Exponent II's Blog, page 85

Weird Barbie is my Queer Spiritual Guide

Here at the Exponent blog, we’ve had a lot to say about the recent Barbie movie directed by Greta Gerwig. Abby wrote about how being an LDS woman is like being a Ken and again about her experiences with Ordain Women. Katie imagined quotes from General Conference filtered through Ken-dom. I’ve loved these posts and I think that there is still more to say here.

I’ve now seen the movie three times. After the first viewing, I was confused about parts of the narrative but loved many of the jokes. In various commentaries on the movie, I saw references to the queerness of the Barbie movie and the Barbie universe and was intrigued.

I had been under the impression that Barbie was the perfect white cis-het woman, but what I read took those ideas apart. I grew up playing with Barbies but popular feminist critiques of Barbie in the mid/late 1990s made me feel ashamed that I had played with toys that emphasized a particular view of women’s beauty. I had a very poor relationship with my body and it seemed like all of those hours spent playing Barbie-stranded-on-a-desert-island with my best friend was partly to blame.

The movie gave me a bit more historical context for Barbie and some of the commentaries and timelines of the Barbie world pointed out some things I had not considered. As a woman without a vagina, Barbie is not cisgender and clearly prefers the company of the other Barbies to that of her boyfriend, Ken. Both Barbie and Ken thrive in their homosocial spaces, though Ken is obsessed (but not clearly attracted to) Barbie. It’s an interesting dynamic, but not one based in mutual sexual attraction. They are working very hard at playing roles instead of living out an authentic sense of desire.

When Barbie starts to experience complex feelings, the other Barbies do not have answers. They encourage her to visit Weird Barbie, who lives on the edge of Barbieland and shirks so many of the Barbie conventions. Weird Barbie is queer. In her wisdom, Weird Barbie pushes Stereotypical Barbie into a literal journey of education and experience, symbolized by that most comfortable of sandals, the Birkenstock. It is Weird Barbie who visits Stereotypical Barbie at her lowest and offers a solution to their collective patriarchal problem. It is #teamWeirdBarbie that carries out this plan.

Weird Barbie understands more about Barbieland than the other Barbies do because she is living at the edge of that community, playing an important role but othered by the Barbies. Insider status for most of the Barbies does not give them great insight, but limits their perspectives. Guidance about challenges must come from outside the mainstream of the Barbieland community. In life, things are largely similar. Those at the center of a community often hold perspectives that are limited by the thinking of the group, leaving those at the edges to do extra work to navigate life while being ostracized.

In my life, I seek for spiritual wisdom from those who are at the edges of groups, mainly from women of color, many of whom are queer and/or disabled. There is wisdom for the journey in these liminal spaces.

If you are interested in more Barbie talk, check out the “Mojo Dojo Casa Housing Policy” episode of Exponent II: The Podcast.

When Our Sons Put on Priesthood Blinders

Up until my cis-gendered sons enter the young men’s program and become priesthood holders in the LDS Church, I mostly feel as though I can the counterbalance much of the gendered and patriarchal messaging they receive. As children attending LDS primary, our kids see women as authority figures and generally do not understand the true power dynamics underlying church presidencies. Women are presidents, leaders, teachers, and considered central figures at home during these years. The messaging isn’t perfect, but the time they spent with me felt like enough to help them hear and feel different messages about the roles, influence, and even purpose of women.

After our sons enter the young men’s program, the scales shift dramatically. It’s as if they are handed a pair of priesthood blinders, allowing them to see and experience the world differently. Suddenly, an immature boy in the year of his 12th birthday is trained in becoming :a priesthood holder.” He is surrounded by men at church and activities, who lead and teach. The Bishop is the literal leader of his specific organization; yet another indication of his importance. He performs a necessary service every Sunday by blessing and passing the sacrament that no woman – no matter her age or experience – can perform. He is on a clear, direct path to authority, leadership, purpose, and influence. He is necessary. He is a man. He embodies the priesthood. And the young women are watching this.

A young woman’s experience is distinctly different. While she is surrounded by women, it becomes increasingly clear that they are not the ultimate authority figures. Our cis-gendered daughters begin participating in ward youth presidency meetings where they are in a clear minority and where men always lead. Men preside whenever they enter a room. Men get special nights at Girls Camp. Men speak last; even in women’s meetings. Young men have a call as missionaries. It’s nice for young women to serve missions if marriage isn’t available. And the young men are watching this.

And, as our sons become old enough to truly pay attention to talks and messages around them, a fear spirals in me. Did they hear the kind bishop say, “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble” when he asked me into his office? No offense was meant, but the casual assumption that he had this authority over me bristled.

Did they hear the returned missionary describe his amazing experience becoming the bishop in another country because only a group of faithful adult women regularly attended services? And everyone nodded as if a teenage male assuming authority over adult women is perfectly normal and necessary, temporarily paralyzing me with shock.

