Exponent II's Blog, page 8

Wanna say “F___ you,” but you’re too religious to swear? Try quoting one of these 10 passive-aggressive Bible verses!

It’s hard when you’re an internet troll, but also a current or aspiring Latter-day Saint bishop. How can you tell a feminist ProgMo* or ExMo* to F___ off, while also abstaining from cuss words for religious reasons?  How can you claim your status as the most spiritual person in this dumpster fire? How can you spew hatred while simultaneously showing off your scripture mastery?

Fortunately, internet trolls who are members of the Church of Latter-day Saints—we’ll call them Latter-day Trolls for short, since they don’t like the word, Mormon*, either—have uncovered a handful of scriptures that work a lot like swears for social media purposes.

* ProgMo and ExMo are abbreviations for “Progressive Mormon” and “Ex-Mormon.” At present, many members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-days Saints (Mormons) are avoiding the word “Mormon” like they avoid swears because current Church President Russell M. Nelson prefers the term, “Latter-day Saint.” Even so, it feels kind of weird to attack a “Saint,” so I would argue that “ProgMo” and “ExMo” are useful and technically compliant substitutes, like writing “F___” instead of you-know-what.

“I may be a troll, but I’m no potty-mouth!”

(Image by John Bauer, Ett Gammalt Bergtroll, 1904)1. “Steadying the ark” (2 Samuel 6:6)

This scripture is fun because of its dramatic plot twist. The Biblical equivalent of a ProgMo broke a stupid Levitical rule, and although his motives were reasonable and helpful, God STRUCK HIM DOWN AND KILLED HIM ON THE SPOT, inspiring the 1981 action film Raiders of the Lost Ark. So Bad Ass! Excuse me, I mean Bad A___! In our day, accusing someone of steadying the ark is the perfect over-the-top response to any reasonable and helpful suggestion that may not perfectly align with the Church Handbook.

2. “Tares among the wheat” (Matthew 13:25)

Latter-day Trolls have developed a simple test to sort the wheat from the tares. They’re wheat, and anyone who disagrees with them is a tare, just like it says in the parable they haven’t read.

3. “The beam in your eye” (Luke 6:41)

To look for the beam in your own eye instead of focusing on the mote in someone else’s is clearly a metaphor for tolerance, humility and introspection, but just ignore all that and you can twist it into a sick burn: “You’re worse than a mote; you’re a beam! Take that!”

4. “Whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same.” (Doctrine and Covenants 1:38)

The “servants” in this verse are usually interpreted to mean prophets, but you can declare yourself to be the servant if you want to amplify your diatribe with God’s megaphone.

5. “Toss it to the dogs” (Matthew 15:26)

Jesus Christ is our exemplar of kindness and goodness, and ninety nine percent of his words modeled meekness and grace, but there was that one time he hurled a nasty slur at a nice woman who approached him with a plea for help, and that is probably the favorite scriptural example of male/female interaction for Latter-day Trolls.

6. “Casting pearls before swine” (Matthew 7:6)

Another great entry in the “Dehumanize your adversary with an animal metaphor” category!

7. “Looking beyond the mark” (Jacob 4:14)

A Book of Mormon prophet called out uptight, orthodox Biblical tyrants for looking beyond the mark, but in modern times, you can use this phrase to diss any show-off who demonstrates critical thinking.

8. “Pride comes before the fall” (Proverbs 16:18)

Here’s some sage advice that doubles as censure. Accuse a total stranger of committing one of the seven deadly sins!

9. “Even the very elect shall be deceived” (Matthew 24:24)

This one is risky—what if that exMo’s takeaway is that you just called them “very elect”? Could this scriptural insult unintentionally flatter them?

10. Running out of characters? Try these one-word zingers from the Book of Mormon!

Latter-day Trolls have an advantage over other Bible-bashers: they’ve got both the stick of Judah and the stick of Joseph. That’s twice as many blunt objects to hit someone with! The Book of Mormon may be a shorter book than the Bible, but it packs a punch with some of the most recognizable one-word zingers in holy writ—a perfect fit in spaces with strict character limits like the social media platform formally known as Twitter. Bring an exMo or ProgMo to their knees in 10 characters or less by simply typing “Murmur” (1 Nephi 2:12) or “Korihor” (Alma 30:58).

A word of caution…

Not every scripture works equally well for shutting down perceived enemies. When using scriptures as swear words, avoid any verse with the word love, for example. “God is love” (1 John 4:8) and “Love one another” (John 13:34) don’t work well for combat purposes.

Not finding exactly what you need in ancient sacred texts? You’ve got 14 back-up diatribes with the Fourteen Fundamentals of Following the Prophet!

With 14 to choose from, there’s an option there for every dismissive, condescending and intolerant need. Remember, “When the prophet a Latter-day Troll speaks, the debate is over.”

