On Boldness, Disobedience, and the Church

(via)

Two blind men sitting by the way side, when they heard that Jesus passed by, cried out, saying, Have mercy on us, O Lord, thou Son of David. And the multitude rebuked them, because they should hold their peace: but they cried the more, saying, Have mercy on us, O Lord, thou Son of David. And Jesus stood still, and called them, and said, What will ye that I shall do unto you? They say unto him, Lord, that our eyes may be opened.

So Jesus had compassion on them, and touched their eyes: and immediately their eyes received sight, and they followed him.

As a member of OW, I love this story in Matthew 20 for obvious reasons. But Kristi! you might say. It's not a multitude that's rebuking Ordain Women and Kate Kelly, it's Church leadership. And how prideful of you to claim that your eyes have been opened. The parallels aren't perfect. But the takeaway message I get from this story--and so many others in the scriptures--is that the Lord loves boldness.

We get mixed messages about this in the Church. Doctrine tells us to defend our faith, but if that faith leads to something unorthodox, there are repercussions. Doctrine tells us not to be lukewarm in the Gospel, but if our passion stirs up trouble, there are repercussions. These repercussions result from the emphasis the Church places on obedience. We start getting these messages when we are very young.

Adam was a prophet, first one that we know.
In a place called Eden, he helped things to grow.
Adam served the Lord by following his ways.
We are his descendants in the latter days.

What this Primary song glosses over is that the only reason "we are his descendants" is because Eve served the Lord by not following His ways. Was that not bold?

LDS lore is rife with stories of people in boldly obeyed (Abinadi, girls who wear sleeves to prom, etc). We hear less about righteous people who boldly disobeyed, because, well, sometimes that makes the Church look bad. One of my favorites is the story of Helmuth Hübener, the German teenager executed for distributing anti-Nazi leaflets during WWII. But there's an important part of his story that you won't find in Church publications.

For context, it's important to note that President Heber J. Grant visited Germany in 1937 and urged members to obey the law of the land.  Not because he was a Nazi sympathizer, but because there was friction between the LDS Church and the Gestapo, who viewed Mormonism as a foreign religion not to be trusted. In defense, Heber J. Grant pointed to the Twelfth Article of Faith: "We believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, in obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law."

[Helmuth's] suspicion of Nazis was catalyzed by, among other things, his LDS branch’s banning of Jews from attending worship services. His branch president, a well respected community member and Nazi supporter who played Hitler’s radio broadcasts during sacrament meetings when possible, excommunicated Helmuth when his “crimes” were revealed by his arrest. For Helmuth, doing what was manifestly right, obeying his conscience, meant not only risking arrest and execution but also defying priesthood authority. Helmuth’s excommunication took place when local German Church leaders were out of contact with LDS authorities in the United States; nevertheless, his moral and mortal courage placed him at odds with and in defiance of his branch president (not to mention the majority of his fellow congregants).

Those LDS familiar with Hübener’s story are often quick to extol his courage in defying Hitler, but slow to remember his courage in disobeying his priesthood leaders. On the day of his execution he penned a letter to a fellow branch member: “My Father in Heaven knows that I have done nothing wrong…. I know that God lives and He will be the Just Judge in this matter. I look forward to seeing you in a better world!” (via)

Some say that having contrary opinions is okay, but you need to be mindful of how you go about having them. In other words: "Be quiet and don't make a scene." Don't be bold.

But aren't we also told that faith without works is dead? If faith can only exist in a vacuum, left unexamined and undiscussed, then what good is it? I get that public advocacy makes people uneasy, but my empathy only goes so far. If the Church doesn't want to look sexist, it should be less sexist. If it doesn't want to look like it's whitewashing history, it shouldn't do it. The onus isn't on detractors to shut up, it's on the Church to step up.

I also understand the importance of working on a local level, but there is something to be said for the power of a cohesive, centralized body. I get the feeling that no matter how Kate Kelly goes about her business, it will never be good enough. As a dear friend of my recently said: "OW just can't seem to win. First they're criticized for doing things like the world does instead of taking the church route. Then they're criticized for doing things like the Church does. It seems to all come down to 'Your unconventional methods make me uncomfortable.'"

What's happening to Ms. Kelly is simply wrong. She may be bold, and she may be disobedient--but the Church could use more people like her.

On Modesty and Hotness

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Ah, the modesty blog post du jour. This one comes by way of Natasha Craig: "Modest is NOT Hottest"  (She argues the opposite. See what she did there? Gotcha!)

For the sake of brevity, I'm just going to gloss over how incredibly subjective modesty and hotness are. Suffice it to say that definitions vary from person to person and culture to culture. Her assumption that the LDS version is best ("keeping your shorts long and necklines high", etc) is not okay.

