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10/26/14

Work that is Real


             First, thank you to everyone who found my blog via Tapestry on CBC. I've received several emails from program listeners, and it's a pleasure to get to know each of you. For those of you unaware, I did an interview with Tapestry last year. They re-aired the interview today, and you can listen to it by clicking HERE.

             Blatant self-promotion aside, I've been thinking about this space again, and in honor of my Tapestry interview, I thought I'd bring back an old MCB tradition: explaining how I feel with a poem. (I mention a poem by Nikki Giovanni in my interview, and because CBC is awesome, host Mary Hynes contacted Giovanni and interviewed her as well. You should listen to that part of the interview. It's amazing.)

            Anyway, behold: a poem.

To be of useby Marge Piercy
The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who stand in the line and haul in their places,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.


I shared this poem with my friend Gurr last year. Gurr is probably the most non "parlor general" person I know. But it is a personal mantra for me too: I want to do the work that is real.

My job as a teacher is not glamorous. Every day I strain in the mud and the muck, and do what has to be done, again and again. The only thing getting me through the long days and the frustration is the hope that I am making something with a "shape that satisfies, clean, and evident." I am grateful for work that listens to my soul's cry for water to carry. At the end of hard days I picture the black heads of seals, and keep swimming.

Spiritually, it's been a long time since I shared anything particularly personal on my blog. My last "real" post on faith  hid a lot behind words of other people. I realized I was scared of saying anything real, of showing any part of my soul to a world that might respond unkindly. I've become more private, but less vulnerable, in the last few months.

I've  also felt ashamed of myself, somehow. Ashamed that things hurt me, ashamed of being weak in public spaces, and determined not to let anyone see the process of turning clay into vases and pitchers, pretending that I'm content to live as a relic in a  museum. Work is hard and messy, and it's easier to hide until the work is done, and you're dead, and no one can criticize you.

Reading this poem reminded me that I shouldn't be ashamed of my work, or my life. I listened to the Tapestry interview again today, and I realized that even during the saddest most difficult parts, I sound strong. I sound like myself. I sound like I harnessed myself to a heavy cart, and pulled through. I'm proud of myself.

The work of my life will continue to remain unglamorous, and most likely, I'll swim and pull and create relatively privately. But I'll do this without being ashamed of the work I've created, of the harvest I've sown,or of the mud I've shaped. My work-both in my classroom and in my soul- is real, and made to be used.

As always, thanks for following along.









10/13/14

Help provide clean water in Africa: WHOlives.org


As expressed in my previous post, I’m not much of a blogger these days. However, I am always happy to use my and social media outlets to support causes I think are important. Today’s cause is WHOlives.org, a nonprofit committed to creating clean and affordable water in South Africa. Caitlin Schille  is a Wholives representative and author of today’s guest post. Look for additional information on WHOlives and donation opportunities at the bottom of this post.

WHOlives.org: Water, Health, Opporunity


Burka Village Drill Team




WHOlives is a nonprofit based in South Jordan, Utah. With innovative technology and effective systems, we are working hard to bring clean water to Africa.

WHOlives differs from other nonprofits in the cost. Approximately $4 can provide a child with clean water for ten years. Ten years! For the cost of your morning coffee, or a couple of diet cokes, you can truly change someone’s life.

The W.H.O. stands for water, health, and opportunity, as we believe these things are interconnected.  Providing clean water lowers the risk of many diseases, improving health.

In addition to vastly improved health, these wells provide other benefits as well. Girls are primarily responsible for gathering water, and they typically walk several miles each way to a water source every day. When a well is installed, this frees up an enormous amount of time for the girls, enabling them to attend school. We have found that in each village where a well is drilled, school attendance greatly increases, especially attendance among girls.

The wells also improve the economic health of the village. Several people will be employed to power the drill every day, providing jobs. The drill is also sustainable- villagers pay a small and manageable fee of approximately five to ten cents to use the well, ensuring that there is money to repair the drill or purchase new parts as well as pay the drill workers.

To deliver clean water, we use the Village Drill, a Brigham Young University engineering capstone project. The drill is used to create wells, and it is much more cost-effective to use the Village Drill than traditional well drills. Each well provides clean water to thousands of people.

If you’d like to donate to WHOlives, please see the link below. Remember, the donation does not need to be large to make a difference. Even a one-time of donation of $4 will change a life.






Disclaimer: I was in no way compensated by WHOlives.org in promoting their non-profit organization. Please use individual discretion when donating to nonprofits. 

