Beyond the wall

Eleven months since I last posted. I didn't realize it had been so long. Time certainly does fly. Well. Where are we now?

A lot has changed. I'm 34, still unmarried, and I really DGAF. I consider myself Mormon almost exclusively in a historical sense; I was raised/grew up Mormon, but I have moved away from it now. I went to church with my Dad for Easter; he came out and took me to our home ward. It was... different. Very different. We both felt it. The feeling of home was gone for both of us, though perhaps for different reasons. For him, the people had changed, the spirit of the Ward had changed, his connection to it had diminished. That had to be difficult for him to see, seeing as he had been Bishop to many of the people still there. The Ward is barely more than a branch now. It's sad. I felt that, too, and the lack of the fellow-feeling from my youth. But more than that, I was no longer connected to the doctrines being taught. I was no longer attached to the church. I was happy to see some of the people, to touch base, but little else. I now try to schedule my visits to see my family so that I'm not around or I have to leave on Sunday. To say my heart isn't in it is an understatement. I don't even really care enough to remove my name from the rolls.

I've evolved a lot as a person, an adult, and a woman in these past three months. A semi-chance run-in with a friend revealed that she had been ex'd for unrepentant pre-marital sex. This is a woman I looked up to as a member of the church, one of the ones I hid my departure from so I wouldn't have to face her questions, and SUDDENLY... she was a full two or three steps ahead of me! Sexually active and independent, no longer a member, drinking, etc. All manner of "worldly" delights! I made a decision, right there. I would do three things before my 35th birthday: 1)get drunk, 2) try pot, and 3)have sex. I set out to finally commit some sins worthy of discipline, if I ever bothered to make them known to a Bishop. No more "well, your feminist, Paganish ways are weird, buuuuuuuut not technically counter to doctrine" wishy-washiness. GO FOR THE GOLD!

And I did. As of this past weekend, I have checked all three off my list. Granted, I haven't been truly drunk, but I've been good and tipsy and I appreciate whiskey and absinthe. (Wine? Ehhhh, sometimes. I like the idea more than the thing. Beer? Blugh.) But I tried pot (THE TASTE OMG WHYYYYY) and I am absolutely delighted by the joys of sex. I've started studying tantra with a friend who has practiced it most of her life, and it has become a part of my spiritual practice and path. I have every intention of following that path to become a tantric priestess and I-don't-know-where-else and loving it. My first lover became jealous when he learned about my second lover, and he is no longer in the picture. I do need to make contact with him, though, and settle things, so that it isn't awkward if/when we run into each other at events in the future. My second lover is currently my only lover, though not for lack of trying. He has become a fast friend and confidant, though, and a very important person to me for more reasons than amazing sex. He has introduced me to some positively fabulous ways to play, and I can honestly say that his presence has altered the trajectory of my life. Funnily enough, both of these men have ties to the church: #1 used to be a member and #2's parents attend my home ward. I know their names and faces and they know my Dad and he likes them a lot and holy shit, if they had any idea of what their son and I get up to in the bedroom... I'm not sure I could ever show my face in that Ward, even if I wanted to.

There has been a bit of a dust-up of late (that I have seen) with the release of Carol Lynn Pearson's new book The Ghost of Eternal Polygamy about how much Mormons haaaaate polygamy. I don't know anymore if I just never thought about it all that much or if I really trusted that God would figure it out in the eternities, but I don't recall being super distressed by polygamy until after I started leaving the church. I always assumed that--as I was promised in my Patriarchal Blessing--I would fall in love with one man, be sealed to him, and we would have a family. It's funny to me now that I'm exploring polyamory/non-monogamy outside of a Mormon context. I may never marry. I may never have children. I can't decide lately if that bothers me or not (although I do hear my biological clock ticking a little louder now.) There's a part of me that says I should resist this path because of that ghost of eternal polygamy. But now it's not that... if I don't marry in this life I will be shuffled into a marriage with a possible stranger and his other wives so I can get into the Celestial Kingdom and become a (silenced) goddess (or, best case scenario, fall in love in the afterlife and be sealed to one man and no one else will be involved. Or, I maybe get to be the First Wife.) It's... I'm alive now, living my life now, and I'm choosing to explore myself and whatever depths and breadth of this Love/Relationship "thing" that I can reach in this precious lifetime I'm given that could end tomorrow, and I'm not intentionally limiting myself to one man to do it with. It is my choice, freely made and honestly consented to. It's the choice most LDS women are denied, whether they want it or not. Someday, I may be monogamous. I may marry, I may bear a child. For now, the crushing pain, uncertainty and angst is greatly diminished.

One remaining difficulty is the realization that I don't... not believe in the Mormon God/Elohim. I'm not yet sure what to do with that. A being or beings of tremendous power, to whom I felt close before, whose love, care, and presence I have felt on many occasions, who has/have protected and guided me over the years. I still know this entity, but it feels like knowing an emotionally abusive, codependent, manipulative parent, and I'm not sure what to do with that. A part of me would like to reestablish the connection, and another part is repulsed by the thought. I don't know what to do with that yet. I suppose I'll figure it out someday. Until then, I'm going to keep sinning and trusting that if, indeed, this God is loving and merciful, He/She/They know that my greater joy is outside of the boundaries their (supposed?) representatives have laid out and that is okay. And if I'm wrong, well, maybe eternity was going to suck no matter what I did, so I should enjoy this time now.

I don't have much more to say than that. I don't know much many more posts I'll have here, honestly. The years will tell, but I'm out of Eden. I'm beyond the wall and I don't plan to come back. Even if I did, it wouldn't be the "paradise" it was before.

I think Eve would understand.

