What Kind?

What kind of cake would you be?

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Kimber - lush, tart,  gracious

Double Chocolate Layer Cake with Spicy Chocolate Ganache, Spiked Whipped Cream and Liqueur Soaked Cherries 

(source)

Charity - bright, cheery, fabulous 

Layered Pavlova Filled with French Vanilla Butter Cream and Passion Fruit Puree

(source)

Liberty - complex, spicy, golden

Browned Butter Ginger Cake with Mango Curd, Chai Frosting and Cayenne Chocolate Drizzle    

(source)

Mercina- elegant, understated, enchanting  

Amaretto Cake with Pear Preserves and Champagne Buttercream

(source)

Glorianna - colorful, unconventional, witty 

Tiered Funfetti Cookie Dough Ice Cream Cake with Pop Rocks

(source)

WHAT ABOUT YOU?

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Hi, I'm Glorianna.

This graphic is upsetting. I get that. But it's a question I feel forced to ask myself in light of recent events. For perspective, I've linked to the "I'm a Mormon" profile I wrote several years ago. I didn't have doubts then. I have doubts now.

"I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints." So goes the song Mormon children have been honking out in Primary Programs across space and time. "I belong to" -- what an endearingly possessive little phrase. Some people think it's indoctrination, but I've always found it more comforting than cultish. The Church has me. I'm supposed to be here. It's drawn its initials and telephone number onto the tag of my shirt with permanent marker so I'm easily returned if ever misplaced. Because the Church is just a place where people belong. The claim is pretty integral to its whole thesis, when you think of it: each person is a child of God; God loves His children; He wants every single one to come back and be with Him. If the Mormon church really is the tool God uses to achieve this ultimate aim, then people belong there. I do, you do, everyone does.

But Thursday night, news outlets broke this story. The Church has now proactively excluded gay couples and their children from its fold.  They've taken aside those families and told them "No. You do not belong to us."

My religion is now at odds with the values it has instilled in me from infancy. This inconsistency has left me confused, scared, frustrated, infuriated, concerned. All of the bad feelings. Think of it this way: Mormonism is a 100,000-piece Bob Ross jigsaw puzzle of the snow-topped Rocky Mountains. I love the picture on the box. It gives me warm tingly feelings in my belly. I've been working on putting the puzzle together for the past 22 years. The process can be challenging, but on a deep level it makes sense to me. As the years go by, I fit more and more of the pieces together -- and at very least I can see how every empty edge must have a mate jumbled somewhere underneath the huge pile I've yet to assemble. Then, Thursday night, some old dude (let's call him Neil) walked up to me, tossed a shark tooth onto my pile, and said "here is another piece to put into your puzzle lol bye." NO NEIL. NO. I CAN'T PUT THAT IN MY PUZZLE. WHY? BECAUSE IT'S A F☃CKING SHARK TOOTH THAT'S WHY. JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE OBSESSED WITH OCEAN PREDATORS DOES NOT MEAN I CAN FIT A SHARK TOOTH INTO MY ALPINE-THEMED JIGSAW PUZZLE. Anyway, thanks to Neil, I now have a stupid shark tooth floating around my otherwise-groovy jigsaw puzzle. It hides out and jabs my fingers whenever I try to reach for new pieces. Do I ignore it? Do I throw it out? Do I give up on the puzzle? Or worse, do I try to fit the shark tooth into the puzzle -- poking and stabbing it into other pieces until they become mangled enough to accommodate the foreign body? To stop with the weird-butt metaphors and make my point, this new policy (policy NOT doctrine policy NOT doctrine policy NOT doctrine *starts hyperventilating*) simply does not fit with the Mormonism I know and love. It's made of other stuff entirely.*

I had the sister missionaries over on Thursday night, before I learned about any of this. For their spiritual thought they asked me to reread Elder Nelson's talk, A Plea to My Sisters -- one of my favorites from this past General Conference. In it, he exhorts the women of the Church to make our voices heard. He tells us "we need women who know how to make important things happen by their faith . . . who are courageous defenders of morality and families." This is me trying to be that, Elder Nelson. This is me speaking up. I love the brethren's good counsel. I'm grateful for their inspired leadership. But I do not accept this new policy. I once heard Elder Holland say that the Church can withstand a little false doctrine; what it can't tolerate is an absence of Christlike love. This new policy combines both of those things at the highest levels. It's a big old crack in the edifice of my religiosity.

