Exponent II's Blog, page 239

#hearLDSwomen: No More Secrets

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By Wendy

Events of the past week have me thinking a lot about secrets. The pain they cause, the anxiety they feed, and what happens when they are left to fester. I have more than my fair share of secrets. I’ve kept them a long time because I thought that by staying silent they would not harm me. I was wrong.

Here is my biggest secret, the one that only my closest and most trusted friends know about. I was abused. First as child by my stepfather, and then during my first marriage by my husband. In fact, most people don’t even know that I was married very briefly at nineteen. My religious upbringing taught me that there was something shameful in this, and that in bringing it up I’m only showing that I am a broken unworthy person.

Please hear me when I tell you that I am not writing these things in anger, nor do I desire punishment or revenge. I only want to share my story in the hopes that in doing so maybe someone else who’s experienced these things may feel less alone. I have realized that as events have unfolded over the past few weeks, that the things that happened to me are still alive in me. They may not have the power to hurt me anymore, but they do have the power to wound.

My mother married my stepfather when I was nine years old. She was a divorced woman with two children in the late 1970s who belonged to a faith where (as one person in a position of authority in her congregation put it), “A woman without a husband is like a half a pair of scissors.” In marrying my stepfather she could regain some of the respectability she lost by becoming a “divorcee.” In the eyes of our congregation my stepfather was a real catch. He was a college professor who would drop everything anytime anyone in church leadership crooked their finger.

By marrying my mother he became a hero. After all what man would be willing to marry a divorced women with two daughters and health problems that included (they soon learned) an inability to have more children? He was a saint, and we were a project.

Shortly after their marriage the abuse began. He would fly into rage with the slightest provocation. A light left on, a spot on a dish, or for some minor trespass known only to him. He would scream and curse and call us b@#*es and s*#%-heads and whores. He would slam doors and yank us out of bed so we could turn off the light or rewash the dish while the screaming, slamming and name calling continued.

Generally, he wasn’t physically abusive, only verbally. Fear of his rage was enough to make us all tread softly in order to avoid it. This tactic rarely worked as the things that set him off were not predictable. What amped him up one night might be laughed off the next, while on the following night something entirely new would set things in motion.

There was one night though his temper took physical form. I don’t remember what I had done exactly to spark his anger. We were in the kitchen so most likely I hadn’t cleaned something properly or had put something away wrong, as nine year-olds are wont to do. A tirade was in the cards, only this time he did not stop at yelling. He put his hands around my neck and began to throttle me.

I don’t know why he did it. I don’t know what I said to “make” him do it. Maybe nothing, or maybe I made a smart remark. I was a little kid who tried to pretend sometimes that she was gutsy enough to stand up to her tormentor. Maybe this was one of those occasions, maybe not. I don’t remember.

What I do remember is the floor. It was this awful faux brick sheet linoleum in a red that can best be described as blood clot colored. I remember being on that floor with his hands around my neck. I remember the feel of my body as it thrashed against it. I don’t remember what made him stop but he did. I do not remember the aftermath. Did I tell my mother? I can’t tell you with any certainty. Did she come into the room and stop it? I have no clue. I only remember what it was like to be on that floor with his hands around my throat.

Maybe my mother did stop it; maybe this is what finally sent her to our bishop who told her that if she were a better wife he wouldn’t behave this way. This was the beginning of ten years of my mother going to her church leaders who would not help her. Most refused to even believe her. How could this man who was in church every Sunday with his arm around her do something like that? It’s impossible. He was always there when the missionaries needed a ride, or someone needed help moving, or the Sunday School teacher needed a substitute. He was so soft spoken and they had never heard him raise his voice, so there was no way this could be true.

Some of those leaders betrayed my mother’s confidences, and people began to gossip. They said we had to be lying. I was a child when this started but I remember the feeling of people knowing and not believing. The condescension and attitude that we were not sufficiently grateful to the man kind enough to take us in. They were certain my mother was doing this for the attention. Even now, I am sure that there are people who will read this, who will claim they were there and none of this ever happened.

But they weren’t there. They weren’t there behind the locked door when it was just my mother, my sister, me and my stepfather’s rage. They didn’t hear him calling us names and threatening our lives. Let me say this again, loud and clear: THEY. WERE. NOT. THERE. I was.

Eventually they divorced, shortly after I left home for Manhattan. There is more to that story, as there always is. I left home thinking I was leaving this behind, but the twin damages of abuse and being branded a liar for trying to speak of the abuse had done its job. On the outside, I was a blithe independent smart ass who could take care of herself, but beneath that I was a terrified kid with no way of processing what had happened to her. I was a prime candidate for an abusive relationship. It is no wonder that I found myself three weeks before my 20th birthday married to a man fifteen years my senior.

He was, I reasoned and he assured me, the best I was ever going to get. I was irretrievably broken. I knew it, he knew it, and he was going to remind me of it every chance he got. I told him about my past and he told me it was no wonder those things happened to me because I was so very difficult to live with. He confirmed what I knew deep down to be true: it was my fault. I was unlovable and difficult and I had caused (and deserved) everything that happened to me. I was nothing, and if I didn’t watch my step with him he’d send me back to nothing. He told me this often.

Other familiar patterns began to emerge including an attempt to go to my bishop for help. There I was asked, “Well, what was your part in this,” which is an urbane educated man’s way of saying, “What did you do to deserve it?” It slowly began to dawn on me that if I wanted a chance at a real life, I had to take matters into my own hands and leave. Which I did, and which is why at the ripe old age of 21 I became a divorcee like my mother before me, and her mother before that.

My story does have a better ending than most. I’ve been married for over two decades to a man who loves me unconditionally and would be mortified at the thought of doing something that would harm me physically or psychically. But the scars are still there. They are the tripwires under my skin waiting to react to a threat. They’re there in my hyper-vigilance and the constant thrum of anxiety that never fully goes away. It can be tricked into submission, but it always comes roaring back.

