Hello!

Now that we’ve tipped over into pumpkin spice, it’s time to check in with the ALSSI calendar again to see what’s coming up.

Calendar:

9/29 Ep. 274: What About Politics? | A Conversation with Sarah Morse

10/1 Say More No. 70 | Susan Hinckley

10/1 ALSRI Book Club, 7:00 pm Mtn | The Moment of Lift

10/6 Ep. 275: Creation Begins with Speaking Up | A Conversation with Sara Fisk

10/8 Worthy Stuff | Susan Edition

10/9 Friday Live Chat, 10:00 am Mtn

10/13 Ep. 276: Honest Talk from Susan & Cynthia

10/15 Say More No. 71 | Listener Submissions

10/20 Ep. 277: Let’s Talk About Happiness | A Conversation with Natalie Brown

10/23 Friday Live Chat, 10:00 am Mtn

10/27 Ep. 278: What About Heaven? | Listener VoicemailsB

Book Club is almost here!

Our last book club meeting of the year is just days away. If you haven’t started reading, there’s still time, and even if you don’t read the book we hope you’ll join us for the conversation. The discussions never disappoint! The selection chosen at the July meeting is Melinda Gates’ The Moment of Lift: How Empowering Women Changes the World.

At Last She Read It Book Club
Thursday, October 1
7:00 pm Mtn
Register to receive a Zoom link here

See you. next week!

Reminder:

Here’s your monthly reminder that Say More can’t happen without your help! We hope you’ll consider sharing an essay, poem, story, anecdote, episode response, artwork—anything! You can find submission guidelines/instructions here, or click submissions on our website menu.

At the risk of repeating ourselves …

September is our ALSSI Substack anniversary, and to celebrate we’re offering a special rate—through October 1, you can snag a paid subscription for $60/yr. You’ll get all 4 of our Thursday newsletters, 2 Friday Live Chats/mo. (if you can’t attend live, listen to the recorded session at your convenience), and access to our ongoing community chat on Substack. It’s the best corner of the internet! We hope you’ll join us. As always, if you can’t swing a paid subscription, we don’t want you to miss out—send us an email and Katie will set you up, no explanation required.

Also, remember that ALSSI is a 501c(3), and your contributions—not Substack subscriptions—are tax-deductible. We’re honored every time you think of us when making the choice where to donate.

To everyone who supports us financially in big or small ways, thank you! You’re amazing, and we’re deeply grateful. ❤️

Hope you’ll plan to join us—for the podcast, through social media, on our Substack, in our chat group, or on Zoom for a book club or Friday live meeting. See you everywhere!

Warmly,

Susan, Cynthia, and
the At Last She Said It team

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In Episode 273, Susan and Cynthia ask Mary, Laura, and Evann, What Do You Say? It’s Season 12's first installment of ALSSI’s series of conversations with Latter-day Saint women inspired by their answers to questions in 3 categories: memories, insights, and beliefs.

Notes & Quotes:

Hear more from Mary on ALSSI Ep. 180, Embracing Your Journey | A Conversation with Mary Cox

Speaking of women’s work: “Because we make it look effortless people think it’s valueless” —Asma Khan

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The God I Don’t Know

by Erin Gong

For most of my life, I had a fairly simple picture of what

a relationship with God was supposed to look like. If I sincerely sought Him through prayer, scripture study, temple worship, obedience, and sacrifice, He would respond. Maybe not exactly how I wanted, but in ways I would recognize. Peace. Guidance. Comfort. Direction. A sense that Someone was on the other end of the conversation.

As a teenager and into my twenties, I built my life around that expectation. I read my scriptures every day. I prayed. I accepted callings. I paid generous fast offerings. I read General Conference talks and filled notebooks with impressions. And the formula seemed to work. Decisions worked out for my good. Unexpected opportunities appeared. Sometimes I felt prompted toward a particular conversation or choice. Other times I felt nourished or reassured.

One semester at BYU, I took a seminary teacher training course. We learned to identify if/then statements in the scriptures. There was even a name for them: principles packaged for application.

I loved it.

If I do this, God will do that. That was a world I understood.

After graduating, my husband began graduate school and we moved across the country. I was accepted into a graduate program myself, but decided I would only attend if I could find a teaching or research position that would cover tuition. Otherwise, I couldn’t justify taking on debt for a degree I wasn’t sure I’d use.

I applied everywhere and heard nothing. A few weeks before classes started, we doubled our fast offerings. Not because I thought I could bargain with God, but because I believed sacrifice invited blessings, even if those blessings arrived in an unexpected form.

A week later, I was offered a teaching position that paid my tuition, included health insurance, and came with a generous stipend.

It was all working.

I finished school. I found meaningful work. We had three children. We moved again for my husband’s career. Through all of it, I kept expecting God to respond.

Then, somewhere along the way, He stopped. Or at least, it felt that way.

There wasn’t a single moment, but there’s one memory that captures what began happening inside me. I was driving our 1999 Toyota Corolla after dropping our three young children off at preschool. I was headed home to squeeze in a few hours of consulting work before pickup. Life was busy and full and lonely. I started crying. Then I started praying. Sobbing out words that became louder and angrier in the empty car.

Are you there?

I wasn’t asking about doctrine. I wasn’t asking for guidance. I simply wanted to know I wasn’t alone. When the tears subsided, I listened.

Nothing.

I turned onto my street.

Nothing.

I pulled into the driveway and sat for another minute in the silent cocoon of our beat-up Corolla, the one with only a single working door handle.

Nothing.

Eventually I got out of the car and went inside. I needed to start my work day.

My faith didn’t collapse that day. I kept praying. I kept participating. I told myself that silence was God’s way of saying, You’ve got this.

But something had shifted. Sometimes I wondered if I simply wasn’t doing enough. Maybe I needed to read more scriptures. Maybe I needed to pray with more faith. Maybe I needed to attend the temple more consistently.

But I didn’t. Instead, I started setting some of those things down.

After reading Isaiah’s description of fasting, I stopped going without food and instead served meals at the homeless shelter. Walking out afterward, I felt as spiritually nourished as I used to feel leaving the temple.

I stopped assuming that scripture study was the best place to encounter truth and replaced it with reading other religious thinkers.

I reconsidered my relationship with temple garments and found greater ease in my own body, a healthier relationship with my sexuality, and a growing sense of integrity.

I gave myself permission to skip Relief Society when I believed I would leave more discouraged than inspired.

As these changes accumulated, the God I had once known seemed to grow quieter still. And yet every few years, something would happen that felt outside of myself, that I couldn’t quite explain.

Once, after an argument with my husband, I realized I didn’t want to stop being angry. The only honest prayer I could offer was to ask that I would want to stop feeding the anger. And it loosened, almost immediately, like pulling a thorn from beneath the skin. The wound was still there, but something had been released. It was a gift.

Another time, I was holding onto a resentment that I just couldn’t get over, to the point of dreaming about hurting a particular person. I woke up with a voice in my head saying Stop it with a moral authority that was different from my own inner voice. It forced me to see I was not standing on the moral high ground I thought I was, and I finally let the resentment go.

These moments don’t happen when I ask for them, when I’ve earned them, when I need them most. They simply happen. And they feel real. But I don’t know how to build a relationship on experiences that arrive unpredictably. My own children, now teens, have pushed me on this more than anyone.

“I’ve prayed, Mom, and I feel nothing. So God isn’t real.”

I don’t know what to tell them. I reach for answers I no longer believe. I don’t know what I wish someone had told me. I turn my frustration back towards God.

This one’s on You.

The old answers still call to me: Read your scriptures every day. Pray more. Attend the temple more often. Follow the prophet. Sometimes I wonder whether returning to those practices would bring back the God I used to know. The God I still want.

But I don’t want to go back. I like who I’ve become. More thoughtful. More compassionate. More willing to own my decisions.

It would almost be easier if I could conclude that God was never there at all. That all of those experiences were simply the story of a young woman growing into herself. But then I remember the anger that loosened like a thorn being pulled out, or waking with the words Stop it echoing in my mind.

If one of my children came to me asking for connection, I know I wouldn’t parent this way. I don’t know what to make of a God who apparently does.

But tomorrow morning, I’ll get up, make breakfast, go to work, try to love my family, and somewhere underneath all of that, I’ll still find myself listening.

Just in case.

Dissonance

by Carly Carter

A Grandmother’s Blessing

by Angela Delgado

We went to my granddaughter’s baby blessing at

her paternal grandparents’ house. Generally Mormon baby blessings are performed during the Sunday worship service. However, my daughter and her husband had gotten special permission to bless the baby at home because they were visiting from out of town. Both sets of grandparents and one set of great grandparents live in the same area and would be able to attend. My husband and I arrived early to make sure that we had time to hold the baby and chat with my son-in-law’s family before the blessing. The Bishop arrived soon after, and then the great grandparents. All of the men joined in the blessing—her father, the Bishop, both grandfathers, and one of her great grandfathers. They held her gently, but since she is almost six months old, she squirmed and wiggled the whole time. I don’t remember the blessing, and it was nice, but there was no mention of my daughter, her mother. I have watched my son-in-law take care of his daughter very tenderly, and I have great respect for him. I’m certain that my granddaughter will appoint him the “favorite parent” as soon as she grows old enough just as my daughters did. But I felt a sense of disappointment surrounding the blessing, and I remember very clearly pushing down the uncomfortable feeling that women in the church are unseen, unheard, and not appreciated for the very real work of salvation they are involved in.

I looked at my daughter, whose body still carries the evidence of the last year-and-a-half of her life growing, birthing, and feeding this baby, and while I was proud of her for embracing motherhood so well, I felt sad for her. Women should be allowed to at least hold their babies during the blessing. They should be allowed to choose the circle of women who hold the baby while she gives a blessing. Perhaps the father should be involved too. Maybe it should be a circle of both men and women of their choosing. But it’s not even a thought. What would it be like, as well, if the other women in the room, wise women who have raised children, had the opportunity to give her a blessing? It seems like such a lost opportunity of experience and maternal wisdom.

So when they came to our house to stay the next week, we were able to do some things together. One morning we went to an aviary. The four of us wandered among the birds, trying to point out fun things about them to my granddaughter. Her interest would occasionally drift to some of the birds if they were flying or cawing, but her gaze was generally on the faces of the familiar people who love her and take care of her.

At one point, we got to an exhibit in the aviary that doesn’t allow strollers. Rather than take her out of the stroller, I volunteered to stay outside until they had walked through the exhibit. Although the day was already getting hot, there was a canopy of trees overhead that made a cooling shade. There was an empty bench and no one else was around. In the quiet, I sat down in front of my granddaughter and was going to entertain her with a song, when I had an idea. I would give her a blessing. It wouldn’t be official. It wouldn’t be recorded. I wouldn’t start with a prayer, and there were no men with priesthood power around. It would be a Grandmother’s blessing.

As I sat in front of my granddaughter, I looked into her eyes and gently held her feet. I blessed her with the words that came to my mind. They were clear and simple. I spoke my hopes and dreams for her. I blessed her with gifts and talents. It wasn’t a long blessing, but the stillness in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. I closed the blessing in the name of our Mother, the Creator of us all, and said ‘Amen.’ After that, I paused for a long time. I felt like I had been a part of a small, sacred miracle below the canopy of trees.

From a listener:

Dear ALSSI,

Thank you for providing this platform that gives a voice to many women to connect with their experiences. It has helped me to hear the stories of others and so I share mine for not only my healing journey, but because I want to join my link to the other stories in this chain.

My faith deconstruction journey started when my eldest was about to turn 8, which was about 5 years ago now. I had felt the weight of the “covenant path” language pushing heavier and heavier on me just before my son was to turn 8; the April 2021 general conference session seemed to ramp up the usage of the phrase. I was a strict attending ‘all-in’ Mormon but grew up in a nuanced home with a dad who converted while I was in high school, and a mom that left the church almost right after. I have always wrestled with the “covenant path” idea, as I just don’t see there being only one way for people to be close to God, to have His influence and love daily, and that one path and prescription must be followed if there is any chance in the after-life for a family to be together forever.

I also started to wrestle with the idea of my 7, almost 8-year-old, being asked to begin that covenant journey at such a young and naïve age—especially in the middle of COVID, when we hadn’t attended church in over a year. It wasn’t just about making covenants with God, but also about deciding that this was the church he wanted to join and be baptized into. I knew full well that he did not completely understand, because of his developmental age and limited life experience, but also knowing how much I had failed in teaching him. My son is also neurodivergent and never enjoyed attending church due to the environment being so overstimulating for him. After doubling down and diving into more conversations with my son, even purchasing a “covenant path” book for him to prepare for baptism, I began to understand that if my son was going to be baptized at age 8 it would have to be under my immense persuasion and pressure, something I felt completely uncomfortable doing at the end of the day. It felt like I was taking away his free agency at such a young age. There were also feelings of indoctrination surfacing. I felt like this short little life he has experienced was completely censored, intentionally of course, but how could he make an informed decision when I have been the source of his viewpoint on religion and God? How could he fully understand at such a young age, the decision he was about to make? I knew in my heart that this just did not feel right. I had many conversations with my husband and we both agreed to wait on his baptism.

Not soon after, the stories and recordings of more high profile child abuse cases and cover-ups by the church came to light and my husband stepped away from the church first. This resulted in a great unraveling and many difficult conversations; needless to say I cannot unsee and unfeel the things that make my skin crawl when I am at church. I honestly will say that I would like to figure out a way to attend, but I’m still figuring that out. I am also severely introverted and when our ward rearranged right after COVID, I struggled to feel community and camaraderie among the people—something I really had to work for even before when I was ‘all in.’ To put it plainly, I don’t know how to be nuanced in a place that I don’t feel accepts it and me. I am still figuring out how to find the strength and confidence in myself to exist in that space without letting go of my authentic self—inside this version of me that does not see the truth claims with a capital T. And despite growing up in a nuanced home with a feminist mother, I still internalized so many harmful scripts that I fear I would not be able to protect my children from, despite all my best efforts and genuine conversations. I also do not want to let go of the gifts I feel like I am blessed with from stepping away: loving myself more despite (and possibly more deeply because of) my imperfections, shaming myself less as a mother with many faults and traumas, the ability to love others genuinely rather than through the lens of expectations.

I also wanted to say thank you for your conversation with Lindsie Cornia in Ep 238, because I SO needed to hear her experience raising kids in this space after her deconstruction. That was so resonant with me that I felt so much belonging and safety in the not knowing. While I can relate to not knowing what I am doing, I DO know I want my children to feel loved no matter what, to feel divine no matter what, to love themselves and others no matter what—and how to do that safely. I just don’t trust myself to know how to keep them safe from the harmful rhetoric of the church and I feel a strong desire to protect them from it right now. I also don’t know how to protect myself from it, either. How can I teach my children this if I can’t even figure it out myself? It’s so messy and scary, to be honest. It may not always feel that way, but for now, I have chosen to seek out other places and opportunities to teach my children loving values and practice serving and loving others. (I highly recommend the Unitarian Universalist church as it promotes social justice issues and LGBTQ+ equity. It has been a soft landing place, for the moment.)

Thank you for this space; it saves my sanity and instigates many productive and amazing conversations with my husband, who is also a dutiful listener. This work is so important, please keep doing what you do. I’m sure at some points along the way you may feel exhausted from having variations of similar conversations, but they are so important. And the perspectives and meaning speak and land differently, as you already know. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

—Sid

Hi,

I just was listening to your Episode 235 and there are several things that stuck out to me.

I am a mom of a young woman. She’s 14. Every path that she’s been told will lead to success is probably not there. Nursing, education, computer science, science at all—these are paths that are traditionally held out. Doctors. Lawyers. But the costs of education are so high. She’s an athlete. She’s trusting in her athletics to cover her schooling so that she can get a degree in the first place.

She’s getting the same messages her aunts got. I was never a YW. I’m a convert. And I always grew up with the idea that I will work and have a career. Being a mother was never ever on my radar. And being a mother isn’t on her radar. She pushed back in seminary when they said the equivalent of priesthood for women is motherhood. She asked what happens if she can’t physically have kids? Or if she can’t afford them. What happens if things don’t work out. Is she less? And why is her spirituality tied to something about her body? Isn’t she worth more than that. And I guess she inspired a revolt because I got the joy of meeting with the seminary teachers.

I’m shocked at how resilient these girls are. And how willing they are to take their friendships from seminary and all into the real world and rely on those. They have hope. They have amazing ideas. And they do not let adults squash on them at all. But the messages they’re getting are still the same ones her aunts got. It is just not the same world, but it is the same messages.

At some point the church is going to have to adapt or they will lose all the young women. She knows several gay young women who are in seminary because they believe, but who have plans to leave the church because the church can’t accept them. She’s decided that she won’t continue when she’s on her own either because the church lacks the flexibility or general desire to change with and support the youth as they are experiencing the world, and relies on the “older” times instead of leaning into what they are going through now.

Just wanted to throw all that into your discussions. Again, I love your podcast. But the church is going to lose them all.

—Natasha

Contributors:

Erin Gong

I am a creative problem solver, learning to sit still. I’ve spent the last 20 years easing out of the more traditional LDS tenets I grew up with, and at the same time enjoying a delightfully roundabout career—starting as a grant writer for children’s museums, then a consultant for non-profits, then Silicon Valley data scientist, and now a senior manager in tech. I live in Salt Lake City with my spouse and three children. I love to help other women discover their options to pursue a meaningful career, nurture their passions, and have a family.

Carly Carter

I am a paraeducator, mother, and writer who has spent years navigating the tension between deep love for my LDS faith and the feeling of not measuring up within it. My writing explores faith, identity, longing, and the pull to remain connected even while wrestling with difficult questions.

Angela Delgado

I am an aspiring writer living in Salt Lake City, UT. My faith journey continues to be a source of discovery AND frustration, but I am learning to be okay with every new bend in the road. I love traveling to far off places, spoiling my two cats, and spending time with family.

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Dr. Jana Riess of Religion News Service published an article recently asking, “Why are young women leaving Mormonism?” It’s a great question, and one we could ask about every age group of Latter-day Saint women. Some answers seem very obvious; some may be harder to pin down. So how many women are actually leaving, and might institutional and/or cultural changes reverse the trend? In Episode 272, Jana joins Cynthia and Susan for a conversation about women and church, touching on 3 potential “P” (problem) areas: politics, purity culture, and powerlessness.

Notes & Quotes:

Find Jana's Religion News Service column, Flunking Sainthood, here
Why Are So Many Young Women Leaving Mormonism?, by Jana Riess, Flunking Sainthood, Religion News Service, 8/4/2026
The Diaries of Carol Lynn Pearson—Mormon Author, Feminist, and Activist: Volume 2: 1990–2002, by Carol Lynn Pearson
If Not Now, When? Mormon Women and the Priesthood, essay from The Challenge of Honesty: Essays for Latter-day Saints, by Frances Lee Menlove

“Aileen went on to say that since 1980 the statistics for women's attendance at church have gone down, for the first time in church history. Not a huge jump, but consistently down. ‘The Brethren's emphasis on getting the priesthood in a strong place has worked; the men's statistics are up. But not the women's, It has had a dastardly effect on the women.’’’ —Carol Lynn Pearson, (p. 62, April 26, 1992)

“As I go about my business in the world I am so encouraged that so many, many people of such diverse backgrounds are trying to sincerely help heal the wounds patriarchy has given to all of us. And then I come home to the dark, sterile, correlated “ males only “ club that is my church, and I am sick at heart.” —Carol Lynn Pearson, (p. 14, 1990)

“Christy Lloyd asked him ( stake pres) if he would join a church in which the females did everything important from passing the sacrament to presiding, and in the eternities his wife could have more than one husband, etc. etc. He said no, and most men wouldn't, but women *do* and that's the difference. I mean, he said it like because women don't have the pride men have, they will put up with things men wouldn't.” —Carol Lynn Pearson, (p. 52, 1992)

“The tasks of one age are not necessarily the tasks of another. I am suggesting that one of the tasks of our age is to bring into reality that ancient baptismal formula: “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew nor Greek, there is no longer slave nor free, there is no longer male nor female: for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (Gal. 3:27–28) Perhaps the new research, along with the Internet and the energy of people meeting each other and re-evaluating their experiences, will prove to be the key in allowing us to embrace this egalitarian vision, this discipleship of equals, and transform it into a new social reality.” —Frances Lee Menlove

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I got a message from Susan this morning asking me if my Worthy Stuff column (or is this an article? Essay? Just musings?) was coming out today. Woops! Sorry to be the flakey one of the ALSSI team! The worst part about forgetting to send this to your in box first things this morning was that I actually had been keeping a running list of some favorite stuff on my phone. So here are the memories I have been collecting for the last little while.

It would appear that summer is over and for the first ever I am not sad…yet. I am sure that grief will hit but so far the cooler days feel awesome. Perhaps it’s because this has been one of hottest summers on record for Utah. It also probably didn’t help that I have spent a lot of time in extra-flaming-hot St. George, but like Susan, even (especially?) flaming-hot deserts have their sacredness.

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Do Latter-day Saints believe our own stuff about faith? How does it differ from all the other words we sometimes get it tangled up with? What role is it meant to play in our lives and discipleship? Where and how might it intersect with love? In Episode 271, Susan and Cynthia are back for ALSSI Season 12 with a conversation exploring one of the biggest ideas in Christianity: Faith.

Notes & Quotes:

Faith as Participation and Trust that God Cares About the Now, Center for Action and Contemplation, 4/10/2016
The Wisdom of the Beguines: The Forgotten Story of a Medieval Women’s Movement, by Laura Swan
Faith Mends the Breach, Center for Action and Contemplation, 10/19/2023
Faith: Trusting Your Own Deepest Experience, by Sharon Salzberg
Faith is a Verb, Rosanna M. White
What We Talk About When We Talk About God, by Rob Bell
Faith and Doubt Are Not Opposites, Center for Action and Contemplation, 2/3/2021
Job and the Truth About Suffering, Aubrey and Tim Chaves with Dr. Mike Petrow, Faith Matters podcast, 8/9/2026
Always a Guest: Speaking of Faith Far From Home, by Barbara Brown Taylor
Bowing to What Is – ‘All In This Together’ Inspired Article #1, Jack Kornfield, 1/7/2026
I and Thou, by Martin Buber
At Last She Said It: Honest Conversations About Faith, Church, and Everything In Between, by Susan Hinckley and Cynthia Winward

When Faith Endures
(hymn 128)
I will not doubt, I will not fear;
God’s love and strength are always near.
His promised gift helps me to find
An inner strength and peace of mind.
I give the Father willingly
My trust, my prayers, humility.
His Spirit guides, his love assures
That fear departs when faith endures.

Doctrine &Covenants 6: 36-7—”Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not. Behold the wounds which pierced my side, and also the prints of the nails in my hands and feet; be faithful, keep my commandments, and ye shall inherit the kingdom of heaven.”

“Faith” is not an affirmation of a creed, an intellectual acceptance of God, or believing certain doctrines to be true or orthodox (although those things might well be good). Yet that seems to be what many Christians have whittled faith down to. Such faith does not usually change your heart or your lifestyle.” —Richard Rohr

“I’m convinced that much modern atheism is a result of such a heady and really ineffective definition of faith. We defined faith intellectually, so people came up with intellectual arguments against it and then said, “I don’t believe in God.” —Richard Rohr

“God refuses to be known intellectually. God can only be loved and known in the act of love; God can only be experienced in communion. This is why Jesus “commands” us to move toward love and fully abide there.” —Richard Rohr

"I urge you again and again to practice true love and to aspire to truth and perfection, that you may satisfy God, please Him (God], and do Him honor and justice, first in Himself [God's Presence] and then in the good people He loves and who love Him, and may you give them all they need whatever their state may be. This I urge you to do unceasingly, and this I have done since I came among you, for it is the best and most becoming way to serve God.” —Hadewijch, (Belgian Beguine, poet and mystic)

“Now I know that faith is not believing-certain-ideas-all-evidence-to-the-contrary. It is not dogged loyalty to childhood conditioning or pledges of allegiance to sacred formulas and official explanations. It is surely not the addictive repetition of rituals or practices that keep God under control. These approaches give the ego comfort…” —Richard Rohr

“When we claim our right to question everything, including our beliefs, we can unhook from our dependence on what is familiar and let in the heartfelt, open, fresh quality of faith.” —Sharon Salzberg

“Doubt is often a sign that your faith has a pulse and it is alive and well and searching and exploring.” —Rob Bell

“I worry about ‘true believers’ who cannot carry any doubt or anxiety at all, as Thomas the Apostle and Saint Teresa of Calcutta (1910–1997) learned to do. Doubt and faith are actually correlative terms. People of great faith often suffer bouts of great doubt because they continue to grow. Mother Teresa experienced decades of this kind of doubt, as was revealed after her death. In a letter to a trusted spiritual director she wrote, ‘Darkness is such that I really do not see — neither with my mind nor with my reason. — The place of God in my soul is blank. — There is no God in me.’ The very fact that the world media and people in general were scandalized by this demonstrates how limited is our understanding of the nature of biblical faith.” —Richard Rohr

“There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds.” —Alfred Lord Tennyson

“If there is nothing we can do right now but wait, then as T.S. Eliot wrote, ‘the faith is in the waiting.’” —Sharon Salzberg

“Faith has more to do with staying fully present to what is happening right in front of you than with being certain of what it all means. The meeting is the thing.” —Barbara Brown Taylor

“Bowing doesn’t mean liking what’s happening. It doesn’t mean giving up. It means acknowledging what is before trying to make it something else. It is the difference between fighting the moment and meeting it.” —Jack Kornfield

”All real living is meeting.” —Martin Buber

“But what if the point is not to decode the cloud but to enter into it? What if the whole Bible is less a book of certainties than it is a book of encounters, in which a staggeringly long parade of people run into God, each other, life—and are never the same again? [...] Whether such biblical encounters register in human consciousness as ‘good’ or ‘bad,’ they have a way of breaking biblical people open, of rearranging what they think they know for sure so that there is room for more divine movement in their lives. Sometimes the movement involves traveling from one place to another. Sometimes it means changing their angle on what is true and why. Sometimes it involves the almost invisible movement of one heart toward another. Certainties can become casualties in these encounters…” —Barbara Brown Taylor

“That small softening was the bow.” —Jack Kornfield

”The imagination should be allowed a certain freedom to browse around.” —Thomas Merton

“I have found no downside to letting my head off its leash as often as it begs to go. The more information my head brings back for my heart to consider, the more my capacity for understanding grows. Faith begins in the same place hope does: a place my head can’t rule no matter how much it tries to assert its own importance.” —Susan Hinckley, (p. 129)

“Our faith is not a faith that dogmas or moral opinions are true, but a faith that Ultimate Reality/God/Christ is accessible to us—and even on our side.” —Richard Rohr

“Faith, in contrast to belief, is not a definition of reality, not a received answer, but an active, open state that makes us willing to explore. While beliefs come to us from outside—from another person or a tradition or heritage—faith comes from within, from our alive participation in the process of discovery. Alan Watts summed up the difference simply and pointedly as, ‘Belief clings, faith lets go.’”—Sharon Salzberg

“With their assumptions of correctness, beliefs try to make a known out of the unknown. They make presumptions about what is yet to come, how it will be, what it will mean, and how it will affect us. Faith, on the other hand, doesn’t carve out reality according to our preconceptions and desires. It doesn’t decide how we are going to perceive something but rather is the ability to move forward.” —Sharon Salzberg

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I’m sure all of us Mormons can vaguely

remember sitting in Primary meetings and being taught about the Holy Ghost. The key bullet points I remember from Primary are: The Holy Ghost is the third member of the God head, He doesn’t have a body, and He is God’s presence on the earth. I figured out that this magical being is the way we feel God. As a kid, I always found the Holy Ghost to be very mystical and unknowable. To be completely transparent, I was a bit trepidatious at the thought of the Holy Ghost. I mean, for Pete sake, there is “ghost” in the very name of this ambiguous thing, but somehow, it’s not supposed to be scary. My teachers told me It can even enter our body and touch our heart like that wasn’t supposed to terrify me. Not only was it not supposed to scare me, it was supposed to be something I wanted.

I pretty much followed the standard Mormon journey, and somewhere along the way, I did discover how to feel Heavenly Father’s spirit. I did all the things: took seminary and then institute, studied scripture, attended church, dated a returned missionary and then married him. I went to the temple regularly, said standard Mormon prayers, not just attended but anxiously engaged in Sunday school lessons and skipped to Relief Society activities.

Then, in what seemed to be an instant, it all came crashing down. Like so many of us who experience faith deconstruction, I looked at all the broken pieces of my spirituality laying around me and I wondered, “Where the hell is God in any of this? How the hell did I feel God before when all I feel now is pain and confusion?” I didn’t feel Him anymore. I mean, God wasn’t even a HIM for me anymore.

I was in a constant state of fear about my standing and worthiness before God. I couldn’t feel God anymore and my Mormon conditioning kicked into overdrive; My doubting had put me in a fallen state (yes, my bishop at the time actually said this to me) and so I must not be worthy to feel the Holy Ghost. But, I couldn’t reconcile this “truth” with the God I had experienced and the deep desire within me. Just like Enos, I wrestled before God. Or maybe a better way to say it is that I wrestled before MY idea of God. My sobbing became a prayer in and of itself. I would mentally yell into the universe, “I have so many good intentions. I am lost and feel all alone, but I want to be found! I have such a desire to know what God wants for me. Surely, a benevolent God that sees my soul reaching out with such earnestness can’t condemn me for changing. I’m evolving and all I want is to understand this new me. How could my God be mad at me and leave me when my desires are so pure?”

The more I sought God, the more distance I felt.

In Luke 5 Jesus encounters his cousin, John’s, disciples and they ask Christ why he isn’t requiring his disciples to fast. He tells them the time will come, but it isn’t yet. And then he tells them this parable:

Change was coming—no one understood that yet. The kingdom Jesus ushered in could not fit into the Pharisees’ paradigm or way of living. The status quo would no longer do. Current teachings, even the teachings of John the Baptist, were good, but passing away, since they were part of the Old Covenant which Jesus was fulfilling and renewing.

As my entire paradigm shifted, my old way of experiencing God wasn’t working either. The truth was, none of the standard Mormon stuff worked for me anymore. Okay, I shouldn’t say NONE of it. Very little of it worked for me. As my entire paradigm shifted, my old way of experiencing God wasn’t working either. I was shoving new wine into old wineskins and they had burst. It was like I was standing there, bawling, soaked in metaphorical wine, looking around at the carnage of my burst wineskin with no idea how to get a new one.

At the end of the parable, Jesus throws a little curve ball:

Jesus basically tells us, “Hey, this “New Kingdom” journey we are on together is going to suck. No one likes new things or being uncomfortable, but hang in there. This higher way of thinking is going to be worth it. I promise.” Turns out, there is a period of adjustment for the followers of old paths who are willing to grow in new ways. I was definitely uncomfortable AND I was willing.

In my countless hours of reading, scrolling, listening to podcasts, I came across this quote:

So I went searching in new (and some old) places for God and what do you know?

I found God in a group of friends gathering to talk about their own ongoing faith transitions.
I experienced God on evening walks with my dog.
I still connected with God while taking the sacrament, even though I thought about the ordinance in completely new and different ways.
I found God in the reeds and the wind, my kids’ laughter in the background.
I felt God in the pillow that caught my tears as I released my pain.
I found God as I learned from great Christian thinkers, Mormon and non-Mormon alike.
I found God in the eyes of my spouse as he desperately tried to meet me where I was.
I found God as I experienced the deep sorrow of mourning my old self.
I experienced God in death and rebirth.

After all that, I started to understand what Richard Rohr meant when he said:

I went camping a few weekends ago, away most notably from all the light pollution in the city. It’s almost my favorite part of camping, star gazing. I got all my kids to bed, and sat out alone looking up at the stars. I tried to empty my brain of thought, breathe deep and just be. I let my gaze linger on the mistiness of the Milky Way. I felt confident that I would encounter God. Nature is the place I go most often when I’m trying to find God and I was sure there was no way the sheer immensity of space would let me down. I gazed and admired. Tilted my head this way and that. Called out to God with my soul. More like, politely inquired if God was there. Ya know when you have to knock on your boss’ door to interrupt them and you are 100% sure the interruption is going to be received poorly? The knock is timid and you peek your head around the door with a grimace on your face, already anticipating the angry look your boss will throw your way? That was me as I looked up at the expanse above me.

Then my human messiness took over and my internal tone shifted to something like, “Hey Bruh. What are you doing? I showed up. I took 5 minutes to myself to sneak away from my kids, quiet down and be intentional and where the hell are you? Too good to show up? I believed you would be here. I’m doing the work, so why aren’t you showing up? Aren’t you the God that meets me where I am?”

I thought perhaps I’d called God out enough to show up just to spite me.

After another breath or two, I conceded.

“Well, this is pointless. But the stars are gorgeous and I’m glad I got to see the arm of the milky way tonight. Just wish I’d felt more.”

It seems as though after a few years of general contentment, I’m finding myself back to searching for God. I still frequently close my eyes, breath deep and envision my heart expanding. I imagine my soul cracking open and letting the God of my current understanding penetrate my psyche. Sometimes, I feel a rush of refreshment. But more often than not, I don’t feel a damn thing. Old habits die hard and I’ve started asking, “Where is God now?”

A large part of me worries that I no longer feel moved by God because I’m not as desperate and broken as I was five years ago. I’m much more at home and at peace with my deconstruction and because of that I no longer live, eat and breathe spiritual matters like I did at the beginning of my journey. Has time made me complacent? Again, I’m back in new territory and fighting the urge not to panic.

Last month, Susan published her August Worthy Stuff, and her words allowed me to connect with God as I was reading. I was so grateful for how I felt after I was done that I sent her this message:

Ah, Susan. Your “Worthy Stuff” was so wonderful. Funny, vulnerable, very tender. I just loved it. It was a gift to read about the dichotomy that was (probably still is) your life those few days: all you wanted to do was grieve, yet life went on. You did it because what else could you do? You are doing it beautifully even though I’m sure it feels like an impossible mess.

You sharing the ordinary, lovely moments that stood out to you during those days—the lipstick, our joke while we were shooting, your MIL holding your hand, the women showing up to the quilt show, the roadshow and cake, texts from friends—touched me deeply. Reading this was my spiritual practice for the day.

It was such a tragic, beautiful reminder that God is everywhere in this shit storm of life and if we can somehow figure out how to calm our hearts and see our God, even for just a split second—the time it takes to put on lipstick in a mirror, or hold someone’s hand—then we are learning something in life. I think, because I no longer experience HUGE waves of “feeling the spirit,” that I chase after the small connections I find with God. I chase the times when my heart is open enough to feel the presence that’s all around, if I can just get out of my own damn way for two seconds. So, long story short, for you to share those small moments of presence in some of the worst days of your life was so valuable to me. Thank you for writing it and opening your heart in that way. It’s an example of the kind of living I want to do.

*BTW, if you haven’t read Susan’s post, go read it IMMEDIATELY. 12/10 stars. Highly recommend.

I’ve recently thought that maybe I’m not encountering God because I’ve ONCE AGAIN started to limit where I’m looking or even supposing I can find God. Or maybe it’s because my understanding of God is changing yet again.

To me, God can still appear as a resounding feeling that whatever I happen to be experiencing, learning or hearing is profoundly good, ever expansive and can lead me towards my highest self. If we believe that every good thing comes from God, then surely that means not just temporal things, but feelings and emotions as well. If that’s the case, there are so many new names I have for the God of my ongoing understanding.

Relaxation
Contentment
Fulfillment
Conviction
Satisfaction
Awe

New wine, new wineskins.

With this new definition I start to wonder: did I actually miss God that night a few weeks ago as I looked at the stars? Could God have been in the simple acknowledgment of the beauty I was seeing? If so, finding God can be a lot simpler than I ever supposed it to be.

For now, I’m trying to relax and remember that if I want it, God will show up. I just can’t limit where I’m looking or how I’m connecting. I’ll just keep breathing deep and etch this quote from Richard Rohr into the lining of my heart:

Blakelee Ellis

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You say goodbye…we say hello!

If fall’s around the corner, that means summer is on its way out, and September this year means picking up where we left off at ALSSI.

New Season, same Us! 🥳

Season 12 is less than 2 weeks away, and we’re going to be taking on more Big Ideas. We have exciting guests lined up, and we’ll all be hearing from plenty of listeners, too. We’re happy to be back at our mics and thinking thinky thoughts! We didn’t know what to expect when we started the pod, but we didn’t expect 12 seasons.

Thank you for the support that continues to allow us to share these conversations.

Calendar —

9/3 Say More No. 69 | Blakelee Ellis

9/8 Season 12 begins with Ep. 271, Big Ideas | Faith

9/10 Worthy Stuff | Cynthia Edition

9/15 Ep. 272, Let’s Talk About Women Leaving the Church | A Conversation with Dr. Jana Riess

9/17 Say More No. 70 | Listener Submissions

9/18 Friday Live Chat

9/21 Ep. 273, What Do You Say?

9/24 ALSSI News

9/29 Ep. 274, Creation Begins with Speaking Up | A Conversation with Sara Fisk

10/1 ALSRI Book Club, 7:00 pm Mtn

ALSRI Book Club is coming up soon!

Our last book club meeting for the year is almost here! Time to grab your book and get reading. The selection chosen at the July meeting is Melinda Gates’ The Moment of Lift: How Empowering Women Changes the World. Whether you’ve read the book or not, these are great discussions and we hope you’ll join us!

At Last She Read It Book Club
Thursday, October 1
7:00 pm Mtn
Register to receive a Zoom link here

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September means it’s our anniversary!

Our Substack anniversary is here again, and to celebrate we are offering a special rate—between now and October 1, you can snag a paid subscription for $60/yr. You’ll get all 4 of our Thursday newsletters, 2 Friday Live Chats/mo. (if you can’t attend live, listen to the recorded session at your convenience), and access to our ongoing community chat on Substack. It’s the best discussion on the internet! Come join this group of amazing ALSSIers and talk about … all of it.

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Hope to see you everywhere!

~Susan & Cynthia
& the ALSSI Team

Patriarchy

Every time I think I have finally resolved my anger stage something new reignites it. I read Cynthia’s Say More today and also felt the melt downs. I have been fighting this sexism fight a long time and to read those statements by those women in leadership just sank my heart. We can’t even be honest without repercussions from the boys at the top. I feel so done with it… honestly I say that often and here I am still giving it real estate in my head. Thank you Cynthia for opening my eyes once again to how wrong it all is and was.

-Kim

I’m at my brother’s ward for my niece’s baby blessing. As all the men went up to bless the baby, my 5-year-old niece said, “Girls aren’t allowed to do that.” She saw it clearly. My brother who is out of the church but came was sitting next to us and told her “yeah isn’t that crazy” and she said, “yeah it is.” Here is to a future where little girls just don’t accept that anymore.

-Julie

I teach Valiant 7. One of the girls today asked why girls don’t get the priesthood. I wasn’t teaching today so I didn’t say anything. My co-teacher responded with the typical “women have access to priesthood power” and then said something about using it in the temple. I just let her because I didn’t feel it was appropriate to interrupt her or talk to someone else’s 8-year-old about that when all I can say is “I don’t really know” or “the prophet is sexist.”

-Stacie

Maybe I am late to this epiphany, but I am sitting in sacrament meeting and realizing that, when the male leadership of the church say women “had priesthood authority all along!”, what they really mean is priesthood permission. I feel like they have conflated the word “authority” with “permission.”

Which is why, when women start to test the sexist boundaries of the institution, priesthood “permission” can be removed by the removal of priesthood “authority” when she is released.

While they now gaslight women by insisting that women “always had priesthood authority” (when I was growing up, that statement would have gotten me excommunicated) when they performed their delegated roles, what they really mean is “we always had priesthood permission” to:

1. Be in callings at all

2. Perform the initiatory for other women

And I can’t unsee it. Permission is granted and removed at a whim just like this pseudo-authority they think they have graciously bestowed.

If I have priesthood “authority” to be in any woman’s role here, but not the ability to call my own presidency, set apart, etc. my own people, what I really have is “permission” to temporarily stand in a role a man doesn’t want until I need him to confirm my choices or do the actual setting apart.

-K.S.

Questions

Sacrament meeting was kind of tough today because one lady I really admire and respect bore her testimony about how God sees us during our hard times. Which is nice, but that was one of my shelf breakers. I went through a *super* hard time and couldn’t (and still can’t) find God. Which is fine—I can deal—but hearing it brought up always begs the question of why God was there for them, but not for me? Which is a stupid question that I don’t really want to be asking, but it seems to pop up in my soul anyway.

-ELarsen

Really weird open mic today. Not so open, though. A young man who was raised in my ward returned today to “get some things off his chest.” He talked about being bullied and not fitting in as a youth and then learning about the race ban as a seminary student and knowing that was wrong. He then intimated that he would be there a while to list the other problems he has with the church, at which time the bishop quietly asked him to share his testimony of Christ so others would have time to speak. I heard him say, “they’ve had my whole life to speak, this is my turn.” Then they shut off his mic and, after a few more attempts to resist being escorted out, he walked out saying he had a problem with misogyny, Warren Jeffs, and greed, and then said we all ought to know the names of every one of JS’s wives. It was hard to watch. The bishop followed him out and I trust had a very calming encounter with him. Our bishop is super sweet and really Christlike. The testimonies continued and I was pleasantly surprised that no one said anything derogatory about the young man. One person said they were grateful the bishopric used their priesthood to defend the members by removing him. After the meeting I asked an old guy in the ward who used to be the bishop who the man was. He gave me his name and I was able to find him on Facebook. I saw the names of his parents and realized they were a couple my friend had told me about who resigned their memberships about 6-7 years ago. So I messaged the young man’s dad and let him know what had happened in our ward and told him his son might need some extra love and attention today. I sent him my picture and said to give his son a hug from me and let him know I heard him and I validate his feelings and I know what it’s like to be silenced at church. The dad wrote back later saying he met his son at the stake center (where he had gone to try to talk to the stake president without an appointment) and they were talking about what happened. He thanked me for letting him know. My husband and I talked about the day’s events just now. We agreed that hijacking sacrament meeting is not the way to get things off one’s chest, but we also agreed that there really is no time or place where it’s even allowed to discuss these big problems with our history and policies and doctrines. The Gospel Topics essays need to be discussed and people need to be able to bring up their concerns about the church without fear of being shut down when they do. At a stake leadership meeting when he was in the bishopric, my husband suggested having a separate SS class to go over all of the essays one at a time and was ignored. When there is no outlet for people to air their concerns, they come out in a big burst of anger like what happened today. It’s a shame. That pain has to go somewhere.

-Carol

What does having faith mean to you? Because I’ve been thinking about that lately and today’s sacrament mtg just reinforced to me that the Church teaches having faith as blind obedience; whether you have faith or want to acquire faith you do allllll the things. I don’t know what I think having faith means, but I don’t think it’s that.

-Kayla

Have your thoughts on “perfection” changed over time? I recall this being brought up in a semi-recent What Do You Say episode. I don’t remember who it was. I’d like to discuss it more. “Be ye perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect,” (Matt 5:48) was a terrible poison for my OCD brain. Even with repentance, I knew I would never measure up. I was able to let that go in my 20s and accept grace. Still, I thought the atonement would transform me and everyone into “perfect” beings. I began to wonder, what does that even mean? Not getting mad? Not hurting anyone’s feelings? Good at everything? No limits? What if being perfect means giving up my personality because who I am is imperfect? Does perfect mean everyone is the same? A woman in RS once commented on Jesus being perfect and how that meant even as a young child he never did anything wrong or upset Mary and Joseph. You mean a 3-year-old never made a mess or hit their playmate? Currently, my answer to all my “What is perfection?” questions is: I don’t know. It feels good.

-Meredith

I’ve been thinking about the recent conversation Susan and Cynthia had with Lisa Fluckiger about the Beatitudes, and living and ministering in the present.

Lisa paraphrased Father Gregory Boyles’ teachings by saying, “The kingdom isn’t around the corner. It IS the corner.” (I couldn’t find an actual quote of him saying this, but Google can be wrong.?) As I gain experience in this life, especially with my children who do not fit the Covenant Path hiking specs, I find this sentiment to be so true! I find Jesus much more often in the here and now of people living in the gap between pain and the ideal goal. On the corner, as it were.

But, as Sheri Dew recently reasserted, “prophets see around corners.”

I’d go further to say prophets focus on what’s around corners.

Then where does that leave those following the prophet?

No wonder we are running into what and who is on the corner right now, and having problems.

And if Jesus is on the corner, why are prophets (seers, revelators) looking past Him? Isn’t that, literally, “looking beyond the mark”?

-Jackman

Quotes

I read this quote as part of my testimony today and wanted to share it here as well:

-Nicole

Today’s reading from volume 2 of Carol Lynn Pearson—

-Cynthia

In honor of book club.....

-Rebecca

If I stopped giving energy to the system that wants me silent & small and start redirecting that energy to the relationship with my body, my whole self, and those I love — who could I be?!?!

-Mary

Now I’m going to be thinking of my spirituality as a Mountain of Awakening that has set me toward becoming a person of love. So simple—no wonder Jesus came down and was like, “Okay I’ll show you in the flesh since the visions aren’t working out.”

-Lisa

Shifting Faith

To me faith is the expectation that all things (no matter how awful) come together and over time and space create or make room for good in the end. This is my faith in the universe, God, or whatever, makes the giant compost pile which is growing green things in my life.

-LSW

I had the opportunity to sustain or oppose the leaders of the church at ward conference today. Raising my hand is such a habit but today I was mindful and intentionally kept my hands clasped in my lap. I will neither sustain nor oppose the callings. I recognize that I have no power in this institutional church.

I’m not sure if it was a micro aggression or a micro rebellion or just being true to my current faith and belief (that is no longer in the church.)

-Maria

I’ve been attending services at an Episcopal church for a bit now and have noticed something interesting about myself.

As a little background: they sing their communion hymn over and over and over while everyone takes turns going up to receive the Eucharist. The repetition of a simple song is deeply meditative for me and one of my favorite things about the service. The song pictured above has been sung every Sunday since Easter and I love it a lot.

Anyways, for the longest time I found that unless I was concentrating carefully my brain always wanted to change the words from “let all who are THIRSTY come” to “let all who are WORTHY come.” Pretty much sums up both what I’m trying to move towards in my faith and what I’m trying to move away from.

I really feel like I’ve come a long way in deconstructing worthiness and purity culture, but it’s BONKERS to me to see how that word is so tightly wedged down into my subconsciousness.

-Stephanie

Let me share an old Young Women’s activity that I went to when I was a beehive. The setup of the activity was about discerning the right voices and listening to the holy ghost. There had been a maze set up in the cultural hall of folding chairs and you would wait outside the door and then a leader would put a blindfold on you and then open the door for you. After you entered the point was to navigate the maze to the other side of the large room by using the directions that were shouted at you by other leaders. The leaders who were giving directions were the YW president (who I didn’t really click with) and one of the bishopric members. At the time there had been a lot of lessons on priesthood and so I thought of course the answer was to follow the directions from the bishopric counselor. This was going to be an activity to reinforce those lessons. I started to follow the directions from the man and was going in the correct direction but I kept walking into the folding chair obstacles. It was never fully direct contact at the beginning but, like when you cut a corner really quickly and get a sharp counter top edge right in your side. Over and over again I was clipping these folding chairs with my foot, my knee, and then finally I was fully stepping into these chairs over and over again. I realized I was at a dead end. So, my assumption was incorrect and I was wrong. This activity was not to reinforce listening to the priesthood or to the holy ghost or to god as male voices. I don’t think it was thought about that deeply. I did begin listening to what the YW president would give me as directions and then was able to navigate the maze and back out to the hall.

I have recently had some internal experiences of growth and then frustration that felt like 2 hard won steps forward and then getting hit by a car and dragged 50 feet back. I was trying to describe these feelings and had the memory of that experience at that activity come forward into my thoughts. The past couple days reflecting I have felt like I have been walking into folding chairs for a long time. On a drive early this morning on my own I was ruminating on this past again and out loud said, “Enough, what would you re-craft this to be instead!?!”

So, here is what I would re-craft and recreate that beehive experience to be for 13-year-old me.

I would do everything the same up to the point where I realized that I was in a dead end. And then, I would stop, take a deep breath, and take off the blindfold. I would realize that I don’t need to strain to hear outside voices in order to get directions or instructions telling me what to do. I have all the information and context I need through my own senses, physical and metaphysical, to take the first step in front of me and then evaluate what to do next.

I HAVE ALL THE INFORMATION AND CONTEXT I NEED THROUGH MY OWN SENSES, PHYSICAL AND METAPHYSICAL.

-Karina

Lately, church has felt less like a sanctuary and more like an obstacle course. I leave feeling embarrassed by how distracted I am, frustrated by the constant mental loops, and exhausted by the invisible labor of trying to separate God from my OCD. Instead of worship, it often feels like I’m negotiating with my own mind, wondering whether I’m praying “right,” feeling “enough,” believing “correctly,” or even saying “the perfect answers.” It’s hard to encounter the holy when every moment becomes another opportunity to monitor myself. I miss the kind of worship that happens when my heart is free enough to simply be present. It’s strange to know, deep in my bones, that I could meet God more authentically beneath a canopy of trees, or at the top of a mountain, or in the laughter of my family, or under the weight of my own blankets, or even just where I can feel the sun rays stinging my skin and still feel unable to release the invisible tether pulling me back to my assigned congregation.

Maybe that’s why I’m so relieved to spend this Sunday at my uncle’s ward for my cousin’s baby’s blessing. The relief surprises me, but it also makes perfect sense. I’m not going because I feel obligated. I’m going because I love her. She has been part of my tribe for as long as I can remember, one of the people who has shown up for me in ways that are deeply relational rather than merely performative. Celebrating her family doesn’t feel like checking a spiritual box. It feels like breathing fresh air after being inside too long. For a few hours, I don’t have to wonder if I’m worshipping correctly. I simply get to witness love, participate in joy, and remember that sometimes the most sacred thing we can do is show up for one another.

-Jessie

Yesterday marked 30 years since I took out my endowment. Since my first panic attack. Since my first jolt of un-belief in the church.

As a gift to myself, I had been planning to burn my temple recommend on this day. I’ve been thinking about it for a few months and thought I had processed most, if not all, the emotions with this decision.

But, I was genuinely caught off guard when I started shredding the edges of the paper to get it to burn easier.

I had stabs of fear run through my body. Thoughts that I was being disobedient, that I was throwing away eternity. What if I needed it, but no longer had it? For a moment it felt like someone was watching me. Not God, but a man in a white shirt and tie. All these feelings were directly tied to taking back my own authority, standing up for myself. Saying no to the coercive control of the church.

I had planned on putting the ashes in one of my flower beds, but after this experience, I decided to throw them on the gravel path where they will be more easily forgotten.

-Brooke

Frustrations

I have spoken up when something really egregious is said. Usually small things I let go because live and let live ... But for a real example... when somebody says that parents are guilty of child abuse if they “condone” their child coming out as trans.... I’ve pushed back (not in a church lesson, outside of church where people seem to feel freer to talk about really bigoted things) and this is what I get in response.... That I’m being intolerant. I should tolerate their stance. It’s the paradox. If we should be tolerant of all, then we need to be tolerant of intolerance or that makes us intolerant. To me this is weaponizing the traits of empathy and tolerance. This even occurs within church walls where people try to be more socially acceptable in their bigotry. For example, I shouldn’t push back or be intolerant of somebody talking about Charlie Kirk being the perfect Christlike example. ARGGGGH! it’s so manipulative to me, to turn it around and call me intolerant. There are consequences to your bigotry!

-Rebecca

I’ve noticed as Mormons, we completely disregard ethics. We have no critical thinking around them. We only talk about what is morally right or wrong. And that can change depending on who is driving the bus. But ethical questions and answers address the deeper issues.

And sadly, you can tell that he is parroting this from some adult, saying this without any kind of context, but applying it to every context

-Brooke

I HATE THE PRESENCE OF MEN AT YW CAMP. They are worse than useless, it is all about their ego.

I hate the we can bend the rules for men (one man on YW camp but that’s okay because his daughters are here), hiking with a YW leader by himself with no other leader but then—when we suggest bending the rules for women it’s a hard no.

I hate the criticism that comes with organizing camp and then other women (and the stupid man) criticizing what’s going on and how it could be better. I love working hard for high reward events; the way people criticize the work drives me MAD.