So, dear brethren, fix this. Please. I'm not asking on behalf of gay people. Not for their children, either. This is a totally selfish request. Fix it for me because I'm afraid of leaving the place where I've learned the truest things I know. Fix it for me because I don't think I can become a bigot-by-association with an institution which proceduralizes discrimination against families.  I don't know how you're going to do it -- the past days haven't exactly given me faith in your collective judgement -- but fix this because, right now, you're the only ones who can. You're my best hope against total despair. Please get this church back on the right track and please do it soon.

In preparation for a talk I'm giving next Sunday, I was googling the word 'meek' (I was thinking of doing this totally cool thing where I, like, *define* meek in my talk by, like, using the *dictionary* definition?!). One of the first things that pops up is a hella-corny needlepoint of the phrase 'If you think being meek is weak, try being meek for a week.' I'm going to take that sign as a sign. I'm going to try to give you time. I'm going to try to be forgiving and long-suffering and obedient. But don't expect me to ever fall in line with this bullshit and don't expect me to wait quietly for you to clean it up. Sorry for cursing. But seriously. This shit's fucked up.

*This isn't to say the church has never done stuff in the past which doesn't jive with me. There's a long list of non-groovy policies, practices, and decisions that I could lay out here. But somehow this one's combination of unnecessarines, contemporariness and officialness (← all made-up words) is especially galling. It's implementation reflects directly on the judgement of the present Church's presiding authorities.

Dear Church People

[A little disclaimer: this is angstier and Mormoner than this blog's usual fair, so be advised.]

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"We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship how, where, or what they may."

-The 11th Article of Faith of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints

Dear Church People,

I started writing this letter right after the Charleston Massacre. I couldn't understand how y'all felt so comfortable taking a political stance against the "threat" gay marriage posed to some nebulous idea of American religious freedom, but remained all but silent on the racially motivated shooting deaths of 9 fellow followers of Christ. Back then (two whole weeks ago), I had wanted to chisel out a neat little moral-of-the-story for you -- something sweet and clear and tweet-able, like 'never fear love, only hate (#loveislove (#charleston (#blessed (#follow4follow))))'. But I was too sad and angry and confused to even finish writing the thing, much less distill it into 140 characters of clarion insight.

I'm still sad and angry and confused, but my continued silence on the issue has become personally intolerable. I'm a white Mormon girl from Colorado -- I recognize I do not speak from a position of authority or particular insight. But it's gotten to the point where I cannot not speak. Or rather, the point where I need to ask an honest question. Because I know what the church is doing to defend itself against Adam and Steve's Crate and Barrel registry, but for the life of me I can't figure this out: what are we doing about the terror being wrecked on Black-American Christians across the South?

Here's where this is all breaking down for me: If I remember my Sunday School lessons correctly, murder is a whole lot worse than [what old white men in Utah might view as] weird sex stuff -- at least in God's book. I'd like to think that persecution, violence, and arson are all pretty high on the divine list of no-nos, as well. But right now you guys seem too fixated on promoting the civil exclusion of same-sex couples to realize that Christ's #1 and #2 commandments are in hard-core jeopardy -- because you know what doesn't seem very loving to God or our neighbors? Shooting a bunch of people during bible study and then setting their churches on fire.

So speak. Please, speak. I beg of you, speak. Not on the "the sanctity of marriage". Not on whether or not you will allow me to post a rainbow picture to Facebook. By all means, send my bishop a letter to read over the pulpit about the importance of religious freedom, but God so help me if you finger* people like James Obergefell as the threat instead of people like Dylan Roof. If religious freedom is indeed a sanctified cause, then honor it by officially decrying the violence now threatening every AME church in America. Do not condemn gay people in love, condemn white people who hate. Condemn the weaponization of places of worship. Condemn the guns and gasoline which are prying away safety, security, worship, community, and equality from innocent believers. Because to me, that seems a heckuva lot worse than the due process of law being used to pry away. . . what exactly? from whom?

Please don't forget that we've been the ones terrorized and mobbed and burned out of communities. Don't forget that you've been the person sitting in church for Wednesday night bible study. I don't want to feel safe or protected or like I don't need to do something just because bigots still think of Mormons as white, tow-headed creatures like them. Rather, I want to care about Susie Jackson and Clementa Pinckney and Tywanza Sanders like they were my sisters and brothers, because they are my sisters and brothers. I want you to mourn their deaths with me. I want you to mourn the hatred that killed them. I want you to make like Mosiah and "command that there should be no persecutions among them, that there should be an equality among all men."