10/8/14

If I ever write a memoir, all my major life events will be described in relation to which season of Gilmore Girls was playing in the background at the time they occurred.



I don't really blog anymore. I recognize this. Honestly, I don't even know HOW to blog anymore. The rules have totally changed since I left the game. Everyone is a lifestyle blog now. But I have a sinus infection and some really, really, important thoughts about Gilmore Girls- a show for middle-class white girls that ended back in 2007- and I feel they need to be recorded.





Gilmore Girls is on Netflix now, but I didn't think I would watch,given that it is now officially fall and that means all my real-life shows are back. Plus, I tried watching one of my Girls DVDs a few weeks ago, (not that Girls show, dummy. Remember, we are back in 2007, when blogs could be ugly and text-heavy and Lorelei's slip-dresses and sparkly cardigans were considered high fashion. Gosh, I loved 2007.) and I couldn't finish an episode.

I've been destroyed by Netflix and instant streaming and the idea of committing to the four episodes on one disc was just too risky. What if three of the four episodes are annoying? I'll have to get up and pick a different disk. What if I've finally found the right laptop-screen-to-head-ratio in my bed and getting up ruins it? What disc has the episode where Lorelei compares dating Luke to being dragged behind a truck for miles and miles and just wanting Luke to open the door and let her ride in the truck next to him, just let me in, that's all I'm asking, because I CANNOT watch that episode. I cannot risk getting accidentally emotional during my binge-watching. I have shit to do.  I also need to be able to skip an episode the INSTANT I see show-ruin-er April. I hate April. I place full responsibility on April for the demise of Gilmore Girls and I will never, ever, forgive her.

Thus, I decided I would focus my TV efforts on keeping caught up on The Mindy Project and trying to find a way to watch The Bachelor: Canada without downloading a scary virus.

Lies.  I've Netflixed  my way into season two of Gilmore Girls in a matter of days. Who are we kidding? The minute Where you lead, I will follow you....played through my perfectly arranged laptop speakers I resolved to neglect my family and re-establish my priorities. Maybe I'll even make it through an April episode this weekend when I've inevitably binge-watched my way into season seven. Anything is possible.

I started with season one and nearly died from a nostalgia aneurysm. OH MY GOSH 2000. I loved that year too! The fashion is incredible. Time erased my memories of all the weird things  the year 2000 did to a woman's body. Everything is either shrunken or oversize and I keep wanting to pull everyone's pants up. So many contradictions. Why are people wearing chunky sleeveless turtleneck sweaters? If it is cold enough to want a chunky turtleneck, why are you exposing your arms? Why are flare leg pants cut just above the ankle? Everything Rory wears looks like it spent too much time in a hot dryer, yet I distinctly remembering watching the episodes as a high school sophomore and coveting her jeans. And her boxy sweaters. Lorelei wears a lot of tie-dye shirts with odd Asian symbols on them, and everyone needs bangs. Also,  IRONIC GRAPHIC TEES. MAX MEDINA. 1,000 YELLOW DASIES.

Beyond acting as a sartorial time-capsule, watching Gilmore Girls takes me back to every phase in life when I relied on Lorelei and Rory to get me through hard times. I watched Gilmore Girls after break-ups. I watched Gilmore Girls every day after class my freshman year of college, and it was probably the only consistently positive thing that happened the entire year. Spouseman and  I watched Gilmore Girls the weekend after I finished grad school but didn't get a job offer. The opening title sequence sends Spouseman into a post-traumatic fury because I frequently left the TV on the menu screen with the same thirty minute music track playing on endless repeat. (I didn't notice, since my ADD allows me to block out things I don't actively want to see or hear.)

I've never watched the final episode because 7 years later I'm still in denial about the show's last-minute cancellation. How was this show not picked up for an 8th season? Where is the rumored movie? Rory goes off to work for the Obama campaign, and how will I know who wins the election without neurotic-Rory reading her articles over the phone to Lorelei in her high-pitched baby voice? Oh, wait. It isn't 2007, it's 2014.

Anyway, welcome to Netflix Gilmore Girls, you were my first TV love, and having you in the same place as The West Wing means I will probably never do anything meaningful with my life. Turns out, Girls, where you lead? I will follow you. Because I love you, you idiot.







I still hate April.





8/18/14

What I Saw (Guest Submission)

This is a guest post in response to the excommunication of Kate Kelly, and the silencing of Mormon Feminist voices within the LDS Church.

(Editor's note: People are often quick to dismiss the concerns of Mormon feminists as a byproduct of "one bad experience" with a male authority figure. Like the "not all men" phenomenon in mainstream feminism, the "not all Mormon Men" response is equally damaging. While there are a great many wonderful Mormon men in the world, supporting a patriarchal institution in which women are denied significant leadership opportunities indirectly supports abuse like the circumstances described below.)

What I Saw

I watched my dad belittle, embarrass, and abuse my mother until the day they divorced almost forty years after they married. I watched my dad be an upstanding church member my whole life. Giving excellent talks, teaching on Sunday, teaching seminary during the week, talking of his mission with fondness. 

I watched my dad pit his children against their mother. I watched my dad zealously love his daughters (until they decided to leave the church and then he called them sluts and whores), while paying next to no attention to his son no matter what he did. I watched my dad gaslight my mother until it drove her this close to crazy. I watched a lot of things I wish I could forget.

In my memory I watch my BYU Sophomore self calling my dad's Stake President and telling him how terrible things were. My mother watched him have a 2 hour interview with the Stake President and nothing more. 

I watched my mother going in and out of the Branch Presidents office trying to get help and I watched nothing happen. I watched my mom give up as my dad would go in and tell a different story that was always taken as truth. 

I watched my dad in his passive aggressive abusive way marry my mothers best friend 2 weeks after their divorce was final. I watched my dad screw my mom over in the divorce. I watched my dad take his new wife to Europe, to Vegas, to shows, horseback riding, to operas, on cross country trips as my mother works 8 hour days at minimum wage to make ends meet. 

I watch my family fall apart, I watch our relationships suffer as my dad sits on the front pew at church telling himself that he was always right, never wrong or whatever self believe thing he does to keep him going day to day. He probably doesn't have to tell himself anything though. He was brought up being told he was always right, that he was always in charge, that he would never be challenged. I watch as he has never uttered an apology, not even a simple "I'm sorry". 

I watch my dad go to the Temple. 

I can't watch anymore. I want my wounds to heal. I wish this experience on no one. I wish for women to be ordained so shit like this will never happen again. 

7/10/14

An Open Letter to my Orthodox Mormon Friends, Family, and Loved Ones (Guest Submission)

This is a guest post in response to the excommunication of Kate Kelly, and the possible excommunication of several other members of the LDS Church, including John Dehlin

Kelli Anderson is a return missionary who blogs about her life and faith journey at Chronicles of She


An Open Letter To My Orthodox Mormon Friends, Family, and Loved Ones:

There is too much shame and guilt in our relationship and just not enough trust. I know how much activity in the church means to you. I know that you really want me to be an active, believing Mormon. I know the idea of me stepping back from the church is scary to you, and I know that's only because you love me.

I just want to let you know that I have deliberately kept you in the loop during this transition of my faith because I appreciate your input and because I respect your opinion and I just plain think you have contributed enough to my faith in God to have earned a bit of openness from me, even though it has been terrifying to open up.

I am inviting you to trust my totally fallible but also divine ability to know what's right for me more than you trust the dogma that says if I'm not an active Mormon I am obviously living my life incorrectly. I am inviting you trust my judgment to know what lifestyle works best for me. I want you to know that I afford you the same trust of which I am asking because I do believe there is divinity in the human intellect--and that includes yours, even if your reasoning and conclusions are far different from mine.

I hope you can trust me because you know I am a smart person. Not a day or hour goes by that I don't ponder church teachings. I am thoughtful and intentional about what I believe and how I live. I hope you can trust me because you know I am a strong person. I am not giving in to temptation or betraying my convictions. I hope you can feel positive about whatever I believe or however I live simply because you trust ME and respect ME and my ability to decide for myself how to live and what works for me.

I am happy where I am. I trust God and I trust the relationship I have with heaven. I trust my idea of right and wrong and how to live my life. It's working okay for me. I am honestly happier now than I've been in my life. I don't think I am lost, but if I am, I trust God to steer me in the right direction.

And maybe, you're right. Maybe I am on the wrong path and I am making a bunch of huge mistakes, but do you know what? It's my path. It's my mistakes to make--or not make.

Sometimes going to church is about faith and sometimes it is about fear. Honestly, if I were going to church right now, I think it would be more about fear than faith. I have faith in God and I trust God. I don't for a second expect you to fully understand my choices or thoughts and feelings, but I do hope you can trust me. I hope you grasp the trust that I have in myself and in God and that you believe me when I say I trust your decisions for your life, too.

I have no plans to turn you away or shut you out any time soon. I really love you. I can't express how much your unwavering faith in God has blessed every part of my life and will continue to. I can't imagine not having you in my life. I hope our relationship can evolve to be less about matching beliefs and more about friendship and trust. I love you.

All my best,

Kelli

7/7/14

"I'm in Here" (Guest Submission)

This is a guest post in response to the excommunication of Kate Kelly, and the possible excommunication of several members of the LDS church. 

"I'm in Here"

I cannot remember the last time I have felt such crushing sadness at all times of the day. I guess this is what depression feels like? I've offered some pretty angry prayers at different times of my life--screaming at God in my head--and many lately. I have little to offer by way of eloquence, but as I was listening to music the other day, this one by Sia began playing. It's called "I'm in Here", and it neatly summarizes where I am right now.



I'm in here, can anybody see me?
Can anybody help?
I'm in here, a prisoner of history
Can anybody help?
Can't you hear my call?
Are you coming to get me now?
I've been waiting for you to come rescue me
I need you to hold
All of the sadness I cannot live with inside of me
I'm in here, I'm trying to tell you something
Can anybody help?
I'm in here, I'm calling out but you can't hear
Can anybody help?
Can't you hear my call?
Are you coming to get me now?
I've been waiting for you to come rescue me
I need you to hold
All of the sadness I cannot, living inside of me
I'm crying out, I'm breaking down
I am fearing it all, stuck inside these walls
Tell me there is hope for me
Is anybody out there listening?
Can't you hear my call?
Are you coming to get me now?
I've been waiting for you to come rescue me
I need you to hold
All of the sadness I cannot, living inside of me
Can't you hear my call?
Are you coming to get me now?
I've been waiting for you to come rescue me
I need you to hold
All of the sadness I cannot, living inside of me
I'm in here, can anybody see me?
Can anybody help?

7/2/14

Worthy (Guest Submission)

            This is a guest post in response to the excommunication of Kate Kelly, and possible excommunication of several LDS church members.  

Worthy   

by Kati Price


                “Your husband does not believe in the Gospel. He had no business taking you to the temple in the first place”…The bishop spoke just inches from my face and placed his hands on my shoulders while shaking me like a young child being scorned, trying to get me to see something I wasn’t ready to face. I was two weeks postpartum with our last child and the bishop had decided my husband was not worthy to bless his only baby girl. He was essentially correct about my husband not fully believing, although his actions were completely wrong. No man should ever speak or touch a woman like that. My husband had always struggled with his own belief, but tried hard to make it work for him. I fought like Hell to continue to belong to my religion. I fought like Hell, pleading with my father in heaven to fix our family. Please, make us worthy. I needed a priesthood leader to be worthy. By association, I was unworthy. We were now labeled “part member family”. My husband was no longer worthy to hold callings. No longer worthy to be a part of the ward member club. This all came about because he expressed doubt in Joseph Smith as a prophet. But no one would listen to his questions. He was only punished for asking.  He did everything he was supposed to do. He just had questions. Questions no one could answer for him without ending in “have faith”.

                I spent the next 5 years in denial. I silenced my husband and forbid him from telling our children he didn’t believe in our religion. I begged him to lie so he could perform ordinations on our children and just try harder. Pray harder. Read more and plead with the Lord to give him a testimony. I was ready to leave my marriage. I was encouraged to leave. I was depressed. I was broken. With other family problems going on at this same time, I lost my own family and felt like my life was in a spiral downward. This was only the beginning of our problems.

                I began to realize I also had a son that was struggling with his own belief. Not because he wanted to be like his dad. He had no clue his dad was also struggling. They were his issues, he was discovering on his own. As a new 4 year old sunbeam, he proudly expressed his disdain for the missionary program in primary one Sunday. “That sounds stupid, why would I go 2 years without talking to my mom?” Everyone laughed. I cried. I knew he meant it. I knew he would never go. I knew I would be disappointed in him when he turned 19 and didn’t go like all of his friends. He wouldn’t be fulfilling the list that was required for him to be worthy. When he turned 8, he begged me to give him the option of not getting baptized. I ignored his pleas. I forced him to become a member of the LDS church. I told him he had no choice, even though we pride ourselves on free agency. I figured it would pass. It didn’t. With each new Sunday school teacher came the questions and comments from the teacher. “Your son asks a lot of questions.” “Your son doesn’t understand the Gospel”. “Your son doesn’t believe.” “You need to teach your son more at home about Gospel principles.” I was mortified. I was embarrassed. I was ashamed. I began to silence my son the same way I did my husband. I begged him to “keep his mouth shut” in class. “Do not ask questions. Just go and listen and you will believe!” 

