Priesthood Frustration

A few weeks ago I was sitting in Sacrament and someone got up to give a talk about priesthood. Honestly the whole thing just made me angry and I ended up leaving the room. It’s not that the speaker said anything particularly offensive or that they said anything necessarily inaccurate. It was that there was so much unsaid. And I understand that not everything on any topic can be said in 10-15 minutes…. It just came across so very rote, careless and blasé. Also, I understand not everyone is an amazing public speaker or gospel scriptorian, and obviously they had no intention of causing offense. However…

A lot of the ways the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-say Saints discusses the concept of priesthood and priesthood power and priesthood authority are changing. But they are changing slowly and in such a way that it often leaves people uncertain of how to reconcile old ways of thinking with new ways of thinking. Speaking from experience, it can even cause anger, confusion, doubt and depression. Which means your basic talk over the pulpit does little to address new ways of thinking. Most likely because it feels safe, and understood, unlikely to stand out, and with little chance of accidentally saying something wrong. And we have the tendency to avoid confronting our doubts or confusion publicly.

But this also does nothing to engage discussion or learning regarding those new aspects. It does nothing to change church culture. It does nothing to enable people to better understand and connect to the topic of the priesthood. The old rhetoric isn’t necessarily wrong, but it is incomplete. And it’s hard to discuss the new when you don’t fully understand it yourself. But how do we come to a state of understanding it and living it (as a whole, as a church, as a culture), if we don’t talk about it?

To say “only men hold the priesthood” without saying anything else to clarify the statement, is to deny the priesthood power available to women and children alike. Which at this point is damaging, in my opinion.

And to discuss only the priesthood of men without acknowledging the priesthood power of women, is also damaging, in my opinion. But by the same token, when people try to acknowledge that women have access to priesthood power it is usually in such a passing and fleeting way that it does little more than make it sound like a trivial, not doctrinally impactful, almost inconsequential after thought. Or just lip service. Which is just as damaging.

Omission is a powerful thing. Lack of balance is a powerful thing. And balance is difficult.

I remember in college hearing advice not to describe your children as “Jimmy is smart and Suzie is funny.” Because all your children hear is “I am not smart like Jimmy.” Or “I am not funny like Suzie.” And I think we forget the same phenomenon happens to us as adults. To say “fathers have the priesthood and mothers are nurturing” is to imply that men are not nurturing and mothers don’t have the priesthood. Is that really the message we want people hearing, feeling?

That’s hard advice to act on, because the sentiment in between the lines is usually closer to “Jimmy’s most obvious trait is that he is smart and Susie’s most obvious trait is that she is funny.” We don’t intend to say they don’t have both traits, or that they are incapable of either, or that they are any less because of their differences. And that is an easy way to translate that statement about mothers and fathers too. “Fathers more visibly utilize the priesthood, and mothers more visibly nurture” perhaps would be more accurate to say. 

Realistically I guess this is just one of those moments of Emily getting on a soap box about how words matter, and how we use them matter.. But I still maintain that if we were all a little more purposeful in how we speak, we would all be better understood and feel more understood.

A while ago I heard someone in a podcast point out that it is wrong to say “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only church with the whole or complete truth. Other churches have truth but they are incomplete.” By the very nature of believing in prophets and modern day revelation we are acknowledging that our church is also incomplete because it can still be added to at any time. The 9th article of faith reads “We believe all that God has revealed, all that He does now reveal, and we believe that He will yet reveal many great and important things pertaining to the Kingdom of God.” So let’s not forget to acknowledge and teach the things being revealed, even if it is easier to focus on the things revealed a long time ago. Sometimes that’s the only thing that keeps me going. That there is yet to be revealed.

“Pray Away the Gay”

Someone asked me the other day if I thought anyone has ever received a “cure” for being gay by praying for it to be so. I said probably not. Or at least not in the way people traditionally think. And I hope to explain better.

I think in reality that’s a hard question to answer. Obviously it’s a big wide world, and how different people perceive the idea of a “cure” obviously varies widely. When I first tackled the subject of my sexuality as a teenager, I certainly tried the “pray away the gay” approach. And there was a time when I would have told you it worked. But what I eventually realized was that what praying about it did for me, was begin to take away the anxiety that surrounded it. I say begin because I certainly made more progress with that in later years. I’m sure I still have progress to make.

My experience went something like this. I prayed about it. It didn’t go away. I prayed some more, it didn’t go away. So I studied, and I read talks and scriptures and I prayed some more. And I eventually came to the conclusion that God loved me as I was, and if he could love me as I was, I should be able to love me as I was too. 

And when I came to that realization, it felt like a weight was lifted from my shoulders. And I thought, “my prayer has been answered.” Because the weight was gone. But what was the weight? Was the weight feeling attracted to women, or was the weight how it made me question God’s love for me, and therefore my own love for myself? The prayer that was answered was that I felt loved again. I felt whole again. I felt at peace. And I could stop stressing and thinking about only one thing. I could be a whole person again with ten different things on my plate to think about without obsessing over any one aspect. 

