THAT guy. Yep, sometimes they're annoying. But most of the time they look just like the rest of you, and the only difference is what's in their head.

Are there really Doubters at church, you might ask? Absolutely. They're the people that attend church with their families because "that's what you do," or because they or someone else in the family has a calling, and they don't want to be an embarrassment to themselves or others. They attend because they like the social aspects, basic morality, and have friends. They attend because they are afraid that if they leave, somehow their lives will suffer or fall apart, and their kids will turn into prostitutes and drug dealers. Because that's what happens when you leave the church. That's just a fact. Or perhaps they are afraid of what others will think, and how others will treat them.

Surely Mormons wouldn't treat them differently! Right? Surely Mormons wouldn't think ill of people who choose not to belong to the church anymore, right?

Wrong. Dead wrong.

I'm a Questioner and a fence-sitter by definition because of it, and I have friends in both worlds. Saying there is pain is an understatement. As one friend put it:

"I think leaving the church there’s a lot of grief and hurt involved. On the one hand you’re dealing with the grief of losing your faith, or feeling conned, or feeling like your life’s been a lie, and that comes with a lot of hurt. But then there’s the secondary aspect of how people are treating you, and misunderstanding you, and judging you. And it can be really really upsetting, and cause a lot of anger to come out. I think that’s why you see some of that from the ex-Mormon community. It’s because they’re hurting. I think both sides are hurting."

This friend told me that I was the only person that reached out to them after they left the church. I was the only one willing to sit down with them and listen to their story, their experience, and what they went through to get where they are today.

Perhaps because we're afraid. It's very easy to imagine that people who leave the church leave because they learned "the secret," that, if spoken, would wipe out all of Mormon civilization. Members would drop like flies into the void and abyss called "Faithless." We'd all die. The end. Chaotic, existential nihilism. We talked about it like that on my mission. "They got 'anti-ed.'"

It's not so simple. From the many people I know who have left the church, their experiences are all different. Some have felt God direct them in it, giving them promptings that they would learn more about God and be happier if they left. Others leave because they hear nothing - no revelation or answers from God at all about any of it.

Certainly there are those who leave because of history. That does happen. I know those people too. But there are plenty more who stay despite knowing the history, myself included. 

Why do we treat those who don't believe like us differently? Why do we judge them? How do we misunderstand them? What is the solution to this? How can we help everyone feel that they belong?

Friends that I have talked to have different opinions, and I have my own. My opinion as that Mormons tend to see themselves as "Us," and those who don't believe in the Church as "Them."

It's very easy to do. Sometimes broad stereotypes like this are very helpful. Team sports? Definitely helpful to have an "us" vs "them," mentality, if the objective of the game is to win. I fear, however, that the Church has created a culture that has this same perspective. For us, winning is having the "true doctrines," or the "authority." In our minds, these things are necessary to get back to heaven through that straight and narrow way, without falling into the darkness or Great and Spacious building.

I argue, that the rod in our imagery is The Word of God. It's the Scriptures. It's revelation. It's what leads us to Christ. That was the missionary objective - Invite others to come unto Christ. I have at least two friends who have left the church who speak fondly of memories of their mission - not because of bringing people into the church, but because of the experiences they had of bringing others closer to God, and Christ. They still feel the truth and goodness of that experience, as not believing in the authority of the Church has done nothing to their relationship and faith in God.

I know. I can feel it. You're raising that index finger and pointedly trying to find the right opening in which you can remind me that we DO believe in authority. Can I address this concern? That finger? Yes, that index finger and the attitude of raising it in correction before I've even finished what I'm saying is the concern, and is often the concern of those who Question or Doubt.

In college the book The Lost Art of Listening was a required text for us social workers. Listening is vital, if you're going to be in a helping profession. It's something most people don't know how to do. We listen until we hear the bit that speaks to us, or that we want to respond to, and we start trying to fix the problem, without hearing the end of it.

I went to the InstaCare a couple weeks ago. My left arm felt WRONG. It felt tingly, and I was scared, frankly, that I was having a heart attack at the ripe old age of thirty. Yep. Thirty. That was how it was going to end - two small toddlers, and I was gonna die before I even finished potty training. I had some reasonable doubts about this, however, as I'd had a similar feeling in the past, which had gone away eventually, but I still had just enough worry to get it checked out. I went in, and explained my symptoms. My left arm felt WEIRD, and my heart was pounding. (I was nervous.) The assistant was raising a nervous eyebrow as she took my vitals, until finally, she deduced, I likely wasn't having a heart attack. Turns out, I'd slept on a new pillow funny, and was having some compression in my neck on the nerves to my arm. Muscle relaxants and an anti-inflammatory for a week, and I was feeling much better.

I was very grateful that she had listened to me explain, "But I don't think it's a heart attack." She could have simply heard, "Left arm weird." and demand I head to the ER, because they don't take care of heart attacks at the InstaCare. Because she listened to me instead of brushing off my concern as "not her problem," I saved a bunch of money in bills, and got drugs that solved my problem right then and there.

We can do the same for those who differ in their beliefs with the Church. I have heard many, MANY stories by those who, in meetings with leadership or Bishops, express a doubt or a difference of opinion. Without caring to know ANYTHING else about the belief, the situation, the human behind the belief, or the reason, people with differences have been released from callings, threatened with discipline, or outright yelled at.

I posted that article the other day, about the Church and their $100 Billion in savings. In my heart and through my firm belief in Christ and the Bible, I disagree with the Church on this savings, and feel spiritually right in doing so. Frankly, it made me feel some righteous anger, and I posted it without thinking about how it would affect others. (Because I'm brash. Because I'm not perfect. But it's the same weakness ascribed to Joseph Smith Jr, so I'm in good company?)

I was told by many that I couldn't possibly be right for feeling as I do, because, they assured, the answer was found in "trusting the prophet," and "having faith." Another literally just recommended, in harsh terms, "For someone who feels so consistently negative about the church, have you thought about just leaving?"

Does this help me come closer to Christ? No. Does it make me feel like I am welcome at Church? Absolutely no. Because this is what misunderstanding and judging looks like, and it's what those who have different beliefs than Traditional Believing Mormons receive when they state their differences. They have not attempted to listen, or created an environment in which people would even begin to feel comfortable expressing themselves. As a friend with different beliefs in the Church noted:

“People will just tear you apart before they will question the Church, all in the name of love, of course. That's one of the reasons I don't like to say things. Cause people are vicious.