Millennium Hotline: Perfected Bodies

From funeral potatoes to Kolob, we’ve got you covered.Hall:Millennium Hotline, Resurrection Services, Brother Hall speaking. How may I serve you on this blessed day?Karen:Hi, yes. My name is Karen Crandall. When I arose this afternoon—Hall:Just a sec, Sister Cran—Karen:Don’t call me Sister Crandall. Call me by my first name, Karen. Sister Crandall is my mother-in-law, who won’t be resurrected for at least a month, thank goodness, she’s such a shrew. Bless her heart.Hall:O-kay. Sorry to hear that. But Karen, before I can assist you, I need your number. Please scan it now.Karen:My number?Hall:Your resurrection number. It’s on the inside of your right wrist. I need you to hold that up to the scanner—just in front of the screen there.Karen:What are you talking about? There’s nothing on my wrist.Hall:(chuckles) I assure you, it’s there.Karen:No, it’s not.Hall:You can’t see it with your eyes, but the scanner can read it. All perfected bodies have one.Karen:I knew it! I knew there had to be a mistake.Hall:Karen, if you’ll give me that resurrection number, I can—Karen:There is no number! It’s not a perfected body. Somebody made a mistake.Hall:I can tell you’re upset, and I’d like to help, but I really need—Karen:You know what I need? A perfected body. I don’t know how you people get away with such shoddy workmanship. Just look at the hair on my legs. It’s giving cave woman wearing a pelt. And my underarms? Spider nests!Hall:I…uh…Karen:And speaking of hair, what’s up with this stringy, dishwater blonde? I’ve been a natural redhead since my twenties. Just ask Stan.Hall:Stan?Karen:Stan at the Cut and Curl! Keep up. And my nose—it’s got that lump again. And my bazoombas? No baz or zoom. More like deflated fifty-year-old birthday balloons.Hall:Wow. That’s…an image.Karen:So this ain’t no perfected body, bub. I need to speak to the manager.Hall:Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m sure I can help—Karen:Nope. I can already tell my issue is above your paygrade. Read my lips. Man-na-ger. Now. I don’t have all day. HallFunny thing, we do. You see, time is now plastic—Karen:Listen. Brother Hank? Henry?Hall:Hall.Karen:Yeah, that’s it. Brother Hall. You seem like a nice guy.Hall:Thank you.Karen:And I don’t want to be a problem. But there’s obviously been a mistake. All that tithing assured special considerations, right? I paid good money for a perfected body—Hall:I understand—Karen:No you don’t. You really don’t or I wouldn’t be looking at this Jello pudding of an abdomen. Manager. Chop-chop.Hall:I really want to help you, Sister Crandall—Karen! Sorry, sorry.Karen:Yes, you are!Hall:I apologize, again, Karen. I’m not used to first names.Karen:You’re not a detail person. I get it. That’s why you’re answering the hotline instead of populating planets, why I’m not tall and willowy, and why I need to speak to your manager.Hall:I hear and respect your concerns, Karen, but before I can escalate your issue, I really need to review your records in the Book of Life database, and that requires your resurrection number. Can you put your Resurrectionist on the line? Maybe he can help us sort this out?Karen:My what?Hall:Resurrectionist. The Elder who called you from your grave. Your husband, perhaps?Karen:That bum? He’s not here.Hall:You’re alone? That’s not protocol.Karen:Hello. That’s what I’ve been saying. Nothing about this is kosher. Man-na-ger!Hall:That’s not good. Someone should be there to ease you into—Karen:Look, I don’t know what kind of fly-by-night operation you got going—Hall:Fly-by…Karen:But I’m not accepting this subpar body. Somebody better fix this quick before I run into Myrtle or anybody else from the ward.Hall:Without your number, Karen, I can’t look you up and see what our options are. Can you please—Karen:Why are you making this so difficult? I’m not asking for a refund, just a do-over. I want—no, I demand an upgrade. This embarrassment isn’t what I signed up for. I was a girls’ camp leader, for goodness sake—and we found little Sarah just two days later, no harm no foul right? Didn’t even make the papers. My son served a mission—two days, two weeks, two months, two years, it’s all the same, right? That’s what the bishop said. And what about all my ministering and compassionate service—that much Mac & Cheese should get me fuller lips, at least!Hall:I want to help you, I really do. Could you humor me and just hold your wrist up to the screen?Karen: Hall: Karen: Hall:Please.Karen:Oh, all right already. Here. Satisfied?Hall:Yes. Thank you. Can you confirm: Karen Ann Myers, born May 27, 1961, in Buena Vista, California, USA, to Edna and Joseph Myers. Last ward of record: Santa Monica Ward, Los Angeles California Stake. Sealed to Mark W. Crandall on June 12, 1982, in the Los Angeles Temple. Three children: Mark, Amber, and Bryson. Civil divorce October 6, 2019. Death December 20, 2049.Karen:(sigh) Yes. Is that really what my life summed up to?Hall:Not at all, not at all! This is just the big picture overview. The angelic scribes recorded many entries in the Book of Life about you, don’t worry.Karen:How many?Hall:What?Karen:How many? Like, more than average or what?Hall:Uh…enough?Karen:You know you really suck at your job, right? Wait. Don’t answer that. Just correct your mistake and get me the body I deserve.Hall:According to your records, it does look like your timed resurrection and assigned body is correct—Karen:That’s impossible! I have bushes for eyebrows, no lashes, and—oh, hell no! Is that a chin hair?! No, no, that’s unacceptable! What kind of monster does this to a woman? I wanna speak to someone with a brain who can actually fix this horrible mess!Hall:Karen? Karen, breathe. It’s going to be fine. The good news is that you’re right; given your charitable works, there are a few things that can be done. I’m going to transfer you to Brother Dunn in Body Modifications. He’ll walk through your options and schedule any additional services. Can I put you on a brief hold, Karen?Karen:(gurgles inconsolably)Hall:Karen? Karen, it was a pleasure serving you today. Please hold while I transfer your call. Thank you.Karen:Wai—Dunn:Hey, Brother Hall! What’s up?Hall:I got a hot one for you. Here’s the record.Dunn:Oh, wow.Hall:Yeah.Dunn:Based on her birth year, I bet she wants an early ‘80s glam update. No prob.Hall:Really?Dunn:Yeah. Been authorizing those all afternoon—along with blacken teeth, foot binding, cranial reshaping…Hall:You’re kidding.Dunn:Nope. Pretty standard stuff for the Afternoon of the First Resurrection.Hall:Man, this is so different from the calls I took for Kolob Mansions and Beach Houses.Dunn:Well, if Resurrection Services are too tough, you can always move to Celestial Marriage Arbitration. I hear they have an opening.Hall:(shudders) No, thank you!Dunn:(laughs) Okay, I’ve got Sister Crandall—Hall:Don’t call her that! Call her Karen.Dunn:Ah, I see that note now. Thanks for the tip. Have a blessed day!Hall:Thanks, man. I owe you one. Pickleball later?Dunn:Of course! Bye.Hall:(sigh) Millennium Hotline, Resurrection Services, Brother Hall speaking. How may I serve you on this blessed day?

