Things Fall Apart

This is something I've been meaning to write for a long, long time.

When you’re a kid, being honest means not stealing gum from Walmart or fessing up when you break something. As years go by, honesty means being open with feelings and experiences — you get better at tough conversations, difficult relationships, things like that. But ultimately, I think the purest form of honesty means showing others who you are. And a necessary condition to this, of course, is knowing that yourself.

The Burning Gift. Brian Kershisnik.

I don't think it's any big surprise that I'm changing. I've been writing less and less. A post per week, per month, every few months. At times I’d muster the courage to articulate my feelings, but I was scared to you everything. I locked those secrets in a cellar for myself, and their shadows slithered through the light in the cracks.

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned.
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity

Mormons, quite literally, live in tribes. Tribe of Ephraim, tribe of Manasseh, tribe of Uchtdorf, tribe of Oaks. I am in a tribe of very frustrated, confused, and weary members of the Church. Sometimes we talk for minutes, sometimes for hours, and sometimes we just cry because the ceremony of innocence is drowning and no one is watching. Those people though, my tribe. They're leaving. People say there's room for us and I'm sure they're sincere, but I'm not sure it's true.

I've tried to gather the ashes of my convictions, but I don't know what to pick up and what to leave behind. Yeats believes this lack of conviction, this life in the grey, is a good thing. I don't think he's wrong, but I mourn for when I knew exactly who I was, what I wanted, and what I believed in.

I'm writing this down because if there's anything I have learned, it's that silence doesn't help anyone — least of all myself. Throughout the next few weeks, I’ll tell you a story. A story of faith, identity, and womanhood. Lest I disappoint you in the end, I should warn you that it lacks any sort of resolution. 

But that lack of resolution, in itself, is the story.

Shepherds and a Woman

Adoration of the Shepherds. Gerard van Honthorst, 1622

2014 was not a good year for me. Sounds ungrateful, I know, given that we went to Thailand with our best friends, spent the summer camping, and Homeland rebounded with a killer fourth season. Despite all this, 2014 pushed me to depths that shook every foundation I had. Last night as Brock and I counted down the final seconds of the year, we held each other close and whispered "It's over."

On the Sunday before Christmas, Brock gave this talk in Sacrament meeting. I cried, obviously, because that's what I do every time Brock gives a talk in church. But this one was extra special. Enjoy.

***

It’s been a long week for me. Has it been a long week for you too? I remember one night this week, I walked out of the testing center after spending four hours on twenty questions, only for a computer to tell me that I am a C- accountant. It was one of those days when I look up and wonder: “What am I doing here?” Some of you might sit up at night and wonder about that too and, if you’re like me, some nights it keeps you awake.

The beauty of the gospel is that we do know what we are doing here. From an eternal perspective, we know what’s on the horizon. But if you’ve ever been on a ship on a storm-tossed sea, you know that the comforting horizon at your bow is often hidden behind great tempest swells.

I’m writing this for anyone in our congregation who is in the middle of a storm, and who is tired of people saying “But you have the Plan of Salvation! Isn’t that great?” Our boats are solitary boats, and the views from our respective bows vary greatly. Sometimes the most patronizing phrase in our vernacular is “Why can’t you just see?”

Tradition has it that Luke wrote his gospel for a group of Christians that couldn’t see. They maintained that Jesus was born of earthly parents—thus denying his godly lineage and believing him to be simply a great philosopher. This was not done out of malice, but out of mankind’s natural tendency to disbelieve things we don’t understand. A virgin birth is one of them. The Christmas story is Luke’s way of saying “No, wait! You’ve got it all wrong.”

Luke goes into great detail, including one particular note that made all of Israel cringe. He mentions shepherds. He’s the only gospel writer to mention shepherds. There’s a reason for that, and it goes way back to when the twelve tribes of Israel migrated to Egypt.

There they found a lifestyle foreign to them. The Egyptians were agriculturalists who despised shepherding because sheep and goats meant death to crops. Battles among shepherds and farmers are ancient and fierce; let’s not forget the first murder on earth was caused by a farmer’s resentment of a shepherd. Joseph said to his brothers in Genesis that “Every shepherd is detestable to the Egyptians.”