-Rebecca

Today will be my first family wedding where I’ll be sitting outside the temple. Now that the day has arrived, it feels a little heavier than I anticipated. It also feels so revealing and yet odds are no one will ask me directly why I’m not inside, they’ll just make up stories in their minds. And when you haven’t had control of your own narrative for so long, I guess it’s hard to be in a place where it doesn’t matter if I’m inside or outside, someone else will be telling my story. I realized that this is what is really bothering me this morning. I really want to be my own storyteller, not a character someone else created. And today I fear that even though I won’t be inside the temple I’ll still not be seen for who I am, just for what I’m not.

-Stephenie

Most of the time, my TBM husband and I have reached a truce where we just don’t really talk about church things. But this week, our 13-year-old son (who is the only one who attends with his dad) was away at a cousin’s so my husband went alone. So he was sad, telling me how hard it is to go alone to a ward where he doesn’t feel like he has any connections (we have been in the ward for 18 years, but extended family cliques mean he has always felt like an outsider). So first of all, what a stupid system it is where a stand-up guy like my husband who gives his all to church, can’t choose to attend a ward 20 minutes away where his brother and my brother and childhood friends go. Makes me raging angry.

Then cue deep and meaningful discussion about how he is still trying to figure out what it means for our family in the next life because I have left with all our daughters. Me explaining to him that no loving parent would banish a child for ETERNITY for not following some arbitrary rules so I don’t believe there is any reality where my Mormon status excludes me from being with him (I mean, I don’t think I believe in an afterlife at all, but I definitely don’t believe in the Mormon version). And watching him tie himself in knots both agreeing with me but also telling me there are eternal, universal laws that God is bound by. It’s exhausting listening to the mental gymnastics he has to do.

-Hannah

I just got a newsletter from our RS. There is a new RS presidency and they share their bio about them. I know all these women though I am not acquainted with them any more. They are educated and have a lot to offer yet their info doesn’t relate. As I read their bios they described themselves [and] who they were in context with their family. The new RS president is a full-time nurse but makes no mention of it. One of the counselors is a business owner but makes no mention of it, yet chose to share that she loves to bake or likes art. They are all wives, mothers, mother-in-law, grandmas, daughters of god and everything else except themselves. What the eff? Women perpetuate their own place in the church. Many do it to themselves. If I wrote my bio it would include my whole life not the part that fits the LDS box. I’m disappointed they chose not to include their professional accomplishments. And I truly mean that I respect and admire each of them. They are so much more capable [than] what they included in their bio. If you were to write your bio, what would you write?

-Priscilla

Isn’t it interesting as we process our anger over the modesty obsession and change our attire as we go on a faith expansion! And yet as I watch men go on a similar faith journey, they are not talking about clothing, they don’t feel anger for what they had to wear. My husband only changed his underwear and worries a little less about the length of shorts. Nothing changed with his style choices.

On faith journey zoom group calls, many women are showing up in tank tops. Men’s attire remains the same. Yet the church comes out with a men’s open sleeve tank top? For what purpose?

When outside of exercise do men wear tank tops?

Men have little trauma about clothing and women are sent into a rage. Feel free to push back if you see men’s experience differently. I’m just going off of my experiences and observations.

-Kim

Good Things

Our sacrament meeting was mostly about how Young Men’s and Young Women’s camp went and hearing talks from the youth. But the whole line-up on the program was women! They called up one of the young men impromptu to give a brief testimony but then the talks were 2 young women and 1 adult female for a regular talk. It was refreshing! Also the girls spoke about how the camp theme was about being children of God, primarily the royalty perspective of a “King” and “Queen” as our heavenly parents. Seems like our ward is doing a great job of being more inclusive and representative!

-Becca

I spent the morning at a missionary farewell in a ward with an apostle on the stand, which isn’t uncommon with my daughter’s friend group and where we live. What I thought was interesting was that this cute girl we went to support said that when her brother left on a mission he mentioned all the men who had inspired him and her grandmother had felt left out. So, she thanked her grandmother and the women in her life first. Despite all the things I disagree with and find troubling in the church, I have faith that this next generation of teenage girls will demand more as they see the inequity in the church, even if it’s just small things that they work to correct and make right over the pulpit. I really loved that she made it right for her grandmother.

-Stephenie

Here’s what’s on my mind this morning. I preface it by saying I’m an ‘older’ person. Maybe the oldest in these realms. I’m feeling absolutely ready to burst with the millions of life experiences and feelings and no place to lay them down or share them. Most people don’t really want to hear your stories so you spend the day thinking about them and realizing how each story played a part in your becoming. I don’t know exactly where I’m going with this, but just let me say I’m so blessed to be associated with all of you women who think. Thinking women will change the world one think at a time. Keep thinking out there!

-Pat

First adult speaker was talking about “consider the lilies” and when it talked about being clothed without toil or spinning, my first thought was of the invisible labor of (probably) women who would make the clothes that would be provided. But then I realized, because of all the grace-peddling here, he’s probably not talking about clothing that obviously someone would have to work to create, it is grace he provides as a covering, without us toiling or spinning.

He went on to be really vulnerable about mental illness and clarify that anger and sadness are not sin. It was beautiful. Then a woman got up (from our ward, but there as a stake speaker) and told us all to put smiles on our faces because the gospel is so wonderful.

-Suzanne

My very favorite 85-year-old in the ward teaches RS and is also a raging feminist and super liberal. The conference talk she taught from was Elder Gilbert’s “Come Home.” I went in very curious about what she’d say. I don’t think she mentioned the talk even one time. Instead, she introduced the books “The Next Mormons” and “Torn,” reviewed statistics about reasons why people are leaving the church and opened a discussion about productive and positive ways to react and maintain loving relationships with those opting out. Instead of little handouts with scripture verses or quotes from General Authorities, the handouts she passed around were links to where we could buy the books and find Faith Matters podcasts with Jeff Strong. It. Was. Fabulous. Everyone was animated, shared stories, there was just a synergy that flowed through us as we spoke freely and openly about what was really on our minds—not the usual guarded “acceptable” comments we normally get in RS. We touched on female ordination, our LGBTQIA family members, problems with doctrine and leadership.... we went everywhere!

There was one sister missionary (older adult service missionary) attending from out west who assured us that the church leadership she knew personally were aware of these kinds of feelings amongst members. (OH GREAT, so they know and still aren’t doing anything... perfect)

Then I spoke in sacrament meeting and wished everyone a Happy Pride Month and bore a little testimony about how I’m an ally and believe that expansion of human rights and dignity to everyone elevates us all.

Good things happening in Northern Virginia.

-Heidi

I really enjoyed church today. A homeless man walked in during the 2nd sacrament talk. He sat there maybe five minutes and then walked out conspicuously walking towards the front first. One of the older brothers followed him out and then came and got me to open up the library. The man was asking for a Book of Mormon. We gave him one.

After he left a woman showed up that had moved away from the ward a couple years ago and was back, down on her luck trying to get her life together. I gave her $20 I had in my pocket and another member gave her more. We gave her our numbers (her phone had been lost). I walked her down to RS. I sat by a newer member who confided to me that she doesn’t feel welcomed in the ward. We exchanged numbers.

We had a discussion of experiences that show you Jesus loves you. I ended up tearfully sharing an experience that really matters to me, but that I no longer believe makes the church “true” in any exclusive way.

I don’t feel like I am being deceptive by sharing things that mean different things to me now. I just think I am sharing in the language they can process. But it was an odd feeling

-LSW

last but not least…….

Good for a Laugh

BEING PROVEN RIGHT IS LIKE A DRUG FOR ME! I spend so much time assuming I’m wrong about everything, once you give me a little bit of dopamine for being right, I’m riding that high for literal days.

-Kaitlyn

A 70-ish man (that I know) tapped my bare shoulder (I was wearing a sleeveless dress) and asked, in the middle of sacrament meeting (not in a whisper!) how I was liking the new garments.

-Julie

I walked past this broken exit sign at church a couple weeks ago. The symbolism had me giggling to myself.

-Michelle

The lady saying the opening prayer in RS said, “We’re thankful to be here today even though I don’t like Relief Society much.”

Love the honesty.

-Emily

This morning as my husband got dressed my 8-year-old son was commenting on his garments. He said he couldn’t imagine wearing extra layers of clothes, that an undershirt sounded bad enough but why does dad wear undershirt pants??

-Maria

-Marie

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Forrest Gump’s mama said life is like a box of chocolates—you never know what you’re going to get—and I think that’s a sturdy enough metaphor. It holds up, in my experience. But as I texted Cynthia last night, life feels to me more like a salad bowl with every blessed thing in it. One bowl, all the everything. Personally I like to curate my salad a little more carefully than that, but all-the-things all-the-time seems to be what’s on the menu no matter what we order. At least with chocolates you have a choice whether to eat any. Life is an all-you-can-eat-and-keep-eating-until-closing salad bar containing everything you can name, but also all the things you don’t have words for.

I knew this a month ago, but I know-know it today.

We’ll start here: My mom died July 17, just an hour or so before Cynthia and I were scheduled to have a photo shoot—the kind of pics you need for promo stuff when you’re in the podcast biz. If you ever wonder what you’ll do right after you get the phone call that your mom just died, I’m going to suggest that you probably won’t know until the minute it happens. What I did is put on a little lipstick (which I never wear) and go for pictures.

There’s something about a bit of normalcy when the world turns upside down that can be lifesaving medicine.

I’d gotten the call that something was up with my mom—and it wasn’t good—the morning before, standing in the roller coaster line at Lagoon amusement park. Well, adjacent to the roller coaster line, holding my 2 year old granddaughter who was waving to her mom a bit nervously as the line snaked away, and also trying to put her fingers all over my sunglasses because she found that to be the funniest thing she could think of to do when you’re plunked in grandma’s lap and your mom walks away.

Maybe everyone should have a giggling two-year-old in their lap when they get that kind of phone call. It keeps the “and” in plain sight.

I answered the call as best I could, and absorbed the news as best I could. I didn’t know what to do. We were at Lagoon as part of our first full-family vacation ever: all the kids, all the grands, together for a week in Utah. (We’ll still be paying for it next year—100% worth it.) ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I’d spent the day with my mom two days before, going to Dairy Queen and playing Rummikub, and I hadn’t even hugged her when I left. I’d just said, “See you next Friday!” Which of course I wouldn’t.

I didn’t get another goodbye.

When I got the call the morning after Lagoon that she was already gone, and I’d missed it, the only comfort I could think of was the memory of helping her in the bathroom in some very personal ways 3 days before. If that’s not a hug and an I love you, I guess I don’t know what is. She’d said to me, as we struggled together to get her garments back where they belonged, “This is when you really want to have a daughter. Sons are good, but you want a daughter when it comes to this.” And as the one there helping the regal woman I’d always thought to be the most beautiful in the world do what amounted to changing her diaper, I thought “There are people who come to work every day and do this job. I can never thank anyone on this staff enough.” At the same time, I felt an unexpected wave of gratitude for having the opportunity to do it myself.

As I pushed her wheelchair up to the sink to wash her hands, she said, “Don’t look in the mirror after 60. Just … don’t.” It was the last—probably very good—motherly advice I’d get.

3 days later, I thought of that advice as I put on my awkward lipstick in the mirror, knowing it couldn’t do a thing to save me. After all, Cynthia is 10 years younger than I am and a good 6 inches taller. Plus, let’s face it—she has some truly worthy hair.

Blakelee—our photographer in addition to everything else she does for ALSSI—did her best to always put me in the most forgiving light, running us through a bunch of poses, assuring me over and over that I looked a-mazing. Remember me telling you how my daughters claim they could tell I was lying to them when they were kids because my voice went too high? Well, there it was, proof from the photographer’s mouth.

Anyway, at one point Blakelee said, “Now look serious,” and I said, “Serious like my mom just died, or some less-serious kind of serious?” And we all laughed. Sometimes laughing with women you love is all there is to do.

I didn’t jump in the car and race down to be with my dad and siblings who’d gathered in St. George to take care of the to-do list that suddenly materializes when someone dies, and that’s because of the aforementioned trip I was on with my own family, but also because of the reason we were on that trip.

We were in Salt Lake to celebrate my other-mother’s 90th birthday with an event so extraordinary, I can’t quite put into words just how special it was. My mother-in-law is much more than just that title in my life—since I was 18 years old, she’s nurtured me at times in ways my own mother couldn’t.

She helped me find my creative footing, taught me the value of my own hands and helped me learn what they could do, gave me perspective and understanding of the ways women’s handwork has saved their lives—and spoken the volumes they couldn’t—across history.

She is largely responsible for my relationship with art, and learning I could make it. In so many ways, this woman introduced me to the self I’ve become.

To celebrate crossing the threshold of her 10th decade, her children put on a quilt show, a retrospective of one facet of her lifetime of creative work. She’s a quilting purist in principle and practice—no machine stitching, no marking pens or adhesives or rotary cutters or synthetic fibers or fancy tricks or shortcuts of any kind. There were 80 quilts in the show, give or take, a remarkable body of work to say the least.

And so many people her quilting—and I think more importantly her being—have touched through the years, showed up. Hundreds of them. You read that right. Women flew in, some who had been in her neighborhood quilting groups as she’d moved around the country, many who (like me) trace their own creative lineage to her. Each quilt was displayed with a handwritten card identifying the pattern and giving a little background, maybe some insight into why she made that quilt at a particular time in her life. She’d also selected quotes that influenced her work, scattering them among the quilts.

A small table held her well-worn tools: needles and scissors, thimble, white cotton thread, and the flannel-covered lap board on which she works. I heard that when she woke up the morning of the event she said, “My tools are at the show. What am I supposed to do all day?”