As I’ve watched women come forward this week to tell their stories, it has brought all my experiences back to the surface. I know what it’s like to be called a liar and to watch the people you are supposed to trust take your abuser’s side. I know what it’s Iike to feel broken and afraid and to spend your life trying to appear not so. I know what it’s like to feel like somehow I must have brought this upon myself. I know what it’s like to keep secrets because secrets are safer.

But I also know now that there are some secrets not worth keeping. I used to tell myself I didn’t share my story because I didn’t want people to see me as a “victim,” an abused child or wife. I know I am no one’s victim. And honestly, I am never going to be in control of how people truly see me. I can only control what I put out into the world. If by telling my secret I can reach someone’s heart, it has been worth it.

This is my truth. It has made me who I am. It is forever a part of me. I will not be ashamed.

Wendy is a singer, actor, writer, producer and arts educator living in the New York City area.

 

Pro-tip: Believe survivors of abuse and assault.

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)

#hearLDSwomen: My Husband’s Gifts Are Sought After; Mine Are Not

[image error]A couple years ago, my husband and I gave talks in our new ward. After the meeting, several people came over and spoke to us. As we moved to our next class, my husband said, “Interesting that the guy in the stake presidency came down to talk to us.”

“What?” I asked. “Which one was he?”

“The one who asked us what our callings are,” he said.

Later that week, my husband got a call from the stake executive secretary.

“The stake president would like to come visit you and your wife in your home next Tuesday,” he said.

We didn’t know the reason for the visit, though I had my suspicions: the bishop of our new ward had been serving for five and a half years, so I guessed the stake president was feeling out candidates to fill the spot. I was 10 weeks pregnant and worn down by malaise and exhaustion; the thought of my husband serving in a time-intensive calling was overwhelming to me.

When we opened the door at their knock, I was surprised to see the whole stake presidency standing there suited up and toting scriptures. There was a weight in my chest when I realized that the odds were slim that such a visit would ever be for the purpose of evaluating my potential to serve, except as a supportive wife for my husband’s big calling.

I’m normally chatty and dynamic in small groups, eager to share and curious about others, but that night, I was quiet. I allowed my husband to answer all the questions directed at us, and on the rare occasion they addressed me specifically, I answered briefly. I knew they weren’t there for me. It was sobering to realize that regardless of my talents and desire to serve, my husband would always be more sought after, that his skills would always be more desirable to the church simply because he’s a man. On both the ward and the stake level, there are more than double the amount of leadership callings available to men than there are to women. I felt like to the Church I was just a placeholder, a body to uncomplainingly take care of the children while my husband worked long days and gave his nights and Sundays to the Church. My individuality was irrelevant as long as I could keep a smile on my face and make it possible for my husband to attend meetings.

After they left, my husband commented in frustration on my silence, but I was certain the men in my home hadn’t noticed. I felt keenly that my femaleness was a liability, not an asset, in the work of the Lord, and I questioned why God would give me the strengths and desires I had and then make it structurally impossible for me to use them in the Church.

 

Pro Tip: Remember that women are not interchangeable placeholders. Make an effort to engage women in the conversation.

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)

Photo by Ivan Karasev on Unsplash

Guest Post: A Sister Seminary Teacher Speaks

by Bobbie S.

      For years, I have struggled with my self-esteem because, as a lifelong Latter-day Saint, I’ve been raised with the idea that I’m not as important as the men around me; I am an auxiliary—an appendage to the men. So when I received the calling to serve as a stake seminary teacher, it felt like I was finally receiving validation for my decades of hard work and service in the church. I began to feel like I really mattered.

         But I soon discovered that the seminary program isn’t very good to women. At least not outside the Utah corridor (I have no like what it is like on the inside—I’ll leave it up to those sisters on the inside to tell us, if they can). My first exposure to this system was painful at first, but I tried to grin and bear it because I wanted so badly to lead and guide the youth of the church on a daily basis. Most importantly: seminary is the only space where young men and young women are equal, where they aren’t sorted into priesthood holders versus young women. However, this equality is sadly not reflected in the way the adults are organized.

        First of all, all of my CES supervisors are male. Their work is a paid position. They do have female secretaries, however. To make matters worse, these “brethren” all refer to each other and to us seminary teachers by titles, out of respect, whenever they call or email us (“Dear Sister Smith . . . . Signed, Brother Jones”), however, they refer to all of their female secretaries by their first names, as if they are little children or not important enough for titles. This really, really bothers me, and contributes even more to the impression that, in the church women just don’t matter. It really breaks my heart that one of our local CES secretaries is a hard-working single mother who hopes to get a college education, which is why she is working for CES. I feel it was very demeaning the way her PhD-level bosses treat her like she doesn’t deserve to be called “Sister” but the seminary teachers do.

        Almost all of our seminary teachers are women. This is probably because of the fifteen volunteer hours per week required of seminary teachers—it is a very time-intensive calling that (our local leaders must assume) the typically male breadwinners can’t spare time for. When I attend our multi-stake in-service meetings, I see only a couple of male teachers. It is so depressing to me that we have this army of women teachers, yet the church is telling us that we need men for our supervisors. Why couldn’t the church hire women to supervise us? I would much prefer to work with women in this capacity. It is very demeaning for me to see this army of volunteer women having to sit and take our marching orders from a group of paid men.

        At one particularly painful in-service meeting, we even had a male speaker who brought his wife along to help him with his visual aids, and when she wasn’t setting them up according to his preferences, he actually barked at her from the microphone. It was a nightmare that left me feeling angry, hurt, and wanting to leave the meeting. I was actually shaking out of sympathy and hurt for that poor sister. I wanted to submit a complaint to my leaders, so rather than take notes on this man’s in-service teachings, I spent his entire presentation rehearsing ways I could defend this poor sister and decry the use of women as visual aid-proppers in a room full of female volunteers. But I live in an area where “feminazi” is a word in the lexicon of our politically conservative male leadership, so rather than taking this matter to leaders who would censure me for even broaching the subject, I am writing this piece and seeking support and prayers from my _Exponent_ sisters, instead.

