tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356700242024-03-13T11:45:50.060-07:00emerging from the ashesthe story of my exit from Mormonism and adjustment to post-Mormon lifefrom the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.comBlogger314125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-17890933327164383652008-04-15T12:16:00.000-07:002008-12-21T12:24:17.811-08:00so longThis April marks my three year anniversary of my mental break from the Mormon church. At the beginning of April, 2005, I had a <a href="http://emergingfromtheashes.blogspot.com/2006/10/exit-story-8-threshold.html">near panic attack</a> when I realized I was more of a <a href="http://emergingfromtheashes.blogspot.com/2006/10/exit-story-7-essential-questions.html">non-believer</a> than a believer. On the first weekend of that April I visited Target to buy normal underwear instead of watching General Conference, and within the next few days I took my <a href="http://emergingfromtheashes.blogspot.com/2007/11/garment-memories.html">garments off</a> for the last time. It was then when <a href="http://emergingfromtheashes.blogspot.com/2007/03/wherein-they-find-out-im-questioning.html">my parents discovered</a> I was questioning the church. It was the most confusing, <a href="http://emergingfromtheashes.blogspot.com/2006/10/exit-story-9-to-nom-or-not-to-nom.html">up and down</a>, back and forth, <a href="http://emergingfromtheashes.blogspot.com/2006/10/exit-story-10-switching-paradigms.html">turmoil-filled month</a> of my life up to that point. On the last Sunday of April, I <a href="http://emergingfromtheashes.blogspot.com/2006/10/exit-story-11-last-time.html">left the Mormon church services early</a> and have never been back.<br /><br />Three years is long enough.<br /><br />It's time to move on.<br /><br />For over eighteen months I have kept up this blog, with frenetic energy at first, and tapering off over the most recent few months. Early on, my fingers couldn't type fast enough to keep up with my thoughts and stories. I used to jot down notes when I was away from the computer, and write posts by hand during class when I was supposed to be taking notes.<br /><br />When I have written recently, it's usually been a stretch to find something to write, as if I have to try to find ways Mormonism still affects me. And it does still affect me; it is a part of who I have become. Growing up Mormon and extricating myself from the church partly shapes who I am. But at some point--at this point--I want to stop thinking about it so much and just concentrate on developing who I am now, on becoming something more than an ex-Mormon.<br /><br />I want to be <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span> now.<br /><br />I am happy I kept this blog, as it became a type of therapy for me, and I cherish the community and the friendships I have formed. Also, I have been touched by people who have commented and shared their own thoughts and stories, and hearing I have touched at least a few people means a great deal to me.<br /><br />This blog will remain available so people can read the archives.<br /><br />Thank you and goodbye.<br /><br />-from the ashesfrom the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-36995147362574928922008-04-01T19:12:00.000-07:002008-04-01T19:16:20.097-07:00yoda's potty mouthNote to self: watch youtube videos <span style="font-style: italic;">before</span> letting my son watch them.<br /><br />You'd think a simple Star Wars spoof would be pretty innocent, right? <br /><br />Okay, so I should've seen the possibility of inappropriate-content-for-5-year-olds coming. <br /><br />But there's no way I could've predicted Yoda saying, "Oh, shit!"<br /><br />And then my son repeating it about ten times, laughing the whole time. Because, yes, he does know that's "a word you shouldn't say around Grandma or at school, mmkay?"from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-6144982836054158212008-03-30T17:11:00.000-07:002009-09-24T19:46:05.626-07:00baptisms for the dead, part 2<span style="font-style: italic;">Continued from <a href="http://emergingfromtheashes.blogspot.com/2008/03/baptisms-for-dead-part-1.html">baptisms for the dead, part 1</a>...</span><br /><br />The interview went well enough. I dressed up in my Sunday clothes, a dress I hated. But then, I hated all dresses. Just was not my thing. An interview with a member of the bishopric, though, required dressing up. It's how it was done, especially in my family.<br /><br />Over at the church, I sat on the old orange couch in the foyer, my hands planted under my legs as I stared at the red-orange industrial carpet. Brother Hicks, the executive secretary, called my name and escorted me into the bishop's office. I was especially shy as a kid, so "don't speak until you are spoken to" was easy enough for me. Actually, adults had a hard time getting me to answer at all. But these were questions I had to answer, and answer correctly, without guilt on my face, if I wanted the temple recommend to go do baptisms.<br /><br />I answered simple "yes"es and "no"s to all the right questions, the ones about faith and belief, the ones about behavior and abstinence and attendance. Easy stuff, for me. I'd read the Book of Mormon and believed it was "true." I thought Joseph Smith was a prophet and had restored the True Church and the Priesthood. I'd never even been offered alcohol or cigarettes, let alone try them. Sex was beyond my realm of imagination; I hadn't so much as held a boy's hand. Had he asked me about masturbation (had he thought girls did that), I wouldn't have known what the heck he was talking about.<br /><br />The bishop signed the card, but kept it for my Beehive leader, so she would just have all of them in one place on the big day.<br /><br />The next week, I zipped up my coat over my dress, and met the rest of the youth at the church parking lot for the carpool. Several of us piled into Sister Brown's car, excited and acting like any 12 year olds would: giggly and silly and downright untemple-like. Sister Brown quickly scolded us and began a serious lecture about how to act when about to visit the most sacred House of the Lord. Not only should we keep all conversation to a whisper, but we shouldn't talk about worldly things--which boy was the cutest and what outfit we'd be wearing to school tomorrow. Lots of jewelry was inappropriate, as was too much make-up, perfume, and bright nail polish. None of this bothered me, since I didn't wear any of that girly stuff anyway, but some of the other girls got a little uncomfortable recognizing how they were dressed and done up.<br /><br />A reverent calm came over us after the lecture, and we sat a little more quietly for the ride to the Provo temple, 10 minutes away. Still, we were a group of girls, and the chit-chat started again. As we approached, I thought about how, well, ugly, the Provo temple was. I was pretty sure I shouldn't think of a temple as ugly, though, so I tried to think instead about how my parents got married there.<br /><br />Once inside--the first time <span style="font-style: italic;">inside</span> a temple!--I attempted a glance around, but we were hurriedly ushered to the left of the main foyer, and down a flight of stairs. I knew this is where the baptisms took place, in the basement. After Sister Brown showed an old man in white the list of our names and recommends, he waved us through a hall to a room.<br /><br />This room had several wooden benches in it, all facing a large glass window. Through this window, I looked for the first time on the baptismal font, a hot tub-sized pool resting atop twelve golden oxen (representing the twelve tribes of Israel, I had been told). Men sat on either side of the font, above it, on a balcony, all of them in white jumpers. Two of these men worked at a computer console. It seemed oddly out of place. Two groups of youth in white clothes sat behind and to the side of them, girls on the left, boys on the right.<br /><br />Off this main room were other rooms as well, but I couldn't tell their purpose. Sister Brown gathered us like a mother hen over to one of the rooms, full of white jumpers on hangers. An old lady helped us pick out jumpers in our sizes. Next, we were off to the girls' dressing room. Inside, we were pointed to yet another white-haired woman who stood in front of a large closet of white underclothes. While I was still processing what was happening, I heard another one of the girls list her pantie and bra size.<br /><br />Oh, no! I was mortified. At twelve, I had already started wearing a bra, but only a training sports bra, and that only because my mom knew I'd be embarrassed in the PE locker room if I had no bra at all. And here was my fellow Beehive, a B since she was 10, and she never let me forget it, either. What size should I ask for? I didn't even know! What a nightmare. Too quickly, it was my turn, and when I couldn't get anything out of the mouth on my burning red face, the temple worker was kind enough to gently help me out with a negative triple A. Or whatever. I wasn't paying attention, just get me out of here already.<br /><br />The next step was to change into our whites, and thankfully there were individual stalls with locking doors to give us privacy. I changed, put my clothes in a small locker within the stall, and locked it with the key. The key had a safety pin on it, and as I emerged from the stall, I saw the other girls were pinning the key just under the zipper on their jumpsuits. So the weight of the water doesn't pull the jumper open in the font--in front of the boys. I couldn't imagine much worse that having my clothes come open at the chest in front of the deacons in the ward. [Shudder.]<br /><br />But then I heard the girls talking, and, yes, something could be worse. We were in <span style="font-style: italic;">white</span> clothes and about to be dunked repeatedly in water. The boys will be able to see right through to our bra and panties! There wasn't much we could do about it, either, except get that towel around us as quickly as possible after coming out of the water. That, and imagine that only the boys virtuous enough to avert their eyes politely were the ones we wanted to date someday.