My heart won’t stop hurting. I’m sure you’ve all heard the news that Kate Kelly and John Dehlin have been summoned to church court for their activities related to the Ordain Women movement and the Mormon LGBT movement. I’m not upset because I’m an ardent supporter of either movement. I’m upset because I firmly believe that every Saint deserves to have a voice in our community. I’m upset because I am so grateful to people like Kate and John who are willing to say “dangerous” things out loud, when so many of us want to, but are too afraid to. I’m upset because of the atmosphere of fear that enters into our faith community when this sort of thing happens. What can I safely say? What causes dear to my heart will be “approved” by my respected church leaders? Do I trust my own spirit to hear and interpret the voice of the Holy Spirit, or do I leave that solely to my leaders, who I am sure listen to the same Spirit? What do I do when those spiritual interpretations collide? This sort of conundrum causes all sorts of self doubt. Some walk. Sometimes I wonder if the best of us walk, and if my choice to stay is foolish or faithful. I’ll say it right here at the start, though: despite all its man-made quirks and flaws, I love the Church and am convinced it holds the power of full salvation. So I stay. But right now, it just hurts. Continue reading
Woman begging, by Tomas Castelazo
The man who sidled into the back of the rented Hungarian chapel was unprepossessing, at best. He was slightly built and dark-haired, wearing a cheap, white button-down shirt and nondescript pants. Certainly, there was nothing in his appearance to explain why the elders straightened to attention, why my companion and I exchanged knowing glances. The members had noticed his arrival, too. A slight rustle and murmuring swept through the small congregation.
The elders had brought an investigator with them that Sunday. I wondered what the young man would make of the newcomer’s inevitable testimony about the truth of the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith’s calling—and the apostasy of every prophet since. Continue reading
Olea has decided 2013 is a year of discovery, both of the world around her (she is currently living in the south of France, her first time overseas) and the potential within her. She would describe herself as open-hearted and optimistic (she loves words starting with an o), and her best friend tried to convince her to use the word “wise”, but clearly that didn’t work.
I have always felt a special connection to the sisters in my life. I loved the Young Women’s program, and often it was the only place in my life that I felt I belonged. When I moved from Adelaide to Melbourne, at the end of high school, to join my family who’d been there all year, I was looking forward to joining Relief Society. I had visited during holidays, and spent time with the young women, but when I went to Relief Society, I felt accepted and wanted in a deeper way than I ever had before. In classes, I was encouraged to share my experiences and testimony, and my needs and opinions were considered when planning activities, though I was only 18 and new to the ward. Our ward was very small when I first arrived – it had just been split, and wasn’t much bigger than a branch – and over the course of 6 years, we moved to a new building (from our rented hall-plus-a-few-classrooms) and now we are worried around Stake Conference times in case of more splits.
My first activity, as part of the new Enrichment focus that encouraged small groups organised by sisters, was a book club. We met monthly in a sister’s home and read, among others, The Pilgrim’s Progress, Don Quixote, something by Charles Dickens that I have since removed from my memory, Love in the Time of Cholera, The Lovely Bones and My Sister’s Keeper. We discussed authors’ intentions, favourite characters and unexpected plot twists. We discussed our families and friends and personal experiences, we shared philosophical views and argued about ideas, sometimes even relating to the book we’d read, often until (and occasionally after) midnight. Continue reading
Allison Mitton received a BA in English language from Brigham Young University and an MA in publishing and writing from Emerson College in Boston. While in Boston, she developed a great love for poetry, printmaking, Salman Rushdie, and all things nautical. Though recently relocated to Seattle, Allison still harbors a not-so-secret desire to move to Rhode Island and set up a printmaking shop in a barn overlooking the sea. If so inclined, you can blog stalk her at amittonmonologue.blogspot.com.
Last Christmas, my mother gave each of her children a copy of Corrie ten Boom’s The Hiding Place. She told us it was a book that meant a great deal to her, and that it contains a powerful message of hope and love and forgiveness. It was one of many books I received for Christmas that year, and when I returned home to Boston I added it to my ever-growing collection. Then I promptly forgot about it.
Soon after my return, I began to feel some anger toward one of my good friends. We had been close friends for a while, but a series of very minor events aggravated me. Though he never did anything intentionally hurtful, I felt like he sometimes took advantage of our friendship, and I resented him for it. Continue reading
“Mom, I can’t jump off the diving board.”
“You did it all last summer when you were only four. I know you can do it now. You’re even bigger than before! How about I get in the water with you and you can jump to me?”
He considered the offer, but still would not be swayed, until a favorite lifeguard and swim instructor offered to take my place during his own work break. Nineteen and cool, our neighbor Blake* lives only three doors down at the end of our court. He remained calm and patient while Tommy stood at the edge of the diving board for what seemed like hours before finally jumping in to the promise of a free treat from the snack bar. A triumphant Tommy scampered off to choose his prize with Blake’s praise ringing in his ears.