The guy you are going to want to be with, the guy who will treat you the way you deserve to be treated, is not going to be found with that mini skirt and low cut neckline. Because a guy like that will be saving his eyes only for you and because he is saving his eyes only for you, he will avoid people who make that very hard for him.

This perpeuates the harmful narrative that men are defined by and have no control over their sexual impulses. That there are "good" men and "bad" men and you can tell the difference based on who they're attracted to. It teaches that men cannot be held accountable for their thoughts and actions because c'mon! Ladies. Look at you! Walking sex all around them!

Bullcrap. This is degrading to men and it simultaneously objectifies women. I understand her intentions are benign, but associating worth with appearance is simply wrong. A woman's integrity and self-respect are not determined by how much or how little there is to see. I especially hate Natasha's closing line: "He will want you to be hot... only for him." This makes a woman's sexuality sound like a possession! You know who else thinks like this? Jihadists.

Instead of lecturing women on how to dress, teach them how to love themselves and others. Instead of telling men to avoid immodestly dressed women, teach them how to love themselves and others. Modesty isn't the issue. Sexuality is. The discussion needs to center on developing healthy attitudes vis–à–vis sex and relationships, but we use modesty as a cop-out because it's less awkward to talk about.

I'm getting really tired of people trying to morally justify judging others. The other day I met a woman with short blue hair. She had piercings all over her face and huge breasts on display in a skimpy summer dress. As we got to talking, she told me that not too long ago, a stranger approached her, gave her a Book of Mormon, and walked away saying "You look like you need this". What the heck? I only met this woman in passing, but she was friendly and kind.

I'm not stupid. I get that how we dress sends messages. But modesty shouldn't be a weeding-out tactic. It will not keep a woman safe from "bad" men. If we claim to be decent people, it is our responsibility to reject those harmful, shaming messages. One of the best General Conference talks in recent years was given by President Uchtdorf:

This topic of judging others could actually be taught in a two-word sermon: Stop it! 

Seriously. Stop it. Stop telling others how to dress. Stop telling others how to look. Stop telling others how to meet your arbitrary definition of "modesty". Just freaking love them and be done with it.

The One Perfect Mother

She Will Find What is Lost. Brian Kershisnik.

As the oldest child in my family, my mother refers to me as the first pancake—you always mess it up when you try to flip it over, but the rest usually turn out okay. And so it goes with children.

Well, this pancake doesn’t give up without a fight, and I nearly drove my mother crazy in the process. There was the Great Lettuce War of 1997—when my mother, determined to make me finish a salad, forced me to sit at the table for an hour until I did so. A stupid salad in a stupid pink plastic bowl! I chewed and chewed until my chipmunk cheeks were full of mush. Disgusted, my mother let me spit it out. (For the record, I still have that bowl—I keep it as a symbol of defiance.)

There were other battles. In elementary school, my mother French-braided my hair every morning because I refused to brush it. You don’t need brushed hair when you’re playing Mowgli at recess (and in fact, brushed hair is counterproductive to this cause). My friend Dawn, however, put her hair in ponytails, buns, braids—barrettes and elastics didn’t intimidate her like they did me. “Why can’t you do your hair like Dawn?” my mother lamented. The answer was that Dawn had taught herself out of necessity—there was no one to do French braids for her at home. Her mother was dead. She died of breast cancer when Dawn was six.

The Lady Doth Protest

"The lady doth protest too much." Eight cumbersome syllables. Say it again, slowly. Feel how your tongue darts about your mouth. The airy th, the cavernous oth, the satisfying ch.

It's a line from Hamlet and it probably doesn't mean what you think it means. "Protest" does not mean "to object" or "deny"—those meanings postdate Hamlet. The principal meaning of "protest" in Shakespeare's day was "to vow" or "declare solemnly" . . . a meaning preserved in our use of "protestation." (via)

Last Saturday, through insults, rain, hail, and tears, I solemnly declared that God is no respecter of persons. I protested--a la Shakespeare.

I don't know much about who God is, which is weird to say since I've spent my whole life seeking, praying, and trying to figure Him (Her? Them?) out.

All that being said, I have deep faith that He is just.

Current access to priesthood authority is not just. I understand why women "feel" equal in the Church. I used to feel that way. I ignored the 9-year old Kristi jealous of her little brother's experiences in Boy Scouts (we never learned to use screwdrivers in Achievement Days). The 15-year old Kristi wishing she had a female bishop to talk to after a friend sexually assaulted her. The 18-year old Kristi going through the temple and thinking hold up, what? The 21-year old Kristi wondering why her husband always spoke last in Sacrament meeting. I felt equal until I realized I wasn't. Equality can be measured. The very symbol of justice is not a heart, not a smiley face, not a thumbs-up sign. It's a balance scale.