        When our new, mostly female, unpaid teachers receive their new teacher training, they do so via very demeaning videos that portray a new female seminary teacher as a frustrated mom with unkempt hair wearing athleisure, standing  in a messy kitchen, juxtaposed with her sharply dressed, professional husband who gives her the advice she needs to do her calling.  [image error]

        She spends the entire series of training videos inside kitchens, which sends a very demeaning message to those of us who want to feel like CES values us for our knowledge of the scriptures, not our cooking skills. These seminary training videos portray the sister seminary teacher as a clueless, flustered homemaker and is available to the public here. When this frustrated housewife asks her husband for help with her calling her husband is portrayed as confident, on his way out the door because HE apparently has important things to do and places to be, while his poor frustrated wife is overwhelmed because she has messes to clean up (note the mass of scattered toys and open peanut butter jar with knife sticking out in the foreground as they talk—just wow), so her husband gives her the advice that she apparently isn’t smart enough to figure out on her own: why don’t you call your stake seminary supervisor for help?

        As a woman, it really stung me to watch this video. Why did the church think that we sisters weren’t smart enough to know to call our supervisors when getting started on our callings? It was also hurtful to me how portrayals of men and women are so unequal in this teacher training video. No man in these training films was ever portrayed with messy hair or sweats like the woman is, fretting over his messy room, or taking counsel from a competent, smartly dressed wife; the church is sending a powerful message to all their LDS youth instructors with these training videos, and it really stings.

 https://www.lds.org/media-library/video/2015-01-0950-obtain-the-word?lang=eng&_r=1&category=new-teacher-training

[image error]         Next, frazzled housewife-seminary teacher is shown at the home of her stake seminary supervisor—also a woman—and they meet in her kitchen (kitchens are a major theme in seminary teacher training for sisters; later training videos, also online, depict a seminary student faced with doubts about the church. When she goes to her parents for advice, mom is shown baking cookies in a kitchen.


[image error]         The grandpa and seminary teacher who eventually resolve her doubts are both shown in office settings, surrounded by books and professional accoutrements. (This video is embedded in the online seminary curriculum, too). As Sister Supervisor gives Frazzled Sister Homemaker tips on how to be a seminary teacher, they are also training new seminary instructors, but at the same time making subtle implications about God’s army of unpaid seminary instructors who are women. For example, the female stake seminary supervisor pauses their kitchen-table tutorial and cooks something. This video is readily available for all to see in the media library on the church’s library here.

[image error]         At the end of this video, note how Sister Supervisor leaves to go cook something. Then in the next video [link here] note how the entire time the two women are talking, a pan is shown steaming behind them, as if the camera took great pains to make sure that this “female seminary teachers as homemakers doing scripture on the side” message needed to come across loud and clear to the church audience.

        Female seminary teachers are never shown at desks or in a study, though male seminary teachers are exclusively, shown in classrooms, offices, or near desks with bookcases.

        I am a woman who loves to cook, but I am also a gospel scholar with a library full of scholarly gospel texts. I have spent years working to become the Sister Scriptorian that President Kimball declared that we need more of in his 1979 women’s session talk, so it really hurts for me to see my role as a seminary teacher reduced to that of a meal prepper and frazzled housewife who needs a man to show her how to ask for help in her calling. It cuts me to the core to ponder how many church dollars went into funding this message that my cadre of fellow female seminary instructors are no more than full-time cooks who struggle to comprehend scripture teaching on the side.

        Even worse than the degradation of the male/female power imbalance at CES and the hurtful messages in our CES teacher training is the way that the courses are set up. There is a huge push right now for online seminary. This robs our army of sister-teachers of the right to teach by the spirit. Whereas in the past, we could draw upon our stores of knowledge and the guidance of the spirit when teaching, we are now being asked to use pre-formatted, cookie-cutter web based course designed by men in Utah. Even 18 year-old missionaries are given free reign to teach whatever they want according to a basic outline as prompted by the spirit, ever since Preach My Gospel replaced pre-formatted missionary lessons. So why can’t we seminary teachers do the same? Is it because we are mostly women?

        The excuse being given for this change to standardized seminary is that it benefits students who lead busy lives or live too far away to commute to the church for instruction. But the technology exists to allow us sisters to simply host online video chats, or pre-record classes and then let the students post comments later on. There is no need to replace our voices and individualized messages with cookie-cutter, canned curriculum by mostly men. When I tried to get permission to adapt our online courses to local needs (students with unique learning challenges and emotional issues), I was denied. I pushed back, because I have several students who absolutely refuse to engage with the online courses but who thrived when attending in-person classes, but both CES leadership and my stake leaders treated me as if I had just denounced the brethren. I was sorely reprimanded for not endorsing online seminary, as if I had declared the church untrue. Church leadership seems to be confusing CES web content designers in cubicles with prophets recording holy writ.

        Additionally, Doctrine and Covenants 25 has been removed from the assigned reading this year, so the youth don’t have to read about what an elect lady Emma Smith was. The absence of women from our curriculum stings not only because our teachers are mostly women, but because our students are mostly female, too—by a very, very large margin. The trial of serving as a woman in CES can be summed up in a video clip of Sister Oscarson in our Seminary Teacher training. It is one of the few, rare times that a sister is quoted therein. However, the “brethren” who wrote this course didn’t even bother to get her name right, labeling her as Sister Linda K. Burton. This would never happen to one of the male general authorities’ names. It speaks volumes about how CES views women, and about how my experience has been in this program.

        I am praying about asking to be released from seminary. I love my students, but the way women are treated in CES and seminary is so draining on the spirit and the mind that I don’t know if I can stay much longer. I definitely don’t support this online curriculum that we are now using. I am tired, burned out, and can’t handle the toll this calling is taking on my mental health. I have a dear friend who works ten hours per week for BYU-Idaho as an online instructor and is paid for it. My 15 hours per week as an unpaid online seminary teacher doesn’t make sense, especially knowing that over in the Utah corridor, all of the (mostly) male seminary teachers are being paid to do the same work. I want to be there for the youth, but am I really doing any good for these youth if I support this system? Am I really helping the rising generation by allowing the previous generation to model oppressive behavior where the young ones can see it? But if I leave, they might just replace me with a woman who supports this system, which could be worse. But in staying, aren’t I supporting it, too?