And they’re not going to understand. I don’t expect to be understood.

Mormons expect to be persecuted. They expect people to be constantly searching for corruption, or trying to expose something, and so a lot of times disagreeing plays into the narrative, and only reinforces their beliefs and their sense of “rightness,” because that’s what they expect to happen.

It plays to their expectations, and so they just kind of dismiss you, and write you off as just another grumpy dissenter who lost their way.

It’s just really really hard to get through to people, and help them see outside the box a little bit."

It's important to listen to people. Who are they? Where have they been? Why might they feel the way they feel? Could you ask them about that? Listen, without assuming that what is true or right for you is true or right for everyone. 

Because people disagree. It happens all the time in life, including in the Church. On a LOT of issues. Partly because God works with each of us a little differently, because God knows us! Sometimes because different experiences give different perspectives. Sometimes, people might even disagree on the issue of the Church having authority, which is pretty important for many, and that's okay, BECAUSE JESUS. 

The most beautiful truth I know, not just because I have been told it, but because I have felt it, is that God loves everyone. Everyone. Not just Us. Not NOT Them. Everyone. 

One friend who left the Church told me that after he had made his decision to leave, through much time, prayer, and study, he had a wonderful experience. After making his decision one morning he walked into work, and saw all the people around him. He felt that warm, spiritual confirmation that he and all of his coworkers were the same. All of them. He recognized that while he had been in the Church, he had felt a barrier between him and everyone else. When he left, he realized there had never been a barrier there at all. Because to God, we are all the same.

There's no need to create barriers. In an earlier post I wrote about a dream I was given about a wall, and the interpretation I was given was that as members of the Church we often create a wall between "believers" and everyone else. There is no wall. Our differences are not as big a deal as you feel they might be. The first great commandment is to love God. The second is like unto it. Love your neighbor. All of the law and the prophets hang on these two commandments. If Christ can raise up seed unto Abraham from stones, He can take care of your authority concerns. Have a little faith. You focus on the love bit. 

My wish is that the Church will become a place of love. It's not, for many. For many it's a place of judgement and feeling that they don't belong. There's a reason Alma encouraged his priests to preach nothing save it were repentance and faith on the Lord. (Mosiah 18:20) Because we can all do better, and with Christ, everyone belongs.

We need to watch the judgments we make either out-loud, or privately in our hearts. We need to make sure that we are listening to people that we disagree with, and providing a little room for empathy, love, and understanding, even if you'll never agree. Learn to view yourself as a child of God, literally just like everyone else. Make your love unconditional. Give it freely. 

The Foundational Charge

There's something about knowing - Something about seeing And understanding. You look at a person and you know The past, the effects, the reasons. To study the man in all his result, To view him as bare skin and bone. The study of it sings to you And as with Siren, you are drawn in. Is it to manipulate factors, To teach the studied impulses? These things that come so naturally to some Can be written and dissected, Brought to sheer basics and fact. Man is made man As we teach him the dream of the masses. The broke can be soldered As with heat and with iron. This is the path. This is the way. Your movements bespeak your history And I understand you, Better than even science can know. 

I wrote this poem when I was working out of the Emergency Room as a Patient Advocate for mental health patients. I had been pondering on my job as a social worker, and what it was about my job that I loved so much.

I realized that what I loved was that social work is all about finding what makes people tick. What is it that makes people who they are. What is it that makes people do what they do, and how, as a social worker, you can assist in shaping incorrect assumptions or fears, and redirect people into living happier, more functional lives. But in order to do that, you ask questions. Question after question after question, challenging assertions and digging deeper and deeper until you figure out THE ISSUE. Oftentimes buried deeply beneath poor coping mechanisms and years of baggage, you figure it out.

It's fairly safe to say that it's usually pain. There's been pain somewhere. Pain in the way an authority talked to them, and how they viewed themselves. Pain in the way they were treated. Sometimes false negative assumptions are formed. Sometimes coping mechanisms shut them off from potential relationships, out of fear. It's fear of something. I argue it's usually fear or avoidance of pain, both physical, social, spiritual, mental, etc.

Everyone experiences pain. Everyone. There's the old adage, or meme, that you should be kind to mothers of toddlers because you don't know how many times they've been screamed at already today. I would argue it's safe to remind that we should be kind to EVERYONE, because everyone experiences pain, and you don't know what pain they've experienced already.

In looking at my own life, and at my own day-to-day, I've come to slowly recognize that truth. ANY human behavior has a reason. I'm not so much a cynic that I believe people only do good things to avoid punishment, or pain, in the eternities, but I would argue most negative behaviors are responses to pain. I yell at my children because of my own pain, be it feeling unappreciated, overwhelmed with tasks, or otherwise. My children similarly misbehave due to their own pains, be it feeling powerless, hungry and tired, or pure and simple afraid of something.

You can expand this as far as you'd like. It's what social workers do. But most people, with the exception of the pure and simple sociopaths, have pure intentions, and any harms they commit are usually poor responses to their own deeper pains. (But frankly, even in the case of the fictional sociopath The Joker, we don't know where he got his scars.)

You could argue that if no one ever felt pain ever, humanity would be a different place - a place of kindness and understanding. But it wouldn't be one of growth, because it's through our struggling that we learn. It's through these painful, individual pasts that we are able to teach each other, learn empathy, and become more like God.

There's a reason that the first covenant we make with God is to mourn with those that mourn, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort. Because most of the ills of the world come from places of pain, people will always need comfort, and the empathetic mourning of one who is able to walk in the other's shoes, and experience sorrow as the other experiences it, even if they don't agree. This first, foundational covenant has the ability to remove so much of what is wrong in the world.

We mourn with those that mourn when we listen to their experiences without judgement. We comfort when we are present, accepting the individual themselves, without demanding immediate change in their broken hearts. We mourn when we can set aside our own beliefs and agendas to focus, instead, on another's concern, without daydreaming of correctional statements to respond to them with. We comfort when we are able to see another's suffering and accept that their suffering is real, and we do something to alleviate that real suffering, without judgement.

We covenant to mourn with those that mourn, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort. There is no covenant to mourn with those that follow God and live a lifestyle worthy of God's highest blessings. There is no covenant to comfort only those that have done nothing to bring pain upon themselves. This foundational charge is one that gives no room for individual, mortal judgments. In this covenant of mourning and comforting, the stipulation to "judge not" holds firm. You mourn empathetically. You comfort through pain and sadness. You reach outwards and prioritize the other's pain through THEIR experience.

