Exponent II's Blog, page 35

I’m Not Ready For This

By Alison

Alison lives in the Midwest with her husband and four children. She is an elementary school teacher, so naturally she loves a really good snow day so she can sleep in and watch TV with her baby girl.

Today my daughter is no longer in primary. My baby girl who still sometimes plays with her dolls and is clinging to a belief in Santa Claus is now considered a young woman in the eyes of the church.  I’m not ready for this.

She has three older brothers, so I’m familiar with navigating the youth program as a parent. And four years ago I was serving in YW, so I’m familiar with it from a leadership perspective, as well. But it feels so different with my own girl. I never felt this dread when her brothers left primary. Why do I feel it with her?

Yes, I’m sad that she is not able to participate in the church in the same way her brothers do. When my oldest was first 12, I didn’t think too much about his priesthood ordination, but as time went on I became increasingly frustrated that young boys held more power in the church than I ever would. And now those brand new deacons are my daughter’s peers and it hurts even more. But it’s more than that.

I know I’m projecting here. I know I’m remembering my experience and assuming that it will be hers as well. I did love my time in the church’s young women program. I loved my leaders and my friends and the activities and even the Sunday classes. But, in retrospect, I do not love what they taught me. And I’m afraid she will learn the same things.

I don’t want her to think that anything having to do with her body or her feelings is shameful. I don’t want her to hear that I am a bad person because I don’t believe all that the church teaches. I don’t want her to think her worth is directly aligned with being a wife and a mother. I know things have changed since I was a teenager in the 90s. But I also know that in many ways, they have not. I know that the current progressive YW presidency in our ward could be changed at any moment to a presidency that thinks having teenaged girls participate in a wedding dress fashion show is appropriate. I read the lessons and I know that they are not as troubling as they were in the past, but I know that she will still be told things that I don’t think are true. I know that she will be told that she is important and valued at church, but she will not see evidence of that within the walls of the church.

I do not want her to go to the temple. I do not want her to have a man ask her questions that may make her feel uncomfortable. I do not want her going to a place that I am not currently allowed to go to myself. But, hey, at least she can do things I could never do as a teenager, like serve as a witness, hand out towels, and do baptisms while she is on her period.

I hate that I’ve created a double standard. That I’m okay with my boys doing these things but not her. I can’t make it make sense. All I know is that I know what it’s like to be female in this church. It can break you. And I don’t want it to break her.

Photo by J W via Unsplash

What do I say when I’m asked “Are you LDS?” What is mine to claim?

A discussion of the complexity of the question “Are you LDS?” for one Exponent blogger exploring layers of identity

What is my identity and what is mine to claim? Can I claim being LDS as a layer in my identity? Is it accurate? These questions aren’t easy answers for me like they once were. When asked at church “Who are you?” I gave the memorized and instant reply “I’m a daughter of Heavenly Father who loves me and I love him.” This identity of divine worth as a child of God has been with me since my earliest memories because I was born into and raised in the faith. Primary teachings focus a lot on being a child of God and Young Womens’ focus was specifically on being a daughter of Heavenly Father (no, I never was taught about Heavenly Mother).

Growing up in the church, I often heard the story of Joseph F Smith being followed by a group of men who had nefarious intentions. The way I remember it, they pulled him off his horse and asked him menacingly if he was a Mormon. He replied “true blue through and through” with pride. This was the gold standard response, the one that was expected of me when asked. Even as a child I was taught lessons about the importance of being willing to die rather than deny my faith.

While living in Utah, a common question I was asked was “Are you Mormon?” That eventually changed to “Are you LDS?” but to me it’s the same question. One of the times I was asked this was when I had started a work from home job that worked perfectly with my kids’ school schedule. I had earned a dinner with the director and other high performers and was anxious and excited about the opportunity. The director shook my hand, asked where I lived, and when I told him he said “Oh! Are you LDS?” and I froze for a moment in panic. 

It turned out that he lived in the same Eagle Mountain neighborhood and wanted to know if we were in the same ward. The question surprised me (I mean hello HR?) but also it was the first time anyone had asked me that question since I had stopped attending church services due to realizing my beliefs weren’t compatible with the religion I was raised in. In a split second before answering the director of the company, my brain was processing “am I still LDS if I don’t believe? My pioneer ancestors sacrificed so much, am I dishonoring them by not claiming my heritage? Am I going to be affected by bias (intended or unconscious) if I say no? Does saying no wipe away the last 36 years of my life living as a Mormon?” 

Now that I live in Washington I don’t get asked this question and I don’t miss being asked. Because the truth is, it’s very complicated for me and I’ve been conditioned to believe that if I don’t proudly claim it, I’m not living up to the gold standard that was set and has been expected of me since my years as a child in primary. If I were to claim it, I’d feel like a religious imposter. If I respond “it’s complicated” it triggers questions I don’t want to answer. If I say “no, I’m ex-Mormon” peoples’ reactions are often weird or uncomfortable. For me, the question instantly raises complex and contradictory emotions of grief and pride, of loss and freedom. 

Generations of LDS ancestors helped form my cultural identity. When I meet other people who have spent significant time as a believing Mormon and no longer believe, I feel a kinship. They understand me on a level that people who haven’t spent decades in the church cannot and in a way that people who believe and haven’t suffered the emotional and even physical effects of leaving the church cannot. How can I possibly sum up the totality of my experiences of good and bad, of being uplifted and abused, of being devout and disaffected in my answer? 

I have often heard the phrase “people who leave the church cannot leave it alone” and the phrase has always, even as a devout member, given me the ick. I just don’t think it’s a fair assessment and to me it sounds dismissive and defensive. Maybe there are people who can spend their lives being devoutly LDS and then walk away and never talk about it, analyze it, try to figure out where the line of LDS identity ends or seek therapy after “leaving the church” but that hasn’t been my experience. I’ll admit there have been times in my life since I stopped believing that something terrible has happened and my mind instantly goes to “this wouldn’t have happened if you would have stayed in the church.” This is a common and unfair thought many people experience because this was a message we received our entire lives. It’s one of many messages that are unwelcome luggage in my faith and identity journey.

So far it’s been impossible to try to disentangle myself from Mormonism. Somehow when I removed over 50 LDS books from our home library my LDS identity didn’t get boxed up with them. Despite clearing my cedar chest of religious keepsakes I still find relics like copies of my patriarchal blessing or pass along cards among my things. When I donated my temple clothing to saints in need it didn’t erase my memory of my new name. When I sold all my Young Women Medallions to a sister who was recently called to serve in the program all the efforts I made to earn them weren’t forgotten. 

