Exponent II's Blog, page 204

Sacred Music Sunday: Cast Thy Burden upon the Lord

When I was in college, I would often take time to go into the gardens behind the chapel. There was a statue of Jesus with open arms in the center of the garden. Inscribed on one side was “Venite ad me”, the beginning of Matthew 11:28 in Latin. In times of trouble, I would remember Jesus issuing the invitation to come to Him when I was weary and burdened so He could give me rest.

Sometimes I have a hard time casting my burden on the Lord. I can drop my troubles at His feet just fine, but I have a tendency to pick them right back up again when the conversation is finished. And Jesus stands by patiently waiting for me to drop them again so He can help.

I love the hymn Cast Thy Burden upon the Lord because it’s a reminder that there is no shame in letting God take our burdens from us. We don’t have to do it alone.

What comes next?

Since before I was born, my life has been structured by a blueprint I was later taught both implicitly and explicitly. My mother was 19, my dad was 23, a newlywed Mormon couple fulfilling the measure of their creation. In the 9 months between marriage and childbirth, my mom became so sick she had a hard time in classes, and she withdrew from BYU to care for me.

I was first in a long line of pregnancies. My mom ultimately had 8 children and 4 or 5 miscarriages. My youngest sibling was born when I was finishing my first semester of college. My parents made it clear that we were going to grow up and go to BYU, and we all did. My parents said I had to go to BYU. I was not a completely compliant child, but I wasn’t strong enough to defy my parents on something so big. It paid out for them. I became deeply indoctrinated into the traditional Mormon plan while at BYU, just as they intended.

I married right after I turned 20 and immediately surrendered my life to what I understood as “God’s plan” for me. In 15 years, I was pregnant 10 times. I brought my kids to church alone and sat alone each week, while my husband was in the bishopric. I made sure we had family home evening each week. I made sure we read the scriptures every day. I sang my children primary songs and hymns every night. I cut out pictures and activities from the friend magazine and glued them onto cardboard from cereal boxes. And I almost never had time for myself. I had been taught that was selfish and worldly.

I had been miserable and bone weary for over a decade. While I occasionally daydreamed about going back to school or at least getting a part time job, I was too conditioned to consider that an unrighteous goal unless God sanctioned it by telling me it was okay. God didn’t answer my prayers. I asked, is this enough babies yet? But god didn’t answer those prayers either. My husband had served in ‘big’ church callings while being a full time student and part time employee. I cloth diapered and served many varieties of beans and rice to stretch our dimes.

I bought into a really unhealthy understanding of God. I never really felt like God cared about me. I did everything I could to be obedient and earn God’s love, just like my patriarchal blessing told me to do. I did feel God’s love in the love I had for my children and felt obligated to make them into good little Mormons. I mistakenly began using a lot of the same coercive techniques that my parents had used.

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When my youngest was born, I was several years into a faith crisis. The baby’s health issues kept me home from church for several months, something that I had never done before in my life. I was the mom that had missed only one Sunday (or none!) at childbirth. Anyway, when I started trying to attend again I suddenly had a resurgence of panic attacks and horrible anxiety and depression that I hadn’t realized had faded while caring for a very needy baby. I tried for a few more months, but after much struggle and prayer learned my only path to peace would be stepping away from the church of my childhood. It was the only worldview I had ever known, so deconstruction was truly scary and painful. I hadn’t yet learned how to reach out for support, and the few times I tried I was met with judgement and scorn.

It has been almost four years since my youngest was born, and they have been the hardest of my life, yet also the most healing. I have had to completely let go of trying to please my parents and others in my life. I have had to learn to differentiate and to create and maintain healthy boundaries. I have had to learn to listen to my children and try to learn to let them be themselves. I have had to start making decisions and planning out my own life instead of just doing what I was told.

Now I am finally coming to a crossroad, one I have seen afar off and thought and thought over and never understood how to navigate. My youngest child finally potty-trained a few weeks ago. My children are almost all in school. Now I wonder, what comes next? In the past I just did what I thought I was supposed to do, and now I feel like I can give myself permission to choose, but I don’t know what to choose.