<br /><br />Once we were dressed, we nervously walked barefoot through the locker room, past the showers, and into the font area. There, we were directed to sit on a bench behind the font and wait our turns. The boys from our ward were on the opposite bench, to our left. They were goofing off. <span style="font-style: italic;">In the temple</span>. How immature.<br /><br />My turn came, and I gingerly stepped down the few stairs into the font, careful not to slip. Everyone was watching. The man in the font doing the baptisms, Mike, a guy from the ward about to go on his mission, helped me down. I got into position, standing in chest-deep water, facing a blue monitor, which sat just above the water to the side of the font. On the screen were the words for the baptism, so Mike could just read them off and not try to speak the words from memory. It was important to say the exact words, or the ordinance didn't count, and we'd have to do it all over again. Same if any part of my body or any strand of hair didn't get immersed completely--that's a do-over. My brother had been baptized twice when he was eight, because his toe had popped up. I secretly wished that had happened to me; I imagined there was something special about being baptized twice, like it washed away the sins even better.<br /><br />Here in this baptismal font, I was about to be baptized for some dead women, enabling them to receive the necessary ordinance so they could progress from the spirit prison where they were, onto spirit paradise. I had heard stories about people performing baptisms for the dead, and seeing or feeling the presence of spirits, people they were being baptized for. The spirits came to witness their own vicarious baptisms, or to thank the person who got the ordinance done for them. Part of me hoped I would see some of the spirits, or at least feel them. But part of me was scared; seeing spirits might creep me out. I wasn't sure, and I wasn't sure if I had the faith to see them anyway. So I kept the idea to myself. And kept my eyes peeled.<br /><br />Mike raised his right arm, elbow bent. Reading from the screen, he read, "Sister FTA, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you for and on behalf of Mary Klein, who is dead, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, amen." After a bit of confusion, we got our arms interlocked into position, with my fingers plugging my nose, and he immersed me completely under the water, and pulled me up again. The water was heavy on top of me, but not too cool, and the jumper pulled me down. Just as I was about to panic, I was out of the water, trying to regain my footing. He immediately started to repeat the prayer, this time with a different woman's name, and I was in the water again. I tried to pay attention to the screen to note the women's names, birth years, and birth places; I felt a special bond with them, being the person who played so significant a role in their salvation. I went down and up twenty times before it was the next person's turn.<br /><br />I started up the steps out of the water, feeling the soaked, now see-through jumper cling to my body in all the wrong places. Mercifully, Sister Brown had anticipated this and was waiting just at the top of the stairs with a towel, which she draped over my back. She escorted me back past the girls, and into the shower area of the dressing room. Only shower curtains blocked the shower from anyone coming in or going out, and I felt embarrassed and worked as quickly as I could to get out of my wet clothes. But my dry clothes were secured back in the stall, so I was given a "shield" to wear as I walked back to change. The shield was basically a large square of white cloth with a hole cut in the middle for my head to poke through. I pulled my head through the hole, and tried as well as I could to hold the open sides closed all the way back to my stall.<br /><br />Once dressed, my hair brushed but still wet, I was given yet another set of white clothes, this time to take part in confirmations--the ordinance done just after baptism that confirms the neophyte a member of the church and gives them the gift of the Holy Ghost. I was led into another room off the main room, and into a small cubicle, where two men in white jumpers sat around a chair. Their chairs were built specifically for this; they were like bar stools, with a crossbar elbow rest, so they could easily keep their arms up to put on the youths' heads, for blessing after blessing. I sat in the chair, and folded my hands in my lap. Both men placed their hands on my head (they were heavy hands) and one spoke the prescribed prayer, again saying my name, then inserting the name of a different dead woman each time. Between each time, they lifted their hands off my head, then placed them back down, making a clear distinction between each confirmation.<br /><br />Finally, my part was done, and I only had to wait in the wooden benches while everyone else finished up. The others with me watched the people in the font, and chatted amongst themselves about this and that. Hopes that the boys didn't see through their jumpers; news that Paul had a crush on Suzie; gossip about who thought who was cute.<br /><br />Once we were all gathered together, we headed back up the steps. When I left through the temple doors and back outside, I was surprised to find it was dark, and the ground was covered in snow. I had completely lost track of outside; inside had been so warm, so peaceful and filled with the Spirit. (Also, it had been windowless.) It was a little bit of a let down to go back into The World.<br /><br />For a while, though, I had been <span style="font-style: italic;">inside</span>. I had tasted a little bit of heaven, and I was eager to go back.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It occurred to me only halfway through writing this post that I would have never written down these details as a faithful Mormon. All goings-on in the temple are kept quite private, from personal feelings and reactions to actual ordinances and protocol. Mormons say this is because the temple is sacred, and it was to me. Writing about the baptisms and confirmations so openly would only confirm my status as an apostate. Keeping them secret only makes outsiders all the more curious and suspicious, and the rumors wild. Writing out my experience, I want to show my mundane interactions (talking about boys; worry about bra sizes and wet whites) in the midst of what I understood as my "sacred, spiritual experience." It was both grounded and sublime, as is much of Mormonism.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Thanks to Meg for reminding me about the bra and panties anguish.</span>from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-39840068481942666442008-03-23T20:46:00.000-07:002008-03-23T20:59:14.823-07:00fertility and new lifeI was pleased to find this was an easy Easter for me. Easier, that is, than the other Easters I've gone through since losing my faith. Like Christmas, there have always been the questions of how to celebrate, the discomfort of having Jesus be so prominent, the strange feeling that this should somehow be a religious holiday--never mind that I am non-religious. <br /><br />I attended Episcopal church the Easter I was still a Christian, and it was immensely satisfying for me to celebrate Jesus without any interference from Mormonism. That same month, at the Unitarian Universalist church, they talked about Easter, Passover, Earth Day, and spring all in the same sermon. It was wonderful. <br /><br />There are enough secular aspects of Easter, so it's easy enough to keep those. How could I tell my son that we're not having a Easter egg hunt? It would crush him. So I've always gone right along with the egg-dying, the hunt, the chocolate. (And I do love me some Cadbury mini-eggs.) <br /><br />Jesus was hardly a thought in my mind today, except when Little FTA said, "I know what Easter is about. It's about Jesus dying." He'd heard that from his cousin, which is fine. I would have explained that to him anyway (though I am glad I didn't have to deal with the resurrection). I added, though, that Easter was originally a pagan holiday, before Jesus and before the Christians, celebrating the spring and life. And that's why we have chicks and eggs and bunnies--they represent life and fertility. <br /><br />But he was all, Whatever, can I just have some more chocolate?from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-61017648749455346532008-03-16T11:20:00.000-07:002008-03-16T11:23:26.446-07:00baptisms for the dead, part 1Another story from Growing up Mormon:<br /><br />I was twelve years old, finally in young women’s and finally old enough to go to the Provo temple to do baptisms for the dead. I was almost giddy about the prospect of actually going inside the temple. I’d been looking forward to this for years. That primary song told me to look forward to it, after all.<br /><br />I love to see the temple<br />I’m going there someday<br />To cov’nant with my father<br />To listen and to pray<br /><br />For the temple is the house of God<br />A place of love and beauty.<br />I’ll prepare myself while I am young<br />It is my sacred duty.<br /><br />I had no idea what it was like inside. I’d only seen the outside, the off white, roundish building with the orange-gold spire. Frankly, I thought this temple was a bit funny looking. Ugly, even, if I could call a temple ugly. I suspected I shouldn’t. My parents had been married in this temple, and I always wondered why they chose that one. It was the closest, I guess. But still, this was the temple I grew up seeing on the hill, lit up at night. And really, it didn’t matter what was on the outside. I was curious about the inside. <br /><br />My parents kept mum about the whole thing. I saw them go off early in the morning, and come back before my school day began, with their little tote bags. I knew there were “temple clothes” inside those bags, but I never, ever saw them. They were sacred, my mom told me once when I asked. I wasn’t to see them. <br /><br />Despite their secrecy, I knew a little about what went on inside the temples. There were baptisms for the dead, of course, in the basement, and something called endowments, and marriage sealings. Mom had said something about a cafeteria once, and a chapel. It seemed incongruent to have something so worldly as a cafeteria in a house of God, but then, I guess people gotta eat.