Exponent II's Blog, page 281

Dendo: One Year and One Half in Tokyo, a Review

Dendo: One Year and One Half in Tokyo, by Brittany Long Olson is a comic-style memoir, or really daily journal, of one missionary’s experience from the MTC to Tokyo starting from day 1 in the MTC and ending on the flight back home. It came out a couple of years ago and received accolades from Deseret News and received the 2015 Association for Mormon Letters Award in Comics. I was lucky to receive a digital copy for review here.

[image error]To start I think it is vital to point out the two largest differences between the narrator, Long Shimai and me:

I’ve never been on a mission.
I really like biking places.

Because of the first, I didn’t have the ability to look back and think of how her experience compared to my own, which I think is probably one of the biggest allures of reading this book. I didn’t go on a mission, but I could totally imagine the nostalgia I’d feel reading it if I had. If you like mostly cheery nostalgia, this is the book for you.

Because of the second, a couple of times I spent a few moments in confusion, “How can someone be complaining about biking places? You can move yourself and extra stuff at a quick speed with the force of your own body!” It amazes me almost every time I get on the bike. I’ll admit drivers are too fast and close, though.

Anyway, I say “mostly cheery” nostalgia because Long Olson doesn’t shy away from some of the frustrations: flaky investigators, fruitless hours “housing” ( tracting), companion personality mismatch. But the art and comic form keeps you from going into great despair when those scenes appear.

The art itself is neat and the lettering is easy to read. I’m not the greatest doodler in the world, so I spent a good portion of my time amazed that the characters looked relatively consistent throughout and are distinguishable. But that is why she’s an artist and I’m not.

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This memoir answers lots of questions about missionaries: What do they do all day? How can you account every hour working for the Lord? Interspersed in missionary work, some days’ entries are explanations and descriptions of missionary culture and Japanese culture. Shimai Long was a missionary when the missionary ages were lowered and when women missionaries were given more leadership opportunities in district, zone, and mission leadership and getting a peak into the response and reactions of the people actively working in the field at that time.

I really enjoyed reading this over the past couple of weeks. With the holidays coming up, I think it’d be a great gift for yourself or your favorite RM, even a great gift for a young person preparing for a mission. It’s cute, poignant, and funny.

You can check out the “trailer” and more about the book at tokyomissionary.com and buy it here.

Guest Post: The Language of Love

[image error]by Sarah S.

“MOMMY’S HOME!” I cried, as I bounded down the stairs to the front door, while my parents quickly shuffled into the house from a date night. “Hi Sweetie!” she cried, scooping me up into her arms. Her dark coat smelled like deep autumn in New York, and her red lipstick left a faint mark on my cheek. In that moment, I remember thinking that my mother was the most beautiful mother in the world. I envied that her skin was so much darker than mine and that her freckled face was a sky of constellations waiting to be plotted. She was passionate, vivacious, and every smile was warm and authentic. Her figure was pleasingly plump, and fit her Caribbean upbringing – full hips, full bust, full lips.

But as I became older, it became apparent to me that my beautiful mother sometimes didn’t think that she was beautiful, and this had an effect on how I grew to see my own body – a body that grew to look just like hers. I remember once, I overheard her comments as she chatted with a group of women at a local mommy meet-up. While talking, my mom mentioned a suggestion about a dieting tip, and then quickly retracted it and declared, “But I’m fat, so what do I know.” The women laughed, and one of them slapped her arm playfully and said, ‘Oh Beth*, stop it!” while they continued to giggle. Even though it was said in passing, she’d said it: FAT. My mom was fat. And as an insecure 10-year old, I wondered if my developing body would also receive the “FAT” title one day. With time, I became afraid of my growing chest and felt ashamed of each new development of what I believed to be an increasingly ‘fat’ body.

My mom worked hard to stay involved in the local farmers’ markets (something she never had access to while growing up in low-income housing). One time at the market, Mom left our puppy in the car with the AC on while she picked up vegetables. She chatted with other growers about the brussel sprout crop and her favorite new string bean recipe. While this was happening, an older gentleman noticed our puppy in the car, and publicly yelled at my mom for being so stupid as to leave a dog in a car that he believed to be deathly hot. My mom, mortified, snatched her veggies and rushed us into the gray minivan. Before we could leave the dusty lot, her tears started to flow, and her internal monologue was thrust into the physical world: “They probably think I hate animals. I can’t believe it… AND I’M THE FATTEST ONE HERE!” After she said that, the tears didn’t stop until we got home. The car, full of her daughters, was silent except for the sound of her sniffles. We never went back.

These comments affected me greatly. In photos of my childhood, I see a very healthy, very nervous young woman, holding her arm across her stomach to cover any potential imperfections – the ones mom would comment on when I wore my Sunday dress. Or if I ran to meet her and my bosom bounced. Or if I wanted more pizza. I feared being considered ‘fat’ – as if being fat meant life would be somehow worse, and that my quality of life would be lowered, as my mother so thoroughly believed hers was.