The family gathered for a dinner the night before (my mom had died that morning). When we arrived, I found my mother-in-law on her porch swing and sat down beside her. We didn’t really say much, just watched what seemed like 100 grown-up cousins happily milling and visiting while their children hollered and chased.

She reached over, took my hand, and just held it.

Swing, swing, swing.

It was the “and” I needed to stay upright.

A few days later, we had the ALSSI live event. Talk about worthy stuff, there’s just nothing in the world better than the women in this community coming together over cake and questions! More healing balm.

The next morning I got up and drove to St. George. My mom didn’t want a funeral, so we weren’t sure how to celebrate her. For her 60th birthday, we had written a roadshow about her life—an irreverent musical roast, which she accepted with grace and humor, as she did most things. We reserved a ward, gathered up all the grandchildren, had a few memorable (and mostly useless) rehearsals, and surprised her with the show. We’d invited a few of her best friends; she looked radiant in a birthday tiara, laughing and crying by turns.

So the Friday after Mom died we gathered—31 years later, those grandkids all adults now—set up a keyboard, and sang the roadshow again in the theater room at the assisted living center. Her favorite white cake with raspberry filling (I didn’t come from nowhere!) completed the evening. Was it the tribute she would have wanted? I don’t know. Sometimes laughing with people you love is all there is to do.

Now, if you’re the kind of person who enjoys connecting life’s dots into little pictures of meaning, you may appreciate this detail: at the exact time my mom passed, all my kids and their kids were on a little family history field trip, caravanning past the house I grew up in. That house was one of the great joys of my mom’s life. My grandkids will never meet her—I like to think she waved from a window somewhere as their cars went by.

I can’t write all the lifey things that have happened in the weeks since. For whatever reason, I’ve been in one of those stretches where everything’s suddenly dialed to 11: good and bad, beautiful and absolutely not, heartbreaking and life affirming. I’m navigating the best of times and worst of times in a few ways and places—my mom’s death is just one. But in my experience, the light thrown off from these life-periods of intense paradox can be better quality than the light I navigate by most of the time.

For one example, I’m finding myself newly aware of the goodness of people. Who knew we could be so thoughtful, so tender in our handling of each other? I have felt seen and loved on a level I’ve never experienced before. More than just surprised, I’m blown away every day by some new kindness. Apparently, I still have much to learn about the care and handling of others, and I hope I can.

Just this morning, I was crying in the McDonald’s parking lot for no reason—as one sometimes does—and received this message from someone you may know as Pastor Stan (whom I’ve never actually met):

Stan Mitchell is someone who moves through the world witnessing and binding-up wounds; it’s the work of his life and ministry. How does one become such a person? Well, in this case I know he lost his own mother not long ago, so he’s sensitive to my fresh wound. It takes one to know one, as the kids say. But reaching out to do something about it when it crosses your mind? That’s next level, and I haven’t quite beat the level I’m on yet.

It’s like this every day right now: someone reminds me that I’m seen and loved, and I’m left standing all amazed. Even though in some ways I feel I’ve been initiated into a specific club with the loss of my mom, what’s actually happening is I am seeing in a new way that there is only the human club, and we’re all in it.

One bowl. Everyone and everything in it together.

Please let the eyes through which I see both—people and the stuff of life—be changed by this light.

When My Mother Died

There were flowers to be tended,
trimmed and ribboned, pinched and placed,
arranged, admired, water clouding green
then greener, needing to be changed

They broke down, bent,
drooped, sagged, smelled, spilled,
shed pollen tears, forgot themselves
in petals on her tabletop and chair

You will try but you won’t keep
what has been cut from life for long—

I have older friends, women
who’ve seen things, who didn’t send flowers
to sing this loss, this life event, they
sent a blanket, an artifact, a plain

and patient souvenir from decades further
down this path—someone is always
ahead, someone is already living
the thing I’m about to learn

—Susan 

*Find more from Richard Rohr on the illusion of separateness here.

What do women do with Christianity? While some experiences may be specific to Latter-day Saints, when we talk to women in other churches we find a surprisingly big overlap: our sisters from other denominations describe so many common themes and similar challenges in their institutional religious experiences and personal spiritual lives. In Episode 270, Cynthia and Susan welcome Dr. Carmen Acevedo Butcher, Dean of Core Faculty at the Center for Action and Contemplation, for a conversation about women and Christianity. Don’t let the “bonus” in the title fool you—this one’s a don’t miss!

Notes & Quotes:

Connect with Dr. Carmen Acevedo Butcher online:
On Substack:
On Facebook
On Instagram
On Threads
Carmen’s Website
Carmen’s Linktree
Carmen’s YouTube Channel
Carmen’s First YouTube Channel
Carmen’s Books
CAC Daily Meditations
CAC Podcasts
CAC Substack
CAC YouTube Channel

CAC Event: What Do Women Do With Christianity?

Have you ever wondered how women navigate faith amid structures that have often marginalized their voices? What Do Women Do with Christianity? is an online event offering wisdom, companionship, and space for bold and honest inquiry.

• Date: Friday, September 11, 2026

• Time: 10:00-11:30 a.m. Pacific Time (PT)

• Featuring: Carmen Acevedo Butcher, Christine Valters Paintner, and Bishop Jennifer Baskerville-Burrows

• Cost: $95, $30, $10, $5

• Register

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For weeks I’ve been knee-deep

in Volume 1 of the Carol Lynn Pearson diaries. Then when I heard that she had passed on July 29, 2026 it felt particularly heavy—as if I had just lost a friend. Daily I have been texting Susan or another friend messages such as, “Today’s reading from CLP that has me melting down is….”

At this point in my Mormony-ness I didn’t think much could trigger my melt-down-meter. After all, I’ve read all the popular Church history books,1 so much so that recently I texted Susan and said, “I think I am completely done reading about messy Mormon history,” which is 95% about men in unmerited positions of authority. But the women? I am always open to learning more about my fellow sisterly saints.

Enter the diaries of Carol Lynn Pearson (CLP), who, as a woman, has heard the private voices and unfiltered opinions of regular women—as well as the women in leadership roles—since the 1960s. And when women talk privately they do not hold back with Carol Lynn!

Up until now, the biggest view behind the curtain of LDS women in leadership we’d had is when Chieko Okazaki gave that now-infamous Dialogue Interview, as well as in 2021 when the Church announced that in Europe women had been called as Area Organization Advisors for the Relief Society and Young Women organizations. About that, I wrote in our book chapter called ‘For the Men in the Room,’2

The above example is fairly benign, it’s more a statement that something was missing rather than their personal feelings about the patriarchy. But in the CLP diaries we get a behind-the-scenes look at the pain points of women in leadership. Here are six diary entries documenting such conversations:

Now do you understand why I have been melting down? And not just because July 2026 was the third hottest July on record in Utah history! 🥵 I don’t know why I assumed women in leadership were called by The Men in Charge because they preferred the status quo of women in the Church. But if I only have their public statements to go by, it’s no wonder I thought they loved patriarchy! Their private sentiments, though, give me another picture of them, least of which is that LDS women are complicated. (Duh!) Nobody’s public comments always match her private comments. But truly I was surprised at their level of disappointment. What didn’t come as a shock to me though is that LDS women in leadership—then and now—still don’t publicly voice their concerns about our place in the church.

In 2019 I thought LDS women leaders were getting close to open dialogue about equality when BYU Women’s conference4 held a panel with our top women church leaders and one of the topics addressed was how to deal with dismissive male church leaders. Here we go, ladies, say it, at last! Jean Bingham, then president of the Relief Society, did have the courage to admit she’d had interactions with a dismissive leader that left her “seething.” She called her interactions with him “purse slamming” moments. Lest I thought she was going to then talk about unrighteous dominion or the power imbalance that exists between men and women, nope, she made excuses saying that she learned over time how to work with him. That it was a “style and personality issue.” That as she prayed for him she learned better ways to approach him.

She went on to say that recently she had counseled with a ward RS president going through the same problem with a dismissive male leader and she gave her that same counsel—to pray for better ways to work with him. In other words, the woman needed to do all the changing. The problem couldn’t possibly be the power imbalance between men and women in the church. Or the “asymmetry,” as Dale Renlund calls the power imbalance.5

“Making yourself smaller is what gave you a seat at the table.”

—Sara Fisk6

But what happened next might be my number one most disappointing thing an LDS woman has ever said on the record. Bingham blamed herself— “We women tend to be shrill or demanding or stubborn, thinking we have the best idea ever.” Nooooooo! Shrill? Really? Men in charge can act badly but the real problem is shrill women? Bingham closed her comments with a type of postscript: “One of the things my parents taught me when we have a challenge with a leader is we do not criticize, ever, ever, ever. I never heard my parents say one negative thing, because it doesn’t help.”7 Hmmmm, sound familiar? This is the same advice given to Barbara Smith in the 1970s—never ever critique. Has nothing changed between 1977 and 2019?

I think it is highly problematic in a hierarchical power structure like the LDS Church—one in which men are always on the top of the org chart and women are always on the bottom—to tell the person who lacks power to look at herself first and say, like Bingham counseled the struggling women, to look within and to ask, ‘Lord, Is it I?” and then to follow that up with advice to never criticize. This is how systems of oppression and domination continue. We teach the group with lesser power to never see those in power as having any fault. Look within and never speak it out loud. Ever, ever, ever.

Thank goodness the internet has allowed for the democratization of LDS women’s voices. Regular women like me, and Susan—and all of you—have public ways to voice our private concerns. I don’t know if the women in the CLP diaries would’ve done anything differently had they lived today. Would they have started a blog? Been a guest on a podcast? Privately joined a chat room with a name like ‘PurseSlammingProvoMom’?

Reading volume 1 of The Diaries of Carol Lynn Pearson while sweating through July offered me a gift that our manuals and church magazines never have and probably never will. My leaders were not—and are not—the passive cheerleaders of patriarchy that their public statements forced them to be. They were sharp women, deeply frustrated, and acutely aware of the “asymmetry” crushing them. So I’ll pick up my melty self off the floor, satisfied today to know that my foremothers have seen every inequity that I see as well. It changes nothing in the organization, but it changes everything in me.

Cynthia Winward

Most of our listeners are regular LDS women like us but we do have some listeners who don’t quite fit our profile yet they have found our work helpful. One such listener is a young man, a current missionary in Africa, who is openly gay. He recently shared the most amazing experiences with us and we were just gushing! He gave us permission to share, but for privacy and safety reasons, names have been changed and the country he is serving in has been omitted.

When it comes to a feminine divine, I wish all of our LDS missionaries were instructed to lead with our doctrine of a Heavenly Mother, but instead we choose to bury the lead. As Susan has said, she is simultaneously given to us and taken away. It makes me smile to know that African sisters have the same questions I have….where is the divine feminine? I’m grateful that Yuia and Rosine have this marvelous young missionary with which to talk about such things. Bravo, young man!

I’ll close with Carol Lynn Pearson’s famous poem on this very topic—

A Motherless House

by Carol Lynn Pearson

I live in a Motherless house,
A broken home.
How it happened I cannot learn.

When I had words enough to ask
“Where is my Mother?”
No one seemed to know,
And no one thought it strange
That no one else knew either.

I live in a Motherless house.
They are good to me here,
But I find that no kindly
Patriarchal care eases the pain.

I yearn for the day
Someone will look at me and say,
“You certainly do look like your Mother.”

I walk the rooms,
Search the closets,
Look for something that might
Have belonged to her—
A letter, a dress, a chair.
Would she not have left a note?

I close my eyes
And work to bring back her touch, her face.
Surely there must have been
A Motherly embrace
I can call back for comfort.
I live in a Motherless house,
Motherless and without a trace.

Who could have done this?
Who would tear an unweaned infant
From its Mother’s arms
And clear the place of every souvenir?

I live in a Motherless house.
I lie awake and listen always for the word
That never comes, but might.
I bury my face
In something soft as a breast.

I am a child—
Crying for my Mother in the night.

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Crying at Weddings

by Alison Ficklin

Four years ago my daughter and I attended her second grade

teacher’s wedding. As we were seated and waiting for the ceremony to start, my daughter asked me if I was going to cry. “People cry at weddings because they are so happy, are you going to cry mom?” “Maybe,” I told her, but I remember thinking that I knew I would cry, but not for the same reasons that others in attendance would be crying.

I would cry because her guest list was only limited by how many people would fit in the venue. I had to choose based on who had temple recommends, which meant many close friends and family, including three of my siblings, were not able to attend. One of my brothers would have been able to attend, but he was on a mission at the time. The guest list was mostly older relatives and friends of my mother’s.

I would cry because her sister officiated the wedding. There’s a lot to cry about right there in that sentence. The fact that she had such an intimate connection to the bride added a special touch that you just rarely get in a temple sealing. And to be able to choose anyone? Even a woman? I couldn’t even tell you the name of the person who sealed me and my husband. And well, he was obviously a man.

I would cry because her dress was gorgeous. I imagine she made her choice based on what made her feel beautiful. The biggest deciding factor for my dress was if it would cover my garments or not.

I would cry because she had a photographer taking pictures of the ceremony and I knew there would be pictures of her getting ready as well. Because there always are. I have no such physical reminders of my temple sealing or getting ready in the bride’s room because it wasn’t allowed.