<br /><br />Now I was old enough to be let into the basement to do baptisms for the dead, and that felt special. It wasn’t the whole shebang, but it was something. <br /><br />When my dad told me I’d have to get a special temple recommend, a “one time use” one, my excitement was dampened by nervousness about the interview. What kind of questions would the bishop’s councilor ask? Was I worthy? What would Heavenly Father see in my heart? I started feeling guilty. <br /><br />For what? What should I be feeling guilty for? I searched my conscious, my memory. I lied that time when I was three, but that was erased when I was baptized anyway. Right, so I only have to think about what happened since I turned eight. Third grade. Okay, think. A couple lies. Never stole anything from the grocery store. Wasn’t always perfect to my siblings. Never cheated on a test at school. Um...Okay, I think I’m okay. But I still felt mildly guilty, and scared.from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-78944650841581936922008-03-05T11:21:00.001-08:002008-03-05T21:28:35.551-08:00a matter of interpretationI started reading Bushman's Joseph Smith: Rough Stone Rolling this weekend.<br /><br />Why?<br /><br />Because I want to torture myself?<br /><br />Actually, it's more the fact that this is the book my devout relatives are reading about Smith, and I want to know what information and interpretations they are getting. You see, now I know I can make a comment about the peep stone in the hat as the translation process for the Book of Mormon, and not have them look at me like I've sprouted two heads, called Evil Apostate and Anti-Mormon Liar.<br /><br />I've even found there are some gems in this book that I've never picked up before, like how Joseph borrowed Joseph Knight's wagon and horse the night he "found" the golden plates, but without Knight's knowledge or permission. Leaving Knight to believe his horse and wagon had been stolen by some rogue. Um, yep, they had.<br /><br />Bushman has put quite a bit of information in there that would have been previously dismissed as Lies of the Devil and now needs to be accepted by believing Mormon readers as "Yep, as weird as it sounds, that's how it happened," which is a good thing. Like the peep stone in the hat, the treasure-seeking, and the multiple first vision accounts. Of course, Bushman suffuses the narrative with enough "But it's all okay; you can still believe" interpretations that Mormons won't have too much cognitive dissonance. His interpretations usually leave me annoyed, and his straw man Book of Mormon critics are dismissed much too easily. But then, his arguments make him look like he <span style="font-style: italic;">actually</span> believes in a golden book that told an impossible history of the Americas. How quaint.from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-31781364116219619162008-03-03T12:56:00.000-08:002008-07-18T21:05:38.183-07:00now that wasn't so badIf you've been reading my blog for a few months, you'll know that last time I was in Utah was for Thanksgiving. On that trip, I had an allergic reaction to the very act of driving across the border into the Mormon state (manifest in the desire to get a tattoo or some body piercings--anything to look Not Molly Mormon). This time, though, I didn't get that suffocating feeling of needing to rebel, though I did lament the noticeably small numbers of coffee shops.<br /><br />I'm not sure what was different this time; maybe it's the passage of time--I've been a non-believer for nearly three years now--or maybe it's that I had a week off and actually chose to spend it in Utah. Sometimes I think that must mean I am crazy. But really, it's about my family. I like them, whatever their beliefs. If they weren't there, I wouldn't have a reason to go to Utah (though the exmo meet-ups are nice).<br /><br />The problem is we (my family and I) are virtually incapable of talking about my leaving the church. We pretend like it isn't there, that elephant in the room. Most of the time that's okay, really. There are other topics, of course. But sometimes I just want to blurt out, "I resigned my membership!"<br /><br />There is one sibling, though, that surprised me with her openness and willingness to talk. Her husband recently resigned his membership, and--gasp--we actually talked about it! And other topics of belief, too. It was wonderful to have someone within the family to discuss things with. She's still a believer, but I feel like I can talk fairly openly with her (as long as I don't say something like Joseph Smith was a putz). The last time I had talked to this sister about religion, she had asked me to never talk to her about religion again, so this new openness is refreshing. The trip was worth that alone.from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-65406530401016090022008-02-05T21:14:00.000-08:002008-02-05T22:14:41.653-08:00been readingI've been reading this fabulous book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Eat-Pray-Love-Everything-Indonesia/dp/0143038419/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1202274954&sr=8-1">eat, pray, love</a>, by Elizabeth Gilbert. You've likely heard of it or at least seen it around, as it is a #1 <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/pages/books/bestseller/index.html">New York Times Bestseller</a>, as the cover proudly proclaims. It was recommended to me by both my devout mother-in-law and by fellow DAMU blogger, <a href="http://songofcompassion.blogspot.com/">love medicine</a> (who has exponentially expanded my To Read list).<br /><br />The first section, "eat," is about a four-month stay in Italy, where the author practices the art of indulgence by learning Italian--for no other reason than she wants to--and by eating wonderful, delicious Italian food. There's this great chapter where she describes seeking out the best pizza place in Naples, the city where pizza began. Get this: she's eating the Best Pizza in the World. She gushes about this pizza with it's thin crust, perfectly flavored red sauce, and fresh mozzarella (once you've gone fresh, you can't go back). I tell you, she practically describes a food-gasm about this pizza. Tears of joy over the cheese. Shit, I almost had a food-gasm myself just reading about it. I thought back to the best pizza I've ever had, in New York City, with fellow exmos Meg & Jack Slate, hank rearden, lisesymom & exV, and juggler vain. We were there for lunch, I had skipped class and taken the train in just for this lunch, and we ate pepperoni pizza with rolls and red wine. The sauce was perfect, the crust was crisp but melt-in-your-mouth wonderful, and the fresh mozzarella just <span style="font-style: italic;">made</span> this pizza. I can't imagine the pizza in Naples.<br /><br />What I love about this section of the book is that the author feels it is 100% okay to indulge like this. Enjoy life; cater to your senses; focus on the body. This is not okay in Mormonism, where the spiritual self is supposed to put above the physical self: sacrifice, deny immediate pleasure for future gain, fast from food to get in touch with your spirit. That's not to say that Mormons can't be foodies; I certainly was. But I always felt a bit guilty about it.<br /><br />Twenty-three pounds heavier, Gilbert goes on to India for a spiritual journey in the Buddhist tradition. There are parts of this I really liked and appreciated. Some of it made me want to try meditation, explore Buddhism more. I felt a bit jealous, really, of the transcendent moments she experiences. On the other hand, I found myself irked by it all being explained with the term "God." I don't want to be irked, but I am. Gilbert's version of God is absolutely nothing like the Mormon's Heavenly Father, of course. It's something much more elusive, certainly not corporeal, but still, often, a He. Ick. I also found my skeptical side kicking in and asking, "Why should we be seeking these altered states of consciousness at all? And why do they have to be called spiritual? Isn't what they call "god" just a part of our brain, a state of mind, something inexplicable to them but not, someday, to science?"<br /><br />There was one particular passage that describes faith. I found my skeptic self frustrated by the description and argument. <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"There's a reason we refer to 'leaps of faith'--because the decision to consent to any notion of divinity is a mighty jump from the rational over to the unknowable, and I don't care how diligently scholars of every religion will try to sit you down with their stacks of books and prove to you through scripture that their faith is indeed rational; it isn't. If faith were rational, it wouldn't be--by definition--faith. Faith is belief in what you cannot see or prove or touch. Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>I didn't like it. That leap from the rational to the unknowable. Been there done that. Except that I was ignoring the rational because the knowable was artificially made unknowable by the scary label "anti-Mormon lies." So in leaving the church, I made the opposite leap; from what I thought was the knowable to the rational. And the rational won, and I value it too much right now to try any leap back. Maybe sometime I'll try seeking out some other level of spirituality, but not now.<br /><br />The same paragraph goes on to read,<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><br />"If we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, out belief would not be a leap of faith and it would not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be...a prudent insurance policy."