By all appearances, I was a modesty success story as a teenager. For whatever reason, I was naturally inclined to cover up, squeamish even about changing in front of friends, and by 16 I was, without much prodding, essentially dressing for BYU and, later, garments. I owned no skirts above the knee, nothing too tight, nothing sleeveless, and, through the throes of the 90s midriff craze I layered colorful tank tops under my shirts to ensure no one saw a flash of my stomach.
Did you spend your weekend on General Conference?
Encouraged by Primary, I grew up imagining God like my father: brilliant and impressive, but with a lively sense of humor and a deep affection for me; he could alternate easily between interviews with distinguished newspapers and a chatty phone conversation with me about whatever was on my mind. I felt close to my dad, growing up, in part because he was a loving father who dedicated time to his children and in part because we are so similar in personality—we make the same jokes, have the same competitive streak, and geek out about some of the same topics. I’m lucky in this, but I was comfortable and happy with the idea of a heavenly father, thanks to the example of my own. “Divine nature” made sense to me, and it was easy for me to take my concerns to God in prayer, in the same way I’d take my thoughts about an interesting math problem to my earthly father.
Then I went to the temple. Continue reading
The Bloggernacle has always been a competitive place—witness the fiercely contested Niblets—so it’s about time we added some formality to our favorite way of proving we’re better than everyone else: the comments section.
Want to compete, but specialize in a particular style of obnoxious commenting? Never fear; with multiple events, the Comment Olympics offer a way for everyone to win gold! You can try:
- Wrestling with your trials (which are so much larger than everyone else’s)
- Shooting down others’ attempts to talk about their problems
- Boxing someone else into a corner
- Sailing through conversations without really listening
- Cycling through the same old arguments again
- Swimming in your tears over other people’s unrighteous choices
- Skating on thin ice of people’s limited tolerance
- Curling your lip in disdain, then rapidly trying to turn it into a fake-nice smile
- Mental gymnastics
- And, of course, the passive-aggressive triathlon: sulk, blame, run.
Start training today!
Trigger warning: feminism.
This is a talk I gave in my ward at the end of January.
My husband grew up backpacking, and it was one of the conditions of our marriage that I would learn to backpack too. I do it now, and occasionally even enjoy it, but it’s definitely a stretch to say that I’m good at it or love it as wholeheartedly as Mike.
I say this by way of prefacing a personal story, so that you understand the context when I tell you that once, last summer in Yosemite, I was nearly defeated by a large boulder field at the end of a long day climbing mountains with a heavy backpack.
This the second part of a series in which my friend ajbc gives her personal, long-winded, and rambling answers to each LDS temple question, since the actual interviews do not allow for elaborate discussion. The first post is here.
It’s taken me a while to get to this second post, in part because I didn’t like part of my answer to the last one. I wrote that I was most comfortable praying to a male or joint-gender god due to my upbringing, and I’m happy to report that I am now equally comfortable praying to Heavenly Mother as I am to Heavenly Father. I’ve even had one of my Teyve-style (out loud, casual) prayers to/with her in the celestial room, which, by the way, is my all-time favorite part of serving in the temple–getting the room completely to yourself.
The other reason I’ve been putting this off is because I wrote an answer to the second question a while ago, and was thoroughly unsatisfied with it. It wasn’t that I was inarticulate (nothing can help me there, save an editor), but that I didn’t like what I had to say. I’ve been so focused on God in general and also with particular issues with the LDS Church that I had neglected the more middle-ground of Christianity. Thus, I did some soul-searching, found some peace, and am now ready to answer #2.
My friend ajbc is writing a series of posts on how she would answer the temple recommend interview questions given unlimited nuance, honesty, reflection, and time. I thought these would be interesting to cross-post on ZD to start the conversation: how would you answer the questions if you were being fully transparent beyond your yes/no answer?
The LDS temple interview is an interesting process to me. We’re expected to give relatively short answers to fifteen questions, but I feel like some of them require more elaborate answers. For the sake of the interviewers, I spare them the ten-hour monologue that would be required to give them the full picture of my faith. While I’ve thought through each of the fifteen questions, I’ve wanted to record a written answer to each of them. This is the first post in a series in which I will answer each with varying degrees of verbosity.
Question 1: Do you have faith in and a testimony of God the Eternal Father, His Son Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost?
I have faith in God; my most honest prayers are Teyve-style. I do not know if God is male, female, both, or neither, but I’ve prayed to each one. Because of my upbringing, praying to a male or joint-gender god (Heavenly Mother and Father) is most comfortable for me. More fundamentally, I do not know that God exists, but I have had experiences that feel like they come from a divine source. I have prayed particularly about the existence and nature of deity, and received ambiguous (but comforting) experiences that allow my otherwise hyper-rational self to have faith in God, without firm knowledge of his/her/its existence or nature. I don’t know if God is embodied, but I find that perfectly reasonable, given that I hope for an embodied afterlife. I am comfortable talking about my faith in God and its complexities (as made obvious by this post), and consider that to qualify as a testimony.