Getting to know new people has always been interesting but now living in a place where many of my core memories or chapters in my life (like a ridiculously short engagement) are not common/shared experiences I feel a bit awkward. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love it here but I’d be lying if I said I don’t sometimes feel like an alien around coworkers. I used the word “mete” the other day. Apparently that isn’t a word known outside of religion. Knowing the LDS language served me well in Utah. If you don’t think we have a language I challenge you to ponderize it. See what I did there? Now I’m wondering how to change my language patterns because I want to and I can’t figure it out.

I linger in this space that feels neither in between or past while I try to sort out the many layers of my identity and what is mine to claim.

Someday, I hope I’ll figure it all out. For anyone else who feels similarly, I hope you do too.

What do you say when asked “Are you LDS? The Exponent blog welcomes guest submissions. Learn more about our post guidelines and the submission form on our guest post submission page.

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Would You Like To Speak To The Man In Charge? Or The Woman Who Knows What’s Going On? A review of the movie Conclave.

Warning: This post contains many spoilers for the movie “Conclave”. 

I highly recommend seeing this movie. Even though it seems to be a fairly straightforward fictional depiction of the Catholic Conclave – the selection of a new Pope after the death of the last Pope, I found it a gripping human story, with universal archetypes. I acknowledge my severe lack of understanding concerning the rituals, protocol, details of process, and traditions of the Catholic Church. I beg understanding and patience from all who are deeply connected to the Catholic tradition if I unintentionally express anything that is not respectful. I found very poignant themes that spoke to my Mormon experience, my appreciation of the power of symbolic ritual, and learning through archetypes. I hope to speak to the impact this movie has on me in this way.

The lifelong journey out of the Garden toward wisdom and complexity is as long as life.

When we meet the main character of this story, Cardinal Lawrence is not at the beginning of the archetypal hero’s journey toward wisdom. He has already experienced a crisis of faith, and attempts to recreate new faith within the structure he has chosen to dedicate his life. He is grieving the loss of his great leader, the Pope who has helped him move forward through this journey, not accepting his resignation as Cardinal, and laying groundwork for him to be in a position to lead the Cardinals – the Curia through the process of selecting the next Pope. He told him “some are chosen to be shepherd and some to manage the farm.” We learn early that he had hoped to be serving in another part of the church, away from headquarters and politics of the church. He plans to do so after he honors the former Pope by completing this task.

Much of the cinematography shows the individual and collective characters that impact the story in minor or major ways, without audible dialogue, gathering in the Vatican location, walking through the background, talking together or sitting alone, dramatic music setting a powerful and intentional mood. All of the characters involved in the formal practice of ritual prayer, recited declarations, required meetings, acknowledgement of authority, dressing in layered vestments, sealing of chambers, following every motion of traditional protocol for this event, all are male. Even those in the highest station do not question or depart from the actions determined by tradition. When new levels of technology are required to ensure that the process is completely closed, it is incorporated at the same level of adherence. When massive iron gates cover doorways, and mechanized metal screens cover windows at every level, this is a closed and insulated chamber of men. 

Yet, for those who will have eyes to see, women move through the space in their own way. They do not have the dramatic soundtrack. They are not noticed or greeted by the men. They go about their business of preparing and serving meals, handling background tasks of housekeeping and organization. The literal nourishment provided is completely consumed, but not acknowledged by the men. 

Until something happens. 

An unexpected, unknown Cardinal arrives at the last minute. Cardinal Lawrence is willing to verify him, and accept that his former Pope would appoint someone in unusual ways, and invite him in. This is a “little did he know” moment for Cardinal Lawrence. Cardinal Benitez disrupts the almost automatic process, defying the ritual as he comes from serving in a war torn area, in plain and worn clothing, exhausted by more than his journey. When he is invited to offer the blessing on the first meal, he begins with recited phrases, then continues on with a personal prayer even as the 100+ cardinals automatically start to sit at the end of the phrase, prompting them to stand again as he pleads in prayer for those in need, revealing his deep awareness of others on the margins, and specifically for the women who provide this meal for them. Sister Agnes, who is in charge of these women hears and feels this, in ways the men cannot. 

The motions of tradition and ritual are deeply ingrained in Cardinal Lawrence. So he is confronted when he must deal with the politics and scandal of fellow Cardinals who are willing to lie, and bribe, and betray each other in seeking to rise to power over the organization where they claim to be called to Christlike ministry. 

I constantly thought of the confronting and divine message of Doctrine and Covenants section 121. Those in authority can claim it all they want. They can have titles, and tokens, and following, and influence. But the moment it is not lived through compassion and long suffering and loving kindness, it is not God. It cannot last. 

Cardinal Lawrence senses that the structure he is given charge of is at risk, and he must confront the tension between the pressure to follow tradition, to appear in calm control, to allow corrupt politics to play out. We see the moments where his thoughts, words and actions depart from what all the men are doing. He is the one who weeps with grief. He is the one who shows resistance to his power. He is the one who departs from the wrote homily, offering words that express his experience of moving beyond his crisis of faith. He departs from the traditional welcome, and pleads for the men to move toward wisdom and complexity.

“Let me speak from the heart for a moment. St. Paul said, “Be subject to one another out of reverence for Christ.” To work together, to grow together, we must be tolerant. No one person or faction seeking to dominate another. And speaking to the Ephesians who were of course a mixture of Jews and gentiles, Paul reminds us that God’s gift to the Church is its variety. It is this variety, this diversity of people and views, which gives our Church its strength. And over the course of many years in service of our mother the Church, let me tell you, there is one sin which I have come to fear above all others. Certainty. Certainty is the great enemy of unity. Certainty is the deadly enemy of tolerance. Even Christ was not certain at the end. My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? He cried out in his agone at the ninth hour on the cross. Our faith is a living thing precisely because it walks hand in hand with doubt. If there was only certainty and no doubt, there would be no mystery. And therefore no need for faith.”

The opposing archetypes depicted by Cardinal Lawrence in his struggle are the certainty of male characters (Adam), and the wisdom seeking, nourishing female figures(Eve). The men in charge, those with power, overwhelmingly function in the comfort of certainty, of making sure things continue as they have, secure that they are a part of something that must move forward as it benefits them, because they are certain it is God’s will, since it is their will. 

