Another Saturday Post Not About Books

I thought I would write about my summer reading today.  Instead, I planned a car rally (also known as a wild high speed scavenger hunt race around town in cars).  Our ward (also known as a congregation) has had one each year for awhile and I have planned the last two (also known as last year's and tonight's).  Car rallies have a zany energy.  There's a hum as people start to arrive, and then a quiet listening to instruction, and then a mad dash for the cars, and then silence, and then excitement and rush as people come running in with ice cream toppings and puzzles and photographs and stories. 

"I did a handstand on home plate!"

"Do we get extra points for finding two red shoes?"

"We had to kick some kids off the teeter totter!"

"I still have sand in my socks."

"I made sure they had their feet off the ground."

My vacation was a bit like that--all booting it across town, seven of us in a minivan, and sunrise solitary swimming the misty lake, and jumping in the waves with my crew, and barefoot walking the beach while they slept.

My life is like that too--breaking up raucous quarrels, and silent snuggles and laughing hard at armpit noises (my husband's), and blogging in a sleeping house.

Nurtured at Camp

Camp was full of beautiful experiences (chats with amazing people, dancing by the fire, swimming before breakfast, silly pranks, pesto) and one really difficult phone call.  By Friday afternoon, I had been at camp for nearly three days and was missing my husband (which was a relief).  So I called him, looking forward to a light happy chat (I love you, I love you more).  It didn't go that way.  Instead, we discussed a hefty problem that has been on our plate for awhile.  It stirred up my deepest insecurities (I am not strong enough, brave enough, good enough). 

 

By the time we hung up (I really love you a lot, I know, I love you too), I felt deeply discouraged.  I prayed for peace and went looking for a place to be alone (and cry).  That's when Barb Kelsey called out, "Maggie!  We have a job for you."  She showed me this obstacle course they had set up for the girls.  There was a rope wound among the trees with a sheet hiding it from the view of the camp.  The girls were going to be brought to the sheet, blindfolded, and sent through.  If they held tightly to the rope, and ignored distractions, they would make it to the other side.  "Here's what we want you to do.  Just stand here and bring them through the sheet one at a time.  Then, say this," she hugged me and whispered in my ear, "I love you.  I know you can do this.  Just hold on and don't let go."  She leaned back and looked at me, "Okay?" 

 

It was just what I needed to hear.

 

Roughing It (With Shampoo and Chocolate)

Our church has a Young Women Camp for girls from age twelvish to eighteenish.  Growing up, I loved it.  It was loaded emotionally.  I mean there were (huge) quarrels.  But there was also flag raising, and tuck shop, and campfire songs, and generally goofiness, and swimming in Lake Mush-a-mush, and bonding.

This is Mary's first year attending.  It starts tomorrow.  We rushed around, today, getting all the things she'll need (treats and toiletries).  I hope camp is a special memory for her.  I'm going too, as a leader for the third year girls.  Which means that I'll be able to look out for her, but from a non-smothering-Mama-what-Mama distance.  She's a little too grown up to want her mother with her all the time.  It's funny how perspective changes.  For your fifth and sixth years of camp, you're considered a junior leader.  I remember being a junior leader and feeling so old and thinking that the little first years were so cute.  Now I see junior leaders and think they're so young and I wouldn't call any of the campers cute.  They deserve words with more dignity.  Try smart, bright, zany, strong, mischievous, wonderful.

If I get a chance, I'll write.  I don't know whether there'll be good cell phone coverage at camp.  Some other things I don't know are how to be a Young Women Camp leader, how to get to the campsite, how I went from being that little sixteen-year-old junior leader to married in three short years.

I Came Home

I'm back.  I went to Nauvoo, Illinois with a about sixty youth and their leaders and now I'm back.  Mostly.  There's still a part of me there, waking up early to help feed a hundred people, laughing giddily in a sleep-deprived haze that makes everything funny, looking for someone else to set the schedule and give direction, and pondering so many stories.

Our group did an intense two mile handcart pull.  The pull was run by a sweet retired couple who warned us about poison ivy, reminded us of the hardships faced by pioneers, and shared some of their own story.  As the woman stood to speak with us, "Our daughter spent ten years on meth," were not the words I expected to come out of her mouth.  She was dressed in calico and sunglasses, and generously opening herself to us.  "It took me to places I never thought I would have to go as a mother."  She went on to talk about how difficult times come to each of us, as they did to the handcart pioneers, but that we can find stores of unsuspected strength inside ourselves.  "You are strong."