Over time, Egyptian prejudice against shepherding seeped into Israel’s culture. The mishnah, or written version of Jewish oral law, describes shepherds as incompetent—one passage in particular says that no one should ever feel obligated to rescue a shepherd who has fallen into a pit because, well, one less shepherd to deal with.

The Jewish historian Jeremias notes that in Jerusalem during Christ’s time, rabbis would've asked with amazement how, in view of the despicable nature of shepherds, God was called my shepherd in the 23rd Psalm. Jeremias also wrote that to buy wool, milk, or a kid from a shepherd was forbidden, on the assumption that it would be stolen property. Maybe this is part of the reason why Jesus qualifies the calling when he declares himself “The Good Shepherd”.

Shepherds were deprived of all civil rights. They could not fulfill judicial offices, they didn’t own land, and they were not admitted in court as witnesses. Their profession was banished from the city to the lonely desert.

Could it be then that, in that same country, while shepherds were abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night . . . they were doing something more? Could they have been looking up at the sky, wondering “Why am I here? What am I doing here, night after night, in the pitch-black darkness? Why, when I go into town, why am I the butt of everyone’s jokes? Why am I doing this useless job? Why was I born a shepherd? Why does no one love me? And why do I feel so utterly, terribly alone?"

And then they weren't. An angel appeared, bringing good tidings of great joy. In one moment, lowly shepherds went from being pariahs of Jewish life to mouthpieces of Jehovah. The earthly calling nobody wanted became the heavenly calling God needed. These same shepherds, whose testimonies weren't trusted in Jewish courts, were trusted by God to deliver testimony of the greatest gift our Heavenly Parents have ever bestowed upon the earth.

And how was that gift bestowed? By a person held even lower in status than a shepherd. A person whose status equaled that of only slaves. A woman.

Jewish oral law explicitly forbade salutations in public to women. In fact, during the time of Christ, Jewish rabbis began every temple meeting with these words: “Blessed art thou, O Lord, for thou has not made me a woman.”

So how did they read the first chapter of Luke, when the angel Gabriel visits Mary and greets her, saying "Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women." No wonder Mary was troubled at his saying and wondered what manner of salutation this should be.

After the pronouncement that she would carry, birth, and nurture the long-awaited-for Messiah, she exclaims “For [God] hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden. For, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed. He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree.”

Mary, who was restricted from having an authoritative role in her home or community, had been charged with raising the King of Kings. The woman who was inferior to, and under the authority of, the men around her, would conceive the Messiah without the permission or contribution of an earthly man.

So why did Luke write the Christmas story? Shepherds become heralds and the lowliest of Jews—a woman—becomes the nurturer of their king. Why did Luke write the Christmas story? Not just to show the divinity in Christ, but to show the divinity in us all. The Christmas story is not about sheep, stars, a manger--it's a story of transformation. It’s a story to show what God can make us if we focus our lives on Jesus Christ.

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of heavenly hosts, praising God and saying “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”

In our lowest moments, when darkness surrounds us and we feel alone, that is the time when we can feel the Savior’s love clearer than ever. It will transcend our tendency to look for signs of his love in temporal blessings. The real evidence of his love is that we can change. He suffered and died to create a path by which we can see in ourselves what he already sees in us: Our inherent divinity and boundless worth. 

Because of him, we can feel it and see it now. We don’t have to wait for the horizon.

On Christ and Acceptance

O Jersusalem. Greg Olsen, 1995

Everyone has an opinion on Kate Kelly's excommunication, but a man named Greg Trimble wrote something that bothered me in particular.

"Too many people," Trimble says, "are neglecting what is in the scriptures and trying to 'customize Christ'." Trimble then proceeds to, ahem, customize Christ for his own purposes with the story of the adulterous woman in John 8:12, where Christ says "Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more."

The Savior did not condemn her…but he also didn’t condone what she did. He loved her and He forgave her, but He also meant what He said when He told her to “go and sin no more.” The forgiveness of Christ should not be misinterpreted for acceptance.