The next logical question in this discussion, is whether God is even capable of “curing” how a gay person feels. Obviously everyone would answer this question differently. And I obviously don’t seek to offend.. I guess my first step in discussing this would be to define the word “cure.”

Traditionally we think of a cure as being a solution to a problem. Something that restores a person to the peak of health. Something that makes you normal again. 

So the fact that we talk about this in the context of homosexuality means that being gay is defined as a problem, something that deteriorates “health” or normalcy.

Well, what is homosexuality? A love and attraction for the same sex, yes? I don’t think that’s the problem. I mean, realistically, we’ve been commanded to “love” everyone, right? So what is the problem? I suppose the problem forms when you face making the decision as to whether or not to act on those feelings. In reality it’s only a “problem” when how you feel encourages you to act contrary to your values. So whether or not you view this as a problem depends on your values. So what is the “cure” in this scenario then? If feeling love and attraction isn’t the problem, but wanting to act on it is? With that perspective, a “cure” would not actually be a change in who I am or how I feel, but rather a change in whether or not I want to act on it. Right? I know that’s not a perfect answer for a lot of people.

The person I was discussing this with expressed the concern for what it would mean if God COULD “cure” homosexuality. Would a loving and just God willingly change who you are? What about agency? What about identity? 

I am personally of the camp that God cannot change who we are, or what we think. Nor would he even if he could. However, I think he can help us feel things that lead us to understanding. I think he can help us find meaning in the circumstances around us that lead us to new perspectives. I think he is a teacher and a guide that enables us to better discover and experience things for ourselves. I also think he can buoy us with strength when we feel ill equipped for the task at hand. But he does not force change we are unable to abide by. 

Someone said something interesting at church last Sunday regarding the commandment to “Be ye therefore perfect.” Replace the word “perfect” with the word “whole.” Through Christ we can be made “whole.” Now, when you think of being made perfect, you think of erasing all the mistakes and bad things so that the end result can be perfect. But when you think of the word “whole,” you don’t actually think of taking anything away. You think of adding to it, in order to make it perfectly whole again. And honestly, does something have to be perfect or rather cookie-cutter in order to be “whole”? I would say no. So then, the question becomes, how can we be added to, to make us whole if we don’t assume that aspects of ourselves need to be removed in order to be like Him? I think it’s a lot more wholesome to be reminded that there is more we can add to ourselves, instead of trying to think of what parts of ourselves should be removed to be “cured” of our perceived “imperfections.”

For me, I might say the “cure” was learning to love myself. And not just learning to love my gay self, but learning to love lots of aspects of myself. I remembered that I am not just a few parts. There are many parts to who I am, and all of them are needed to make me a whole, rounded human being. I could say so many things on this subject here that I fear I am oversimplifying and neglecting the various sides of this coin.

But I just wanted to say that being gay is not a disease that needs to be cured. It is not a problem that needs to be fixed. And praying for a “cure” to any trial is more likely to lead to an improved self understanding and a new perspective than a removal of what we are experiencing. Regardless of what the trial may be.

Coming Out vs Letting In

I recently observed a conversation where someone openly, and more importantly, unabashedly shared that they take antidepressants. I can’t exactly describe what about the moment was meaningful, but everything about that moment was seared into my memory. Their facial expression and the tone of their voice when they said it, and their apparent no-nonsense, calm and relaxed and confident attitude. A sense of gratitude even. There’s some adjectives missing there but I’m not sure what. But it was a wonderful moment. And maybe it didn’t mean anything for that person, but I hope it served as an equally important moment for other people observing this moment. I think that example of being unashamed is one that people need.

But what strikes me the most about this ties in well with a quote I came across the other day that was actually regarding the process of coming out as gay. It was along the lines of “it’s less about ‘coming out’ and more about letting people in.” And that rang really true for me. When I have shared personal details about my life with people, from abuse to indiscretions, to my sexuality, to religious doubts, its always been less about getting the information out there, and more about letting people past the walls to have hopes of a genuine relationship. 

I think one of the best things we can do for ourselves is to be unashamedly ourselves. I say that and yet I also know I have been called out for being too blunt. Certainly there is always room for growth and improvement while in that endeavor, but I just think that we can acknowledge we have flaws that could be improved, without being ashamed of them. 

I remember someone talking once about how they have multiple versions of themselves. Work-them versus church-them versus them-when-they-hang-out-with-Susie versus them-when-they-hang-out-with-Jane etc. I remember thinking that it sounded exhausting. And sure, while there are varying levels of depth with any one relationship… “the people I only talk about work with” versus “the people I make awkward small-talk with” versus “the people I have genuine conversations with” I hope it’s always still just the same old me every time. (Granted, there’s some wiggle room here. Because obviously some people bring out different aspects of our personalities more than others. But I think that’s less about controlling what side of ourselves people see, and more about being naturally amplified. If that makes sense.)