Even if you think you know better. Even if you think they should do something differently. Even if you think they've done this to themselves. Even if you think they deserve it. Even if you think their pain isn't valid. Take a step back, and ask the questions. Be willing to take the time. Because no one is the antagonist in their own story. Because no one is a fool. Because no one deliberately chooses to hurt. Because people are inherently worth your effort and love.

General Conference for a Grumpy Mormon

When I moved to this new city in which I live, I introduced myself to the Relief Society Presidency as being a "grumpy" Mormon. I hold an active temple recommend. I read and pray and attend church weekly. By all accounts, I'm in line. Yet I'm grumpy. I disagree with policies and culture. None of these things are doctrine, so I'm not going to Hell over this, don't worry. (Trick statement! We don't even believe in Hell, and if we do, it's only reserved for Sons of Perdition. Doctrinally, prophets past have disagreed with each other on if women are even capable of being Sons of Perdition, but at any rate, I don't believe I'm in that kind of danger.)

General Conference has, statistically, been difficult for me. Oh, I watch all five sessions every conference, including Priesthood session. (If Hank Smith can watch the Women's Conference and tweet on it, I can watch his.) But it's difficult for me. There are a lot of cultural things, and though it may make me unpopular to say it, I often come away with a "least favorite talk," where I get to rant about how I disagree with the image the church is trying to portray for itself, and about how we would be better Christians if we cared less about this that or the other, etc, etc.

But I started into it today with an open mind, ready to be enlightened. My spiritual answer to the question in my heart came early - right at the beginning of the first talk. Elder Holland quoted a story from the Bible.

Luke 18:35-42
As He approached Jericho, a blind man was sitting by the roadside begging.
When he heard a crowd going by, he asked what was happening.
The told him, "Jesus of Nazareth is passing by."
Then he shouted, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!"
Those who were in front sternly ordered him to be quiet; but he shouted even more loudly, "Son of David, have mercy on me!"
Jesus stood still and ordered the man to be brought to him; and when he came near, He asked him, "What do you want me to do for you?" He said, "Lord, let me see again."
Jesus said to him, "Receive your sight; your faith has saved you."

Elder Holland took this story, and extrapolated that it was nice the blind man surrounded himself with people who would help him. That was not at all the message I got from the reading, where people were sternly telling this blind man to shut up and stop embarrassing everybody.

No, the answer I got came to me straight in the heart.

God knows that I am a grumpy Mormon. I would argue that He loves me for it, because my grumpiness is the grumpiness of someone wanting to aim higher. God's voice speaks the loudest to me when I'm grumpy - giving me snippets of insight and truth as I struggle with the mortality surrounding me.

Today God whispered to me that I am the blind man. So when I start up my embarrassing yelling - my grumping and disagreements, don't worry about the people shushing all around me. Yell out the louder. Because I want God to work His miracles. I want to see God's truth reflected in this church with these very eyes of my own, not the eyes of my grandchildren, long after I am gone. So God whispered peace to me, a kind assurance of, "Keep grumping. Don't keep quiet. Don't let yourself get pressured into thinking that you can't ask for these miracles. Yell louder."

Time is Running Out

Today's Relief Society lesson was on Sustaining our Faith - including sustaining our leadership. This is something that was hard for me, once upon a time, until I realized that sustaining doesn't mean agreeing with everything 100%. You can sustain them and still imagine what you would do differently. Sustaining means defending, supporting, and helping them continue to carry out their role.

Today was also a hard day for me, though, as yet another friend of mine posted on Facebook their decision to leave the church. It's an odd, complex series of emotions, when someone you love wants to leave the church. There are a lot of complications. First, there's that sadness you feel, because you wish that they were still "with" you, on that same team of belief. There's sadness if you have a testimony of the covenants and authority of the church, because you now have room for worry and concern regarding people's spiritual welfare, eternal progression, their family ties and sealings. (Then guilt at even thinking of expressing these things, because it could be misinterpreted as a prideful 'thinking you know better' than them, and coming off in the wrong way, when all you're feeling is love and concern.)

Second, in my case, with some of the friends that I have seen leave the church, there's also a confused happiness for them. I trust people's personal experiences, personal revelations, and individual relationships with Deity, because I trust my own. I know several friends who have left the church, and felt divine guidance in doing so - that God leads them, for one reason or another, to leave, ultimately, for their own happiness, which I know is God's goal for each of us. That they have the courage to follow what God has told them, despite fears of judgment and the unknown, is something that makes me incredibly happy for them. A willingness to follow God blindly is extremely commendable.

A loving God, who has all our best interests at heart, can tell one person to stay, like me, and another to leave, like many of my friends. I am sure that this all aligns with the great cosmic plan for each of us - that God knows what will make each of us happy individually on these paths. It reminds me of a story I read regarding David O McKay, who was meeting with an LGBT member. In my own words, but keeping the message, the member was telling the prophet of his struggles, and at the end of their visit, the prophet reminded the member, "Stay close to Jesus." The member insisted, "I am. I'm going to church. I'm going to the temple. I'm..." David O McKay stopped him. "I didn't say stay close to the church. I said stay close to Jesus." Because for some, there is a difference.

We have a very strict, structured church, which doesn't work for some. Being strict and structured is not actually a divine mandate. As all of our earthly children are different, so too are all of us. Some of us buck at structure, hackles raised at lists of "shoulds" and conservative suggestions veiled as doctrine. And when you're bucking with raised hackles, whatever those are, it is very difficult to remember the POINT of all of this - that God loves you, and wants you.

Our church is not perfect. Our history has garbage. Pretty severe garbage, in a lot of instances. Our leaders express opinions about things that are not doctrinal, but because of the title of "Prophet," questioning these opinions can feel like a faith crisis, as you are suddenly shamed into the "disobedient" category of people, gambling with Hell-fire for wearing curlers in public or dancing with bad posture. (See the 1965 For the Strength of the Youth pamplet for those prophetic opinions.) I do, sincerely, believe that some people's road to God, who is, in fact, the point, is best found outside of this complicated church.

Which brings me to my third feeling - a feeling and emotion I've felt, when learning of a friend's departure from the church, and that was my feeling today. Today I was left feeling angry, in a disappointed way. Today I was angry that I belong to a church that makes it so difficult for good people to find peace. I was angry that the church makes it so difficult for good people to stay, or even want to come join us.