Just another pilgrim out of Eden

It's been over two years since my last post. I feel like I have a lot to say and my thoughts are so many that it's difficult to organize them. With it being so long, too, I feel that many things I could say no longer really need to be said. Their time came and went in the off-blog world, and I'm past them. They're no relevant or topical anymore. I guess that shortens the list of things to say.

That said, I guess it's well enough to say that I'm entirely inactive to the Church, and in fact nearly deactivated. I've given quite a bit of thought over the past two years to removing my name from the records of the Church, and nearly decided to go that route. I feel no desire to be part of the LDS Church in anything more than name, so why not remove the name? It's mostly for my family, I admit. I don't want to hurt them that way, to remove what they see as the only viable way we can be together for eternity. I guess I hold out hope, too, that even in a Church I now view as fallen and out of touch with its membership and the world at large--even apostate to itself and unled by prophetic means--the core doctrines of eternal progression and family ties are actually true and that by keeping my foot in the door, maybe I can be set up with a ministering angel gig or something. I better be an angel of death, justice, or something else kickass.

Right, so, I'm not married. I'm 33, well on my way to 34, and we all know that a spinster over 30 is functionally little more than free labor/babysitting and an object of pity in the Church of The Family of Latter Day Gender Roles. Yes, I am bitter. I am bitter than my community has harped so long and hard on its vision of The Family™--One man, one woman, sealed at a young age in the temple so they can have a scad of babies who will never be anything but straight, temple worthy, and mission serving (unless the wife dies, then the man can have a second eternal wife, but not vice versa!)--that it shoves out and even kills those who don't fit the mold. And I don't fit the mold. I'm fat, I'm feminist, I'm single, I'm a belly dancer, I can swear like a sailor, I love dirty jokes, I have one tattoo and want more and piercings, I don't want more than one child, I love being naked and doing rituals and dancing in the moonlight and studying herbs and goddesses and I just have a really hard time imagining myself cramming into the mold ever again or wanted a man who fits in it. I hate the mold. I'm NOT the mold, I don't fit it, and I refuse to be converted to it. Of all the things I could want out of the Church, it's to be converted again and again to the radical, socialist-ish, loving, healing, just and merciful ways of Jesus the Christ, Jesus of Nazareth. If I'm to be a sheep of the Good Shepherd, I will do so with orange paisley wool. He doesn't care. Who does care is a committee of fifteen retired, married, white men in Utah and their subordinates. Who does care is a congregation of local ward and stake members.

I hear too much about The Family at church, a Family I don't possess except as a child within one and thus I feel like Less. I hear too much about patriotism for the United States, and focus on the laws and actions of men bringing on the end times. I hear too much about how The Gays are going to ruin society. (They haven't managed to tear it down in the 5,000 or so years since Leviticus was written, but straight folk have done a bang up job of it multiple times!) I don't hear enough about compassion, mercy, love, kindness, charity. I don't hear enough about making sure the relationships I'm in are healthy, or how to healthily extract myself from ones that can't be transformed or whose seasons have simply passed. I hear too much about politics, with the overwhelming majority not being views with which I sympathize at all, and I just don't have the energy anymore to fight for a place at a table where I don't feel welcome.

Some would say that all are invited to the feast. That is true. Jesus extends an open invitation to all who wish to sit and partake. However, if you think that all are welcomed to sit beside any other feasters, you have clearly never been to a high school cafeteria. Each table has a code of whom is welcome to sit there, whom the community feels is safe. I feel like I started out sitting in the middle of the Mormon table. I was safe, ensconced, welcome, happy. It all felt familiar, I was with my friends, my teachers looked at me with approval, etc. As I went back for another plate year after year, though, I found myself slowly migrating toward the end of the table. I was still among friends and compatriots, but the faces started changing, the tone of conversation changed, and I learned things about the people who had sat here before us, things that were both good and bad. But these people were still at the table, more or less. Time and again, plate after plate, I kept migrating out to the more sparsely seated fringes. Sometimes it was something one of the core people said or did. Sometimes it was new information. Sometimes it was taking a jaunt to another table for a plate and getting the side-eye when I returned. Sometimes it was just that I didn't feel like fighting for a closer spot. The content of my plate changed, too, to more complex foods and the deconstruction of many of the simple foods I'd grown up on. It all contributed to drift, and I find myself now barely sitting at the table at all. I often eat while standing, leaning a hip against the table. Occasionally I chat with those still sitting. Sometimes I talk to people at other tables, or sit with them.

Metaphor aside, I still consider myself mostly Mormon. I guess I'm a Jack Mormon now. I don't go to meetings or wear my garments or pay tithes and offerings to the Church, and I'm realistic about the Church's faults and failings without (usually) being antagonistic. However, I don't villainize my fellow Saints because I know them. I know them to be generally good people doing what they believe is right, even if the ways they do it or see it feel wrong, dishonest, or abusive to me. I was right there with them five or more years ago. I gave a prayer of thanks with one breath when Elder Packard passed, and a prayer for for comfort to those who love him with the next. Sometimes I wish I had no problems with the Church so I could get some financial help from my Bishop, but faking it for money is against my personal creed.

My Dad called last night to say he and my sister and BIL were going to the temple today to do sealings for his grandparents, parents, and himself to his parents. I was genuinely happy for them because as problematic as I find the temple these days, I still hope that I can be with my family forever. He said they'd miss me since I couldn't be there, seeing as I don't have a recommend, and he started asking questions like if I'd been to my new ward, if the missionaries had contacted me (apparently he took it on himself to send my new address to my old ward to transfer my records... thanks, weird Mormon boundary issues...) and said he wished he was here to help get me back in. I asked him what he thought he could do, and he said he could at least take me to church, and... I had to say I wasn't interested. That conversation was a long time coming... He wants to love me back into activity, but he doesn't really understand that that's not the problem.