But it wasn’t all tears of sadness and regret. I would also cry because I knew if my daughter were to get married, she would have more options than I did. Even if she did opt for a temple sealing, she could have the civil ceremony of her dreams with no waiting period. Thanks to sleeveless garments (that were not even a thing when we attended this wedding) her dress options will be greater than mine were. She could choose female witnesses. And probably other changes could affect her day that I couldn’t even imagine right now. I’m grateful for the changes that she can potentially benefit from, but I mourn what I didn’t have.

So yes, my sweet girl, I will cry.

What Stopped Me

by Xenial Mormon Mom

He didn't pin me down
So what held me there?
Frozen

He didn't pin me down
My body isn't bruised
So what stopped me
From stopping him?

I didn't want to cause a scene
I thought I could get us out of this situation without...
embarrassing him



In fiction, women have their wits about them
They use their cunning and time freezes for them to think of a trick

I freeze - not time
No trick, no cunning, no wit
It's too late

He didn't pin me down
I didn't kick him away
I covered my face and repeated,
"I said no, I said no,
I said no."

"Ladies, please stop dressing so provocatively."
"We need you to help the poor boys with their thoughts."
"It's the woman's job to hold the moral line.
"Men can't help themselves."
"We just need you to dress modestly."
"Don't be so pushy."
"Assertiveness is not attractive."
"Boys don't want a controlling woman."
"He has so much of his life ahead of him."
"It would be a shame to cause him any trouble."
"You don't want to ruin his life, now do you?"
"Think of the man's needs first."
"Honor and obey him."
"What were you wearing?"
"She was asking for it."
"Steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action."
“If it's a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.”

Polygamy Doesn’t Make Sense to Me

by KC Bramer

As I was weeding the garden, I had a thought.

In the book of Genesis, God created Adam and Eve. The idea that one man and one woman were created is reinforced in the temple. I wondered why God didn’t create Adam, Eve, Juanita, Olga, Greta and Jane? If the purpose was to be fruitful and multiply, wouldn’t it be easier to do so if Adam had multiple partners? After all, if God could create one woman, He could create several. If polygamy is important to God, then why wasn’t it created from the start? It doesn’t make sense. Polygamy never made sense to me.

We are told to judge things by their fruit. I don’t see much good fruit when I look at the Old Testament families. I see women abusing other women. I see handmaids being handed over to men to produce children for their mistresses. I see a man sending his wife/concubine and son into the desert with a skin of water and a loaf of bread. I see infertile women being taunted for something outside their control. I see women unsuccessfully trying to gain the love of their husbands. I see men selling one of their brothers as a slave to a passing caravan and telling their father that the boy was killed by a wild beast. I see cousins at war using the word shibboleth to identify the cousins they want to capture and kill. I see descendants of a family who to this day are in conflict.

I suppose there was some good fruit. Isaac and Ishmael did have families and the prophecy that Abraham would have numberless descendants came true. Leah was the mother of Judah from whom King David and Jesus descend. Joseph was in Egypt in a position to store grain and save the lives of his family members and others during a famine. Hannah eventually had a son who became the prophet Samuel.

This isn’t good fruit stemming from polygamy. To me this is God’s way of turning bad human behavior into something good. A God that can bring resurrection out of crucifixion can surely do these lesser things.

I contrast these stories from the Old Testament with a story from the New Testament. It starts with a young woman named Mary receiving a visit from an angel. Mary was betrothed to a man named Joseph. At no time during this story does it ever say that Joseph had multiple wives. (Although some believe that Joseph was a widower with children when he took Mary as his wife.) Mary never had to compete with another wife for the affection and attention of her husband. Joseph did not have to placate angry wives upset about other wives’ children. Jesus was raised in a home with one mother and one father. If polygamy was ordained of God, wouldn’t He want His only begotten son to live in that kind of family?

What are the fruits of Jesus’ family? He was kind and considerate. He had respect for all kinds of people. He must have had good relations with his siblings as some of them were his disciples. He healed people and forgave them. At the worst hour of his life, he saw to the care of his mother and comforted a criminal who was crucified with him. This is definitely good fruit.

Polygamy doesn’t make sense. It was not present with Eve and Adam. No good fruit comes of it. Jesus was not raised in a polygamous family. The only conclusion I can come to is that polygamy is a practice of men, not of God.

I Awaken

by Sarah Lewis

Each time I hear the word “polygamy”
something inside me aches.
A small, burning fury rises
from my stomach into my chest.
Bury it. Suppress it.
There’s no space for my feelings here.
Add it to the shelf alongside all the others—
My wonderings, my instincts, my fears.

Occasionally the fire of courage ignites
and I allow the hurt to settle, but
don’t tread those waters. “Doubt your doubts
before you doubt your faith.”
And so again, deep down inside
I smash those embers down
under the weight of patriarchy’s heavy bricks,
while a tear drips down my face.

Years pass by while I press on
fulfilling nature’s role.
No time, no space for flickers here;
a wife and mother in Zion I must be.
I strive every day to be righteous,
to perform most perfectly.
I’ve become so good at doing it all
at the cost of being me.

One day I begin to wonder,

Who am I?
What do I need?

My role has stripped it all from me;
am I anything underneath?
The smoldering inside me still remains;
The smoke seeps into my bones.
It’s heavy.
I hurt.
What’s wrong with me?
I’m weak.
I’m not enough.

Each day I try anew
to be patient, kind, and strong,
but the boulders of burden pound me until I crack
breaking out of nowhere an inner rage.

Shame is ugly and pervasive
Breeding dark thoughts in my mind.

I tell myself,
“Go to the temple, pray and read more. Do it right.”
(The given recipe to feel the light.)
I’m a good and righteous Mormon girl
so I follow the prescription:
Attend all meetings, study general conference, fulfill your calling,
pray and read your scriptures.

I can’t stay awake in the temple.
Reading scriptures puts me to sleep.
Do I even know my Savior?
Too much is blocking His reach.
Slowly I begin to realize
there is only one of me.
How can I ever do all of these things?

Must I admit defeat?

All of my time is given to others.
I ignore my body’s whispers
to “Back off, slow down, you’re nearing the edge.”

Continuously I persevere.
I only know one gear:
Full throttle toward perfection.
I reallocate my time to more pressing needs
but never lessen my pressure against the pedal.
Now my body starts to scream,
“Too much! Too fast! No more!”
Depression chips away my hope
and exhaustion overtakes me.
I feel helpless and burned out.
My own kids won’t even respond to me.
How can I keep pressing on
when every expectation overwhelms me?
The burning, expanding anxiety I feel
almost incapacitates me.
Full panic is just around the corner
if I don’t get a handle on things!

And then,

One simple invitation
opens the door for me
to look inside, behind, beyond—
Permission to discover what this hurt could mean.

And so I grab a match.

Then with courage and equal fear,
I strike and it becomes the spark
to ignite my long-suppressed embers.
With welcoming, yet timid arms
I reach out to embrace
the questions of my woman soul
my performance of expectations always hid.

The burn and sting of shame pervade.
Fear fights to hold me down.
“Don’t listen to your inner self” it says,
“For then you won’t be good and worthy.”
Countless expectations rule over me.
Is this what Christ wants from me?
Finding Him eludes me still;
how did I never learn how?

Why have I needed permission
to consider spirituality another way?
Strong women inspire me to take that for myself.
My faith journey is mine to make.

An ache resides within my soul
from the feeling of dismissal
of my Mother God, divine and infinite
and how manhood takes her place.
How could you men tuck her neatly away,
so ignorant of the harm it brings me?
You reason this is to respect and reverence her,
while maintaining your power to reign supreme.
How often have men been silenced
and put back in their place?
I don’t believe most understand,
for their voice has a stage.
Men at the helm to lead us
at every level in the church.
Patriarchy, priesthood, and preside
are tasting more bitter every day.

And we circle back to polygamy,
a dark stain on our church’s history.

That burning fury still quakes my heart.
This could be my eternity?!

When I vulnerably shared my honest pain with him,
he countered and questioned me:
“Since you’d have your children and family in heaven,
what would plural marriage actually take from you?”

I can’t put together an answer
into words that properly convey
the arrow piercing through my heart
as patriarchy once again aims to douse my flame.

Still struggling to articulate
how that question punishes me…
dismissal,
no power,
no equal leadership role,
sharing my husband,
a concubine to my “King”?
Or is it something still deeper?
The devaluing of feminine traits,
downplaying our heavy emotional labor,
our low self-worth,
our concerns,
our strengths?

My personal experience must influence
my past, my present, and my future.
Only God knows my inner heart.
His grace attends my interpretations.
My Gods’ gift of agency to me
demonstrates Their confidence and Their Plan.
Inside me lives Their light and Their power
to converge with my intuition.

The opening of my heart,
my yearning toward heaven,
my veneration of nature’s beauty,
my pleading, hoping, thanking.
These are my ways of prayer these days to
my Mother,
my Father,
my Jesus.
All Gods to me,
separately,
I seek to know each one.

The greatest gift I can offer to God
is to be wholly and only me,
to step into my God-given capacities—
love, goodness, strength, learning, growth, empathy.

And yet, despite my longings, sometimes
a certain sadness visits me.
I feel lonely, worn, unknowing.
What do I want?
What do I need?
I seek to know and comprehend
what has been dampened down.

With each stumbling step toward my Christ
my understanding broadens.
Immense feelings once brushed aside,
my gleaming fire now invites in.
Slowly I come to know Him
through His love, His kind teaching, His suffering.
His adoration and respect for women was evident
In his every interaction.
Surely this Brother of ours,
so perfect and benevolent,
knew His Mother in Heaven above,
and now aches while we, seeking Her, are starving.

This feminine awakening stirred my slumber;
I join my sisters, strong.
O, Mother God of women, Divine,
guide and embolden me along.
Help me to find my buried voice
and the courage to share it wide,
To awaken the fire in others’ souls
where true love and knowing reside.

From a listener:

I am a mom of a young woman. She’s 14. Every path that she’s been told will lead to success is probably not there. Nursing, education, computer science, science at all—these are paths that are traditionally held out. Doctors. Lawyers. But the costs of education are so high. She’s an athlete. She’s trusting in her athletics to cover her schooling so that she can get a degree in the first place.

She’s getting the same messages her aunts got. I was never a YW. I’m a convert. And I always grew up with the idea that I will work and have a career. Being a mother was never ever on my radar. And being a mother isn’t on her radar. She pushed back in seminary when they said the equivalent of priesthood for women is motherhood. She asked what happens if she can’t physically have kids? Or if she can’t afford them. What happens if things don’t work out. Is she less? And why is her spirituality tied to something about her body? Isn’t she worth more than that. And I guess she inspired a revolt because I got the joy of meeting with the seminary teachers.

I’m shocked at how resilient these girls are. And how willing they are to take their friendships from seminary and all into the real world and rely on those. They have hope. They have amazing ideas. And they do not let adults squash on them at all. But the messages they’re getting are still the same ones her aunts got. It is just not the same world, but it is the same messages.

At some point the church is going to have to adapt or they will lose all the young women. She knows several gay young women who are in seminary because they believe, but who have plans to leave the church because the church can’t accept them. She’s decided that she won’t continue when she’s on her own either because the church lacks the flexibility or general desire to change with and support the youth as they are experiencing the world, and relies on the “older” times instead of leaning into what they are going through now.

-Natasha

Contributors:

Alison Ficklin

Alison is an elementary school teacher who lives in the Midwest with her husband and four three two children. She has four kids, but the oldest two are adults and she is clearly still trying to figure out how to navigate that and determine where it is exactly that they live. She enjoys reading, playing the piano, wasting time on her phone, traveling, and training in karate.

Xenial Mormon Mom

KC Bramer

KC lives in St. Paul Minnesota with her husband of 20 years and their two young cats. She works as a pharmacist. Her hobbies are reading, writing, biking hiking and knitting. She also likes baking cookies and banana bread. Raised in a two faith family, she is interested in the practices in other Christian faiths.

Sarah Lewis

Sarah loves being active and outdoors, appreciating nature's beauty. She is passionate about connecting with others, always learning, and finding her voice. Her faith journey has led her to being open to questions, letting go of guilt and shame, coming to trust her inner knowing, redefining God, and curating her own life. She is actively choosing what remains and what or who doesn't support or uplift her. She is the newly single mother of six children. Excited for her future, she believes we all have the power and capacity to determine what that looks like for ourselves.

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It’s my turn to share a few funsies of what has been worthy of my precious time. You probably heard me say on one of our last episodes before we went on break that I’ve gone full analog these days. I just can’t take the electronic world we live in right now. Bad news in America 24/7, the fear around AI, etc. It’s just too much.

So I replaced the batteries in all my old watches and put my Apple watch away in its drawer. I am only reading paperback books right now, no e-books. And most shocking of all, I’m hand quilting for the first time in life even though I have all the equipment to machine quilt. Who even am I? Despite all this, I am still watching YouTube and using my electric oven. I’m not that crazy! So here are a few things that have been worthy of my time this month—

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by Susan Hinckley

I don’t know where or when I learned that I would need to do things to earn love.

I can’t pin it down—it seems like knowledge I was born with. In this kind of paradigm, Being Better = More Love, so from a young age I started trying to be the best at everything.

I tried to please teachers, parents, friends. I tried to be popular (not much success there), win awards (more there, but spoiler: awards don’t make you feel loved, they just make you worry about how you’ll top it next time). I got voted “best dressed” one year in school, “best smile” another. Sure I’m still secretly riding high from those Jr. High titles—let’s be honest—but I didn’t really believe either one of them. Still don’t. “Awkward” and “not quite fill-in-the-blank enough” are the designations I assigned myself in school, and those are the ones that stuck.