Kate Baxter has wondered about perfected bodies ever since a fluffy BYU religion professor drew celestial figures on the chalkboard and said, “In their perfect form, all bodies are round.”

Wait! How round? And why? And does that mean I can skip leg day?

So many questions!

Being a Designated Driver

A friend of mine (who is active LDS) was recently telling me about one aspect of how he builds relationships with friends who have different interests. He goes with them when they go to bars for the evening. He has no judgement about their drinking, and takes on being their designated driver. They have built a community of trust for each other, acknowledging and appreciating their differences.

I have been a designated driver on occasion. I understand the importance of fulfilling that role without judgement, appreciating time with friends and loved ones in a setting different from my usual activities. I have benefitted from this practice, becoming more aware of how others have been there for me in situations that are not usual for them, ready to be a steadying influence for me when circumstances might make it difficult for me to function effectively. Advocacy and activism require working in community with those who support each other, to be each other’s designated drivers.

I find there is a need for filling a similar role in faith communities. 

The main responsibility of a designated driver is that they are the ones behind the wheel of a vehicle that, if driven by someone whose brain and actions are impaired by the influence of substance, could become a deadly weapon that leaves innocent bodies in its wake.

I have seen different kinds of weapons inflicting damage in faith communities. Sometimes the realization has come because I saw that I was wielding the weapon. I had to recognize the damage caused, my part in it, and put in the work of burying that weapon. Over and over. Sometimes the realization has come when the words or actions directed at me by those in my community inflict deep wounds. The wounds are real, whether the intention was malicious or not. 

Declaring who God does or does not love because of ideology is a weapon that wounds and leaves bodies in its wake.

Denying or refusing to witness the value and existence of anyone because of an interpretation of a scripture verse is a weapon that wounds and leaves bodies in its wake.

Rejecting any family member because their life does not align with what you pictured, is a weapon that wounds and leaves bodies in its wake.

Worshipping any person, or leader, or book, or words, or policy, or doctrine, or ideology, or dogma, or rhetoric more than you practice love, empathy, connection and at-one-ment is a weapon that wounds and leaves bodies in its wake.

Making the most addictive human characteristic – the need to be right, more important than the opportunity to love is a weapon that wounds and leaves bodies in its wake.

Trying to fix, or “should-ing” someone who is burdened, or mourning, or in need of comfort is a weapon that wounds and leaves bodies in its wake.

Using statements of certainty which come from repeated traditions of fathers and mothers, or fear of difference, or intentional ignorance, which limit possibilities of God, love, empathy, and compassion in order to shut down someone who is on a difficult but soul expanding journey of seeking is a weapon that wounds and leaves bodies in its wake.

Claiming, or even hinting that a title or position or calling automatically means someone has the ability, knowledge and authority to have the answers and power over anyone’s life, and that it is wrong for someone to question or have discernment is a weapon that wounds and leaves bodies in its wake.

These weapons, and more, are as dangerous to mental, emotional and spiritual health as a car with an impaired driver is to the physical health of anyone in its path.

I know humans want to be back in the Garden, a state of not being responsible, and be able to plead for Jesus to take the wheel. And then claim it is god’s will if things don’t work out.

But Jesus not only wants me for an activist, Jesus wants me for a designated driver when weapons are being slung around in my community.

Christ was an example of one who did not try to conquer weapons or force with greater force. He showed us and called us to overcome evil with good, with love.

When someone at the pulpit, or in class, or in the foyer, or at gatherings, or online, or at work, is wielding a weapon that wounds- be aware of those at risk, those in its path, those whose existence is being denied, those worn down by burdens, those who are mourning, those who seek to breathe. Then be the presence healing, of speaking love, witnessing existence, being hope, bearing burdens, sitting with them in shared woundedness.

This is one of the most sublime, moving, transformative tenets of my Mormonism. It is described in some of the visually beautiful verses from the Book of Mormon, in Mosiah 18:8,9,30

“…he said unto them: Behold, here are the waters of Mormon…and now, as ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light…and are willing to mourn with those that mourn…and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in…all this was done…by the waters of Mormon, in the forest that was near the waters of Mormon; yea, the place of Mormon, the waters of Mormon, the forest of Mormon, how beautiful are they to the eyes of them who there came to the knowledge of their Redeemer.”

No matter where your path takes you, no matter what community in which you create belonging, you and those around you are human, and will always have access to the weapons humans often use, for whatever reason, to wound. Anyone who was ever Mormon has a connection to this promise made by the waters of Mormon, to shift the direction, to interrupt the influence that is impairing the one wielding a weapon.

I don’t think I was fully aware of the promises I made when I was baptized at age 8. I have since sought them and experienced healing when others have lived them. When I practice mourning, comforting, witnessing, and sharing burdens, healing occurs in the giver and receiver, and the line between them is faint.

The role of designated driver is one of being aware and present in places and times that matter for others, and shift possible destructive outcomes to healing outcomes. I know I am in need of this, and I can be this. More than ever, the world needs this. 

Guest Post – Homeless Yet Held

Guest Post by Sheryl Rose

During COVID, when my church closed its doors, I felt something inside me collapse. At a time when people most needed each other’s humanity, I found myself without a spiritual community. The masks, the rhetoric, and the division ripped open old wounds of sexual abuse. As much as I tried, I couldn’t even be around people wearing masks without deep anxiety. Because of my inability to wear a mask, I became a pariah on the edge of my own faith family.

Hungry for connection, I sought out a different gathering. Within my homeschool group, I found a circle of Latter-day Saint friends who, like me, questioned the shutdowns. We met in person, studied scripture, and sang hymns. For a moment, I felt nourished again. But over time, that nourishment became rancid. What began as grief at losing community turned into resentment and criticism of not just policies, but of the Church itself. The members of my little group began to draw hard lines and absolutes, separating themselves from anyone who didn’t fit their mold, including LGBTQ brothers and sisters and those who sympathized with them.