The careers that most interest me would take a PhD. I am 40 years old. I don’t have time and money to put into that kind of schooling. But I also don’t want to work a boring menial minimum wage job. After nearly 18 years of childrearing, breastfeeding, diaper changing, cooking, cleaning, teaching children to read, juggling schedules, etc. I find my degree irrelevant and all my skills out of date. What does a woman do?

I am still raising these 8 humans I created. My husband is still teaching middle school. We really could use more money, a lot more! But I don’t have a clue how to contribute. I feel frozen by indecision and trying to juggle too many things. I hate talking about it as ‘going back to work’ because I have been working so hard all along. And ‘going back to school’ sounds interesting, but forebodingly expensive and time consuming to fit into the family’s busy schedule.

I have mixed feelings – on one hand I feel life and opportunity have passed me by. I would love to be traveling and enjoying hobbies, but I barely know how to find out what I like because I have spent so many years absorbed in the needs of others and following the life outline I inherited rather than designing my own. On the other hand, I know 40 is not that old and I can hope to have a lot of good years ahead of me. But I am ill prepared to recognize the best use of those years and to get started!

Equal Access of Sacred Spaces: Guest Post and Call for Submissions

For Easter Sunday, I wanted to bring along a friend who also used a wheelchair. Unfortunately, I quickly realized my chapel was completely inaccessible. There were no bathroom stalls, accessible doors, places to sit, or a way to get to the pulpit. As a wheelchair user myself, I know how much to dehydrate myself, so I don’t need to go to the bathroom in church, but I wasn’t willing to tell my friend to risk her health. I wanted her to feel welcome and accepted. But without saying a word, the church bans disabled individuals from worshiping. Many times I have felt unwelcome in my own church.

[image error] Salt Lake 10th Ward Chapel Interior https://ldsarchitecture.wordpress.com/2012/02/14/salt-lake-10th-ward-chapel-interior/

In Mormon culture, disabled people are outliers because the culture assumes a homogeneous society. People are not easily integrated into a society where worldly perfection is a goal. I yearn for the moment when not every head will turn and give a blank stare to members that do not contribute to the false homogeneity. Ableism, or the prejudice that disabled people are inherently less than an abled-bodied person is rampant in the world, and Mormon culture is not exempt from it.

I also think there may be fewer disabled church-goers by choice. The above story gives a small glimpse into what disabled members must worry about as they attend their religious meetings. Religious entities are completely exempt from the Americans with Disabilities Act, a law that provides human rights to those with disabilities. This makes no sense to me. Shouldn’t a church teaching love and morality be the paramount providers in equal access? 

For instance, Latter-day Saints declare that the temple of God is the one place where we are alike, and all worldly attributes are gone in pursuit of total equality. We all wear plain white clothing to signify that no one is above another. Unfortunately, for a long time I did not feel this in the temple. I could not automatically blend in with a white dress. I was startling different. I was not equal to those in the temple because I bring a wheelchair, and many times I was publicly harassed in the temple because of it. I no longer feel burdened by the fact that people still treat me as lesser in the temple, as I now realize that sitting down does not make you less of a person. Now, when I go to the temple, I hope that my presence gives an insight into the disabled community. I know my worth does not ride the ableism that is ingrained into the minds of members and society.

While physical changes make a difference and are easy to write about for the abled-bodied population, social changes at church as much more impactful for the disability community in the long run. I have thought of a few easy and free things that I think would help the disability community feel more at home.

