Occasionally, I wake up in the middle of the night with something in my head that my brain starts blogging about. After I mental draft for 30 minutes or so, I give in, get up, and get on the computer. So, it’s 4:18 a.m., and you’ve been warned. :)
Facts: I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The church has been spotlighted quite a bit in the media lately. Such attention leads to a lot of online “chatter,” including long comment threads on national media sites. Even though my better judgment tells me not to read those threads because they are crawling with trolls, I sometimes do, and good grief, people are ignorant.
Anyway, people sometimes use these forums to voice their concerns about “Mormons” and what they believe. An informal calculation in my head tells me that about 75% of these critics are just dead wrong, and about 25% almost have it right, but they’ve severely misunderstood some point of our doctrine. Simply stated, they are simultaneously misinformed and sure they’re not. It’s frustrating.
One of the common threads I’ve seen running through these “discussions” is that Mormons are oppressive to certain populations (women, blacks, homosexuals, etc…). All of these claims make my brain rattle and I want to yell at the universe, “Come on! Have you ever met a Mormon? Have you been to a worship service? Or watched a faithful Mormon family in action? Or read our scriptures (including the Bible)? It would not take long at all to figure out that those claims are preposterous!!!” But, you know how the universe ignores all that fist shaking and pointless yelling, so here I am venting on my blog. I could not even pretend to tackle all those “issues,” but I’ve just got to address the women one. I probably won’t do it justice (and frankly, internet trolls scare me to death), but it is with a small dose of trepidation and a large dose of fire in my bones that I must express what womanhood means to me, and what I believe it means to my church, and in short: to God.
Let’s start with an anecdote, shall we? Approximately one hour ago, my daughter woke me up to tell me she peed in her bed. Her sheets were wet, her clothes were wet, and she was cold. I helped her change out of her clothes, washed her body with a warm washcloth, stripped the sheets, started the laundry, and tucked her into a new bed. She asked me to wrap her in the blankets “like a burrito,” and I did. I kissed her on the head, she snuggled down into the mattress, smiled, and said “good night.” As I walked out of the room, I turned off all the lights, and in the dark journey back to my bed, I was given some thoughts. (Sometimes thoughts are given, not just thought.) I reflected on Continue reading