        I wrestle with these questions daily. I am not finding answers. I don’t know if I should go on and let these precious youth watch as their mentor allows the brethren in charge to treat sisters this way. Perhaps if their teacher suddenly disappeared, even if I didn’t say anything about why I was leaving, the questions that my departure provoked would spur some sort of discussion in the future?

        I have a lot of praying and pondering to do. Pray for me, sisters. For all of us. Our youth, especially our girls, need your prayers.

 

Guest Post: Calling Home

[image error]By Malena Crockett

Along with so many others, I listened to Dallin Oaks deliver his recent Saturday general conference address with a mix of sorrow and horror. His message—undoubtedly intended to move the rank and file to a greater commitment to the church—had the additional effect of further marginalizing untold numbers of souls who can never fit the narrow gender and marriage definitions he spelled out. This must have been how Obi-Wan felt the moment Alderaan was blasted apart by the death star, as if millions of voices had suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.

As I watched the online expressions of sorrow, grief, and fury grow to a roiling crescendo over the following hours, I finally had to acknowledge the sense of having been shoved ever closer to the outer fence line of my own cultural and religious identity. I was already struggling and arguing with myself about whether to stay or leave. Less than two weeks ago I sent an email to a trusted devoutly LDS friend, begging him to help me find a way to reconcile my nearly two hundred years of Mormon heritage with what the church looks like today. He apparently did not know what to say to me, because he hasn’t written back. And now this. Oaks’ message to me was “you don’t fit, you can’t fit, and God doesn’t want you.” That may not have been what he thought he meant, but that was the message he sent. I got it, loud and clear.

Later that evening, I was processing what—if anything—to do with this re-emphasis on my misfit status. My personal news feeds continued to light up with new posts from others who felt the same cosmic shift I had felt when another shift hit: faithful sisters started to announce that they were following the prophet’s counsel to go cold turkey on social media for the next ten days. Amid the threads piling up with discussion of this double whammy, yet another cry for help surfaced from one who was also suffering, trying to find some shred of hope, a spiritual lifeline to cling to.

At first I thought “I’ve got nothin’, I feel exactly the same way.” I found myself feeling profoundly grateful for the internet and the otherwise unlikely connections the world wide web gives us as individuals. I was especially grateful right then that one person who was in pain knew someone would be watching if she sent up a flare; someone somewhere would see her and understand her distress and offer comfort. I was grateful that she had attended to her own needs, grateful she had depended on her own inspiration and understanding. I was grateful that she had exercised her option to seek solace with kindred spirits rather than cutting off her telecommunications, and found myself trying to think of something I could say to her that would ease her sorrow. In that moment, a message came to me in crystal clear and finished form. It rushed in and demanded to be shared with my new friend-I’ve-never-met and with anyone else who may be searching for a light at the end of this long dark tunnel. It came to me with instructions to share, so now I’m sharing it with you. This is the message:

*Calling Home*

It’s branding season again.

Molten tears searing, surging,

up,

out,

struggle to fill the gaping wound in my soul,

topple from their flooded precipice,

plummeting to perdition

before they can find their mark.

My sonic screams reach heaven.

Mother

– ever tuned to hear distress above the din –

Tenderly, so tenderly,

cloaks my broken heart

With a lullaby:

“Let them have their rules,

Their codes,

Their labels,

Their shame.

Know this:

You need not fit, nor bend

To heartless will.

Rise, breathe, live.

Shine. Glow.

Radiate.

Show them

You never were and are not theirs.

You are mine.”

There it was: the spark I had been looking for, the reason to keep listening and thinking, solid manifestation of the divine feminine that stands ready to help us all in our darkest hours and to celebrate with us in our moments of joy. Her message helped me. My friend said it helped her. I hope it helps others. If she sends me any more messages, I promise to keep in touch so I can share them with you, too.

Malena Crockett is a novelist, a poet, a memoirist, and a sixth generation descendant of Mormon pioneer emigrants. She keeps one finger on the pulse of contemporary Mormonism, and writes of her own and her ancestors’ experiences as participants in the evolution of nearly two centuries of Mormon faith and community. Her web site is www.MalenaCrockett.com

#hearLDSwomen: Not Allowed to Teach Again After My Lesson About Women and Priesthood

[image error]Four years ago, I volunteered to teach Relief Society for a friend. Her husband left the church many years ago, and it would have been her second lesson in a couple months teaching about the priesthood. It has become a difficult topic for her.

Teacher training in the church indicates that a teacher should cater the lesson to the needs of the class. As I was teaching a class composed entirely of women, and the only mention of women in the lesson manual was “Brothers and sisters…,” referencing the audience to which a particular quote was directed, I decided to talk about Joseph Smith’s vision of how the priesthood would bless women. I decided to read directly from the minutes of the founding of the Relief Society.

This was during the height of tensions surrounding the Ordain Women movement. I also wanted to help the sisters of my ward understand why some women felt the way they did in the context of our own history. I didn’t advocate one way or the other in the lesson, but did point out the use of the word “ordain” from the minutes—indicating that it wasn’t what we were used to hearing in association to women. It didn’t help matters that it was the same week that Kate Kelly was excommunicated.

In the lesson I also added some context regarding the history of women giving blessings and the church’s movement away from it.

Shortly thereafter, there was an edict that came down to the leadership of the ward (I found out because my husband was in the Elder’s Quorum presidency) that only teachers who had been set apart as such, and members of presidencies, were allowed to teach in our ward. Period.

I also found out (innocently and inadvertently), and it was confirmed by a second source, that a woman in our ward had told the bishop I had taught from the Ordain Women website.

I didn’t feel like I could go to this woman directly because it involved the confidence of a second friend. I decided to try to clear things up with the bishop. I emailed him a description of my concerns and my lesson notes. We eventually met.