In the background, there are the women. The men are not even aware of how much the women keep things running, keep them fed. The men are not aware of how aware the women are of what is going one. The women are very aware of how their very existence has to be complex, dwelling in the contraries of serving God within a structure that proclaims the message and mystery of the Gospel, but is run by very human, flawed men. 

Cardinal Benitez and the women gradually claim more of Cardinal Lawrence’s awareness, and he wrestles with seeing things in new ways. Cardinal Benitez is calmly firm in his integrity, and will not move even when he is pressured to follow political influence. This complex wisdom, this willingness of Benitez to completely own and be responsible for his journey calls Cardinal Lawrence to deepen his own. Cardinal Lawrence is soon compelled to see and interact with women when they directly impact and interrupt the ritual. He is not yet practiced enough in seeing women as inherently valuable individuals. His efforts to interact are still following the script he has followed. But Sister Agnes’ voice is heard for the first time, and it is unapologetically powerful, and unapologetically protective of her fellow sisters. 

People outside the gated walls and windows of the Conclave also become impossible to ignore. The sisters are more aware of the conflict outside. The archetype of the holy spirit in the form of a bird is shown in connection with Sister Agnes. She is clearly listening to it. 

Cardinal Lawrence becomes more practiced in listening to the call to wisdom, to take responsibility to lead the process, and to understand when he must do what was unthinkable before, literally break traditional sealings to uncover the blood and sins of this generation, to help repentance begin, that they may be the people they say they want to be.

His wrestle with his own attraction to take power, justifying it with a desire to prevent regressive harm, is a difficult reminder for us all to watch for in ourselves. 

“Then something happens…” is another archetype that escalates throughout the movie. And sometimes, the feeling that a bomb has hit is very literal. 

Cardinal Lawrence begins to seek out more interactions with Cardinal Benitez, struggling with wanting to resist his calm integrity, while being inspired by its transforming power. He also eventually acknowledges the value of Sister Agnes, and has to learn to show he is really listening and seeing. She is able to step into the call and opportunity to influence this very male ritual, because she has begun to feel seen and heard by him. His acknowledgement and appreciation of her work creates a new kind of partnership with the courage and wisdom of women. He begins to find that courage within himself, and move beyond the political pressure to not risk the image of the institution, at the cost of the work of true ministry. 

This leads Cardinal Lawrence to create a space where those who sought power for power’s sake, who exercise authority for authority’s sake are revealed in such a way that any inspiring power of God is absent in them. They cannot avoid hearing Sister Agnes speak, where no woman has ever had voice, saying, “Although we sisters are supposed to be invisible, God has nevertheless given us eyes and ears.” She verifies the immoral works of those bereft of the Spirit, and leaves them to choose what to follow. 

But only those who have ears to hear and eyes to see will do so. And others continue to kick against the pricks.

In a last battle scene, after violent actions outside break through the barriers insulating the Conclave from the world family, where the final adversary who demands adherence, control and certainty, loudly insists on compliance, claiming to be the only one who can save the institution by waging war on the rest of the world, another space is created where people are yearning for a different message. Cardinal Benitez steps into it, speaking peace to those who desperately seek it, inspiring by sharing his own experience, offering what inspired him, to inspire others. This is the most Godlike way of multiplying and replenishing the Earth, the most eternal way of creating life. By inspiring others to breathe deeper, and live life more completely connected to all life.

Cardinal Benitez’ words. “With respect…what do you know about war? I carried out my ministry in the Congo, in Baghdad, in Kabul. I’ve seen the lines of the dead and wounded, Christian and Muslim. When you say we have to fight, what is it you think we’re fighting? You think it is those deluded men who have carried out these terrible acts today? No, my brother. The thing you’re fighting is here (gestures to his heart), inside each and every one of us. If we give into hate now, if we speak of “sides” instead of speaking for every man and woman. This is my first time here, amongst you, and I suppose it will be my last. Forgive me, but these last few days we have shown ourselves to be small petty men, we have seemed concerned only with ourselves, with Rome, with these election, with power. But these things are not the Church. The Church is not tradition. The Church is not the past. The Church is what we do next.”

This inspires enough of the Cardinals to see new possibilities, and consider a new way of doing things. As Cardinal Lawrence prepares to write in his final vote for the next Pope, he feels the slight movement of fresh air, and hears the birdsong coming in through the shattered, once barred window. 

Benitez is almost reluctant in his acceptance of the role to lead as the new Pope. The inevitable “then something happened” occurs again. Cardinal Lawrence is, once again, confronted in taking on a new level of contradictions when he learns how completely Benitez is a physical embodiment of male and female, of certainty and doubt, of opposition in all things. He is the existence of the early attempt to describe the spectrum of God creating each person in Their own image, male and female created They them. Lawrence quickly slips into reaction and almost outrage, confronting Benitez to explain how he thinks this is supposed to work. 

But Lawrence has been practicing receiving wisdom that defies the past during this process. Benitez offers words that inspire. “I am what God made me. And perhaps it is my difference that will make me more useful. I think again of your sermon. I know what it is to exist between the world’s certainties.”

There are few things more confronting and moving than to hear someone let you know how your own words inspired and guided them. And to hear them invite you into a more expansive life because of them. Lawrence chooses to step into this new life, in the midst of the structure, vestments and ritual. He sees things he hadn’t noticed before. The shuttered windows open, and he is bathed in light, hears more birdsong as he steps to the window, and notices, maybe for the first time, women who are joyfully laughing and walking through the open courtyard below. 

I value symbolic ritual for its powerful spiritual theater experience of living vicariously through all characters in the human journey. And the main archetype of the conflict and opposition that is within each of us is often depicted in a separation of male and female. We are drawn forward in journeying from innocence and certainty, towards complexity, doubt, opposition and wisdom. At some point, we can learn to see what we close our eyes and ears to, and what is possible when we will see and hear the existence of those parts of ourselves which will connect to all in partnership towards greater life. Towards divine life. In the symbolic unity of opposites, male and female, welcoming each other in full existence together, we realize and are present to the kingdom of God, which Christ taught is within each of us. 