As I entered BYU, I wore slim-fitting outfits so that no one would mistake baggy shirts for any additional weight. I’d constantly fidget with my clothes and suck in my gut when I walked. With time, however, I realized that my body fit me. This body reflected my heritage, and when I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw not just my mother, but my grandmother and my great-grandmother; I saw myself as the latest edition in a line of beautiful, full-bodied, strong women. I began to highlight my curves with cinched-waist dresses and full skirts, and I learned to accept compliments and create a positive internal dialogue. While there were still daily struggles and multiple outfit changes each morning, I began to feel genuinely comfortable in the shapely, freckle-y body I owned. Yet, when I returned home for Christmas, my eating habits were questioned, and my thighs were analyzed and put on display for public debate.

I tried hard to brush off my mom’s comments and to be the healthier, happier self that I was growing to love. One morning during my sophomore year, I Skyped my mom to show her my new apartment. As soon as the camera turned on, I heard, “Wow, you’ve really filled out!” Something in me cracked. I launched into a tirade of comments on how she should have kept her thoughts to herself…  I know I’m getting fat…  I don’t need you to point it out… I think I look fine. My face turned bright red and felt hot with anger. My mom took a moment to compose herself before she spoke, and we glared at each other, through tears, 2,500 miles apart. She carefully explained that she started getting fat when she was my age, and no one in her family ‘loved her’ enough to tell her to watch herself and take control of her body. And now here she was: 55, ‘fat’ for her entire adult life, and trying to ‘help’ me avoid her fate. I told her that I was aware of myself and that I didn’t want to ever hear her discussing my body again. I hung up.

The next day, she called to apologize. We talked it through. I told her that her comments about my body affect me and that I’m painfully aware of every pound I gain. My mom was trying to show me love by protecting me, but the way in which she did it was one that I perceived as judgmental and critical, and it hurt me more than it helped. We agreed that I’d be in charge of commentary on my body from now on, and she hasn’t commented on my thighs ever since.

 Today, we talk about New Year’s resolutions. We help each other with our websites and resumes. We spend hours on the phone talking about current events and amazing baking recipes. She was proud of me when I made a perfect Texas Sheet Cake, and I was proud of her when she stopped dying her hair and let it turn an ethereal shade of silver. We talk about the life we live in our bodies, not about our bodies themselves. Through this, we’ve learned to show love through language, but this time, that language is healthy and helpful to both of us.

Sarah S. is a senior at BYU studying design. She is passionate about mentoring the rising generation of women in tech and overcoming gender discrimination in technology.

If the Savior Stood Beside Me

[image error]Most of us are probably familiar with the primary song “If the Savior Stood Beside Me.”  It asks us to consider what we might do differently if we could see the Savior standing beside us at all times.  Would we speak more kindly? Would we try harder to keep the commandments?   Would we act more like the Savior?

I recently taught a lesson in Relief Society about personal revelation.  I’m a big fan of hypothetical discussions (usually of an absurd variety, though not when I’m teaching in church) and so I asked a similar question to the class.  However, I framed it somewhat differently.  The song seems to suggest that we would work harder to mend our flaws and be righteous if we could see that Christ was watching what we do at all times.  Rather than think of it in punitive terms, I asked my class to consider it differently: What would you be brave enough to do if the Savior were standing next to you, cheering you on?

I’ve been thinking about the question ever since.  In my class our discussion centered a great deal on church service.  It would be much easier to go Visiting Teaching if you had the Savior as your partner and could say “would you mind getting the lesson this time? I’ll put together a treat.”  I know I’d worry less about awkwardness or limping small talk if I knew that Christ himself were going to be doing the teaching part.  My husband hates giving lessons in church and dreads his turn coming up in Elders Quorum.  He said he’d feel a lot more confident if the Savior were standing there to be his co-teacher.  I know it would have been easier as a missionary to have Christ do the door approach for us or take the lead on call-backs.

However, I think the question bears considering beyond the realm of the church.  I have been thinking a great deal about the many women and a few men who have come forward to talk about their experiences with sexual assault.  It is so hard to speak up about something painful when in our culture so often victims are blamed, shamed, penalized or ostracized while perpetrators continue to flourish.  If Jesus stood beside you, arm around you, murmuring “I believe you,” would it be easier to speak painful truths?

I’m trying to be a better ally to people of color by speaking up when I hear white friends and family members saying something racist, but it never goes how I imagine it at home. A friend started talking about how we need guns because refugees are pouring in and they’ll be terrorists. I somewhat awkwardly contradicted her but I wasn’t as brave or clear as I am when I practice these conversations in my mind.  Maybe if I could turn to Jesus and say “can you help me out on this?” I would figure out how to call out bigotry without alienating and shutting down the person I’m talking to.

In professional settings it might be easier to ask for a raise, to call out discrimination, to speak up in meetings if the Savior were sitting next to me, backing me up and encouraging me.  Maybe I’d even run for office!  I feel way too inadequate and ignorant and overwhelmed by the idea, even though I know we have plenty of inadequate and ignorant lawmakers already so I’d probably fit right in.  If the Savior said “go for it! I’m right with you! Let’s fix this place!” would I throw my hat in the ring?

The primary song concludes with the words “He is always near me, though I do not see him there. And because he loves me dearly I am in his watchful care.  So I’ll be the kind of person that I know I’d like to be, if I could see the Savior standing nigh, watching over me.”  It isn’t quite that simple – a physical, visible, presence makes a difference to mortal eyes.  But it’s worth remembering when we as sisters speak truth to power and do brave things that we’re not doing it alone.