I couldn’t do it. I argued with them, pleaded even, pointing out that their “othering” of homosexuals was no different than the way we ourselves were being treated during that moment in history. But they couldn’t (or wouldn’t) see it. Eventually I walked away, once again finding myself without a people.

For years since, I’ve felt spiritually marooned. Too conservative for the left, too compassionate for the right. Too protective of family, life, and faith to call myself “liberal,” too tenderhearted toward the marginalized to join the “hardline” crowd. For a long time, this left me aching, convinced that something was wrong with me and there was no place for me at the table. At church I retreated and kept quiet. I withdrew from social circles.

But then I began to see this ache differently.

In the book Captivating, John and Stasi Eldredge write about how God sometimes allows, even orchestrates, the loss of things we depend on too deeply. At first, this feels cruel, even abusive, like God is taking away what little joy or security we’ve managed to build for ourselves in this fallen world. But over time, I began to see the beauty: God was teaching me to turn back to Christ, over and over, instead of substituting Him with community, ideology, or even belonging.

I later realized this idea isn’t unique to Christianity. Buddhism teaches something similar through the principle of impermanence: treat everything you “own” as though you’ve already lost it. This principle isn’t meant to create despair, but to free us from the kind of clinging that causes suffering. When we hold loosely, we love more deeply.

And then I thought of Jesus. He was literally homeless. “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head” (Luke 9:58). For most of my life, when I thought of this scripture I thought of it as a sadness and a failing of the people around my Savior who neglected to shelter Him. But this week it’s been settling in me in a new way. He wasn’t just homeless, He was spiritually unattached by choice! He refused to tether Himself to a tribe, a home, or even a single religious camp. He loved the outcasts without becoming one with their sins. He dined with publicans and defended the accused, but He never abandoned His mission. His homelessness wasn’t about deprivation. It was the ultimate lesson in discipleship. By belonging to nothing, He became a part of everything!

So what if my own spiritual homelessness is not evidence of being lost, but evidence of being found by Him?

When communities fracture, when tribes draw lines, and when belonging gets pulled out from under me… it hurts. But it may also be God’s way of teaching me to root myself in Christ instead of “camps.” And in Christ, I find both ache and hope. Ache, because I may never feel fully “at home” in the physical, political, or social places I might gather. And hope, because I can be fully at home in the kingdom of God, which transcends every earthly label.

Spiritual homelessness isn’t abandonment. It’s apprenticeship. And even though the road of discipleship might feel lonely, I know I’m not walking it alone. Scattered across the world, my country, my state, and my city are others who, like me, have discovered that our truest home is not within a political ideology, church, or school, but in our Lord Jesus Christ Himself.

A bridge-builder at heart, Sheryl Rose finds meaning in connecting people, ideas, and faith. She is passionate about truth, balance, and agency, and she seeks to live with purpose while helping others feel that they belong. Her work and study reflect a devotion to growth, peacemaking, and lasting impact.

Finding Joy in My Son’s Name and Pronoun

Our oldest child, E, sat us down in the living room at the age of twelve to quietly say, “I think I’m trans.” I found out later that he told his maternal grandmother first, a lovely initial sharing of a weighty truth. And I’m grateful to her everyday that, when he asked her something like, “Would you still love me if I was trans?,” she immediately responded, “Yes!”

I don’t actually remember how I responded when the person I believed to be my only daughter shared this monumental truth with me, If I could replay the scene like a memory from a movie, I’m certain I’d cringe at my reaction. I know I asserted my unconditional love, but I was completely unprepared for this moment, with absolutely no idea what to say or do. In all of my years of parenting, I never even considered the “what to do when your child comes out as trans” scenario.

E is 19 now, a healthy, thriving adult figuring out college, young adulthood, and navigating life as a man. But I confess that I could not envision this future then. Honestly, I had no idea how to move forward in this new reality. I was the parent, but my life experiences, my knowledge, my understanding of the world, the resources around me, my religious background, and so much more made me feel unmoored and unprepared.

I found out later that E believed so fully in us as parents, he imagined we’d immediately embrace his true identity and know how to move forward. I ache each time I think of sweet E’s naïve, hopeful heart broken by our shocked, uncertain, bumbling reaction. While a part of me wishes I’d been the mom he imagined, I also try to give myself compassion and grace.

Our journey over the last seven years has been complicated, painful, beautiful, illuminating, infuriating, funny, heartbreaking, confusing – and filled with so much love. We’ve talked and talked again. Returned to old conversations and shared new revelations. Simply listened and accepted that we may not always understand. There’s been anger, fear, and deep hurt. Forgiveness of each other and ourselves. And we’ve journeyed together some, but we have unique, individual stories too.

I haven’t written about this publicly because E was a minor, I did not want to out him, and I feel protective of my family. But I also wish I could sit and talk to the me of seven years ago, listen, give her a hug, and tell her a few, beautiful truths that have brought me such peace and joy. So, I asked E if he would be okay with me writing about this and he gave his blessing.

What I wanted more than anything when our son came out as transgender was for someone to tell me exactly what to do and say. I wanted to know the right thing to do. I wanted to make no mistakes and protect my child. Unfortunately, this wasn’t possible. There is no one right thing to say or do. It’s complicated. It’s hard. It hurts. Not only is your child going through something significant, you are as parents, too. You will stumble and get it wrong along the way. Probably quite often.

As I navigated this new world of parenting a transgender kid, I soon discovered that my faith crisis turned out to be a gift. Freed from some of the rigid black and white beliefs of my youth and unconcerned with temple recommend questions, I could explore what it means to be transgender and learn about gender identity and gender expression with a more open mind and heart. I still struggled and I could write pages of articles about the grieving process, the compromises I’ve made, my mistakes, and the ways I’ve changed and grown over the years.