Conclave is a masterful depiction of this journey. As humans, we might be tempted to view this as we would view any story of conflict and triumph. We want to identify with the good ones, the wise ones, the humble ones, or the winners. I invite you to consider that the most enduring stories will invite us to see ourselves in all parts. In each viewing, similar to each repeated temple ritual, or each reading of journey stories such as Lord of the Rings, I look for myself in all characters, and parts. What speaks to me in the soaring pillars and grand frescoes of the palatial Vatican Palace and Sistine Chapel? What entices me towards the certainty of scripted ritual? How can I relate to the promise of submitting to authority in order to get a guaranteed outcome, even at the cost of denying variety and agency? Where do I embrace the safety of only following directions and putting all responsibility on authority, and where do I respond to the call of moving towards wisdom, and growth which can only come when embracing contradictions? Where am I rigidly attached to the ways things were, insisting that it must continue this way, and thus closing my eyes and ears to the creation of greater life, and unimaginable possibility? Where am I unwilling to acknowledge the existence of those different from myself? How can I practice seeing others as fully connected to all future possibility, and covenant to mourn together, comfort each other, and bear each other’s burdens as we share our journeys forward?

Greater life, deeper breath, limitless love is outside the barriers we build. God will never stop reaching out. Acknowledge the value of ritual practice, the impact of the men in charge, and where tradition of certainty has brought us. Then see and hear the female part of the world, of you, that has the eyes and ears to know what is going on. Let it step forward, take up space, and be heard. Let the whole spectrum of how we are created and exist after the image of Gods, wrestling with certainty and doubt, unify to multiply and replenish the Earth with greater light. 

Sacred Music Sunday: Hail the Day that Sees Him Rise

Last Sunday, my ward watched a recorded broadcast from the area presidency of our local area – North America Southwest. The theme of the broadcast was about Easter and how we need to do more as individuals and as a church to prepare for and celebrate it. I was glad to hear this, because I’ve been saying that for at least 20 years. The area president said that we should have as big a lead-up to Easter as we do to Christmas. After the broadcast, we brainstormed as a ward ways we can do that in our local area.

I’m the ward music chair, so a lot of the liturgical celebration falls to me. We don’t have many Easter hymns in our hymnal, so I’m pleased that the church released another one in the new set of hymns. It’s an old classic – Hail the Day that Sees Him Rise. I’ve always been fond of it, and I’ll likely make it the opening hymn on Easter Sunday.

Easter is in a little less than three months. Theologically, it’s the most significant holiday in Christianity, but it often takes a back seat to Christmas (and in some years, though thankfully not this year, general conference). What are some ways that you prepare for the lead-up to Easter? Do you get ashes on Ash Wednesday? Do you observe Lent, Palm Sunday, or Good Friday? Do you read the gospels in preparation? Do you have any other traditions? Let’s give Easter the attention it deserves this year.

First Vision

Picture of Redwood Trees in Muir Woods National Monument, Mill Valley, CA

Author’s Note: I wrote this poem ~10 years ago as a thought experiment – inspired by the A Mother Here Art and Poetry Contest and the then recently published multiple accounts of the First Vision. I submitted it to A Mother Here but it was not chosen. I never submitted it elsewhere although friends encouraged me to when I verbally shared it. The concept of seeing God the Mother seemed radical when I wrote the poem, but I don’t consider it so now. I have been reminded of the poem in the context of the Come Follow Me curriculum and discussions online of the First Vision. I am thus publishing it now on the Exponent blog to add to the dialogue and envision more to the story.

First Vision

Brightness and glory defy all description.

Seeking, pleading for redemption, to overcome the darkness,
to know the truth, a child was bestowed mercy, enwrapped

in a pillar of light, of fire, a personage, then another.

The Father and the Mother? Was She there with Him?

Side by side, hands joined in unison, proclaiming
“This is Our Beloved Son, Hear Him”

How could Joseph not see Her?

Standing, dancing, above him in the air, smiling,
fingers intertwined with Heavenly Father’s, robes flowing together.

Overwhelmed, perhaps, seeing God as one –
as they were in purpose, might, and glory.

Overwhelmed, with the answer to his prayer,
receiving forgiveness of his sins, meeting his Savior.

But how could he forget Her smile?

Her white hair above the brightness of the sun.

Was the Mother lost in retelling the story?

The details change after all.

Variation in retelling is not fabrication,
to the contrary, it expands our vision.

She must have been there –

In a quiet grove of trees, a light descended
like a pillar of fire, two personages appeared
whose brightness and glory defy all description.

Is Trump trying to ruin science?

I am writing this on January 24th. I just got out of a meeting at my place of employment. I work at a small research institute that is funded by government science grants from places like the National Institutes of Health (NIH) or the Institute of Education Sciences (IES).

There is a lot of shaky fear going on right now in the scientific community. All because of Trump’s recent executive orders.

Trump’s few days in office have resulted in executive orders that involve things like canceling federal grant review panels and training workshops (SOURCE).

Why does this matter?

On a personal note: a grant application from my agency should have been reviewed this week, but has been postponed indefinitely.

On a more global note that everyone should care about: this means that important research projects that could help save human lives are not getting the funding needed.

Today I tried to go to a page on the NIH’s website that I’ve visited many times before (including just a couple days ago) that talks about the need to ensure diverse samples of research participants (so that we’re not just researching white men like research used to be before we started caring about this), and all I got was this:

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Hoping it was just a fluke, I clicked a link I had in my notes for another similar page (that I’d also visited a couple days ago) and this time I got this:

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A bit frantic now, I googled “NIH diversity” and found plenty of links, but each one ended in an error message similar to the ones above.

For the record: having diverse samples in research isn’t just a nice thing to do. It is critical to the lives of human beings. If we only research white men, we do not learn whether interventions/medicines/operations/etc work on anyone else. Without that information, human beings die. That is the reality that Trump is pushing on the scientific community.

NOTE: Trump issued a “communication ban” for NIH employees – meaning that program officers are not allowed to talk to potential grantees until February 1st. So, as researchers, we wait and see what this time in history does for the future of science.

During this waiting, we hope we’re being hyperbolic to worry that Trump’s decisions will have long term implications. But we also know that laws have lasting impacts on the lives of you and me and the people we love. 

Don’t believe me? Let’s take a look at this day in history: January 25th, 1900.

