Sisters Speak: Letting Women Witness – Crumbs
The Exponent blog is sharing guest and reader responses to the news about women and children being able to serve as official witnesses for some Priesthood ordinance (baptisms and sealings), announced 2 October 2019. We welcome your contributions in the comments or as a guest post using this link
Granting women the opportunity to witness priesthood ordinances has long been an agitating point for many Mormon feminists, including previous posts here at the Exponent blog. Beginning in February 2016, Ordain Women launched a campaign, “Ready to Witness,” which included a letter writing component to church leaders. We are grateful and proud of the many women who made their voices heard in these campaigns and posts. True to our mission to elevate women’s voices, we share reader responses and feelings this week.
By Mindy Farmer
I longed for a feast;
Asked for a nibble.
I ached to join the banquet;
Agreed that just a taste would do.
While men gorged on
Authority, promises, endowment;
God’s literal power
Feeding their spiritual hunger,
My stomach painfully, embarrassingly, growled;
Yet, I pretended petite portions
And prettily presented sweets
Satiated my hunger.
A small, insistent voice persisted,
“God would not starve your soul.”
So, I tentatively approached the table,
Raw hunger in my eyes,
Declaring my spirit starved;
My soul begging to do, to know,
To be more.
I desired a full seat at the table,
But asked only to occasionally pull up a chair.
I didn’t want to end the feast or topple the table;
Simply take my place.
They called me selfish, attention-grabber,
In the guise of spiritual hunger.
So, I stopped asking,
Bypassing their table,
Taking my hunger directly to God;
Seeking new sources to fill
The gnawing void inside me.
And I realized a sometimes-seat at the table
Would never fully satisfy my hunger
For the God I sought.
Now, they serve up occasional bits of goodness,
Like tossing scraps to a loyal pup,
And caution me to not become too greedy
While I patiently wait for the men at the table
To make room for me at their feet.
And for me to rejoice that they’ve shifted – even just a little –
To concede me room.
They toss me crumbs
In hopes that I’ll stop claiming I’m starving,
Without actually ever
Filling my soul.