Pontificating

General Conference was this last weekend. It was full of good shenanigans with friends and a lot of doctrine. And maybe I will talk about the shenanigans later. Because right now, I just need to get some things down.

Friday afternoon we went with the friend crew up to Salt Lake to do a session in the temple. It was a really lovely experience, but man, it had me feeling some kind of way.

I don't know how to explain it exactly. As I've gotten older and my faith has gotten deeper, I've started to see a lot more nuance in the world, and I have a lot more questions. I'll have to write more about this, but not now. But the things that I keep holding on to are that the Gods, my Heavenly Parents, are in their heavens and They know me and love me, the temple feels like home in a way that I don't have the vocabulary to describe, and that the Book of Mormon brings light into my life.

But we went through this session, and I was so glad to be there with some of the people in this world who mean the most to me, and then sitting in the celestial room, after everything, I was just... overwhelmed.

There was an ache in my soul that I can't explain.

It is a strange sort of dissonance that I feel so at home in a place that I do not understand, and when I feel like there are significant problems with the institution of the church, but o! I love the temple.

And I was remembering when I went through the temple for the very first time, with my family, and it was this temple, and I had this startlingly clear memory of watching them all come into the celestial room one by one and being so glad they were there.

I was filled with love for my family and the friends I was there with and the fact that I was there, and it drowned out my confusion somehow, and all I could think was how I wanted to be there someday with everyone I love. But the questions I have, they still existed too.

And then when we went to leave, every step I took away from the celestial room felt like knives under my feet and some gaping hole in my soul opened wider and wider with every pace.

I had the feeling I was leaving something very important behind me, and I missed it so desperately.

I have never felt that before.

And then there was general conference, that wonderful semi-annual broadcast in which we hear from the leaders of the church. And so many of the messages were wonderful, but so many hit me in ways that I didn't expect. There was almost a feeling of... exclusivity, that I have never felt before.

Maybe it's simply because I've learned a lot in the last few years, and even in the last six months, my perspective has changed.

But there were more talks than I expected to that hurt, that left me wondering about the people who didn't fit those molds exactly, comments that somehow don't seem to align with the everlasting love of the Heavenly Parents that I know.

Of five sessions, only two women spoke. I was hoping for one every session, which feels like a low bar, but somehow we can't even manage it. And something about it feels so wrong to me, that the Apostles say over and over to listen to and respect the women, and we don't get to speak.

It doesn't feel right.

And it doesn't feel right that we never talk about Heavenly Mother. She is real, too, and surely she cares.

Don't give me that, "It's out of respect."

We respect our Father.

Don't give me that, "He's protecting Her."

She doesn't need to be protected from us, her children, the mortal progeny that she helped create.

Don't give me that, "It's just the way it is, it's the revelation we've received."

Because the way it is is run by men, and don't get me started on the patriarchal order of things (which is great in some ways, but also), but the thing is is that you ask questions that you need answers to, and somehow I wonder if the men standing in to lead the church have never felt the need to see the feminine in the Divine, never felt the aching to know that they were equal.

They certainly didn't go to the temple for the first time and gasp when a man administered an ordinance, they way I did when a woman administered to me.

I feel that there is so much more we could talk about, so much we are missing, because some of the needs aren't felt as keenly by those we have at the top. (and should it even be a top, it certainly feels that way, but aren't we all to serve each other, and I know authority matters, but still, should it feel like the top)

Women matter, we are equal partners, and yet.

And yet.

Two speakers out of thirty-one. Two prayers out of ten.

And you know, last October, when we wondered where all the women were, they said it was because of the women's session. And sure, it was wonderful and uplifting, but only one woman spoke in a general session. But this session, when it was the priesthood session, there was no great influx of women in the other sessions to round it out.

Womanhood, Heavenly Mother, representation.

These are just a few of the questions I had, a few of the things that didn't sit right with me during the wonderful weekend that was the 189th Annual General Conference of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

But it's all juxtaposed against the feeling that I left something crucial behind me when I walked out of the celestial room in the Salt Lake Temple Friday night, that that place is home.

I can't let go of that feeling.

But that doesn't stop the hurt, or the questions.

In Defense of Kindness

I just have to rant for half a second.

This week at work, we were at a meeting in the office, and our supervisor started telling us a story that went down with the missionaries that she and the other supervisors thought was absolutely hilarious. And everyone was laughing. (For the record, our supervisor is in her forties, and all my coworkers are other BYU students in their early twenties.) Anyhow, everyone's laughing at this, and then the piece de resistance is revealed- a piece of men's clothing was found in the women's residence lost and found.