It's not the love of the people who love me that's lacking. It's that a lot of the story no longer makes sense to me. It's that I feel like the Qof12 and the First Presidency are no more inspired than any other group of 15 smart men of prayer, and I can't remember the last truly prophetic thing to come out of a Prophet in my lifetime. It's that the Church functionally worships the Family more than Jesus, even going as far as having Apostles declare that marriage is the purpose for the Plan of Salvation.

NOPE!

I'm looking at you, Russel M. Nelson.

It's that women just got added to ruling councils in the Church two seconds ago and I felt no joy or sense of progress. It's the consistent resistance to effecting real change in listening to the concerns of women and treating them as an equal part of the Church. It's the refusal to seek for God the Mother. It's the falling back on ancient scripture to justify not continuing revelation with regards to women and the Priesthood in spite of modern historical precedent that Joseph Smith intended women to participate in it. It's the legitimizing of ancient scriptures that prescribe violence to justify homosexuality as a sin. (No one but Packerites talks about that in the LDS Church, but those scriptures that say "this is wrong" also say "and therefore kill them." Talk about cherry-picking! But thank Gods for cherry-picking. Then again, the epidemic of LGBT LDS youth who are committing suicide... It's kind of still happening, and the Church is doing nothing--or not enough--to stop it. Our own are dying because we're making them miserable, and... nothing. /endrant) It's Correlation and the dehydrating effect is has had on the holy life of the Church and its members. It's the GIANT MALL in SLC paid for by the Church, regardless of where the money came from. And speaking of money, it's the lack of transparency in how tithes and offerings are used, the demand of trust for the corporation of the Church, the pressure on low-income individuals to still give their two mites, when the Romneys of the world give less than a 10% tithe (and there's the offerings on top of that?), and the change to the tithing slip that basically says "you can tell us where you want your offerings to be used, but we're not going to be held to that." It's the fact that missionary culture is structured to breed codependence, obedience, and abuse. It's that I spent my entire Young Women's experience dreaming of my future/hypothetical husband's desirable traits and weeding out non-virgins from the pool of potentials and never spending more than two seconds thinking about healthy communication or relationship dynamics or how to recognize red flags. It's that our great scriptural hero, Nephi, was kind of a white-washing jerk that I'm pretty sure most people would find unbearable and a narrator of dubious reliability, and Laman and Lemuel's reactions were not that extraordinary in context! It's that part of the BoM is interpreted to mean that fornication is next to murder and alllllllllllll the spiritual and emotional problems that causes. It's the problematic nature of LDS polygamy and marriage and the temple in general as outlined in the Doctrine & Covenants that disenfranchises women and makes men their intermediaries with God instead of Jesus. It's that the things that are actually wrong within the world of the Church is so much more insidious than the supposed Satan worship and blood sacrifice lies that some Antis throw at us.

I believe in Jesus, I believe in God, I believe in Goddess, I believe in the Spirit, I believe in a lot of the Gospel doctrine I've been taught, and I still hope for a lot of what I even question. Mormonism is still my primary spiritual context, even when I really have a deep affection for bits of various Pagan traditions. I just... can't... subject myself to all of this other crap. It's not good for me. It hurts me rather than helps me grow. And that really sucks. I wish it wasn't that way. I don't want it to be that way, but I have to be realistic about myself and where I am and who I am and how I feel, instead of performing a spiritual lie for the comfort of my loved ones. That serves no one, least of all me, and if there's one thing that I've been slowly but surely learning the value of the past few years, it's to demand that the relationship I have with my beliefs is mutually beneficial. They must serve me as much as I serve them. Isn't that the essence of covenant? I served mainstream LDS doctrines for three decades, and I'm waiting for them to return the favor. Until then, I'm stepping out of Eden into the wider, brighter, "dark and dreary world."

Adjusting

Funny thing, this.

Ever since a few days before the anniversary, I feel like I've adjusted.  I've become an adult with only one living parent.  It's just been me and Dad and my siblings for a year.  I'm no longer counting the months; now it's "over a year ago" or "last year."  Next you it will be "two years ago."  In time it'll be, "when I was thirty" perhaps because I can't smoothly calculate how long it has been.  I'm now free to make "big changes" per the recommendations of Hospice's bereavement team suggestions.  All of the "firsts" have been hit, as far as annual events.  The world has moved on and though I'll always miss her, I'm ready to, as well.  I feel that I've adjusted.

Grief isn't really linear and there will undoubtedly still be times of soul-crushing sorrow and angst, especially if/when I get married and have babies.  But--for the moment--I feel that I'm "used to it" now.  I feel that I've adjusted.  I feel free to carry on and my motivation is returning.

I lost my cats.  I lost my Mom.  I may soon lose my Grandparents.  Dad still has a statistically higher probability of dying in the next year, but please God forbid.  My business is doing better than it ever has.  I just paid off a major debt, and that gives me hope for the rest of them, and my ability to climb out of personal poverty in the next year or two, maybe!  All of this, without my Mom.  It makes me sad... but I'm okay.  That's how it goes.  She is not gone, she just isn't here.

Moving on.

She went into her glory

Dear readers,

This post is not going to be for everyone.  This is an account of my memories of my Mother's passing.  It is mostly for my own benefit, my own record, so that I can remember and have it available, but you are welcome to read.  It's somewhat graphic at the end (not gory, just detailed) and may be upsetting or triggering.  Don't feel like you -need- to read it, but you are welcome to do so.  Thank you for your love and support in the past year.  Peace be unto you and unto us all.

======================

One year ago was a busy day.  We'd held Mother's Day a little on the fly just the Sunday before because we weren't sure she would make it the remaining three weeks.  My sister and our second-oldest brother and his husband were able to join us, with our oldest brother calling in from back East.  Mom was still fairly lucid so she could see and hear from all her kids, though she wasn't able to come upstairs and join us.  I had bought a book just the day before, and read a little bit that night, hoping that I would have time to delve further into its insights and make this time easier for everyone.