But there are few things as powerful as when you know you are witnessing one of those moments where people are “coming out” —or rather, are letting people in. I can’t think of very many things that make me feel as honored, as when I’m able to be in one of those moments with other people.

I had an experience once where I ran into a couple from church at a fast-food place. They sat down with me for a while and we chatted. I sort of knew the wife from church but had not publicly spent any time with the husband. That sounds awkward. And it was a little awkward. I knew the husband because we both attended the same addiction recovery program. Even if it wasn’t personal, he and I had both witnessed moments with each other of “coming out” or “letting people in.” Those raw, vulnerable sort of moments. But it meant that he felt safe being unabashedly himself with me. Which very clearly made the wife wonder what was going on, and what kind of secret history he and I might have had because that was not normal for him with someone he “didn’t know”. And officially he “didn’t know me.” I messaged her privately immediately after this encounter to share that I attended ARP because I knew he wasn’t going to tell her where he knew me, due to the whole anonymity of the program and all. And I didn’t want her feeling uncomfortable about the encounter. She immediately understood, and it relieved all the awkward tension lol. Interestingly enough, it also made it easier for the wife to be unabashedly herself with me too after that I think. Although she also wasn’t a very “abashed” type to begin with.

But isn’t that an interesting phenomenon to note? Even though he and I had never really spoken one-on-one before, we could be genuine with each other because we had a shared history of being genuine. Just seems like one of those things that if we all “came out” a little more often, we could help others amplify their ability to “come out” too. And we’d all have a bigger pool of people that we let in—if we all created a shared history of being unashamedly ourselves.

Mustard Seed

The last month or two I have been thinking about the concept of faith, the size of a mustard seed. What does that mean?

I’ll reference the most familiar scripture for this visual:

“….For verify I say unto you, If ye have ​​​faith​ as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this ​​​mountain​, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be ​​​impossible​ unto you.”

Matthew 17:20

I’ve always felt like there were two ways to interpret this scripture. The first being that even with faith as small, meek, underwhelming and seemingly insignificant as a single mustard seed, you may have the power to move mountains and nothing will be impossible. 

The second would be to interpret this scripture as a reference to the great magnificent potential of a mustard seed. Though it starts out small, if the conditions are right, that small seed can grow into a large tree. So does that mean that this scripture is instead referring to the great potential you have with just a little faith, and that as it grows nothing will be impossible? 

When are the impossible things possible? When can we move mountains? When our faith is but a mustard seed, or is it a promise that the impossible will be possible when it has grown from that humble beginning?

A week or so ago, I lost my car keys. Not just in my house or in my car or wherever, but in a grove of bamboo, 20 minutes away from home. I searched and I searched. And my kids searched. And a friend’s kids searched. And my friend searched, and I searched again and we all searched some more. She suggested we say a prayer. I admit I felt a bit jaded and apathetic about the idea. But the thought I had was that perhaps she had the faith necessary for that to work even if I did not. 

We didn’t find the keys. My frustration grew, but still a sense of apathy mixed in. It felt a bit like just one more trial being dumped on top of a pile of other things that have happened recently and I just didn’t have the emotional energy to spend on being upset about yet another thing. I try not to get upset about things that aren’t really in my control anyway.

After mostly having given up, I let my husband know he needed to come rescue us with another set of keys. Which was a pain because he would have to go walk to the car repair place because he had just dropped our van off to be fixed (another one of those things that has gone wrong lately). There was a part of me even then that thought, maybe he will be able to find the keys. His faith is greater than mine. And we tend to find each other’s lost things anyway. 

But I decided to go give it one last chance to look for the keys. In a quiet and solitary moment, I decided I should say my own prayer, with a quiet and humble “Lord, I believe. Help thou mine unbelief.” And I found the keys within a minute or two after. And it was one of those moments that reaffirmed, that our faith does not have to be perfect for miracles to happen. God only asks that we extend the effort. Knock, and it shall be opened unto you. 

But at the same time, in reflecting on the moment even just a few moments later, it is amazing how easy it is to dismiss those miracles. We give scriptural characters such a hard time for dismissing the miracles they observed. But we do it too. Surely my keys were there the whole time and I would have found them eventually with or without any heavenly intervention (although I swear I had looked there before without any luck). And surely, even without having said the prayer, I could have looked in that same spot and found the keys with or without prayer. Surely it was just a coincidence and it would have happened even without prayer. It is just that easy to wash away the spiritual significance of moments that pass by. 

I found myself thinking once again, that I relate in so many ways, to the scriptural characters that were filled with doubt and disbelief, more than any prophet or amazing saint. They were just people. Real people with real flaws and weaknesses. 