Believing that a god of justice is a god of equality, I protested. But we are not living in the days of Shakespeare. The word "protest" has different connotations, and Ordain Women has shied away from labeling its actions as such. You will only find that label in Church PR statements--letters that have othered us and fomented tribalism.

With so much opposition, it's hard to control the message. I could charge at windmills trying to get things back on course, but perhaps it's easier to simply tell you what my "protest" looked like.

***

It felt funny walking to Temple Square with Brock knowing we'd end up in different places--him in Priesthood Session, me waiting outside the door. We stood at the corner of State Street and South Temple. He cracked a joke as the walk signal started blinking--"Welp, see ya later!"--because that's what he does when things get awkward.

I started fidgeting when two gruff-looking men approached our group. They were anti-Mormon protesters with huge signs. I didn't want our group to look associated with them. We had a permit for the park and policemen told them to keep their distance.

A reporter approached me and my friend. "Hi! I'm with KUTV. Would you mind if I interviewed you?" We were flustered, but agreed. (How do you stammer out two sentences explaining something that means so much to you? Remind me never to run for President.)

When Kate Kelly stood to speak, I felt the power of sisterhood. Did you know sisterhood is a feeling? I didn't. To a lesser extent, I have felt that same sisterhood in Relief Society. But we weren't gathered to hear a lesson or to share gospel insights. We were gathered to press forward in building Zion.

Kate's voice trembled as tears streamed down behind her clear-rimmed glasses:

I have no right to remain silent because I love this Church. It has helped me to know my Savior Jesus Christ. I have learned who I am and my divine parentage. I feel the Spirit every Sunday, and it keeps me coming back every week. I love this Church and I strongly believe that any institution that under-utilizes the talents and abilities of 50% of its members can do better . . . I have no right to remain silent because I can see the gender inequality that exists in our Church. It is not invisible.

We began walking. The anti-Mormon protesters jeered as we passed. You need to read the Bible and submit to a man! You are the weaker vessel! Followers of Jezebel! Know your place!  Policemen blocked off two streets and we passed diagonally through an intersection. Cars honked at us and people leaned out their windows to yell things. It started hailing.

Despite all this, I felt bold! The group's energy and determination was palpable. Nearing the temple, I stopped for a moment. I stretched out my hands and threw back my head, staccato hail pounding my face and arms.

I passed the reflection pool and watched a duck swimming to and fro. He looked so funny there, all alone in a pool that was not meant for ducks and in weather that was not meant for swimming. But he swam anyway.

Walking through the gate, I exhaled. "Okay," I said to a friend. "We're doing this." I took my place in line and was nearing the Tabernacle's entrance when a passing woman reached out to me. "Is this the line for OW?" "It is!" "Where does it stop?" "I'm not sure, would you like to come in?" "Yes!"

The line inched forward. I saw a friend moseying around nearby and called out to her. "Holly! Did you reach the end of the line?" "No, I didn't. I can't." "What?" "I left the line. I asked last October and I just can't bring myself to do it again. I've experienced so much rejection in this Church that I just . . .can't."

I didn't understand why Holly felt that way, but I knew her experiences in the Church had been different from mine. I looked ahead and saw a sister crying into the arms of another woman. The end of the line was right around the corner! Why was I so nervous all of a sudden? Kim Farah, the woman tasked with turning everyone away, greeted me with a warm smile. My stomach was in knots.

"Hi. My name is Kristi Boyce, and I'd like to be admitted to the Priesthood Session."

"This meeting is for men. The meeting for women was last week."

Kim hugged me, but a rush of grief consumed me the moment I walked past her. Rejection came as no surprise, but I was still surprised at how I felt. How could I be so disappointed in something I knew had been coming? After all the armor I'd built up, how did it still hurt?

Lorie Winder stood behind Kim to comfort every sister turned away. With her flowing white hair and calm expression, Lorie looked majestic and steadfast. She drew me in and held me close as I sobbed. I looked back at the woman I'd invited into line. She was having a hard time, too. I understood why Holly had left.

***

It's a strange feeling, wanting something so good, so badly. I'm not going to sit here and pretend it's an unrighteous desire or that I don't care either way. The problem isn't that I don't understand the priesthood, or that I'll "get it" when I'm a mother, or that I simply need to go to the temple/read the Proclamation/listen to the Brethren.