Did my son see anyone speak up when the group chat of young men and leaders jokingly shared scriptures about the blessed silence of women? Did he laugh too without seeing the greater harm of this type of attitude in a highly patriarchal setting?

Did my sons cringe when the man spoke of his beautiful wife as a necessary supportive role for his important and difficult calling and his “reward” for being a faithful missionary?

Will they continue to critically think about what they learn and believe, no matter what faith path they choose?

Will my sons, who I hope see me as an individual and respect me as a person, begin to view me as a role? Will I stop being someone they could become like because I will be a woman first and me second?

Will the inequality they recognize and disdain in the world around them be explained away by benevolent patriarchy?

Will my thoughts, feelings, and beliefs about inequality and women and the priesthood hold real weight and meaning when pitted against authority, purpose, and benevolent patriarchy?

Will their priesthood blinders allow them to compartmentalize inequality?

Can they still become the men who begin publicly speaking up about women and the priesthood?

To Be Well Loved By Mormons

Today, it is 22 years since my father died.

In a few days, I will be having major surgery. 

And I don’t know if the regular waves of grief and nausea that smash into me are from the concern about the surgery, or the ongoing overwhelm from the loss of Dad.

I was at Benchmark Books last week for the release (posthumous) of Kate Holbrook’s excellent book “Both Things Are True”. It was bittersweet to hear from Kate’s husband, Sam Brown as he spoke of what a miracle it is that Kate, that any of us, exist. And that we are all a part of each other’s lives. 

He spoke of the loss and grief after she died almost a year ago, and how hard it was for him to go from being a giver, to being a receiver of help and service. He talked about the amazing ways friends and family stepped in, and helped them continue to function, and live. After about 6 months, he began to see small ways to maybe offer something again. And now, he finds he can be aware of some near him who are carrying unimaginable burdens, and step in to help carry them.

In the midst of this telling, he paused and said, “What an amazing thing…to be well loved by Mormons.”

This week on the anniversary of Dad’s death, grief is always present. This loss of Dad is still as raw as ever. I also think of the miracle of his existence, and how I learned from him to be present to the miracle of any existence, even when it is overwhelming. 

I wallow in memories of those last few months of Dad’s life, when all the efforts of so many could not stop that insidious cancer from taking him. 

That moving phrase from Sam Brown– “What an amazing thing…to be well loved by Mormons.” 

During that time 22 years ago, when the unthinkable was happening, we were well loved by Mormons.

Mom rushed Dad to the hospital in the middle of the night, and the brain surgeon worked to remove the tumor through to morning. I left the hospital to go take care of things at my parents’ house by mid-morning. There was already some freshly made food set carefully by the front door, along with a message of love and concern. This continued for months. I rarely saw anyone. It was as if elves came whenever we were focusing on Dad’s care, and left dishes that were made from fresh garden produce, and wonderful ingredients that would heal and comfort. 

Ward members showed up to take care of the yard, or sit and listen. Calls and messages coming from every part of the Mormon community. A friend who knew Mom and Dad from many decades back flew to Utah from Boston, with live lobsters in her carry-on. She provided a lobster dinner for us, She felt this was what she could do to help carry us as we tried to carry him.

These were people all across the spectrum of belief and activity and connection to the church. If there is anything I have learned from my Mormon heritage, it is that nothing is more important than mourning with those that mourn, bearing one another’s burdens, and visiting those in need, bringing food when you do so. 

I am so grateful for the way many loved ones carry this with them, no matter where their faith journey takes them. I see people form compassionate service networks in many creative ways for each other when there is no longer a connection to a ward community. The memory of service offered during unbearable times is one that calls us to continue to offer that when we see a need, even if it is not through any official channel. 

I was asked on a recent podcast interview “What is your favorite calling?”

My answer – It is the calling I give myself. The calling to look for ways to love, even when it is hard, or scary, or confronting. In a way, I have had this calling since I was baptized (even though it took many years to set aside the “satisfying justice” rhetoric, and be aware of the cool “learn to love” part of it), and took on the covenant to mourn, and share, and rejoice, and carry. 

I have learned from those in my lifelong and multi-generational Mormon communities who love well. The meals brought, the blessings offered (I grew up in the era when both parents, or couple would offer the blessing), the gatherings of families and individuals for everything from camping to fireside discussions to musical performances, the people across the country and the world who offered shelter and food for weary travelers, or anyone in need (I don’t remember staying in a motel on road trips until I was in college, and, even then, it was rare. We were always welcomed into the home of a friend, even if it was to sleep on the floor or couch. There were 8 of us, after all). The teachers who emphasized the love of God, no matter the lesson subject, and no matter how much creativity it took to present it in inspiring, personal ways. The leaders who cared more about listening, and sitting with, than on preaching and controlling opinions. The members who saw a need, and, not waiting for top-down actions, created grass roots options and programs to meet the need, and generously shared their work so it could benefit many others. Especially those who love so well, they do not wait for leaders to direct them in all things. They listen to the constant call of the gospel to seek inspiration in responding to feeding, caring for, and redeeming through activism and service that acknowledges the miracle of each person’s existence, listening and sitting with them as Christ would, creating space to live and breathe deeply.