The story starts in the month leading up to January 25th. Christmas Eve 1899. Lots of people were traveling to see loved ones (just like Christmas Eve a month ago!). This time, a Black passenger in Virginia sat next to a white woman on a train. When asked to move, the Black passenger didn’t move. There was public outrage. The newspaper wrote “God Almighty drew the color line and it cannot be obliterated.” The white governor of Virginia expressed how much he hated riding on trains with Black individuals. And on this day in history (January 25th, 1900), the Viriginia Senate made their new year priorities clear when they unanimously passed a bill requiring separate cars for White individuals and Black individuals. That white governor had no problem signing it into law and it became one of the first state segregation laws (before the segregation of schools, boats, prisons, public halls). Other states were passing similar segregation laws which had all become legal in the federal ruling Plessy v. Ferguson just a few years earlier. That segregation continued for decades and there are still institutions that are systematically segregated and/or unequal. 

As a feminist, you need to care.

These issues impact everyone who experiences inequity. That includes Black, Indigenous, People of Color (BIPOC) communities, women and girls, LGBTQIA+ children and adults, immigrants, and other marginalized groups. This matters! Being able to do science for all people (not just white men) matters. 

This January 25th, rather than sitting idly as Trump passes executive orders that can have lasting impacts on the future of human lives, let’s make change. Let’s listen to the voices of those who are being impacted every day. Then take a moment to think about what you can do in your sphere to make things better.

Not sure where to start? Here’s a list of texts/books/articles/essays that you can read this year that will help you understand how institutional racism operates in the US:

In the carceral system:

Recommended Book: Michelle Alexander’s book called The New Jim Crow . Here’s a sample quote: “It is no longer socially permissible to use race as a justification for discrimination, social contempt, and exclusion. Rather than rely on race, we use our criminal justice system to label people of color ‘criminals’ and then engage in all the practices we supposedly left behind. Today, it is perfectly legal to discriminate against criminals in nearly all the ways it was once legal to discriminate against African Americans — in employment, housing, voting, education, public benefits, and exclusion from jury service. We have not ended racial caste in America; we have merely redesigned it.”

Recommended personal narrative from someone impacted: “It’s been 22 years since my time in solitary and 8 years since my release from prison, but I still have flashbacks and nightmares. Even when I’m with someone else, I find myself secluded in my own mind. I call it being psychologically incarcerated. I’m learning to identify and deal with it, but I am still not normal.” – Kiana Calloway in his piece about being wrongfully convicted and sent to solitary confinement in Louisiana (you can read about him in his bio at his current employment )

In the education system:

Recommended article: Check out this article that summarizes some research suggesting that schools are often still segregated and those that are segregated tend to have worse outcomes. Here’s a sample quote: “When we allow our schools to remain segregated by race and economic status, we are systematically providing fewer educational opportunities to our most vulnerable students. That does not mean segregation is the sole cause of educational disparities, but it magnifies them.”

In the medical field:

Recommended special issue: Check out this AMA Journal of Ethics Special Issue . Here’s a sample quote in the intro: “Legally sanctioned racial segregation in hospitals ended with the Civil Rights Act of 1964, with fiscally incentivized enforcement through Medicare payment structures implemented in 1966. Yet, practices such as sorting patients by insurance status still perpetuate de facto racial and class segregation, especially in academic health centers.”

Recommended article: Check out this article in the Journal of Substance Abuse Treatment where 79% of the 143 Black adults surveyed said they had experienced healthcare discrimination and that often led to a mistrust of the medical system. 

In Mormonism:

Recommended podcast: Listen to this short (4 minute) NPR story where James Jones (a Black member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) shares his story about being in the church with such a racist history and how that impacts him today. Consider also taking his anti-racism training that is targeted for members of the church. 

Recommended podcast: Listen to this podcast, “ Achieving Zion: The Impact of Racism on Becoming One ” where Dr. Mica McGill tells her story within the context of the large structural issues in the church and describes the impact of racism on the church. Quote from the podcast blurb: “Mormonism has uniquely benefitted from white-supremacy…White Mormons all along the spectrum of orthodoxy must reconcile with their history and mythologized racial innocence in order to truly become one with self and community.”

Please add more recommendations in the comments below!

What ‘Conclave’ taught me about the holiness of doubt

What can the election of a new pope teach us about Mormonism? About nuanced Christianity? About what happens when men who have always known privilege are forced to confront those who have lived without it? About what happens when a person whose life has been defined by faith loses that faith?

What insights can it offer to the idea that one person—one man—can adequately speak for God?

I pondered these and other questions watching “Conclave,” which this week was nominated for eight Academy Awards, including Best Picture and Best Actor for Ralph Fiennes. It is fictional and starts with the death of the old pope, then takes the viewer inside the Sistine Chapel for the conclave, where all of the Catholic Church’s cardinals come from throughout the world to vote on a new pope. This is a days-long process with very quiet, subtle campaigning and more than a few twists and turns, although the movie consists largely of talking and silence. Even the biggest twist is not a highly charged moment but a quiet, unexpected admission.

I didn’t go into ready for this level of asking deep questions. I went into it expecting some Dan Brown-esque intrigue—plotting, relics, puzzles, all protecting ancient religious secrets.

It turned out all the secrets weren’t that ancient, the puzzle was what was happening in the mind of the main character and the plot twist at the end made the whole story complicated—but also so very not.

What it was instead was a look at what people will do for power, how religion can be wielded as a tool for good and evil and how faith and doubt co-exist. How they need each other.

“Conclave” follows Dean Lawrence (Fiennes), who is running a conclave split between those who wish to see the Catholic Church progress with the times, including embracing those who have been historically marginalized (including, gasp! women) and those who see tolerance, movement toward the social norms and acceptance of the validity of other faiths as a sin that is dragging the church down and must be rectified. They discuss similar issues we in the Mormon and adjacent space have about the church, but in a way that was safer for me—I don’t have any emotional hangups with Catholicism.

Three moments stood out to me. First: Dean Lawrence, who is adamant that he does not want to be pope (though that is what they all say, even when later words and actions contradict that—can you believe this man’s professed lack of ambition or does he, too, strive to be the most powerful man in Christianity?), gives the opening sermon of the conclave. It is not what the other cardinals expected:

“St. Paul said be subject to one another out of reverence for Christ. To work together, to grow together, we must be tolerant, no one person or faction seeking to dominate another. And speaking to the Ephesians who were of course a mixture of Jews and Gentiles, Paul reminds us that God’s gift to the church is its variety. It is this variety, this diversity of people and views which gives our church its strength. And over the course of many years in the service of our mother the church, let me tell you there is one thing which I have to fear above all others: certainty. Certainty is the great enemy of unity. Certainty is the deadly enemy of tolerance. Even Christ was not certain at the end … Our faith is a living thing precisely because it walks hand in hand with doubt. If there was only certainty and no doubt, there would be no mystery and therefore no need for faith. Let us pray that God will grant us a pope who doubts.”

