YW Lesson: How Can I Strengthen My Family? / Leçon JF : Comment puis-je fortifier ma famille?

YW Lesson: How Can I Strengthen My Family? / Leçon JF : Comment puis-je fortifier ma famille?

family

Click for French Translation/Traduction en français

We obviously talk a lot about families in the church. Personally, I think that is wonderful. However, the focus on traditional two parent family structure can be difficult for young women who don’t come from that background. I think it is important to emphasize to the young women that any family type can be a happy, strong family.

The lesson plan on LDS.org (found here: https://www.lds.org/youth/learn/yw/marriage-and-family/strengthen?lang=eng) suggests using the video, By Small Things. This would be a good jumping off point to help the class think of principles of strong families. It sounds cliché, but for me personally it really has been the ‘small things’ that mean the most to me; when I was in junior high my older brother would drive me to school and he actually talked to me. Now that we are all adults, and spread across the country, both my older and younger brothers call me at least once a week just to chat. Those little signs that they want to be involved in my life mean a lot. Other things that you might talk about are family scripture study and prayer, service to each other, and doing fun activities together. Ask the class to share times when someone in their family did something that made them feel loved and safe.

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Comfort Box: The 72 Hour Kit that will save you from becoming a zombie.

 

readyforzombies

Am I prepared? Anytime I am watching a zombie apocalypse roll forth on television I question if my emergency preparedness supplies are sufficient. Would I survive or become a zombie? The ward emergency preparedness guy hides from me the week after an especially violent episode of The Walking Dead. To be fair, he has already helpfully referred me to the CDC guide to surviving zombies.

I don’t have any life experience in surviving disasters of the natural or zombie variety, but another kind of disaster rolls through my life routinely. Emotional earthquakes, fire, tsunami, tornado, or sometimes (on a slow news day) a muddy puddle are enough to knock me out. I am regularly afflicted with unwanted feelings of depression, anger, loneliness, betrayal, sadness, boredom, jealousy, or confusion.  Some days I have no idea what I am feeling. I only know that bad stuff happens and keeps happening. Too often the tornado sets me down in my own emotional zombie apocalypse.

When faced with emotional disaster, my first response is to become a zombie. I was raised in a home without healthy models of how to express and positively cope with challenging emotions. My inclination is to eat my feelings while numbing out on a binge read or a mindless Facebook game. As I compare my response to family traditions of alcoholism, drug addiction, violence, or child abuse; being an emotional zombie doesn’t seem so bad. Unfortunately, the zombie life fails to bring me lasting relief and harms my health through impaired sleep and weight gain. The unwanted feelings remain and eventually demand attention. These are the times when I turn to my emotional 72 Hour Kit: The Comfort Box.

How prepared are you for the next emotional tsunami? Will you become a zombie? Read on to learn how you can get your very own Comfort Box!

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Online Subscriptions Are Up! Read the Women and the Priesthood Issue Today!

keep-calm-and-click-subscribe-2Forty years ago, the women responsible for Exponent II used Xacto knives and rubber cement to paste up issues of the newspaper.

Technology has changed since then, and so has Exponent II. We’re thrilled (yes, thrilled!) to announce that we now offer online subscriptions. While this means that the magazine won’t be free to read online any more, it also means that subscribers who love their e-readers (sheepishly raising hand) can take Exponent II with them in PDF format anywhere, print out copies of articles for friends, and even read the magazine before print copies arrive in the mail–all while knowing that you’re supporting the publication of Mormon women’s voices.

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Where did ‘Where are the Women?’ go?

Thank you, everyone, for your comments on yesterdays post, and for sharing your feelings about the visibility (or lack there of) of women in the church and scriptures. I have been asked by those immediately involved in the story to take down the post. Out of respect for them I will be doing so. I also want to respect the work and dedication of those involved in putting on the production. But I hope that productive conversations about this issue will continue behind the scene at the Pageant in terms of what can be done to raise up (or not erase) women’s presence and participation.

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Exponent II Spring Issue: Women and Priesthood

Exponent II Board Meeting December 2003 L-R back row: Heather Sundahl, Evelyn Harvill, Kimberly Burnett, Emily Clyde Curtis, Aimee Hickman, Michelle Martin Front row: Nancy Dredge, Barbara Taylor, Judy Dushku, Cheryl Howard DiVito, Robin Zenger Baker, Karen Call Haglund)

Exponent II Board Meeting December 2003
L-R back row: Heather Sundahl, Evelyn Harvill, Kimberly Burnett, Emily Clyde Curtis, Aimee Hickman, Michelle Martin
Front row: Nancy Dredge, Barbara Taylor, Judy Dushku, Cheryl Howard DiVito, Robin Zenger Baker, Karen Call Haglund)

In the spring of 2000, when my second child was just a couple months old, I got a call from Nancy Dredge who was taking over as editor for the Exponent II, asking if I’d be an assistant editor. I was flattered and terrified. Exponent II mattered deeply to me—and to thousands of Mormon women. I felt like I was being called as the first counselor to a bishop of an all female ward that knew no boundaries. And I loved serving in that calling for almost a decade: choosing themes for issues, guiding first time essayists through the writing process, and the simple joy of reading women’s stories. Exponent was founded on the idea that women’s stories matter and there should be a forum for sharing their insights and experiences. One challenging aspect of the job is being accused by some of pushing a “feminist agenda” while simultaneously being criticized by others who think Exponent does not agitate enough. But I see that as Exponent’s great strength: we weave together voices and ideas that reflect the truth that there is not a singular path for a Mormon woman. We are not a venue for soloists. We are a choir. As long as you will harmonize with others, your voice is welcome.