I was angry that I belong to a church that doesn't apologize for mistakes of the past. Perhaps God worked through the mistake of denying Africans and African Americans the priesthood, to unknowingly bless more people, but it doesn't change the fact that there were very real victims of a needless policy, who deserve an apology, rather than a formal gas-lighting of their vision of God's love. Don't even get me started on polygamy.

I was angry that I belong to a church that doesn't stop preaching culture from the pulpits - instead streamlining men, women, and children into crisp white shirts, suits, and ties, with Sunday dresses, to create cookie cutter versions of the American 60's conservative ideal. They forget that they are a worldwide church, in a world with many different cultures, with so much to offer. When they say "Come as you are!" they don't always leave room for you to stay that way. And no. (I hear the rebuttal already.) They're NOT always changing you for the better. Sometimes they rob you of that which gives you soul, substance, life, and vibrancy.

I was angry. It was complicated, tear-filled, and enraging. I've been through the ringer with my own relationship with the church. My complaints are very much my own, and could show you my struggles more than anyone else's. I was angry because of that relationship with the church that I have - always feeling like I'm on the outside of a business-modeled machine, rather than in a spiritual, familial one. Always questioning, complaining, and never able to feel the peace of belonging and agreeing wholeheartedly. Instead, through choosing to remain in this church, showing up every Sunday I resign myself ofttimes to the position of either silent disgruntlement, or outspoken "grump," - positions which do not necessarily promote feelings of "fellowship" with the saints. (I'm not grumpy every week. Most weeks are very doctrinal, but on the weeks that aren't? Oy vey. You got the grumbling, mumbling, "THAT'S not doctrine" me, in the back of the room. The self-appointed Doctrine police, slowly driving myself into soul-crushing insanity, for wanting to belong with God.)

I've learned only in recent years to protect my relationship with God from my relationship with His church.

So feeling so angry today made me ponder on that Relief Society lesson - am I sustaining my leadership? I stand that the answer is yes. I don't believe God has called any other prophets. I don't believe God has given authority to any other church. I sustain them every Sunday I show up, angry though I may be, and CONTINUE, because God has told me to, because I have had experiences in the past that have made my love for this gospel and the doctrines, and the restorations of truths rock solid. I know this church, imperfect though it is, because of its mortal membership, is absolutely God's, and He's not giving up on it yet. Like the parable of the Master of the Vineyard, we need more pruning, grafting, and dunging. All is not lost. Not yet.

The question I left with was "How do we sustain each other?" How do we help defend, support, and help each other CONTINUE in this church we believe to be God's own? If the word "sustain" only makes you think of callings, think of membership in the church as a calling. How can we sustain each other as members? What can we do differently, so that we stop losing each other on steep, rough paths of life, and instead help each other feel a little more of God, who is, after all, the entire point of this? That's what I want to see for the church. More God and more peace for the layman, with fewer distractions or obstacles, that make that path so needlessly tough or blinding.

Nathan expressed gratitude for Donald Trump today. Naturally, I nearly died, but listened, intrigued. "I hope that the church is able to see how disgusted young people are becoming with the Republican party - how hypocritical and self-righteous all of it is. I hope the church sees that these "conservative values" are not what we want, and they should stop trying to look like that."

I don't have answers. I have more "Why" questions than I care to admit. We are losing our friends, from this church. They're not leaving for their own gain - so they can have free sex, drink coffee, shop on Sundays, and get tattoos. They're leaving for all the right reasons.

They're leaving  to find peace, to find answers they couldn't find, and to feel God's love. It's not for lack of trying, not for any shortcomings on their parts, or because they didn't do "enough." It's because we're not sustaining THEM. We're not validating their experiences, their relationships with Deity, and their spiritual needs. And yes, they're allowed to have their own spiritual needs, and we need to respond with nothing more complicated than love. Love that they can see and feel, all reasonable obstacles removed. I can only pray that someday we are able to help sustain each other better. Hopefully soon. Because our prophet said it - "Time is Running Out."

SIMPLIFY

We had a Relief Society lesson on Sunday about simplifying the gospel for ourselves. It's interesting to me that this is something that can be so hard to do. What is it about the Church, about the gospel, about women, that makes us drive ourselves into the grave in the name of religion?

The statement was made, in class, that so long as we "do our best" every single day, things will work out. My mother happened to be attending with me, as she'd come to hear my husband and I talk in Sacrament Meeting, and help wrestle the boys. As she does, and as is one of my favorite things about her, she said something about that quote. She raised her hand and pointed out that she hates that statement. She hates the idea that we should "do our best" every single day. Can any of us say that we truly "do our best" on anything?

It puts out an unrealistic expectation. Instead of relying on God's grace, instead of allowing the Prince of Peace to bring to our hearts that peace He is so good at giving, we pace the floors in angst, wondering what the last few pieces are that we're missing, in order to reach perfection. Did I truly use my time the most efficiently? Did I find the BEST balance between study and prayer, family time, independent recreation, chores, or any number of other things that can be done with a day?

The honest answer is no, you didn't. You stalled on your Facebook feed for five minutes there, when you could have been studying your scriptures. You went to go rinse the dishes in the sink instead of laughing with the boys in the kiddie pool in the backyard. Every single day, you make choices that are less than perfect. But the fortunate truth is that perfection is not even on the table of expectations, from God. He knows you're not going to get there today, and not even in this lifetime. That's not what he's asking for, and certainly, doing your BEST is a way of beating yourself up for something that literally no one is asking you for.

For starters, doing your best every single day is a sure fire way to burn yourself out.

God doesn't want you to crash in a pit of hopeless despair every couple of months, because your try at perfection was, naturally, once again unsuccessful. Have some mercy on yourself! That route wastes a lot of time, in which you could have been happy.

What DOES God ask of us? Love him, and love each other. What does loving God look like? Frankly, any number of things, depending on who you ask. But if you think loving God looks like self-obsessed strict regulation, I think you're wrong.

When I want to feel loved by my children, it's pretty simple. I love hearing "thank you"s. I love spontaneous hugs, fewer tantrums, and fun conversations. Gratitude goes a long way, as does listening.

Love is NOT my son panicking and beating himself up when he has an accident in his underwear.

God is perfect, and I am not, but even I feel sick to my stomach when my son is anxious to tell me about accidents. It implies that I will punish him, or love him less for his mistake. It implies anxiety about himself, and his own capabilities. None of these things are true, or productive.