Thinking about stuff at the Mississippi's edge

On our last night, I wandered down Parley street toward the Mississippi.  It's the street where thousands of members of my church lined their wagons as they prepared to leave Nauvoo, the city they had built, because in 1846 it was no longer safe to stay.  As I wandered, I thought of Bathsheba W. Smith.  She was only twenty-three when she and her husband and their two small children crossed the frozen river leaving their home behind.  She wrote, "My last act in that precious spot was to tidy the rooms, sweep up the floor and set the broom in its accustomed place behind the door.  Then with emotions in my heart which I could not now pen and which I then strove with success to conceal, I gently closed the door and faced an unknown future...with faith in God."

The trip was permeated with such stories.  As I said, part of me is still there pondering them.  The part of me that came home is braver than before.

In the Quiet Heart Is Hidden...

Once in awhile, I'll interrupt the child who is taking twenty minutes to describe a two minute YouTube clip, or is loudly demanding immediate action, to tell them the truth about myself.  I say, "You are speaking to someone with a severe headache," or, "You are speaking to someone who got less than two hours of sleep last night."  They see this as a sign to tone things down, be more gentle...or go tell their dad.

You are reading the words of someone who is hurting.  Breathing feels unfamiliar.  I'm worn from shaking.  Yesterday afternoon, Ordain Women announced that Kate Kelly had received notification of her excommunication.  For those of you who don't know what this means, I put some links below.  I'm not sure why I feel this news so keenly.  I've never met Sister Kelly, but she is suffering deeply and I long to help her, and the countless others who likewise grieve.  But there's more to it.  I see myself in her.  I have questions too.

Why don't women hold the priesthood in my church?
Are women really equal to men in God's eyes?
Why are we taught that men are to preside over their families?
How can marriage between a man and a woman be an equal partnership if the man presides?
What is presiding?
Does the structure of my church contribute to the sexist attitudes I encounter regularly?
How can I protect my children from these attitudes?
Why do I feel othered in my larger church community, a leftover bit?

Many have said that having questions is not a problem.  Questions are welcome.  I wonder whether that's true.  Some of the things I've read and heard this week have left me unsure. 

I hear, "Disciplinary councils are supposed to be private.  Why did she have to go running to the New York Times?" 
I think, "It's not safe for people like me to speak up." 

I hear, "She just doesn't have the eternal perspective that I have gained through diligent study and prayer." 
I think, "Anything less than complete conviction is a signal that I am less than...and lazy." 

I hear, "She can't honestly claim to be one of us and launch a media campaign against us at the same time."
I think, "If I'm not careful about the number of people with whom I discuss my questions, I could be cast out."

I hear, "If she doesn't like this church, she should just leave."
I think, "I spend all of my time being a member of this church.  Whether I clean the bathroom or blog is a decision I make based on my faith.  If I were to leave, it would break my heart.  Where would I go?  There are at least some people I love and respect, and with whom I've served and learned and wept, who don't care."

I'm Maggie.  I'm a Mormon.  I'm an earnest seeker with serious questions and I'm afraid of being rejected by people for whom I care so much.



*The title for this post comes from the hymn, Lord I Would Follow Thee.
Bishop Harrison outlined to Sister Kelly in this letter his reasons for excommunicating her, what it means for her, and what she needs to do to become, again, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  She has released it. 
Her defense is written here and here.
There were more than one thousand letters written on her behalf.  Some of them have been published here. 
I wrote one of those letters.  I also wrote a short explanation here.
All of the content to which I linked in this post moved me and is worth your time if you have a stake in this issue or want to better understand someone who does*

Teach Me to Walk in the Light

I read this article this morning and it is what is on my mind...and in my wobbly knees...and in my tears.  Kate Kelly is the founder of Ordain Women and she is facing possible excommunication.  What does this mean?  In my church, while every member is invited to follow Jesus Christ, women are not invited to hold the priesthood.  I'm not sure how I feel about this.  My efforts at discipleship have brought me joy.  I love opportunities to serve and connect with others.  People are amazing!  But I have also experienced moments of uneasiness and vulnerability because I do not hold the priesthood.  Ordain Women seeks to create a safe space for women to articulate their feelings on this issue.  It also seeks ways to respectfully request change.  Now her local leaders are considering revoking her membership in the church.  I know that there are other views on this.  Actually, I love that there are other views on this.  But this is where I stand.