My sister and her family had come again on Wednesday afternoon because we knew that time was shrinking rapidly.  Mom's frailty seemed to advance at an increasing rate, with her able to move around the house with help one day to barely able to move to her own bathroom the next: from mostly lucid to barely communicating in just a few days.  It was as though she saw the end in sight and was willing herself toward it.   None of us could deny it of her; she had earned it.

Mom's Hospice nurse came in the mid-morning.  I helped her to move Mom in the bed that was the only place she remained, helped her be in as comfortable a position as possible.  She showed no signs of leaving us immediately and her nurse said it would probably be a few days.  There were discussions of how often the bathing lady would need to come, who was coming for the very first time that day because it was the first time she would be needed since Mom could no longer get to the shower.  My nephews and baby niece came to say good-bye about half past noon, since my brother-in-law had to take them home for one of the boys' practices that night.  They planned to come back on Saturday.  My sister stayed behind with us.

When the bath lady came about an hour later my sister and I helped her.  We worked together, washing her body and her hair. Mom seemed mostly insensible to it, not really reacting much at all.  We were nearly done, we just needed to turn her to wash her back.  I lifted the towel we had placed under her to roll her toward me and her head and shoulders fell off the foam wedge where she lied.  Her eyes popped wide open and she gasped!  The sudden shift in her position and orientation had jarred her body into a panic of gasping, even when we rolled her back into place.  We waited and watched for her breathing to calm, a process that took about forty minutes.

When her breathing relaxed, Dad took a minute to go return a call he'd gotten shortly before.  My sister and the lady remained in the room with Mom as her breathing continued to slow.  Her nurse had spoken before of a rattling sort of breath; sometimes it signified the end, sometimes it could last for days.  When we heard it, I spun around and yelled "DAD!  COME!"  He hung up the phone and got back into the room just in time to sit beside her and hold her hand as her breathing slowed to its final.  He checked her pulse and told us she was gone.

The peace that entered the room at that time was profound and unexpected in its depth.  We gathered by her bedside to say good-bye, and I felt the presence of her spirit beside me, and I felt her take my hand, which closed on its own.  The feel of her in the room lingered for a minute or two before fading away, leaving solace and sorrow in her wake.

YAAAAAY!

A beautiful, loving prayer by Sister Jean A. Stevens, the first woman to pray in General Conference in recorded history!  Following wonderful, Jesus-full talks by George A Cardon and Henry B. Eyring, it was a wonderful cap to this morning's session, and balm upon my irritation over intolerance, "stolen" virtue and chastity, gender roles, and vacuuming.

<3

*ponders*

*contemplates the nitty gritty, down-to-earth realities of the events of the resurrection*

... *starts typing*

Jena's in a midrash mood!  Stay tuned!

Mother Fast is still going, I promise

I often describe an event earlier in my life as having "taken the wind out of my sails".  It was a heart-breaking incident that caused me to lose all forward momentum in my life and toward a goal.  I redirected my course and found what I needed, more than I had imagined, and for that I'm grateful virtually every day.  Still, I lost propulsion, lost power.

Looking at the past year of my life and the deceleration I've experienced again in areas I'm passionate about, I wonder if things haven't so much "taken the wind out of my sails" as "blown holes" in them.  The storms of life have ripped holes in my sails and made it difficult to make headway and steer where I want to go.   The Mother Fast has been one of the things that has suffered, I'm afraid.  Mothers have been a difficult subject for me for obvious reasons.

I have this stubborn pride thing where I don't like my motives to be... apparent... or guessable.  I don't like to be predictable.  I might fail at it, but I don't like it.  And I really hate it when I think someone might look down on me for it.  So, when I entered a time of Mothering crisis and grief in my personal life, I didn't want anyone to stumble on this venture and go "Stupid girl, she just misses her Mom and she's trying to replace her with Heavenly Mother.  Her personal struggle isn't a good enough reason to try and change the way the Church works!"

Mothers are a big thing for me, you see.  My first one gave me up for reasons unknown to me, except that a divorce was involved.  I was cared for by a foster mother for a short time before I came to my real mother.  And I grew up knowing of a Heavenly Mother, but knowing very little about her... kind of like my birth mother.  I ached for years to become a mother of many myself, and I surrounded myself with fertility and pregnancy and birth in order to be around and serve mothers.  I have mothered countless friends.  Even now, when I look at children and sometimes wonder if I really want to take that challenge on, I mainly question whether I'd really make a good mother, or if I'm too exhausted from caring for adults to have much left to dedicate to children.  Mothering matters to me, tremendously.  I don't want some monstrous, heartless, "well-meaning", self-righteous internet troll to come stamping up to the walls of my Mother shrine and graffitiing it with judgment and a conservative attitude toward upholding the traditions of patriarchy.

So I've hidden in my silence and floundered in the hurricane of my grief and confusion, the chaos that has enveloped my life for the past twelve months.  I've failed to fast so many times out of forgetfulness or neglect or just not feeling up to withholding whatever form of nourishment sustained me.  I've felt like a failure, like I wasn't doing my part in the struggle for equality and balance and hope for a better future.  I've had to be very compassionate with myself.

I'm not saying I'm ready to go roaring in, banners high, sails mended and billowing in the wind.  But I'm here, as battered by the storms as I am.  I still love my Mothers.  I need Mothers in my house, above and below, and I miss them in their absence.  Hopefully tomorrow, I'll be strong enough to fast, again.