Let disabled people speak for themselves. Don’t assume things such as they can’t to go to college, have a child, serve a mission, be a Relief Society teacher, or be a real participant in church meetings.Don’t think your experiences make you the expert on someone else’s disability. “I had faith and I was healed; you just need to believe.” “I got over my mental illness with gratitude so you can too.”Don’t assume only wheelchair users/people with noticeable physical differences count as a disability. There are many invisible disabilities, and you should treat all people equally regardless of whether you know of their disability.Don’t pity disabled members. Do not relentlessly serve disabled members but not allow them to serve you.  Recognize them as a person, not a charity case.Don’t tote harmful beliefs that priesthood blessings, essential oils, or praying will heal us.Don’t buy into the myth that disabled individuals are one-dimensional inspirations, put in church for you to help you feel like your life isn’t so bad. This is exploitation of disabled people’s bodies.Don’t be shocked when a disabled person has talent and can do the same things as you. This is patronizing, they are people too.

These will make a huge difference in the disability community. We do not need to be pitied; we need to be listened to. Disabled individuals are a huge positive in society, creating space for diversity and different perspectives.

Many disabled members, including myself, have rejoiced at the recent changes to the two-hour meeting schedule as a matter of health, not convenience. I also, am excited to see the Church slowly realize it should be welcoming to disabled members, by using universal design on many of the new church buildings that I have seen. While physical changes are needed to provide safe spaces, I am more concerned with changing the societal perspectives. When we truly realize that disability and neurodiversity are assets to our community, we will create space for our friends. We have a long way to go. For further reading on how to make your sacred space more accessible see That All May Worship- An Interfaith Welcome to People with Disabilities.

 (View Kendra’s current project, The Equal Access and Disability Rights Commission at EqualAccessCommission.org. The goal of the commission is to advocate for equality in higher education for those with disabilities. She welcomes you to view the research and find out more about how to help.)

Kendra is working with The Exponent to run a series on disabilities and the Church, which will run September 16th to September 20th. In the spirit of Exponent II, we invite women to share their personal experiences with disability. What is your role as a daughter of God and as a member of the Church? How does your disability enrich those roles? What experiences have you had that you wish your sisters and brothers in your ward community understand? What topics can you educate our community about?

Please submit your guest posts at exponentblog@gmail.com with a title, short 2-sentence bio about you, and your post. We also need a Creative Commons licensed image, and we’re happy to help you with that or please include the picture in the email.

Holy Kiss

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Recently I attended church in central America.  Several sisters came to welcome me, an obvious visitor, with “buenos dias” and an embrace with a kiss on the cheek.  It was very nice. I did feel welcome there, even though my meager Spanish didn’t allow me to fully understand the speakers.  It got me thinking about how we use physical affection to communicate with each other. If our wards are meant to be families, should our church meetings be a place for connection and communication, including physical contact?  There is a lot of worry about our isolated, online lives. When we are actually physically together should we actually reach out and touch someone?

Many stories of the Savior involve him touching people.  Possibly touch is an aspect of Christlike love.  In Corinthians the early saints are admonished to “greet one another with a holy kiss.”  Is there much smooching going on in your ward?  

I conducted a highly unscientific study of my own, southern Utah, ward.  My methodology was observing my fellow congregants on two separate Sundays.  My data is as follows: No smooching. At all, except of babies. Hugging was much more popular, particularly the non-threatening side-by-side hug.  It was more prevalent between females, infrequent between males, and exceedingly rare between adults of different genders. The far more intimate face-to-face hugs occurred  only between a few women and some teenage girls. The much more common handshake was found in all configurations, with a significant increase in males. The big, loud, squeeze really hard, Sabbath-appropriate-pissing-contest variant was observed, mostly among teenage males.  High fives and fist bumps, especially with sound effects and jazz hands, were much used by adult men towards little kids. Even the toddlers seem fluent in this variety of body language. Hand holding was seen only between adults and young children, and the elderly that needed to support each other.  Genial slaps on the back were very much in use between adult males and completely absent among females. I did not see anything that struck me as creepy or inappropriate, but that must always be judged by the recipient.

Awareness and prevention of abuse is a good thing, but it is possible that fear of being misunderstood has led to much less willingness to touch one another. Perhaps wards that are well established are more comfortable with touching as every ward seems to have its own culture, along with its own norms and traditions.  As we try to meet the needs of others, maybe we should consider appropriate touch as a possible way to fellowship.