I have been a part of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for my whole life.  It is a part of me.  I love it the way I love my ribs and my tongue.  When I considered leaving the church last year it was excruciating.  Ordain Women, and other Mormon feminist sites, helped me through this time.  They empowered me to bravely examine my faith and to take responsibility for what I believe and what I teach my children.  This process has lead me to a richer connection to the gospel of Jesus Christ and a more fulfilling communion with the saints.  Thank you, Kate Kelly.

An Adventure in Family Togetherness

My church encourages its members to hold something called Family Home Evening.  It's a night set aside each week to have fun as a family while learning principles taught by Christ.  Sometimes putting this thing together is frustrating even (especially) with everyone helping.  This week Mary conducted the meeting.  Jonah really wanted sing Space Unicorn for the opening hymn but was persuaded to choose something from the Children's Songbook.  Two-year-old Daniel was too busy playing (biting his sister and throwing books) to give an opening prayer, so I offered it instead.  For the lesson, Hannah, who's almost five, decided to sing a song she wrote.  It rhymed.  It was pretty rad...even though we all had to close our eyes and promise not to peek before she would perform in front of us.  I added a sentence about following Hannah's example of finding the courage to develop her talents and decided this totally counts.  Then we cracked open the refreshments Beth made.  They were not the cupcakes she wanted to bake.  It was a busy day.  I only had time to help her make this ice cream jello thing which everyone (except me--I love ice cream jello things) pretended to eat while we watched a short TED talk about the amazing life forms being found in the deepest parts of the ocean.  I think it was an interesting video, but all I could hear was, "Wow! That's so cool!" "I can't see!" "Shhhhh!" "He's squishing me!" "What's a tube worm?" "This dessert is disgusting!" "You smell bad!" "She spilled her jello on me!"  Jonah led us in singing a closing hymn, Jared shut the whole thing down with a prayer, and we dispersed. 

Our thirty minute get-together included biting, jostling, and shushing.  We closed our eyes for the first half and picked at a slimy treat for the second.  This is a pretty typical Family Home Evening for us.  So why do my children love this night with their whole hearts?

Hiya, Handsome!

I've made it a Saturday habit to write about reading.  This Saturday I was a little busy.  I left the house at around five thirty this morning.  I apologise, neighbours.  That was my car alarm that went off so early.  I travelled the three and a half hours to Sudbury with some wonderful women.  Once there, I visited and lunched and attended workshops with some more wonderful women.  Then I came home with another wonderful woman.  On the way, we saw this good looking fellow and two others like him.

I'll write next week about the books I read this week.  Hint--one of them is the autobiography of a famous singer who also saw moose near Timmins.

Strong Woman

I spent an evening this week with an incredible group of women.  We were gathered to celebrate the anniversary of Relief Society.  It's the organization for women associated with my church.  We had a cozy dinner and little presentation.  I didn't bake a lasagne or toss a salad.  Instead, it fell to me to put together the presentation--"The Influence of Strong Women."  My anxiety around this presentation has been building for several weeks.  I made assignments and handouts.  I selected music and quotes.  And every day I felt a little more tense.  Will it be too short, will my speakers show up, is the focus of that video too narrow, will these women for whom I have such admiration see the clumsy chaos that is my inside? The two days before the deadline are a blur of haste and chocolate.  Finally, I was sitting at a table picking apart a hunk of garlic bread and the time came for me to speak.  I stammered, I spoke a few sentences, I blushed and I breathed deeply and stood tall and continued.  Sometimes, I wish I were the kind of strong woman who didn't get anxious.  I'm another kind.

Reading Faithfully

This has been a year of feeling out my faith.  It has been troubling and difficult and my soul is tender.  When my husband gave me a copy of Sheri Dew's Women and the Priesthood for my birthday several months ago, I was pleased.  It's a topic that has been on my mind and he'd chosen well.  But I didn't read it.  Over the years, I have loved Dew's words.  She is a brilliant writer and speaker and a bold woman. I finally picked it up this week still feeling unsure I could handle her strong conviction on a topic which to me has been so emotionally and spiritually demanding.  I'm glad I did.  Her approach is gentle.  She seemed a fellow traveller and I finished the book feeling a greater connection to women who've gone before.

My life is built on principles I've loved.  Asking questions that could undermine those principles has been scary.  I may not have found a lot of answers, but I have made some decisions.  And I discovered something about myself.  I am brave.