It is the example of Divine Parents, to love me so well that I desire to live more completely, to move forward into new worlds, new life, new growth – even when so much is unknown, even when I might not ever know how I can make it through – I am inspired by Their constant love, awareness, grace, presence. There is no end to that. It is so much more than all the attempts by some people in all places to define and confine and restrict how, where and who god can love. It is the constant of Divinity loving well that multiplies and replenishes life in ways that are so much more expansive and inclusive than biological reproduction. And They call us to do the same. This is a uniquely Mormon teaching – that we were invited into new life when we were inspired forward by the Gods, and we are asked to follow their example by doing the same. I can multiply and replenish life each time I love well, in a way that someone fells fed, seen, heard, inspired, and sees a way to live completely, and exist in miraculous ways.

The framework of learning this way of loving well comes from my Mormon experience. It is by no means exclusive to it. None of my near neighbors are Mormon. And we are well loved by each other. I have been able to travel extensively recently. I see this in every culture, a great capacity and desire to love well.

We were well loved when we first moved to this area and ward 7 years ago. We were reeling from the pain of lies and betrayal from a few leaders in our last stake and ward, where we had served long and completely. Here, there were little notes expressing gratitude for comments, for sitting with active children, for being new and different, some young people thanked us for the way we sang the hymns.

When I was diagnosed again with breast cancer two years ago, and Mike’s mom passed away that same week, we were well loved when people dropped everything and showed up to sit and cry with us. 

When I had my double mastectomy a few weeks later, we had to let ourselves learn to say “yes” to the offers, during a time when we were tempted to withdraw and deal with things on our own. And we were well loved with food, and company, and people coming to take Mike on a hike to get him out of the house after weeks of caring for me. We said “yes” to people we did not expect to know and love as we learned to through this. Since then, we have been able to serve them as well, and our lives have multiplied with this love for them.

I felt well loved when I traveled to be a witness for Natasha Helfer during her membership hearing, and so many people across the Mormon spectrum sent messages, and support, and money, and prayers, and sympathy through the whole, unexpectedly traumatic experience.

I felt surprisingly well loved when I recently went to sit with another friend during her membership hearing (which she had requested), and experienced a completely different reception with caring and loving people in the room who focused on listening, ministering, and loving above all else. Above. All. Else.

In my advocacy work, I am often interacting, or aware of people saying and doing things that are harmful to many, especially the vulnerable and marginalized. This happens everywhere in society. It is hard to love well when I really want to just prove someone wrong, to see them feel as much harm as they are inflicting, to eliminate their right to exist as much as their actions eliminate space for others to exist. 

I don’t know how to find a way to make love work in that moment. 

I try to practice getting that I see through a glass darkly. We all do.

The one guide I have for seeing face to face, for letting the god in me see the god in others, is to love as God loves. Every truly inspiring scripture, experience, whispering or message that draws me to God is one of loving well, and always, even when it is messy, even impossible. Putting anything else first is a denial of the miracle of existence for someone, which is a part of everyone. That perpetuates and justifies the most harmful thing we do, as individuals, as communities, as institutions. 

I hear this from so many, that they are connected to their Mormon community through this kind of love, and it is stronger than what divides us. Even when they feel a need to create a different, less traditional path, they keep or take that kind of experience with them. 

I know of few things that have the power to draw people to each other, to gather, to belong, to forgive, to heal, to connect – greater than to be well loved. 

At this time when I mourn deeply, and experience deep concern for what may come, I am grateful for the Godlike love that comes even in the deep woundedness of life, and how being well loved leads me forward to deep healing.

Oh @#$%&! I’m all grown-up and still don’t know how to swear!

Growing up, my parents taught me to mind my language. My church leaders reinforced this message, praising children who scolded their friends for using naughty words and teens who called for bans on books with bad language or refused to participate in school plays with swear words in the script. A fictional villain may lie and cheat, but never talk with a potty mouth!

I understood that swearing was a lesser sin than, for example, murder, but it was still a great evil to be avoided, and avoid it I did. I was so scrupulous in my efforts to avoid seeing, hearing, or (heaven forbid!) speaking swear words, that I never really learned any. To this day, swearing is like a foreign language to me.

If my parents knew how to swear, they hid it pretty well. But I suspect they didn’t. I have only one vivid memory of my father swearing. In a fit of road rage, he crinkled his face like he was trying to hold something in, but after taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth and let it rip. What came out was the world’s mildest four-letter word and I don’t think he used it right. He sounded like he was trying to fight a lion with a soap bubble wand. I took it as a cautionary tale. Don’t swear unless you actually know how. Otherwise, you’ll sound pretty silly.