What’s your experience with physical contact in a church setting?  Do you wish there was more, or less? Are you a hugger? Or the far-less-common kisser?

Book Review: Earthbound Angel

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Have you ever wondered what the pre-earth life was like? I’ve always been interested in the pre-earth life, since it’s something that none of us can remember. When I saw this book on the shelves, I was intrigued because the story takes place in the pre-mortal life and I wanted to see how the author imagined it.

The story is about a girl named Sophie and the events surrounding the war in heaven. Though it never says how old Sophie is, I get the feeling that she’s a teenager, since it’s a coming-of-age type of story. It felt like a young adult book, and those are sometimes the best books to read. Sophie is a Freedom Fighter. the name for those who prefer God’s plan and want the ability to make choices when they come to Earth. The No-Choicers are those who follow Satan and want to force people to choose good.

Though Sophie prefers the freedom to choose, a guy named Coe (who is a No-Choicer) takes a liking to her and tries very hard to convince her to join the other side. Then there’s another guy named Daniel (a freedom fighter), who I wasn’t very fond of as a character. These three are the main characters, but there are also others, like the teacher, and Sophie’s classmates and friends.

The author did a great job with this story. The plot kept moving along so fast I was always entertained and surprised along the way. It was truly creative and imaginative. For example, Sophie and her friends played transdimensional ball, a sport which involves teleporting to other dimensions and collecting certain items. I enjoyed reading about the different abilities and technologies the spirits had. The author portrayed the concept of time very well. Since there’s no night or day in the story’s spirit world, the characters never sleep, get tired, or keep track of time. It’s just one continuous flow. And the time is so much shorter than what we’re used to. For example, some of Sophie’s friends went down to Earth and then returned after living a full life, which was only about two hours of Sophie’s time.

Sophie attends classes where she learns about matter and the earth life. I found the depictions of the classes very creative and intriguing to read about. Another interesting thing was that the spirits had the same feelings that we earthlings have. They felt shyness, awkwardness, and all kinds of emotions. It wasn’t very different from Earth life. They also had food, plants, animals, fashion, sports, and danger.

Now I’ll share some things I didn’t like about the book. I have to say that I didn’t like Daniel at all. While he was a very good person, I disliked him because he was absolutely perfect. A perfect character in a story is not good because the reader can’t relate to him or her. And on top of that, Daniel kept swooping in to save Sophie whenever she was in trouble, and he seemed to know everything too. It wasn’t clear to me why Daniel knew more than Sophie and her classmates.

Since Sophie was first introduced in the book as fighting against the No-Choicers, I expected more from her, like knowing how to fight and how to defend herself. But she disappointed me at times. But in other aspects, she did so well. She moved the plot along and did things that scared her, like attending a No-Choicer meeting. She was daring and took risks, and I enjoyed that.

I enjoyed the story so much (other than the parts of Daniel being perfect and always saving Sophie) and am excited to read the next ones! The next book is about Sophie’s life on earth, and from what I know so far, her life on earth will be very unusual and crazy. This is the second book in the No Angel series, and the next one, Destiny’s Angel, is about Sophie’s earth life. So if you like young adult books and you’re interested in reading about how the pre-earth life may have been, then you will definitely like this book!

Note: This book review is about an earlier version of the book. I don’t know if the text was changed in the new version, but the title and book cover were definitely changed.

Amazon

My First Memory of Her

My earliest memory…

I am standing up in my crib. It is dark, and I am crying softly.

I want my mother.

The door is open. I can see light from a room down the hall.

I can hear voices talking. Lots of voices.

They don’t hear me.

I look around, and I see a picture on the wall next to me.

I turn and stand in front of it. The longer I look, the more I see.

There are people facing away from me. They are looking at something.

They are looking at some people. I think there are two, sitting further away.

I look, and begin to see.

One is a woman. She is sitting on a pile of something. It looks soft.

She is holding something. It looks like a baby.

There is light around her.

