Exponent II's Blog, page 75

Line Leaders

This morning I published a post called The Priesthood Makes You Special, about the sometimes overinflated egos we unintentionally give boys in the church by offering them titles and responsibilities far above those of girls. This morning I also came across a TikTok video from my friend Callan Olive, a therapist near Indianapolis, Indiana.

I asked if I could share it on the blog, and she said yes. (I’d suggest watching her video for her voice inflections, but if you aren’t able to, I’ve also copied her words at the bottom of this post.)

@deconstructiontherapy

Writing through some feelings #patriarchy #religioustrauma #exevangelical #exmormon #exjw

♬ Painful, slow piano music, BGM(1299580) – syummacha

Would anyone feel comfortable with a classroom whose teacher only allowed boys leadership positions?

Check out Callan’s entire Tiktok channel and her website for help deconstructing any harmful religious beliefs you might hold (such as patriarchy).

Guest Bio: Callan Olive practices therapy in Indiana and has a Bachelor’s in Psychology from Brigham Young University and a Master’s in Marriage and Family Therapy from Texas Tech University. She’s an adventurer, a feminist, a therapist, and a coach. She lives near Indianapolis and works with clients from all over the US. Callan is a single mom with 4 small children and when she’s not working, she loves going on adventures with them or listening to audiobooks. Social justice issues like women’s rights and LGBTQ rights are very important to her.

Here is her Tiktok essay in written format:

My 6-year-old thinks line-leader is the best classroom job.

Leading for once, instead of following.

a small amount of power.

But

No, honey, no

Only boys get to be line leader.

Your body was created for other things.

Look, I didn’t make the rules, roles.

We have to wait for your male teachers to talk to the male principal and receive word from the male superintendent before any rules can be changed.

Line leading is just too important.

Listen,

You probably wouldn’t even like that kind of responsibility. You just think you would.

There are plenty of other jobs perfectly suited to girls.

See, you can collect the pencils!

(Yeah, the kindergarteners can do that too, but any job is a gift.)

You can help pass out the papers! 

Ok, yeah, the boys will have to tell you where they go but isn’t it great that you get to help them?

Girls are the best helpers.

No line leader for you, but don’t whine, sweety. That gets you nowhere. 

Plus, every job is seen as important in the eyes of the superintendent.

You weren’t meant to like it. That’s not what school is for.

Of course you’re valuable, why wouldn’t you be?

The line leaders have the power, but you have a special helper power and that’s great! 

(If I keep telling you that’s great, I’m sure you’ll buy into it someday.)

I’m sure someday you’ll see that school is the best thing for you, 

the place you’ll learn that line leading is only for boys.

The place you’ll learn how to pretend to be ok with it.

The Priesthood Makes You Special

It’s that time of year when Latter-day Saint boys everywhere are called upon to stand up in sacrament meetings to be admired and recognized by their congregations for their annual priesthood advancements. In some instances, the male leadership will notice a disparity between the public recognition the boys and girls in their ward are receiving. These men might also ask the girls to stand and be admired for their important accomplishments, which include being alive for another year within the ward boundaries. Their duties, responsibilities and importance to the ward remain unchanged, because they are still nothing. While the boys usher the doors, collect fast offerings and bless and pass the sacred emblems of the sacrament, the girls sit reverently and watch them perform their duties. Many members feel that having them both stand to be recognized on the first Sunday in January (if they are) is enough to erase any disparity between the two groups for the rest of the year.

This got me thinking about the renaming of the girls’ classes from Beehive, Mia Maid and Laurel to “12- & 13-year-old class”, “14- & 15-year-old class”, and “16- & 17-year-old class”. (These new class names roll right off the tongue just like saying “I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” does.)

This was supposed to make things less confusing, especially in countries where those words didn’t translate from English very well. The names of the boys’ classes remained unchanged, though: deacon, teacher and priest. I guess those were not confusing internationally in the minds of our male church leaders.

But much more confusing to me than the cutesy word “beehive” is when we call an 18 year old boy an “elder”, or a 14 year old child with no education degree or teaching certification whatsoever a “teacher”. In other religions to become a “priest” a man must permanently forsake all family life and romantic pursuits, complete years of full-time seminary and make a lifelong commitment to serving the Lord. In our church, you just have to be a 16 year old boy who can read a scripted prayer into the microphone once a week at church. 

Deacons are now as young as (and sometimes barely) eleven years old, but are told that after a brief ceremony with hands placed on their heads and a prayer that they now have more authority in just their little finger than the Pope. That’s ripe with the possibility for an overinflated young male ego, which I experienced years ago when a friend’s 12 year old son walked around my kitchen discussing out loud how cool it was that he now possessed the literal power of God and could call on the heavens to back his authority at any time. Holding my tongue, I recognized in his words the teachings he’d received from both his dad and his church leaders, and I wondered what it would’ve been like to have been so young and thought I was so incredibly important. (But I was a girl, so at age 12 I just had activities on how to babysit, and lessons on how to support my future husband in his important priesthood duties.)