He didn’t even bother to read my lesson or want to discuss the content in any way!

He said it was really important that we stick to the lesson manual and threw in a couple platitudes about how he knew I was a good person and sent me on my way.

A couple of my good (women) friends were released from high profile callings around the same time for, what seemed to them, similar reasons.

Within a year the church published its Gospel Topics essay, “Joseph Smith’s Teachings about Priesthood, Temple, Women,” which was almost identical to my lesson in content.

– Anonymous

 

Pro Tip: Don’t listen to (or spread) gossip. Make sure you’re working from the facts before punishing someone — or changing the entire ward policy — over a lesson plan. Resist the urge to feel threatened by historical information that isn’t part of the traditional church narrative.

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)

Thoughts on God and People from last Halloween

My family and I had recently moved to New Zealand, and we were experiencing our first Halloween in Auckland.  (I’ve written about my love of Halloween previously here) I knew that Halloween would be frowned upon by many, but nonetheless, I still hung up Halloween decorations, and wore my black and orange striped stockings to church every Sunday—well, unless I swapped them for the purple and black pantyhose or my spiderweb stockings with matching earrings.

 

They, uninvited, said: “We don’t do Halloween.”

I said: (bite my tongue silence) or “Oh! That’s too bad. It’s a lot of fun—one of my favourite holidays.”

 

They, uninvited, said: “Halloween is an American thing.”

 

I said: “It’s actually Celtic. Like Guy Fawkes. Do you skip that holiday, too?” (They don’t.  And then I make a mental note to buy fireworks from the local grocery store for Guy Fawkes Night)

 

They said: “We don’t trick or treat.”

I said: (silent scream) “Oh, I’m disappointed, my children will be, too. Does the ward here or the stake do trunk or treat?”

They said: “I can’t see why not.” And after they were rejected by the bishop, they tell me with sneer of snobbery, “We don’t do trunk or treats.”

 

[image error]Feeling down, and a bit angry, I prayed. And decided to do a cookie drop! I’ve never lived in an area that did the “Boo’d “ cookie drop—where you leave the note that invites others to reciprocate until the whole neighbourhood had been cookie-dropped. So I tweaked the concept to the ward, and for most of the plates, I included an invitation to keep the chain going. Our whole family got involved—baking pumpkin brownies, white chocolate and cranberry bars, classic chocolate chip cookies, oat and dark chocolate slices and classic sugar cookies. We doubled and tripled recipes, then sliced, decorated and placed them on plates with the note inviting them to reciprocate to a neighbour, fellow ward member or friend. We did a dozen in all, and delivered them to the church members on our street and in the neighbourhood, as well as the family who lived the furthest distance away.

 

At drop off, everyone smiled, some laughed and all thanked us, especially the family who lived the furthest distance away- because it was so uncommon for people to “remember” them.  But at church the following Sunday, no one said “boo.”

 

Sure, the purpose was to serve and do something fun.  Yep, I’m a bit of a loner and kind of quiet. Plus I am a foreigner. But I could not help myself from hoping that something might be reciprocated- if not at church– later. Some said they would continue the chain, and share with others. We liked that, and hoped that they would.

 

But by the time Halloween came, no one crossed our path. Plus, no one in the neighbourhood [image error] had decorated their house, leaving us feeling distinctly un-Halloween-ish. We decided that the school Halloween dance from the week before, and the silly Halloween themed lunches I sent with my children to school would have to do for our family. So we took down our decorations on the 30th, but still carved jack-o-lanterns (out of smaller, locally available pumpkins) as a part of Family Home Evening that night – because that is how we roll.

 

On Halloween night, we had a handful of knocks at our door—mostly boys, some had no costume at all, but most were dress in gory costumes. It didn’t feel nearly as fun as seeing Dorothy and the Scarecrow, Anna and Elsa, or a Power-ranger.  I sighed. Maybe Halloween is too North American the way I like …. I thought.

 

My daughters sunk sadly into their beds, disappointed that there would be no trick-or-treating. But I did not want them to drive around the neighborhood for hours facing rejection. And I felt sad, realising as Holloween night became later and later– no one would “boo’d” us back. It was disappointing, but we still had some Halloween thrill the weeks before, so I decided it would do.

 

The house was quiet. Our our front lights, and most of the lights in the house were out. But yet there was a knock at the door. It was late and dark. I was the only one still up, because of the never-ending pile of dishes that called to me, refusing to let me sleep. “Who is it?” I called out in a somewhat cranky voice at the closed front door. “It’s too late for trick or treating.”

 

They responded with their names. I was surprised! It was the family from church who lived closest to us. They were migrants like us, but they were from India. They spoke with thick accents (like me! But different!), and like most everyone else in the ward, I had not gotten to know them yet. When we delivered our plate of treats to them, I did not leave the instructions for keeping the chain going—I knew the father did shift work, and I thought that inviting them to reciprocate would be too hard for them.

 

“Let me get the key!” I called, then rushed to open the door that only unlocked with a specific key.

 

[image error] “This is a trick-or-treat for you,” they said, handing me a heart-shaped container overflowing a variety of candy and lollies. It was the kind of confectionery mix that one would find in a trick or treat bag at the end of a successful Halloween night. It was perfectly Halloween, every whit.

 

I thanked them profusely, offering hugs and explaining that my children were in bed, but would be thrilled.  When I finally closed the door, I wept.  Because I needed to feel like something I put out was reciprocated even a little bit. It was then that I realised I had been partly homesick, but mostly, I did not want my children to be left out. And now they weren’t. So when I went to bed, I offered prayed and thanks well into the night.

 

When morning came, my children were thrilled! “This is the first time trick or treating came to US! We didn’t even have to go out and knock on anyone’s door!! They knocked on our door to give us candy!” Their choruses of happiness healed any sense of trick-or-treating loss from the night before, and I relented my typically stern-breakfasting self, by allowing them candy after some wholegrain toast.