But the point of the story is in verse seven, not twelve. Here the Savior tells the Pharisees: "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her." The Savior saves His harshest rebukes for those who invoke religion against those who suffer, as highlighted here and in the story of Job.

Mormon bloggers love their straw men (/straw women), and Trimble wields them deftly:

Instead of humbly praying for change or speaking individually with family members or church leaders, they assume that they can organize a mob to publicly and forcibly put pressure on apostles of the Lord to customize the gospel of Jesus Christ in their own time, and not in His. Questions are one thing, protesting is another.

Kate Kelly never organized a mob. Or a protest, for that matter. A protest is about opposing something. Ordain Women is asking for inclusion in something--you protest things you think are bad, you ask to be included in things you think are good. (via)

Tribmle's post ends with a bang. I mean, um, an ellipsis into space:

Many people are taking the equality and fairness argument to the extreme, assuming that Jesus is accepting of everyone and everything. It’s just not true according to the scriptures and instead of making rash assumptions and jumping ship, we need to patiently keep our concerns on our spiritual shelf until the Lord reveals His will…

Accusing Mormon progressives of making "rash assumptions" utterly belittles their spirituality. The only sin Kate Kelly is guilty of is acting on opinions that differ from those of Church leadership. (And apparently using the wrong "tone".)

Truth be told, we all customize Christ. How could it be any other way? We come into faith with different personalities, fears, needs. Religion doesn't create these personal paradigms, it lives within them. And the hardest part about the gospel is that we have to accept each other in spite of how different those paradigms are.

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.

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)
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"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.
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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. 

Malachi 3:10

Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house, and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.

Stories abound in Mormon lore of people receiving specific blessings after paying their tithing. I am blessed in many ways, but I don't have a story that I can directly link back to being a result of my tithe-paying.

I pay tithing because it's a sign of gratitude for all I've been given. Each month, Brock and I cut a check, hand it to the bishop, and that's that. I have faith that those tithing dollars are appropriated, well, appropriately--but sometimes, just out of curiosity, it would be cool to know that $X helped buy pews for a new meetinghouse in Rio de Janeiro, $X paid for the apartment of a young missionary in Ghana, etc.

But today as I was reading in Exodus 30 (oh yes, I was reading IN THE OLD TESTAMENT...are you impressed??), I figured out what each tithe I give specifically "pays" for, in a sense.

From verses 15-16:

15 The rich shall not give more, and the poor shall not give less than half a shekel, when they give an offering unto the Lord, to make an atonement for your souls. 

16 And thou shalt take the atonement money of the children of Israel, and shalt appoint it for the service of the tabernacle of the congregation; that it may be a memorial unto the children of Israel before the Lord, to make an atonement for your souls.

Atonement money.

Tithing is a way for me to show gratitude for my blessings. My health, my husband, my loving family, the country I live in, etc. But somehow in that mix, I forgot that there really only one blessing that I'm paying for: My redemption.

We Have Received, and We Need No More

Let me tell you something about Dr. Dilworth "Grammar is your friend!" Parkinson.

Your average 60-something man is far from intimidating, but Dil is not your average 60-something man. At 6'2'' with broad shoulders and a lean build (courtesy of the laps he swims daily), he seems ages away from qualifying for Social Security--let alone months. He speaks with a deep, cavernous, bone-rattling voice. His sentences are short. He does not wear a tie.

More than a few would-be students of Arabic have been shaken by his curt, no-nonsense unruffability. But behind his apparent Scroogeness (direct quote: "I hate parties.") lies a man who is irrepressibly endearing.

He sings in a baroque choir and goes on walks with his wife each morning. He laughs easily and infectiously. He obsesses over relative clauses ("WHICH!") and often scratches his head when explaining Arabic grammar to students. He enunciates the h in what and where.

Seven years ago, he gave a speech at BYU called "We Have Received, and We Need No More." I read its transcript for the first time a few days ago, and it changed my life. I am so grateful for my professors in the BYU Arabic department--Dil, Kirk, and Ustaaz Doug--who taught me a second language in a way that has jolted me out of years of spiritual passivity.