Say More: At Last She Writes It

No. 24 | September 2024

Untitled

by Catherine Flores

I recently learned that statistically, when young mothers leave

the Church, they also take their children with them. Church leaders have been clear about how they view this scenario. Mothers who leave are weak links in their family chains and the repercussions of their lack of faith will have multi-generational consequences.

Perhaps maybe, instead of the judgmental accusations, we could listen to the perspectives of the young mothers. We are tired and we don’t know how much longer we can do this.

We grew up seeing disturbing levels of inequity in budgets and opportunities between the young men and young women. We were taught that because boys and men could hold the priesthood, they had special rights and authority over us.

We grew up hearing that we were ultimately responsible for the thoughts and actions of the males around us, that if we even showed our shoulders we became walking p0rnogr@phy, that if we didn’t remain “pure” and “virtuous” by waiting until marriage, even if we were violated and assaulted, we were like a chewed piece of gum, and no one would ever want us.

Through it all, we still faithfully attended the temple weekly to do baptisms for the dead. We graduated from seminary and maybe even institute. Some served a mission. We got married and began fulfilling our divine responsibility to multiply and replenish the earth. We faithfully served in callings and sustained the men of the priesthood.

---

History is rewritten. Words are redefined. Apologies are never issued.

---

As our children began to grow, we looked around and realized how little had changed. The budgets might be better. The messaging may have changed a little. Women can finally pray in general conference.

But at the end of the day, women still don’t have a true seat at the table. Women don’t even have a clear picture of our divine destiny because our Heavenly Mother, whom we are told we can someday be like, is barely even a blip in our theology. Abuse is covered up. The marginalized are further marginalized. History is rewritten. Words are redefined. Apologies are never issued.

We are prepared to navigate the discomforts of being a woman in the Church for ourselves. What we’re not prepared to do is raise another generation of children who are willing to tolerate and justify the same inequality, shame, and exclusion.

We are struggling and hurting. Yet when we voice these struggles and pain, when we express a desire to have a different relationship with our divine creator and our church than we were raised with, we are told that we are under Satan’s influence, deceived by the world, on a slippery slope, power hungry feminists, and bad mothers. We’re told that if we think the Church is so bad we should just leave.

Please listen to the mothers. Please stop giving us reasons to leave, shaming us, and showing us the door. Please seek ways at every level of the Church that we can do better for our women, girls, and the marginalized. We are not deceived or power hungry. We are desperate to hold on to the religion and community we were raised with, but we don’t know how much longer we can do it.

 

---

Lonely

by Brittany Jensen

---

Whom Say Ye That I Am?

by Josie Grover

Our family recently relocated from the island of Oahu to Southern

Utah, myself somewhat begrudgingly. And not for the reasons one may immediately think of. It was not because of the lack of beaches and greenery in Southern Utah as much as the hot summers and conservative political climate that I tend to personally clash with. Nonetheless, my husband and I had felt a warm feeling in the bosom over this move. So we came.

During the house buying process, we toured homes of many LDS families. While all these homes had variations of furniture and decor style, it became apparent there was a trend in what many LDS people find valuable in terms of fine art. My kids and I would start to joke as we took virtual online walks through house after house. Would this be a George Washington praying with the horses house? Or a hot Jesus house? Even though I would chuckle a little that these paintings and photos were virtually everywhere, I inwardly struggled with a reality that in my chosen religion, we too much tie our faith in with our politics.

Let me try and describe the hot Jesus I refer to. He looks fairly caucasian and handsome. And also kind and trustworthy. His face takes up almost the entire canvas. For me, the model used for these images could fit the bill of a young man who once played football at BYU and now owns a successful startup that allows him to build a charity fund on the side. He does a little acting in Church movies. On the more serious flip side, this Jesus does not fit the bill for me of a Jew from the Middle East who traveled extensively by foot and had no ‘beauty that we should desire him.’ I feel a little uncomfortable with this Jesus in the photo. It seems strangely blasphemous in that it echoes the larger concern for me that culture is creating an image of Christ that fits into modern trends of politics and ideology. That Christian Nationalism is losing touch with who Christ really is.