The problem is that I've studied the priesthood. Many mothers feel the same way I do. I've gone to the temple seeking answers. I've read the Proclamation. I listen to the Brethren. And I still believe this is right.

So tell me "no". Tell me "we don't know". Tell me no is divinely decreed when everything divine in me says yes. Hail may fall, but I will stoke the embers of that cherished little flame inside me, hoping one day that God will set it afire. A decade from now, a generation from now, three generations from now, I will wait. I will hope.

But if not . . .

If woman is never to have priesthood authority in this life or the next, if man presides over her throughout the eternities, if I am wholly mistaken in all of this, I will continue to have faith in the Lord, in His church, and in His prophets--knowing that if I do, I will be delivered and receive all that He has.

The scriptures tell me that priesthood is the path to this. So I protest.

Why It's Difficult To Explain My Desire For The Priesthood

I lived in a fabulous ward in DC. Attorneys, alcoholics, converts, young families, immigrants . . . a true melting pot if there ever was one. (Not unlike the branch I'm in now, which I love dearly.) One of my favorite characters was Sister Mack. Every fast and testimony meeting, she got up and bore her testimony, and every month, it was the same: a gospel song she sang over the pulpit with the congregation joining in.

You got to stand your test in judgement
You got to stand it for yourself
Ain't nobody else can stand it for you
You got to stand it for yourself

For a few weeks now, I've thought about writing a mammoth blog post that explains why I believe in women's ordination. Daunted by the task, I've put it off and put it off--feeling a little more guilty every day for not having the wherewithal to sit down and hammer out my convictions.

But while chatting with a friend yesterday (I could not have gotten through yesterday without the help of many dear sisters--thank you), it dawned on me why I haven't done so--and why I probably never will.

• How can I distill years of seeking, study, and prayer and into a blog post?
• How can I summarize countless hours spent reading about Church doctrine, history, and policy into a few paragraphs that may convince you?
• How can I condense hundreds of conversations with faithful sisters in online groups, social circles, and other communities into one essay?
• How can I convey the whisperings of the Spirit? (Should I?)

I can't. Even if I could do justice to those experiences, you probably wouldn't understand them. You got to stand your test in judgement. Ain't nobody else can stand it for you.

I am here today because I chose a path and walked it. It's not right for people to demand an explanation for a path when they've no interest in taking a step themselves. I'm happy to answer questions from anyone with a sincere desire to understand, but this can be emotionally exhausting--especially when those conversations often begin with What is the priesthood to you? Do you know what it is and does? (Oops, somehow in the hundreds of hours I've devoted to this, I misunderstood that, brb)

I love this church and I'm not going anywhere. I firmly believe that women's ordination is a divine principle, and I have no control over whether you view that as a threat to your belief system or antithetical to Church doctrine.

In advocating for women's ordination, I honor my baptismal covenant to stand as a witness of God at all times, and in all things, and in all places. It's been a beautiful, painful, and deeply transformative journey. I hope everybody gets a chance to stand a test like this.

Nineteen (Part II)

A post of thoughts about the General Conference announcement, including quotes from news articles, blog posts, Facebook comment threads, etc. My commentary is in italics.

***

"This changes the narrative for young Mormon women in pretty fundamental ways. It uncouples church service from the expectation of marriage and motherhood and teaches young women they should take responsibility for knowing their faith." - Joanna Brooks (via)

Yes! If I had known a mission was on my horizon at age 19, I would've taken seminary--and my spiritual development in general--more seriously when I was a teenager. 
___________________________________________________________________________________

"[The change symbolizes] equal opportunity to gain both cultural and spiritual educations, serve in our external communities, and put those experiences ahead of a rush to marriage." - Neylan McBaine (founder of this)

I'm envious of Brock's cultural experiences on his mission to Peru (especially when he talks about serving in the jungle). Obviously that's not the point of a mission, but let's be real--that "cultural education" is transformative and shapes missionaries' lives in concrete ways. I also like how Neylan brings up equal opportunity in spiritual educations. Brock studied the scriptures ALL day, EVERY day, for two solid years. I'll always be jealous of that. 
___________________________________________________________________________________

"I’m delighted with the potential that this has created for Young Women to be thinking about another option to bridge the gap between adolescence and womanhood. One that feels relevant and meaningful. This will hopefully wash over into the new youth curriculum, nudge out the emphasis on marriage, and push those domestic conversations into Relief Society where they belong . . . It signals an interest in the young women of the church, who up until now have been largely neglected in comparison to the boys. It doesn't ask them to lag behind the boys by two years, it doesn't tell them that they are less useful, and it pays attention to them as more than simply brides and breeders, and only missionaries by default." - Gina Colvin (via)
___________________________________________________________________________________

"My favorite thing about this change (okay, my favorite thing changes like every 30 seconds for this): more girls going on missions means more girls who can receive their endowments more than two weeks before they get married - which means they'll be better prepared for making such huge decisions...and they might even be able to see a temple wedding before getting married. Amazing." - Laura Taylor

Absolutely. My temple sealing would've been more meaningful had I not received my endowments just days prior. I grasped the magnitude of the decision, but everything was so new and confusing.
___________________________________________________________________________________

The following excerpt is from a recent post on Joanna Brooks' Ask Mormon Girl. It resonates deeply with me. 