LOVE happens anew each moment, especially with a perfect God's forgiveness and capacity to be empathetic and understanding. Have I read, studied, and prayed like I should? Good heavens no! But Heaven has not closed itself to me, nor I it, through my own doubts and self-flagellation. These moments are not as big a deal as I think they are, so long as my heart is in the right place, and the direction I'm moving is consistent.

Perfection is not the goal.

Gordon B Hinckley was my favorite prophet. Perhaps it was because he was the prophet while I was growing up, but there's something about his smile, his peace, his infectious happiness, and real, sincere joy. He certainly talked about hard issues, and said some things I disagree with, but I love that man for his focus on joy. His wife was a strong, capable woman as well. A quote I literally just found while looking for a different one, is amazing, and speaks a lot to the issue. She said,

"We women have a lot to learn about simplifying our lives. We have to decide what is important and then move along at a pace that is comfortable for us. We have to develop the maturity to stop trying to prove something. We have to learn to be content with what we are." - Marjorie Pay Hinckley

I love this! It's not about looking at the things we're bad at, all the time, but instead, focusing on the things that make us good, and allowing ourselves the room to grow through love, rather than "to-do" lists. I may suck at reading the scriptures consistently, but I'm dang good at talking about God all the time. I've really made God the focus of my life. I may swear sometimes, more than I should, I absolutely know, but I'm a real honest person, and I can talk to anybody about anything, and keep an eternal perspective through it. I get real down on politics, world events, and evil, but I'm pretty empathetic, and fight viciously for the underdog. I'm actually a pretty okay person.

And THAT's when I can grow. I'm not distracted with beating myself up. I can take the things I like about myself, and I can find some common ground with God. Then I've got something I can talk to Him about! I can ask Him questions about how He deals with this, that, or the other, that I struggle with. I can thank Him for the good times, grump and cry with Him about the bad ones. Growing this relationship with God, and loving Him is the simplicity of the gospel. (He doesn't struggle with reading His scriptures consistently. The law is in His heart, and He already had some of it written down.) Relationships aren't "the best" every day. Relationships are a little more understanding than that.

And relationships are two-way streets. I think so many women are suffering in the church, and think that that kind of perfection seeking is actually the right thing to do. For me, I don't think so. I struggled with the church for several years, going because it was the right thing to do, and I had a testimony of that. I had my husband and children, and even though I was struggling, I was determined to follow what I knew was true, even though it made me suffer. And I WAS suffering at church. I could look at my life and say that there was nothing this Church gave me that I couldn't find at a lower cost somewhere else. I could be happier somewhere else, but this one was TRUE. And that was frustrating. I felt like I was paying a terrible cost, my happiness, to follow what was true.

And then, through years, and many conversations with God, I came to realize that I was going about it wrong. That the happiness and peace was something God had already given me, NOT the Church, and that I had to bring it with me, and protect it from the culture surrounding me - to not allow that peace and love that God gives to be taken away by a culture that all too often seeks to overcomplicate, or put stipulations on it. Perhaps this lesson I was taught is why I'm so sympathetic to those who leave the Church - because I sincerely believe that sometimes God tells people to leave. Because the great commandment is to love God, and if the Church makes you lose sight of God's love for you, it can be very hard to love Him in return, which is the most important thing.

When Jacob saw the ladder ascending and descending between Heaven and Earth, he dreamt a vision, in which God promised Jacob a land of inheritance. He promised, saying, "Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you."

When Jacob woke, he wondered at the glory of the place, and vowed, "If God will be with me, and will keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat and clothing to wear, so that I come again to my father's house in peace, then the LORD shall be my God." I think that "If, Then" statement is pivotal, and something we Mormon gals don't always pick up on.

"If" God will bless me, "Then" He will be my God. If I'm not feeling the peace, not feeling God's divine guidance and participation and fulfillment of promises in my life, why on Earth would I worship Him? Do we worship dead gods? No, we do not. Worship is reserved for living gods.

To simplify the gospel is to make God alive in your life. Find Him! Know Him! Whatever that looks like, whatever it takes, find God. He looks like the best parts of you. Involve Him in your life. Once you have learned to hear Him, listen to what He says. You will find that you do love Him, and you love the parts of you that are from Him. It is through that mutual love and admiration that we have a desire to grow at all.

That is the simplicity of the gospel - LOVE GOD.

Star of David

Sometimes I wear a Star of David. I have a lot, the last couple weeks.

A couple hundred years ago, roughly, I had great great great grandparents married in a British Israelite wedding. I don't know what that religious designation and choice meant to them, but I have my own theories. Though it certainly irks many of my family members when I say it, I'm happy to call on that mother's mother's mother's mother's line, and carry on a Jewish heritage. Obviously I'm Mormon. I'm Christian. But as a Bible lover, I'm only too happy to take on this heritage that rings only too true with me. In me I see that same stubbornness and pride, a life of blatant answers and miracles from God, feeling chosen, but still being a stupid head in acceptance of it all. The Bible speaks to me like no other book of scripture ever has. Sorry Book of Mormon! You may have been "written for me," but that Bible was DEFINITELY written for me.

So I've been wearing my Star of David. It's a symbol that may have literally had nothing to do with King David. They honestly don't know. As with most symbols, it means different things to different people. Different times and generations interpret it differently. But I know what it means to me.

To me, the Star of David is about the union of men and women to perfection. If you've seen the Da Vinci Code movie, you've seen Ian McKellan hold his fingers to points, demonstrating the Blade, or symbol of manhood. You've seen him hold his wrists together, demonstrating the Chalice, or womanhood. Da Vinci Code shows you the two pyramids at the Louvre, one on top of the other, but I prefer putting them together, to form the Star of David.

As a Mormon, I've felt, very often, the painful distinctions placed between the genders. Don't get me wrong! I believe men and women are different - that we have very different roles, HOWEVER, the Church continues to teach that one of those genders is assigned the position of "presiding," which, though I may go to Hell, I disagree with. Are we supposed to run our families like corporations, where we have a CEO? No. We're equals. Equals don't need someone to preside. Being married to a man, where once I was single, I am more acutely aware now than I ever was that we are equals. Nathan, my dear husband, does not have a more "preside-y" spark than I do. Equals don't need a preside-er. That just makes family life and equality that much more confusing for everyone involved.