Before anyone who owns George or hot Jesus gets wildly offended at my judgmental nature, please, I implore you to keep reading. Because in my contemplation of who we say He is, I realized my own guilt. Not only my own, but our whole divided country’s guilt in our spiritual judgment of each other. Christians are ending up on polar opposite ends of issues at this time of a very ugly political climate, and we often hear amidst the arguments an attempt at establishing a higher moral position by inciting the name of Jesus Christ.

“Jesus would never want a woman to kill her unborn child.”

“Jesus would feed the hungry, and would want to give free lunches to children.”

You get the point.

When we use the name of Jesus in indignation to discredit and invalidate our fellow man, is Jesus even in the room? And in using His name to justify our disdain for another’s position, are we forgetting the commandment to love our neighbor as ourselves?

Now, as one who is very passionate and vocal about politics and doing everything in my limited ability to make sure democracy survives into 2025, I do not suggest shying away from advocating for what we believe is the higher way. But let us not do it in a manner that claims ourselves to be better follows of Christ above our opponent. In full disclosure, this has been a struggle for me. We all are imperfect disciples.

---

He cares about my pain. It is not trivial to Him.

---

Jesus Christ is so personal to each one of us. Sure we all read from pretty much the same New Testament, and hear similar stories and talks in our meeting houses, but the ways He touches our hearts are unique to each of us. That is the Jesus we need to act on. The One who manifests to us in perfect power and love during our time of need.

When we are so familiar with His nature that we can take on His attributes, then we are really in a position of stating what He stands for.

I can tell you who He has taught me He is.

He is a champion of women. He loved the woman at the well. He loved the woman with the issue of blood. He loves you and He loves me. He holds us in the same spiritual regard as he does our brothers. He wants us to be respected in the societies in which we live.

He will make it all better. All of it. The small things and the big things. All is not lost.

He cares about my pain. It is not trivial to Him.

And He wants all to come unto Him.

I was at the Faith Matters Restore gathering a few week ago. There the Compass Gallery stretched across a long wall of open windows. Sunlight fell on countless numbers of paintings.  Many variations of Jesus Christ could be seen among them. Each artist painted Him in a way that resonated with their soul. There were ethnic Jesus depictions with dark skin similar to those of African descent. There were Middle Eastern looking works of Christ as well. These were finished in various styles and mediums. But I still could feel the same personage being represented across all these works.

I understand now that the physical appearance of Jesus we choose is not the important part, but the love we feel to and from Him and the authentic outward expression of it is.

As I move through my membership in the church that bears His name, my inward commentary often centers in the idea that my Jesus is not always consistent with what I find here. The Savior as He manifested to me was a champion for my divine self concept when the system of all male ecclesiastical authority and mistreatment from that system had brought me into a space of spiritual self depreciation. It is often so very difficult to continue to worship in a place that on one hand taught me to fly toward the light and on another clipped my wings. The best and only way forward is to act on the feelings He planted in my heart, the feelings that I am divinely powerful and able, that I can soar. And as for the rest of my fellow brothers and sisters at church who uphold patriarchy in sometimes painful ways, I must put away my anger and whisper to myself the words of Jesus himself: “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.” And hopefully I can too.

---

For Her Name’s Sake

by Nicole Slater

---

Wonder Woman

by Stephenie Glissmeyer

The moment the sweltering heat of summer gives way to cool, crisp mornings and the leaves of rainbow colors crunch under my weather appropriate shoes that no longer expose the polished toes of summer fun and frolic, I think of Wonder Woman. She was my childhood hero. One particularly brisk fall evening forty-five years ago, I suited up in a handmade Wonder Woman costume that my mom made modest and practical for a five-year-old girl. The wristlets were red and blue and adjusted perfectly with tiny strips of Velcro my mom had painstakingly applied. The gold star on the headband was perfectly appliqued. The stars, the white, the red, the gold… the POWER. It felt so good to put on. It was the best Halloween costume ever and one of the few I remember.

So, a few years later as I came to understand that Wonder Woman was fictitious and that I’d never be able to save the world because women save the world by staying home and raising children, I was crushed. Women only suit up and face the dangers of the world with courage, strength, and superpowers on television. A girl’s superpower was to bear and raise children. I heard it every week at church. It was my destiny. It was what God wanted me to do. To want anything other than motherhood meant I was selfish. I did not want to be selfish. I wanted to please my God.

---

I was told I “needed” to feel whole and complete. After all, I was a mother. I had accomplished my destiny, right?

---

But I also wanted to be a doctor. And I was smart. And people told me to follow my dreams. What were my dreams? I did want to be a mom, but I also wanted to contribute to the world. Was that selfish? Was I selfish?

Don’t get me wrong, bearing and raising children is a worthy superpower. I felt powerful and strong as I grew each of six amazing human beings in my ever-changing and miraculous body that morphed from my own to “ours” for nine short months. I reveled at the tiny mouth attached to my breast for another year or so after birth, before finally finding its place in this wide and often unkind world. I deeply loved my children. I still do.

However, there was always a void. One that babies temporarily filled to a point, but not to completeness. The empty space couldn’t be talked about, and it had to be hidden. I was told I “needed” to feel whole and complete. After all, I was a mother. I had accomplished my destiny, right? I was somehow closer to God by sacrificing everything for my husband and children. I would be rewarded (but when? after I die?).

Through the years, I put on many masks. The mask of a good wife. The mask of a mediocre mom who gives the appearance of a perfect mom in public. The mask of grin and bear it. The mask of I’m smart and educated, but I will only use my education if I must, not because I want to. The mask of humility and sacrifice which stays silent, except to say “yes, I can do that”. The mask of unselfishness because I am blessed, and I must be happy with what I have and not want more. Smile. Pretend everything is fine. Believe everything is fine. Hide behind masks. Dress up like someone else. Be someone else.

Maybe that is why I have come to dread Halloween each year. I hate masks. I hate pretending. I hate dressing up like someone who isn’t me. I want the treats, but the tricks have been cruel. I don’t want to be Wonder Woman anymore (but if I could get my hands on some magic wristlets…sigh). However, I do want to be strong, have courage, fight for truth and justice, and maybe save the world. Is that too much to ask? Do I have to choose between Wonder Woman and Motherhood? Can I be a little of both?

---

Contributors:

Catherine Flores

Catherine Flores is a regular person just trying to balance being a human, raising four feral children, and working full time outside the home. Life hasn't turned out the way she thought it would, especially when it comes to the Church. After many years of ignoring it, she's finally listening to the call to leave behind the things she knew and embrace uncertainty and mystery.

---

Brittany Jensen

Brittany is a nurse, feminist, wife, and mother to 3. She loves to sew clothes and watch her favorite show (Parks & Rec). She is learning to be a "smart mouth" and to use her voice for good.

---

Josie Grover

Josie was raised in a small town in southeast Idaho but now resides in St. George, Utah where she works as an ultrasound technologist. She is married with five children ranging from preteen to young adult. Her oldest child is currently serving as a missionary in the Jacksonville Florida mission. Josie is the current faith branch president of the Women’s Relief Alliance and feels called to help women find spiritual fulfillment. She currently loves singing with the Southern Utah Heritage Choir and spending time with her family. 

---

Nicole Slater

Nicole is a creator, a wife, and a mother of three who lives in New Mexico. She has a Bachelor's Degree in Communications and freelances occasionally in Graphic Design and Photography. Her free time is almost always spent reading.

---

Stephenie Glissmeyer

Stephenie is a middle-aged woman, trying on lots of new hats as she navigates her 50’s. She’s a former English teacher, but recently went back to school, got an MSN/RN degree, and entered the workforce after a 25-year hiatus staying home and raising six pretty awesome kids. She likes to spend time outdoors and read in her spare time.

---

---

---

Remember, your subscription keeps the podcast ad-free! Thanks to you, we’re building a community where women can say what we need to say: send us a voicemail, start a chat thread … or write a piece for a future Say More!