Rumor has it women will be praying in General Conference.  That, too, gives me hope. :)

The firsts are almost over

Life has been and continues to be difficult of late.  January and February were very hard, financially.  (Note to self: Don't take an "extravagant" trip to Vegas right before your worst two months of the year.)  I made it through only by the grace of God, angels, and a bare handful of clients.  Now that March is looking up, financially, I am entering the hardest nine weeks of this first year.

By this time a year ago, we knew that Mom was going to go home.  The nine weeks that followed until after her memorial were fraught with mixed emotions, both difficult and precious.  This is the final round of Firsts.  We survived the first holiday season, the first birthdays, the first summer...  It has to get better from there, right?  We'll get used to feeling a little lost without her, used to regretting the conversations we never had, used to overcoming the impulse to cry, and used to wishing she was around.

Often time it feel like I'm chest deep in manure.  I can still breathe and speak and move my arms about; and there's flowers growing all around me, beautiful and brightly colored, with heady perfumes that make me happy and mask the stench of shit.  It makes it easier to endure, gives me reasons to be grateful, even if it doesn't change to the fundamental nature of the situation.  I find myself grieving more than just my mother's death these days.  I grieve many things.  There's a lot to hold space for, and sometimes it doesn't feel like there's enough space to hand space in.

Tongue-tied

Mother's milk... A sweet substance, readily available, but rarely leaking out unless the Mother hears the cry of a child.  Even then, for the child to receive it, the child must suckle at Mother's breast, held close and safe and warm in her arms.  Is there anything more innately human, more divine than to be nourished and nurtured?

But nursing does not always go smoothly.  One condition that comes to mind is called tongue tie.  As adults, we think of being tongue-tied as being unable to articulate or communicate.  To an infant, it means the frenulum of their tongue is too short and can sometimes (not always) make latching on to the breast difficult or impossible.  Depending on the severity of the tie, babies may have difficulty thriving.  Interestingly, both the adult and infant conditions find their application in the world of prayer.  Being spiritually tongue-tied prevents us from both communicating with our Mother and taking in the nourishment that only she can provide.

I would cry, too!

 "And it came to pass that [Jesus] did teach and minister unto the children of the multitude of whom hath been spoken, and he did loose their tongues, and they did speak unto their fathers [and mothers] great and marvelous things, even greater than he had revealed unto the people; and he loosed their tongues that they could utter." 3 Nephi 26: 14

Can you imagine the greater wonders that would come forth in the world if Her childrens' tongues were loosed to suckle from the breast of God the Mother and speak the words She gives?

The best Visiting Teacher I've ever had...

is a Jehovah's Witness.

She comes with some regulatory, says hi, asks how I am, has a short blurb and a Watchtower to hand me, then leaves.  It's over in about five minutes. Dad thinks I should tell her to stop coming and maybe I should so I'm not wasting her time or mine, but in a way I kind of like it.  I'm not a very high needs person most of the time, but it's nice to have someone drop by and let me know I'm thought of, even if just in a proselyting way.

I could learn a few lessons from her about being a better Visiting Teacher, myself.

Priesthood, Motherhood... Singlehood.

One of my friends shared this article and tagged me to read it. I'm not certain of her motivations. Maybe she just thought I'd find it interesting because it's about Mormonism being feminist. Maybe she wanted my thoughts. Maybe she wanted to throw me a "You're not one of those Priesthood-wanting feminists, are you?" I don't think it's that last one: I've been generally quite cautious about saying "Hey, I think women should have ordination, too" and only hinting at it obliquely.  I'd be a little surprised if anyone had solidly picked up on it up to this point, though my response may have added evidence.

Anyway, I have to say... I'm glad the author considers herself a feminist, I really do think that an eternal balance of male-female is needed (somehow, in some way shape or form, not necessarily tied to biological sex in this life) to activate the fullness of Priesthood power, and I really like the idea of balancing o

ut the purposes for there even to be males and females and balancing events in a way that truly is complementary. But.

But.

I cannot ignore that a worthy single man of 30 can participate in his Priesthood duties, while the very act of participating in biological mothering duties would render a single woman of 30 utterly unworthy, outcast, and likely excommunicated. Likewise, no worthy married man is denied the utilization of any Priesthood he possesses, when a married woman may be physically unable to bear children. Potential equality, symbolic equality, is not the same as actual equality.

My response to her:

Very interesting, well-written article. I really like the symbolic parallels that she draws. I love that she points out that culture often contradicts doctrine. The only (big) issue I have with the Motherhood=Priesthood line of thinking every time I run into it is that it leaves no room anywhere for unmarried-and-childless worthy women. Promises that it will be made up to us in the life to come sound lovely, but for this life it does nothing for us. No such promise is made to unmarried-and-childless worthy men, because it's not needed even though they too are not part of an eternal pairing. They can already otherwise administer and participate in their duties. Single women are the remainder left over when all the power or influence is divided up. Therefore I cannot agree that women and men are implicitly treated as equals, because I, myself, am that remainder and it hurts to go through life that way.
Other than that giant thorn in my side, very nice article and I otherwise really like the symmetry she presents, and I totally agree that Mormonism is the most eternally feminist Christian sect of which I'm aware. :) 

It does hurt.  "People" (the vaporous, vague, vast swath of faceless humanity who think these ways) expect us to get over it, to get married, or just deal.  There is no Prospective Wives class, no Prospective Mothers class available like there is for Prospective Elders.  There is no interview that concludes with "You've done well and faithfully.  You are worthy of and ready for marriage.  We'll seal you to a good man next Sunday after Sacrament meeting."  (Thankfully!)  A boy from the age of 12 begins to exercise authority and perform duties.  A girl from age 12 is being prepared for a marriage and family that may or may not come and taught not to bare her midriff, shoulders, or thighs.  (Also, I like kids, but I do not want to spend eternity in a bioliteral process of producing spirit babies.  Aren't intelligences supposed to be without beginning or end, anyway?)