The first time anyone swore at me was when I was a high school student, working my first job at a local amusement park. An adult man pitched a fit when I told him he wasn’t allowed to bring his teddy bear on the Ferris wheel. He threw his drink in my face and called me a _______. That drink was an American-obesity-epidemic-sized “Large” and soaked me like baptism by immersion, but the physical assault didn’t affect me as much as that one obscene word, so unfamiliar to my ears, so startling to my tender sensibilities. I cried for hours.

I still don’t use swear words (usually). And when I do let one slip, I find myself fretting over whether I did it right, worrying that I sound as ridiculous as a Mormon dad with road rage. Not worth it.

Is that how you’re supposed to say that?

I don’t feel like I’m missing too much without swear words in my vocabulary. I’ve learned other words to express myself, and these are often more eloquent than overused four-letter words. Accidentally swearing in places or circumstances where it wouldn’t be appropriate isn’t a problem for me and I don’t risk offending people who grew up like me, sensitive to any swear word, no matter how benign. Not having a potty mouth is an overall advantage.

However, as an adult, I’ve also realized that while I may not choose to swear, I can’t avoid seeing and hearing bad words without also missing out on a great deal of good; including the art, literature and, most importantly, other human beings that use these words.

Learning to tolerate swear words also helps me inoculate myself against the teddy bear-wielding, drink-tossing, swearing bullies I will encounter throughout my life. I don’t want anyone to have the power to subdue me with the mere utterance of a single forbidden word.

Here are five more nuanced views of swearing I am teaching myself:

There’s no commandment not to swear. Which words are taboo is about social norms, not God’s laws.People come from different upbringings, and what is taboo to you may not be to someone else. Live and let live.There are a lot worse words than swear words. Slurs, mudslinging, lies… The list goes on.There’s a big difference between someone saying, “You’re a _______” and “My coffee tastes like _______.” The first is offensive. The second: let it go.There is a time and place. Or to quote scripture, “To everything there is a season.” In some contexts, swearing make sense.

When the Church Won’t Say Sorry: Mormon Doctrine

I didn’t grow up in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, so forgive me for not knowing about Mormon Doctrine: A Compendium of the Gospel, a 1958 book by then-General Authority Bruce R. McConkie, until recently. As I understand it, though, this book was a staple of many Church member households. As Peggy Fletcher Stack wrote in The Salt Lake Tribune:

“Although McConkie, an LDS apostle who died in 1985, took sole responsibility from the start for Mormon Doctrine‘s content, it often was quoted over the pulpit and treated by members as quasi-official…“Mormon Doctrine served two generations of the Mormon rank and file as the main authoritative source of LDS teachings,” said LDS sociologist Armand Mauss. “With its authoritative tone and constant promotion from high places, it came to be regularly cited in the church curriculum, especially in [Church Educational System] materials, and soon took on almost a scriptural stature.”” (emphasis mine)

McConkie described his book as “the first major attempt to digest, explain, and analyze all of the important doctrines of the kingdom” and “the first extensive compendium of the whole gospel—the first attempt to publish an encyclopedic commentary covering the whole field of revealed religion.” It’s easy to see why so many members took its contents as the official position of the Church.

There are many, many issues with Mormon Doctrine but the two most frequently cited are its theological treatment of Black people and of Catholics. Earlier editions of the book stated that Black people would never be able to hold the Priesthood, but when that policy was changed in 1978 so was the text. All the editions included racist arguments about dark skin as cursed, Black people as descending from Cain, and Black people as less valiant in the premortal existence. We know better: race is a social construct and there’s no discrete category of people who are “dark” and descended from one Biblical character. We learn from the scriptures that God is no respecter of persons and that no person’s worthiness or sinfulness or belovedness is related at all to race or melanation. McConkie’s statements about Black people are wrong morally, theologically, and scientifically.

Mormon Doctrine also describes the Catholic Church as the Church of the Devil and the great and abominable church cited in the Book of Mormon. The passage someone shared online that inspired this blog post disparaged Catholic cathedrals and claimed ornate cathedrals are a sign of the great apostasy. As someone who has enjoyed many beautiful houses of worship in my life including mosques, cathedrals, and our own LDS temples, I find this characterization absurdly hypocritical. It’s deeply offensive to anyone who wishes to be in real community with other Christians, including Catholics. It’s also insulting to our spiritual ancestors, in whose honor we should remember the catastrophic consequences of what happened when other Christians othered us in our early Church history.

Other false doctrine from the book included:

Contraception as “rebellion against God and…gross wickedness”Psychiatry as “apostate religion which keeps sinners from repenting”Evolution as incompatible with our religious beliefs

…The list goes on.