<br /><br /></span>That bit I appreciated. I realized that had I read that three years ago, when I was on the verge of the collapse of my Mormon belief, I would have really liked it. It would have opened my eyes and changed my understanding of faith, and helped me see that Mormonism had a messed up view of faith. Other religions see faith as doubt; Mormonism sees doubt as antithetical to faith. Mormonism confuses faith and knowledge; people say "I know the church is true" instead of "I believe the church is true." Gilbert never, ever says, "I know" about anything. She never, ever says, "This is the way to achieve transcendence." Her attitude is more, "I'm not sure what this is, but I like it" and "Everyone should seek their own way, this way has been working for me." How refreshing. Overall I liked the section, and appreciated that even though her experience and interaction with spirituality is so different from mine, it is still human experience and valuable to her and to me.<br /><br />And now for the "love" section, where she seeks balance. I can't wait to read it.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">*Both quotes are from p. 175</span>from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-84701098059217432602008-02-01T15:15:00.000-08:002008-02-01T15:29:11.149-08:00once again, the insignificanceI haven't had much to write lately, besides being a bit bogged down by some virus. I suppose it's a good thing for me that I don't think enough about Mo'ism to have something to write several times a week. <br /><br />Trying to think of something in my life that was Mo-influenced, I remembered the most significant event in a while for Mormons--the death of the president, Hinckley, this past Sunday. My response was a shocked and sympathetic, "Wow" when my mother-in-law told me. While I feel sympathy for his family at their loss, I'll confess that just a couple days before the death, my husband and I had been wondering when the nonogenarian would pass. (Nope, that doesn't make me a prophet for predicting the future, as he was 97, and I'd been wondering when he would die for years now.)<br /><br />The death would have been much more a significant for me had I still been a believer, as it is, I'm sure, for my family and friends who are. I imagine many of them will watch the four-hour funeral proceedings tomorrow. The most time I'm going to put in, though, is watching the <a href="http://www.comedycentral.com/motherload/player.jhtml?ml_video=148509&ml_collection=&ml_gateway=&ml_gateway_id=&ml_comedian=&ml_runtime=&ml_context=show&ml_origin_url=%2Fmotherload%2Findex.jhtml%3Fml_video%3D148509&ml_playlist=&lnk=&is_large=true">Colbert Show coverage</a>. 'Cause it's hilarious. Predictably, it links the death and the passing of the mantle to Thomas S Monson to Romney's candidacy, then switching into a writers' strike joke--showing exactly how little the small world of Mormondom means to the rest of the country. <br /><br />On<a href="http://www.facebook.com"> facebook</a>, I noticed that some Mormons are "getting their panties in a bunch" about the video clip and have formed a group to boycott Colbert for it. But I also noticed that there's another Mormon group to boycott the boycott.from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-56604769917818634672008-01-25T12:23:00.000-08:002008-01-25T12:31:04.066-08:00notes on religion and health<span style="font-style: italic;">I was updating my list of "Further Reading" books, and realized a couple books I had on there previously were dropped when I switched from the old blogger. (Some of my blogroll was also lost; my apologies if your blog is not on my list--just let me know!)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The two books I recognized as lost were </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.amazon.com/God-Faith-Health-Spirituality-Healing-Connection/dp/B000QCS5GI/ref=sr_1_16?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1201292074&sr=8-16">God, Faith, and Health: Exploring the Spirituality-Healing Connection</a><span style="font-style: italic;">, by Jeffrey Levin, and </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.amazon.com/Blind-Faith-Alliance-Religion-Medicine/dp/0312348827/ref=pd_bbs_sr_3?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1201292319&sr=1-3">Blind Faith: The Unholy Alliance of Medicine and Religion</a><span style="font-style: italic;">, by Richard P. Sloan. I read them both for a class I took, and looking through my classwork, I found some of my notes about the books.</span><br /><br /> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Koenig [who he is, I can't for the life of me remember] argues that health benefits might only come to those who are intrinsically religious; this leads me to wonder about all those people who are extrinsically religious, but belong to religions that do not let them admit that.<span style=""> </span>Are they not only getting no benefits, but are they also harmed by religion?<span style=""> </span>Even Levin acknowledges that such people exist in his comment about “the exceptions, such as people whose emotional well-being is harmed by religion” (Levin, p. 8).<span style=""> </span>It is easy for Levin to say, “If we find that how we worship is only making us more miserable, then it may be time to find a new way to pray” (p. 92).<span style=""> </span>However, for people in conservative religions especially, Levin has a frustratingly simple view of people’s ability to switch religions or styles of worship.<span style=""> </span>If religion is paid better attention to in public health and medical practice, it should be to find those people for whom religion causes <i style="">negative</i> health outcomes, particularly with regards to mental health.<span style=""> </span>Much more research needs to be done to even tease out these effects and to determine how widespread they are.<span style=""> </span>Unfortunately, at this stage most studies on religion and health are financially supported by religious funders; it is in their interest to ignore religion and negative health outcomes.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> <br /> </span><br />The application of findings of religious studies to medical or public health practice should only be done only with great caution.<span style=""> </span>The studies are indeterminate enough that medicine cannot go beyond saying religiousness/spirituality may have benefits for prevention of chronic disease in general, particularly with regards to providing social support, reducing rates of high-risk behaviors, and providing time to relieve stress.<span style=""> </span>But this ignores the cases in religious communities where social support morphs to coercive demands for social conformity; where youth are ignorant about how to protect themselves from STDs because of demands for absolute abstinence; and where participation causes stress.<span style=""> </span>These cannot be simply ignored.<span style=""><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=""></span><br />If findings were to be used in practice, it would best be secularized first.<span style=""> </span>For example, doctors and public health interventions could recommend people find social groups, reduce risk-behaviors, and take time out of each day to relieve stress.<span style=""> </span>The recommendation could then list possible forms of social groups, with church groups as one example of many, and possible forms of stress-relief, such as yoga, breathing, prayer, meditation, etc.<span style=""> </span>Religion should not be ignored, but it also should not be trumpeted as a panacea, especially given that membership in a religious community stems from many reasons, not limited to an actual desire to be a member.<span style=""> </span></p>from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-52867440752391408022008-01-22T08:31:00.000-08:002008-01-21T20:39:36.699-08:00shirt and tieI dreamed a dream...<br /><br />I was at my parents' house in Utah, and lots of extended family was there too. It was a Saturday evening. I walked into the living room to find at least a dozen family memories hanging about. I saw my son in the center of room, playing with three of his male cousins. I saw with annoyance that all of the boys had on white shirts and ties, as if in preparation for church, including my son. (Who had a Star Wars tie on, to his delight.) I could see he was enjoying the group uniform, the feeling of being one of the crowd. Obviously, one of the adult members of the family had decided to introduce this particularity of the Mormon church to my son, as if grooming him for more exposure to the One and True Living Gospel.<br /><br />As I stood there steaming about it, my dad asked me, right in front of everyone, "When you are going to have Little FTA baptized?" My son is a couple years away from the Age of Accountability still, but in the dream, he was just old enough. Just old enough that people were wondering when the date of the baptism would be.<br /><br />Just after my dad asked that question, my husband came and stood by my side. I answered, "Not until he's 18, if he wants to at all." That created quite a ripple through the crowd, and I left the room, only to be hounded by others about why we would wait so long. The dream ended.<br /><br />Now I have to think, how would I answer?<br /><br />-NEVER!<br /><br />-We feel that childhood is not the appropriate time to join a church, any more than it is the time to join a political party.<br /><br />-We're <span style="font-style: italic;">not </span>going to baptize him. And, no, you can't baptize him either.<br /><br />-Little FTA doesn't believe in god.from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-26113374499522090622008-01-18T10:49:00.000-08:002009-09-24T19:51:14.353-07:00Mormonism and the BibleI realized that in my last post about the Bible, I forgot to write some things I wanted to say. Like how Mormonism has a strange relationship with the Bible. Because of the 8th Article of Faith, "We believe the Bible to be the word of God as far as it is translated correctly; we also believe the Book of Mormon to be the word of God" (I typed that from memory; I think I got it right), Mormons are kind off the hook in some respects. For example, you could take a passage in the Bible you don't like or agree with (hmm, like slaughtering every man, women, child, and animal; or sacrificing daughters; or destroying gay people) and throw it out with a "it must not have been translated correctly."