Let’s say you grew up a serious young Mormon girl.  When you were three or four years old, you learned to stand at and speak from the pulpit.  By the time you had turned twelve, you marked your scriptures front to back, and you learned all the doctrine.  And when you prayed, you felt alive, you felt important.  You realized God was far more important than any of the other tin-can prizes or Prom Queen tinsel your girlhood held for you.  Your faith gave you a sense of purpose.  A sense that you too could go into the woods like Joseph Smith and get answers. A sense that you too could build up Zion. 

You turn eighteen, and you watch the boys you grew up get ready to get in the game.  And you are just like them.  Full of righteous foolishness and hopeful energy—believing you can make a difference in this world. If you can figure out what your purpose is.  Because you know in your soul you were made for faith.  From the time you were four years old, you knew how to talk from a pulpit.  From the time you were twelve, you had your scriptures marked from front to back.  And now you are the Mormon girl who carries her scriptures to class at BYU.  And fasts on weekdays.  And prays just because you like the way it feels. Because this is what makes you feel alive—loving God. This is what matters. 

Coach, put me in–somewhere, anywhere. 

Not yet.  And maybe you should think about getting married. 

I recognize the sadness you feel—it’s a hunger you may have never known how to even name:  the profound hunger to be useful.  Mormonism is a pragmatic faith tradition, and there is no higher honor than being useful to the work. Sweet is the work.  And some Mormon women, we go our whole lives and never feel that we've really been useful in all the ways we could have been—might, mind, strength, and all that.  The hunger, it runs deep. 

Because yes, we make some pretty darn dedicated mothers.  Just like Mormon men make for some pretty darn dedicated fathers.  But deep inside many of us are still the girls who have been taking our turn at the pulpit since we were four.  And we are still the girls who have their scriptures marked back to front.  And we are still the girls who love God first and best.  And we just want to get out and do the work.  Because we feel in our bones that this is what we were made for.

***

This is  what we're made for. I'm glad people have noticed.

Nineteen

Last Friday, my cousin announced on Facebook that she had extra tickets to the Saturday morning session of General Conference. Brock and I had been looking forward to a lazy morning at home cooking breakfast, lounging in bed, and avoiding the craziness that comes to SLC during GC.

But I figured why not?  The Conference Center is a fifteen-minute walk from our apartment, and who passes up a chance to hear a living prophet when they have one?

Our seats were fantastic--ground level, center. I'd never sat so close to the speaker's podium before. The Prophet entered the room and twenty thousand bodies rose and stood in silence. Forever the jokester, as President Monson passed the podium, he took a quick step towards it as if he were about to start speaking . . . and continued walking towards his chair. A group chuckle rumbled softly through the room.

After a beautiful performance by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, President Monson began his opening remarks and announced new temples. 

3:10 Hey cool! A new temple in Arequipa, Peru. Brock had companions from Arequipa.

4:00 Talking about missionaries in some countries who serve at age 18 in order to fulfill military requirements. Where is this going?

4:45: WHAAAATT?!?!? My heart started pounding. What about female missionaries? 

At 5:38 I felt a rush of disappointment. I had so been hoping for gender equality in missionary ages and mission length, but I was still grateful. I'll write a post tomorrow about the thoughts I've had since then. But for now, suffice it to say that this announcement--although I wish it had come five years sooner! ;) --means so much to me as a Mormon, as a feminist, and as a future mother. Things can still change in this Church and they can change drastically. 

Future Me

I was MIA last week.

You'll notice in my last blog post (written on Monday) I had grand plans to finish writing about Costa Rica. I was going to be productive  last week! On my to-do list were two projects around the house, lots of running, fulfilling some church assignments, etc.

But then my body (and brain) got all funky on me. I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say that even though I wasn't sick  sick, I could tell I wasn't normal. Physically, emotionally--things were off and I didn't know why. 

PMS? Pregnancy? Nope, nope. It was like I had turned into a wimp overnight. I didn't want to do anything, see anyone, go anywhere. The smallest things overwhelmed me. I cried. A LOT. But then I did something brave.