So what did Church leadership think of Mormon Doctrine, a book written by a then-member of the Seventy with no prior approval from the First Presidency or Quorum of the Twelve? The First Presidency under the express direction of President McKay concluded Mormon Doctrine was “full of errors and misstatements, and it is most unfortunate that it has received such wide circulation.” Apostles found over 1,000 “doctrinal errors” in the book. (Source: Science, Religion, and Mormon Cosmology by Erich Robert Paul, emphasis mine)

After this analysis of the errors in Mormon Doctrine, President McKay called McConkie’s father-in-law, Joseph Fielding Smith, to break the news that the book should not be republished. Crucially, however, McKay wanted to keep the slap on the wrist private:

“[McKay] then said: ‘Now, Brother Smith, he is a General Authority, and we do not want to give him a public rebuke that would be embarrassing to him and lessen his influence with the members of the Church, so we shall speak to the Twelve at our meeting in the temple tomorrow, and tell them that Brother McConkie’s book is not approved as an authoritative book, and that it should not be republished, even if the errors… are corrected.’ Brother Smith agreed with this suggestion to report to the Twelve, and said, ‘That is the best thing to do.’” (Source: Bruce R. McConkie: Highlights From His Life & Teachings by Dennis B. Horne, emphasis mine)

There are conflicting accounts of what happened after that and whether McKay later in life told McConkie he could publish a second edition of the book, but either way it was never an official Church publication and continued to include many false doctrines, including doctrines to which McKay expressed well-documented opposition. (For example, McKay taught that the Church had “no position” on evolution, a much more moderate stance than the one McConkie presented in Mormon Doctrine.)

This is what happens when the Church won’t say sorry: generations of people are harmed unnecessarily. It’s incalculable how many people were led astray by Mormon Doctrine because it goes beyond just those who purchased and read the book. Its false doctrine seeped into countless families, pervaded lessons from a multitude of well-meaning parents to their children, and echoed over pulpits around the world. How many couples avoided family planning because they thought God – rather than McConkie – said it was “gross wickedness”? How many people didn’t seek appropriate mental health treatment for fear of “apostasy”? How many people still oppress and dehumanize Black people and members of other faiths or people of non-belief because of what this one book taught and was allowed to continue teaching?

I’ve never read Mormon Doctrine cover to cover, but the scriptural example that keeps coming to  mind as I hear from person after person who was hurt by its false teachings is the mist of darkness in Lehi’s dream in the Book of Mormon. When men of Church authority write books like this and the Church doesn’t criticize or apologize for them or correct them publicly, they are allowing the fog to obscure truth and lead members astray.

All of this avoidable pain, suffering, and confusion just to save one man from “embarrassment” and “lessened influence.”

(I’d like to give Valerie Nicole Green a hat tip for this post, as it was her social media comment that sent me down the rabbit hole of Mormon Doctrine history.)

How to Include People with Disabilities at Church

I just finished reading a book called Disability and the Way of Jesus: Holistic Healing in the Gospels and the Church by Bethany McKinney Fox. It combined interviews with leaders of various Christian churches, analysis of healing stories in the scriptures, and accounts from people with disabilities. I didn’t agree with everything in the book, but there were some very beautiful gems of insight in there I’m going to carry with me as a Christian, Primary teacher, and someone who hopes to be an ally to disabled people.

Note: in this post, I use the terms “people with disabilities” and “disabled people” interchangeably because I personally know people in the disability community who prefer one or the other.

Here are some of the most important things I learned through my read of this book and the study of the specific healing narratives in the scriptures it referenced:

We cannot quarantine and isolate disabled people. If people with disabilities are not fitting into our classes and religious services, then there is a problem with our spaces and practices and not with the people we are excluding. One example the book provided was of a neurodiverse child who kept running out of the classroom and the church building into the street during Sunday School. They eventually discovered the child was running away whenever they played music, not because he hated music but because he didn’t like surprises and the sudden start of music was distressing to him. To better accommodate his sensory needs, they started announcing in advance when they would play music in the classes so it was no longer a surprise, and he was able to participate fully in the class as a result.If the whole point of healing narratives in the scriptures was a physical cure for a disability or ailment, the story would end after that physical healing. Instead, we see time and again the narrative usually continues far beyond the physical healing to describe the transformation of the individual in other ways, the transformation of the community, and the affirmation of the identities of the person being healed and of Jesus. A few experts in the book also argue that the story of Zacchaeus (Luke 19:1-10) is a healing narrative even without physical change because a transformation (and therefore healing) occurs.The way many Christians have applied healing narratives to people with disabilities historically and up to the present day is horrendous and patronizing. Healing in the way of Jesus should never leave a person feeling violated, unseen, unworthy, alone, humiliated or hopeless. That so many modern Christian practices of “healing” make disabled people feel this way is a sign something is very wrong. The book includes many accounts of people with disabilities encountering Christians who attempt to “heal” them without their consent and without any concern for what the person they are trying to heal actually wants.Simplistic views of disabled people as needing service and the rest of us as helping them as part of a ministry are selling everyone short. Two-way friendship and two-way ministering among people with and without disabilities is meaningful. We must acknowledge that disabled people have gifts and talents and therefore should have opportunities to serve and participate instead of just being served.We can’t forget about adults with disabilities. Sometimes accessibility and inclusion efforts are so focused on children with disabilities that those same children are forgotten or excluded once they become adolescents and adults.There should be no accessibility solutions for disabled people without their input. People with disabilities can lead, advise, implement, consolidate feedback, and innovate. They have perspectives that people in non-disabled bodies will miss due to a lack of lived experience with a disability. When we ask disabled people what they actually want and need, we are more likely to succeed in our accessibility improvements. Crucially, accessibility improvements for disabled people improve things for everyone.