                He was about two weeks from turning 12. The age a boy receives the priesthood. One late night he came into my room in tears. He expressed his desire to die rather than receive the priesthood. He could no longer be a part of this church. It was killing him and forcing him to believe in things he just couldn’t believe. He expressed his love of evolution and the big bang theory. He passionately expressed his love of science and how the science of the earth did not match up with the teachings of the church. He was studying a lot of Egyptian theology at the time so he told me about how the Book of Abraham had pictures of Egyptian hieroglyphics that were not correct and that bothered him. He used words that were so mature and so well thought out that there was no way I could ignore him this time. I was changing who my son was meant to be. I was forcing him to be something he could never authentically be and he wanted to die because of it. At 12 years old. My son wanted to die. At that very moment I saw my husband in his sweet eyes. I finally had empathy for my husband and his entire life of being forced to believe something he never could make any sense of.

                I went in full mama bear mode. I requested the immediate termination of all church contact. No home teachers, no visiting teachers and I also requested to be released from my calling in the Young Women. A calling I truly loved. I kept everything private. No meetings. No explanation. I feared disciplinary actions. I fiercely needed to protect my son until he was ready to tell his own story. Until, he truly understood his own story. I no longer cared about our family being worthy. I no longer wanted to be a part of the club. The club was tearing apart my family. The desire for worthiness was forcing us to have disappointment and anger with each other. It was causing contention in our home and breaking us apart. I had to heal our family. I had to leave all expectations of who I wanted them to be and let them be who they were MEANT to be.

                3 years later we are still trying to make sense of all of our differing beliefs. We are a home with atheist views and agnostic views. Some of us are still very spiritual and cling to the belief of God. Some of us are still too young to know. But, we all respect and love each other. We allow each other to be who we know we were meant to be. No judgment, but most importantly no disappointment. None of us practice Mormonism in the organized sense. We spend our Sundays hiking or going to the movie. We use our extra time to be together as a family.  We still teach our children the same morals and guidelines we did when we were Mormon, but now we explain why instead of using the fear of sin or God to teach our children right from wrong. Worthiness is no longer based on a list of things you have to accomplish. Or a list of ordinations that have to be completed.

                Leaving was the only option for our family because as a “part member” family we were never completely accepted. There were always things wrong with our family unit. We were always missing a primary ingredient to make us worthy. I truly wish we could have stayed a part of the church I loved so much. To be able to be welcomed and loved as we were. For the people we were individually. For the people we were together. In our experience and our area, that just didn’t happen. Yes, there were those that loved us “anyway”.  But, I was tired of being loved “anyway”. I was tired of being pitied or talked about as “the part member family”. We are a whole family. A wonderful family with nothing wrong with us. We deserved to be seen that way.

                Living in Utah County is certainly not easy being the odd ones out. Especially still living in the ward we “left”. There have been rumors and awful things said. There are people who will not speak to us. There are people that wish we would leave for good. There have been ruined relationships with friends and family that don’t understand what we believe and the choices we have made. At the end of the day, our little family is all that matters. My children are thriving beyond all my expectations. I am so proud of my son that stood up for his own beliefs my heart could burst at any moment. He is about to enter high school and let me tell you, his future is bright. He is living life to the fullest and is happy and complete.  I love being a mother to children that are open and honest. They talk to me about everything. They are not afraid to believe what they choose and be who they want to be. It makes motherhood so glorious and rewarding. I know that when my son turns 18, I will be proud of him and not disappointed. My expectations are no longer tied to worthiness for him.


                When members say “They should just leave”…don’t worry. Eventually they will. You leave them no other choice. Just remember, we are real people. With real feelings and reasons for making the choices we make. It’s so easy to judge. Just remember one day it might be your child. Your own spouse, maybe even you might have doubts one day. When that happens, our family is here. With open arms and hearts. We know your pain. We’ve been through it and came out better for it. Truly love your neighbor. You never know the burdens they carry or the choices they are forced to make. Never force someone out. What a beautiful religion this could be if we were more welcoming to all. More accepting of those we don’t understand. Loved without the hope of one day changing them to believe the way you do. There only being ONE right way. That is a religion I could be a part of. I hope one day my religion and heritage will get there. I believe it can. When it does, I will embrace it fully.