Our family got lucky in a way when our son discovered his true name – one that allowed us to continue a nickname I’d adopted. It made his birth name gender-neutral and hinted at his preferred name. This allowed a way out of committing to his preferred name without dead-naming him; a sort of in-between, not-so-bad. While I’ve used the nickname affectionately for years, I came to understand how much he needed to hear his full name and pronoun.

I don’t want to pretend this was easy. E and I have talked about how I needed to mourn my daughter; the name I so lovingly chose; the story I started writing about her life before she was born; my complicated grief around feeling that my child didn’t want to be like me; confusion around body acceptance; how this impacted my relationships with other people I love; and just how it changed reality for me.

Ultimately, though, what I really wanted more than anything was to love my child; to love him fully, uninhibited, wide-open, and loudly; to celebrate life with him. I wanted my son to live and believe his life was worth living. And there came a time when I thought I might lose him and I can barely breathe thinking about it.

After years of trying to do right by everyone I loved, I was exhausted; exhausted from wrestling over the complications of religion, politics, family dynamics, and mental health challenges. But I had this increasing feeling that I could let go of the things getting in the way of love. A quite, insistent voice told me that I didn’t need to be exhausted anymore. I could let go of the me-centered barriers remaining and allow love to lead me forward.

I finally found a new peace when I came to this understanding with God. I would love uninhibitedly; without fear, or grief, or compromise. I did not need to wrestle with it any longer, try to explain it, or worry about other people who are not yet ready. I could just open my heart and let myself love wholeheartedly without barriers.

This is what I discovered: Using someone’s preferred name and pronoun has been incredibly freeing for me. The expression on my son’s when face I looked him in the eye and said his name and pronoun for the first time was wondrous. From now on, I’ll never un-see the flinch each time he is mis-gendered or called the wrong name. Using his name and pronoun broke down some of the barriers between us and freed me from burdens I needed to let go of to begin moving forward. So much of life is this need to find self and purpose; to be seen and loved just as you are. For me, using my son’s name and pronoun has allowed me to say “I see you and I love you” in a way I could not otherwise.

I’m not oversimplifying or being clique when I say that the right thing to do is to love my son; the right things to say are his name, his pronoun, and “I love you.” The other stuff I used to worry over or carry with me didn’t magically disappear, but it doesn’t weigh me down in the same way. I feel true peace using my son’s name and pronouns. I don’t stumble over them or have to correct them in my head because I see him and I know him. I celebrate the beautiful life he is building and feel such gratitude that I get to be mom to such an amazing person!

Just the other day, E texted to tell me his legal name change officially came through. My heart soared and I felt genuine joy as I sent congratulations and exclamation points celebrating his “New Name Day!” I celebrated how much simpler this would make his life and what a monumental moment day this would always be for him. I cried tears of joy.

You Can Buy Anything In This World With Money

Do you think people should make money off the ideals of the church…the theology of the church?

One reader made this remark about this Instagram influencer’s business:

“Conditioning women to feel that their child’s devotion to the Church is on them AND LDS women influencers selling their “success” formulas makes me think of the money changers that Jesus confronted at the temple. Some of these LDS influencers are figuratively sitting in front of the temple and using it as a backdrop for their own gain. The spiritual superiority this type of post puts off feels like the very thing Jesus sought to end.”

I see this reader’s point and can agree wholeheartedly. This businesswoman is using the guilt women are made to feel over being responsible for their children’s spirituality and gaining monetarily from it or at least hoping to.

I have seen this many times before.

Humans are very opportunistic. Especially when it comes to our survival…or making money to buy the things we want.

I have seen women in the spirit of the LDS faith sell planners around the Church’s years theme in the different auxiliaries, food storage planning and products, relationship courses, therapy, how to teach your kids [fill in the blank] (as seen in the example photo above), and of course selling the perfect ideal of motherhood and homemaking, as Ballerina Farm, controversially does so well. 

Then we have your male CES teachers on social media promoting the ideals/doctrine of the church, while also promoting a book they wrote, or subtly letting you know about how they teach at BYU…(please take my class and hopefully the high demand of my awesomeness will help the Q15 eye me for bigger positions within this kingdom!).

Now we also have social media influencers paid by the LDS church to create content around their testimonies, for the church’s use.

Find the Salt Lake Tribune article about it here.

And our Exponent Blog Post about it here.

There is an angle for everyone. The kicker for me is being honest about it. Many influencers will put a #ad or #promotion on their post so that you know they are getting paid for what they are saying/selling (LDS influencers should definitely do this if getting paid by the church). Or they will outright let you know that they are seeking donations to help keep their channel operating.

If I tried to sell you the idea of motherhood made simple by watching me elegantly collect farm eggs in my pioneer dress and cute mucking boots while homeschooling, without disclosing how much help I am actually getting raising eight kids and running a business…well then…I believe the real controversy is a lack of transparency which to me is a lack of integrity.

I do not have a problem with a woman, who has been told her whole life’s mission should be carried out at home, finds a way to bring in money by promoting the only thing she knows…or is allowed to be an expert on; motherhood and the home.

Which overlaps with religion because we are told motherhood and the home is part of our religion.

But what makes the above Instagram ad by Kristen Walker Smith troubling, is that she is playing off the idea that many women have-which is- if you have a stable, self sufficient, hard working adult child that has left the church…you have failed as a mother. The only thing that really matters is their testimony in the LDS faith and Kristen has the means, if you can pay her, to show you how to micromanage your child’s faith. (side note: she also shares inaccurate “facts” on polygamy in an effort to keep people faithful).

***

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is even making money off of us…or those that are still paying their tithing… and well, making interest off of those who’ve paid it in the past. 

All of it is a business. 

Religion is a business.

Tithing money pays for CES teachers, and BYU teachers. The top Q15 make over 100K in “living expenses”. The church (read: top Q15 decision makers in the church) is in the top five private landowners list in the USA. The church (read: top Q15 decision makers in the church) hides its money in shell companies.