My favorite wards that I’ve ever attended include people with disabilities, broadly defined. The physical spaces are accessible, the practices are inclusive, and leaders and members are open-minded and willing to learn how to make church and all the accompanying events and organizations more welcoming. Disabled folks are extremely marginalized in the world today, as they were in Biblical times, but Jesus shows us another way. We should follow His example.

“The Road Not Taken” – Winter 2024 Call for Contest Submissions

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Most people are familiar with these lines by Robert Frost, so often cited they border on inspirational cliché. However, our collective recitation of these lines refuses to take the poem as a whole. The poem is titled, “The Road Not Taken,” not “The Glorious Road I Took.” Frost also writes,

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:

What was your road not taken? What versions of yourself might you have been, and how have you made peace with your current path? Are you relieved? Curious? Compassionate? Regretful? For this magazine contest issue, we want to make space for what might have been and what could have happened. Do you ever, like Frost, think you might return to “the first [road] for another day”? Evoke imagination. Show us the benefit of hindsight. Make us laugh or clutch our hearts. Our lives are made up of countless, complex choices as “way leads on to way.” Show us your unique journey with as much specificity as you can. We are seeking art, poetry as well as a balance of fiction and nonfiction through short story and personal essay. Contributors should identify with the mission of Exponent II.

To submit your work to this magazine contest, please follow the submission guidelines and submit your work by October 15, 2023. The first-place poetry and prose winners will each receive $100. The first-place artist will receive a four-page feature in an upcoming issue.

Call for Sacrament Meeting Talks: Magazine Sabbath Pastoral Feature

Our Sabbath Pastoral magazine feature is one of our longest-standing features to date, which is saying a lot for a magazine entering its 50th year of circulation. This important feature showcases original talks by women and gender minorities. If you gave, or heard, a compelling talk recently, please send it our way! We welcome all submissions and are especially interested in sacrament meeting talks from international voices and from marginalized and underrepresented folks.

Published pieces are lightly revised with an editor to shape talks into an essay form around 2,400 words long. Talks should conform to the mission of Exponent II and follow the submission guidelines. Selected authors will receive a $20 USD honorarium via PayPal or choose to donate the amount to one of our community funds. Please include the date and ward/location for the talk and address your submission to our Sabbath Pastoral Editor, Nicole Sbitani.

Being a Latter-day Saint Woman Was Just Like the Barbie Movie for Me, Part Two

On Monday I published a blog post about the Barbie movie and how my Mormon upbringing reminded me of Ken’s experience in Barbieland. You can read that original post here.

If you haven’t seen the movie and need context for what I’m going to write about today, here’s a quick summary of just the part of the movie I’m going to talk about:

Barbieland was originally a place where the Barbies ruled everything and did all of the important jobs in society (doctors, lawyers, supreme court justices, etc). Kens just watched and hoped to be noticed by the Barbies. Ken and Barbie take a trip to the Real World, where these gender roles are largely reversed. Ken learns about patriarchy, and while Barbie is busy in the Real World, he sneaks back to Barbieland and introduces these new ideas to everyone there. The Kens take over and form a patriarchy in Barbieland, and the Barbies give up all of their jobs and responsibilities to primarily just dote on the Kens, fetching them endless “brewski beers” and listening to them talk about their favorite movies and explain things like how to edit in Photoshop to them.

There was a great comment on my original post made by Cate, wondering how Ken was able to come back to BarbieLand, quickly introduce patriarchy to everyone, and immediately brainwash all of the very smart and capable Barbies into *also* thinking it was an amazing system. 

Cate, thank you for your thought-provoking comment because it inspired this second blog post. 

That little section of the movie felt like a plot hole to me at first, too. I thought, “How could a bright and capable Barbie go from being the president to just a doting servant in such a short period of time? Am I missing something? Does this actually happen in real life and my patriarchy-soaked brain is having a hard time grasping it?”

I had to sit with it for a solid day, and then I realized – yes, this is exactly what happens to bright, capable women in a patriarchy (including the church) all the time.

The movie explained that Barbies went from being leaders to subservient almost instantaneously because they had never experienced patriarchy before. They had zero immunity to the idea, just like an indigenous people are wiped out by smallpox when it’s introduced to them for the first time. 

I had to really think about it, but exactly like these Barbies had zero resistance to patriarchal ideas, I had no ability to fight against them either because I was born and raised completely in a patriarchal system. 