If nothing else, this mental image presented to us of the “mustard seed” indicates that God does not ask us to be mighty spiritual pillars right now. We can come as we are, regardless of where we are in the journey, regardless of the size of our faith, regardless of our strength or endurance. He will take us as we are, and he can pick up the slack if we let him, if we ask for help, and if we act.

I’m a distracted sort. I’m not a great gardener because I do not water things every day. But I try. I planted some seeds a while back and neglected them for a while before deciding to go ahead and re-commit to watering them. Some of the seeds never sprouted. I guess they didn’t appreciate my neglect. But some of those seeds still sprouted despite my initial neglect. It made me think, some seeds once planted can lie dormant and wait for the proper care and attention. While others die if not immediately nourished. I’m inclined to think that our faith is something that can lie dormant sometimes. Like a tree that lies dormant in winter but comes back in full strength every spring when conditions are right.

I’m grateful for the reminders that we are not alone, even if things don’t go according to plan.

Remembering Jamie

Every now and then there’s a slightly awkward moment for people when my kids bring up their little brother Jamie. A look of confusion crosses people’s faces when it dawns on them that I don’t have a son named Jamie. And I think sometimes people feel like they’ve stumbled into an intimate family secret they weren’t prepared for, and don’t feel privy to. Kids do have the tendency to do that. But I don’t do secrets. We found out that we had lost Jamie just a couple weeks after announcing it to our immediate family, back in 2019. My kids knew, so hiding it or keeping it a secret simply wasn’t an option anyway. And I never wanted my kids to feel like our family had secrets we didn’t talk about, so I have never discouraged them from talking about it. At the time, I felt I had to find ways to memorialize the baby we had all lost. And give everyone closure, not just myself. 

Part of that was giving the baby a name. We didn’t even know the gender when we lost Jamie. Which is why we chose a name that was fairly gender-non-specific. But my kids have mostly decided for themselves that it was a boy, and I don’t feel the need to point out that we don’t really know. Obviously it was hardest the first few months when both my feelings and the children’s feelings frequently had to coexist. Abby frequently asked questions like “how many months will the baby spend in heaven?” And “when will Jamie get to come home?” And Adam, my very tender hearted little boy was pretty sad about it initially too. 

I decided to make a fairy garden in honor of Jamie. In my heart at the time, I imagined my kids playing with the garden and it would sort of symbolize playing with Jamie. A way for Jamie to be in our family. I put a copy of the ultrasound picture in an album of family photos that the kids sometimes look at during the first hour of church on Sundays. It just felt important to remember Jamie, and help my kids feel connected in some way. I wanted Jamie’s existence to feel real instead of something intangible and unreal. 

That fairy garden is in a very large pot and only recently made its way to our new home. And I have been feeling the need to tend to it, and add new plants. That might have to wait a while but still, I just wanted to say, that healing from trauma doesn’t mean forgetting it ever happened. Instead, healing from trauma is finding a way to move through the pain (and not skipping past it). Finding a way to interact with it despite the triggers, in a way that allows you to keep moving forward. And I find it often involves love. Perhaps primarily being able to find love for yourself. But also love for and from others, love from God, love with patience, love with the willingness to fumble.

Shameless Scars

 I don’t often talk about the subject of self harm because I don’t feel qualified to represent all who have experience with it. And explaining my own experience is difficult to put in words. However, it’s been a nagging thought in the back of my mind for several months now, so we’ll see what I can come up with.

I have a shirt from a group called “To Write Love On Her Arms” which is a suicide/depression/self harm awareness group. Often when I wear it I get blank stares of “what does that even mean” or I get “I love your shirt” or I get people who ask me questions, and I get people who glance away and feign ignorance. But the most unexpected response I’ve ever gotten was actually from someone close to me. I’d already explained the shirt to them, but they were around when someone else asked about the shirt and instead of letting me answer this person chimed in to answer for me. They said something simple along the lines of “it’s for people who self harm” but it was said with such a tone of disgust I admit it was one of the few identifiable moments in my life that I was left speechless. Like “ew, THOSE people.” I don’t honestly think this person meant any offense to me personally. And realistically I don’t even think they ever considered the possibility that me wearing the shirt might imply I had any personal experience with self harm.. but it definitely took me aback.

Now, granted, had I never heard of self harm, had I not found friends who engaged in it, I might never have done it. So I understand to some extent, some hesitancy regarding speaking out about the subject. Because while helping some, you may unknowingly introduce others to a new trial. But realistically, that’s just not something that can be avoided in this day and age. And people who aren’t mentally healthy that don’t get any help, usually struggle in some way or another regardless of what they’ve been introduced to in regards to this subject.

But what I don’t understand, is the almost prideful taboo and prejudice against people who experience this trial, almost as though they are a different class of people. I don’t personally take any offense at this idea because it seems too ludicrous to consider worth my hurt feelings.. but it’s just not a helpful attitude. On what planet does anyone think that shaming people who self-harm will make them any more mentally healthy, or any less likely to self harm?