I could get on board with Motherhood and Priesthood being the true complements if women had the same opportunity based on their biology to fulfill that role as men have the opportunity based on their life choices.  However, I still hold to the belief that women have their own divine Priestesshood that is the complement to male Priesthood and that it is the combination of these powers that results in the eternal power and authority of Godhood.  Or, at the very least, there is a Feminine/Priestess complement to the Masculine/Priest.  Whether that is truly reliant on biologically expressed sex or spiritually expressed gender, or any other configuration of the two, I do not know. And where does that leave intersex individuals?  They do exist, you know, and they are also children of God.  There must be a place and a way for them as well, to my way of thinking.

All these things--and more--come together and lead me to believe that the Ninth Article of Faith is an underappreciated doctrine.  How open are we to new information?  I know I've wondered that before.  After nearly 18 months since launching the Mother Fast, I still wonder.  It's kinda hard to believe it has been that long.  It seems like I just started.  Time does move on, and so far, little has changed beside the age at which women can serve a mission.  The good thing is... that was received with general rapture and enthusiasm.  There is hope for change, still.

Still, other than that... being a single Mormon woman sucks.

Radical love and the spirit of Christmas

Good morning, sisters and brothers.  I hope you’ll forgive the way I sound; I contracted a cold the other day in a last ditch effort to make my Father speak for half an hour by himself, but to no avail.  In all seriousness, though, I am grateful for the opportunity to speak to you today, and I pray that the Spirit will open all of our hearts.

I come to speak to you about Christmas and the spirit of Christmas.  First, I wish to talk about the Nativity story itself.  There is a long-standing tradition among many of Christ’s followers that Mary and Joseph were turned away from every public inn or “hotel” in the little town of Bethlehem, even though she was about to give birth.  Only a very brief knowledge of Middle Eastern culture is needed to see that this is unlikely.

Mary and Joseph were both descendants of David, returning to the City of David; they were royalty without crowns.  They also likely would have had many relatives still in the region.  Even if they could not find place with extended family, customs of hospitality to guests and strangers would have made it easy for them to find a private home to welcome them, rather than begging at the door of the public house and being turned away to a barn or a cave.  No one, especially not a couple born of royal blood who were about to have a child, would not have been turned away to find their own shelter; to do so would have shamed the entire village.  Rather, a deep spirit of generosity would have been extended to them and doors opened.

The Greek words topos and kataluma are used in Luke 2:7.  They are translated in the King James Version as “room” and “inn” respectively, as in “She wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”.  A better translation would be “space” and “guest room”.  In fact, kataluma is used later in Luke when Jesus asks to use a guest room to celebrate Passover.  It wasn’t that the local hotels had the No Vacancy sign up, it was that the spare room in a two room home was already full.  Another guest family, or perhaps even the host family, may have occupied the more private second room when Mary and Joseph came into the house.  

In those days, animals were commonly brought in at night and kept in a portion of the house that was slightly lower than the family’s living quarters.  For this purpose there would have been a manger within the walls of the house itself, and with some clean straw, it would have made a safe resting place for a newborn among tight quarters, free from drafts and bustling feet.  And after a birth attended by the women of the house and possibly a midwife or other experienced women from the neighborhood, the announcement of a first born son would have resulted in jubilation and congratulations with music and dancing by the men while mother and child got settled in.  The shepherds would have had little trouble finding the source of the ruckus; the sign of being laid in a manger was intended merely to confirm that this one child was the promised Messiah.  By this understanding of life in First Century Judea, we see that Mary, Joseph, and Jesus were never turned away. They were accepted and taken in and sheltered as honored guests, their hosts possibly even giving up their own space in the house for them, and the birth celebrated by a loving community of family and friends.  Is this not the spirit of Christmas?

Do we likewise recognize not only Christ, but our brothers and sisters on the Earth as being members of a royal lineage and make space for them within the home of our hearts?  Do we honor them by making room and being generous and kind with our substance, rather than pushing them out into the cold?  Do we show love to the weary travelers around us?

Jesus taught and exhibited a radical philosophy of love in his mortal ministry.  (You know?  “Radical dude!”  No?  Sorry.  I mean “radical” in the sense of being very different from the usual or traditional.)  While hospitality was the standard for guests in one’s home, Israel was still culturally ruled by “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth” and to forgive a person only to their seventh insult.  Jesus taught that instead we should turn the other cheek, and forgive to seventy times seven.  In the Sermon on the Mount as recorded in Matthew chapter 5, Christ tells us that whoever sues for our coat, we should give them our cloak as well.  Whoever compels us to go a mile with them, go with them two.  Love our enemies and pray for them and do good to them.  Why?  Why would we do that?

I think, in part, it is this: When we give more to someone who has taken from us, when we do what we can to fill whatever need they have, we remove from them the spiritual wound of being a thief or a beggar or a suer.  When someone asks us to go with them on part of their journey--when they say to us, “I need someone to walk with me for a little while, for company or as a guardian or a guide” and we go that distance and further still, we follow through.  We tell them, ‘I will travel this difficult road with you, and I will still be a friend when you no longer “need” me, because I have come to love you and I will make certain that you get where you’re going as safely as possible.’  When we pray for an enemy, when we serve them and love them, we often gain a friend and an ally.  Differences may remain, but they matter far less when people love each other.  This was a radical idea in Jesus’ day, and sadly, it remains so today.

