Of Feminism and Mormonism

“Woman is God’s supreme creation. Only after the earth had been formed, after the day had been separated from the night, after the waters had been divided from the land, after vegetation and animal life had been created, and after man had been placed on the earth, was woman created; and only then was the work pronounced complete and good.”

                                                                              ~ President Gordon B. Hinckley

My internet friend posted about this recently, and I'm pilfering her idea. Because all her ideas tend to be quite brilliant. Frankly, you should just skip my ramblings and link over to her blog because her post is about 1,000 times better.

A great brouhaha was recently raised over this issue. Personally, I'm not concerned with what people wear to the worship meetings at my church. I'm concerned that they come. I would hope they come with an eye single to respect. Respect for what is sacred to themselves and God and me or respect for those who worship in that space. As far as I know, this doesn't equate a uniform. As far as I know, dress pants on women haven't been an offensive form of dress for several decades. In truth, I really don't think it matters what you wear to church if your heart and spirit are there to learn and grow to be a better version of yourself. I didn't wear pants on that particular Sunday (skirts, when selected correctly, are far more comfortable in my eyes). I wouldn't think much of any woman who did opt to wear pants that day or any other. Just as I wouldn't really care if a kilt or lavalava was worn by a man.

The issue this was tackling, however, wasn't so much about the subcultural expectations about gender-appropriate apparel as it was about the solidarity of Mormon feminists.  
 
I am a Mormon. I am also a feminist. These two parts of who I am have never gone to battle against one another. I feel passionate about each. I am proud to be in a sisterhood with so many women who came before me: women who fought and sacrificed for my right to cast a vote, women who believed in their right to work for equal pay and similar promotions as the men in their field. Women who said: I can do that job or that task and the fact that I have a vagina has nothing to do with it! I am grateful that the conversation about women in combat has recently been addressed. I take heart that the majority of Americans have responded well to this equalizing plan. I also know the gospel doctrines as I understand them are true. For me, these are as true and real as the keyboard beneath my fingers. 

Here is where I am vehemently feminist: I think the treatment of the women within a community or country directly correlates with the quality of life and well-being for the people of that community or country. (For instance, with 1 in 5 children living below the poverty line in the United States, I think we can begin to see that the treatment of women in the U.S. is sub-par.) I believe we have an international crisis with the objectification of women. This phenomenon destroys not only individuals, but relationships, families, communities and the ripple effect continues. It is also one of the most socially acceptable forms of exploitation. I am incensed that if you are a woman you are 29% more likely to live in poverty. You are 6 times more likely to be a victim of sexual assault. You will earn only 82% of what a man does. You have a 1 in 4 chance of being sexually harrassed at the work place. Your marital status is always noted (is it Miss or Mrs.?) and if you go by Ms. that must define you even further. And don't get me started on the international treatment of women. And don't tell me I should be grateful it isn't "like that over here" or that "at least [I'm] white". I am a woman, therefore I am in this with every other woman. 

But, lest you think I hate or blame men for this, think again. I am equally incensed that men (especially young minorities) are more likely to be incarcerated, more likely to be the victims of a violent crime, and, while not objectified to the extent women are objectified, are held to standards and stereotypings that are unhealthy, false and just as damaging to their mental/emotional/physical well-being.

I am a feminist. I am not a man-hater. I am a feminist. I am not a militant or extreme activist. I am a feminist. I am not going to stand by and let you make congressional decisions about my reproductive system.  I am a feminist. I am not in the business of saying what is or isn't right for the individual lives and situations of other women. I am a feminist. I believe women are of the utmost value. I am a feminist. I think men are also equally of value and worth. I am a feminist. I fight for maintaining a world in which individuals are valued, respected, and necessary no matter their gender, sex, orientation, creed, color, race, hairstyle, toe quantity, etc.

Now, getting back to my pants or the lack thereof (I just really wanted to write that, indulge me): I support women no matter how they want to practice feminism, or if they don't want to claim the title at all. I chose not to wear pants to church that Sunday because, for me, it would have ultimately been  more of a fight against a subcultural set of strange, tacit wardobe norms that I wanted to challenge. I choose to practice my feminism in different ways. 

And, finally, while some Mormon feminists question it, I, personally, don't believe women need the Priesthood. Personally, I don't see a need to participate in certain decisions made in my church. When used properly and as intended, women are blessed by this faculty held by men. What I said might make some angry or frustrated, it may even make them question my "Feminist" title, it may seem confusing that I would support women's rights so fully, but not that one. Here's the deal: this is my very hashed-over opinion. I feel that I have every right to the blessings of the Priesthood as men. I feel I get those blessings equally. Do I think that, at times, the premise of this power is used improperly? Absolutely. But that is the fault of individuals and an imperfect society, not doctrine, structure or the organization of the Priesthood itself. For me, the perspective my Father in Heaven has of me and my church has of me, the feeling I've experienced in my most spiritual experiencies (whether public or private), can be found embodied in the quote at the top of this blog post. Ultimately, I'm grateful for the blessings of a Priesthood that touches my life just as much as any man's.