 

What would you do differently if the Savior were your wing-man?

Different and Hard Things with #LightTheWorld

Like many of you, my family and I are doing the #LightTheWorld. Last year we did it as well—things were a bit different then, as we were too far remote from other church members to attend church weekly, so we did home church. When we did attend a branch which was about three hours’ drive away, the missionaries gave us a calendar with recommended activities.[image error]We had already began our #LightTheWorld challenge, but we had downloaded a calendar from somewhere online. Our calendar was different, yet similar to the one the missionaries were instructed to share. Over the holiday, we visited others who were also doing #LightTheWorld, but again, the calendar was somewhat different—each calendar had days in which different services were highlighted and suggested, such as visiting retirement villages, donating food and so on—but for one calendar, December 7 was a day to volunteer at a shelter, whereas on another calendar it was suggested on December 15.

 

I am positive that our service was righteous and blessed us over the holiday, but it did disappoint me that we felt somewhat disconnected to what other church members, though few in number, were doing in the area. The feeling of disconnect between me and the church is strong sometimes, so though the #LightTheWorld calendar was a small thing, the divide felt more tangible over Christmas.

 

This year, the calendar choices are more uniform, yet flexible. Each day is presented with a scripture, and the church website includes suggestions with corresponding video messages.  Better yet, the corresponding video reflected those who are local to me, and who I call my people at this time, compared to the church global site (which is beautiful in it’s own right) which is reflective of the seasonal hemisphere of church headquarters.  It is a small thing, but my Christmas worldview is different, and that is okay, and a good thing.

 

This better sense of unity, as well as the feeling of being recognised (at least in a hemispherical way)—has inspired me to do more this year. Maybe try a little harder. Be a little better. It’s felt good– and though I am overwhelmingly busy with the end of the school year, summer plans and everything else, I want to do #LightTheWorld as best as I can.

 

But. I knew one item would be on the calendar that would challenge me. It would on any choice of historical, regional or natioonalise versions of #LightTheWorld, so I could not escape it.  And this year…. it haunted me with a deep personal challenge: December 18: “Forgive Men Their Trespasses.”  Every year, the same thing comes to my mind…. And yet, every year I put it aside, sometimes more quickly than I probably should. Often more quickly than I probably should.

 

“Not this year. I can’t. I’m still angry,” I tell myself, as a way to make it acceptable to not forgive. The, as years passed, the thought changed, “I forgive and money part. The not speaking to me thing is her choice, not mine,” I tell myself, putting the whole thing on her shoulders.

 

So let me explain: More than a handful of years ago, I hired a friend who I’ll call Christine, to do something. Christine really wanted to do it, and it was a big job! I had been praying for a church member to do the work, as I thought a church member might be superior to a legal contract alone. So I hired her. It was a legal contract written by an attorney as per legal requirements. She began the contract with integrity, but soon had personal issues and began complaining of increased stress. After months of this, and with compassion–  I offered to pre-pay her about $2,000 to help relieve some of the stress. My husband and I had put the money aside, so I reasoned that this would be no issue to us, and would help her to do the job better. You can guess the result. She took the money, spent it, but yet was unable to deliver the product that she had contracted. She did give a good effort, but could not complete the contract.

 

Out of frustration, I blurted something bitter about not trusting church members. She was hurt, and did not respond. I asked for a refund, and offered a payment plan—and she stopped all communication. Immediately, my husband said, “We’re never going to see that money again.” And dropped it.

 

But I didn’t. I was angry and felt betrayed. In my imagination, she was hiding from me. But maybe she wasn’t. I knew Christine felt horrible that she could not complete the contract. Her own marriage and thus her children, had been under strife and our money had helped her.  I even wondered as years passed, if she felt justified in keeping the money. We were no poorer as a result of the loss—not really. My husband and I are good at squirreling away money, and have been blessed financially. We had saved it once, and could save it again. The loss—the real loss—that haunted me was the loss of friendship. I was bitter at the betrayal, and angry that all communication had shut me out.

 

But my husband spoke of it no more. I asked him once about filing a claim, but he told me to just forget about it. “It’s not worth it,” he said. My husband’s response reminded me of the poem Forgiveness Flour by Marguerite Stewart:

 

When I went to the door, at the whisper of knocking,

I saw Simeon Gantner’s daughter, Kathleen, standing

There, in her shawl and her shame, sent to ask

“Forgiveness Flour” for her bread. “Forgiveness Flour,”

We call it in our corner. If one has erred, one

Is sent to ask for flour of his neighbors. If they loan it

To him, that means he can stay, but if they refuse, he had

Best take himself off. I looked at Kathleen . . .

What a jewel of a daughter, though not much like her

Father, more’s the pity. “I’ll give you flour,” I

Said, and went to measure it. Measuring was the rub.

If I gave too much, neighbors would think I made sin

Easy, but if I gave too little, they would label me

“Close.” While I stood measuring, Joel, my husband

Came in from the mill, a great bag of flour on his

Shoulder, and seeing her there, shrinking in the

Doorway, he tossed the bag at her feet. “Here, take

All of it.” And so she had flour for many loaves,

While I stood measuring.