Our version of reality might be a little confusing to the outside world.

The only similarly overinflated ego trip I can come up with as a young woman was being able to say I’d graduated from seminary, because in most other parts of society that would denote the completion of a doctorate level degree in theology. Unfortunately, I’ve lived in Utah my entire life and absolutely no one thinks that when I mention my four years as a seminary student. (And nobody told me that after doing so I could then speak on behalf of God or heal someone from cancer, while 18-year-old boys on their missions do believe they have that power.)

Just for fun, this is what I thought being a seminary graduate looked like. (Photos from the Laguna Niguel Stake)This is what the rest of the world thinks being a seminary graduate looks like.

Recently a woman visited her family for the holidays and pulled out an old church book from their shelves. She then shared several humorous (and frustrating) pages with an online group we’re both in. One chapter in this popular George Durrant book stood out to me. It was called, “The Priesthood Makes You Special”.

This is the cover of the book she found.This attitude about the priesthood making men extra special reminded me of almost every single male returned missionary I ever interacted with at BYU. 

In a more recent book, Joanna Brooks shares her experience as a young Mormon girl watching the boys around her be ordained to the priesthood and compared what she got as a girl.

This is the front cover of her book.This is the beginning of chapter 4.

Before I read this book in late 2012, I listened to a radio interview with Joanna. Her words had resonated with me and I found her very likable. Unfortunately, at this point in my life her book didn’t hit me the same way, despite me being right on the cusp of a colossal paradigm shift in my beliefs about women and the church. My initial thoughts were, “What’s the big deal that her friends got the Priesthood and she didn’t? The priesthood is for boys.” Her ideas and perception of reality made no sense to me, and my Goodreads review from back then says I was confused and disappointed in the book, and that it had “tanked for me”. Literally less than a year later I would begin to see everything very differently and actively begin to push for equality for girls growing up in the church.

I explain those feelings because if you sat in church on Sunday and felt unbothered when only the boys stood for recognition (or if both the boys and girls stood, but you didn’t feel there was a discrepancy in their value), I was right there with you once. Almost all of us who actively speak out about needed changes to benefit the next generation of LDS girls were once very satisfied with the status quo too. It’s hard to predict what will be the thing that finally shifts someone’s perspective, but maybe this issue could be it for you.

You see, if it’s wrong for girls to aspire to positions of church authority or to ask for the priesthood to be extended to them, why is it celebrated when boys do the exact same thing? And why are the young men publicly honored for wanting to be ordained to the next priesthood office when girls are shamed for even wondering what it would be like to hold that kind of power from God?

The Scripture That Transformed My Approach to New Year’s Resolutions

I am a planner. I love a good goal, a New Year’s resolution, and a five-year plan.

A good resolution can help me identify where I am, where I want to go, and how to get there.

However, a bad goal/resolution is a roadblock at best and a tool of self-sabotage, guilt, and shame at worst. That helps no one, least of all me. Like April, I don’t find a resolution mindset that requires perfection to be helpful.

One scripture helped me transform my approach to goals and resolutions. The Pharisees were challenging Jesus about his and his disciples’ sabbath day activities, including plucking ears of corn on the sabbath day. Jesus shares an example of King David, who “when he had a need, and was hungred,” he and those with him went to the high priest and ate the shewbread, which was only for the priests.  

Mark 2:27, “And he said unto them, The sabbath was made for man, and not man for the sabbath.”

I am not a bible scholar, but I understand that Jesus believed in essential needs that outweighed the laws and rules set to keep the sabbath holy. People were not made to obey every rule, law, and expectation taught to them about the sabbath—the sabbath was made to help people rest.

I’ve applied this concept to goals and resolutions. I create goals to help me. I was not created to serve my (or anyone else’s) goals.

My birthday falls in mid-October, and for many years I have used my birthday as the main date for evaluating my year and setting goals and resolutions. At the new year, I review those goals and revise them as needed. Two and a half months into those goals, I have some sense of the progress I have made and how I can either adjust my goal or adjust my behavior. If the goal is good, but I need to change something, I may build in greater accountability and structure. I revise the goal if I’ve been unrealistic about my goal or timeline or have new circumstances or knowledge to consider.