Why should the 15 Apostles make money off of members and not a mom trying to fit the stay at home mold and still try to contribute to her finances?

Women, as long as the money you make is within the walls of your own home, then I believe you qualify for the top tier within the celestial kingdom, no? (I swear I read that in D & C somewhere…)

Point being…wouldn’t Christ throw the tables for all these examples?

My other point is…if it appeals to you, then it won’t bother you. If it fits a need or a want (even if it’s “snake oil” or inaccurate information that makes you feel good), you’ll be grateful for it, even if you have to pay.

Photo credit: Canva

My dark thoughts insist I must become superwoman to have any worth

By Anonymous

Last night I realized that deep down part of me believes I’ll never be truly worthy or lovable until I get a doctorate, win a Pulitzer Prize, and work successfully as an ER physician. 

I was taking a sick day due to a cold virus after a week of chronic pain and PMS, so my mood was low. When I listened to a story produced by “The Moth” by an overachiever famous playwright/composer, I felt sick to my stomach. My BYU degree, largely fallow music skills, and casual part-time attempts to become a writer seemed like nothing in comparison. That night I watched The Pitt, a new drama about the demands on emergency room doctors in Pittsburgh. Thinking about how there are grownups my age and even younger with the courage to fill such taxing positions made me feel shame and inadequacy. My work in comparison is mere child’s play. 

Before I went to bed, I opened my journal and wrote: “Life feels overwhelming, like multiple facets of my world are crumbling all at once. My country seems to be becoming fascist, the Church is failing to pass the faith down to the next generation, and I feel less certain of anything spiritual than I ever have before. 

“I’m going through a period of doubt in my skills and talents and my capacity to have a vision of how to use them for good. I’m struggling with something like self-loathing. I never feel good enough, responsible enough, or even adult enough. I often feel like I’m not living up to my potential. My thoughts make me feel awful about both myself and the world. 

“For some reason it feels like I’m supposed to save the world and am failing to do so. Like I should rise to some occasion. Why do I feel this urge to become some kind of alpha female or superwoman before I allow myself to respect and validate myself? Why do I feel so unwanted? Why am I wounded in this way? Maybe it’s partly the conditioning that taught me to try to save others spiritually and to obtain my sense of worth by pleasing others and climbing social ladders. I’m not sure what to do about it, but I’m grateful to recognize the absurd, unexamined, toxic beliefs I have.”

I don’t just struggle with this kind of framework when I’m really low, although that is when the intrusive and dark thoughts are the loudest. This thinking comes in even when things are going smoothly. For example, my boss adores a past employee who moved on to much bigger and better things who is younger than me but who has a stunning resume and is an unusually assertive, visionary, and passionate worker. When she sings her praises to me, I feel sick. If someone else is some amazing goddess out changing the world, it seems like I must be absolutely nothing, or at best, just inferior and not worthy of the same level of respect, belonging, admiration, or love. 

I was labelled and compared quite a bit as a kid in order to motivate good behavior and performance in my family and at Church. Adults trained me to hustle for their love. I was a people pleaser. My dad labelled me as his obedient, golden child who never gave him any trouble. But staying on that short pedestal meant keeping most of my pain, fears, and negative thoughts all to myself because he wasn’t really willing to handle them or acknowledge my full humanity as a person with feelings, opinions, agency, and anger.

As an adult raising kids and doing fairly isolated office work full time, I go around feeling somewhat depleted much of the time. Chores feel relentless. I don’t go the extra mile or make any sacrifices at work; I do the essentials, and that’s it. I’m not in charge, and I don’t take much initiative to propose new ideas, they are usually rejected, or flop due to our limitations. I struggle to maintain enough of a social life to feel like I belong somewhere and am really seen by someone. I used to talk with one of my siblings every week who I’m close to, but now they’re back at full-time work and it’s hard to make time to talk, and I feel the difference. I feel underemployed and alienated and like my talents go mostly unappreciated at my work. I got my degree with the intention of doing some part-time work, not launching a full fledged career. I wasn’t well-prepared, and I lack the money to go back to school. I also lack the inspiration as to what I would do to change careers. And even though I’m reasonably smart, I doubt my ability to handle a profession that is much more stressful or high responsibility due to the depression, anxiety, and chronic health issues I deal with on and off. My choices when it comes to work don’t feel so open, they feel fairly limited.

My husband is outgoing, creative, and assertive, and has much bigger roles outside the home in his career than me, and there are times I feel inferior, like less of an adult, and sometimes less valued in the circles we’re part of. And sometimes his frustration with my insecurity and depressive thoughts only plays into this, and it is painful to me. I want to feel like a true equal. What does help me with this is recognizing that we simply would not have been able to have and spend any time with our children if my career were anything like his. I’ve heard about research that shows that what works best for most families in places like the US is for one spouse to have a much less invested and high-demand career so that there is enough space for parenting and managing a household, and flexibility with location.

I know that I am loved. It’s obvious even my boss has a lot of care for me and sees me as an intelligent person. My family members value me and show me a lot of appreciation. There are people in my ward who love me despite the fact I’m pretty different from them in how I see things. There are times I let this love in and it helps me. But there are other times when the dark thoughts and feelings in me flare up, when it feels like all this warmth and goodness is gone, and I feel hopeless that I will ever feel like I really belong or am valued and accepted as I am. Even just remembering one socially awkward or spacey mistake I made in the past can sometimes launch me into a shame spiral.

I’m not sure what to do to correct and heal my dysfunctional thoughts besides continuing to be mindful of them and to seek to replace them with thoughts that are more realistic and honest. I can notice and challenge them. I can dismiss them. I can meet that head to head and reveal their absurdity and cruelty. I realize now they are just a delusion; even if I did accomplish much greater things, I would not be satisfied or magically cured of the root issue, but still struggling with my shame for one reason or another.