 

In this, I was reminded, that even on Halloween with all of it’s politics of gore, misunderstanding and judgement, that God still reaches out Their hands. And for me, the hands of God grasped us through neighbours who delivered a plate of pre-packed candy; a plate that on that night was worth more than gold, and brought perfectly-timed joy to my home .

 

Happy Halloween!

#hearLDSwomen: A First Counselor in the General Relief Society Presidency’s Experience Part 2

[image error]The following is an excerpt from an interview of Chieko Okazaki, first counselor in the general Relief Society presidency from 1990-1997, by Greg Prince. The full interview can be found in Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought. 

Chieko Okazaki: We [the general Relief Society presidency] asked one time if we could be on the building committee and the temple committee, because sometimes we think, “Why did they build it this way?”—because it doesn’t work very well for the women’s needs. And we wanted to be on the temple committee, because there are many things that affect women in the temple. But we were never allowed to be a part of those committees. I think we could help a great deal, but you have to have leaders in the Church who are willing to make that possible.

Greg Prince: Do you see that as perhaps coming from beneath? That as you have new generations of women who are the wives of bishops and stake presidents, and who are ward and stake Relief Society and Young Women leaders, that they are going to grasp the reins a little bit stronger than their predecessors?

Chieko Okazaki: I have to say that, in my sixty-four years in the Church, I sometimes see a little bit of a change that the women themselves prompt, but most of the time, I haven’t seen women who would make that change possible. Wherever I go, I think that they already know their place. Maybe they’d be able to be more open if there were open-minded bishops or stake presidents who would listen to some of the feelings and the ideas of the women. But when women get the message that their job is to be supportive and just agree with the decisions of the bishop, they become clams.

Greg Prince: Should the Relief Society president sit in on bishopric meetings?

Chieko Okazaki: It would be a great idea. They are in the council meetings, but in many council meetings the person who is in charge is the only one who is talking. I’m on several community boards, and sometimes I’m the only woman there or one of two or three women. I’m on the YWCA advisory board; I’m on the advisory board for the University of Utah Graduate School of Social Work; and I’m on the Belle Spafford Chair board. If I got the message that I was supposed to just sit there and listen to the men, I’d quit that board. I’d say, “What am I here for?” I speak up a lot in all of these board meetings.

In contrast, in 1995 when “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” was written, the [general] Relief Society presidency was asked to come to a meeting. We did, and they read this proclamation. It was all finished. The only question was whether they should present it at the priesthood meeting or at the Relief Society meeting. It didn’t matter to me where it was presented. What I wanted to know was, “How come we weren’t consulted?”

Greg Prince: You didn’t even know it was in the works?

Chieko Okazaki: No. They just asked us which meeting to present it in, and we said, “Whatever President Hinckley decides is fine with us.” He decided to do it at the Relief Society meeting. The apostle who was our liaison said, “Isn’t it wonderful that he made the choice to present it at the Relief Society meeting?” Well, that was fine, but as I read it I thought that we could have made a few changes in it.

Sometimes I think they get so busy that they forget that we are there.

 

Pro tip: Don’t be so busy that you forget women are there. Consult with women at every step of the decision making process.

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)

Apple Butter and Agency

[image error]It’s apple season here in New England. Harvest time, and I made my first batch of apple butter last week. It’s too runny, and it looks mottled and unappetizing in blue jars (what did I expect?). Still, though, I eat it on fresh bread and on oatmeal and off a spoon.

The fruit was good, and so the apple butter is too; even if it is runny and tart.

Jesus talked about fruit, too. He said, “ye shall know them by their fruits”. Of course, Jesus was talking about false prophets, and I about personal economics.

Is the fruit good? I ask when puzzled.  Dichotomous thinking is alluring; it’s simple, easy. But in reality, fruit is not so much divided into “good” and “bad” as it is into function. Eating apples. Cooking apples. Cider apples. Fertilizer.

I don’t think Jesus was championing dichotomous thinking. I believe he was teaching us, again, about priorities; which are a function of agency.

Agency is not merely the right to choose; it is the word we use to describe one’s entire sphere of influence or power. 

Is the fruit good? Does it increase or decrease my ability to affect change in this world?

If it makes me healthier, it expands my agency. 

If it results in good, then it is good. 

If it results in something really good, then it is worthwhile. 

I apply this test to small religious practices, to how I spend my time, to where I put my money, to whom I interact with. 

What is the fruit? Is it good? How good? Does it expand my agency?

A few examples:

I am increasingly choosing to walk instead of drive, to use less plastic, to eat less meat. The fruit is good; I spend less money, I am kinder to my planet, I am kinder to my body.
I am parenting with less anger. The fruit is good; our relationship is better, behavior is improved, I am less tired.
I wear my garments part-time. The fruit is good; I am spared from infection, and I also participate in a practice I find meaningful.

We have a duty to expand our agency to the level which we are capable of managing. We ought to influence this world for good.

And what does it mean, that someday we will be like God, having power and principalities and worlds without end, but that our agency is ever-increasing? It is in the nature of eternal creatures to handle the powers of creation with care and righteousness.

Joseph Smith famously defended the Restored Gospel by saying, “It tastes good”. Like apple butter.

#hearLDSwomen: “Wait Here, Please.”

[image error]

By M

We had recently moved to a new area, where we knew no one and no one knew us. So imagine my surprise, a week after moving into a new congregation, when the Bishop asked if he could meet with me after church. Assuming this would be a typical “getting to know you” conversation for our family, I dragged my husband down the corridor with me. As we reached the office, the Bishop exclaimed, “Oh good, I needed to speak to your husband anyway” and invited him into the office, closing the door on me. I was left standing shocked in the corridor.

When the door re-opened a couple of minutes later, I could tell from the look on my husband’s face that I wasn’t going to be happy. The Bishop explained that he had just needed to have a word with my husband to ask if he could extend a calling to me.

That’s right—my Bishop invited my husband to have a conversation about me, an adult woman, with me standing on the other side of the door. (My darling husband later told me he had responded with his typical dryness, “I don’t know, ask her yourself. She’s standing right outside.”)