And it’s something that is perpetuated in so many ways. I can’t even identify how we learn these attitudes, but everyone is familiar with the culture of shame regarding scars from cutting. People who wear long sleeves or never wear shorts, or  get tattoos to cover up old scars. And when you see someone’s eyes glance at your scars there’s an immediate shame reflex. Cover it with your hand, fold your arms, pull your sleeve back down, cross your legs, what have you. And then verbally deflect away from the conversation. Make excuses. Pretend it never happened or doesn’t mean what people think it means.

But my question is why? I mean, not that I’m encouraging or supporting the habit. But shame just doesn’t help anything. I shouldn’t have to look back at old scars and feel shame. I can feel sadness when I think back about how I felt back then. I can feel regret about not seeking a therapist. I can even feel triggered to some extent by those old memories. But shame? I don’t want that. I won’t be helped by that.

The last time that I was struggling with self harm… I remember talking to someone about it and one of their excuses for why I shouldn’t do it was based in shame. Something along the lines of “You don’t want to be stuck with the scars. You won’t want yourself or other people to see them” I understand the sentiment and I don’t fault that person for saying it at all, and sure, sometimes I wish I could wish away the reminders, but it was also not an effective argument and didn’t stop me. It just meant that I put a little more effort into ensuring people wouldn’t see them. And honestly, the whole idea is backwards. While I’m not going to attempt explaining why I have cut myself at this time, I will say that part of it has to do with making feelings tangible. Especially as a teenager. Making them real. Making them seen. Acknowledging them. Feeling them when you don’t know how else to feel them. So the idea of hiding the tangible expression that came about because of how unseen I felt, so it remains unseen? There’s some disturbing irony in that. That’s an environment ripe for relapse.

We need to fight back against shame. Inner shame, and shaming others. One of the most memorable things my last therapist said to me was that “Shame comes from Satan. Guilt comes from God” because shame encourages hiding from real accountability, hiding from feelings, hiding from change. Whereas guilt is intended to incite actual change and growth. But guilt mixed with shame? Clearly they can be difficult to untangle. But shame does not encourage change. 

And what combats shame but unconditional love? And willingness to talk about the hard things instead of pretending they don’t exist. And that applies to a lot more than just self harm. It applies to pornography. It applies to depression. It applies to past sins. Shame leads to more shame. But unconditional love can be a vehicle for all sorts of things.

Rape Aggression Defense

The week before I got on the plane to leave for my first semester at college my father approached me. Now my father, especially growing up, was generally a man of few words. And so, when he spoke, you listened. He told me that he felt prompted to tell me that he was concerned I would be attacked while I was at college and that I needed to learn to defend myself. Yeah, that caught me a little off guard, and it gave me a little anxiety. 

So I started perusing the school’s website and found there was an extracurricular activity called R.A.D. (Rape Aggression Defense). I assured my father I could take the course, and everyone felt better, I guess. I took the class my first semester. It was inexpensive and lasted something like 6 weeks? I don’t remember exactly. But I absolutely loved the class and I absolutely loved the teachers. 

One of the teachers was a male police officer, and one of them was a woman. And at the end of the course we were given a signed booklet that allowed us to retake the course as many times as we want, anywhere in the country where there was a certified R.A.D. course…for free, no matter the cost!

I think I retook the course about 10 times while I was at college. And eventually I took another course they offered that taught some different skills. 

I was never attacked while I was at college, but I still appreciate those words my father said to me. Because otherwise I wouldn’t have sought the class. And that class made me feel alive in a lot of ways. I felt prepared, and invigorated. And I met so many great girls, and I absolutely loved being able to watch the faces of other girls go from meek and timid, to being able to confidently kick and hit that male police officer (while he was in padded gear) at the end of the class. And I was able to encourage more than one friend to take the class.

There was a time when I was pretty certain that one day I would like to become trained to be a certified R.A.D. Instructor. And who knows, maybe one day that can still happen. But that class is also what eventually led me to the decision to major in Social Work too. 

There’s still a part of me that wonders if there is still a future threat waiting out there, that would make me need to use those skills. And that makes me wary of dark streets and parking lots and being home alone sometimes. But that just means that I remain vigilant, always aware of my surroundings, and alert. And that’s a good life practice anyway these days. 

I don’t know exactly why I’m sharing this tonight, except just to say… sometimes promptings take us to places we didn’t expect. And sometimes the timing isn’t what we expect. And sometimes the results aren’t what we expect. And that’s okay.

And, if you feel so inclined, here’s your Emily endorsed invitation to “find a class near you!” 😉

http://www.rad-systems.com/program_locator_student.html

Naked Bodies

Alright, for a moment, let’s get awkward and talk about sex. I mean, I’m not going to go into as much detail as I might during an in person conversation with somebody one-on-one… but let’s be real and acknowledge the subject exists and deserves some education. 