We will never know everything. We will never know most things. Where we came from, where we’re going, if we’re in fact going anywhere after death—I do not know. I cannot know. I can choose to believe, I can choose to have faith in something, but it is not a lack of faith to recognize that I don’t have all the answers, and I doubt the things I am told. Doubt is what drives most of us to ask and seek answers to questions. It is a sacred duty of believers to doubt.

Second: There is an order of nuns who takes care of the conclave. The main nun, Sister Agnes (Isabella Rosselini), is the sole woman in a room with 108 cardinals when a disagreement breaks out—loud, discordant, uncomfortable. As men are yelling, her voice is at first hard to hear. But she will not let herself be ignored. As they quiet, Sister Agnes speaks: “Although we sisters are supposed to be invisible, God has nevertheless given us eyes and ears.”

To give you the rest of the speech would spoil a major plot point, so I won’t. But her words hit me. How many times have we sisters been told to be invisible? To be silent? To be told we are shrill and we need to know when to stop speaking? We are invisible when we are not invited to meetings, when our words are ignored, when our labor is undervalued or simply not valued at all.

Yet God has given us eyes and ears. And a mouth, and a brain. We see, we hear, and we deserve to speak and be heard—as equals. We are not guests at Jesus Christ’s table. We belong there.

The final moment comes when the conclave is interrupted by activity on the outside. One cardinal who wants to be pope, who wants to drag the Catholic Church back into, well, the Middle Ages, demands a holy war against Muslims, against tolerance, against progress. He wants a crusade. He is convinced that this is the way of God—to kill those who do not believe as this man does. (It’s funny how many people are convinced God shares their exact opinions, their likes and dislikes, their prejudices and bigotry. It is not unique to Catholicism. One look at the Christian nationalism sweeping the United States today shows it is a very popular thing, to create God in one’s own image.)

In response, another cardinal, who has been a mystery throughout the movie, stands and calls, “My brother cardinal … my brother cardinal …” Like Sister Agnes, at first his voice goes unheard amid the cacophony. But finally, the men are listening. Cardinal Benitez speaks, slowly, enunciating each word, watching them land with his audience. In an attempt to adequately bring you into the scene, which is as important as the words, I’ve italicized my own description of it:

 “With respect, what do you know about war? He pauses, as it sinks in that this man who calls for war knows nothing of the reality of it. He is European and has spent his life in service of the church in Italy.  I carried out my ministry in the Congo, in Baghdad, in Kabul. I’ve seen the lines of the dead and wounded, Christians and Muslims. When you say we have to fight, what is it you think we’re fighting? You think it’s those deluded men who have carried out these terrible acts today? No, my brother … here he switches to Spanish, his native tongue … that which you’re fighting is here. He puts his hand on his heart. Here, inside each and every one of us, if we give in to hate now. If we speak of sides instead of speaking for every man and woman.”

I wish every religious leader, every religious person, lived that, regardless of their beliefs. I wish we were, all of us, on the same side—the side of peace, of conservation, of love, of knowledge, of nonviolence.  

Photo credit: Focus Features

2024 was a year for movies that forced difficult questions about religion on their viewers. Although “Heretic” didn’t get any Oscar nods, it inspired a lot of critical thinking and discussion here at The Exponent II. Explore some of those pieces:

Mr. Reed from Heretic is right: Polygamy is Mormonism’s biggest problem

Guest post: Why I won’t be seeing Heretic as a former missionary

I was a Mormon sister missionary, and here’s what I thought of Heretic, the new horror movie about missionaries

Rape Isn’t God’s Will

By C Brown

A former Rape Recovery Center educator, C has a master’s degree in curriculum development and has served in many volunteer organizations, including Foster Care Citizen Review Board, LDS Relief Society president, PTA leader, and literacy volunteer.

For several years I volunteered as a community educator for the Rape Recovery Center in Utah. Sometimes I went to the juvenile detention center where many of the group were either rape survivors or rapists. In most cases, the survivors felt guilty for being raped and the perpetrators felt their victims deserved to be raped or that being raped didn’t impact them. Both were false, of course.

Part of our work was to convince the victims that they were not responsible for being raped and that the abuse was the sole responsibility of the rapist. That was difficult since often their families, cultures, and religions shamed and blamed victims while ignoring their horrific suffering. The work with perpetrators was fascinating since most had never learned about consent, the concept that a person must voluntarily, willingly, and genuinely agree to participate in sexual activity. Some rapists assumed that folks wanted to be raped when they clearly did not. Other perpetrators didn’t know that a child was too young to give consent, that someone who was drunk or incapacitated was incapable of giving consent, and that “no” means “no.” It was gratifying to see a person’s eyes light up when they realized what consent truly was and how consent could be violated. It was also thrilling to see perpetrators finally accept responsibility for the harm they had done.

Utah doesn’t allow that concept to be taught in schools and few religions teach it, so many young people are misinformed regarding issues of rape and sexual abuse. For decades, Utah, which was in the past predominately LDS, has had one of the highest rate rapes in the United States. The LDS Church has taught for years that victims are partly responsible for being raped, and references to an apostle’s talk that states that lie are still found in Church manuals.1  In addition, Church attorneys are quick to defend LDS rapists and slow to help rape survivors. With the teachings that leaders are called by God and should be obeyed along with the practice of one-on-one interviews by leaders with children and youth, the Church has created a rape culture that shames the victims and too often protects the perpetrators.

To correct the problem, the Church needs to have parents present in all interviews with leaders or discontinue worthiness interviews entirely. No LDS child should feel it is okay to submit to sexual questioning by a Church leader behind closed doors. Since sexual abuse is a serious issue among LDS members, the fundamentals of consent should be taught in age-appropriate language for children, youth, and adults. The recent example of a Danish woman who was repeatedly raped by her husband and then instructed by her bishop to “lock her bedroom door” reveals how poorly LDS leaders are trained about the fundamentals of sexual abuse. Meanwhile, her husband continued to serve in major church callings, causing the government in Denmark to launch an investigation into the policies and practices of the Church.

Currently, the LDS Church has a hotline to protect leaders and the good name of the Church. It needs to implement a hotline where victims can call and report abuse. The horrific case in Arizona reveals how fervently the Church hides behind priest-penitent privilege while it refuses to require its leaders to report abuse to police and to protect victims from abuse. Floodlit.org keeps records of LDS leaders and members who are convicted of serious sexual crimes, yet since most crimes are unreported and few perpetrators are convicted, LDS members often do not recognize how pervasive and serious the problem of sexual abuse in the LDS Church truly is.