I love our gospel. I love our leaders. But their misplaced silence has been ringing in my ears for awhile now, and I'm not sure how much longer I can stand the headache. I've been praying for patience. I've been praying for understanding. But I don't think I deserve to pray for peace until I try to bring it about myself. This is the start of my attempt.

More or less respectfully,

-Glorianna

*speaking of weird sex stuff. . .

Lost Verses from the Gospel of Mark

{*or* The One Where Glorianna Plays the '3am Guilt Pangs after Not Posting for Two Months: Slap Up a Rejected Submission to McSweeney's and Call It Even' Game} 

8 And some days thence He entered into Capernaum, and such a number gathered together upon the noising of Christ’s presence that there was not one among them in that place not greatly pressed.

9 And Jesus did speak unto the multitude, saying, Have ye any sick amongst you? Any deaf or blind or lame? And they did answer him, Yea Master, Huzubib. Huzubib is super lame.

10 And said He unto them, Bring him ye unto me.

11 And they brought him forth. And Christ saw that in his heart Hizubib was a real boner. And He laid His hands upon the man’s head, and gave He a blessing unto him, saying:

12 Son, thou hast seven and thirty years. Go forth, and get thee a life.

13 And Hizubib arose, miraculously arrayed in fine raiment of black cowhide and acid-wash denim. And, taking up with him the futon from his mother's basement, Hizubib did go forth and meet himself a fiiiiiiine Hittite dancer called Gwen.

14 And the multitude marveled at the power of the Lord their God, and they did glorify Him.

15 And after this miracle had come to pass, the crowd did depart. And Jesus turned and said unto Peter, What type of mother doth name her kid Hizubib anyway? And Peter answered Him, saying, F*cking Hittites, oh Lord. F*cking Hittites.

Next up: Lost Verses from the Book of Jonah in which Jonah prophesies the dangers of undocumented Ninevehn immigration.

QQQQQuestion?

Are you able to tell when you have enough?

Kimber: Nope. If anyone has tips for developing this particular power of discernment, please do share.

Charity: Not to go all Confuciun on this answer, but the more I have, the more I think I need. The less I have, the more I realize I can live without.

Liberty: I'd like to say yes, but after a recent joyous conversation (partially motivated by 3 glasses of champagne), that concluded in a fit of public tears...the most accurate answer is probably closer to no.

Mercina: Probably not. This question makes me think of a diet Glorianna and I went on a few years ago. We attempted to eat only fruit. But after a few days we were feeling pretty woozy and indulged in some cookies. By indulged I mean we ate until we got sick. And we both felt awful for the rest of the day. Yeah, no.

Glorianna: Yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean I stop.

Favorite Words

Con (kən: Latin) – with, together.

Sidereus, -a, -um (si-ˈder- ē- üs : Latin) – stars, starry, gleaming.

Consideration (kən-ˌsi-də-ˈrā-shən : English) – careful thought, meditation; the act of bringing together stars.

My mind is a universe, filled with asteroids and empty space and old satellite parts. It also has a few stars. Sometimes at night I’ll shut my eyes and stare up at the domed vault of my skull, admiring the lights shining in it like holes poked into black construction paper with a sharpened pencil tip. As I look, white points align and then realign, grooving iridescent ghosts into the dark matter through which they travel. I comprehend little red planets winking as their orbits shift with my mere thought of them. Every so often, a new star spins into existence out of free floating star stuff, adding a digit to the factorial number of constellations available for my creation. Once or twice, I’ve had to shield my eyes from the burning light of a supernova burst; the incredible bright death of a sure thing.

I am a sort of divine mover, a type of creator. The god of my own mind-sky. I collect celestial dust from books and long walks and conversations overheard on subway cars, until there is enough of it and heat and light to compact into something called knowing. Then, I can observe. I connect bright dots in the sky. I consider.

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What's your favorite word? Why?

QQQQQuestion?

What was the best part of your day?

Kimber: Willa joining me in the laundry room, WAY past her bedtime, and insisting on brushing my hair. When the midnight makeover was complete, she grabbed my cheeks between her tiny hands and whispered, "Mommy I make you so beautiful and happy."

Charity: Yoni and I went to a beautiful, magical party hosted by all of these wonderful women! It was so fun.

Liberty: Checking out Premal's cute bootie as we pedaled around Denver on our tandem bike.

Mercina: Seeing a mother duck and her SIXTEEN ducklings during a walk around the lake.

Glorianna: I was going through a lot of old pictures, so it's probably finding:

and

What about you? What was the best part of your day today?