<br /><br />Joseph Smith seemed to have done this with the crazy story of Lot offering up his daughters to the Sodomites in place of the male visitors (as if it's better to rape women than men?). "Behold now, I have two daughters which have not known man; let me, I pray you, bring them out unto you, and do ye to them as <i>is</i> good in your eyes: only unto these men do nothing; for therefore came they under the shadow of my roof" (KJV Genesis 19:8). In the Smith translation, the scripture reads "And Lot said, Behold now, I have two daughters which have not known man; let me, I pray you, <i>plead with my brethren that I may not</i> bring them out unto you; and ye shall <i>not</i> do unto them as seemeth good in your eyes;" (JST Genesis 19:13). Smith's version certainly makes Lot sound like a nicer dad (we'll not get into what happens later).<br /><br />I've seen Mormons discount stories with other morally questionable passages, like the story of youth getting eaten by bears because they teased Elisha about being bald (see 2 Kings 2: 23-24). When you believe the Bible is true only insofar as it was translated correctly, it's easy to decide that the whole bear story was a fairy tale, or at least told incorrectly. God wouldn't do <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span>. And yet I've seen even worse stories held up as absolutely factual, like God telling the Hebrews to slaughter every living thing in wherever-it-was (see, I really need to improve my Bible literacy). I mean, why not give God the benefit of the doubt that He (ahem) really is benevolent and decide that particular passage was an after-the-fact justification for massacre, or that the incident didn't even happen at all?<br /><br />I would expect some Mormons to also take the as-far-as-it-was-translated-correctly clause as an easy way to reconcile modern science with the early stories of the Bible. You know, like the 7-day creation, Noah's flood, the parting of the Red Sea, 900-year lifespans, the Tower of Babel as the origin of diversity of languages, etc. It'd be pretty easy to dismiss these as mythology if you don't <span style="font-style: italic;">have to</span> believe every word of the Bible as Truth. And yet the party line is that these things did literally happen (I'm sure there are many Mormons who don't believe these literally, and many are able to handle the cognitive dissonance of believing both evolution and creation, for example).<br /><br />I suspect that one of the reasons Mormons generally don't dismiss those stories as mythology is Joseph Smith's literal belief in them--and his placing of mythological characters and events in prominent, literal events. Noah's flood must be literal, for example, because prophets said the flood was the baptism of the earth (for example <span style=""> Smith, Joseph Fielding, Jr., <i>Doctrines of Salvation </i>(Salt Lake City: BookCraft, 1955), Vol.2, p.320.)</span>. And if the Tower of Babel is just mythology, then the story of the Jaredites in the Book of Mormon would have to be mythology too--so if you believe the Book of Mormon is true, you must believe the Tower of Babel is literal. Then there's Joseph's assertion that Abraham was a real person who wrote a real book and hid it among Egyptian papyri while he was really in Egypt. And while I've on the rare occasion heard Mormons refer to the temple version of the creation as symbolic, it's safe to bet that a large proportion take Adam and Eve's existence as quite literal. Joseph certainly did--he reportedly spoke to not only Adam (aka Michael), but also Gabriel (aka Noah), Raphael (D&C 128:20-21), Seth, Enoch, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Journal of Discources 17:374; 18:325-26; 21:65, 94, 161; 23:48). So it's safe to say that Mormons are supposed to take those men's respective Bible stories as real.<br /><br />Which is unfortunate.from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-51141424619892343972008-01-16T11:21:00.000-08:002008-01-16T11:26:06.110-08:00the spirit and transcendence<span style="font-style: italic;">I recently had a faithful Mormon friend ask me, "Okay, so you left the church. But what about your spiritual experiences? Didn't you have any? What did you 'do' with them since leaving?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In reply, I sent here edited versions of two previous posts, the </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://emergingfromtheashes.blogspot.com/2007/02/spirit.html">spirit</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> and </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://emergingfromtheashes.blogspot.com/2007/05/exorcising-spirit.html">exorcising the spirit</a><span style="font-style: italic;">. On reading those posts, I realized I've thought more about the issues, and added the following to my reply.</span><br /><br />I also think that transcendent moments (e.g. spiritual experiences) happen across religions, and to the non-religious, and people interpret them according to how they were taught to interpret them, or according to their personality. A Baptist takes it as confirmation that her church is the true one; a Mormon takes it as confirmation that her church is true; an agnostic takes it as a beautiful moment of feeling a connection with the community or the cosmos; one boy decides his experience means he should become a priest; another boy sees his as a great love for science and the natural world. It doesn't mean none of it is sacred or important. A good quote for this is "I now believe that whether or not there's a God, there is such a thing as sacredness. Life is sacred. The Sabbath can be a sacred day. Prayer can be a sacred ritual. There is something transcendent, beyond the everyday. It's possible that humans created this sacredness ourselves, but that doesn't take away from its power or importance."from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-81059518544878497892008-01-11T11:51:00.000-08:002008-01-11T12:47:25.106-08:00bibleI've been reading more of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Year-Living-Biblically-Literally-Possible/dp/0743291476/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1200081098&sr=8-1">the book</a> I mentioned in my last post, and realized that I've never actually read the Bible all the way through. Sure, I attended Sunday school, where the Old Testament (I now prefer to call it the Hebrew Bible) and the New Testament were the year's topic every 3rd and 4th year. And I was a highly-faithful seminary student all through high school, where the Old and New Testaments were taught my junior and senior years. I even liked it that way; I loved that New Testament finished off my seminary career. Keep the focus on Jesus and all. Then in college, I took a New Testament class again, one focusing on the Four Gospels.<br /><br />But in all that, did I ever actually read the whole thing? Nope. In seminary, it's the usual practice to read every verse and chapter (or section, for D&C) through the school year. For the Book of Mormon year, that was easy enough, since I'd made a habit of reading that book daily since I was 11. I read every section of D&C, retaining virtually nothing. But for the Bible, especially the Hebrew Bible, the powers that be selected which chapters and verses were important enough for us to read. Numbers for example--we read all that. Vital to know the exact count of each of the tribes wandering the Sinai. And at least most of Deuteronomy. Why did we read those? To know all those laws we no longer follow? Song of Solomon was completely nixed. If anyone asked why, we were told that part was not inspired. Among ourselves, we discussed how it was immoral, pornographic even. Which was enough to get some kids to crack those pages on their own, I'm sure, but if anything was even labeled pornographic, that was enough to keep me far, far away. (I've still never read that book, though I have read some exegesis on it.) So I have read most of the Bible, but I skipped quite a bit, not according to what interested me, but according to what the Church Education System thought I should read.<br /><br />Oh, and only the King James Version. Which is considered the worst English translation out there. Not only is the English difficult to understand, but it's just a poor translation. It's old. Scholars have learned a lot more about translating Hebrew since then. More modern versions better represent what the Hebrew says, and they say it in language that doesn't sound 400 years old. "Charity never faileth" becomes "Love never fails." Ahh, much better.<br /><br />Mormons cling to the King James Version, though. Why? Ultimately because that's the version Joseph Smith, Sr. had in his home, as far I as know. So it's what Joseph Smith, Jr., grew up with. All kinds of justifications have arisen as to why they haven't switched to another version like a lot of churches have. Like, the language seems more noble, more holy. Why is James's English more holy than any earlier or later English? And are we forgetting Smith's idea that God speaks the "Adamic" language, not English? And have we forgotten that when the Bible is in other languages, it's not in King James English? The Book of Mormon and D&C are in similar archaic language, which Mormons take as evidence that God just speaks that way. But which says to me Joseph Smith <span style="font-style: italic;">thought </span>God speaks that way.<br /><br />In addition, there's the major quoting of the Bible in the Book of Mormon. The King James Bible. Supposedly 1000-2000 years before the King James Bible was written. Mormons take this as evidence that both are from God, and further evidence that the King James version is the way to go. Occam's Razor compels me to interpret that anachronism differently.