Loving each other is the ultimate message of Jesus’ teachings.  Loving each other is the spirit of Christmas.  This is not a lop-sided, parasitic love that drains the life from one to feed the other, but a dynamic relationship of mutual understanding, tolerance, and admiration.  If nothing else, it is a recognition of the divinity in every soul.  “As I have loved you, love one another.  By this shall [all] know you are my disciples.”  Jesus put no exceptions on His new commandment.  The quality of love that we give to others is the hallmark of how well we follow Him.  The love of God, the love of  Christ is radical, unconditional, and boundless.  Christ’s love is service and humility and grace.  Our Heavenly Father and Mother love us so radically, that They sent Jesus to suffer and die for us in order to make us at-one with Them.  Christ loves and serves the unloveable and lowly--the lepers, the harlots, the tax collectors, the outcasts--as well as those who are easy to love and mighty.  To me, this is the spirit of Christmas.  Can we strive to do the same, and not limit it to the month of December?

I have talked with and listened to many of our faith who have reduced or left off activity in the Church, even those who have left the Church entirely.  While no reason is universal, overwhelmingly,the primary reason given for staying away is a lack of Christ-like love from those who are meant to be their brothers and sisters, a lack of acceptance or support.  To characterize this as their “choosing to be offended” misses a point of which I think our Savior would have been keenly aware.  I am not here to call you to repentance, because I don’t know the dynamics of your ward.  However, I wish to encourage everyone here to be sensitive, to be kind, to stand up for the downtrodden, and to open the homes of their hearts to those who are different.  Love those who may seem to you to be unfaithful or weak or rebellious or weird.  Love them without agenda, for they have their story and their reasons just like you do.  Mourn with those who mourn, and comfort those who stand in need of comfort, for the sake of nothing more than being a better disciple of Jesus yourself and making the world a better place.  We are followers of a carpenter-rabbi-god who began his life in an overcrowded two room house in ancient Palestine, and thirty years later left everything behind to preach love to his people and the world.  It doesn’t get much more different or more humble than that.  May we make room inside ourselves for Him and all our brothers and sisters, year-round, in the spirit of Christmas.

I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ.  Amen.

* For more information on how the Nativity more likely happened, please go tohttp://www.truthortradition.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=1126

And yes, I was wearing pants.

Pants plus Mother Fast

A dear friend of mine reminded me that tomorrow is also the monthly Fast for revelation about Heavenly Mother.  (I'm such a slacker!)  A day when a couple thousand women will dare to have an inseam in the chapel will coincide with a day for a... couple dozen? people to fast for the Goddess.

In light of recent tragedies, we need Mother more than ever.  We need women who are willing to make a difference in the world, even with the small things, more than ever.  I hope you'll join us find and be Our Lady.

#Pantsgate vs. The World

1. Pants are the stupidest thing to be arguing over in 2012.  Those against them need to chill out (at least one death threat was received by the organizers of Wear Pants to Church!  Death threats!  Yeah, Mormons totally respect women until they do something crazy like want to wear pants to church! < /blanketstatement> ) and those for them need to chill out.
2. Then again, it's not about pants.  Not really.  It's about... things that are really big and really complex and that others have talked about more eloquently than I.  Things that are super important to a lot of people and of no import at all to others.  However...
3. In light of today's events, who cares about pants?

May all blessings of solace be upon the victims and families in Connecticut.
May they be granted peace, somehow, in this season and in the year and years to come.

Pants: Still a scandal in 2012.

1 Samantha 16:7
7 But the Lady said unto Samantha, Look not on her appearance, or on the manner of her attire ... for the Lady seeth not as mortals seeth; for mortals looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lady looketh on the heart.

You know, I've seen women wear pants to church numerous times over the years.  It hasn't been often, but it has happened.  When I was young, it always surprised me but I never commented.  The women always looked appropriate and put together.  Granted, I live in a very liberal area of the US that has a reputation for bucking tradition and the ward I grew up in was very loving and open, but the prevailing winds within the Mormon community have still leaned heavily to skirts and dresses.  However, pants were not looked down upon, to the best of my knowledge, beyond a few surprised expressions before everyone got on with their day.  Investigators and new members have generally been given a pass to wear whatever they want or have.

That being said, you wouldn't think this event would cause much of a ruckus, but the Event page on Facebook has been slammed by many orthodox members of the Church (and some random non-member trolls) for being disrespectful, sinful, daring to suggest that women are treated unequally, etc etc etc.  Because once you're in and experienced (and Heaven help you if you're a lifer and you should "know better") your free pass goes away?  God suddenly starts caring so much more about what you're wearing... even though we know that God very specifically does not look at the outside.

It calls to mind the many modesty lessons I've been given over the years in which some variation of this question was posed: Would you be ashamed by your clothes if the Lord came back and you had to bow before him?

No.  No I would not.  Not in a turtleneck.  Not in a V-neck.  Not in a skirt.  Not in pants.  Not naked as the day I was born.  Never unless my heart was out of place, and not even then because I know that is why I have a Savior who loves me enough never to shame me.  Instead, he suffered and died for me, to cover me with His grace and make Him and I at-one.  Where there is God-like love, there is no shame; Where there is shame, there is no God-like love.

Therefore, I'm going to wear pants to church on Sunday and speak as my father's High Council companion about the spirit of Christmas and radical love.

Good

I've pondered two questions for years, long before I ever questioned my faith:

1. What makes a "good person"?
2. What makes a "good Mormon"?

Pirates of the Caribbean brought up the first one, yea so many years ago.  Is he a pirate?  Is he a good man?  Wait, he's BOTH!  (...What?)

Good men wear good hats, Disney says.  

What exactly makes a person good?  What makes Jack Sparrow "good" (besides being wickedly funny and brilliant and mad and mostly loyal to those that are mostly loyal to him)?  Robbery, lying, cheating, sword fights, chases, escapes, murder, revenge, impersonation of a cleric of the Church of England...  I heart Jack Sparrow, but not necessarily because he's any version of "good".  So what is it?  At what point does a person stop being good?  After a dire mistake?  An intentional breach of integrity or contract?  Dishonesty?  Infidelity?  Money laundering for the mob?  Stealing aid money and sticking it in your own pocket?  Leading an expedition that resulted in the enslavement and genocide of thousands (pick a favorite historical example, there's plenty)?  Cheating in high school?