My faith in Jesus Christ is inherently tied to my understanding of the Atonement, so I’ll leave most of my discussion of that for the next post. I believe that Jesus lived as a real person, and taught the principles, if not the same parables, that are recorded in the gospels. I believe that it’s possible that he is the son of God as we are all children of God, but that he played the role of Savior, advocating on our behalves and acting in some sort of pre- and post-mortal leadership role. While my faith in God is stronger than my faith in a divine Jesus Christ (the former is intrinsically more general), I would be comfortable explaining the gospel of Christ and testifying of the role it has played in my life.
While the Holy Ghost is arguable the member of the Godhead with whom we are in most direct contact, I feel that I know the least about him/her/it. The Holy Ghost could have some connection to Heavenly Mother, but my hunch is that she is too important to play spiritual courier and instead conveys her love and messages to us through the Holy Ghost, as does Heavenly Father. I’ve never prayed about the Holy Ghost–I think of it more as a medium for spiritual communication than something I need to ask God about. It’s a little like calling your folks up and asking, “Can you tell me that this phone is working?” after you’ve asked “Are you there?” Thus, my faith in and testimony of the Holy Ghost is very much wrapped up in my faith in God, as I think it’s supposed to be.
For doctrine relating to the Godhead or anything else, I strongly prefer to keep any of my now rare proclamations of spiritual witness or testimony (of this or any doctrine) to audiences eager to hear such affirmations. On the other hand, I am much more comfortable talking about my pragmatic involvement in the LDS church.
In the end, my simple answer to this question is “Yes,” sparing the poor interviewers my long-windedness every two years–they probably would rather be home with their kids.
Hi, my name is Petra and I’m not needed in the Church.
No, seriously: I don’t have any special skills that no one else in my ward could provide; I’m not building the kingdom by bearing children; and I don’t contribute to the basic functions of the ward by performing ordinances or conducting or organizing meetings, or even activities. I serve in a calling, and I try to be helpful, but since anyone else could do what I do, I’m not needed. If I stopped going to church it would pretty much be business as usual.
I’m not really needed in my family, either. My parents love me but they have other children, and my husband loves me but could have married someone else or been happy single. (He was pretty happy for 26 years before I came along, after all.)
Does this sound like a giant pity party I’m throwing in this post? I hope not. I don’t need to be needed, in my family or in the church. Even if they could function without me, my ward wants me (I hope!) because I’m willing to serve, because I positively contribute, and because they like me. And even if they could function without me, my family wants me (I hope!) because I’m willing to serve, because I positively contribute, and because they love me.
My contributions to my church and family aren’t unique or exclusive to me, but I still like to think they matter, and I matter because I do them. If I woke up one morning and suddenly announced that I was leaving the church because someone else could be a Sunday School teacher, or that I was leaving my husband because he could do the laundry himself without my help, I’d be decried as selfish and short-sighted. I’d be sacrificing good things that make me happy–my church and family relationships–simply for the sake of feeling uniquely needed, and I’d be overlooking the many places I’m wanted, and the many places I can contribute, in favor of the one special role only I can fill.
That isn’t my attitude to my ward or family, though, luckily. I know that just because I’m not needed doesn’t mean I’m not wanted. I may not be needed, but that doesn’t mean I can’t serve. Anyone else can teach my Sunday School class, but that doesn’t diminish the service I offer. My husband can do the laundry himself, but it still shows my love when I do it. The fact that someone else could take over the vast majority of my service doesn’t mean that it’s not valuable when I do it, and doesn’t mean that I should quit showing up and offering it.
So tell me: why are we making that argument for male-only priesthood?
Matthew 5:28-30 for our times:
But I say unto you, That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.
And if her right thigh offend thee, police her hemlines and cast her from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of your sisters should kneel down to check her skirt length before entering a stake dance, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.
And if her right shoulder offend thee, teach her from age four to cover herself: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy sisters should spend her life uncomfortably conscious of her potential for becoming walking pornography, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.
First of all: that it’s fine to have them, that they don’t just have to be a backup plan, that work and motherhood can be compatible, and that there’s nothing wrong for a teenager to dream of having it all.
(That’s a lot of things for a “first of all,” I know, but those have all been covered a million times in a million other places. Bear with me.)
Second of all: you don’t have to become a teacher or nurse just to get flexibility. My YW program growing up did an excellent job telling me I could work outside the home, which I appreciate–and which I know is unusual for a YW program–but the examples they always showed me, whether through their own jobs or career nights, were teaching, nursing, and other traditionally female jobs. Recently, wondering if that was unique to my YW program, I read through the old manuals looking for specific examples of women with jobs. The results? Teacher, nurse, babysitter, and seamstress. (I haven’t read all of the new manuals yet, but from what I’ve seen I doubt they repeat this trend, if only because they’re so much less specific.)
Let me be very clear: there is nothing wrong with those jobs. Continue reading
This is an ever-so-slightly revised and edited version of a church talk I gave in 2009; I recently stumbled across it in my cluttered email inbox and felt the urge to share. Hat tip to a post at BCC (I think by Kevin Barney) that started me on this train of thought.