So I've been wearing my Star of David and finding that true "equality" comfort where I can, because unfortunately, I don't find it in the Church. Yet? Together we are beautiful. Together we complete each other. And only together. We BOTH need that New and Everlasting Covenant stipulation put on us, preferably without polygamy hanging over one of our heads, but I digress.

Brushing my teeth, the other night, I was admiring my necklace and pondering on what it means to me. And I got to thinking. About stars in general. About how there are many different types of stars, and about how they all have their own meaning. I looked at that "chalice" portion of the Star of David, pondering on my own roles, and realized, frankly, that if we made a star out of that, it would be an inverted one.

I worried the role of women might be Satanic, for a moment, until I calmed myself and reminded me that that's a relatively recent way of looking at an inverted star. No, we have inverted stars on our temples that, they say, are symbols of Christ.

Nauvoo has a ton of these. Nauvoo sports their traditional inverted star windows, but additionally interspersed with another inverted star, with a stretched out bottom. Traditionally, this inverted star represented Venus. For Christians, it was the coming of Christ, or the downward flow of revelation. 

I realized that it was fallen. Not in a bad way, mind. We're all fallen, thanks to Adam and Eve. But this star represented coming into mortality. I found that a beautiful thing, knowing that that star was created by, and represented by my very own gender's chalice.

It reminded me of a scholar's testimony I had read once, of why she was a member of our church, BECAUSE she was a feminist. She laid out a new way of thinking about genders and roles in our religion, that blew my mind, and has changed absolutely everything for me. She spoke of two trees, two roles, Adam and Eve, Mortality and Salvation. Eve, our Mother, made everything possible, by her willingness to fall, and create life. Adam was given his own ordinances to perform on our behalf, with the priesthood, to get us back from the fall. Motherhood with its ordinances, and Fatherhood, with its. Both essential, good, and ultimately, perfecting. 

But only together. Just as the one who falls needs ordinances to be saved, you cannot be saved unless you fall. If you're reading this, your momma got your back on that one already. She got you here. But just because her specific work for you is done in 9 months, and your dad is going to be baptizing you and dragging you through the temple for the next 18 years, doesn't mean your dad is in charge. His role is just different. 

I realized that though the Star of David and its specific origin is unknown, I appreciate what it means to me. To me it symbolizes US, having gone through everything, and ultimately attaining Godhood. It is the symbol of us. It is a symbol of a God - one who has fallen and risen again. One who has been through water and fire and stands, now, pure and impenetrable. 

My husband was falling asleep as I attempted the broach the conversation with him, and discuss the possibility that perhaps Ruin and Preservation, from Mistborn, would be better represented with a female Ruin, and a male Preservation, because women are the ones who bring the fall, bring the chaos, while men "repair" it. He didn't want to talk about it, but I was excited nonetheless. 

Being One

As I was tidying up around the house today and doing laundry, I found myself thinking.

Yes, this again. Thinking.

I was pondering on my new home, my new ward, new people, new opportunities, etc. As I often do, I doubted myself, and worried about how things would work out. I’m more than aware that I’m an overweight tomboy with Depression, that I’m a Democrat in a red state, that I’m a member of The Church, yet disagree with many of the current policies and culture, and that my opinionated, brutally honest soul can be a large deterrent for some. Because of these things, I hate moving. I hate having to start over, take all those social risks again, and decide, ultimately, how I want to define myself anew – will I take the route of leadership, speaking and being myself without fears, or do I take the route of being a quiet observer who attends, but doesn’t put my whole self out there, or risk offending. I’ve gone both routes, and I definitely see the pros and cons of each.

Cleaning, I began to wonder what Christ meant when He said that “If ye are not one, ye are not mine.” How can God’s people be “one,” when they are so obviously different?

The Bible tells of the apostles approaching Christ with a dilemma, not coincidentally following the telling of these same apostles arguing about which one of them would be better than the other in Heaven. The apostles told Christ of this problem – that they had seen a man casting out devils in Christ’s name, and he wasn’t even one of His apostles. Christ’s apostles had tried to stop the man, but Christ corrected them, telling them not to, stating, “He that is not against us is for us.” To me, this story begins to sum up the concept of “one.”

What makes us God’s? What makes someone a person that God would want to claim ownership of – to state, “Ye are mine”? What is this thing that we can all have in common, that we can all be “one” on, despite all of our differences?

To me, I think the answer boils down to the first and second great commandments – love of God, and love of our neighbor.

This is something that everyone can do. You can be Mormon, you can be Buddhist, you can be Muslim, you can be Baptist. You can be Republican, you can be Democrat, or you can be a Libertarian. You can like classical music, you can like Emo music, or even Spice Girls. You can be from Norway or Liberia. Everyone can love God, and everyone can love their neighbor. Love is what can make us “one.” The capacity to love is not limited to the sinless or perfect. It isn’t limited to those who follow the status quo, or fit “the mold.” Love is an action that happens with each moment, with each decision. It is a choice that can turn into a habit, which can shape a life.

The man who cast out devils in Christ’s name, who was not an apostle, had love. He was casting out devils. He cared enough about someone to do so on their behalf. He did it in the name of Christ, a sure show of faith, and likely subsequent love for God. The apostles looked down on this man, feeling that he didn’t belong, that he didn’t have the right, or place among them they felt was required. He didn’t “fit in.” But Christ taught that he did. His love put him on God’s side. God owned this man for his love, irregardless of his official status among them, or even his background or experience. Love broke any other perceived requirement to “belong.”

This comforted me, and taught me as well. Love is the motivation that counts, and frankly, it doesn’t matter who I am, or what side of me I show. So long as I am loving, I belong. So too others. If they are loving, our differences don’t matter. They can even like Spice Girls. If they have the ability to love, then we can be “one” with God.  

I Dreamed a Dream

I dreamed a dream a couple nights back. I didn't dream a dream about time gone by, when hope was high and life was living. I didn't even dream a dream about my kids living in a nation where they aren't judged by the color of their skin.

I dream a lot of dreams. Last night Brendan Fraser, who was playing the paternal protector role, pulled the ancient ring off of the skeleton we found in the cave before he died, and I was able to use that ring to charter a ship and a crew back to the island... I dream great dreams, and Brendan Fraser is in an embarrassing number of them.

The night before last night, however, I dreamed a different kind of dream. I feel greatly blessed that sometimes God sends me dreams with messages. In college I dreamed that someone was painting clear paint on my food, and slowly poisoning me. I was dating a guy at the time who, though not literally poisoning me, was poisoning my spirit. I knew the dream was a warning, and promptly dumped the guy the next day. (In retrospect, DEFINITELY the right choice.)