I keep looking. The light grows a bit. I can see more of her.

She is looking at the baby, holding it close to her.

The baby is quiet. It is safe.

I am no longer crying.

I look at her.

I am not alone.

My Mother is there.

I lie down.

I am still.

I sleep.

Not in forgetfulness.

This, I remember.

Every time, when I wonder.

When I want.

I do not turn to those who are not looking.

I do not ask those who have not cried for their mother.

I do not listen to those who do not want Her in the same way that lungs want air.

Even though She is there.

Some do not, will not, see.

The many voices talking, not of Her, go on in other places.

They don’t hear me, crying.

She hears me.

She holds me.

Her breath is on me.

Her breath is in me, multiplying and replenishing my life.

Respiration.

Creating life through inspiration.

She is.

I am.

Still.

 

Shades of Becoming: Poems of Faith Transition

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From the Introduction, Shades of Becoming: Poems of Transition, ed. by Nancy Ross and Kristen R. Shill. For sale at Amazon.

When I experienced the most painful part of my faith transition and started attending a new church, I initially found set prayers and poems in the service to be unnerving. That discomfort was part of my religious baggage. My former faith community discouraged scripted prayers except for rituals performed by male members. Many thought that liturgy prevented a speaker from communicating divine will in the moment. My unfamiliarity with the candles, prayers, and hymns of my new church often made me question what I was doing in this strange new space. Over time, I found that the opportunity to borrow someone else’s words was a relief when I had none.  

On further investigation, I found poems that described grief and others that described faith. I couldn’t find any collections that spoke to the painful processes of losing, mourning, and rebuilding a different kind of spiritual life. My hope for this collection is that it resonates with others who are also in this unfamiliar space of losing belief, certainty, and faith community—all those who experience rapid shift in worldview and the accompanying fallout.

The poems are divided into three stages of this journey: the early recognition of loss (“in the shallows”), the more developed feelings of grief and anger (”the deep end”), and emerging emotional resolution (“finding ground.”). 

Kristen R. Shill and I offer them to you as a reassuring mirror: an affirmation of this particular kind of bereavement, with its many shades of loss and unsought but hard-won gifts of insight.

Nancy Ross
A blessing for those who begin

You awake to discover
The fragility of your treasures
Held as precious by generations
Of revered foremothers
Who have nurtured you with their stories
Broken in the night
The shards of dead words scattered on the floor.

I bless you to sit
In the wreckage of this moment
Mourn the loss of this inheritance
Bid farewell, when you are ready,
To the heirlooms 
No longer in your possession.
Sort through the remaining clutter
Of ideas and beliefs you’ve been gathering
Saving only that which is enduring
The anchors of a new collection
A fresh existence
It is a grievous but blessed beginning.

                                                                            

#hearLDSwomen: Sister Training Leaders Are Not Given Remotely the Same Levels of Power or Responsibility as Zone Leaders

[image error]I brought an investigator to a Sacrament Meeting where the organist fell asleep at the keys twice creating loud noises during the meeting. The second counselor slept through the meeting. One speaker did an impersonation he called “Gordon B. Hinckley meets Yoda” as he spoke about Kolob. His wife said the word “poop” so many times the bishop texted us during the meeting that we should “fake a seizure” to get our investigator out. When we asked our investigator what he thought, he mentioned the word “sloppy” and he was so right. In the PEC meeting we had to fight to be allowed into, only because there were no elders to represent us, I mentioned during the missionary portion of the agenda that we should always keep in mind how we may appear to an outsider as we plan our meetings since we have so many investigators. A counselor replied to my suggestion by asking the bishop, in front of the group, “when can we get elders in here?”

I was so hurt because I felt I was exhausting myself to help build their failing ward and it was met with public disdain.

– Anonymous

 

In one ward I served in, the bishop had previously excluded sister missionaries from PEC meetings because they were not men. We held the same calling and authority as the Elders, but because we were women, we were not welcome. He thankfully reconsidered his position around the time I got there, but I always felt like an intruder in PEC after that and had a burst of anxiety that my voice was not welcome any time I needed to speak.