 

I have the poem having in my kitchen, reminding me to dole our forgiveness in copious measure. And yet…..

 

In the poem, the husband, Joel, is meant to represent God- who freely and fully forgives—and moves on. My husband had done this, and as Christine and her husband had not really ever been his friends, he felt no loss. He simply moved on, knowing his financial acumen and integrity would waste no time in fretting over money that he was at ease to not see again.

 

[image error][image error]Could I do this in my situation? Like the voice in the poem, I had been measuring out “forgiveness flour” in exact, measured doses… partially in dealing with the loss of the contract, the loss of the money, and the loss of the friend. But in truth– I feared retaliation—what if she sued me for some reason? Blamed me for her stress? The thought had haunted me, keeping me trapped in a defensive stance.

 

But gradually, after years– I was reminded that I had not broken the contract. Christine was the one who was in the precarious situation. She was likely protecting her family and could not repay it– she had never been good with money, often relying on pyramid schemes and products sold at “parties” to supplement her income. Still, there is a risk of vulnerability and a history of humans being vindictive and litigation-happy.

 

Enough came from the situation that I am sure I would never think of her as a close confidant in this lifetime again. What seemed to connect us as college friends had all but disappeared as we grew to have lifestyles, different views on women, womanhood, and motherhood…. We also have dissimilar manifestations of pride (yup, I’m prideful). In many ways, we were both right, and we were both wrong. It seems that then, offering forgiveness was dependent on money. I felt that her repaying the money, or at least asking to repay the money in installments, or telling me she could not repay the money– would show enough integrity that I could forgive her. “Could” forgive? What was stopping me? After all, just like the church videos, my wold view is different, and that is okay, and a good thing.

 

 

Earlier this year, as I was travelleing through the outback parts of Australia, I met an LDS missionary couple. For reasons I cannot recall, the couple told me that they had paid for a deposit on a house in St. George, Utah—intending to call it home. But they were then called on mission, and felt so strongly to do that they withdrew their offer and lost their deposit. I quickly did calculations– a 10% deposit on a basic house could have been as much as $30,000. I was flabbergasted, but kept silent. “It’s all the Lord’s money anyway,” the grey-haired missionary shrugged. “So it wasn’t my loss.”

 

His simple frankness and utter faith – (shared with a shrug!)—astounded me. And I have carried it with me since. Could I think of Christine’s debt in the same way?

 

I have determined to do so. So I have chosen this as my December 18th goal this year, and though it is weeks away I am fretting. It is hard to be vulnerable. It is terrifying to contact someone out of the blue after years of hurt and betrayal. But this is the least I can do to a fellow woman, and a fellow Christian, no matter how different our lives are and no matter how much the disconnects hurt.

 

Thus I am grateful for #LightTheWorld. Its application will look different to me that it looks to you, just as my global lds website looks different to those on another LDS websites in different regions, hemispheres and countries. But in the end, it is all about Christ. Jesus Christ—the champion of women, the champion of feminists, the champion of me. (1)

 

Are you doing #LightTheWorld? What has #LightTheWorld inspired you to do this year? What might be hard for you in #LightTheWorld?

 

 

(1)James E. Talmage, Jesus the Christ, 3rd ed. (1916), 475.

 

The Feminist Act of Telling Our Own Stories with Sandra Clark Jergensen and Shelah Mastney Miner

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Sandra Clark Jergensen and Shelah Mastney Miner

In this episode of the Religious Feminism interview series, Sandra Clark Jergensen and Shelah Mastney Miner, editors of the Mormon women’s anthology, Seasons of Change, discuss how we can most effectively share our own stories in writing. You can find episode notes for the Religious Feminism Podcast here at the Exponent website: http://www.the-exponent.com/tag/religious-feminism-podcast/

Links to Connect and Learn More:

Segullah

Seasons of Change: Stories of Transition from the Writers of Segullah

Sandra on Instagram: @knifeforkswoon

Shelah on Instagram: @shelahminer 

Sandra’s website: The Kitchen Natural

Shelah’s blog: Shelah Books It

Additional Resources Discussed in the Podcast:

#MeToo on Twitter

#ChurchToo on Twitter

The Place of Knowing

The Book of Mormon Girl: A Memoir of an American Faith

Listen and subscribe below:

Relief Society Lesson #23: The Blessings of the Holy Temple

Descent blogs at http://jenneology.blogspot.com. She is a homeschooling mother to three little scholars. While they sleep, she runs off in the night to serve as a doula to the women in her community. She is a founding member of LDS WAVE and occasional guest contributor across the bloggernacle.  She currently serves as an Activity Days leader and Welfare Specialist in her Stake. 

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When I first joined the church in 2001, Gordon B. Hinckley was president of the church and there were 114 temples in operation. Since that time, I have personally been able to attend the open houses for Sacramento and Vancouver, BC as well as the dedication ceremony for Nauvoo. The manual relates the story of how President Hinckley took the church from 31 temples across the world at the time of appointment as prophet to 124 at the time of his death.

Class Dynamics and Mini Temples

 President Hinckley was quite aware of the financial disparities that exist between affluent church members and those living in developing countries, rural or under-resourced locations. He described church members’ circumstances thusly:

 There are many areas of the Church that are remote, where the membership is small and not likely to grow very much in the near future. Are those who live in these places to be denied forever the blessings of the temple ordinances?

