The Worth of A Woman

The Worth of a Woman

 

Update December 14, 2012: This whole "pantsapocolyse" has brought to the surface the pain I felt as a woman in the LDS church. I don't know if wearing pants to church on Sunday will change anything, but I am happy that the word is getting out that not all women feel comfortable in their church. There are active LDS feminists and it pains them to be told (as I saw posted on the event page over and over), "If you're not happy, just leave." Leaving was not what I wanted to do, but the LDS religion is so black and white.  I felt that I had no choice.  Going to church every week and listening to talks like the one mentioned below was too painful.  It diminished the light in my soul little by little until I that I had left was an ember.  

What is interesting about the "Wear Pants to Church Day" is that it is not going against church policy. Most of what the women founders of the event want is cultural change.  They aren't asking to go against church policy. They don't want to be men. But, they may want to hold their baby as it is being blessed.  They want to understand why the Elder's quorum president is called "President Jackson" and the relief society president is called "Sister Jackson".  Wearing their pants is simply a means of expressing that some women are in pain with how we feel relegated to certain roles and molds that we don't easily fit into. Maybe YOU are 100% happy with your role in the LDS church.  But, can you sympathize with those of us who aren't? Can't you show that you are willing to not pigeonhole women?  

Elder Packer stated in a talk yesterday Feb 11, 2012: "I have been very careful, and am very careful, to treat my wife with that respect and reverence that is due her in performing that thing that is of most worth for a woman in this life to live the gospel, to be the wife and the mother of the children of a worthy holder of the priesthood."

His rhetoric re-emphasized my feelings expressed in a personal journal/blog post from 2008:

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 5, 2008

It was a crisp and beautiful Sunday fall morning. I had arrived to church early, with plenty of time to pick out seating on a padded pew, but I felt more comfortable sitting in the back instead. The area we moved into 2 years earlier was continually growing and our church attendance was increasing at a proportional rate. It was thereby a full meeting and many of us were sitting in the metal folding chairs already set up in the overflow. My husband and children joined me shortly before the meeting started.

The lesson for the day was on General Conference, a two day bi-annual meeting held by the church to provide inspiration to all members. General Conference was to be held next week and I assumed today we would be hearing about taking advantage of the opportunity to listen to a prophet of our day. I listened as the stake Relief Society president, a woman with a slightly aged face (maybe 40's or early 50's), started speaking. 

I understand that not everything stated over the pulpit of one church is the opinion of the church as a whole, so I sat quietly for some time as she started dispensing her advice. I shook my head ever so slightly, so that it would only be noticeable to those who might have been looking closely, but not enough to distract others, as she told us that we should not shop on the Saturday of conference. She continued that we should make sure to still dress up on Sunday, despite the fact that General Conference is held via cable or satellite television, and that we should not use pillows or get comfortable while watching. I disagreed, but could see where she was coming from. She felt that it was important for us to pay attention and listen intently, not nod off to sleep.

Next she began giving advice for the priesthood session, a two hour Saturday night session in which the men must go to the nearest church in order to receive instruction. This session is not beamed to any public stations and is not released until after the session is over. She started… “Before the men head off to the session we, as wives should be sure that we make sure they are not rushed or there is not commotion before they leave…. This includes ironing their shirts, setting the table and serving dinner early enough that it is done before they leave.”

I sat there stunned. I squirmed in my seat. I started looking around for other reactions. Women were hushing children, reading books to them, and staring off blankly. Children were running down the aisles, coloring in their color books or squirming like me. Several men were nodding off, helping children or also staring off. Was anyone else hearing this?

She continued, “Typically, many of you women gather together as the men are in priesthood session and do crafty things.” Phew. I never liked crafty things. She’s coming around, I thought. “While this may be fun, getting together to chat and make things is not the best thing we can do with our time together. Instead we should gather our girls and proceed to take this time to teach them much needed homemaking skills such as sewing.”

Wow.

I had been attending church with my husband for the last year even though I didn't consider myself to be a "true believer" anymore. I had felt that because I was devout when we married, I therefore had committed to this life. This religion is how we always wanted to raise our children, and I continued to been supportive despite my new disaffection. What could teaching my children religious principles hurt?

But as I sat there in on this Sunday, I was flooded with all the negatives. I looked at my two beautiful 9 year old daughters. How much of this were they hearing? How much were they internalizing? I turned to my own thoughts as a woman and things I regretted not being able to do simply because I was a "righteous" female. This was not an isolated incident. I started thinking back on lessons as a child, young woman and an adult and how many times I was told what type of person I should be because of the sex I was born as. I am more than a maid. I am more than a sewing machine. I am more than a cook. I am more than a mother. I am more than a wife. I need to be more. My girls need to know that they are more.

I could feel my emotions overpowering me. I looked to the bishop and his counselors on the stand. I pleaded internally for someone to stop this woman. But their silence spoke volumes. I was literally shaking and I wanted to scream. This kind of rhetoric was damaging. I leaned over and told my husband, “That’s it. I can’t take it anymore.” I quickly left the meeting and tears started pouring down. I found the first exit out and headed home. At this point I was an emotional wreck. I quickly walked across the parking lot toward the sidewalk.

I tried not to make eye contact with the sole person in the parking lot, but noticed it was the stake president. He was not oblivious to my uncontrollable sobs and asked if I was okay. Not breaking my pace, I replied back, “I’m fine.” He replied, “Do you want to talk?” No, I didn’t want to talk. Again I replied, “I’m fine.” I was to the sidewalk by this point and quickly on my way home. The stake president really seemed like a good man. For a short moment I thought maybe it would be good to talk, but really what could he say? He simply wouldn’t understand. The patriarchy never will.