I was recently an observer to an unfortunate uncomfortable moment. A woman in my church presented a resource that she had found that had helped her and her husband better understand her body in intimacy. While unsaid, it was clear that she and her husband had struggled to some degree in understanding her body. She provided a few disclaimers regarding the resource so that anyone who might have felt interested would be prepared for what they might find. Someone responded that the topic might be better served in face to face conversations rather than in a digital group forum, and gently cautioned that we should be careful in what resources we use to educate ourselves on this topic. 

While I agree with this response, it was greeted by an obvious discomfort. The original poster had willingly made herself vulnerable, and was hoping to help others who might have shared her struggle, and was putting herself in a vulnerable position to do so. And perhaps she was hoping for a thankful response, or even an equally vulnerable response to help her feel validated and less alone. She apologized. That was something I couldn’t just observe. I let her know she had no need to apologize, and that I was grateful she felt safe to be vulnerable with the group. That is the environment that Relief Society is meant to be, in my opinion. I reached out to her privately to further drive home that I understood her experience and she need not feel alone. But it was obvious that her discomfort remained.

The only other time I have witnessed the topic of sex being discussed in a church setting was equally uncomfortable, this time for me (and likely others). We were talking about strengthening marriages and one girl piped up that she believed firmly and had started her marriage with the intention to never deny her husband sex. The implication was there that none of us should ever deny our husbands sex. I wish so desperately that I had been brave enough at the time to vehemently but kindly inform her that that perspective, while it maybe worked for her, was not an appropriate expectation to thrust onto all the women in the room. I have tried the method of “giving my husband sex” even when I did not want to, and for me, it leaves me feeling vulnerable, abused, objectified, worthless, second class, and honestly, borderline suicidal. By no means does it help me grow closer in my equal partner relationship with him. If I do not have agency, what am I but a slave? And a slave I am not, so I must protect my agency.

But what is sisterhood if it’s not a place where we can be our real selves, even if we don’t always agree with each other? What is sisterhood if not unconditional love? What is sisterhood if not that person you know you can rely on when you really need it even when you haven’t spoken in months or years? Why do we refer to each other as “sisters” at church if not to foster the kind of environment that allows us to be vulnerable and to feel safe in expressing ourselves, and safe in seeking peace, comfort, guidance, and friendship in one another? 

This conversation about understanding women’s bodies came at an interesting time for me, because I had fairly recently had a conversation with another woman in my church on the same subject of physical intimacy and the importance of understanding women’s bodies, and the rampant lack of education regarding women’s bodies and their experiences in intimacy. Both of us related similar struggles and had expressed the desire to have a more in depth conversation face to face when time allowed. Because yes, the conversation does better face to face. And allowing yourself to be vulnerable face to face encourages more comfort with being vulnerable face to face. Whereas being vulnerable over digital media, in my experience, encourages more vulnerability over digital media, sure, but also sometimes it leaves you still feeling awkward and unsure of how to bridge the awkwardness in face-to-face. But we had enough of a conversation digitally, to know each other enough to know that it was a conversation we would want to have face to face. And I think that’s okay. But there is an obvious need among lots of women, to have this conversation!

So, how do we learn about the female body? I’m sure there are a lot of answers for this. As there should be. However, I would like to relay a story before I answer.

I know someone who once took an art class focused on anatomy. This meant that there were sometimes nude models in the classroom. When this was relayed to her bishop during the course of a random “what are you up to these days” kind of conversation, he chastised her for viewing pornography. 

I know. Right now, all my artsy friends are cringing! I’ll use this as a brief moment to say that ecclesiastical leaders are not perfect, and that’s okay. And perhaps for him and his tolerance level, it would have been pornographic and not an appropriate choice for him. This is why it’s important that when our leaders say things to us, that we take the time to pray to receive our own answer. Because if it’s true, the Holy Ghost will testify to us as well, and not just our leaders. I can still support my leaders while also acknowledging that they are not perfect. As I hope people will support me despite my imperfections.

Now, are there people in those classrooms abusing this vulnerable opportunity? Yes. But does that mean that the material is pornographic by nature? No. Do doctors learn how to be surgeons without viewing naked bodies? No they do not. Does that make the material pornographic? No it does not. 

So, in learning about the female body, does it make sense that you might have to view the naked female body to do so? I would argue yes. Now, is it important to be careful in what resources you select from in that endeavor? Yes. Certainly you wouldn’t watch Grey’s Anatomy to learn how to be a surgeon, nor would a pornographic film help you learn about anatomy from a scientific standpoint. Intent matters. Context matters. And following the spirit in your efforts matter.

There are some good books out there. Lots of good books. That doesn't mean reading books is the only resource available though. I have more than one on my bookshelf about husband and wife relationships, intimacy, and even physical intimacy for victims of abuse. And I’m sure there are many more books out there that I haven’t heard of or read. But you know what, sometimes even those books have pictures 🤷‍♀️ Sexually graphic ones even 🤷‍♀️ Personally I choose books that use only black and white line drawings because it’s what I feel most comfortable with and I can keep myself in an educational context easier that way. But I also know that there are others out there that may learn differently than I do. And different people have different tolerances. And that’s okay. And we will each choose different resources to learn from because of our learning differences. And that is also okay. 