The Church could build [many smaller] temples for the cost of the Washington temple [then under construction]. It would take the temples to the people instead of having the people travel great distances to get to them.

I have been with many who have very little of this world’s goods. But they have in their hearts a great burning faith concerning this latter-day work. They love the Church. They love the gospel. They love the Lord and want to do His will. They are paying their tithing, modest as it is. They make tremendous sacrifices to visit the temples. They travel for days at a time in cheap buses and on old boats. They save their money and do without to make it all possible…

They need nearby temples—small, beautiful, serviceable temples..

Building what became known as Mini Temples can be interpreted as an attempt to democratize temple worship.

The church was able to realize his goal of 100 temples by the year 2000 and at the time of his death in 2008, 124 temples were in operation. He did just as he said he would:  “…I hope to end out my days building temples of the Lord, taking the temples to the people…”

Trivia Question for the class:

Can someone tell me how many temples are currently in operation?

Personal Testimony:

I personally believe that President Hinckley’s awareness of poverty and class issues as they relate to temple worship was an important step in the creation of the 4th mission of the church, which was announced in 2009, soon after President Monson succeeded President Hinckley. My testimony of Christ and the scriptures was strengthened when I heard the announcement that the church would make caring for the poor and the needy a central focus of the church. Throughout the scriptures, prophets and Christ himself teaches the importance of Christian charity for the poor and needy. It makes perfect sense for the latter-day church to name it as a primary mission of the church.

Discussion Question:

How do temples help members of the church address the missions of the church? (Remember: At the time of his death there were 3 central missions of the church)

The manual then goes on to categorize President Hinckley’s on temples, which align quite well with the 3-fold mission of the church.

Temples: Perfect the Saints

Include words of female leaders or personal thoughts to supplement President Hinckley’s words from the manual.

President Bonnie D Parkin talked about the power of temple covenants to further our eternal progression.

Covenants—or binding promises between us and Heavenly Father—are essential for our eternal progression. Step-by-step, He tutors us to become like Him by enlisting us in His work. At baptism we covenant to love Him with all our hearts and love our sisters and brothers as ourselves. In the temple we further covenant to be obedient, selfless, faithful, honorable, charitable. We covenant to make sacrifices and consecrate all that we have. Forged through priesthood authority, our kept covenants bring blessings to fill our cups to overflowing. How often do you reflect that your covenants reach beyond mortality and connect you to the Divine?

Making covenants is the expression of a willing heart; keeping covenants, the expression of a faithful heart.

Ask class members to take a moment to reflect on her question. It may have been a rhetorical question but it was one meant for us to reflect. Invite class members to share if they feel so moved.

Temples: Redeem the Dead

Include words of female leaders or personal thoughts to supplement President Hinckley’s words from the manual.

Susan Tanner, 2008: “My Soul Delighteth in the Things of the Lord”:

I delight in priesthood keys and temples that dot the earth, making available to each of us eternal ordinances and covenants. Some of my most celestial days recently have been my own children’s temple marriages, with my father performing that holy ordinance. I delight in the strength of youth as I see them throng the temples to do baptisms for the dead. I love their worthy adherence to the standards leading to the temple and their preparation to be faithful missionaries and righteous mothers and fathers. I delight that I am a daughter of Heavenly Father, who loves me.

Silvia Allred, 2008: “Holy Temples, Sacred Covenants”:

We have been instructed to build temples so that holy ordinances may be performed for both the living and the dead. These ordinances include initiatory ordinances, endowments, marriages, sealings, baptisms for the dead, and ordinations. The initiatory ordinances provide us with specific immediate and future blessings. The endowment embodies sacred covenants. It includes receiving instruction, power from on high, and the promise of blessings on condition of our faithfulness to the covenants we make.

Temples: Proclaim the Gospel

How do temples serve to proclaim the gospel?

Answers might include:
Visitors centers
Beacons to the world
Symbol of our faith
Personal anecdotes

The Oakland Temple in California is one well-known example of how temples act like a beacon, sparking interest in people living in and visiting the surrounding communities. From the article “Visible as a Beacon”:

Sister Gloria Lavender and her husband, George, are serving a mission in the Oakland Temple Visitors’ Center. The views of the bay from the temple grounds at sundown are beautiful, she said.

“People here call it the castle on the hill. You can see it from all over,” Sister Lavender said. “It brings a lot of people here because they see it and want to know what it is.”

Elder Lynn Poulsen, director of the Oakland Temple Visitors Center, agreed.

“It’s a beacon on the hill, an invitation to every one of us to come closer to the Savior.”

Blessings of Temple Service:

“Everything that occurs in [the] temple is of an uplifting and ennobling kind. It speaks of life here and life beyond the grave. It speaks of the importance of the individual as a child of God.” –manual quote

Discussion Question:

What would you say to a woman in the church who finds aspects of the temple troubling and disempowering?

What are some of the aspects of the temple that some women in the church find troubling?

How does the temple testify to you your importance as a child of God?

For those who struggle with the temple, perhaps some of President Hinckley’s council in the manual can be helpful. He suggests:

Go to the house of the Lord and there feel of His Spirit and commune with Him and you will know a peace that you will find nowhere else.