Night before last, though, I was with a group of people on a hike. It was a crazy hike, the kind that would never be open to the public. Angels Landing on steroids. There were rock bridges only a foot wide, sandy mountains to climb, steep ledges to cross, and finally, a rock wall with footholds only half an inch wide. Along the path I saw a lot of people enjoying themselves, playing in snow, or otherwise generally exploring. But I wanted to get to the end of the hike.

Once I finally made it up that last rock wall, I saw it - a beach.

I LOVE the beach. I was so excited that I'd made it! My family, who hadn't been a part of the dream previously, was suddenly there, and I was so excited! My two toddlers came running, with my husband trailing behind. We were all smiles and laughter. I put a life vest on my oldest, Julian, and Nathan ran off to change into a swimsuit. As I was standing there with my babies, I saw the first big wave.

Very quickly I realized I was in over my head. I hadn't realized how big those waves would be. The first wave rocked at our feet, and I struggled to hold onto my babies' hands. The second wave hit, and we crashed backwards, swept off our feet by the wave and carried into... a wall?

The water didn't relent. It just got deeper and deeper, rising while trapping us against the wall, which held the water in. I lost Julian. He was swept away in a current, yelling at the water's surface, bobbing away in his little life vest. I screamed for Nathan to get him. I waved and gestured, all the while doing my best to hold Dexter over my head, to keep his head above the ever rising water.

Fortunately, I woke up at that point. I woke up and I cried, because I knew the dream had a meaning.

All my life I have been a fairly religious "Nazi." Not in the "don't drink caffeine" way, but in following all the little rules that make up that For the Strength of the Youth pamplet, kind of thing. I've been fortunate that I've never really struggled with anything so obviously a "sin" in my life - except pride. Like many members of my church before me, I have struggled with my own self-righteousness, and lack of mercy for those who fall off the path. In recent years, I have improved. I've had more questions that have made me consider what I truly believe, and it has been a very eye opening experience for me, that I'm continuing to grow in.

This dream explained the faults in my system better than anything I had ever understood before.

Beaches are great. You can enjoy the beach from the view in your car, you can enjoy the beach on the sand, and you can enjoy the beach in the water - surfing on those waves. Beaches are GREAT.

Heaven is great. You can enjoy heaven in any of the three degrees of glory that we believe in, in our church. Celestial, Terrestrial, Telestial. All are kingdoms of glory, and ought to be enjoyed.

Our church has the very important job of telling its members how to attain the highest degree of glory - the Celestial kingdom. To have a church tell you exactly how to get to anything less than perfection defeats the purpose - churches are supposed to bring you back up to God's presence, and set the example of what "perfection" is supposed to be. Church, if you will, is suppose(d to draw the line in the sand. Church lays out, plainly, what will help you attain Celestial glory - staying within the lines and bounds set by the Lord, and how, exactly, to ride those waves and surf your hearts out.

Sometimes, through the imperfections of mortals, the church's teachings are misinterpreted as walls, not mere lines in the sand. Parents do their best to force their children to stay in the water, and, if they start to drown or falter, there is no mercy on the heavenly side of the wall. Children who struggle with LGBTQ issues, chastity, drugs or alcohol, etc, are left to drown, or, fundamentally, disowned, and cast to the other side of the wall.

I know many who have left The Church. I have not drawn back or hesitated to join in those discussions. (I am, humbly, pretty much an expert on anti-Mormon information.) The number one complaint I hear from those who have left the church, or those who have never been members of the church, is the complaint of THE WALL. Members close themselves off in their perceived bubbles of righteousness, shoving off those who are different, have made mistakes, or willingly choose a different path.

But lines in the sand and walls are entirely different. Lines allow room for others to grow. Lines allow room for people to struggle, take a step back for a breath of air, and then return, with no judgement. Lines allow room for us to continue to have conversations, relationships, and friendships with those who may not want to get their feet wet in the water with us, but are happy sunbathing on their towels. We don't have to ignore them. They are our friends, they are our family, and they are deserving of love too. Heck sake, for missionary work, lines allow other people to have a glimpse of the great fun we're having in the water, and might even convince a couple people to come in and join us! But it's okay if they don't, because we are literally ALL AT THE BEACH. (Don't underestimate beaches!!! I truly believe that some people are happier on the sand then in the water, where, lets get real, there is seaweed.)

Many unknowingly build walls where no walls were intended. It is the parents who don't let their kids play with "non-members," so as to avoid their children being... contaminated? (I have no clue.) It's the parents who kick their children out of the house, if their children come out as gay, or refuse to invite those significant others over for family evenings. As was announced as reversed, the day that I had this dream, it is policies that forbid children of LGBTQ families from being baptized at age 8. (That was a very unnecessary wall for an innocent 8 year old to have to deal with.) It is people looking at the woman at church with the "too short of skirt," and weighing her up and down in their eyes. In that instance, there is no visible wall, but the wall was already set in that individual's heart - judgment, condemnation, without prioritizing the individual, irregardless of where they stood on the beach.

Christ taught us to love one another. There is literally nothing more important than that.

Some day my children may struggle in the water that I would call the Celestial lifestyle. I can only hope that I have the sensibility to view the beach in its entirety, my child in their own unique, beautiful glory, and grant them the mercy to live how, when, or where they need, or wish to. I will always encourage my children to join me on the waves, but if not? That shouldn't change anything about anything.

The Problem with Relief Society

My family has been attending church in my mother's ward, ever since they changed our church to a 1:30 start time, and we have two toddlers... Tonight I dragged my mother to a Relief Society activity. It was a dinner, celebrating the birth of the Relief Society, and I had signed up to bring a fruit "salad." Oh my goodness, it was amazing. Cool whip and sweetened condensed milk? Say no more. That was a dessert.

For pertinent backstory, my family has a bit of an "unholy" personality. My sister was present at the birth of my second child, and we laughed up a storm the whole time, and told jokes to no end. During my labor, when I'd asked my sister if I'd pooped during a contraction, she said that I absolutely had. "You're disgusting." she had added. And it was the truth. And we laughed. My mother and I began our conversing at the dinner in like manner - pointing out truths boldly, but without overt emotional investment or intended offense.