<br /><br />The greatest joke the King James version played on Joseph Smith is in the italicized words. I asked about the italicized words as a young child, and was told that these words are glossed, not exact translations. For example, in Hebrew you might not need the word "to" in a certain phrase, while in English you do, so it's put in, but italicized. Or there are other words that are translated with hesitation, where the meaning is unclear. Joseph Smith didn't have the luxury of an educated dad to tell him this, though. So when Smith came across the italicized words when rendering his translation of the Bible, <span style="font-style: italic;">he added whole phrases</span>. A large portion of his translation is just his expanding glossed translations as if they were secret passageways to God's lost words. The same is true of the (mis)quoted parts of Isaiah in 2nd Nephi. When I learned about that I was still unsure about the Smith and the Book of Mormon. When I read about that, though, the possibility of Joseph's prophethood dropped 20 notches. Not the final nail in the coffin of my testimony, but it definitely raised suspicions.<br /><br />Part of my Bible illiteracy is the quoting the Bible in the Book of Mormon. Lots of (2nd) Isaiah, a oneupmanship version of the Sermon on the Mount. So sometimes I can't remember which verses are in which book. At least I recognize this, so I can avoid making a fool of myself by spouting off a quote I think is from the Bible only to have a Sunday-schooled Bible thumper tell me I must be quoting Satan. Then there's the problem of the Pearl of Great Price--it has a lot of similarities to parts of Genesis, but is definitely in its own la-la-land. Like that story about Abraham almost getting sacrificed by his father? I didn't realize that wasn't in the Hebrew Bible until a few years ago. (Who can keep track of all those sacrifices and twice-told stories?)<br /><br />Anyway, I've decided I want to read the Bible--and not the King James version. Not because I think I <span style="font-style: italic;">should</span>, because I want to be Bible literate in a culture so infused with the Bible. I've tended to be pretty anti-scripture the past couple years, but I know there are some nice things in the Bible, too, among all the morally despicable and just plain wacko parts. I'm looking forward to reading it as mythology for the first time, too. What freedom to read it as "this is what one guy thought" and "this is a ancient story from the Hebrew people" instead of "this is what happened" or "this is what God wants me to do"!<br /><br />And I'm looking forward to the Song of Solomon.from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-43708395789600886842008-01-08T16:29:00.001-08:002008-01-08T16:56:59.042-08:00spiritualitySince leaving the church, I've learned to differentiate spiritual from religious, and feel that one can nourish one's spirituality without organized religion or even religion at all. (One can also be religious without being spiritual.) But the actual definition of spiritual is elusive, maybe because it is intensely personal. <br /><br />I think of it as a selfhood, a soulfulness (though I don't think there is a "soul" per se), paying attention to that part of the world that is me and only me. I also see it as a feeling of connection to others, to the world, the cosmos, the sublime. A feeling of peace, or joy, or love. A contentedness. It can be found anywhere, and it's different for everyone. A book, a movie, some music, dance, or art. In a walk through the forest or on the beach, or even in the neighborhood. Creating, building , destroying. Meditation, prayer, recitation, exercise, thrill-seeking. <br /><br />Why do we seek it? I believe it has something to do with the fact that human brains have evolved to the point that we are conscious of our consciousness. We are animals smart enough to ask, "Why?" Smart enough to realize we are one tiny bit of one great whole, and we seek significance and connection within that.<br /><br />I've been pretty non-spiritual and secular the past couple years, for the most part. Don't have god, don't need sublimeness or religion. But every once in a while, I feel like I'm in the mood for something spiritual. I miss it and crave it. I wonder, am I missing out on something by being secular? Is there really something special about religion that I can't achieve without it? <br /><br />These questions were brought on this last week by a book I'm reading, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Year-Living-Biblically-Literally-Possible/dp/0743291476/ref=pd_bbs_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1199839408&sr=8-1">The Year of Living Biblically: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible</a>. I thought it would be terribly funny and irreverent, the whole book aimed at poking fun at all the wacko things in the Bible. It is quite funny, but the author really, truly <span style="font-style: italic;">tried</span> to find god by following the rules in the Bible (wacko rules and all). It's written by a secular New Yorker who wondered if he was missing something by being secular. He wanted to give the Bible an honest try. Half way through his year, he found himself praying to god when his son was hurt. Spontaneously praying, and actually believing it might help (for a few seconds anyway). <br /><br />And I realized something. I miss that. I used to structure my world view around a benevolent god watching over me. <span style="font-style: italic;">Me</span> personally. I used to pray. Now? I've not once prayed that my current illness would go away. Most of the time, I am perfectly reconciled to the idea that I'm an outcome of evolution, that there is no ultimate purpose, no afterlife of reward. But sometimes, <span style="font-style: italic;">sometimes</span>, I miss how it was.from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-70895546052145939662008-01-06T12:12:00.001-08:002008-01-06T12:24:21.780-08:00only the good stuffI've been on a little hiatus, what with family in town for the holidays, Little FTA out of school, and my persistent no good, rotten, bad mood since Christmas. Unfortunately, this was one of those bad moods that kills my muse rather than brings it out. Sigh. I just haven't felt like writing or felt like I had anything to write. <br /><br />But last night, on the way back from dinner with my husband, son, and believing brother-in-law, Little FTA busted out with a great line. And I thought, <span style="font-style: italic;">That is so going on the blog</span>. <br /><br />We were telling stories, and mission stories came up. Both my husband and his brother went on Mormon missions, so they've got lots of stories. Little FTA piped up, "What's a mission? Is that like when you go out and find something?" He was thinking of secret agent missions, in the vein of <a href="http://www.nickjr.com/shows/backyardigans/backyardigans-super-spy/index.jhtml">Backyardigans Super Secret Spy</a> or <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Bond">James Bond</a>. <br /><br />I started to explain, "No, it's not like going on a secret mission to find something. See, Mormons and some other Christians go out as missionaries to try to convince people to join their church, to be Mormons or Christians too."<br /><br />"Oh, right," Little FTA added in all seriousness, "but they only tell them the good stuff."<br /><br />We laughed at that, and I said, "That's right. They only tell them the good stuff."<br /><br />My brother-in-law was a bit shocked, but good-natured about it. "What are you teaching him?" he asked.<br /><br />"Not to be a Mormon, that's for sure," I mumbled.from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-17232814183365575052007-12-28T10:37:00.000-08:002008-12-21T12:29:49.780-08:00adam and eveIt was my turn to put Little FTA to bed, Adam and Eve somehow came up. Little FTA, never having heard the Adam and Eve story, asked for an explanation. So I told him how in the stories about the origin of the earth, the first man and woman were called Adam and Eve. He asked incredulously, "So they think that there was the Big Bang, and then poof, Adam and Eve?" I explained how the Big Bang isn't part of those stories. The Big Bang is such a given for him, so he demanded more explanation.<br /><br />I went on about how before science figured out the Big Bang and the first life on earth and evolution, people didn't know how all that happened. So in each culture, they made up stories to explain how it all started; they are called creation myths. I then went on to tell him that the Adam and Eve story is the creation myth of one people, the Hebrews, and it's written in a book called the Hebrew Bible. There are lots of different creation myths from all over the world, and this is one of them.<br /><br />He was cool with that; I loved the freedom he had to just accept that. So I told him how god created the earth in seven days, etc. I feminized the story, having god create Adam and Eve together, and together they named the animals, etc. When I was done, he looked at me and said, "Boring! Tell me a different creation story." I couldn't remember any. To try to spice the Hebrew one up for him, I continued on with the story of the forbidden fruit, the serpent, and the kicking out from the garden. I tried to explain how it was a metaphor for growing up and discovering sexuality, and having to work hard as adults. But I realized I didn't know the Bible version well, and was telling him the Mormon Pearl of Great Price/temple version. Oh well. I gotta get more Bible literate myself, I guess.<br /><br />And more cross-culturally literate, as well. Since that little chat with Little FTA, I looked up alternative creation myths. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Creation_myths">Here are some</a> for your perusal.from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-57135458535263071682007-12-25T14:08:00.000-08:002007-12-25T14:11:38.072-08:00holidayI hope everyone is having wonderful holidays. All my best to you and your families and friends.