(As told by Norman the Mormon, hat tip to Shel Silverstein)
Mild Molly Mormon, quoth her first cousin Norman,
Grew up as good Church members do.
She was always in meetings, exchanging hail greetings
Preparing for ol’ BYU.
And while in her youth, the Church teachings, forsooth,
Played sweetly upon her young heartstrings, their truth
Suffused with real beauty and goodness, indeed,
Met her soul’s greatest longing and spiritual need.
But our church is much more than just Jesus and verity,
King Benjamin’s sermon, Mormon’s faith, hope, and charity.
“And that is where Mild Molly’s problems they started
As you will soon see,” Norman sniffed, heavy-hearted.
Now Molly was jolly and always said golly
When Church leaders taught her just so,
To submit, to permit, to lovingly flit
Where the wise menfolk told her to go.
Her roles they were clear, she must never appear
To question their priesthood, well that would be least good
For such a sweet beautiful dear.
Young Molly was taught that for good Mormon women
Saying no to requests was a no-no.
Never “no” to helping or favors, save sex,
Then no up till marriage, then go-go!
Her skirts she wore long and her tops were demure
She knew she must keep the boys’ thoughts clean and pure.
Her duty, you see, to those poor men-to-be
Was not to become walking pornography.
But at church Mild Molly soon started to feel
Like a truly unneeded, unnoticed, unheeded, leftover 3rd bicycle wheel.
As the boys grew in stature though not very mature,
They nonetheless captured their power,
In serving the Lord and in helping the ward
While wee Molly remained a wallflower.
But then the day came, with such thoughts in remission,
That Molly could now claim her turn for a mission.
She thought, “At long last, I can serve as my brothers
Who God seems to like more than sisters and mothers.”
But her trip to the temple, though sacred and simple
Full of covenant goodness and spiritual symbols
Crashed down on her poor tender heart.
There’s big Brother, but no Mother,
To the males, I’m the “Other”,
For Eve’s sin seems to set me apart.
Treading out of the temple, her grief it was ample,
Tears streaming saw not where she trod.
Slipped and fell, and the Fall was the clearest example
That she convenanted with man and not God.
She sat down on the curb, the deep dissonance disturbed
Her conception of all that was real.
“I’m all out of luck, I seem such a schmuck!”,
As still sobbing she screamed wtf.
“I’m tired of this trope, I’ll go near the new Pope
Whose loving compassion I view.
I hear and have hope that it’s not rope-a-dope,
But gospel enduring and true.”
Then on to the Buddha though he be mostly nude, a
Reflection of serenity.
From there to the Krishna who may grant her wish, not
To be denied soul remedy.
And finally agnostic, not bitter nor caustic,
She peacefully did come to be.
The dark night of the soul, though it took her from church
Gave her strength to grow up and be she.
And then from far off, loving leaders they came
Though perplexed by her journey they called out in God’s name.
“Her soul we will save, from hell’s portal fast we’ll whisk
Though she foolishly wanders, her immortal*.”
“‘Tis folly, Mild Molly, to follow these hollow,
Unfortunate, questioning views.
Are you sinful or lazy or just plain old crazy,
What keeps you from sharing our pews?”
Mild Molly, to her credit, though she need not have said it
so darn patient and so lovingly,
Explained to these men that what broke her heart then
Was their heaven did not seem heavenly.
“In my soul, what I know, as I change and I grow,
Is that there is some Something divine
Who does not feel nervous if I lead or give service
equal to all those brothers of mine.”
“So now you can see,” noted Norman to me,
“What drives girls such as Molly away.
‘Though all,’ teaches God, ‘are alike unto me,’
Till the Church learns it they just won’t stay.”