In times of darkness, try to get to the house of the Lord and there shut out the world. Receive His holy ordinances, and extend these to your forebears. At the conclusion of a session in the temple, sit quietly in the celestial room and ponder the blessings you have received in your own behalf or that you have extended to those who have gone beyond.

Also, remember, that it is in the celestial room that we are symbolically in the presence of Deity. Neil A Maxwell taught,  “When we return to our real home, it will be with the ‘mutual approbation’ of those who reign in the ‘royal courts’ on high.”  There we will find beauty such as ‘mortal eye hath not seen;’ we will hear sounds of surpassing music which mortal ‘ear hath not heard.’ Could such a royal homecoming be possible without the anticipatory arrangements of a Heavenly Mother? Meanwhile, there are no separate paths back to that heavenly home.

Closing:

Invite members of your class to utilize the temple and other sacred places for prayer and seeking guidance or answers to questions that weigh heavily on their souls.

*****************

Resources:

LDS Words of Wisdom booklet

General Conference Corpus

Creatress

Earlier this year I checked out a children’s library book called Changing Woman and Her Sisters: Stories of Goddesses from Around the World by Katrin Hyman Tchana. I felt something in me stir as I read mythologies of other peoples that attribute far greater power to the feminine divine than any in my own culture. Changing Woman is a peculiar deity. She constantly cycles her age from old woman, back to a young child. She represents fertility and the changing seasons of the year. The most respected goddess among the Navajo, she is the creator of human life. She made the ancestors of the Navajo from pieces of her own skin. Rituals in her honor are set around childbirth, coming of age for girls, and marriage.

 

I have often pondered the meaning of feminine divine. I have been saddened that according to our tradition we have a mother in word only. She has no official place in our scripture, theology, or ritual. We are discouraged from talking about her, speculating about, praying to, or worshiping her in any way. I consider these prohibitions relics of an overtly patriarchal cultural system rather than conscriptions from God. One night I decided to reimagine scripture starting with our creation story; inserting Mother God into the narrative of Genesis 1. This was a playful yet thoughtful experiment. Enjoy:

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1 In the beginning Mother God created the earth.

2 And the earth was well formed; a primordial sphere. Darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirits of the Gods moved upon the face of the waters.

3 And Mother God said, Let there be light: and there was light.

4 And Father God saw the light, that it was good: and Mother God divided the light from the darkness.

5 And Father God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first time.

6 And Mother God said, Let there be an atmosphere to surround the earth and protect it from harmful radiation and regulate its temperature, that it may be habitable. And let the waters of the earth be divided over the surface thereof in preparation for life.

7 And Mother God made the atmosphere, and divided the waters: and it was so.

8 And Father God called the atmosphere heaven. And the evening and the morning were the second time.

9 And Mother God said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together, and let the dry land appear: and it was so.

10 And Father God called the dry land Earth; and the gatherings of the waters were called oceans, seas, and rivers, streams, brooks, waterfalls, and aquifers: and Father God saw that it was good.

11 And Mother God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after her kind, whose seed is in itself, upon the earth: and it was so.

12 And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after her kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed was in itself, after her kind: and Father God saw that it was good.

13 And the evening and the morning were the third time.

14 And Mother God said, Let the lights above the earth be used to denote day and night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years:

15 And let the lights in the firmament of the heaven give light upon the earth; and let the plants photosynthesize and produce oxygen to expand the capacity of the earth to give life: and it was so.

16 And Father God saw two great lights; the greater light he called sun and made it to rule the day. And the lesser light (which was a reflected light) he made to rule the night: and there were stars also.

17 And the evening and the morning were the fourth time.

18 And Mother God said, Let the waters be rich in organic compounds that may bring forth complex organic molecules.

19 And let there be single celled organisms that have life in themselves,

20 And in time Mother God said, from the waters let evolve forth the moving creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven.

21 And Mother God created great whales, and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind, and every winged fowl after her kind: and Father God saw that it was good.

22 And Mother God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth.

23 And the evening and the morning were the fifth time.

24 And Mother God said, Let the earth bring forth the living creature after her kind, cattle, and creeping thing, and beast of the earth after her kind, and each to its position as suited to its ecosystem: and it was so.

25 And Mother God made them and Father God saw that it was good.

26 And Mother God said Let us make woman in our image, after our likeness: and let them live in harmony with all things in the earth.

27 So Mother God created woman in her own image, female and male created she them.

28 And Mother God blessed them, and said unto them “Be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth.” And Father God said “subdue it and have dominion over every living thing.”

29 And Mother God said, “Behold I have given you every plant to eat.

30 And to the creatures of the earth also were given plants to eat.

31 And Mother God saw every thing that she had made, and it was very good. And the evening and the morning were the sixth time.

 

Some have speculated a symbolic representation of Heavenly Mother in scripture, theology, and ritual. Where do you see Mother God in these places? What rituals would you like to put into practice that acknowledge the feminine divine and especially the divine within the feminine?

Virginal Sex

 

By Anonymous

No one ever instructed me about sex. When I was about 12 years old I figured out the basics from a magazine article about female condoms in my parents’ living room. Soon thereafter, I saw vague diagrams in a middle school science class, but remained quite naive.