I gave a talk in church about feminism. It was scary because Mormon feminists have all sorts of uphill battles to climb in terms of, you know, people not hating us. I hoped people wouldn't misunderstand my words. 

I think much of what I felt last week was due to confusion. In case you haven't heard, your 20's are rough. Who am I? Who should I be? What do I want? What SHOULD I want? Where do I go from here? You're standing at the edge of your future and going OMG, IT'S HERE. IT'S REALLY HERE.

I think Mormon women feel this acutely because of the conflicting ideals pulling us in different directions. I won't speak for others, but I take on a lot of guilt. Guilt for wanting some things, guilt for not wanting others, guilt for twinges of resentment, guilt for being stubborn, myopic, difficult. 

The talk I delivered seemed to strike a chord with people (in a good way). I was relieved that the response was positive, but even if it hadn't been, I would've been alright. I didn't need that talk to be a validation of my beliefs. I needed a chance to be brave again.

I guess it's dumb to ask Now, how did God know that?  because, well, He is  God and all. But three weeks ago, when I was assigned to speak in church, I had no idea how much I would need it.

If God was looking out for Future Me then, I bet He's looking out for Future Me now.

And that's really, really  nice to know.

***

See here for the article I based my talk on. 

The Mean Reds

Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds, you mean like the blues?
Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?

***

• Brock started work last week and it freaked me out a little. For the past six years, being students was an integral part of how we identified ourselves as a couple. You'd think that not having that label would be a welcome reprieve from years of trudging our way to diplomas, but it shook me because I don't have a game plan for the Whenwheres that come along with this new phase of life. When/where I'll pursue a graduate degree, when/where I'll have kids, when/where I'll work, etc. The pressure to have answers for those things feels a lot more acute now that I don't have the excuse of studenthood to fall back on.

• The prospect of living in Salt Lake City excites and worries me. I'm obviously excited to be near family, friends, and mountains--but the vast majority of work that I've developed skill sets for is located east of Eden. (A rather funny euphemism for DC, now that I think of it.)

• I hate that I hate gender-jobs. (Y'know, low-level positions like "administrative assistant" or "office manager" that often go to women.) I shouldn't hate them because any one of them would give me $9 more in my pocket per hour than what I'm currently making, but I just do. Curse that pride of mine.

• Speaking of gender issues, being home during the day gives me a huge feminist chip on my shoulder. For example, if I make dinner and Brock says "Mmm, this is good!" I can't just take that for the innocuous compliment that it is. I start thinking What--did you EXPECT this to be good? Do you EXPECT me to cook dinner? What else do you "expect" me to do? Are you secretly relieved that now I'm the one being domestic? Is that where my worth lies to you? and blah blah BLAAAAAH. Naturally, I am incapable of expressing these thoughts in a healthy way because of the guilt I feel for even thinking them in the first place.

• The GOP race is beyond messed up and I've completely lost interest in it. After a certain point, it's a ridiculous waste of energy to expend so much effort analyzing current events because it's not like anybody will listen to sanity anyway. Especially from a nobody.

• Maybe that's the heart of it all. My fear of being a nobody and the guilt I feel over having that fear to begin with (isn't it silly?). Forgive me while I wax existential, but do you know the name of your great-great grandmother? I don't, and that terrifies me. I am four generations away from being forgotten.

***

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us — don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know. 

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

Where Ms. Dickinson and I differ is that I don't  think it would be dreary to be somebody. I mean, at least you'd probably have your life figured out and  a voice that people would listen to. Because nobodies only listen to themselves, which inevitably leads to wasted Sundays spent over-analyzing irrational mixed feelings of guilt, jadedness, worry, jealousy, sadness, insecurity, anxiety, and fear.

I need to learn how to be satisfied with where I'm at and to just accept  things, but that's difficult because I have this paranoia of satisfaction turning into complacency. In any case, gettin' to The Whenwheres is a helluva lot harder when you've got The Mean Reds, I can tell you that much.

Such A Woman

Last night I was talking to a friend about how some of the best and most important decisions of our lives require a little bit of irrationality, to which he responded "Haha such a woman." It wasn't worth starting a fight over so I blew it off, but dang did that get my blood boiling.

I am tired of hearing the stereotypes--even in jest--of women as irrational, silly, weak, needy, or, my personal favorite, psycho. (For excellent commentary on these things--written by a man, no less!--read here and here.) People, they're not funny. They're not cute. They're offensive. And if you think I'm being hyper-sensitive, congratulations! You've just devalued my feelings about stereotypes by using another  stereotype! Wow!