I am a writer and suspect that I always will be. This is true regardless of my productivity or the outcome of my writing. Sometimes I write tens of thousands of new words per month. Sometimes (like when I’ve moved across states, or had a new baby, or have fallen ill, or have a major surgery, or am suddenly homeschooling during a global pandemic, etc.), I write very little at all. The goals I set about writing help me focus my energy to carve out time on my calendar, break down the project into steps, get my butt into my chair, and get words on paper. My goals help me get more writing done. BUT, if for any of the reasons mentioned above or anything else, I am not reaching the goal I set, I can change the goal. The goal is to help me do what I want to do—it serves me, I do not serve it.

My favorite books on goals and habit building are Better than Before and The Four Tendencies, both by Gretchen Rubin. In the first book, which is more memoir style, Rubin develops the framework of the four tendencies, which help classify how a person responds to internal and external expectations. When someone understands their tendencies, they can better build the framework and support they need to build habits that work for them and achieve the goals they want. The second book is a deeper dive into each of the tendencies and the implications of each style. It is a more broadly appealing self-help book and less of a memoir. You can take a free online quiz to help determine your type. Understanding my own tendency (I’m an upholder) has helped me identify which expectations I can let go and how to build the framework that works best for me. It also helped me better understand my husband, who has a different tendency.

I am publishing this on January 9. Never fear if you set a New Year’s resolution that you think you somehow already failed. You are not the servant of your resolution. What is the underlying goal? Revise your resolution, add support and accountability, shelve the goal for a later time if needed, and rest or keep moving as YOU need.

You create goals to support you. You were not created to serve your goals.

What are your goals or resolutions for 2024? Do you have a favorite book or resource you use to support your goals? Share in the comments!

Guest Post: Charity Never Faileth

by Myla Godbout

Moroni 7

45 And charity suffereth long, and I mean suffereth, even if he tells me he’s not attracted to me anymore during marriage therapy and then denies ever saying it when I am alone with him.
and is kind, even if he demands sex with me when I have a fever and I know there will be emotional consequences for not having sex with him every time I refuse, no matter how cruel he has been prior to his request.
and envieth not, even when he gets to buy himself the latest iPhone and iPad because he is the important one in the family.
and is not puffed up, even when I was called to be Stake Young Women President in the Cambridge Stake but had to tell the leader that I was moving to another stake. The calling would have been “higher-ranking” than any calling he had ever received.
seeketh not her own, when he gets to go to graduate school and I have to pay for it and give up going to graduate school to support his career not realizing that he would isolate me and later tell me not to work as I’m showing interest in becoming a nurse. Later, after I divorce him, I won’t have any marketable skills.
is not easily provoked, even when he blames me for everything.
thinketh no evil, even when he ignores me every morning as I say “Goodmorning, honey. How did you sleep?”
and rejoiceth not in iniquity when I secretly wish he would leave me and my children so we could finally enjoy a peaceful life without him.
but rejoiceth in the truth, because someday, I keep hoping, God will show me that the man I married really is a nice man who won’t hurt me just because he hates himself.
beareth all things, which means that I do all the housework, run the business, communicate with family, pay the bills, do all the yard work- even chop up the fallen trees, plow the snow, help the kids, make all the meals, take up the slack when he has church callings and clean the toilets during my entire marriage.
believeth all things, even make excuses for him to everyone when he is in a bad mood.
hopeth all things, even by going to the temple every week with him in case it might make him stop being so cruel and unkind.
endureth all things even if I develop night-time PTSD because of the multitude of horrible things he did to me during the nighttime, while I was asleep.

46 Wherefore, my beloved brethren, if ye have not charity, ye are nothing, for charity never faileth, even if I am being abused by my most intimate partner. Because if I leave him, my community will reject me and I’ll wish I had another husband. This community does not accept divorced people. This community will only witness me if I’m shot by my abusive partner.
Wherefore, cleave unto charity, which is the greatest of all, for all things must fail— especially a broken and abused woman.

47 But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever because someday my abusive husband will be resurrected and he will say he is sorry and stop hurting me and my children and then we will all heal and he will finally see how wonderful I really am;
and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him so don’t give up on him, stay in my toxic marriage, even if it kills me.

48 Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ. This love is what kept me beaten down and traumatized. Now because I prayed for this love, I can say that I loved a psychopath; I don’t know what if feels like to be loved by anyone else, but I’m an expert at forgiving. I’ll pray for that love even if my son keeps an axe by his bed and props a chair under the front door handle and I use a keyed lock on my bedroom door after I file for divorce.
that ye may become the sons of God– but he would tell me that really, women are to develop this love, not the men;
that when he shall appear we shall be like him, even crucified within my abusive marriage and once again crucified in my community for my subsequent divorce,
for we shall see him as he is: a scapegoat, which I willingly became because I was trying to be like Christ;
that we may have this hope and ignore all the abuse;
that we may be purified even as he is pure not even knowing who I am anymore.
Amen.

The author attended BYU in the 90’s, received a Music Education degree with honors and raised 2 now young-adults and live near Boston, MA. She recently divorced an abusive man and expects to attend a Master’s Degree Program to become a Physician Assistant.

The Little Drummer Boy showed me to how to be a Disciple of Jesus

On Sunday the adults in my ward had a 5th Sunday discussion about the Youth Theme for 2024. The theme is “I am a Disciple of Jesus Christ.” My first thought was, “that’s the most obvious theme ever. This discussion is going to go nowhere.” 

I was pleasantly surprised when we had a lovely discussion where people shared some vulnerable and honest feelings. (Or at least as vulnerable and honest as you can be when upwards of 60 adults are crammed into the Relief Society Room.)

I had some things I wanted to share, but there wasn’t time. So I decided to write my thoughts down here. I’m actually glad I didn’t get to share them in my ward because I think my thoughts were meant for a broader audience anyway.

***

My ward has a very talented organ player. Each year he plays a Christmas medley in Sacrament Meeting. He played a medley on Sunday that ended with “The Little Drummer Boy.” As I listened to him masterfully play the organ I remembered my history with the song. 

I really dislike the most well known version of “The Little Drummer Boy.” The one recorded in 1958 by the Harry Simeone Chorale and played ad nauseam on the radio. It’s the one that’s slow and heavily emphasizes the Pa Rum Pum Pum Pum Pums all through the song. I usually change the radio station if this song comes on.

I do like the David Bowie/Bing Crosby duet of Peace on Earth/ Little Drummer Boy. But in that song the Little Drummer Boy part is just in the background so I don’t consider it a version of “The Little Drummer Boy.” 

About 2 years ago I stumbled upon a concert by the band for King and Country on Youtube. The band is two brothers who sing Christian Pop. One of the brothers also plays the drums. They tour with a whole bunch of other musicians including many drummers. 

One of their most popular songs is a version of “The Little Drummer Boy” featuring all those many drums. The whole song is modernized and joyful. It’s an exhilarating rendition of the song.  

The for King and Country version of the song completely changed my opinion of “The Little Drummer Boy.” Yes, they still sing the Pa Rum Pum Pum Pum Pums, but the drums do most of the heavy lifting in the song. 

I found myself paying attention to the non-Pa Rum Pum Pum Pum Pum lyrics of the song for the first time in probably ever.  The lyrics stopped me in my tracks. 

Come they told me

A new born king to see

Our finest gifts we bring

To lay before the king

So to honor him

When we come

 

Little baby

I am a poor boy too

I have no gift to bring

That’s fit to give our king

Shall I play for you?

 

Mary nodded

The ox and lamb kept time

I played my drum for him

I played my best for him

Then he smiled at me

Me and my drum

Little Drummer Boy by Harry Simeone / Henry Onorati / Katherine Davis

I realized that this little drummer boy offered as his finest gift the little thing that he knew how to do. He did his best. And it was accepted. 

This realization changed the Christmas Season for me that year. I didn’t stress out about doing anything big or showy. I just played my figurative drum as best I could and trusted that it would be enough.

*** 

All these memories came back to me as I listened to the song played on the organ in Sacrament Meeting. I thought of the song in the 5th Sunday discussion too. The man facilitating the 5th Sunday discussion asked us how we could be disciples. I thought about the Little Drummer Boy. I know the story isn’t based in any scripture, but I feel like there is doctrine in it.

A young, poor boy wants to give a gift to a king. The only thing he has to give is to play his drum as best he can. 

It’s not a conventional gift. It’s not a fancy gift. But it is what he can give. 

I think that’s applicable to how it is to be a disciple of Jesus Christ. Yes, I could make big plans for how I can be a disciple. Things that are conventional and look good. Things that will get me recognition.

But there’s something beautiful in taking the talents that I already have and offering them as gifts of discipleship. My gifts may seem little, or poor, or loud, or juvenile. But I can do my best with them and they will be accepted.

I love the last few lines of the song

I played my drum for him

I played my best for him

Then he smiled at me

Me and my drum

I’m pondering the question of what is my drum? And how can I use it to be a disciple of Jesus Christ?

I’m curious if you know what your drum is? How have you used it or how can you use it to be a disciple of Jesus?

Photo by Matthijs Smit on Unsplash

Guest Post: My good shepherd continuously finds ways to feed me.

Guest post by Stephanie Sam Hirtle

Stephanie is a stay-at-home-mom of four children and writing is her outlet for creativity, spiritual growth, and processing trauma. She graduated from BYU in American Studies and Business Management.

This talk was originally delivered in Sacrament Meeting on Christmas Eve in December 2023 at the author’s home ward in Medford, Oregon.