Everyone's laughing, but for me, it wasn't really funny anymore- and it hadn't been that funny the whole time- so I said, "Oh, c'mon, that's just gotta be a laundry mix-up or something; someone left something in a dryer on accident..."

And one of my coworkers turned to me and said, "Oh, c'mon Rose, you gotta stop being so nice to people all the time!"

I was surprised- and I paused for a beat, before saying, "No, I refuse to. I will always give people the benefit of the doubt," but I don't think he was listening to me anymore.

And it bothered me.

My kindness is not weakness. I will always assume the best of other people- I would hope they'd do the same for me, but even if not. It is far too easy to be cruel, and far nobler to seek out and defend the good in the people around us.

I can be mean; I can tear people to shreds with my words. But I don't. And I do not see bravery or greatness in humour that exists purely at the expense of other people. I don't want to laugh at that or stand for that.

It is harder to be kind, to hold my tongue when a clever, rude remark is straining there. It is harder to not laugh when my peers don't see a problem with the joke. It is scarier to speak up in defense of those I don't know.

But I will continue to do so. I refuse to leave kindness behind when this world needs it so desperately.

My kindness is a choice.

My kindness is not a weakness.

My kindness will not fail. 

Home Means Nevada

I have a lot of thoughts and feelings and opinions right now and I need to rant a bit, write a bit, straighten it all out.

Weird side effect of my mission is that I came back political as all get-out. Before, I knew it was important and felt obligated to participate as a good citisen. But somewhere in the middle of Germany and the refugee crisis and a world that is so much bigger than me, I changed. Now, I get fired up and ready to go, on fire to advocate and create change.

So what happened this week hasn't just hit me as a tragedy that I'm waiting for someone to change. It struck me as something that I need to be vocal about and campaign for and fight for change.

Sunday night, at the Route 91 Harvest Festival, a country music festival, there was a shooting. Currently, there's 59 people dead and 527 more wounded in the US's deadliest mass shooting. Ever. And there is a lot of grief and rage and opinions being aired in the country right now, with the internet a place for vitriol and debate.

And here's my spiel.

As a Nevadan, I am heartbroken. It's not hard to picture it happening anywhere else, somewhere closer to home. Henderson, Reno, Elko, Wendover. We're all full of casinos and parties and festivals and people, every day. And I have friends who live in Vegas. As of yet, no one I know has been effected. But there's 586 families and communities out there that are reeling right now.

And it's terrifying to consider the fact that Americans make no progress to fix this problem. There's no "if there's a shooting," there's just, "when there's a shooting," and I've learned coping tactics in school and one time my high school was locked down for real because there was a man with a gun just a few blocks away. But it was lunchtime at an open campus school, and most of us didn't know it was a lockdown. If the situation had escalated, it would have ended heartbreakingly. That terrifies me.

If something doesn't change, I will raise my children in a place where random acts of mass-violence are inevitable and they can expect to be involved in one, even in this country that ought to be great and shining, an example for the world.

That breaks my heart.

Now is a time to mourn, to grieve, to support those effected.

But then it's time to talk solutions.

In the past few days, I've seen charts and graphs depicting America's gun problems and how many shootings we have and read opinions and ideas of what to change and how to handle this and honestly, I am so on board.

Yes, require a license. Yes, register gun buyers. Yes, a 48-hour delay. Yes, mandatory gun safety. No, silencers should not be easier to purchase. No, civilians do NOT need heavy artillery. Collectors? Fine. But they can't get ammunition. I know a lot of people have a lot of arguments for what I'm saying right now, but I don't care. I'm conservative about a lot of things, but if arguing for safety and reason puts me on the liberal side of this issue, I will stand there gladly.

Listen. I know people will claim 2nd Amendment "right to bear arms," but you know what? This is the full text:

A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.

That was written as a direct result of what the American colonists had lived with as English citisens. Only the army could bear arms. Civilians had no way to defend themselves. The 2nd Amendment was written 200 years ago and was NOT written to allow civilians to collect hoards of heavy artillery.

Do gun control laws infringe on the right to self-defense? No. People could still obtain a gun, they'd just have to jump through a few hoops to do so. I'll always support your right to defend yourself. But I cannot support a system that allows people to easily perpetrate mass violence.

There is a time to fix things. There are things we can change. We have to look past political agendas and look at what is best for our country and for our future.

We can never bring back those who have lost their lives to gun violence. But we can take steps to prevent it from happening again. And that starts now.