<br /><br />I've managed to shake my bah-humbug mood this season and enjoy being with extended family and having fun. <br /><br /><a href="http://sideon.wordpress.com/2007/12/24/youyou/">Sideon's thoughtful post</a> really helped, too.from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-71082911843608073502007-12-23T09:57:00.000-08:002007-12-23T10:18:31.825-08:00solstice celebrationAfter a few years of wanting to celebrate solstice, we finally decided to try it. We didn't know until the day of how long we'd have the house to ourselves, so we didn't really prepare as much as I'd have liked. I would have loved to light a fire in the yard with a Yule log, but we didn't have a fire pit or wood, and I didn't check if it was a no-burn day, etc. There's a fireplace in the master bedroom here, but it's fake. Sigh. So we skipped the fire.<br /><br />Instead, we eagerly waited until the house was empty except for us, then I flitted around the main rooms of the house placing unlit candles on nearly every horizontal surface. On the family room coffee table, we placed three candles for the three of us; one yellow candle to represent the sun and substitute for the Yule log; and a big glass bowl filled with water and sprinkled with gold glitter. The glass bowl also had a candle in the center. We had wanted the yellow candle in the bowl, but it wouldn't fit. <br /><br />I made sure the lights were out, and we let the house get darker as the sun went down. The three of us gathered in front of the coffee table, and as we waited for sunset (I had looked up the exact time on the Internet), we talked about some of the hardships of the year: leaving our home back East, my uncle dying, my health, our trip postponement. We let the darkness of the long night represent sadness, difficulty, etc., and reminded our son that life sucks sometimes, we're sad sometimes, and that's okay. Little FTA named an incident in school this year when his friend said he didn't want to be him friend anymore. We discussed how that made him feel, and how he might go about repairing that friendship. <br /><br />Just at sunset, we lit the center candle, then lit each of our candles from the "sun" candle. During this we talked about the sun as happiness, hope, and love, and how the sun makes life on earth possible. Still in the dark except for those four candles, we moved about the house lighting the rest of the candles, as well as turning on the Christmas lights. We lit the yellow one in a very safe candle holder and let it burn all night.<br /><br />Little FTA was excited about getting his own candle to light things, but he's still young, so we supervised. He dropped his candle right on the carpet once, and luckily the carpet snuffed it out. "Whoa!" he said, "I thought it was going to light the carpet on fire!" Later, he dropped the candle and candle holder on the kitchen floor, and it shattered. (Note: Make sure the kids are old enough to handle the candle ceremony.) Other than that, we had a nice time lighting the candles and watching the flickering flames around the house. <br /><br />By then, we were hungry, and we'd read that pagan celebrations of solstice involved indulging in good food and the pleasures of life, so we picked a nice organic restaurant whose name meant The Sun. After a three-course meal, most of it foods we'd never tried before, and some yummy microbrews, we headed home and re-lit the candles we had extinguished for safety reasons while we were gone. <br /><br />It was a very nice little family celebration. I think we've got ourselves a tradition.from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-34564168295242563682007-12-22T10:46:00.000-08:002008-12-08T17:12:59.415-08:00solstice<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s-4SFdA2fe8/R21c-S185FI/AAAAAAAAAC8/Ktdfw6Hc7Co/s1600-h/winterscene1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s-4SFdA2fe8/R21c-S185FI/AAAAAAAAAC8/Ktdfw6Hc7Co/s320/winterscene1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146872174434116690" border="0" /></a><br />Have a wonderful winter solstice.<br /><br />Here are some links to information, celebrations, and rituals to help you enjoy your day.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.schooloftheseasons.com/celsolstice.html">School of the Seasons</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.candlegrove.com/solstice.html#others">Candle Grove</a>: Ancient Origins of Solstice Celebrations<br /><br /><a href="http://www.religioustolerance.org/winter_solstice.htm">Religious Tolerance</a>: Winter Solstice Celebrations<br /><br /><a href="http://www.circlesanctuary.org/pholidays/SolsticeArticle.html">Circle Sanctuary</a>: Celebrating Winter Solstice<br /><br /><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winter_solstice">Wikipedia</a>: Winter Solstice<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(<a href="http://www.geocities.com/lavenderwater37/holidays/yule.htm">Picture credit</a>.)</span>from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-22775426151628017692007-12-21T05:47:00.000-08:002009-09-24T20:02:32.748-07:00immorality educationLike other Mormon young women (doesn't everyone else call them teenagers or youth?), I had the importance of "morality" drilled into me. Morals and ethics are fine things, but in Mormon parlance, "morality" means one thing: abstinence from sex. Conversely, "immorality" means having sex. Why the terms took on such specific meanings I cannot fathom, and I believe it creates a skewed idea of what morality actually is, but that's not the topic of this post. What I want to talk about is the Mormon version of teaching youth about sex.<br /><br />As a youth, I was taught that immorality (which I always had to sort out in my head as different from immortality, another hot topic in Mormon churches) was bad, bad, bad, to be avoided at all costs, and just downright bad. Fornication was listed as the third worst sin, after murder (number two), and denying the Spirit (whatever that means). How messed up is that? Also, if you were "immoral," you were unworthy to go to the temple. And it was the temple where you wanted to get married, to start your eternal family, so you had better avoid immorality!<br /><br />And how to avoid it? By staying as far away from it as possible. How? Not dating until you were at least 16, not entertaining dirty thoughts, not reading dirty romances, not watching rated-R movies, not watching dirtier PG-13 movies, not having a steady boyfriend until after high school, not single-dating, not staying out past midnight ("When the holy Ghost goes to bed!"), and not going to parties where the parents wouldn't be there. Don't masturbate would've been on the list, had any of our leaders imagined that, yes, females masturbate, too. But they didn't.<br /><br />Oh, and all the do's, too: Go to seminary, stay worthy of the Spirit, read your scriptures, say your prayers, attend church every week, go to Young Women's activity nights, befriend only people with your same standards (read: Molly Mormons, and only Mormons), listen to good music, read worthy books, and always dream of the day you will be sealed in the temple to a worthy return missionary!<br /><br />I remember my dad's explanation behind waiting until you were 16 to date: You start dating, hanging out with people you like, and you're going to want to move to the next step--holding hands. Pretty soon, holding hands won't be enough, so you'll want to move on to hugging. Then little kisses. Then even that will get boring, and you'll want to kiss more. Maybe even make-out. And making out will lead to heavier making out, and before you know it, you're clothes are off and you've blown (heh) you're chance at happiness (e.g., temple marriage). So don't start dating early, and don't be alone with your date, until, oh, you're married, mmkay?<br /><br />Oh, and if you are "immoral" with that 18-year old, you'll prevent him from going on his mission, so not only will you have ruined his life, but you'll have stopped him from teaching all those people he would have converted had he only stayed worthy, you slut!<br /><br />Did we get any lessons about STDs? Teen pregnancy? How hard it is to be a teen mother? How to deal with the emotions around having sex? Birth control? HIV? Where to get condoms and how to put them on? How to negotiate safe sex with your partner? How anal and oral sex can still spread diseases, if not pregnancy? Nope, nope, nope.<br /><br />How to say no to a boy? How to be confident and strong? How we have the right to say when and where and how and with whom? No way. How about sexual abuse? Rape? Incest? How to deal with those? Where to seek help? Nope. What to do if you find yourself pregnant? The teachers were eerily silent on the issues.<br /><br />Instead, it was simple: Stay clean, stay worthy, and all will be well and you'll live happily ever after in your perfect temple marriage. Slip up, and you're screwed (heh). And left to wallow in your guilt for having sexual impulses.<br /><br />That is, being a completely normal human being.from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-22203527972079166612007-12-20T04:59:00.000-08:002007-12-19T20:17:25.949-08:00say a little prayer for youA while back I wrote a post about how I assume <a href="http://emergingfromtheashes.blogspot.com/2007/02/they-pray-for-me.html">my parents pray for m</a>e, and that's all fine and good since I know it brings them comfort, even if I don't believe it actually has any causative power. I also wrote how I would prefer they don't inform me that they pray for my return to the church, out of respect for my world view. Further, I find it offensive to believe that god would help me on my exams or whatever, just because I or someone else prayed for it, while apparently ignoring bigger problems in the world like thousands of dying in natural disasters and wars, just because they aren't praying to him, too. But I realize that as believers, they will and do pray for me, and I've accepted that, and they've had the good sense to keep it to themselves.<div><br /></div><div>Until the other day. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was talking to my mom on the phone, informing her of my latest health woes (now you know why I haven't left the country yet), and at the end of the conversation, I could tell she was hesitating about something. Finally, she blurted out, "Well, I'm praying for you. I know you don't believe in that stuff...but I do. So I still pray for you."</div><div><br /></div><div>Her tone was upbeat and friendly, enough to make me laugh in reaction. It didn't seem self-righteous or like she was trying to shove her beliefs onto me at all; it was just a statement. It was almost a little apologetic, like she was very aware I held different ideas than her. </div><div><br /></div><div>So I told her that's fine. And it felt fine, too. Praying for me during my hard times is something she does to feel a little bit more in control of circumstances way beyond her control, and a little bit of comfort. And that doesn't seem so bad, does it?</div>from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-63045227655160847132007-12-19T04:03:00.000-08:002007-12-18T21:19:23.461-08:00if I were free of all fear<p class="MsoNormal">Sister Mary Lisa invited anyone who would like to to write about the topic, <a href="http://sistermarylisa.blogspot.com/2007/12/if-i-were-free-from-all-fear-i-would.html">If I were free of all fear</a>. She intended for us to send her our essays and she could post them on her blog. I loved, loved her essay, so I decided to participate. But I also decided to post it on my own blog.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">If I were free of all fear, I would...<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">get a tattoo, a big one, on my back.<span style=""> </span>One that would be seen when I swim and wear strappy dresses and tank tops, because I can.<span style=""> </span>One that would show my transition, my power, my self, without fear.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">sky dive, to feel the thrill, to feel alive as my body is forced to tune in to every sensation.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">just say it.<span style=""> </span>Whatever it is.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">announce my blog to my family, and say, guess what.<span style=""> </span>This is me.<span style=""> </span>Take it or leave it, but I’m just so sick of hiding.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">tell everyone exactly why I hate the fuckin' church.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">write.<span style=""> </span>A book.<span style=""> </span>A memoir.<span style=""> </span>A children’s story.<span style=""> </span>A novel.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">dance when I felt like dancing.<span style=""> </span>Dammit.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">write what I’m really thinking, now.</p>from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-61788658998681072762007-12-18T09:22:00.000-08:002008-11-04T16:35:06.946-08:00surpriseIn a phone conversation with my dad, he brought up Carl Sagan.<br /><br />"I always wondered," he said with a chuckle, "what Carl Sagan thought when he woke up on the other side. 'Oops, guess I was wrong [about the non-existence of an afterlife and god]!' "<br /><br />"Huh," I said to let him know I was listening. But I was quite bothered by his comment.<br /><br />"Can you imagine? What do people who didn't believe in God think when they die and see God? What are they going to do then? 'Well, now what?' Bit of a shock." He laughed some more.<br /><br />And once again I was jarringly reminded that I am a <span style="font-style: italic;">closet </span>atheist.<br /><br />Sure, it's easy enough to tell a random neighbor, or a non-believing colleague, or DAMU friends, or post about it openly on my anonymous blog. But tell family? Mom and Dad?<br /><br />The conversation with my dad made me realize not only that I've never discussed my new positions with him, but how very far I am from telling him. How do I tell him? Just squeeze it in to a Sunday evening telephone conversation? Write a letter?<br /><br />I've really not felt compelled to announce my personal beliefs like that at all, actually. I never was comfortable with testimony-bearing when I was a Mormon, though the culture encourages open and frequent professions of belief. Personal beliefs should not be the subject of casual conversation or family newsletter announcements, in my opinion.<br /><br />I suppose the Carl Sagan conversation would have been the perfect opportunity to let him know. Possible phrases skipped through my mind as I listened to him. "You know, Dad, I'm an atheist." "Actually, Dad, I really respect Sagan, and I find it rather rude to talk to him like that." "Um, Dad, Sagan wasn't off the mark in my opinion."<br /><br />But he was talking about atheists so dismissively, so derisively. My dad is generally quite nice. He doesn't make fun of people or speak rudely. It's weird for me to use "derisive" to describe anything he ever said. But atheists, apparently, are unworthy of the normal respect with which he would talk about the dearly departed.<br /><br />I found it too difficult to come out and tell him he might as well group me with the non-believers whom he so obviously derides. It didn't occur to me that maybe he was trying to pull me out of the non-believers' closet, throwing out some bait and seeing if I'd bite. I'd assumed that the word had gotten around that I was an atheist; apparently not.<br /><br />After some deliberation of whether to speak up or not, I decided on a compromise. Rather than tell him what I thought, I told him what I thought Sagan would have thought had he woken up in an afterlife after all. We'd discusses <a href="http://emergingfromtheashes.blogspot.com/2007/08/biting-my-tongue-speaking-up.html">Sagan's ideas on aliens</a> a few months ago, so I jumped off from there.<br /><br />"Well, maybe Carl Sagan would think the same way about God as he would about aliens. He'd be pleasantly surprised, excited, you know, to find any aliens. He just thinks there's not enough evidence to support that idea that we will contact any aliens. Maybe he'd think the same about God. Not enough evidence to believe, but still, he'd probably say, 'Oh, okay, cool!' if he woke up after dying. You know?" Which is what I think a lot of atheists would think. We don't disbelieve in God because we don't want an afterlife necessarily, we just think there's not enough evidence to believe in one. But if there is, all right, awesome, next great adventure, huh?<br /><br />My dad laughed some more, but a pleasant laugh. "Huh, yeah, maybe. That could very well be true. Like the aliens. Ha!"<br /><br />And I remained in hiding.from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35670024.post-38945628858934557772007-12-13T06:56:00.000-08:002008-12-21T12:34:23.159-08:00heaven, hell, and screaming latkes<p class="MsoNormal">As anyone who’s read my blog for long knows, I am trying to raise my son without religion, while also being religiously literate and tolerant.<span style=""> </span>The teaching-moments come up at odd times, or meet with resistance, or are forced upon us by religious relatives.<span style=""> </span>They<span style=""> </span>are full of significant baggage for me, but refreshingly free of it for him (so far). I’m basically going by the seat of my pants here, and it’s been going fine for the most part.<span style=""> </span><o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I had a couple teaching moments recently:<o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Listening to the radio in the car, my son heard the singer mention both heaven and hell.<span style=""> </span><o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What’s heaven?” he asked.<o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I decided to go with a simple answer first, and see if he would be satisfied with it.<span style=""> </span>“It’s the best place you could possibly imagine.”<o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Oh,” he replied.<span style=""> </span>That was easy enough.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span style=""> </span>"What’s hell?” he continued.<o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“It’s the worst place you could imagine,” I said.<o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“So…in hell, I would have <i style="">no toys at all</i>.”<o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“That’s what your hell would be like, huh?”<o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, can you imagine having nothing?<span style=""> </span>Nothing!?”<o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Earlier, at a bookstore, I was reading Little FTA a variety of children’s books.<span style=""> </span>I saw one that explained the traditional Joseph, Mary, and Jesus Christmas story.<span style=""> </span>I avoided it at first, but then picked it up.<span style=""> </span>I thought if I read it to my son, I could expose him to the Baby Jesus story on my own terms, and we could talk about it, before he hears it from grandparents on Christmas Eve.<span style=""> </span>But to my surprise, he refused to hear it.<span style=""> </span>Just wasn’t interested.<span style=""> </span>I tried to explain that it’s important to know what his grandparents think about Christmas, but he would have none of it.<span style=""> </span>So instead, we read <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Latke-Who-Couldnt-Stop-Screaming/dp/1932416870/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1197435607&sr=1-1">The Latke Who Couldn't Stop Screaming</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Knuffle-Bunny-Too-Mistaken-Identity/dp/1423102991/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1197435548&sr=8-1">Knuffle Bunny Too</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Wacky-Wednesday-Beginner-Books-R/dp/0394829123/ref=pd_bbs_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1197435576&sr=1-2">Wacky Wednesday</a> and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly.<span style=""> </span></p>from the asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10505277568750065742noreply@blogger.com4