Let’s start with something about me: I have been a church-attending Mormon all my life. let’s calculate, for a minute, what that means, besides a closet full of skirts and a knowledge of all the verses to “I Believe in Christ”: I have taken the sacrament to renew my baptismal covenants approximately 782 times–17 years since my baptism, at 46 Sundays a year. (52, minus two Sundays for General Conference and two for stake conferences and two more for vacation Sundays or simply arriving at church late. I didn’t say I’ve been a perfectly church-attending Mormon all my life!) That, my friends, is a lot of times to do something and still not quite understand or enjoy it.
I mean, I know all the Sunday School answers about the sacrament–I have, after all, attended Primary, seminary, and Sunday School far more than just 782 times–and I’m sure I don’t have to rehearse them for you all here: the sacrament is about remembering Jesus, taking His name, and renewing our baptismal covenants. I know the symbolism of the bread, the symbolism of the water, the symbolism of the white cloth; I know the prayers–heck, I know them in several languages–and most of all, I know what I’m supposed to do: sit quietly and think of Christ. Yet this whole experience, more often than not, is a mystery for me, as great as the mystery of the Atonement itself. Continue reading
I have a job where I occasionally have to work on Sundays. When I do, I can work from anywhere, because all I need is my laptop and an internet connection. My weekend work is rote work that doesn’t take much thought; generally, I listen to books on tape or watch TV, and the work I’m doing is only a minimal distraction from those things. Nowadays my weekend work hours are flexible, but for the first year I was on a strict schedule of 8am-4pm, which, of course, included the hours I would normally be at church.
All of this is background to my discussion question: in this situation, do you think I should go to church? I can take my laptop and work there; my work is quiet (no typing) and I can sit in the back so my computer isn’t a major distraction to others. This wouldn’t be a weekly thing (more like once every 3-4 months). This way, I’d get to take the sacrament and listen to the talks and lessons, since my work isn’t much distraction, and I would fulfill my Sunday habit of going to church. (Whatever private heterodoxies I might entertain, I am committed to attending church regularly.)
On the minus side, it’s incredibly rude to the speakers to be seen with a laptop during the meeting, as it appears that I’m not listening (though appearances may be deceiving, since my work takes so little of my attention). It also makes a bad impression or example for the other ward members, who may not get the benefit of a full explanation from me. It also means that my attention isn’t fully focused on the talks and lessons, and it means I’m less available for fellowship with other ward members, since I’m busy working (and have to head home afterwards).
I’m not going to say yet what I’ve chosen to do, but I’m curious: which do you think is choosing the better part? If you were in this situation, would you go to church?
Or, What The Media Doesn’t Mention About Mormons in Business
The Economist recently published an article about the prevalence of Mormons among successful businesspeople, and it’s certainly not the first publication to do so; there’s an entire book dedicated to the so-called “Mormon Way of Doing Business.” (Are we, as a people, really so prevalent in the top echelons of business? And here I thought Mormons were all lawyers, dentists, and podiatrists!) These articles have all noticed a peculiar correlation out there in the wild world of business, one that goes a little bit like this: Continue reading
I’ve been married for a little over two years now and I don’t have any children yet. I realize that isn’t unusual, even in Mormonism, and no one around me has put any pressure on me to start, with the possible exception of my mother, who I am pretty sure is joking. Mostly.
I’m sure we’ll have children eventually, though I’m a little less sure I can articulate the reasons why: we’d be good parents, at least to an emotionally tough child; people who have children seem to enjoy them; they’re the future, my genes are fantastic and deserve to be passed on, etc etc. This has been in my mind a lot lately, though: why aren’t we having them (or even thinking about having them) now? We’re in our late twenties, healthy, in a good marriage, and financially stable. In some ways, timing really couldn’t get better. Continue reading
The first time I ever watched or listened to a session of General Conference was my freshman year at BYU. And no, I’m not a convert.
Growing up, since we didn’t have cable TV and lived outside of Utah, our only option for watching conference was a TV at the stake center. I’m sure many of you did (and do) this, but, for whatever reason, my mom wasn’t into the idea, and my dad, always more than happy to skip church, didn’t object. (I seem to remember my mom once saying something about resenting the idea of getting dressed up to watch TV, but I may just be projecting.) Continue reading
It’s not quite General Conference time yet, but the semi-annual marriage question has arisen early this fall. After last April’s Conference, the Salt Lake Tribune popped the question; this time, it’s in the Sacramento Bee, of all places. The Exponent has talked about it lately, and after a fireside with Elder Oaks on Sunday night, my Facebook feed has exploded with discussion. It’s the old menace-to-society dilemma: as the Tribute put it, why are young LDS men pushing back marriage? Continue reading
I was recently called as my ward’s early-morning seminary teacher. I’ll pause to let you all wince.
There are many challenges to this calling, but, to my surprise, waking up at 5:15 AM is not the greatest challenge. (This isn’t to say it’s the smallest challenge, either; I’m not a morning person, at all, and I freely admit to having some very un-Christian feelings in my heart–and words in my mouth–when that alarm goes off.) Continue reading