– ElleK

 

“Are the sisters allowed to be here?” —a ward mission leader said this about me and my companion after letting the elders walk into a leadership meeting. We were all missionaries serving in that ward, we all had items to discuss in that meeting, but my presence was questioned.

– Carmen Sophia Cutler

 

For me the exclusions and silencing have been fairly subtle but clearly part of the built-in system that doesn’t include women as agents in the church. For instance, the times I felt silenced and invisible the most were on my mission when I was surrounded by male leaders and given lesser authority and responsibility simply because I am a woman. I was a sister training leader for a good portion of my mission, but even within that leadership position I felt powerless. There was nothing I could do that wasn’t already done by a male leader. I felt redundant and I knew that if I left or my leadership position disappeared, the mission would continue functioning just as it had.

– Julia Larson

 

Sister Training Leaders, though supposedly equal to Zone Leaders, were consistently given less time at meetings to speak. The Zone Leaders conducted the entire meeting and spoke the remainder of the time that they didn’t assign to other missionaries. Their section was always two to three times longer than the sisters’ and they usually covered the main theme while the STLs covered an appendage of that theme.

– Chloe M.

 

Pro Tip: Female missionaries hold the same calling and position as male missionaries, and their input and inspiration is every bit as valid.

Click here to read all of the stories in our #hearLDSwomen series. Has anything like this happened to you? Please share in the comments or submit your experience(s) to participate in the series.

“If any man have ears to hear, let him hear.” (Mark 4:23)

Guest Post: Yes, I Want You Back at Church

[image error]This post is a response to Chiaroscuro’s post “So You Want Me Back At Church“

by Rowena

Dear Chiaroscuro (Or any of my several favorite friends who have left),

I do want you to come back to church. I’ll tell you why. When you leave, I am more lonely at church. I really love you, and want you to bring your whole self to church, just how you are right now.

There is a lot of conformity at church, and frankly, it gets boring. I do not need you to conform. I need to be refreshed. I want to see something I haven’t seen before. I want to hear new perspectives. I’d like to hear conflicting ideas there, because it is in the conflict that I reflect, learn, and grow.

I do not need whitewashed church narratives. I have read enough church history to put me through a hard faith transition. Sometimes I feel like the only one who has complicated belief but decided to stay. I know I’m not the only one, but sometimes it feels that way.

I have space for you to speak your mind, even if you disagree. I often disagree with things said, but because no one else speaks up I feel silenced. If another dissenter came, one who was brave enough to speak, maybe I would feel like I could, too.

I will not shame you if you don’t conform. I apologize if I have not made you comfortable. It is because I am not comfortable either, and in my discomfort it’s harder to turn outward. From the outside I look like a Molly Mormon because I am outwardly conforming. Inside I am a raging feminist, but few know this.

The temple is painful for me, too. I keep my recommend so that I can spend time with the parts of my family who wish me to be there. I was happy about the recent changes, although they were too little, too late for them to transform my worship experience there. Please don’t assume that because I have a recommend, I judge people who don’t have them. I believe you when you say that peace for you is not there, and I will not shame you for staying away.

Please talk about your doubts. I spoke about mine recently in a talk, and in the testimony meeting that followed I heard many things about how we can pray harder and need to hold tight to our testimonies and be obedient. Here is my secret. I am not at church for obedience. Not mine, or anyone else’s. I am at church for love. I am there for family love, ward love, and God and Jesus love. I don’t know everything I used to about Christ anymore, but I know he taught love. And I believe in love.

I will not judge you if you dress differently. If you do, and keep showing up, maybe I’ll finally get the courage to wear pants to church. Or talk to you. I do not want you to look and act like me. I want you with your black toenails or your pierced nose, or your pantsuit, or anything that is a break from the regular monotony. If I look at you, and you think I am judging your difference, you might be wrong. I might be appreciating, and hoping that eventually we will be friends. I might be glad that you are here as your genuine self, ready to be really seen.