Likewise, when does a Mormon stop being "good"?  When he runs for President and can't seem to say the same thing twice in a row and favors policies that alienate half of humanity and/or his aspired constituents?  (I'm lookin' at you, Mittens.  I personally think you are a sucky Mormon and a sucky human being.  So there.)  After the first sip of alcohol/tea/coffee?  After the first act of pre/extramarital sex?  After not going to church for three months?  After not wearing garments for a week straight?  After stealing?  After not comforting someone in need of comfort?  After being involved in romantic relationships with multiple women at the same time who don't know about each other while you're telling the world you're going to the temple?  After questioning a policy or practice, either out of rebellion or feelings of discord with personal values?  Rebellion itself?

I don't have the answers to these questions.  I don't know where the lines are drawn in the sand, though I suspect they would be perceived differently by everyone that looks at them regardless of where they were.  People are complex.  Life is complex.  Politics are complex.  There is always a mixture of good and bad, an opposition in all things.  Given that, it seems prudent to follow the admonition of our Lord, and judge not, lest we be judged.

Malala Yousufzai is of good report and praiseworthy

Like another 14 year-old dear to many of my readers, Malala said a lot of things that people around her hated and disagreed with but that she unequivocally believed to be true and in need of being said.  She, too, was shot for her words and actions.  The difference is that Malala spoke out against the Taliban.  And today she's an inspiration to me.

May she and her family and her readers be blessed.

*SPAZSPAZSPAZSPAZSPAZ*

*flaps arms and hands, runs around in crazy circles*

I'M GOING TO THE CLASS IN NEW HAMPSHIRE!!! "HAMPSHIRE" IS A HARD WORD TO KEEP TYPING AS I SPAZ ACROSS THE INTERWEBS!  AHHHHHHHHH!!!!

*faints!*

So excited!!!!!

Finding passion again

I went to Arizona with mixed emotions.  I was glad for an opportunity to advance my knowledge. I was grateful to Providence for dropping the means of coming into my lap by way of a new client buying a package for the exact amount I needed. I was happy to be taking a class I'd been wanting to attend for several years. This was a great thing.

I also came with some feelings of intimidation and trepidation. I've done a lot of things I "wanted to do for years" in recent times, paid for Providentially, followed my old dreams and plans to try to make them work, only to find Beijing would change when I returned home. I'd find some roadblock to stop me, and I felt stagnant and bored and directionless. I felt obliged, though, to take the class since it was paid for with an additional promise of referred clients.  This was all compounded by the fact that this was only a prerequisite course; it was only Self Care and would not allow me to practice on or teach anyone else.  The course required for that was sparsely available and would cost over $2000 to take, plus travel expenses.  For a woman feeling like she was forever destined to poverty unless she pulled off a Lizzie Bennet or Marianne Dashwood, that felt like a nearly insurmountable bit of trouble that may or may not prove to be worthwhile to her professional career.

Something changed that first day of class, though. My flesh caught on fire from the inside out. I felt the Calling in my bones, in my muscles and nerves and skin and hair.  My blood raced and I thought I shone like a candle. It seared away my stagnation. I received purpose and passion again. It was as though I could firewalk out of my skin and up to the doors of Heaven, there to be received and instructed by the hands of God Herself in this healing art.

The drive never left faded, only settled deeper, dampening into my bones, becoming one with my flesh.  I needed to know everything afresh, review material I’d known for years, soak up information I had never before received.  I wanted to dance, I wanted to sing, I needed to soar, the step off the dark cliff into the chasm and feel the air rush past my wings.  But how?  How could I possibly manage it?  Already deep in debt, and the next class thousands of dollars...  The next step truly would be one into the dark, into the deep.

I stepped, and found a ledge: a virtual stranger I’ve met once in my life was willing to loan me the money.  Somehow, miraculously, the money was available.  I gave thanks for her kindness and spent a week in contemplation.  Would the feeling go away?  Was this foolish?  It was a lot of money and I don’t have much of my own.  Debt can be dangerous and I don’t have a safety net.  I’m struggling to pay off my credit cards!  This is insane.  That doesn’t change the fact that I need to do it, though, and a way has been provided.

I did back off a little on the loan request, though, opting instead to seek donations from friends and family to help make up the difference.  That will make repayment more manageable for me as I work this new therapy into my spa offerings and coordinate with other care providers for referrals. This should make life a bit more manageable over the coming months. So far, I've been thrilled by the response, and I hope people will keep up the support.  Whatever it takes, though, I will be following this dream, following this path, following this new-kindled passion.

Mother Fast is still going

I've been very lax about posting on the subject of the Fast lately.  Sorry about that, folks!  Anyway, tomorrow is another Fast day--I think this month is on fast forward, no pun intended--and it's the one immediately preceding General Conference.  I've heard murmurs that I find encouraging, rumors that the welfare and place and role of women is of special concern and priority among the highest echelons of Church authority, even higher than LGBTQ issues.  These are second or third-hand rumors, so I can't substantiate them at all, but I can hope that it's true and that perhaps Mother is making Herself known among the Twelve and First Presidency.
So, by way of reminder, let us concentrate our hopes, thoughts, desires, devotions, prayers, and fasting toward  "Something official from the Quorum of the Twelve and/or the First Presidency giving clear, concise, revealed knowledge about the role, powers, duties, nature, and attributes of Goddess, in the form of a declaration, proclamation, or inspired Conference talk(s)."

Happy fasting. :)