 

At some point in my religious education I began to be taught that ‘marital intimacy’ is special and sacred and holy. My years as a young woman in church were filled with lessons on the virtue of ‘purity’; which was presented as a code word for chastity – and it could be lost. I was supposed to defend it. I was told that romance novels were pornography and never to read them. Even speaking the word ‘sex’ was taboo; I was taught to avoid even thinking about, much less engaging in sex. I was taught to wait until marriage. I was promised that would make it the special, powerful, and sacred act it is supposed to be.

 

When I was barely 20. I sat in the BYU library and read what I could find about sex in the week leading up to my marriage. I didn’t know anyone more informed than myself to enlighten me about this mysterious practice I would soon be authorized to participate in. I had no idea how to be actively involved in the act of sex, or that I should enjoy it. A roommate who was also engaged told me that her older sister warned her it would hurt. No one talked to my husband about sex either.

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Two days after our spring wedding we had successful intercourse for the first time. ‘Successful’ meaning my husband deposited sperm in my vagina. This was sex as I understood it. As I had been prepared to understand it. I was basically a passive participant. The act left the opening of my vagina torn in three places due to my very tight hymen and inadequate arousal. I called my mom the next night because I had finally gotten a hand mirror and looked down there and it was still hurting and bleeding. I told her I could see three places had torn. She said it’s not a big deal. She said you still have to give him sex so he will feel loved. My body was mangled and my own mother said it was no big deal! There was no discussion about how this had happened or what to do to improve the situation. This was the first and only time I ever in my life spoke to my mother about anything of a sexual nature.

 

Four months later we were back for fall semester at BYU and I finally went to a doctor to get some repair work done. A few snips were significant in reducing the pain I had continued to have. Still no one told me what had happened to me was abnormal or preventable.

 

The way I had been taught in the church, I didn’t expect to have sexual feelings. I spent a lot of energy suppressing these as a teen and young adult. I strove to be the ‘pure’ woman of God I was supposed to be to enjoy peace and happiness in life. I avoided romance novels and sexy movies. I was careful what media I engaged with and avoided what I was suppose to avoid. I was never told what I should do to make the experience more enjoyable for myself and my spouse except to be ‘pure’.

 

There was one time in the early years of marriage I actually felt particularly good during sex. My husband finished and rolled off. I asked him to touch me, but he declined; he was done and fell asleep. I touched myself. I experienced my first small orgasm. Ashamed and demoralized that I had masturbated, I confessed to my husband the next day. He thought I needed to tell the bishop, so I did. I was not allowed to take the sacrament for a while.

 

Six years later, while pregnant with my first son (my fourth pregnancy), I experience an orgasm during sex with my husband for the first time. Wow. Is this what he’s been experiencing all along? Did it take that extra bit of testosterone from the baby for me to join in the fun? In the next few years, this happened only occasionally, more often when I was pregnant. I was so naive that I still really didn’t understand my own body’s capacity for arousal and sexual activity.

 

The typical sexual experience in the first 14 years of my marriage was one initiated by my husband in the middle of the night. By the time I became partially aroused, he was done and asleep again. I was left wide awake with no prospects of fulfillment.I became increasingly frustrated with this status quo. I read LDS books on marriage and tried to awaken my sexuality, still concerned that I was getting my information from the approved channel.

 

Gradually I began to feel cheated. God had made my female body in such a way that arousal and sexuality was hugely complex and difficult to enjoy, yet the bulk of reproduction was directly my responsibility and pain. God made men that they might have joy, but women that they might suffer bringing forth the children of men. My main goal in a sexual encounter was to avoid discomfort, and I only rarely felt any physical pleasure. Sex was a huge disappointment in my life.

 

Sex is so built up (and yet so taboo) in LDS culture. Why is it that we can’t even say the word ‘sex’ in an LDS context? Talks about “God ordained marital intimacy” really seem to have set women like me up for disappointment. Sex was supposed to a special powerful act reserved for the context of a celestial marriage. Living the law of chastity was supposed to have made my love deeper, richer, more meaningful. Growing up, I was frequently reminded that only by perfect obedience could I find true happiness. I think that is one main reason why, for me, I was left feeling so disappointed. Despite my best intentions, and living according to the commandments, I often felt like I had been used and was more lonely after sex rather than loved, nurtured and understood. If personal purity is the key to the joy of marriage and sex, and I am not happy in the sexual aspect of my marriage am I to conclude I am not pure enough? That hardly seems fair when the people involved (myself and my spouse) are not given an approved channel for becoming informed of sexuality except through the Holy Ghost. I found the Holy Ghost to be just as absent in teaching me as everyone else in my life. My prayers for help in this area of my marriage were left unanswered.