During the meeting, I pushed back as to why the Bishop had felt that he needed to ask permission from my husband to offer me a calling, and why he felt compelled to leave me standing outside. He explained that he believed he was required to do so; it was respectful of the husband. He was utterly bemused, and also a little amused, that I might have found this disrespectful.

That day was a turning point for me in my relationship with feminism with the church. I don’t blame the Bishop; I believed then and still do now that he was doing the best he could with what he thought he had to do, given his inadequate training and support. But our systems simply devalue women and their voices at every turn. Adult women, married or single, are viewed as an appendage to their husband or father.

With hindsight, I wish I had kicked that door open and marched into the room to pull up my own seat to the table. Since then, I have kicked hard at every single door I have been asked to wait outside.

M lives in a small corner of Europe, up a hill, near some sheep, with her children and her lovely other half. She spends most of her time reading, and the little that is left, teaching and doing laundry.

 

Pro-tip: Speak to women directly when extended a calling to them. Respect women as individuals in their own right.

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)

#MormonMeToo: A Year in Review

On October 15, 2017 actress Alyssa Milano sent out the call to raise awareness of sexual assault and harassment. Though the phrase “Me Too” originated in 2006 with activist Tarana Burke, this time it took off on social media. It was shared in 12 million Facebook posts within 24 hours. Many women spoke out about instances of abuse they had endured, ranging from great to small. It highlighted how widespread sexual assault and harassment are and their dehumanizing effect.

The intent of this article is to review some of the #MeToo stories within the LDS church and highlight some of the challenges facing the Mormon community. It is not comprehensive coverage, but hopefully provides a glimpse of what the Church has – and has not – done to address the issue of sexual violence.

On October 31st, 2017, Sam Young, a former bishop and active member, started a petition to stop one-on-one interviews with minors, and particularly end sexually-explicit questions. He had learned from his now-grown daughter that she had been asked about masturbation “all the time” as a youth, by her bishop, behind closed doors. His petition, which has now garnered more than 22,000 signatures, included a list of potential consequences, such as suicidal ideation, inappropriate shame and guilt, impaired sexual relations after marriage, normalizing children to sexual questions by adult men (grooming), and sexual abuse.

On December 11th, the church issued a statement in response to the petition. The church pointed to the importance of personal interviews as part of ministering to members and said leaders are counseled “to not be unnecessarily probing or invasive in the questions.” The church also pointed out that, “When a Church leader meets with a child, youth or woman, they are encouraged to ask a parent or another adult to be in an adjoining room, foyer or hall, and to avoid circumstances that may be misunderstood.”

What I found lacking in the church’s response was any validation that abuse happens in the church nor a promise to examine the appropriateness of interviews and how they might be made safer. It was only a couple of months before that a Mapleton, UT bishop had pleaded guilty to abusing boys in his ward.

In the sentencing of that case, Judge Thomas Low, called the bishop “a predator whose genuinely ‘good works’ in the community became a cloak for the crimes he was committing.”

One difficult aspect of abuse is recognizing that good people can do bad things. This was articulated by a woman who was abused by her father. “There is an emphasis in the [Mormon] community to focus on ‘the good’, to affirm the innate goodness of the human spirit.” In the article the woman also pointed to the parallel with powerful men in Hollywood and men in the church. “It’s men in power taking advantage of their positions of authority,” she said. “In the LDS church or any patriarchal religious community, it’s even more condensed and insulated, and there’s a lot of pressure to forgive and to not rock the boat.”

Tara Tulley, another abuse survivor and current therapist, also pointed out the ways the church blames victims. “Our [Mormon] culture objectifies women’s bodies. You’re told that if you’re wearing something immodest, you are walking pornography. It’s your responsibility to control how men see you,” Tulley said. “If you’ve been abused, you’re often told you need to forgive. That’s putting the responsibility on the victim.”

When the Rob Porter story broke in February 2018, other hurdles for victims in the church were made apparent. The domestic violence of White House senior aide and LDS member was revealed by the FBI during background checks. Porter’s two ex-wives described the abuse and the lack of help they received when going to their bishops.

Carolyn at By Common Consent did a wonderful post on the tendency for women to not be believed and the pitfall of untrained clergy. She says that some bishops handle situations of abuse well, “But many, many, many Bishops do not. They’re not adequately trained to handle it. Bless their serviceful hearts, but they have no experience in mental health, in domestic violence, in counseling. Hopefully, the Bishops’ own marriages are happy – but that means they have absolutely no frame of reference for toxic relationships. And the Handbook flat-out tells Bishops that they are never supposed to advocate for divorce. And so the Bishops parrot all of their religiously-driven, well-meaning, culturally-mired, utterly-destructive instincts.”

A month later, another major story of abuse broke. This time, a MTC mission president from the 80’s was accused of raping a sister missionary during his time there. The victim, McKenna Denson, had recently confronted him and taped his confession, which tape was then leaked to the press. Denson reported Bishop’s assault to church leaders, but was not believed. In the church’s initial statement, it described Denson as a “former church member, who served briefly as a missionary.” I felt it was an attempt to undermine the victim’s credibility and highlights the tendency to only believe the “perfect” victim – which of course there are none.

The Exponent Community quickly responded with an open letter to President Nelson pleading to do more to support victims and protect the vulnerable. The Exponent also put out the call to the Exponent and LDS communities to begin discussions and share suggestions related to the #MormonMeToo moment. Dozens of posts went up in ensuing months as the site became a safe place to share sensitive stories.

Shortly after Denson’s story came out, the church reiterated its stance against abuse. It also updated its guidelines to allow for the option for another adult to be present in the interview. Tresa Brown Edmunds, a Mormon writer and activist pointed out one problem with the policy change – the information only went out to men. “The way they released it shows that they are not opening this process outside of the current male hierarchy.” She went on to note that “the only way women, teens or children would know their right to have another person in the interview is if they have a bishop who makes it clear… and who cares and is sensitive.”