Religion made sense to me, because it was a scheme to earn God’s love by becoming very very good, and hopefully even perfect. Religion also taught me I was not naturally good, not inherently worthy, not a beloved child in any way I could feel or believe. It was confusing—church told me God loved me out of one side of its mouth while insisting God couldn’t stand me the way I am out of the other.

I honestly thought that the point of Christianity was transcending my humanity, that the ‘good news’ was we don’t have to be what we are—and what we are is fundamentally not okay—because Jesus can fix it! It was based on someone who was better than anyone else who ever lived on this planet: who resisted all temptation, performed miracles, walked on water, then punctuated his example with the heretofore unimaginable trick of resurrection, literally transcending his mortality.

I certainly didn’t absorb the idea that my humanness was one of the essential things about me. That it was key to connection, or the pathway to love.

It would never have occurred to me that humanness was the mirror in which I could glimpse Divinity.1

The day I met God—and let me explain what that means: it means one day I met the understanding that I actually am okay, beloved even, and always have been, as is—was like going around a corner and finding myself in a completely different world. A world I was not only allowed but meant to love, full of humans like me who were also beloved. Once I turned that corner, it disappeared. There could be no going back.

The Rev. Jacqui Lewis writes, “What if the goal of our lives of faith is to have this revelation: The only way to love God is to love yourself so you can love the world?”2 The first 50 years of my life, I wouldn’t have known what to do with that sentence. It would have sounded nice, but love of self simply wasn’t in my wheelhouse.

Loving the world came very naturally, but was mostly something I kept quiet around other Latter-day Saints. The idea that I had sensed God’s presence much more regularly in places other than church would have required some explanation. An ongoing negative narrative about it left me conflicted and confused by my private affection for the world, quietly confirming a deep fear: that for some reason I could neither understand nor control, my faith must be faulty or deficient.

I’d always secretly been on the side of people. I loved the things we did and invented and said and wrote and made. I remember coming home from a movie once, overwhelmed by the beauty of its complex portrayal of relationships between deeply flawed characters—something about their interactions had pulled up a chair for me, assured me it was okay to sit down in my own life, that I deserved to be comfortable. I said something about this to my father-in-law—so often a reassuring light in my church life—and he responded a bit disapprovingly that for him, the movie was too humanistic.

Well, yes … exactly.

Carmen Acevedo Butcher teaches that, “Being spiritual is much easier than being human.” This simple framing stopped me in my tracks the first time I heard her say it. Rarely has anything explained myself to me in such a simple and profound way. For me, being a Latter-day Saint made being human feel like a tricky proposition. It set up an adversarial relationship between me and myself, between me and God, and as I think about it now, between me and every other human. It made me jump hurdles for love, placed rules around the love I was allowed to feel myself and express for others. This fueled a deep-rooted loneliness and distrust of all of it, setting me up for a true crisis when the wheels of my religious life suddenly flew off.

If religion could no longer be my conduit for seeking connection with God, would I have to just give up on the whole relationship? Even though church hadn’t really gotten me the feelings or insights I was seeking, I’d dug in hopefully, because I didn’t know there could be any legit god-connection outside it.

Christianity has not rewarded a fully-embodied spirituality. If people can know The Source in their bones, why do they need the church? So the church is invested in keeping us separated from the truth of our own bones and hearts and humanity.

Reimagining Christianity for me would involve beginning with the full acceptance of the human experience. Jesus was, after all, a person—no matter what else he may have been. But it’s not for his humanness that we are taught to emulate him—it is for having been better than we are. No wonder I learned to show up at church with only small portions of myself visible. No wonder I was taught that the natural Susan was an enemy to God. No wonder I internalized shame for my own most human parts, even though it is through that common thread that I am connected to all my siblings. How could I love the thing I had not been taught to reverence? How could I believe God loved me if I had not been taught to love myself?

So one of the biggest things that happened for me the day I suddenly realized I was beloved was that I no longer needed an intervention. Not an atonement, at least not in the way I’d been taught to think about it.3 Not a card to certify my worthiness, nor a priesthood holder who could do essential things that filled requirements I couldn’t fill myself.

For the first time in my life, nothing at all between me and love.

It was a slippery slope, too. One minute after being granted Divine permission to love myself as I am, I realized it put my neighbor in a new light as well. I felt suddenly equipped with compassion, understanding, desire, acceptance, willingness, patience—a whole lot of things I’d never known exactly how or when to use. Love had been obscured by layers of fine print, prerequisites and conditions. As they fell away, I could see the thing underneath was actually easy to pick up and light to carry.

This also meant that rather than a conduit for connection to a god out there somewhere, church might become a conduit for connection with other people. A love lab, where I could grow in self-knowledge and understanding while I learn what it means to live the great commandment, to internalize the one thing we were sent here to really know.

Jesus didn’t come to teach us how to get out of being human, but to show us how to love while we are.

An idea expressed by Rabbi Donniel Hartman4 describes the Jesus I think of when I read his teachings and experiences: “A life of faith isn’t just about walking with God, but how one walks with humanity.” I think that’s about how I walk with my own humanity, in addition to how I walk with everyone else.

“My deepest me is God!” declared St. Catherine of Genoa.5 This means the thing at my center can’t be sin, or shortcoming. In such a view, there can be no deficiency in being human, only divinity. Feeling God’s love is just—feeling love.

I become the pebble in the pond from which all the circles radiate. God’s love originates in me. I never need to be instructed in it, or go someplace holy to experience it, or put myself in the right mindset or soul-set to receive it. The concept of qualifying for it feels as nonsensical as earning my breath.

I talk a lot about a God of relationship, and as I check in with myself about what that phrase means or looks or feels like for me today, the first word that bubbles up is simply connection: humans and all creation, with and within each other, one living whole. I’m trying to learn to stay awake to this world as much as I can: aware of each moment and my place in it, fully inhabiting—committed to and content with—my part.

“Love yourself,” explains Jacqui Lewis. If that sounds simple, the rest of her sentence blows it out to engulf everything else I know now or may ever learn: “—so you can love the other, so you can love the world.” I may have gotten a late start, but I’m willing to work on this for the rest of my life.

Susan Hinckley

As the self-proclaimed Grace Peddlers1, we always love getting feedback from our listeners about podcast topics. We received an email from a podcast listener named Carol who spotted grace out in the wild, okay she actually spotted it in academia, and we wanted to share a bit of it with you all—

How amazing is it that the data from a Brigham Young University study2 is supporting grace? I don’t love the phrase ‘healthy perfectionism’, but I can appreciate the distinction the researcher is trying to make.

After receiving Carol’s email, I read the article she sent in BYU Studies. Basically, researchers found that religion itself is not the primary cause of toxic perfectionism; rather, it is the manner in which we engage with religious standards. The harmful effects of perfectionism can be mitigated if our teachers, parents, and church leaders can foster in us an intrinsic motivation and a grace-based understanding of faith.

Yikes! That seems like a really tall order, especially in a church that struggled to teach me anything about grace. And I’m not alone! I remember years ago reading a BYU Magazine article by Sheri Dew about grace3. She admits grace wasn’t fostered in her or a friend either—

“Her e-mail led me to ask another friend what she wished she understood about grace. ‘To tell you the truth,’ she said, ‘TV evangelists have wrecked that word for me. I almost feel disloyal to the restored gospel even talking about grace. I mean, do we believe in grace?’”

I had to go on my own Grace Journey. And after that long and painful search, I am determined to continue to peddle grace to anyone who will listen. Maybe someday we will believe our own Jesus-y stuff about grace.

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As part of our 250th anniversary observance, U.S. Latter-day Saints are invited to participate in a unified fast on July 5th “to express gratitude for religious liberty and to pray that it be strengthened throughout the world."1

Our 11th Article of Faith says:

I believe in religious freedom and wonder why our leaders don’t get a little more specific about what they’re thinking of when they use that phrase. The fact that they don’t leaves room for me to engage with it for myself, and I’m going to take full advantage of that precious mental space.

First, I’m going to call out the fact that when Joseph Smith penned this article, he should have said “people,” but I’ll overlook that and just remind us all that “men” doesn’t really mean “everyone,” and words matter. In 2026, I think we could consider updating language where it would be easy to do so, to reflect current usage and culture.

Secondly, I hope all church members recognize that in order to be real, any religious liberty you publicly proclaim being devoted to must exist for YOU as a Latter-day Saint—inside the Church—as well as for everyone outside it.

Need to change the way you think or talk about God? A She perhaps? A They?

Need to pray using different words? Maybe even completely different practices?

Need to start coming at scriptural interpretation a bit more broadly, and a bit less literally?

Need to ask big questions about stuff, and maybe stop focusing so much on having the answers?

Need to talk about whatever you struggle with…out loud?

Not a comprehensive list of possibilities of course, but I hope you’ll feel at liberty to change, adapt, and grow in your religious and spiritual life in any way your relationships and experiences may call you to do so. Why wouldn’t we take Joseph at his word, secure in the idea that being LDS need not prohibit us from worshiping how, where, or what we may, and according to the dictates of our own conscience?

There are things in our culture and history that make religious liberty a naturally resonant topic for Latter-day Saints. I think we’re generally pretty insistent on it for ourselves as a church, and therefore invested in defending it for others.

Allowing all people to find meaning and connection however and wherever they may is a worthwhile goal. Can you love people enough to give them space to express what matters to them, and why it does? Can you get out of the way to let them figure that out for themselves?

What about in a Relief Society lesson?

I wish I’d felt more freedom to think, reason, feel, believe differently, and ask questions throughout my life as a Latter-day Saint—you know, the things humans need to grow and develop spiritually. I’ve been in these pews and classrooms for well over half a century, and if we’re going to make noise about religious liberty as a church, from here on out my noise as a member is going to focus on defending our diversity of thoughts, ideas, spiritual needs and practices from the tyranny of ourselves.

It’s an interesting focus for a fast—I think we generally reach for a fast when we’re hoping to get God’s attention, and in this case we really only need to get the attention of ourselves and the people around us. After all, God doesn’t vote. God also doesn’t keep people in boxes, but some of us are prone to keeping ourselves and everyone else—including Them—in one.

Wishing you a happy July 4th, however, wherever, or whatever you may be celebrating.

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I was watching the news last night with sadness and a deeply unsettled feeling as they continued to pull people—some still alive!—from the rubble in Venezuela following last week’s earthquakes. The coverage highlighted the story of a man buried under the rubble of two buildings, apparently protected by the small parking booth where he was working in an underground garage when the world came down. But it’s rescue-Jenga—they can’t figure out how they can get to him when any piece they pull might lead to further collapse. His wife watches nearby, taking small comfort in the fact that, 6 days in, the rescuers have finally been able to get water to him.

As I tried to put myself in her shoes—and couldn’t, really—I thought about the many thousands of collapses happening every minute of every day on this precarious earth of ours. We’re forced to walk a bridge, and there’s no getting off it. But it’s an unreliable bridge: every now and then, often without warning, it just…collapses. We try to avoid looking down, distracting ourselves in every way we can from the chasm. But there it is.

Learning to embrace that reality has become key to my peace and well-being. If that sounds nonsensical, let me explain. I’m not perfect—I over-scroll and over-eat and over-spend to distract myself all day every day. I take too many pills, probably exercise more than I need to, hoping to stave off the inevitable. I’m definitely still learning and will need more practice.

But the peace-giving shift for me is that I finally understand: if no one deserves a tragedy, how can anyone deserve a blessing? I can't deserve a blessing any more than I can deserve a mountain or a baby or a giraffe or the tree growing outside my window.

I can ask for blessing, love for it, live for it, try to stay present to it in my own life and help the people around me feel and find it too. Asking for blessing is really just begging a little reassurance from God, a glimpse of divine love, and Jesus showed me how to manifest that love in the world. I have a choice whether to make this unreliable place a little easier for everyone I meet, or not.

But I will never be more deserving than every person in Venezuela, or anywhere else. May I never forget it.

On the day this bridge gives way beneath my feet—it will, I’ve been watching other people fly off the edge my entire life—it is only love that will sustain me. Only the portion of grace I am willing to give as freely as I hope to receive it that can make me okay, when everything in the world is not. For as long as it took me to write this, anyway, it is enough.

Note: More from James Finley here.

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One of the hallmarks of a Big Idea is that there's always more to say about it! In bonus Episode 269, Cynthia and Susan have conversations with 3 women from the ALSSI community—Lisa, Brooke, and Michelle—exploring a few ideas they had in response to Season 11 topics.

Notes & Quotes:

ALSSI Ep. 257: Big Ideas | The Beatitudes
ALSSI Ep. 260: Big Ideas | Letting Go
ALSSI Ep. 262: Big Ideas | Confirmation Bias
Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion, by Gregory Boyle
Barking to the Choir: The Power of Radical Kinship, by Gregory Boyle
Cherished Belonging: The Healing Power of Love in Divided Times, by Gregory Boyle
An Early Resurrection: Life in Christ before You Die, by Adam S. Miller
Does Religion Still Matter? Nadia Bolz-Weber on Faith & Forgiveness, Rainn Wilson with Nadia Bolz-Weber, Soul Boom podcast
Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life, by Richard Rohr

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