Her uplifting message was met with a baffling response: a cruel letter in her mailbox from an anonymous ward member.

We anticipate that her voice will find a more receptive audience here at Exponent II!

One of our beloved hymns, Dear to the Heart of the Shepherd, rings the chorus:

Out in the desert they wander, hungry and helpless and cold; off to the rescue he hastens, bringing them back to the fold.

Who is that who is wandering, hungry, helpless and cold? It is his lambs. And we are the lambs. We are who wander. We are who hunger. We are who are helpless. And we are who are cold.

Who is He that hastens? It is the dear heart of the good Shepherd or Christ, our Savior and Healer, who rescues us, feeds us, helps us, and warms us.

I have wandered. As a teenager, I made some choices that alienated me from feeling the spirit. And as an adult, I took a detour in my journey in faith, questioning doctrinal truths I believed in my whole life. Both left me to wander. But Christ was there to rescue me—as He does with all his lambs. Not only is he a good shepherd but he is the Good Shepherd—meaning he will unhesitatingly leave the 99 to rescue the one. He will never abandon his lambs like a mere hireling who was employed to temporarily take care of the sheep.

He rescued me by guiding me to serve a mission, which spiritually saved me at that stage of my life. And he later led me through a faith transformation that matured my spirituality to come to know a God that my former immature spirit could never have recognized. And because of that faith transformation, I have been able to help others find a way to stay in the flock—even when that open gate seems like the only way out because they have felt marginalized and even alone.

I have hungered. He has led me to great spiritual teachers like my high school seminary teacher who miraculously made early morning seminary enjoyable and my BYU professor of Book of Mormon who taught me to truly delve into the scriptures like never before. He blessed me with a great love of learning the scriptures as a missionary which quickly became the favorite part of my day. I have come to love teaching gospel doctrine or speaking in church. Writing has become a way for me to discover insights about the gospel and share those with others. Reading books and listening to podcasts, in addition to studying the scriptures, have become a great source of joy and a lifeline for me to continually expand my gospel knowledge. My good shepherd continuously finds ways to feed me.

He has been there to help me when I felt completely helpless. One trial that has plagued me many years has left me not only feeling helpless but hopeless. Have you ever been in a cave when there is no light? It can be so dark that you can’t even see your hand. The darkness can be suffocating. But then someone turns on a flashlight. It could be a very small, insignificant source of light. But it penetrates that darkness like a million stars in the sky. When I find myself in that all encompassing darkness, I look for that tiny light—and it’s usually only found as I feel the hook of the good shepherd’s crook cradling me in. No matter how dark my life is, his light can be found. Even when my eyes are closed to it. The hook cradles me in and opens my eyes to the light. When we are in our darkest times, feel for that hook cradling you in. He will open your eyes to the light—even just be it a bare glimmer.

When I arrived in Scotland in October 1993 as a brand-new missionary, I was so cold. It didn’t seem to matter how many layers I wore, I was always cold. To this day, I can’t stand to be cold. It reminds me too much of how cold I was at times—especially in some of the less insulated flats we lived in. The best was when we were invited into someone’s home—I think honestly some people just felt sorry for us. We would sit in front of the fireplace and experience external warmth but also internal warmth as we shared the fire of the spirit of our testimonies. His light and truth warmed me and those I taught.

As a little girl, I experienced emotional coldness. I didn’t know how to find warmth then. But then later as an adult, my therapist took me through a powerful exercise. She asked me to remember those times of coldness and imagine myself now as an adult, going back to comfort that cold little girl. What would I say to that little girl that experienced cruelty? How could I warm her? It was a powerful, healing experience that years later at last brought warmth.

Our Savior is our healer. He brings us warmth when we are cold. Just like the shepherd protects his lambs from the elements that can freeze them, our shepherd protects us. He can soften our frozen hearts. He can warm our aching souls. He can calm the chill of worry and anxiety that shudder us.

Elder Gerrit W. Gong stated:

Our Good Shepherd rejoices when we exercise individual moral agency with intention and faith. Those in His fold look to our Savior in gratitude for His atoning sacrifice. We covenant to follow Him, not passively, blindly, or “sheepishly,” but instead desiring with all our hearts and minds to love God and our neighbor, bearing one another’s burdens and rejoicing in one another’s joys.

He continued:

A dear friend shared with me how she gained her precious testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. She grew up believing sin always brought great punishment, borne by us alone. She pleaded to God to understand the possibility of divine forgiveness. She prayed to understand and know how Jesus Christ can forgive those who repent, how mercy can satisfy justice.

One day her prayer was answered in a spiritually transforming experience. A desperate young man came running out of a grocery store carrying two bags of stolen food. He ran into a busy street, chased by the store manager, who caught him and began yelling and fighting. Instead of feeling judgment for the frightened young man as a thief, my friend was unexpectedly filled with great compassion for him. Without fear or concern for her own safety, she walked straight up to the two quarreling men. She found herself saying, “I will pay for the food. Please let him go. Please let me pay for the food.”

Prompted by the Holy Ghost and filled with a love she had never felt before, my friend said, “All I wanted to do was to help and save the young man.” My friend said she began to understand Jesus Christ and His Atonement—how and why with pure and perfect love Jesus Christ would willingly sacrifice to be her Savior and Redeemer, and why she wanted Him to be.

In verse 2 of Dear to the Heart of the Shepherd, we sing:

See, the Good Shepherd is seeking,
Seeking the lambs that are lost,
Bringing them in with rejoicing,
Saved at such infinite cost.

I testify that Christ feeds us, warms us, helps us and ultimately rescues us. May we feel the love of the His shepherd crook that draws us unto Him and show that same love as we draw others unto us. He is the good shepherd with the dear shepherd heart and we can all be like Him by shepherding those within our own flocks. We should never want for hunger, warmth, help or saving. And neither should anyone else. That is what His Atonement is all about and is the Christmas the Good Shepherd yearns for all of us. Merry Christmas.

A Glimpse of Zion

In my role as ward chorister, I get the opportunity to stare at the congregation from a sheltered position and I want to describe what I saw one day.

In the very front row to the right side are two older women with hearing aids. One is deaf. One has developmental disabilities. Seated in front of them, volunteers sign during sacrament meeting. The organist keeps our pace sign language speed friendly – just right for this corner of the room. Their singing during the hymn may be tone deaf or a few words behind the beat, but it is fervent. It is beautiful.

Behind this group sits a person with a service dog. The service dog sits quietly while its person gives me a smile and thumbs up.

My gaze travels to the back of the room. One family taking up a row stands out because of the rainbow shades of hair color. Their kids mix with my kids, and while it’s a rodeo and a half some days, my darling child who is on a journey of exploration in his gender expression (His pronouns are he/him and he wears a Sunday dress well!), sees an adult whose pronouns are he/they in church.

In the other back corner, a little boy with special needs is usually wandering around with his parents or a friendly volunteer. Having built up the strength to walk with support, he’s not willing to sit still and sometimes he’s got something to say and we all need to know it. This space is a little messy and sometimes a lot noisy and it is always beautiful.

Meanwhile, I’m waving my arm around, and thinking I really should do some arm strengthening exercises because my shoulder is aching, but I’m also proudly wearing my beautiful LGBTQ pride pin in the shape of a heart given to me by a friend in the ward, along with my regular Sunday pants. In my ward, pants wearing women are not so unique or different. Usually there’s about three to five of us wearing pants instead of a dress. And while I don’t usually see pride pins, no one has told me I can’t wear it.

I can smile at my nuanced friends in the ward, some who are struggling, some who are striving, and know we’re in this together. One in particular sits huddled on the left side of the room against the wall. Sometimes I know we’ll be talking after sacrament to mourn together or yearn together or simply recognize that what was said over the pulpit that day might need some nuance.

I smile at the people who sometimes need to stare daggers at us for all our ways.

It’s not lost on me that this tiny little hamlet of a ward space I’ve found myself in is something of a unicorn. We’re not in the intermountain west, we’re very, very small, and maybe there’s just a little more breathing room for the marginalized to find their spot, but as I look around, I know I’m also seeing a glimpse of Zion. It’s not perfect, by any means, but when I think about what it means to gather as disciples of Jesus Christ, this is what I picture.

Everyone comes as they are. Everyone truly is welcome in words and actions. Many bend their conceptions of what should be to allow for us all to be present in that space, worshiping and taking the sacrament together.

It’s so tenuous. It’s terrifyingly fragile. At any moment an overzealous leader or a pointed comment or complaint could upset this balance. If someone sitting squarely in the middle of this room decided to start prowling the edges, we’d be lambs to the slaughter. But on this one day, this one moment when I was just watching the congregation, I felt I had a glimpse of Zion.

It brings me hope.        

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash 

Vol. 43 No. 2 — Fall 2023

COVER ART — “My Interview with a Cloud” by Jacqui Larsen
Oil, acrylic & collage on panel, 33 x 30 in
jacquilarsen.com | @jacqui_larsen

LETTER FROM EDITOR “Celebrating the Everyday” by Rocio Cisneros

ESSAY “Moonlight Catfish” by Melodie Jackson

ESSAY “The Trench Coat of Multiple Colors” by Allison Hong Merrill

ESSAY “Turning the Corner” by Liz Busby

POETRY  “How to Treat Hot Flashes” by Merrijane Rice

MULTI-MEDIA “City Marginalia – A Found Poem” by Kate Bennion

THEOLOGY “Swept Away” by Maddie Blonquist Shrum

POETRY “Moonrise” by Cheryl Seely Savage

ARTIST FEATURE “A Delicate Dance” — Interview with Carly White by Rocio Cisneros

ESSAY “Lost Things” by Jeanine Eyre Bee

BLOG FEATURE by Katie Ludlow Rich, Jody England Hansen, Ann

SABBATH PASTORALS “Overcome the World and Find Rest” by ​​Cynthia W. Connell

POETRY “Wrestle” by Janessa Margaret Ransom

ESSAY “The Power of My Love Beams is Still Quite Potent” by Koseli Cummings

POETRY “Molecules of Minutes” by Hailey Hannigan

BOOK REVIEW of A World of Faith by Peggy Fletcher Stack — Reviewed by Ynna Padilla

ESSAY “A Postcard to My Younger Self” by Kim Ellen Warnick

ESSAY “Ode to the Back Deck” by Whitney Bush

WOMEN’S WORK “Life As it Is” — Interview with Gloria Pak

BOOK REVIEW of The Hymn of the Pearl by Lori Nielsen Driggs and Tshikamba — Reviewed by Ynna Padilla

POETRY “Diary” by Millie Tullis

ESSAY “Even the Turtles Are Painted” by Perry West

POETRY “Undertone” by Darlene Young

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EDITORIAL STAFF

Editor-in-Chief Rachel Rueckert 
Managing Editor Carol Ann Litster Young
Art Editor Rocio Cisneros
Layout Designer & Editor Rosie Gochnour Serago
Layout Designer Mckay Rappleyea
Women’s Theology Editor Eliza Wells 
Poetry Editor Abby Parcell
Blog Feature Editor Natasha Rogers
Book Reviews Editor Ynna Padilla
Sabbath Pastorals Editor Nicole Sbitani

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EXECUTIVE BOARD

President Lori LeVar Pierce
Vice President & Secretary Lindsay Denton
Treasurer Jeanine Bean
Members Andee Bowden, Carol Ann Litster Young, Jessica Gray, Ramona Morris, Nancy Ross, Rachel Rueckert, Heather Sundahl

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MAGAZINE STAFF

Magazine Support: Hailey Hannigan, Kim Ence, Megan Eralie, Caroleine James, Kate Bennion, Kif Augustine, Sherrie Gavin, Tia Thomas
Art Community Ambassador Page Turner
Social Media Art Manager Charlotte Condie
Subscription Manager Gwen Volmar
Proofreaders Kami Coppins, Cherie Pedersen, Karen Rosenbaum, Hannah Mortenson

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SPECIAL THANKS

This magazine is volunteer-led and reader-funded. Please consider a donation, supporting our Patreon, or subscribing to support our contributors and community!

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Exponent II (ISSN 1094-7760) is published quarterly by Exponent II. Exponent II has no official connection with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Articles published represent the opinions of authors only and not necessarily those of the editor or staff. 

Copyright © 2023 by Exponent II, Inc. All rights reserved.

“Celebrating the Everyday” by Rocio Cisneros

Beginnings and endings are memorable, often thrilling.

Beginnings can feel like the excitement of boarding a plane, headed out for a fun vacation, while thinking about all of the experiences to come. Or, sitting on a roller coaster — chest strapped and stomach churning — waiting for it to shoot up into the sky. While endings, on the other hand, can offer moments of gratitude and observation — like walking out of a college graduation and tossing up a cap and thinking, “Finally. I did it.” It may be that beginnings and endings really are the most exciting and emotionally high parts of our journeys. Or, maybe that’s just what books and movies want us to feel. 

What about the in-between? What about the everyday can feel exciting? 

Though what we photograph to hang on walls or tend to remember with sharpness comes from the “big” moments, most of our lives are filled with the day-to-day. For this issue, we celebrate the quotidian, sing odes to the everyday, and honor the seemingly small moments of existence. 

For this issue, we celebrate the quotidian, sing odes to the everyday, and honor the seemingly small moments of existence.

I am six months pregnant and, with every new symptom that my body brings to light each week, I find myself looking for the moon that relieves me of another day. However, in between the vomit and backaches, there are small moments of quiet observation: of feeling my body change and an appreciation for the creative act happening inside me. As an artist and the new Art Editor for Exponent II, I’m often thinking about creating. In creating, whether with our hands or, in the womb in my case currently, there is room to celebrate the everyday. Celebrate what accomplishments or disappointments each day has given and hold space and revere for highs, lows, and everything in between.

Jesus taught, “Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” Meanwhile, Alma tells us that “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass.” What do these expressions actually mean?

The contributors in this issue celebrate the everyday in a delightful and vivid array of mediums, from the artwork to interviews to features to essays. We have a staggering lineup of excellent poems, a genre which captures this theme especially well. Our essays also display the range of the human experience. Allison Hong Merrill and Perry West look at clothing as a poignant and complex look into identity and personal history. Whitney Bush pays tribute to nature in “Ode to the Back Deck,” while Kate Bennion shows the wisdom surrounding us through “City Marginalia,” a photo essay organized into a “found poem.” Several other contributors, such as Jeanine Eyre Bee, Liz Busby, Koseli Cummings, and Kim Ellen Warnick, poignantly examine parenthood from very different life stages. Gloria Pak, a mindfulness practitioner, describes her approach to work, and Melodie Jackson examines love and heartbreak in “Moonlight Catfish” through the lens of preparing an important family recipe.

No matter the subject or medium, our contributors show us how to ensnare those fleeting impressions, how to witness, and how to make meaning of the banal or seemingly tedious. These voices show us what we gain from this deep level of observation.

rociovasquezcisne.com | @rocio.cisne

(Photo by Laura Chouette on Unsplash)

An Imperfect Approach to New Year’s Resolutions

“Be ye therefore perfect,” taught Jesus (Matthew 5:48), as if Christianity’s Great Exemplar himself was demonstrating how to write an unachievable New Year’s resolution.

As I often do, when I encounter something in scripture that makes me twitchy, I checked that reference in Bible Hub to see if it was translated right, hoping that word, perfect, was just the King James translation being too King Jamesy again. But even the most hipster Bible translations agree with stuffy King James about Matthew 5:48. As I scrolled through the list of alternate translations in Bible Hub, I saw that anxiety-inducing word repeated over and over again: perfect, perfect, perfect.

Luckily, Book of Mormon prophet Moroni threw me a bone by tossing Jesus’s call for perfection back into Jesus’s court: “Yea, come unto Christ, and be perfected in him. …His grace sufficient for you, that by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ,” said Moroni (Moroni 10:32). We cannot become perfect on our own, no matter how diligent we are at keeping our New Year’s resolutions, but our Savior completes us.

I prefer the goal to be complete over the goal of perfection. In the LDS youth program, we teach young people to set well-rounded goals, following the example of Jesus in His youth: “Jesus increased in wisdom [intellectually] and stature [physically], and in favor with God [spiritually] and man [socially].” (Luke 2:52). A holistic approach like this helps us begin the process of completing ourselves. And then we can rely on our Savior to pick up where we left off.

With other language, this approach works across faith traditions. Whatever we call the God we worship, we can leave the rest to Them. Or we can let other humans pick up some of the slack, because we don’t have to do and be everything on our own. Or we can even just let some things slide, because they were never that important anyway.

I realized how ubiquitous the tradition of writing New Year’s resolutions really is at my first job after graduating from college. I was working for the Department of Health in the smoking cessation program, and every year on New Year’s Day, we had a big spike in people calling the Tobacco Quit Line, looking for help with their goal to quit smoking. What a wonderful thing for so many people of different faiths to be united on one day of the year in resolving to better ourselves.

Another thing I learned from that job: virtually no one successfully quits smoking on their first attempt. But they absolutely must make attempts, usually several attempts, in order to quit smoking. An attempt is not a failure, it’s a necessary part of the process. The more attempts you make, the more likely you are to achieve your goal.

Over the past several weeks, I participated in a goal-setting workshop sponsored by my current employer. One of the first things they taught us was to throw out the word goal and replace it with the word experiment. We were encouraged to choose something we wanted to change—yeah, that sounds a lot like a goal—but instead of seeing it as a goal to achieve or fail we were supposed to examine the data from our attempts with the curiosity and unemotional detachment of a scientist. That was some interesting data I gathered last week! So many new data points that could be useful to explain why I don’t exercise or practice piano or eat my vegetables. How could I adjust the variables in my life to get a different outcome next week?

I don’t know if I can fully endorse that method because an impartial experiment didn’t seem quite adequate to motivate me. Even as I reject perfectionism and embrace the philosophy that a resolution is an opportunity to try something and learn from it, I also enjoy the taste of success when I actually achieve a goal. I didn’t achieve any of my goals from that workshop, but the data I gathered was enlightening and gave me crucial insights that I will apply as I plan a strategy to achieve the New Year’s resolutions I’m writing now. I hope I’m better poised for success now that I have spent some time examining what is standing in my way.

Whether or not I succeed at my resolutions, I know I’ll gain something by stretching myself, acting on the hope that something in my life could be better, and empowering myself to be the change I want to see.

Happy New Year!