And for forty years the women of Exponent have worked very hard to present a variety of voices, often when many were too afraid to speak up. Our current editors, Aimee Hickman and Emily Clyde Curtis, decided to focus an issue on women and priesthood last March, right after the launch of Ordain Women. Little did they realize that the issue would go to the printer the very weekend of Kate Kelly’s church court, when many saints fear the outcome is not just about Kate, but about the very right to ask hard questions. And this issue is Exponent at its best because it asks the hard question: should women be ordained? Obviously not everyone has the same answer. Notice that the cover reads: “Talking Ordination at the Dinner Table: Conversations Between Sisters.” In this issue opinions on women and the priesthood run the gamut from women who support a male only priesthood, to women who feel we already have the priesthood, to women, Kate Kelly and others, who feel ordination is the only path. As Aimee wrote in her editorial, “By sharing their stories and laying claim to their unique perspectives, these authors beautifully demonstrate how we can differ in our point of view without employing divisive rhetoric.”

Very selfishly I am deeply grateful to have the magazine’s publication be so timely. While I am not a part of Ordain Women, I firmly believe that women deserve a seat at the table and that all is not well in Zion. I have held back from conversations with certain parties, not knowing how my ideas would be received, not wanting to be judged and desperately trying NOT to judge what I perceive as the complacency of so many. (Now I am shifting into Exponent Missionary Mode) I know that I will use this issue of Exponent to start conversations and share the complexity of my own intellectual and spiritual wrestlings with some of my family, friends, and those with ecclesiastical authority over me.   I have done so in the past with other issues with surprising results. It is my sincere hope that the collection of voices in this issue will be a balm to those in pain, provide insight for those who want to understand, and keep this essential conversation going in the chapels and homes of the saints. Won’t you join us at the table?

To subscribe for online or print issues, visit http://www.exponentii.org/magazine

 

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Total Game Control

Guest Post by Emily Holsinger Butler

the playahs

A Catholic friend of mine once offered the idea that world religions exist for one single purpose: to control women. “A bit reductive, no?” was my response. But this guy was wicked smart—never flippant, never glib. And his assertion has stayed with me like a compass point. I refer to it whenever “things happen” in our Mormon universe. Who is trying to control whom, I ask.

I’ve been controlled, sure. In fact, I’ve often given courtesy control to people out of sheer politeness—like all those times on my mission when I submitted to a young district leader’s efforts to foist a personal priesthood interview on me. That was how the game was played. If there was a priesthood leader present, a sister would hop out of the driver’s seat and let him commandeer the wheel. “Take ‘er for a spin, Elder! Don’t scratch the paint!”* Results varied. It was usually fine, and sometimes funny.

Controlling women—have I been complicit? Heck yeah. I’ve collaborated. I’m not proud of myself. Holy cow, I’ve been Vichy France with a temple recommend.** Like that Saturday in 1994, at some church basketball tournament. As a very lovely break from law school exertions, I played on our ward’s women’s basketball team, coached to great effect by our Stake President. It was super fun. We made it to some sort of regional event, and drove down to a building in southern Virginia on the appointed day. Men were playing in a separate but equal tournament on the full-sized court. We were playing on a smaller one, and I wasn’t about to look that gift horse in the mouth, believe you me. As the female players gathered together, we were addressed by a priesthood leader who may or may not have also been the referee (I don’t recall). He outlined a few basics of the tourney, and then, in all seriousness, admonished us to dress modestly on court.

Incredulous, I looked at my teammates. We were for the most part women of a certain age, some of a more certain age than others. Our power forward was a professional nurse of repute. Our best shooter, the only one who could almost dunk, was the Stake President’s wife (and mother of many). Then there was me—I was a terrible player, but was equipped with two sports bras (worn simultaneously) and shorts that covered my thighs very adequately. I honestly don’t remember the other women’s names, but do remember their tolerant, almost vacant expressions as the brother went on about the necessity of sleeves and such. Nobody batted an eye. We regarded him with distant benevolence. We permitted him to tell us how to dress.

And so it was that we were unprepared for the vision that was unleashed upon us a few moments after the good brother concluded his remarks. It was then that the men’s teams emerged from their changing area. Unlike us, they had actual uniforms with actual numbers. On the other hand, it was clear that said uniforms had been handed down through generations of Mormon men, languishing in a Stake Center closet between basketball tournaments that began sometime in 1972. Sleeves they had none. Manufactured from some sort of skin-tight polyester fabric, the shorts stopped mere centimeters south of the groin area, which (how to put this) was exceptionally pronounced, if not practically articulated—so clingy they might have been codpieces for all intents and purposes. The men’s teams were composed primarily of middle-aged priesthood holders who (like us) were in it for a good time, and who (like us) could stand to lose a good twenty or thirty or forty pounds. It would have been a tender mercy for me to offer my second sports bra to any number of those players. Yeah. Their costumes left very little to the imagination.

Again I looked at my teammates. Bless them, their faces were frozen in alarm, not at what they were seeing, but at what was about to happen. We removed ourselves at once to a secluded area behind the bleachers, and fell to the floor where we rolled around unleashing howls of laughter. Personally, I laughed so hard I pulled a muscle in my abdomen, which didn’t help my game at all. We laughed until the tears ran. Someone almost choked. It wasn’t pretty.

What did I learn that day? Can’t say, really. But it does occur to me that we have a ways to go in our church before we can say that we love each other more than we love controlling each other.

Play on, sisters.

*It was, in fact, literally the case that sisters did not drive cars in my mission. That privilege was reserved for the missionaries who worked in the mission office. Who, incidentally, were all elders.

**I’m paraphrasing the wonderful Caitlin Moran, here. Email me if you want the original quote, which is pretty salty.

Emily Holsinger Butler is a hausfrau living in Utah with delusions of grandeur & survival, a writer of books, a hoper of all things and a believer in several of them.

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