Monthly Archives: November 2015

how to have your misogyny and eat it too.


I’m still on my Mormon feminist soapbox, dear reader(s). It’s Friday and I think people would like to stop feeling things for a little while. I know I would. And yet, and yet . . .

So many people are still reeling from the church’s policy change of 5 November. I suppose it’s possible that even more people are happy that the very public hullabaloo has (inevitably) died down, but believe me when I say that LOTS of people are still reeling. I am. Has a day gone by since then that someone hasn’t called me in tears because either (a) they’ve just been designated an apostate, or (b) we’ve barred an entire category of children from full church participation? Nope.

The decision to change the way we treat same sex families was terrible*. Just awful. The worst. And here’s the thing: when you shut women out of the decision-making process, you get worse decisions than when you include them. Do I think that the church leadership might possibly have decided that babies born to gay parents don’t get names and blessings, if half the people calling the shots were women? I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT. I could be wrong, because women make odious decisions all the time. However, at this juncture there’s so much science behind the idea that diverse groups make better decisions than homogenous ones that I’m comfortable with my little hypothesis.

But we don’t let women make policy decisions. At any point in the last century and a half, we could have let women in on the whole policy-making thing. But we didn’t.

What we did was sow the wind. Now we get to reap the whirlwind.

*oh my hell, tell me you did NOT blame Jesus for this one.

my Mormon dream, and getting over it.

my dream is gone and with it went my plan
to stay the course and be there for the dawn
of some great thing. but I don’t think I can,
and this because my lovely dream is gone.

a lifeboat made of little more than hope
(not watertight and also slightly frayed)
and yet “the thing with feathers” helped me cope,
and stay! of such was my good lifeboat made.

I didn’t need the ocean to be true.
the faith (and miracles it would precede)
were not my gift; the hope would have to do.
my hope is gone, and that I didn’t need.

whether it is true or whether counterfeit,
still the work to do is getting over it.