This morning, my fifteen-year old sister put away the dishes in the dishwasher and hand-washed a sink full of dirty ones. She then went on to clean the disgusting bathroom which she shares with three brothers. Fifteen years old and she did all of this on her own volition. She saw something that needed to be done, and she took care of it. Such a woman, indeed.

Meanwhile, I spent an hour shoveling two feet of snow out of the driveway. I saw that our cul-de-sac was in dire need of snow removal (the city never plows it since we live outside of city limits), so I took our Excursion and spent twenty minutes doing donuts in the snow until it was sufficiently cleared away or at least patted down. I noticed that my truck and my dad's Prius were still  stuck in snow, so I spent another half-hour shoveling around them. I did all of this in a bathrobe and on an empty stomach. Such a woman, indeed.

I came in from outside--sweaty and with calluses forming on my hands--to discover my three brothers watching TV downstairs.

We were all raised by the same parents, in the same place, with the same values. What excuse do they have for their inability to look outside themselves? (Granted, two of them are young, but I wouldn't be saying this if I hadn't noticed the issue with my two older  younger brothers.) I don't have an answer for that, and a good one may very well exist, but it sure would be nice if they acted and thought more like the women in this house.

So ladies, the next time a man throws a woman-jab at you, take it as a compliment. Or smack him in the face--whichever you feel is more appropriate. You can also kindly remind him that you are the reason why his penis isn't one inch long.

At primate level, the male penis is an unimpressive organ. So far from terrorizing any female, the average King Kong can only provoke sympathy for his meager endowment in relation to his vast bulk. Man, however, developed something disproportionately large in this line, and can truly afford to feel himself lord of creation in the penile particular. And he owes it to woman. Quite simply, when femina aspiring to be erecta hoisted herself onto her hind legs and walked, the angle of the vagina swung forward and down, and the vagina itself moved deeper into the body. The male penis then echoed the vagina's steady progress, following the same evolutionary principle as the giraffe's neck: it grew in order to get something it could not otherwise reach (Miles, 24).

For further reading on this subject, see  Nigel Calder's Timescale (1984), Desmond Morris' The Naked Ape (1967), Rosalind Miles' The Women's History of the World (2001), and Elaine Morgan's The Descent of Woman (1972).

So men, the next time you feel the need to brag about the size of your member, please locate the nearest woman to you and thank her for her cavernous vagina.

It's the sole reason why you've got a pickle, not a gherkin.

I Am Woman

Names mentioned on the front page of the NYTimes last Monday.

I grew up in a traditional household with traditional values and plenty of upstanding male figures in my life. My mother seemed intent on wringing the masculinity out of me by enrolling me in piano lessons, sewing classes, cotillion, ballet. I even studied voice with a professional opera singer. I was constantly being told to walk with my shoulders back, hold my spoon correctly, watch my language. My mother bought me dresses, made me wear nylons to church, and put French braids in my hair each morning before school.

My dad taught me the beauty of sweat and the joy of dirt. He encouraged adventure, bruises, bumps, scratches, messy ponytails, heaving lungs. He praised me when I came home with bloody knees and high-fived me for jumping off cliffs at Lake Powell.

I grew up in a yin-yang.

I believe women should be treated equally, but men and women are not equal. This difference is crucial. You can charge at the windmills all day long, but it won't change the fact that men and women are simply built differently. I think people would save themselves a lot of time and energy if they just acknowledged and accepted these differences.

I don't see feminism as as zero-sum game. One gender's win is not the other's loss. Men and women need to work together on feminist issues. The goal should be a combined crusade toward societal betterment.

I wish some feminists swallow their pride and lower their middle fingers. I think the reason why the word "feminism" leaves such a bad taste in people's mouths is because, unfortunately, a minority of feminists can be hypersensitive, hypercritical, and uninspiring. (To be fair, every group I identified with has "those" people--feminists, Mormons, Republicans...)

The perpetual state of yin-yang I grew up in has helped me understand the value of balance. I am a feminist because I believe women's empowerment is a direct path to a better world (see here and here and here and here). I'm hoping for a new wave of feminism that values balance. I want to work to bring it to fruition.

Care to join me?

Martha Stewart Reject

"My casserole turned out soooo bad last night!"

"I can't even sew on a button!"

"I completely shrunk all my shirts in the wash yesterday!"

Has anybody else noticed the trend amongst married women bloggers to make fun of their homemaking skills? I get that we all make mistakes sometimes (and a lot of time those mistakes are freaking funny), but the more and more I see this on blogs, the more and more it bothers me.

Don't get me wrong: I'm totally guilty of this. Nobody loves a good dose of self-deprecation as much as I do. But I've tried to tone it down because I dislike the subliminal messages that this "Martha Stewart Reject" attitude (heretofore referred to as MSR) potentially conveys.