The truth is, I don’t need to have a high-power career or come out on top to treat myself with dignity or appreciation. I don’t need to become superwoman to love and feel compassion for myself, or to feel a sense of personal worth even when I’m at my lowest. What I actually value are moments connecting deeply one-on-one with other people. Deep down, status and competition aren’t actually what I believe in. I just want to feel a little more safe and connected. The excess isolation I deal with is just more reason for self-kindness, not more layers of suffering and self-punishment.

Sometimes it really does feel like the world is crumbling, but I also realize many past generations, even in the far past, have dealt with such fears during frightening periods of tumult and change. Maybe the fear feels especially existential in our time in light of certain threats, including just how rapidly the world due to the tech revolution. One thing’s for sure: I can’t do it all. I can’t fix society’s ills or the political troubles going on around me. It’s not my job to fix the Church or the way it treats people. All I can do is extend kindness, love, and help to the people I can reach. I want to do good in the world, but I need to truly, fully let go of any sense of obligation to be some kind of savior or perfect person in order to have value and worth.

Magazine Launch Party – Fall 2025 Celebration

We are thrilled to see our contributor’s hard work appear in print soon! To celebrate, we are hosting an hour-long online launch party of the Fall 2025 “Listen” issue on Thursday, October 9 at 6 p.m. MTN / 8 p.m. EST. 

What is a launch party?

A launch party, common in publishing, is a formal celebration of a forthcoming book or magazine issue—a place where contributors share parts of their work for an audience to honor the hard work they have done. A launch party is like the movie trailer for the issue and a way to build community among contributors and subscribers. These are some of our favorite, inspiring nights of the year.

What is the agenda?

Introduction – the host/moderator welcomes everyone to the group and acknowledges the writers and artists on the callCover reveal – the first glimpseLetter from Editor – first glimpsePresentations – each contributor, depending on the number participating, will receive a few minutes to present. Writers will read a portion of their work and artists will share an image to discuss.Q&A – With host acting as moderatorConclusion – Thank everyone for coming and those who have worked on this issue, share next steps

How Can I Participate?

Listen and glimpse the Fall 2025 issue through the words and images of its contributors. This event gives Exponent II contributors a professional opportunity to share their work with the Exponent II community. Anyone can register here to attend.

Spread the word!

Everyone is welcome–friends, family, anyone! Everyone must register to attend.

Again, here is the link to register: tinyurl.com/exiiparty

Photo by Anastasiya Badun on Unsplash

No, It’s Not Just in Utah

I’ve noticed a strange pattern recently. Whenever I post on my socials about a negative childhood church experience, someone always pops into the comments to tell me “that’s just because you lived in Utah.” Fun fact: I grew up in California. I still live in California.

Yes, Utah has a very unique Latter-day Saint culture that often breeds harmful and problematic things. But that doesn’t just happen in Utah! Mormonism isn’t only problematic, orthodox, or weird in Utah. I’m so tired of people trying to give me that excuse, as if something happening in Utah means that we don’t have to take it seriously or be worried about it. This is only a way to move the goal posts so we don’t have to deal with the actual issues church doctrine and culture cause.

I think this knee-jerk reaction to blame a location is another facet of members feeling the need to protect the church. They don’t want people to view the church negatively online, so they try to come up with a quick excuse. But how does saying “oh that’s just in Utah” make that better? Are people really going to join the church because the bad stuff is only in Utah? Utah is literally the heart and soul of the LDS church; what happens there happens everywhere. That’s like saying the heart pumps poison but it’s fine if you’re the stomach.

Even more concerning to me is that members don’t want to face reality. They see a lived experience that’s negative and want to find an excuse to soothe the cognitive dissonance it brings up. Blaming it on a location rather than the real roots of doctrine and culture allows people to pretend that it’s not actually a problem. This frightens me most of all. We’ll never solve the real issues if we just pretend it’s a [insert place] problem.

I’m a born and raised California Mormon. I’ve lived in this state in two of the most liberal areas (Bay Area and LA area). It’s true we don’t have the exact same culture as Utah but we’re not immune to the issues of Latter-day Saint doctrine and lived religion. Here’s just a few of things that happened in my childhood California stake:

-They passed conservative political petitions around and openly spoke as if everyone was a Republican.

-One time chants of “Glenn Beck!” broke out in the adult Sunday school in response to something in the lesson.

-Gun culture was alive and well. The YM frequently went shooting and one youth conference I remember going to a range as an activity (I refused to shoot the gun).

-American exceptionalism as supported by 2nd Nephi was enforced repeatedly. We were taught that the US was the promised land and better than everywhere else.

-Our ward/stake had a pioneer day celebration every year. We would dress up in full pioneer garb and have picnics, play pioneer games, even pull handcarts down the busy road by our stake center.

-Members were constantly “keeping up with the Joneses.” Gotta have that 15 passenger van. That boat. That brand of clothing.

-Messages of traditional motherhood and not having a career were paramount in young women’s lessons. I remember how poorly the women spoke of a sister that had a career “even though her family didn’t need the money.”

-Purity culture galore. At girl’s camp/youth conference, we had to wear a modest one piece (no cleavage!) with knee length board shorts over it. One year we even had to wear a shirt or tank over the top.

-The bishop came to our young women’s class one Sunday and told us if we were ever held at gunpoint and being raped, we needed to tell our assailant to shoot us instead because it was better for us to die than be impure.

-Mutual activities were typically homemaking nights. We learned how to sew buttons on men’s shirts, how to iron, how to cook. The boys played basketball or went to lazer tag.

-Prop 8. I still have nightmares about the enormous pressure to donate, knock doors, put up signs, and make it our entire purpose.

-I was taught by multiple leaders and teachers that polygamy was an eternal principle and that I would be a polygmist in the celestial kingdom.

-One mutual activity we pretended to go on plane flight, which “crashed.” Then we walked through the telestial, terrestial, and celestial kingdoms. It was so weird and horribly manipulative. (Also, I have a fear of flying so yeah.)

-When a young man’s hair grew a little too long, members gossiped about it. Some didn’t think he was worthy to pass the sacrament.

This list could go on and on. We were taught out of the same lesson manuals as Utah. We had just as many members who assumed you had to Republican to be a good Latter-day Saint. We had the same programs. The same obsession with perfectionism. The same orthodoxy.

It’s time to stop blaming everything negative about the church on Utah. In the end, it’s all coming from the same roots. The Book of Mormon is racist whether you’re reading it in Utah, Los Angeles, or China. Polygamy haunts us in Georgia, Washington, and Canada. Ezra Taft Benson’s many problematic teachings were heard in Provo, San Francisco, and London.

Instead of pretending it’s a Utah thing, we need to actually look at ourselves and accept that this is the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There may be local quirks in different places but overall, the church comes from the same roots everywhere. And if we don’t like what we see, then it’s time to change it.

Guest Post: Am I a Woman of Faith in a Man’s Church?

Guest Post by L.Q.

The following essay was written for my college-level Analytical Writing class. I am a dual-enrollment high school senior, so when I refer to myself as a “woman,” please know that I am a very young woman, still early in this journey.

What does it mean to believe in a God who sees all people as equal, but to worship in a church that does not? I was born into a church-going family, and there has never been a time in my life when we did not attend church. My parents have always been involved in our congregation, holding multiple leadership positions. Since childhood, I have attended mid-week youth activity nights and have been asked to serve in leadership positions for the girls’ class. Early on in my life, I was very aware of the role that gender played in organized religion, but I was content. I believed that as a girl, I was different, but I was still equal and just as valued as the boys. Now, being a woman of faith in a man’s church, I can see that my journey from being excluded to claiming independence from institutional authority has produced a complex faith and an ongoing inner conflict that I experience daily. 

From an early age, I knew that my life in the church would be different simply because I was born a girl. Subconsciously, it registered that maybe the way things were was not how they should be. Every Sunday, I would watch as the boys had the opportunity to prepare and bless the bread and water for the congregation. Later in life, my mom told me that as a young child, I would ask with eyes full of hope when I would be old enough to participate in this sacred ordinance, which we call the sacrament. She said it broke her heart to tell me that I would never be allowed to help.

Although I knew that women and men should be equal in other aspects of life, it took me until I was ten to really believe that the same should be said for my church. At that age, I went early one Sunday to help my dad set up the sacrament table. Thinking that I was just helping to get this task done more quickly, I lifted the white cloth that covered the bread and water and handed it to my dad. He looked at me and said, “Oh, you can’t touch that”.  He didn’t explicitly say why, but I knew it was because I was a girl.

These small early experiences have stayed with me and shaped my understanding of my place in the church as a female. When it was implied that my value was only tied to my gender, it narrowed my hopes of how I could contribute to my church and what I could become spiritually. These experiences planted seeds that would soon grow and lead me to discover my own independence. The powerless feeling that came from early exclusion encouraged me to be more independent later. I learned that I could think critically and form my own judgments even when they clashed with tradition. When I stopped waiting for permission from others about how I could show up in my faith, my trust and confidence in myself grew. 

Even though my church exclusively gives men authority from God, which we call the Priesthood, and denies the same to women, I have since learned that I must claim my independence and recognize my own inner authority. At the age of twelve, boys are ordained to the priesthood, while women and girls are only given leadership when appointed by a man to positions still overseen by men. These leadership roles only involve serving and teaching other women and children.

At a youth camp one year, I attended a class called “Priesthood for Dummies”, hoping it would answer some questions I had. I was called up to help with an object lesson that was meant to show that women do have power from God. Yet standing there, I became a physical example of what would happen if you had no male figures in your home; you would have no Priesthood authority. I felt alone and powerless in this moment. This eye-opening experience taught me that I could decide what I believe and what my relationship with God could be. Learning to separate my identity from institutional approval gives me stability and validation when external control feels limiting and wrong. In daily life, this shows up in simple but influential ways, such as finding my own opportunities to serve others, trusting my interpretation of scripture and gospel teachings, and in deepening my personal prayer. As I continue to distinguish external hierarchy from my internal authority, my faith and relationship with a loving God have grown more resilient and valued. 

Claiming my authority and independence made me resilient, but it also created tension. It seems like the more independent I am, the more inner conflict is cultivated by holding both faith and doubt simultaneously. The question of why I stay in a church that limits me is constantly in the back of my mind. I feel pulled between hope for change and knowing that I could survive where I am.

When I hear things that I disagree with in church services, I can easily identify what is not right and move past it. But then I think of my little sister. She is ten years old, the age I was when I started noticing things were wrong. I see her hope, and I fear the day that doubt will cloud her mind just as it does mine. Thinking of her intensifies my determination to make my community a better place. She makes me want to stay and show her that faith can mean questioning and growing. I see her and all the little girls out there who are inadvertently taught that they are not valued the same as boys, and I wish for change. I wish that I would just stand up to every misogynistic church leader I encounter. I want to change things so that those girls will not have to. In my mind, that cognitive dissonance is mirrored by my parents and their separate ways of living in the church. My father seems content and accepts tradition, while my mother identifies problems, asks difficult questions, and actively pushes for change. This visual reflects the constant strain between reality and idealism in my own mind. The conflict they reflect is a central part of my faith journey and identity. 

To worship in a church that doesn’t see you as equal means taking feelings of exclusion and learning how to recognize your own inherent authority while having constant tension between belief and doubt. In my complex faith journey, I have broken away from black and white thinking and now value my independence and agency. Though these struggles are not resolved and may never be, they have taught me to trust myself and move forward with faith and hope. I know that no matter how or where I choose to worship, the God I believe in sees me as equal and valuable in my identity as a woman of faith. 

L.Q. is looking forward to graduating from high school and going to college somewhere that feels right. Beyond that, she has no clue where her journey will lead. In the meantime, she plans to keep eating chocolate, reading romance novels, and listening to Taylor Swift.