Since the LDS Church claims to be the only true Church, it should set the standard for protecting its members from sexual abuse and holding perpetrators accountable. Church leaders should be repeatedly trained on how to create a safe environment for children and youth, how to safeguard the vulnerable, and how to establish clear guidelines for interactions between adults and children. Leaders should require background checks for all who work with vulnerable groups, and the LDS Church should not hide behind priest-penitent privilege but should create a policy where leaders are required to report perpetrators to proper authorities and hold abusers accountable. In addition, the Church should stop shaming and blaming victims of abuse by punishing them with church discipline, ignoring their pleas for help, or minimizing the suffering that survivors of sexual abuse experience.

The inclusion of text and pictures in a recently published Church book for children that justifies child sexual abuse by older men as inspired by God amplifies a Church culture where men can rationalize abusive behavior by pretending that their actions are God-ordained. When Church leaders justify the plural “marriage” of foster daughters, 14-year-old girls, married women, and mother-daughter pairs to Church leaders, claiming it was ordained of God, they create a system where men can defraud others through sexual, financial, psychological, or ecclesiastical abuse and where the Church too often turns a blind eye to the abuse.

Although the LDS Church claims to be the “gold standard” for dealing with child abuse, it disregards the best practices for protecting its children and members. It is time for the Church to care more about its children as it does about protecting its good name. After all, Jesus said that anyone who “shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.”2 He also warned the people to “not do what [the Pharisees or church leaders] do, for they do not practice what they preach. They tie up heavy, cumbersome loads and put them on other people’s shoulders, but they are not willing to lift a finger to move them.”3

The Church spends millions of dollars in attorney fees and sexual abuse settlements which could be better spent in protecting members from sexual abuse. Best practices for churches and organizations are clearly outlined

1 LDS Eternal Marriage Student Manual, https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/manual/eternal-marriage-student-manual/abuse/healing-the-tragic-scars-of-abuse?lang=eng

2 Matthew 18:6 KJV

3 Matthew 23: 3-8 NIV

Inspiration for Bold Mormon Feminist Voices from Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde

This week, during a presidential inaugural sermon, Anglican Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde admonished Donald Trump and J.D. Vance concerning their responsibility before God to show mercy toward the most vulnerable people living in the United States, including queer children, undocumented immigrants, asylum seekers, and the children of parents who face possible deportation. I admire her and this bold powerful act of courage and advocacy. Her message is powerful and important.

It was a striking instance of these men having to sit and respectfully listen to uncomfortable words that confronted and challenged them. I doubt Vance or Trump are in the habit of learning from female faith leaders. I perceived discomfort on their faces, including embarrassment at having some of their intentions publicly advised against and spiritually scrutinized during inaugural festivities.

Bishop Budde’s boldness surprised many. Her actions remind me of “wilderness” prophets who pop out of nowhere to share inspired words despite personal risks. She is like Abinadi before King Noah, Samuel on the wall of Zarahemla, or Jeremiah or Isaiah warning corrupt kings and kingdoms of their times.

She also reminds me of inspired Mormon feminist writers, advocates and activists who have persisted in calling for greater love, openness, and wisdom to be enacted in the Church one decade after another. 

Wilderness prophets are usually not welcomed with humility or grace. Trump is complaining and asking for an apology from Budde. King Noah put Abinadi in prison because he couldn’t tolerate someone preaching against him in the streets; his priests started up a conversation only because they wanted to prove him wrong and poke fun at him. Samuel’s audience tried to kill him with stones and arrows, and he went home without having been listened to. Jesus taught that prophets tend to not be accepted among their own people.

So it is for bold Latter-day Saint women who speak up. Recently, Latter-day Saint matriarch and arguably the best living Latter-day Saint writer, Carol Lynn Pearson, mentioned her low expectations for leaders to respond to her efforts to exchange with them:

“Soon after the publication of The Ghost of Eternal Polygamy (pub. 2016), I sent a copy of the book to each member of the church’s governing First Presidency, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and other top leaders. I signed the books to each by name, “with appreciation and with the hope that you will lead us into a truly post-polygamy future.” I knew I would not hear back from any of them” (emphasis mine). Nine years later, they still haven’t reached out. She points out LDS leaders’ recent actions make it clear they still haven’t taken the time to consider her work or to internalize the many striking accounts from members shared throughout her book.

How much is the Church’s administration like King Noah and his priests when it comes to receiving wilderness prophets with grace, open-mindedness, and reciprocity? At what cost is it intolerant of criticism, closed-minded to feedback, and overly confident of being right about things? To what extent is the Church bleeding, burning and gasping for air due its failures to listen to prophetic women and other marginalized prophetic members?

Stories like the one Linda recently shared about Elder Bednar make me wonder if some of them are prone to foolishly and arrogantly attempt to replicate Jesus’s moments of righteous indignation. Church leaders, please get over yourselves. You’re not Jesus, not even close, and you’re not more special or righteous or chosen by God than lay members, women, queer individuals, or children. You shouldn’t try to take up Jesus’s kind of strength or confidence. Human church administrators who would do better to wash the feet of homeless people in the street. This would inspire us all more and do more good in the world.

I have friends who were part of Ordain Women years ago who felt irreversibly pushed out of the Church at the moment they realized top leaders were completely closed to the idea of making room for their voices to be heard. Thinking of their moments of rejection and crushing disappointment breaks my heart.

Our general leaders directly discourage members from giving them any feedback at all, as found in the following item in the Church handbook:

(Item) 38.8.25: Church members are discouraged from calling, emailing, or writing letters to General Authorities about doctrinal questions, personal challenges, or requests. 

I’ve known about this policy for a long time. But a few years ago, so much pain and frustration had built up in me about expectations and policies at church that I felt compelled to write an anonymous letter. I talked about my desire for queer children to be fully embraced as they are at church. About how I can foresee that healthy young people in rising generations will not be able to view Mormon plural marriage as having ever been divinely sanctioned. And other things like my refusal to spend my one open morning in the week cleaning the church building.