Mom pointed out to the Relief Society president herself, that the Relief Society had once been run independently from the priesthood, but had been consolidated underneath the priesthood in the mid-1900's, she thought. A few feminism jokes at the Relief Society's expense, and we sat. The tables had pictures, and later we would find, matching pictures taped underneath the chairs, for a "getting to know you" activity later on.

My mother had been asked to speak. The topic? Why I Love Relief Society. But fun fact.

She hates it.

My mother had imagined concourses of women assigned 2 minute talks, as she had been. But fun fact.

She was the only one.

My mother, who never tells a lie, did not, in fact, tell a lie. (You don't lie, do you Mom?)

An uncomfortable room full of women celebrating the birth of the Relief Society sat and listened as my mother stated that she did not, in fact, like the Relief Society. She did not, in fact, have a testimony of the Relief Society in its current condition. Now, that may make it sound like my mother jumped forth from her seat and paraded her opinion, lording it over everyone's heads. She didn't. In fact, she apologized about 4 times, stated she was worried the Relief Society president had called the wrong person to talk, and spoke humbly regarding the inconsistencies she saw. But then my mother made a point that has stuck with me.

She mentioned that she was raised by a feminist father - that she had never doubted that she had any more or less importance then anyone else. When she joined the Church, however, she first saw and questioned that equality - in Relief Society.

Women treat each other like children, like victims, as incompetent. Instead of intellectually approaching a lesson with pertinent, thought provoking conversation, valuable time can be spent on doilies and handouts. (Just the week before, in Relief Society, our teacher had been discussing The Good Shepherd, and had handed out scriptures to read to the class on paper cut and shaped like SHEEP. She spent at least 20 minutes cutting out those sheep and writing scriptures on them, because why? Because we, as full grown women, would appreciate a scripture more if it was CUTE?) Building a maternal, supportive community, and serving our neighbors takes second place to being "nice," "polite," and "delicate." To quote a talk from a General Conference, "The world has enough women who are tough; we need women who are tender. There are enough women who are coarse; we need women who are kind. There are enough women who are rude; we need women who are refined." While these are certainly lovely traits to aspire to, they must not come at the cost of honesty, sincerity, and being "without guile." And heaven sakes. Don't be stuffy. Have fun!

Relief Society has lost its vision, and unfortunately, I fear, may be causing doubts in many a faithful feminist who does not feel at home in the Church, where the culture casts aspersions at a woman's capacity.

The Relief Society claims to be the world's largest women's organization, but can it truly be called a women's organization if it operates under the direction of a men-only organization? So long as Relief Society Presidents are called to assist bishops, receive lesson topics from bishops, have to seek approval for activities from bishops, etc, that "equality" can be questioned. Recently some ladies from my actual neighborhood, and 1:30 ward, were asking about a ward Facebook page. When were we going to get one? I, as a semi-member of that ward, waited in anticipation for this wonderful means of communicating with my "actual" ward, and the thought that we might have activities, quick social invites to play groups, etc.

The women spoke. Not our job, so we'll just have to see. As a feminist, I commented, "Well, why don't we just do it, and make it our job?" No go.

Women are intelligent, and, believe it or not, we have something to offer.

I follow Big Ocean Women. They're a maternal feminism movement, which I would not be surprised to find is run by a bunch of members of The Church. This week they've been at the UN, and, during naptime, I tuned in to listen to a live cast of one of their speeches. (Thank you Facebook.) They spoke about the Maternal Economy. They felt that government/the UN/the MAN was going about "fixing" things all wrong. They currently operate under the assumption that women are in the negative - they are lacking things. So they're sending women in other countries things that they think they need - abortions, etc, to help them. The Maternal Economy, Big Ocean Women argues, is not lacking. They are not in debt, and do, in fact, have things to offer. Instead of women screaming out a list of demands, and things that they NEED, women are better empowered by offering what they have, and being valued for that. This fight for women cannot be won from the outside in. We don't need outside entities to take care of us. WE can take care of us, and then we can take care of them, and them, and them, etc. I don't need my government to take care of me. I take care of my family. I give and care for my community, and make the world a better place from the inside out.  Let's be honest. I missed the first 50 minutes, and this probably sounds like the rantings of a crazy, tired mother, but that 5 minute summary at the ending got me thinking.

What is wrong with Relief Society?

I asked my husband what he loved about Elders Quorum tonight. He told me that he loves it more than Sunday School. He loves how relevant it is, and noted that they have some great discussions. Elders Quorum, when done well, creates a strong feeling of fraternal brotherhood.

The sheep handouts and strict, rigid lesson structure I had in Relief Society last week gave me no feelings of sisterhood.
I feel sisterhood when I can tell my sister I think I pooped on the table, and she can tell me, "You totally did," and we can laugh about it. I feel sisterhood when I can take my screaming toddler by the arm and tell my sister we have to leave early, and she doesn't judge me, or worry about our relationship. I feel sisterhood when I can whisper covertly with my sister, calculating days on her phone's calendar, to determine if my pregnancy scare is genuinely concerning. (TOTALLY not pregnant. Thank goodness. Not trying for that, right now. Thank you Hannah.)

Being told we couldn't create our own ward Facebook page gave me no feelings of empowerment.
I feel empowerment when I come up with an idea, and see it through to successful completion. I feel empowered when I am supported in my ideas, and assisted, rather than roadblocked for petty tyrannical reasons. I feel empowered when I don't need permission at every step, and can be independent. I feel empowered when I can help someone who was unable to help themselves.

My mother and I were some of the last people left at the dinner. We'd had to switch to a different table, though fortunately had gone together, to tell the new people at this new table some of our favorite things.

Our table-mate loved her nail gun, and building furniture. I loved archaeology and ancient history. My mom loved cemetery photography. Everything about US screamed capable and independent. We talked about travel, we talked about neurology, we talked about the proper way to finish a table. If you'd put the three of us in a room to discuss finding a solution to a problem, we would have found one. We were smart. But all three of us hated Relief Society.

I don't know what needs to change, and understand that it is cultural. Perhaps it is only a Utah problem. (And a BYU-Idaho problem, but their problems also had to do with too many women and not enough men, so secretly, we were all kind of jealous and critical of each other.) I don't know what the solution is. But I'm not alone in hating the Relief Society.

Maybe it would be better if we were truly run independently, no bishop approvals, etc. Generally, the church could give us back all the "relief" jobs - global disasters, training programs, etc. I would love to see women run that department.

Do you have an answer?