I am with you on the hardships of the literal beliefs many at church have. I don’t bring up my position on this at church because I have worked hard to let go of my “true / false” mindset. A true / false mindset is easy to fall into in the church, and it is hard to let go of even outside of the church. I still haven’t mastered the non-binary way of thinking. I don’t think most people at church are ready for it, either. So I let them be. I am still learning and working on ways to push this thinking, but gently.

I respect healthy boundaries, and if you miss a meeting that seems useless I will only miss seeing your face. I will not judge. Yes, you can say no. Yes, yes, yes you can. I tried saying no recently, and it was great.

I know God is not found only in the LDS church. I have sensed this since I was young.

Great Art, Architenture, Music, and Literature reinforce this for me. So yes, I am with you on that, too.

I believe that the best place to ask for change is in the place where it is possible to create it. So yes, I want you back. I want more people in my local community who feel the way I do, and are not afraid to speak up. Speaking out is less hard when it’s done with friends in the room.

I am sorry for the internalized shame you have felt. I do wish to mourn with those that mourn. One problem I have is that I experience high degrees of empathy, and I think that when serious self-hatred and shame need to be processed, a therapist is a better person than I am to help get through. I have worked through so many of my most painful things with my therapist. She is like an angel sent to me. She has given me the tools I need to work toward a functional resilience.

I have no excuse for Joseph Smith and the things he did. I think it is reasonable to have high expectations of leaders. I don’t believe in polygamy. It would be a lie to say I never have. Through hearing the voices of other women I realized the wrongness of polygamy and flaws of patriarchy. When like minded women leave the church, they are less likely to help women like me move forward. I understand the feelings of betrayal in learning about church history. I have felt sadness and loss over knowledge gained.

When you say I don’t want you back, we will have to respectfully disagree. It is hard enough to have lost so many parts of my once-solid faith. To lose Sunday time with a sympathetic friend is just another loss, and it hurts, too. If you need me to make church a safe space for people like you, I need you to be there to show me how.

Now, I feel like you were telling us what you need, and I have told what I want. I realize that your needs and my wants may not meet. I know that not all paths lead to the same place and time ( Church. 10:30, Sunday morning). I know that we all have to do what is needful for us, and if it is needful for you to create your own new space, I will process my loss. I’ll hope to find ways to make it continue to work for me. I just wanted you to know that I do have space for doubters, angry women, and non-conformers. Just because I have lost Sunday time with you, doesn’t mean that I don’t still want you in my life. I still want you for my friend, and sister, and always will.

Rowena

Rowena is a working mom, gardener, and secretly aspiring writer.

Smash the Plate-riarchy: A New Feminist Ritual

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I grew up hearing the legend about the early Mormon pioneer women who sacrificed their china to be smashed up for the plaster on the Kirtland temple. I imagine it was told as a way to instill respect for the sacrifices of the pioneers, as well as to encourage a sense of reverence and awe for the temple – that’s certainly what I took away from the story as a child. Not until recent adulthood did I learn that some parts of the story had been embellished: while they did use broken bits of glass and pottery in the plaster, it more likely came from cast-off crockery in trash heaps, not taken from the cabinets of the families.

The mythology of the story is effective: sacrificing something they believed to be beautiful, special or important (their finest china) for something more beautiful, special, or important (the first temple.)

Other stories I heard as a child taught me ideas about women, men, relationships, race, equality, ambition, sexuality, and more. I was told that patriarchy was beautiful, special and important – that it was God’s will for men to preside in the church, families, and marriages. I was taught myths about white supremacy – that God’s chosen people were “white and delightsome.” I was taught about the roles of women to be wives and mothers, not to pursue careers – that it was God’s will for a woman to be a stay-home-mother, regardless of her personal preference, opportunity, or ambition.  I was taught that the identities and sexuality of LGBT+ people were an abomination to God.