I would classify these messages into three categories:

1) I'm too modern to be good at homemaking. What, is homemaking something that only our grandmothers were good at? Is being old fashioned out of style? Is it a sign of backwards narrow-mindedness to enjoy cooking, baking, cleaning, sewing, gardening, knitting, and DIY projects? Am I asking too many rhetorical questions?

2) A strong woman shouldn't be a homemaker. Homemakers are among the strongest women--so if you're trying to prove that you are one, the MSR attitude does little to help your cause.

3) I'm too smart to be a homemaker. Sure, any woman can learn to cook and clean--whether you're a Nobel Prize-winning chemist or a Somali woman who's never set food inside a school. But intelligence does not preclude you from homemaking, and it isn't a sign of wasted intelligence if that's what you choose to do.

I'm probably over-analyzing all this, but I think it's important to recognize the undercurrents that swirl beneath our words. Undercurrents, after all, are what have the power to move people.

If you're an excellent homemaker, say so! Be proud of it. The blogs I read of women who cook passionately, or sew beautifully, or decorate exquisitely are some of my absolute favorite blogs--and I'd like to see more of them.

I hope you realize that I'm not advocating for cookie-cutter mommy blogs of women whose kids/house/marriage seems perfect (heaven knows the blogosphere already has WAY too many of those). If that's what's coming across, then (to quote G.O.B.) I've made a huge mistake. And please know that I love reading about mishaps and misadventures in everyday life, so I don't mean to rail against those either. I just want to make sure that women, as they're living imperfectly, realize that those imperfections aren't what they should be proud of or what they should broadcast the loudest.

It's okay to be a kickass homemaker. That's all.

Let's Talk About Sex

"Our standards nights and chastity lessons usually focus on the dangers of strong sexual desire. Predictably, we exhort young men to bridle their libidos, which we describe as wild beasts that must be restrained until domestication in marriage, and we caution young women to avoid arousing and indulging the young men -- tempting the beast out of its cage, so to speak.

It's a troubling model for a number of reasons, but I'll address just one: by focusing on physiological motivators for teenage sex, we completely overlook significant psychological motivators. This oversight shortchanges all youth, and exacerbates the risk of young women's needs flying under the standards night radar completely. After dismissing libido as a serious issue for them (which may be a mistake in and of itself), we turn their attention to assisting their male peers without even considering other compelling reasons for sexual behavior. In our outreach we miss the mark by emphasizing virtue, modesty, and chastity without considering what might motivate a young woman to eschew the same.

To put it simply, thirteen-, fourteen-, and fifteen-year-old girls don't have sex because they desperately want sex. They have sex because they desperately want something else."

***

This is an excerpt from a fantastic article I just read. Although it's written by an LDS woman and addresses the way the Church talks about sexuality, the insights from are universal. It made me think about how my views on sex came to be, where they are now, and how I plan on teaching my children.

When I got engaged, a few women told me "If you want a happy marriage, don't ever deny your husband sex." For real?! That is probably the worst advice you could give to a bride-to-be. Since when is sex something that you give to your husband, rather than something you share? I'm sure that wasn't the intended implication behind this advice, but it's there.

Not every eighteen-year old has a healthy attitude about sex. But I think I did. And it wasn't because I had a lot of experience with guys (I hadn't), or because I read stacks of Cosmopolitan (I didn't), or because my parents were exceptionally open and frank (they weren't).

The Church advises its youth not to date until they're sixteen. Growing up, I thought this was torture. I was very good about following this rule (mostly because my parents said they'd give me $1000 if I didn't kiss anybody until after graduation). BUT MY MOTIVATION IS NOT THE POINT HERE! The point is that I did it. Not only did this keep me from doing stupid stuff that I'd regret later, it helped me realize I was powerful.

There were boys who were attracted to me before I was sixteen. Sometimes I was attracted to them as well. But instead of going off and having a stupid six-week relationship like every other teenage couple, I said no. I said no before a relationship even started, which put me in control. Even though I did it begrudgingly, and even though I cast the blame on "that stupid rule my Church does" (instead of proudly standing up for my beliefs), I still did it.

I didn't recognize it at the time, but that helped me take ownership of my sexuality. What a commanding thing for a young woman to have! In addition, I learned how to be friends with guys. No games. Learning how to relate with the opposite sex requires a lot more from a girl than simply being attractive. As I learned to do that, I started basing my self-worth on my personality, not my body.

***

To make a long story short: Read the article. Too many women are growing up with too many misgivings about their sexuality. Let's change that, eh?