The letter was so long I had to put it in a big envelope and take it to the post office. I put no return address. The postal worker noticed this and frowned at me. I told them it was activism against an organization that I could not trust with my name or address because they might punish me unfairly. To think this group I was speaking against was the church family that had raised me and that I put so much trust and energy into throughout my life seemed completely absurd and profoundly disappointing. Sending this letter was sort of like writing to a powerful and dangerous grandfather who I have to deal with but who avoids his own relational issues and emotional intimacy at all costs. The Church’s unhealthy top-down, nonreciprocal impulses stem to stem from unaddressed traumas including the coerciveness and moral dissonance of polygamy, Joseph’s Smith’s violent early death, our sudden, unwanted move to the desert, and repressed insecurity about our frameworks of belief, religious legitimacy, and place in society.

It seemed to me my letter might as well have been dropped into a bottomless pit. I doubt it was even opened at the church office building. How many other women have written such letters out of a desperate need to share their voices? Sending it was not gratifying because I had no reason to hope anyone would read it or care.

The handbook urges members to bring personal concerns to local leaders such as bishops and stake presidents. But local leaders are not empowered to do anything, and are often no better at listening. I once tried to talk with a bishop about how patriarchy and homophobic approaches make it hard for Gen Z and Gen Alpha to resonate with the faith tradition. He interrupted me mid-sentence, saying this kind of thing is above his “pay grade” and nothing he can do anything about. I made a request to another leader that he stop referring to missions as a commandment for boys because it was hurting my child. He didn’t even acknowledge I had said anything and wasn’t interested in conversation. 

Things shouldn’t be this way. Noah should have heeded Abinadi’s warnings. Instead, due to his choices to control others and treat others harshly, all Abinadi’s prophecies came true: Noah lost his power and his own priests burned him at the stake. Trump and Vance should be responsive to Bishop Budde’s call for mercy, but only time will tell what actions they will take. Latter-day Saint women should be heard, heeded, and empowered in their own church rather than ignored, disciplined, or pushed into a powerless role. Will the Church change course and start listening to women’s wisdom and warnings, or will it continue in its oppressive, self-confident, avoidant habits?

Bishop Budde probably knew Trump would resist and resent her words, but she shared them anyway with grace and power. Her actions strengthened many people this week. She role modeled moral and spiritual maturity, compassionate advocacy for those in need, respectful bridge building, faith and hope. We Latter-day Saint feminists, allies, and advocates can take inspiration from Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde and raise voices of wisdom and warning boldly as we feel inspired. We may not influence the views or policies of any leader, but we WILL help members and future generations to learn, grow, heal and transform in unprecedented ways. Our voices will spread love and relief to those who are most marginalized at church. And we will change the Church through the ways we teach, impact and show love and understanding to its members. How do we do this? We can start with writing, posting, and speaking online, supporting people with open-mindedness, nuance and compassion in our in-person circles, and whatever ways we feel inspired to speak out and be different and more loving than policies and rhetoric at Church.

Imagine that you had an opportunity like Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde. A few minutes when top Latter-day Saint leaders were obliged to listen to your solemn, authoritative words about what needs to happen in their upcoming years of leadership. What would you say? What would you admonish them to do or warn them about?

Note: the feature photo for this post is from Bishop Budde’s leadership profile on Washington National Cathedral’s website.

Guest Post: My Pastel Cardigan

by Kimber Young Poon

I first saw the pastel cardigan on a missionary training video. Perched on the edge of the seat, the sister missionary wearing the cardigan glowed with a submissive charm.

“How many people should we invite to be baptized this week?” The other sister — the non-pastel-cardigan-one — asked.

“Hmmmm,” the pastel cardigan sister tilted her head to the ceiling in a thoughtful pause. Her hair was modestly fluffy — long, parted in the center. “What about 10?”

She gently leafed through their planner, her fingers floating through the pages.

“We have to have the faith that God will help us,” she said softly, quiet confidence exuding behind a relaxed pixelated smile.

I went to the store that Monday and bought myself a pastel cardigan. The arms didn’t fit quite right, and I had to stretch the sleeve hem to reach my wrist, but the fabric was soft and the buttons were shiny. It hung simply around my torso. I regarded myself in the mirror, wondering how I could add more fluff to my hair.

Months later, I sat across from Diana, a new woman we were teaching. Her hair was curly, wild, and dyed bright orange. She wore all black — a black cardigan over a black blouse, black tweed pants, and pointed black flats.

She was the stage lighting director for big concerts in Manhattan. She spoke in a brisk, hurried voice, as if constantly giving commands to technicians to hit the lights immediately.

And for some reason, beyond our understanding, she wanted to meet with the Mormon missionaries.

The first day she saw me, she eyed my shin-length skirt and said curtly, “You’re going to get raped at night if you walk out on the street too late.”

“Don’t worry, we have to be in our apartment by 9:30,” I replied.

I tugged at my pastel cardigan. So, why did she want to meet with us?

“I want to know what it means to be a Woman of God,” she said.

Well, it means pastel cardigans, I said. But I didn’t say that. I said words like “obedience” and “special” and “faith” and “loved.”

“You’re in luck!” My companion chimed in, “We have the General Women’s Conference happening next week. You can come and see what we are all about!”

—

I squirmed in my seat next to Diana as we waited for the conference to start. We were seated in a tight room on folding chairs in semi-circles surrounding a small, old television. She eyed me again.

“Pastel isn’t your color,” she said matter-of-factly. I pulled at my sleeves. Why couldn’t they just stay?

As the broadcast started, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw a diverse international choir.

All of the women teaching in the broadcast taught exclusively about pastel cardigans. But they didn’t actually teach that. They said words like “obedience” and “duty” and “gift” and “Motherhood” and “covenant” and “highest and holiest calling.”

It seemed normal enough to me.

During the closing prayer, I snuck a glance at Diana. She stared at the screen head-on, unabashedly.

“I thought you guys told me that God thought women were good for more than being birthing machines,” she said to us before we never saw her again.

—

That night, I took off my pastel cardigan.

“I tried,” I told God on my knees in tears, “I’ve tried to be who you want me to be. I’ve tried to be soft and meek and quiet and gentle. But I am bold, I am impatient, I am a leader, I am proud.”

God met me that night — right there, sitting on the ground across from me, knees to knees.

“I have enough people wearing pastel cardigans,” She said. “I need you.”

 

Kimber is a writer, teacher, and artist based out of Cottonwood Heights, Utah. She loves to try new foods, visit museums, and wear colorful dresses (but avoids pastels). She writes about faith transformation and spiritual growth in her newsletter, Something for Sundays.