I was part of Ordain Women almost ten years ago, and the type of comment I heard more than almost anything from capable, bright LDS women was this: “I don’t want the priesthood. Can you imagine having to be bishop?! That’s way too much work. I just want to sit back and be blessed.” I followed up with an old friend who’d made that type of comment to me in 2013 when I told her I was submitting my own profile to the Ordain Women website. She remembered the conversation and her remarks, and reminded me she’d also talked about not wanting to wear panty hose or go to extra meetings. At that time her husband was so frequently gone with church callings and priesthood duties that she felt like a single mom and couldn’t fathom adding another responsibility to her plate. In retrospect (and in my opinion) sharing that burden of leadership between both men and women would’ve helped her out immensely as a young mom. She didn’t need to be called as the bishop – but an older woman in her ward with no career and no kids left at home could’ve done it. Just like a lot of Kens in the movie hang out at the beach all day and night without much to do, a lot of older women in the church are underutilized while young fathers have to fill the heavy callings – simply because only men are allowed to be in those positions.

I had likewise felt the same way as my friend for many years. I was grateful that I didn’t have to worry about getting called at midnight to give a healing blessing to someone in the hospital. That sounded terrifying. I didn’t have to go on a mission if I didn’t want to. I didn’t have to come up with back-to-school blessings for my kids. I didn’t have to worry about being called to a bishopric or the high council or having to sit in on disciplinary councils. I didn’t have to worry about getting older and NOT getting any of those prestigious callings and feeling like a failure. It all sounded so hard! I was so glad that would never be an option for me. I could just sit back and relax and let the men do all of it instead. Phew!

One of the Barbies (under Ken’s patriarchy) said, “This is like a spa day for my brain!” and handed her Ken another brewski beer while smiling. While I have never handed my LDS husband a beer in my entire life, I have made him dinner while he was out doing priesthood duties and said to myself, “I’m so glad it’s not me who gets called to give a healing blessing!”

As a BYU student, I remember thinking that male returned missionaries were so cool. Just like the Kens in the movie took their Barbies to the beach and played guitar at them for hours, an RM could’ve taken a younger me to the beach and spoke a foreign language at me and told me mission stories for hours, and I would’ve fawned over him the entire time if he was a boy I liked. I thought priesthood holding men were amazing. They could give blessings and literally speak God’s words directly to me on His behalf. They could heal cancer and raise the dead and convert thousands and call me forth on the morning of the first resurrection. They were my stake presidents and apostles and prophets and could reveal things that I could never begin to understand as a woman.

At some point in my life I began to realize that these blessings weren’t actually word for word personal sermons directly from the mouth of God channeled to me through a 22-year-old home teacher, but more like a young man closing his eyes and using his intuition to come up with the best things to say to me right then. I started to think, “Wait, I have intuition too. What makes his intuition so much better than my intuition? As far as I can tell his intuition is mixed with a bunch of testosterone and that just makes guys punch each other and start wars, so why does his man-intuition always outrank mine? Why can’t I give my own woman-intuition blessing right back at him? Why is his word the final say on everything??”

But before I reached that point and started to question patriarchy, I was exactly like the brainwashed Barbies who were totally content to serve their Kens and watch them be in charge of everything. I was grateful to not have to be in charge. I was grateful to have a “spa day for my brain”. When patriarchy was explained to me from infancy as something I should feel immense gratitude for, it was very hard to see it any other way. Like indigenous people and smallpox, I also had no immunity.

I don’t think all of those smart Barbies accepting patriarchy without objection is a plot hole anymore. I actually think it makes perfect sense and the movie did an accurate job of showing how gender inequality makes a woman behave against her own best interests and even feel happy while doing it. How many possible female Nobel prize winners have hung up their work after being told a career is incompatible with motherhood? What doctor could have cured cancer if her parents hadn’t prioritized her brother’s education over hers? What engineering feat was never accomplished because a young woman dropped out of college to support her husband through his schooling instead, because his was deemed more important than hers?

The Barbie movie is obviously an over the top, cartoonish caricature of real life and no actual male-female relationships are this overly simplified in reality. The critical reviews I’ve read of this movie seem to be missing that point – which felt explicitly obvious to me. It’s a fantasy world and silly things are happening throughout the storyline, so no one should actually conclude women consumed by patriarchal ideas dress in maid costumes and exist only to give foot rubs to their male romantic partner. It’s a comedic imitation of how patriarchy affects our ability to think rationally, and the ludicrousness of the Barbies’ behavior makes us look inward and consider our own irrational behavior.

When the brainwashed Barbies were awakened from their trance it’s what a lot of women refer to as their feminist awakening. It’s a sudden realization that everything you always thought was fair and equal actually isn’t – and that as a woman you’re the one who’s been willingly taking second place your entire life. After that it doesn’t matter how many ladies in Relief Society or bishops or parents or old BYU friends tell you that everything is fine, you can’t close your eyes to the inequality ever again.