Thank you for indulging my need to put this down in writing. It is mostly for the daughters and sons I hope to have one day. I think I'll go take off my bra now. (Because I'm totally pro bra-removal at the end of a long day. I don't thinkt his adds to my feminist ways. I do think it adds to the quality of my evening.)

Hi. My name's Betsy. I ruin rugs.

I got a puppy. Usually she is sweet and perfect. 

And then she bites something she shouldn't.

Poor, teething pup.

I adore her. 

Me, the indifferent animal person, is smitten with this little nugget.

(Yes, instagram has had its fill and then some of The Bets.)

just for me

In my life, so often, there are stretches of time that pass in a blur. I spend each moment focused only on "getting it done" in order to move on to the next task before me. It leaves me unfulfilled and, quite frankly, miserable. I dread what is, in all reality, the things that make up my life. And it is no way to live.

Today, the past several days, really, have been "one of those days". I've felt unsettled and downright depressed. A colorless grey seems to fill me up inside. It has been something more than a simple case of the winter blues, I've felt myself trudging--merely surviving each day with some small hope that it would pass.

Today, however, something nudged me to watch some Mormon Messages on youtube instead of grading as I ate my lunch. Oh, how glad I am to have come across this:



Life is worth enjoying. Life is good. Life is made of moments. It is so important for me to remember that. I felt like, today, this message was just for me. I hope you watch it and feel that way too.

Hello '11. And then 12.

I've always had this thing with the number 11. At 11:11 I touch the digital clock and make a wish. Eleven is a good number. Ten, meh. 2010 was a hard one for me, I won't pretend otherwise. It started quite terribly. In a funk. It took months to dig myself out of it. I spent the first half of it fearful of turning 30. Much of the year felt like I was slogging through. Surviving. I had some rough classes, some irrational personal fears and worries, I had a bad attitude. It wasn't until summer that I started to perk up a bit. But maybe it was just seasonal affective disorder.

But 2011? Eleven has to be good, right? I feel hopeful about the new year. Alice, the best roommate-friend known to mankind, has been reading this book all about a woman's journey toward greater happiness. Alice loves books like these. From what she's told me, each month of the year this woman set a goal, small and slight, and then proceeded with it for the entire month, and into the next month and the next goal. Each slight improvement became habit. Each made her life feel more pleasant. And I think it is a good idea.

So here you have my 12 goals for the year:

1. January:
Go to bed earlier. Sleep is our friend. This is also my scariest goal.

2. February:
Read your scriptures and write a (minimum of) one sentence statement describing the personal significance of what you read. Every. Single. Day.

3. March:
You're turning 30. Spend each day of this month finding something to celebrate about yourself, your life, your body, your career, your relationships. Sing the song of yourself all month long. Write it down each day.

4. April:
Eat 5-7 servings of fruits and veggies every single day this month.

5. May:
Clean or organize something (a closet or cupboard, a load of laundry, anything) for 10 minutes every day.

6. June:
Move your body (at the gym, dancing in the living room, taking the stairs, hiking, doing some PM yoga) every day this month.

7. July:
Make your bed every day this month.

8. August:
Take a single picture that captures each day of the month.

9. September:
Read something you want to (not for school but for YOU) for a minimum of 10 minutes each day this month.

10. October:
Limit your computer time at home. 30 minutes per day tops. That's it. The exception: if you write a blog post.

11. November:
This is a month of gratitude. Make a statement of something you are grateful for each day of the month, on your blog, on facebook, to the students in your classes, your family, your friends. Appreciate life.

12. December:
This is a month of giving and sacrifice. Find a way each day to sacrifice and serve someone every day this month. It can be as simple as holding the elevator or letting a car merge in. It can be as grand as a service project. Spend each day this month intentionally, mindfully giving of yourself.

So what are your plans for the new year? I'm turning 30 and teaching and going to Cancun. That's all I know for sure. And isn't that the best part of a new year: the potential, the mystery, the hope of something splendid?

Happy 2011, friends!

Light and Dark

I don't share what I believe, what I know to be true, often enough. But I must share this fact: I know that my savior, Jesus Christ, lives. I know He loves me unconditionally. I feel nothing but warmth and encouragement, support and strength from Him. He is, simply put, love in its greatest, most selfless form.

I am imperfect. We are each so imperfect. Yet He is perfect. He came to this world for each of us, to cover for our imperfections. His only motivation: love for us, a love so deep that He only wishes for us to reach our greatest potential. During this season of presents and things and family and friends and light, I must take a moment to acknowledge the greatest light in my life: my knowledge of who I am and what my purpose is in this life. I am here to get better at being me. And this me is an eternal being created by a loving Father and Mother. And the individual who makes it possible for me to improve, to dust off my knees after each stupid mistake is my brother, my savior, Jesus Christ. During this season, I celebrate Him. For where would I be without Him? In this world so often choking with darkness, He is my light.

If you're curious about anything I've written, or anything you viewed, please go here.

The Thankful List

1. I am filled with gratitude for the people in my life. The friends, the family, the students, the co-workers, even the near-strangers I have "met" through blogging. I am rich with good people. How does one get so lucky, so very blessed?

2. I am grateful for my faith, my beliefs, my knowledge about who I am. I am a daughter of a loving Heavenly Father. I know this to be true. This knowledge fuels and drives me to be better, to have faith in myself and my own potential. It gives me peace and comfort. It is good.

3. I feel so filled with joy knowing I have a career that isn't so bad. In fact, there are moments of magic. Seeing young people grow, feel inspired to do something with themselves is so rewarding. And I get paid to feel like sometimes I make a difference for the better.

4. I am thankful for the beauty of the earth, that on Monday mornings that make the body ache, the sun is rising over the eastern peaks with such breathtaking loveliness I forget I've the work week to face. That snow falls soft and pure and melts and the earth is reborn and flushes green then grows weary and turns vibrant and colorful and the cycle continues. The seasons, the earth, the sky. It is all so exquisite.

5. I am grateful for music and art and lyrical words. Beauty and the aesthetic can be found so readily if one only looks for it.

6. I give thanks for even the frivolous things of life: fashion, sparkly things, tasty food, movies, the internet, commercials that make me giggle.

My life is rich and lovely and full. It would be wrong of me to not step back from every day worry and recognize the blessings so evident. It would be sinful not to do so at Thanksgiving time.

*and thanks for the image found here

Have a lovely holiday, readers.

Today I'm digging...

A four day weekend (thank you local education association for conferencing together...and making attendance optional).

Red Mango has Pumpkin Spice frozen yogurt, kids. That is a good thing.

My house is all clean.

The fridge is totally stocked (thanks to Costco and Winco).

My laundry is (almost) done.

It is hot chocolate season.

Everything feels exactly as fall should.

They got all 33 Chilean miners out.

Missed Connections. I simply love this little spot.

That autumn is quickly becoming my favorite season. How cool is this?

A List of Gratitude

There are moments we must account for what is rich and good and right in our lives. This swinging motion called living can so easily pivot in a direction entirely unexpected. Today I take time to recognize the good.

1. I'm grateful for this weekend. I brought home a bag of grading and did none of it. I went swimming with my niece. I shopped the clearance racks. I went out to dinner. Twice. I did yoga before bedtime. I spoke to my eldest(ish) sister on the phone for an hour. I taught my final Sunday school lesson on Jonah and Micah (and realized I will possibly name the son I hope to have someday after one of them). I wandered in the coolness of the woods while talking with good friends. I lay on the bed for hours--reading of all great things.

2. I am grateful I have to give a talk this Sunday. Not because I love public speaking (ok, sometimes I kind of like the challenge of public speaking), but because I get to learn and grow and figure out my own perspectives on a specific gospel topic all week. I've already started studying and writing down thoughts that don't connect to one another. If it comes out decent, I might post it on here. Why not?

3. I am grateful for the silly rainbowed wrist band I found at Wal-Mart last night. It means that maybe, just maybe, I won't hide my school keys from myself anymore.

4. I am grateful for my hair. I admit it. I have a slight bit of hair vanity. It hasn't always been this way--natural curls are an acquired taste. But today at 29 and a half (almost), I can honestly say I've come to terms with all my hair is capable of: its uniqueness, its body, its rich color (thank you Redken & Ashley). I've finally embraced what I do have.

5. I am grateful for my students. They make me think and work and so often smile. They are these people who have so much to learn and yet offer such experienced perspectives. I love seeing them light up with these new ideas I introduce to them. I love how they challenge me. I love teasing them. I love making them laugh. I love helping them learn.

What are you grateful for today?

*image found here

Why Every Girl Needs an Older Brother

Note two things typical of my brother:

1. the peregrine falcon on his hat

2. smiling for the camera is not allowed (all that money to the orthodontist and who'd know it?)

I've been thinking about my somewhat stinky, irreverent, big brother lately. (Yes, I technically have two older half brothers, but when you grew up in the same house as Mom's kids, there's something about shouting "I'm going to kill you!" whilst chasing an individual with a blunt object in hand that tends to bond you for the long term.)

Richard, Rich, Rico, Ricardo the Retardo: call him what you may, I kind of like the guy. In spite of the "covered wagons"--or that entire summer he worked the rides at a local amusement park, then chased me, hand extended with a freshly removed sweaty, smelly sock at the end of each dry-heat-of-July-please-keep-your-arms-and-legs-inside-the-ride-at-all-times day. I will never forget the odor of 16-year-old boy feet. Sometimes it walks into my classroom and gives me the dry heaves.

But, merciless teasing and obnoxiousness aside, I'm glad I had an older brother. Why, you may ask? Because I'm convinced he made me exponentially cooler. Take for instance music: the day my big brother walked into my Donny, Jordan, Danny, Jon, and Joey (NKOTB, anybody?) plastered bedroom and shook his head in disgust, I felt entirely ashamed. While he made out with his girlfriend in the other room while "watching" Pink Floyd's The Wall, I was removing posters from my wall. Richard introduced me to R.E.M., The Smiths, Depeche Mode, and artists far cooler than my tweenish Bop! musical preferences allowed. And while I've yet to "get" jazz or his leaning toward the heavy metal genre, I never feel so music-taste-inclined as when my brother asks for the name of "that band".

An older brother also introduces a girl such as myself to The Man Classics: Movies Every Red-Blooded American Male should Watch Before Dying. Had I not obediently viewed every episode of Star Wars, I'd probably be disowned. I also seem to recall spending hours watching James Bond marathons on TBS because he insisted it was an "important part of [my] education". Yep, I'm the girl who catches allusions to "Jaws" as a film character, not only as the classic 70's thriller. A few years ago I spent a week recovering from a back injury. Richard sat me down to watch the entirety of his extended bonus edition The Lord of the Rings Trilogy including all bonus features, interviews, makings of, and so forth. A week of Middle Earth and muscle relaxants with my brother. He repaid the favor by watching all of the 6-hour BBC Pride and Prejudice. (Don't let his love of comic book film adaptations fool you, he's a softy-romantic at heart.)

The coolness my brother instilled in me lies not only in my thorough education of man-oriented pop culture, but in so much more. He made snow forts with me in the winter. He'd sometimes agree to play Barbies with my sisters and me (always taking the roll of the one-armed, one-legged bald Barbie who'd overcome her disabilities to become an architect--designing our Encyclopaedia Britannica house). He allowed me to play "swords" (read: my mother's carved down broom handles) with him, attacking dragons (bushes) and like tomfoolery. I have scars because of him. He let me tag along on dates with him and his many high school era girlfriends. (Granted, his kindness to his baby sister probably helped him sell his softer side to the ladies.) As brothers go, he wasn't that bad.

So, Richard, if you're reading: even though you enjoy bird watching and online gaming and tell dirty jokes in mixed company and unwisely disagree with me politically and stink more than most and didn't do the dishes when you were supposed to growing up, I'm glad you're my brother. There is so much good in you, and I hope you remember that.

Thank you, President Hinckley. I always knew I liked you.

"To you women of today, who are old or young,

may I suggest that you write,

that you keep journals,

that you express your thoughts on paper.

Writing is a great discipline. It is a tremendous education effort. It will assist you in various ways,

and you will bless the lives of many--

now and in the years to come,

as you put on paper some of your experiences

and some of your musings."
- Gordon B. Hinckley

There are few things better

than getting rid of faded, ill-fitting clothes you just don't wear anymore. My closet (and all those stuffed-between-all-the-stuff-I-don't-wear-gems I've re-discovered) thank me.

For You, Dear Reader

My cup runneth over. Life is good--there's nothing like Thanksgiving to remind me of that.

In All My Contradictory Glory: A Manifesto of Sorts

"Good teaching is one-fourth preparation and three-fourths theater."
~Gail Godwin

"I celebrate myself;
And what I assume you shall assume;
For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you."
~ Walt Whitman


I've always had a secretly flamboyant side. I certainly behave in a more reserved manner most of the time. In fact, childhood shyness kept me from voicing my true self in situation after situation when I was young. But deep down, I'm a ham. I find that talking in silly accents for effect is liberating. My hands (and arms) don't know how not to flail, talking their own language right along with me. And I have never had an issue with not being heard. "Your voice naturally carries," a choir teacher once used tactful euphemism to inform me of my loudness.

Blame it on genetics--I come from a long line of loud, outspoken people. My mother, if her mood is right, will do everything within her power to convince you of just how hilarious she is--usually with complete success.



The more you ease yourself into that place of comfort found best with friends, the more you realize how extremely animated I can get. Alice (the best friend/roommate) knows me best and has, bless her, been driven to shush me in many a public setting.

I celebrate this part of myself. The loud, unfrightened me. The girl all ease in her own skin, unconcerned with the volume of her voice, the space her waving hand-speak takes up. I love the energy that me has, the kinetic vibrancy of her. It is the me that once had the courage to dance and sing and play like she was someone else up on a stage. It is the me that can stand in front of 35 high school freshmen and know she owns the room. She has presence.

Ani DiFranco voiced it perfectly, "I like to take up space just because I can." The animated me lives by that mantra.

For all that is wild and frenetic in me, I have another side too. The side that curls into a book, into her own quietude. The youngest child of the flamboyant family still processing her world, unseen in a corner. The poet that observes from afar, disconnected and imaginative. Head above clouds.

I sometimes wonder if this is my father's genetic code insisting I am his in every way. If it is the shy part of me finding ease in being just what it is.



I celebrate this girl in me also. She is both thoughtful and wise. Her peace and quiet bring a sense of clarity to my existence. This side recharges me, prepares me. This is the self that grounds me, humbles me, ties me to my faith and spirituality with firm and nourishing roots. She is the mellow one and, just as I embrace the boldness, I too must equally grasp tightly to this hushed self.

I am all contradiction and today I celebrate that fact. I celebrate myself today because I have a new goal. It is, quite simply, this: be positive. That is all. No more slanderous gossip or eye rolling. No more dreading of work or dishes or bill paying or unwanted obligations. No more self-deprecation or sarcasm or dark and self-cruel wit. Today is mine. My mind can alter my perspective. So I'm working on celebrating what I do have. No easy task, this one. But this life is mine and I intend to laud every detail. Wish me luck.

It's the Little Things

The little things are what get me through winter. These simple pleasures let me know this season I spend buried beneath snow and sweaters will eventually end. 

Today I smiled because...

these:

with some of these:

and a few "choppings" of this:

mixed with a squeeze of this:

and a small dash of this:

makes me feel like winter has disappeared just a little bit, 

and I'm living like this again:

A Good Day.

(Did anyone notice who is hanging on the wall?)

I don't really care which way you slide on the political spectrum. 

For me, experiencing this event with my students made it perfect.

The Reason for the Season

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Musicality

When I was a little girl, I would lay on the living room floor while my mom played the piano.  She didn't play piano often, but when she did, it was magical.  Her hips would sway on the piano bench, the garage sale rug would hum beneath my small body, and in pure bliss, the room would fill with the deep, rich energy of those first measures Claude Debussy's Claire De Lune.  This is and will always be one of my favorite childhood memories.

Today I helped a former student revise her college application essay.  The topic requested she write about her passion in life.  Without pause, she decided to write on her passion for music.  As I helped her re-write and restructure her essay, I kept thinking about my own passion for the most acoustic of the arts.  

I love to sing.  That, without tools or aid, I can create something beautiful with only my body as I was born with it.  I love voices in harmony, twining and braiding around each other in an intricate dance.  I love the tuning of instruments before the conductor even taps his baton, the potential in all those runs and scales, the anticipation for those first notes, of the waterfall of notes that will follow.  It is a visceral experience, the way music moves inside my skin, goosebumps rising on my arms.  And there is little else in this world that can match that.  I love rhythm and syncopation, that a good beat can sway my hips without my conscious control.  I love that a theme in a work of art can be taken in the direction of genius, echoes of it repeated in the unique and unexpected.  And so, I say it out loud.  I love music.

Music, in all its diversity, is the soundtrack of a human life.  It is a thing we feel.  We decide, almost immediately, whether we like a song or not.  When life gets chaotic or unfocused, a song reaches to us, reminding us of that summer or that day, or altering our mood completely.  It fills every corner of our memory, it jingles us to sleep at night, sometimes annoyingly so, but it is always there, moving us.  

I love music.  I miss music.  Long ago in my life I would sing in the choir, I would practice the piano (though I never seemed to improve much), and I don't anymore.  Somehow it has been relegated to the car, the shower, and hymns at church.  I'm done with all that.  I need to look for more opportunities to put music in my life.  Because I'm thankful for music, but am I really showing that gratitude?  

What about you?  How has music impacted your life?  What is your favorite song and why?  And any good iTunes recommendations?  Because 99 cents is certainly worth all that music has to offer.