All this to say, I hope when people come to us from a place of vulnerability, we will put a greater emphasis on validating them, than pointing out our differences, or what is “correct.”

And also, most men, and many women do not understand the female body half as well as they think they do. And education should happen. 🤷‍♀️ I would not be where I am in my marriage if I had never felt safe to talk about sex with people from time to time. While it is a subject that should be discussed in the right setting, with an attitude of some reverence, it is also one that should not just be kept taboo. 

When Michael and I were first married one of my sisters gave the advice along the lines of “be willing to talk openly and honestly to each other during and about sex” and we didn’t listen. Life would have been better those first years if we had. But talking to a trusted friend or two, eventually helped me learn how to have better communication with him. And that’s okay too.

Be Human

A few weeks ago, my oldest son got angry with me. His response was to say something to me that he was pretty sure would make me angry. Realistically, it didn’t make me angry. It made me sad. And frustrated that he would use that subject against me. I realized quickly that there was nothing safe for me to say in that moment. I had no words that I was completely sure I wouldn’t regret later. So I walked away. My husband went to have a talk with him. (That’s one of my favorite things about being married to my husband. Is that we help cover for each other when the other person isn’t in the right mental headspace to deal with something kindly.) I went to my room. Eventually my son came to talk to me in my room. But I was still not ready to let go of how I was feeling. He apologized, and I told him that I was grateful for his apology, but that I wasn’t ready to accept it yet. I further explained that I was still allowed to feel hurt and sad by what he said. He said okay and that he understood and walked away. A few minutes later he quietly snuck back into my room and placed a handwritten note on my nightstand with a cute little picture of himself and I, and his attempt writing “I love you” at the top.

I didn’t acknowledge him dropping off the note. I was grumpy. But it was sweet. When I felt ready to be apart of the world again, I left my room, and he asked me if I saw his note and if I knew what it said. I told him that I had indeed seen it and I reminded him that I loved him too even when I was grumpy. 

I guess I’m sharing this to say that it’s ok to feel your feelings. And it’s okay to show kids that we have feelings too. It’s okay to sit with them for a while. And it’s ok to move on from those feelings when we’re through instead of skipping past them. Regardless of all the ways I sometimes fail at the “mom-thing” I think at the end my kids will learn that it’s okay to set boundaries to take care of themselves even while taking care of others. And even adults need to admit they are human, and by default, imperfect. And that’s not a bad thing.

Tarnished Virtue

Have I lost my virtue? Has it been broken or damaged, tarnished or lost? Virtue is one of those things that I feel like is sort of an abstract concept, especially since it can have more than one meaning. So I'll go ahead and toss in the top three definitions that show up from a quick google search:

1. Moral excellence and righteousness; goodness.

2. An example or kind of moral excellence.

3. Chastity, especially in a woman.

Can I just toss in a random side-rant and ask why chastity is only discussed as a "virtue" for women? We only ever refer to a woman's "virtue" in respect to sexual purity. Topic for another day, but I thought I'd toss that soap box out there just for the sake of being genuine. 

Now, I think there is an entirely different conversation regarding possible definitions of "virtue" that I may very well have on another day... But for today I'm focusing more so on the concept of virtue within the sphere of chastity/sexual purity. 

We've all heard the complaints about poor analogies for sexual purity that happen from time to time within a church lesson or wherever it might be said. A while ago I attempted looking up a list of bad analogies figuring someone must have compiled a list of some of the worst ones, and was not disappointed. Here are a few:   

1.  Chocolate that has been passed around to multiple people becomes dirty and undesirable (Message: people who have had multiple sexual partners are dirty and undesirable)
2. Tape that has been used multiple times loses its stickiness (Message: people who have had multiple sexual partners are unable to form tight bonds and have fulfilling relationships)
3. Chewed up gum (Message: people who have had multiple sexual partners are dirty and worthless)
4. A cup full of spit, or a pitcher of water after multiple people have spit in it, versus a plain clean cup of water. (Message: exchanging bodily fluids with multiple people makes someone undesirable)
5. A rose that has had a petal taken off by each student in the class until it is just a thorny stick. Students are asked what value the rose now has. (Message: participating in casual sex causes a person to lose value)

I'm sure there are dozens of more bad examples out there. As a species we're pretty good at getting horribly creative. But what I thought was most interesting here was that I have always been led to believe that this was an issue that was unique to my religion alone. Guess what I was shocked to learn? That list of bad analogies, actually came from state sponsored sex-ed programs emphasizing abstinence. No wonder abstinence gets a bad rap. 

Here's a different perspective to consider as well. I'll be vague here to protect confidentiality, but I was once told a story, about a girl who was sexually abused and during the discovery process was interviewed by her bishop. After the interview, the bishop approached the mother of this girl and informed her that her daughter's "virtue was intact." Now, this was meant to assure the mother that what had happened was to no fault of the girl, and that it didn't effect her sexual purity, etc etc. Right? Which is good. Cuz certainly it should be made clear that abuse does not affect one’s sexual purity. But there is something about that phrase that has never sat well with me. Can my virtue be broken? Now, I think the term "intact" is a far better phrase than the analogies above. You can't wash chocolate clean to restore it to its prior fresh-from-the-factory quality. You can't make tape sticky again. You can't un-chew gum, you can't take the spit out of the water, and you can't glue the flower petals back to the stem. But perhaps I can fix what gets broken. But even that implies that it will forever be "refurbished" and thus not quite as good as it once was. 

But when we talk about the ATONEMENT it is clear that when utilized, things, or rather, people, are able to be 100% redeemed. Object lessons that imply that bad choices reduce or decimate our worth are 100% contrary to the plan of redemption. We never say "The atonement is like dipping chocolate in mud and sure you can wash off the chocolate, but it's never quite as good as a fresh piece of chocolate." The thought makes reason stare, does it not? 

So how do we talk about "virtue" and what happens to it when we make poor choices? What happens to virtue? Can virtue be broken or lost, damaged or tarnished? I actually think tarnished silver would make an excellent analogy. Tarnished silver never loses its value or worth. It just needs to be cleaned. 

I also think I could refer to virtue as something I can put on a shelf in a closet. It's in my house, I know where it is. The value has not changed. But perhaps, I'm choosing not to keep it somewhere I can remember to access it daily. I am not making it a priority. This is probably the most accurate depiction in my mind. 

I also don't mind thinking of virtue as being something that can be "misplaced" because to me, all that implies is that I need to find it again. Although I'll admit up front it's not a perfect analogy. Because sometimes things that are misplaced can't be found again. So when I say "misplaced" I want to be very clear in that I prefer "misplaced" over the term "lost" because when I think "misplaced" I think of all the many times I have had to search for my phone in my house. I know it's somewhere in my house. I just need to put in the effort to look between couch cushions and all the other nooks and crannies until it's found. And maybe even call in the support team, aka my husband, and have him call it to help me find it. This is different than dropping my phone off the side of a boat while on a cruise and "oops I lost my phone." There is something about the word "lost" that implies that I might never get it back again. And it's different from "misplacing" my phone at the grocery store, and who knows if someone will be honest and return it or not -- where it could end up "lost" it completely. 

My virtue is mine. It is always mine. It can never be permanently lost. It can't be given, it can never be taken. It can't be sold, it can't be bought. It can never belong to someone else. It is inherently mine, and is tied to us like a tether that can never be severed. It's value never changes. It's worth never changes.  

And while we're on that subject. I would like to make an addendum. The subject of chastity/virtue/sexual purity should not be mixed up with the subject of abstinence. As similar as these subjects sound, they are not the same. Because if you believe they are the same, then even having just one sexual partner might make me feel like that chewed up piece of gum. Having sex does not make you "dirty." Having sex does not alter your sexual purity. Far too many people manage to go through life, marry their spouse as a virgin, and then still manage to feel "dirty" after having sex. Because their whole life "sex" has been a naughty word. Body parts are often "naughty words" and the variety of acts within the realm of sexual intimacy are depicted as "naughty." None of that helps anyone experience positive sexual relationships. The focus should instead be "what choices am I making that are bringing me closer to Christ?" "what choices am I making that take me further from Christ and his teachings?" Sex is not the issue. Sexual desire and passion are not the issue. The choices we make and the priorities we are keeping are what determine what kind of person we are, and our moral righteousness. 

There have certainly been times in my life when I would not have described myself as being a "virtuous woman." But did that ever mean that I was unable to become virtuous again? No. And there were certainly times when the task of "cleaning the silver" felt daunting and difficult. But that is a far healthier perspective to have than the one I had when I first grasped the extent of the sexual abuse I experienced as a kid. Thinking I had lost something and could never get it back again because it had been taken. Or thinking that my worth and value were determined by the way boys viewed me and the decisions that perspective led me to? Also, the value of the silver does not change even if it gets tarnished and polished again and again. No matter what, with the right tools and effort and perhaps even regular maintenance, it can always be restored 100%. What can I do today that will motivate me to take the "virtue" box off the shelf in my closet and put it somewhere in my life that I can make it a priority?

So regardless of the choices we have made... regardless of the experiences that may have been thrust upon us... each of us has innate virtue and value and worth that cannot be broken or lost or taken. And maybe polishing the silver feels daunting. But, thankfully, we have a Savior who has offered to help any time he's asked. Just like my husband, my kids, my family are willing to call my phone any time it's misplaced. Helpers can be found in all sorts of places and people. And no matter what, the task is never impossible or too late. The time can be now.