 

I have come to a place where I now reject many of the ideas I was taught about sex. First, I was taught sensuality was among the carnal ‘worldly’ passions to be avoided. But the only way I could begin to enjoy sex was by letting go and allowing myself to enjoy my body and my sensuality. Focusing on enjoying the feel of the wind on my skin, relaxing in a warm bath, the feel of my husbands skin against mine, etc. Experience has taught me that I will enjoy sex with my husband a lot more if I break many of the proscriptions I was taught. If I read or watch something romantic or sexy I will be more likely to get in the mood and have a better experience. I think it was wrong that I was taught anything to do with sex was basically pornography and off-limits. I’ve learned from reading about women’s sexuality that women are often better able to enjoy sex when they think about it first. Having been taught that ‘preoccupation with sex in thought word or deed’ was wrong because it did not give the context for when it would be appropriate to engage in sexual thoughts in order to prepare for an enjoyable experience with your mate. It was wrong that I was punished for trying to explore and understand my body’s ability to experience pleasure. How could I teach my husband about my body if I didn’t know myself? Most of all, it was wrong to throw two ignorant, naive, yet ‘pure’ young adults together and expect them to figure things out on their own once are married; and to promise them it would be amazing if done this way. It was wrong to have sex become so taboo that no one talks about it. And what if mutual satisfaction were part of the standard for what constituted ‘sex’? Not just what is necessary to procreate, but what is necessary to bring both husband and wife joy and fulfillment from their expression of love? Growing up in the church, I was also taught that only those who achieved the highest degree of the celestial kingdom would continue having sex eternally. What a strange doctrine we have!

Thank You For Being A Friend

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As I make lists and shop and chop and bake in preparation for my favorite holiday tomorrow, I also give thanks. The recent loss of a dear friend has helped me refocus on the blessedness of everyday gifts. I have appreciated the pink sunrises and orange sunsets. I’m trying to notice and savor the deliciousness of a crisp apple, the smell of clean sheets.

I am a lifelong member of the church. I am also a liberal feminist in a deeply conservative small town ward. The past two years have been difficult, especially the last year. As my thoughts and feelings about the church and the gospel have evolved, I have come to realize how very much the Exponent community means to me.

I don’t have many liberal friends. I often feel lonely. I have good friends, but we have very different views, including our ideas about politics, the second amendment, and the role of women in our church. Trying to understand how good and loving people can have such different values and priorities can be exhausting.

As a long time reader, I have found the Exponent blog to be a breath of fresh air. Having kindred spirits, even though we have never met in person, has been a lifeline for me. Reading your thoughtful posts and comments has stimulated my thinking, and strengthened my conviction that while there is good in our gospel and community, there is much that is negative and damaging. Contributing to Exponent over the past several months has been an honor and a challenge. Knowing that there are others that share my questions and frustrations has been so important to me.

So, as I count my blessings, naming them one by one, know that the Exponent family is on my list. Thank you for being my friends.

Bear ye one another’s burdens

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As the US is fast approaching its Thanksgiving holiday, I want to take a moment to talk about need and generosity. I had an interesting experience last week that has consumed my thoughts for several days. On my walk home from work, I ran into a pair of sister missionaries who were visiting my neighborhood. Though I was cold and tired and hungry, I stopped for about 20 minutes to chat with these nice ladies. I asked them about their homes and families, and we talked about my job and volunteer work. I don’t go to church, I told them, but I honor God in giving my time to serve the people and animals he created. I find joy and peace in socializing rescued animals that are up for adoption, in packing baskets of food and household supplies for Syrian refugees, and in giving what I can – food, water, a few dollars – to the needy I see around me.

In fact, I told them, I have two cases of water in my car right now! Can I give you a case of water for you to give to the needy you meet?

I was shocked to hear that the answer was no. No, they told me. We’re not allowed to give anything to the homeless.

I was sad at this, and I told them so. Not because I’m self-righteous and count my charitable giving so high, but because I have personally been on the receiving end of rather a lot of charity. When I was growing up, my family was often in need. I ate a lot of food from Deseret Industries (I still get nauseated at the smell of the orange drink powder). Sometimes the church paid our rent, and sometimes the government did. Sometimes we stayed with other families, and during one memorable period during the cold months in Michigan, we stayed in a campground.

We had no home. We were homeless.

I was eight or nine at the time. I lived in a small camper trailer with my parents and one sister (the other two slept in an aunt’s basement). There was one bed, which my parents used, and my sister and I each curled up on a short, narrow dining bench. We cooked on a hotplate and tramped through the dark and cold to use the toilet and shower.

It wasn’t like camping. To this day, I hate camping because it reminds me of being homeless. But also I think this and other experiences have shaped my tender heart. When I see someone in need, I will give cash when I have it. If I don’t, I’ll ask what I can buy for them at a nearby store. If I don’t have cash or time to spare, I sincerely apologize, and I really do feel badly for having to say No. I keep water bottles in my car ready to hand out, and in the winter, I prepare packets of gloves, socks, chapstick, etc to deliver to those I pass.

I do this because these men and women are fellow children of God. They are my real and true brothers and sisters, and I feel compelled to do what is in my power to bring a little relief to their day.

Poverty, homelessness – these are not indicative of a person’s character or worth. They are indicative of circumstances only. I can not see a homeless person and not be reminded of my own experience. I do what I can, and it was shocking to me that these missionaries, sent into the world to serve God’s children, are forbidden from providing the smallest relief, a donated water bottle, to the most desperate among us.

In this circumstance, I feel as though rules, regulations, and policies are obstructing the work of Christ. This is not God to me, and hearing it broke my heart. For me, doing what is right is more important than doing what is correct.