Please forgive me

To my LGBTQ brothers and sisters, friends and neighbors,
It's time for a confession. It's not a great big secret (google my real name and you'll find it). I donated money and time to the Prop 8 campaign in California. I pushed past the sick feeling in my gut that what we were doing was harmful and unnecessary. I thought that obedience to my ecclesiastical leaders, in all their ambiguous-almost-committing-but-not-quite instructions to participate in the movement to pass the proposition that caused so much grief was more important than listening to my own conscience. I mean, after all, I must have been fighting feelings of darkness from the adversary trying to convince me that it was okay to be gay. I must have just been struggling against my natural desire to sin or rebel.
I know better now. After years on an emotional roller-coaster, I've finally reached my final destination. I'm stepping off with wobbly legs and a repentant heart. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I contributed to the bigotry and ignorance in the world. I'm sorry I stood in a place of judgment, standing on very shaky doctrinal ground. I'm sorry I caved to the pressure of friends and family around me as they parroted the buzzwords and paranoia that swirled around every Sunday as I attended church. I'm sorry that I ever thought that somehow two people loving each other and committing to each other would somehow damage my family life or civil rights. It's so blindingly obvious to me now how wrong the whole thing was. It was hurtful and damaging. And I am so, so sorry.
As far as I'm concerned, the gay couples of this country have a vital part in upholding family values in our society. You've had to fight hard for any rights you have, and I have a feeling that you will cherish your marriages and your relationships so much more than so many others. I am not here to tell you who to love, or how to love. I'm not here to "love the sinner, hate the sin", and all of the condescending judgment that that implies. And I finally know that.

I'd like to conclude my heartfelt apology with a beautiful prayer written by my friend Jena. You can read the full version here, but this is my favorite part:
Forgive me of my blind acceptance of the status quo.  Forgive me my pious bigotry and loving ignorance, the walls behind which I hid and believed they preserved the purity of my soul.  I didn't understand that those walls were built of dross, built to be burned in the refiner's fire, burned to reveal to me the true nature of your love.  Forgive me for not listening to my inner voice that dared to disagree.


Sincerely, 
Dryad

Thanksgiving? Or a Day of Mourning?

Note: I will be borrowing liberally from the post of a good friend.  All quotes are hers, and her original, brilliant post can be found here.




After talking with a good friend, I recently decided to change up my holidays a bit.  I've been attempting to follow the wheel of the year this year, adding feasts that are mostly found in some kind of ancient tradition (even if not every tradition celebrated every feast).  I love the idea of finding reasons to celebrate throughout the year that have meaningful things to celebrate: fertility, harvest, departed ancestors, rebirth, etc.  There is so much to remember, so much to integrate into my cycle of living.  Time becomes more of a spiral, and less of a long, straight line with the scary unknown at the end.
One of the changes I've considered is quite recent: after talking to Tree, we have decided that celebrating Mabon and Thanksgiving is somewhat redundant.  Also, Thanksgiving is a celebration that commonly portrays a fictional account of our history.
"Turns out, actually, that the original Thanksgiving feast with the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag nation was not in November of 1621. More accurately, that communal celebration was held around August or September–the traditional time of harvest for northern latitudes. In that case, if Americans want to honor that celebration, it would be more appropriate for them to celebrate the harvest at the traditional harvest celebration known as Mabon."
"Hey," you say to me, "there's nothing wrong with being grateful.  It's a good time to get together with friends and family and stuff our faces with delicious things."  Oh, I agree--there's a time and a place for that.  Though I think it's disrespectful to God/dess to waste the food we've been given by purposely overeating.  But I'm sure the Native Americans we so often think of as the friendly equals of our ancestors would have loved to spend that November with their own friends and family.  Just surviving, even.
"Within 17 years of the harvest feast between the settlers of the Mayflower and the Wampanoag tribe, relations deteriorated to such an extent that the Wampanoag lost their political independence and much of their homeland. By 1676, their chief had been killed and his son and many other Natives were sold into slavery. Today, the Thanksgiving holiday is a reminder of bloodshed and betrayal, which is why each year they gather around the statue of their fallen chief and hold a vigil in the memory of their ancestor’s struggles and the loss of their land."
I wish that I could join that vigil, but I am not located anywhere near that tribe.  So instead, our home will be observing Genocide Awareness Day instead of Thanksgiving.  We will probably eat a simple meal based around fish (something the Wampanoag tribe ate a lot of), and donate the money we would have spent on a turkey and all the fixings to a charity (which I have yet to choose) that supports people affected by the ravages of imperialistic aggression.  We are grateful, and we have been given much.  I believe that an appropriate celebration includes feeding the hungry, and alleviating suffering.

Some more ideas:
"1. Place a candle in your window sill in remembrance.
2. After your Thanksgiving meal, take a walk through your neighborhood with family and friends while carrying lit candles.
3. Instead of a large feast, prepare a simple meal to share with family and friends and donate the remainder of what you would have spent to a any number of organizations that are working on human rights issues.
4. Each year, choose an organization or effort to which you can donate or volunteer around the Thanksgiving holiday. Invite children, family and friends to join with you in these efforts.
5. Organize a vigil in your community or neighborhood during the week of Thanksgiving.
6. Blog, tweet and facebook about the true story of Thanksgiving and what you do to remember societal injustice.
7. Instead of Black Friday deals at major retailers, shop local and free trade to ensure that your purchases are not produced by exploitation of laborers, or check out the WAVE Holiday Shopping Guide for online shopping options."


This year, I'll be taking a candlelit walk around the neighborhood, perhaps with some pamphlets or cards to hand out to people with information on charities they can donate to.  It's my way of showing gratitude in the most authentic way I can think of.  How will you show your gratitude this year?

Great Stuff From Other People!

http://mormonmatters.org/2009/11/17/romantic-paternalism/

This lady hits the nail on the head with her thoughts on the church's romantic paternalism.  I'm pretty sure this goes on in other churches, as well.  Our culture is not nearly so egalitarian as we would like to believe sometimes.

http://thingsofmysoul.blogspot.com/2011/08/reframing-and-pruning-in-church.html

A good collection of thoughts on the priesthood ban that was lifted in 1979 (1978? why can't I remember? And why am I too lazy to look it up?)


That's it for today.

Some clarification on the new hole in my face

This. Is not me.  Though I'm sure some people think I'm headed down this road now.

Here is a short list of reasons why I just pierced my nose.  I'm about to turn 30, and I have no business in a piercing parlor like some rebellious teenager.  So here we go:

1.  A stud in my nose makes me surprisingly more accessible.  At least, I feel more accessible--which technically will change my behavior enough for other people to notice and feel more comfortable talking to me. People who would not have been comfortable talking to me casually because of my age or bland clothing or the carseat in the back of my car, can see that I'm just slightly in the black sheep fold and perhaps some cultural barriers can fall.  This is my plan, anyway.  The other option is that kids think I'm stupid because, well, I'm not a rebellious teenager with pink hair.  We'll just vote for the first half of the plan.

2.  I had to kill Molly Mormon.  I had to break that attachment to and obsession with Mormon culture that led to so much guilt and fear.  In the words of a dear friend, I had to "let what is holy be holy, and let what is mundane be mundane."  Too much of my life I spent caught up in the mundane, giving it space on the holy shelf.  So much time was wasted that actual holy things almost didn't fit in my life.  I focused on the outer things like the cut of my clothing or the age I got married.  My sense of worth was tied to the level of 'modesty' of my clothing, the level of shining star returned missionary whose hand I was holding, the clocked time I spent on my knees, how many children I could push out before I hit 30, and the clean and organized atmosphere of my home, complete with walls saturated with pictures ordered from Deseret Book.
IT. WAS. NOT. HEALTHY.
My sense of worth went down the toilet so, so, so, many times.  On the outside, I was trying to conform to the Molly Mormon image, because I thought it would bring happiness, just like all the stories in the Young Women's manuals.  On the inside, I contemplated suicide many times, and got close to actually following through several times.
Piercing my nose was enough to make that necessary break, and to free myself.

3.  My clothes are boring.  I can't afford to dress to fit my personality--I don't have the time or inclination to put in the effort that would take, and I don't have the money.  I have a little smug self-satisfaction now because I know that at least a little of my personality is shining through--why, yes. Yes I am different from you, Sister.
I doubt anyone at school will ever care or even notice, but I sure will be making a statement in my ward on Sunday... :)
And if anyone in my family actually takes the time to read my blog.. surprise! hehehehe

Die, Molly! Die!

Ok, I'm not really that intense.  But seriously--is there a way to kill an unhealthy piece of culture?

Here ya go, family! I spent all day in the kitchen, without mussing my hair or makeup.

 Yesterday I went out and did something that was traumatically painful--I wasn't expecting it to be so painful, because in the world at large, it's almost entirely insignificant.  No one from my weekday life cares, and hardly anyone noticed.  But I've been feeling a giant break inside myself.  I feel like I cut off a diseased limb, but I miss that limb.  I've been living with that limb since I was born, and it's been reinforced as a vital part of my makeup by everyone around me.
That little piece of culture has been preached over many a pulpit and in many classes full of young women eager to prove their worth based on the guidelines they're given.  Going against the grain on this one is a sort of declaration-to myself, and to other church members: I am not a Molly Mormon.  I do not sew; I love to cook, but it's organic, not bulk crap food from the food storage centers; I do not drink Tang; I go barefoot as much as possible; I have friends who identify as gay and lesbian; I believe in evolution sometimes; I am a feminist; I hug trees; I do 'weird' Pagan rituals that involve lighting candles and thinking about (GASP) Goddess; I plan on working at least part time, and it might even be outside the home, and it won't necessarily be because I have to; I talk to my Heavenly Mother just as much as I talk to my Father; I question things, and I use my intellect on purpose; and now I have the cutest ever pierced nose.

Tonight I'll be burning Molly in effigy, and saying a ritual goodbye to: unnecessary guilt, self-loathing, perfectionism, judging people based on appearance and expecting them to conform when they join the church (Acts 15, anyone?), and the layers and layers of fear deeply instilled in my soul by well-meaning teachers and parents.

So yeah. Go ahead and die, Molly.  Rest in peace.

Answers to Frequently Asked Questions: it only hurts a little bit (now...), the swelling is on the inside, I'm taking very good care of it, snot will not come out the hole if I get a cold, sometimes it pokes when I rub my nose but I hardly notice, it won't get infected and make my nose fall off.