A few days later, Sam Young and hundreds of others marched on church headquarters to protest the continued practice of one-on-one sexually-explicit youth interviews, seeking a 10-word change in policy from the church’s general authorities: “No one on one interviews, no sexually explicit questions ever.” Young delivered books containing the stories of thousands of Mormon survivors of sexual abuse or Mormons who were harmed in one way or another by the interview process. A church spokeswoman met the group and declared, “We share a common concern for the safety and well-being of youth.”

Then at General Conference, just months after Rob Porter, mere weeks after McKenna Denson, and only days after Sam Young’s march, Elder Quentin Cook used the term “non-consensual immorality” when referring to the #MeToo movement. LDS sex-therapist Natasha Helfer Parker, briefly outlined why this language is problematic and encouraged church leaders to speak with trauma-informed therapists to help word things that would be healing for victims to hear. No other talk addressed abuse.

In April, Denson filed a civil lawsuit against the church, asserting the church did not respond properly to her allegations. The Huffington Post reported, “Denson said she told local Mormon leaders about the assault numerous times over the years, but that the church failed to take action against the leader. Instead, she says, Bishop was allowed to continue holding leadership positions that placed him in charge of hundreds of Mormon youth.”

On June 28th another woman came forward declaring the church failed to act to address sexual abuse. Kristy Johnson filed a lawsuit against her father for sexual abuse she endured starting at age six. While she did not file charges against the church, Johnson points out that church leaders failed to report the abuse to police.

The end of June also saw the church update guidelines for youth interviews. Jana Riess at Religion News Service highlighted the changes. She also referred to training that illuminated what can happen if we fail to put protections in place. “Our refusal to enact protections puts youth at risk in other contexts outside of church… Your actions condition the community to accept these behaviors as part of ministry and that also opens the door to predators.”

Exponent and Feminist Mormon Housewives bloggers also remarked on the downside of worthiness interviews:

“Even ‘best case scenario’ worthiness interviews border on (unintended) sexual abuse. This level of anxiety and fear around sexuality is toxic. And it is a direct result of a system that undermines and inhibits normal healthy sexuality and adult moral development. That is abusive and unacceptable.”

“I learned to sublimate my God-given instincts that protect me from danger to the authority of the church. I was made weaker and more vulnerable to abuse and harm as a result.”

“Having another adult present does not eliminate the inappropriateness of minors and women being questioned about their sexuality by a man.

…And most egregiously, the policy puts the onus on the minor child or adult woman to be informed about the policy and to invite another adult into the room.”

On July 29th, Protect LDS Children organizer, Sam Young, began a 21 day hunger strike to continue to bring attention to the danger of youth interviews and call for change. Two months later in September, he was excommunicated from the church.

In August, a BYU-Idaho student had her ecclesiastical endorsement revoked after her perpetrator reported her drinking to their bishop. The victim had reported the sexual assault to the Title IX office, where she was assured amnesty, yet the school still suspended her after the bishop pulled her endorsement. This only increases the silencing of victims as they fear punishment if they report assault. In 2016 the Salt Lake Tribune reported that students were being investigated for honor code violations when they reported sexual assault. This resulted in an advisory counsel and policy changes, including amnesty for victims. However, even with the new policy in place a survey revealed students still feared punishment. “More than 90 percent of respondents still believed that if they were assaulted, they would be investigated for Honor Code compliance — and 45 percent thought their ecclesiastical endorsements would be questioned.”

The BYU campus climate survey showed that many victims first turned to a family member or friend to disclose abuse, and to church leaders for formal support. Kurt Francom, a former bishop, agrees that Mormons often feel more comfortable seeking help from the church first. He said going to the police can feel daunting. “As a bishop, you sort of hope that it’s obvious. The individual comes in with a black eye or bruises on their arms, the signs of physical abuse and you think, oh I definitely need to take action.” But when the abuse is sexual or emotional and harder for untrained clergy to spot or understand, it’s easy for abuse to go unaddressed.

On September 27th the high cost of speaking out was revealed once again in the hearing of Supreme Court Justice nominee Brett Kavanaugh. Dr. Blasey Ford testified that Kavanaugh had sexually assaulted her when she was 15 and described being too afraid and ashamed to tell anyone. A new hashtag #WhyIDidntReport exploded on social media. In the end, the four LDS senators confirmed Kavanaugh. The night of the hearing, McKenna Denson held a rally against sexual violence in downtown Salt Lake. Denson said she will continue to speak out and hopes that by doing so she will help others.

On October 3rd a lawsuit was filed against Brenda and Richard Miles, alleging sexual abuse and cover-up by the LDS church. Brenda is the daughter of President Russell M. Nelson. The Miles family denies the allegations and the church released a statement calling the allegations of coverup or interference “baseless and offensive.” One of the plaintiffs hopes that the time is right for victims to be believed. “Victims need to be listened and heard and have a voice. I think now there’s a chance some members of the Mormon community will believe us.”

An interview with the mother of the children reiterates the obstacles for victims in the church. “She reported the abuse to police who didn’t pursue it very far. She also said LDS Church leaders did nothing, but Elder Neal A. Maxwell gave them a priesthood blessing instructing them to ‘forgive and forget.'”

Reverend Desmond Tutu moves the idea of forgiveness way beyond forgetting. He declares that naming the hurt and voicing the pain are key elements of forgiveness.

“Forgiveness does not relieve someone of responsibility for what they have done. Forgiveness does not erase accountability. It is not about turning a blind eye or even turning the other cheek. It is not about letting someone off the hook or saying it is okay to do something monstrous. Forgiveness is simply about understanding that every one of us is both inherently good and inherently flawed. Within every hopeless situation and every seemingly hopeless person lies the possibility of transformation.”

I pray for the day to see the church transformed to a community that supports victims and protects the vulnerable. Until then I will not turn a blind eye. I will not forget. I will not be silent.

This is the second in a three-part series. Part one reviewed the history of violence against women and part three will offer suggestions for action.