In Laurel Thatcher Ulrich’s essay, “Lusterware,” she describes a cabinet shelf full of dishes, some pieces of beautiful, plated silver, and other pieces of the phony knock-off version, or “lusterware.” When the “shelf breaks” and all the dishes fall, the phony pieces shatter while the authentic dishes stay intact.

As I carefully examine all the dishes taking up space in my metaphorical mental shelves, I’ve found a number of pieces that don’t deserve to be there. The lusterware, the phonies, the knock-offs. They are lies: inauthentic and harmful, and do not contribute to beauty in my life. When I search the purest parts of my heart to find if these deserve a second look, or consideration to stay, my whole being rebels, “No! Get rid of them!”

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I decided to further purge these harmful modalities from my psyche with a symbolic new ritual:

Smash the Plate-riarchy

I went to a local thrift shop and picked up a few second-hand plates. On these plates I wrote the things that wound my soul – things that no longer had a place in my life. Things that needed to be smashed up into unrecognizable bits so that they’ll never take up space in my house again.  Things like:

Benevolent Patriarchy

White Fragility

Gender roles

Unrighteous dominion

Cis/Heteronormativity 

Rape culture

White Supremacy

Bigotry

Prejudice

Racism

Pedestals

Misogyny

Hierarchy

Exclusion

Rape

Unmet expectations

Mansplaining

Preside

Abuse

Fear

Shame

Sad Heaven

Stigmatizing doubt

 Body Policing

“one of Those Women”

“forget yourself and go to work”

“I just don’t understand why anyone (a woman) would want the Priesthood.”

“It’s too much responsibility”

“you’ll have all the blessings of marriage and family in the next life.”

“same-sex attraction”

gender binary is eternal

Emotional labor imbalance

Outsourcing my Morality

Institutional authority

Male Gaze

Worthiness interviews

“unto your husband”

putting my dreams aside for his

Priesthood = Motherhood

“Smile!”

The Mormon woman checklist

Submit

Self-Loathing

Nurture

Mean Girls

Toxic Masculinity

Male Fragility

Self-Doubt

Assumed authority

Polygamy culture

 

A few good friends and I wrote on our plates with permanent markers, a therapeutic act itself! We took our plates to an empty parking lot, stood on top of the car, raised our arms high above our head, and threw the plates down on the ground with a mighty crash.  As symbolic remnants of toxic systems shattered before our eyes, we felt the horcruxes of oppression lift away from our hearts, like Tom Riddle screaming out of the diary.  Never again do these systems, modalities, or beliefs have a place within us, to be perpetuated within us, or to find us as host. Seeing these words smash on the ground filled with me new resolve to rid my own life of their remnants, and to help others on their own journeys of self-discovery.

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Most importantly, the shards of these shattered systems do not combine together to make something more beautiful. They beautify my world by their absence.  They belong in the trash heap.  Sometimes my effort to delete harmful systems leaves a vacuum where new and equally harmful systems take root.  I’m constantly aware and vigilant of what new systems are growing in the spaces where oppression used to dwell because it’s so easy to replace one hierarchy with another hierarchy. Lessons I’ve internalized from the pedagogy of oppression don’t just go away overnight, both as the giver and the receiver of such oppressions.

I want room on my shelf for more equality, justice, peace, prosperity, partnership, honesty, authenticity, unity, collaboration, community, consensus-model leadership, vulnerability, healthy boundaries, and independence.  I must build the scaffolding to support these newly learned modalities, or risk falling into poisonous old paternalistic patterns.

This ritual was a nice cleansing and clarification of all the dirty grime and oppressive systems that had built up on me for so long. It was liberating to see them come to a crashing halt in my own heart, and filled me with resolve to see them crash everywhere else, too.

Next time you attend a women’s retreat, girls’ night out, book club, group therapy session, or need an act of radical self-care, I recommend you try the Smash the Plate-riarchy ritual.

Post your photos and tag them #smashtheplateriarchy

p.s. (like a good Mormon woman,  be sure to bring a broom and dustpan to clean up the mess when you’re done.)