So the next time you hear an LDS woman saying publicly that she’s so grateful to *not* hold the priesthood and worry about the responsibilities the men have, take a moment and remember those very capable Barbies embracing Ken’s patriarchal system and expressing their own gratitude for not having to do their old jobs anymore. It’s remarkably similar. I think the Barbie movie hit reality right on the head for the LDS church.

(PS. In response to a common critique of feminism that I’ve seen thrown at the Barbie movie, I want to add an important clarification from myself (a woman who was raised LDS) about my feelings towards men vs my feelings towards patriarchy. I think my feelings reflect that of many, many Latter-day Saint women.

I love men. I genuinely adore them. I love the way they think. I love the way they talk. I love the male perspective. I love feeling protected by men. I love letting them pick up my heavy stuff. I love when they hold the door for me. I love when they teach me interesting manly topics I’ve never heard of. I love them as fathers. I love when they’re brave and hardworking and loyal. I love how they are “great at doing stuff” (from Ken’s song in the movie). My favorite genre of music is Boy Band. I just celebrated my twenty-year anniversary married to a very wonderful LDS man. Since I was about 11 years old the things I like about boys, men and masculinity have quite possibly filled my thoughts more than any other topic. I love men and all maleness in a way that I can’t even put into words because it just comes from the very core of who I am.

And yet, I hate patriarchy. I hate it so much. I hate a system where I was taught to undervalue my own contributions to society and my own self-worth in subservience to men. Hating the patriarchy (or loving the Barbie movie!) does not equate to hating men or masculinity. (And disliking the patriarchy as a man does not mean hating oneself.) The two things are completely and totally separate. So from me…and all other women – we love men. What we hate is patriarchy.)

Written By Men For Men

“To be heard, you must speak the language of the one you want to listen.”

Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass

The book I have read more than any other book is ripped apart and hidden in my bathroom cabinet. I have more copies of this book than any other book I own – it keeps appearing in my closet, on my bookshelves, tucked beneath my bed as I organize and clean my house for the changing season. But I have not read this book in years, and recently, in the name of healing poetry, I have started mutilating it.

The Book of Mormon is the book I read more times and have more copies of than any other book. My life was built around Book of Mormon stories and characters; my earliest memories of reading words were stumbling over “therefore” and “Lamanites” as I read the verses each night with my family. My grandparents celebrated their grandchildren who finished the Book of Mormon each year by taking us to the Golden Corral; a metaphor for “feasting on the words of Christ.” And it took me years to recognize that this book was not written for me.

Joseph Smith said: “the Book of Mormon was the most correct book of any book on earth.” So, I read it constantly. Each of my copies are colorfully marked up with words like “compassion” and “love” written in the margins. I assumed the book was for everyone and I found what I was looking for in a book full of men, written by men for their sons and brothers: I mined stories of love and compassion in this book about men and their wars.

And then I read the first three pages of the Dance of the Dissident Daughter and sobbed on a bench at an ice-skating rink. She. Her. Womb. Feminine. Goddess. Language matters. And Sue Monk Kidd was writing my wounds and despair into language that hugged me and held me rather than pushed me out and horrified me.

In Old English, the word mann meant “thinking one” and included all bodies, evidenced in the words: human, mankind, and woman. But language is fluid and changing (“awful” used to mean “worthy of awe”) and the word “man” now means “an adult male human being.” That is what it means to me. Every time I read it. And I realize: the Book of Mormon was always intended for men (males), not me.

The Introduction to the Book of Mormon (written in 1981, when the men who wrote it spoke modern American English) states that they “invite all men everywhere to read the Book of Mormon.” They suggest that it tells “men what they must do to gain peace.” And they quote Joseph Smith, who “told the brethren that the Book of Mormon was the most correct of any book . . . and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts . . .” Joseph Smith never told everyone that the Book of Mormon was correct for anyone, only his brethren.

This makes sense to me, and once I read The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, I could not stop reading texts that included me. I feasted on Braiding Sweetgrass, Women Who Run With the Wolves, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, This Here Flesh, The Power of Kindness, Tattoos on the Heart, The Power of Ritual, etc. and felt what it was to have scripture written for me – to hear and see a God that isn’t just for men but for everyone.

I have read the Book of Mormon countless times and I am grateful for the language and songs that built my history, the ones that taught me about transformation in the waters of Mormon and the anti-Nephi-Lehi’s who didn’t fear death and the vision of a tree. I appreciate the study and love and dissecting and rejecting I learned from these words of men. I’m grateful for the parallels between Korihor the Anti-Christ and Alma the Younger – one privileged and the other condemned; one allowed to face his shadow, the other punished and killed by cruelty before he could change because he was not a son of a prophet. So, you see, I have learned to see myself in “him.”

However, I do not read this book anymore; we should believe Joseph Smith and the other men when they say their messages are for their brethren. I always felt I didn’t exist in the language of their stories – now I understand why that matters: because there are words and language and stories where I do exist. Words that are written for everyone.

“Language is our gift and our responsibility.”

Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass