FALL 2015 VOL. 35 NO. 2 WHAT’S INSIDE? TABLE OF CONTENTS 6 13 18 23 25 28 39 24 SABBATH PASTORALS MEAN GIRLS AKA THE 10 VIRGINS Kyra Krakos 1 0 21 COVER ART FIELD QUAIL LIKE DRAGONS DID THEY ARTIST FEATURE 26 Sabrina Squires FIGHT 19 SWARMS 36 39 Anne Wunderli Maddison Colvin POETRY 05 PIONEER CHILDREN THAT PERFECT SOLITUDE BOOK REVIEW TRIBUTE 13 Andrea Mahoney 23 Julie Nelson MORMON FEMINISM: HEATHER CANNON: LETTER FROM THE EDITOR ESSENTIAL WRITINGS EXPONENT II FOUNDING Pandora Brewer LA LIMPIA CON CUY 20 POETRY 28 Joanna Brooks, MOTHER Terra Bowles LOST AND FOUND Hannah Wheelwright, 07 POETRY Heather Holland SPIRITUAL Rachel Hunt Steenblik 16 MIRACLE OF THE GULLS AUTOBIOGRAPHIES WHAT FLOWS AWAY Lindsey Webb Judy Dushku, Anonymous, Margaret Olsen Hemming Kate Meldau Cummings SISTERS SPEAK CULTURAL TRADITIONS IN THE CHURCH WHAT IS EXPONENT II? COVER ARTIST STATEMENT Ancient civilizations mastered the technique of representing their lives two-dimensionally, as evidenced in their The purpose of Exponent II is to provide a forum for Mormon women to share ? cave paintings and relief sculptures. While recognizably capturing the goings-on of their societies, they began their life experiences in an atmosphere of trust and acceptance. This exchange the tradition of abstraction, where an object is formally defined. When viewed, these artifacts possess a curious allows us to better understand each other and shape the direction of our lives. ambiguity due to the removal of context created by the passage of time. I use representational figures in the same way: as vehicles through which to study color and line while referencing the world they depict. I begin with a Our common bond is our connection to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter- sanded layer of National Geographic pages that lay a foundation rich with texture and subdued colors. Next, I build a day Saints and our commitment to women. We publish this paper as a living framework of geometric and organic line that both organizes the texture and provides a skeletal structure to support the culminating coat. Washes of acrylic paint build to produce a matrix of collaborating colors, while the varying history in celebration of the strength and diversity of women. transparency ties all three layers together in contrasting depth. www.sabrinajill.com | [email protected] EDITORIAL LETTER FROM THE EDITORS STAFF PANDORA BREWER & MARGARET OLSEN HEMMING EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Margaret Olsen Hemming This Fall issue was almost off to press when the church posted together experiences that beckon, break our hearts, offer truth and updated policies on same-sex marriage and children of parents in give us hope in defining our own way. MANAGING EDITOR same-sex relationships on November 5, 2015. Although handbook Pandora Brewer SUBMIT TO EXPONENT II clarification was not unexpected in connection to the recent Anne Wunderli’s essay, “Like Dragons Did They Fight” describes United States Supreme Court ruling, the extent and detail of the her navigating a loving response to her daughter’s coming out as ART EDITOR We welcome personal essays, articles, poetry, fiction, and book shifts were surprising, with additions redefining apostasy and LGBTQ—first alone, then together with her daughter and family, Page Turner reviews for consideration. Please email submissions to editor@ eligibility for church ordinances. Particularly hard for some were and eventually with a community of fierce and like-minded LAYOUT DESIGNER/ EDITOR exponentii.org or mail them to Exponent II, 219 South Louis the restrictions given to the children of LGBTQ unions, restrictions “mamas.” Terra Bowles and Kate Cummings write about searching Rose Serago Street, Mount Prospect, IL 60056. Please include your name that, although similar to those for polygamous marriages, are for spiritual meaning in the aftermath of loss in their essays, “La and contact information. not in place for the children of heterosexual “sinners.” The Limpia Con Coy” and, “What Flows Away.” Terra goes on literal SISTERS SPEAK EDITOR response has been wide and divisive in both social and and cultural journeys as she looks for healing “magic.” Chelsea Sue Submissions received by mail will not be returned. formal media. As editors, we are sensitive to the Kate looks with a grieving lens deep into her own EXPONENT GENERATIONS EDITOR impact this news may have to our readers and religious beliefs. Kyra Neipp Krakos brings want to speak to it in a timely way. an honest and very personal perspective to Susan Christiansen We are always looking for artwork and photography to individual mourning and communal support accompany our writing. Please send jpegs or gifs of art BOOK REVIEW EDITOR Exponent II is a vibrant community that in her Sacrament talk, “Mean Girls.” submissions to our email. If you are interested in illustrating Lisa Hadley spans members who are devout and articles, please contact us for specific assignments. active in the day to day, to those It also a critical time to acknowledge SABBATH PASTORALS EDITOR who attend but are struggling, women who are promoting their Fara Sneddon to those who perhaps grew up own change and capturing the SPECIAL THANKS TO POETRY EDITOR Mormon or identify culturally history of their work. We are as Mormon but who are not thrilled to publish Lisa Hadley’s Melody Newey Cassandra Barney, Maddison Colvin, Rachel Farmer, Kevin currently involved. Our interview with the co-editors Hawkes, Aimee Evans Hickman, Sabrina Squires, and Page GLOBAL ZION EDITOR strength as an organization of Mormon Feminism: Essential Turner, for the use of their artwork in this issue. Elizabeth Layton Johnson has always been in our Writings: Joanna Brooks, inclusive and supportive Hannah Wheelwright, and WOMEN’S THEOLOGY EDITOR And to our new board members, staff, and editors who have approach to each Rachel Hunt Steenblik. Emily Parker Updegraff joined us in the past year. We are consistently filled with individual spiritual Complementing this SUBSCRIPTION EDITOR humility and gratitude for the women who give their limited journey. Therefore we celebration of scholarship is time and considerable talent to producing Exponent II. embrace the differences an exploration into the visual Kirsten Campbell in the collective reactions. creative process with our ADDITIONAL STAFF: Exponent II (ISSN 1094-7760) is published quarterly by For some, these changes may Artist Spotlight on Maddison Kristy Benton, Emily Benton Heaton, Susannah Bingham Exponent II Incorporated, a non-profit corporation with no not affect their experience or Colvin, interviewed by our Art Buck, Liesl Buskirk, Ashley Call, Emily Clyde Curtis, Melissa official connection with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter- may match their beliefs. Others Editor, Page Turner. Andrea De Leon Mason, Shelli Edgar, Heather Farr Gunnell, Rebecca feel confused and will depend on Mahoney’s account of her pioneer day Saints. Articles published represent the opinions of Head, Sarah Hogan, Mary B. Johnston, Sariah Kell, Dayna their faith and time to adjust. There family’s trek across the plains is Patterson, Cheryl Pedesen, Libby Potter Boss, Natalie Prado, authors only and not necessarily those of the editor or staff. are many who will be directly affected both hilarious and insightful, as we all Nikki Ricks, Karen Rosenbaum, Suzette Smith, Heather Letters to Exponent II or its editors and Sisters Speak articles or have loved ones who will be, and sometimes imagine that our real life story Sundahl, Lyndsey Thackston, Brooke Williams and Molly are assumed intended for publication in whole or in part and Wunderli for them, the news of these changes are is not quite exciting enough. may therefore be used for such purposes. incredibly painful. Their relationship with the EXECUTIVE BOARD: Church may be altered and this brings heartbreak As editors, we would like to reinforce Exponent II’s “H PRESIDENT TREASURER SECRETARY Copyright © 2015 by Exponent II, Inc. All rights reserved. and mourning. mission to share all women’s stories. We invite essays ens & that share faith, joy and struggle across a wide spectrum of C Heather Sundahl Suzette Smith Brooke Williams h Often we react to these differences with judgment, which only belief. It is when we feel the most alone that communities like ours ic k e MEMBERS heightens our sense of alienation. There are many stories in this become most important—whether through publishing articles, n s Pandora Brewer, Emily Gray, Margaret Moore, Margaret Olsen issue by women who are actively seeking meaning for themselves calling each other on the phone, or speaking out and supporting ” by M Hemming, Heather Sundahl and April Young Bennett and their community, sharing themes of grief, challenge, and women, no matter where they are. We encourage each of us to a d personal power. We did not anticipate how relevant these common listen, read, and hold one another’s hearts carefully and with d EMERITUS BOARD iso threads would be and yet, as we found ourselves basking in the respect. We stand for each member of our Exponent II family—gay, n C Emily Clyde Curtis, Nancy Dredge, Judy Dushku, Aimee beautiful writing, crying with the authors at how hard life can be, straight, married, single, parent, child—our family, as defined by o lv Evans Hickman, Linda Hoffman Kimball, Deborah Farmer we realized how each unique voice combined in harmony, bringing inclusiveness and charitable love for one another’s stories. in Kris, Caroline Kline and Laurel Thatcher Ulrich 4 EXPONENT II SUMMER 2015 5 WHAT FLOWS KATE MELDAU CUMMINGS AWAY I spent this spring waiting for death to come. I waited for death to arrive in the same way I had waited on the arrival of a family member long absent. My whole family did. We were on the lookout. We called each other back and forth, chatting about this and that, and then I or they would ask, Do you know when…? Did the doctor think that…? and we would trail off, not quite sure what to ask, but we knew, had known the whole conversation what we were searching for. Our mind’s eyes were trained toward the farthest horizon, that rippling edge of the future just beyond our comprehension. We had glimpsed it. We knew it was coming. The signs accumulated like dust kicked up off a dirt road, growing into a steadily larger cloud hanging in the air. Death would soon arrive. When she had been diagnosed, we were all hopeful. She was young. She was healthy. She was a nutritionist with a keen sense of self discipline. If anyone could fight off the cancer, she could. And she did. The tumor that had blossomed in her breast was removed with surgery and chemo. We rejoiced and thanked O p modern medicine and good fortune and I, a p o s believer among agnostics and atheists, secretly ite and sincerely thanked God. : “N e ll’s W A few months later the cancer returned and ed d metastasized, spreading through her body ing G and growing at a voracious rate. It filled ow n her abdomen, making breathing difficult ” b y and eating impossible. She didn’t want Pa g e to talk about it. She wanted to talk T u r n e r 6 EXPONENT II FALL 2015 7 about “normal” things. She wanted to live as much as possible some trace of her, some treasured bit of her soul left behind and ugly sobbing on the jogging trail and in the school pick-up line, Birthing, aging, and dying are not for as long as she could. She went to work on her dreams. She dwelling inside me. this was definitely not one of my best of times. But I had hope finished a hexagonal quilt. She completed reading all 47 novels that God would bless my mourning with comfort. easy in our Western culture. We have written by Anthony Trollope and started on Wilkie Collins. She In Central America the rock is often limestone, which dissolves, few surviving traditions or cultural renovated her house and put it on the market, preparing for a making it easier for the water to percolate and flow into large As the endowment session began I prayed that God would move to a place “close to nature.” But she began to tire quickly. subterranean rivers that carve ever-larger corridors and chasms. give me some assurance that souls were eternal, that my loved observations to respect these pivotal, There were trips to the hospital. There was overwhelming pain. I began to dream of those caverns. At night in my sleep, I one’s soul was eternal, that she was OK. I felt my mind slide She went on hospice. Her body started to fail. wandered through that dimly lit underworld. Narrow passages away from my prayer as I proceeded through the ceremony. My soul wrenching moments. From my led to ever-expanding rooms which widened into cathedral- attention settled on the temple clothing. I looked at each piece. I We continued our wait. The days grew warmer, the air thickened vaulted caverns, so vast their floors and ceilings fell into the watched as men and women carefully fit each layer of promise temple experience, I felt that God with humidity. The heat intensified and the pressure built. impenetrably distant darkness. I had known her love had filled and blessing around themselves. God adorned each covenant would have it another way. There is The sky hung heavy with anticipation. On the first day of June me, but those massive spaces echoed in testimony to the size of maker completely. For all the discussion of separate spiritual massive thunder clouds rolled in and the sky began to rip itself the love I had lost. But there was no piece of her soul, no echo abilities and duties of men and women, I watched the emblems an opportunity to cultivate spiritual apart. The house shook with the rumble of thunder. My kids and of her remaining. The walls and chambers were carved by her of God’s power bestowed on everyone, matching piece by piece. I stood at the window, transfixed at the violence of the storm. shape and movement through my life, but where she had been The crowning garment, the covering for our heads, took different abilities and religious practices that Rain pelted the glass and the water blurred our view. Spring was there was only a penetrating emptiness. She was gone. forms. As a woman I wore a veil. would support and console ourselves washing away. Summer had arrived. I thought of John Muir’s words: Awake, I felt a need to find the same vaulted spaces that I have found it difficult to disassociate the Mormon veil with the and our loved ones in our transitions. continued to fill my dreams. I wanted to go sit in a place that veil many women are obligated to wear as a form of modesty or “Nature is ever at work building and pulling down, creating and was vast and large and open to heaven. It was irrational, but I self obliteration. In the temple that day, I noticed we wear our destroying, keeping everything whirling and flowing, allowing thought, maybe conscious, I could find what my unconscious veil only when we pray, only when we attempt to connect and Weeks later, we sat rocking on the water, the great currents of no rest but in rhythmical motion, chasing everything in endless could not: some piece of her. I climbed a mountain and sat on top see beyond one realm of existence into another. The veil we wear the ocean sweeping around us. As she requested, she would be song out of one beautiful form into another.” of it. I walked through domed museums. I descended slinking is a veil, the same as the larger veils we reference in our theology. buried at sea in the same spot as her father. It was time to escort escalators into the great pits of the Metro. Those spaces resonated It is symbolic of the bounds between realms, between our mortal her on, time to recognize and salute her leaving. We talked of That night the call came. but remained palpably empty. world and spiritual worlds. God’s endowment gives women a her life, her generous love, her incredible will that had allowed power associated not only with these boundary places but in her to hang on for so long. Then we sat silently, no one moving, While I had watched death’s It was time to stop looking for broken pieces. When the body extending our comprehension beyond one realm of existence into everyone crying. No one was ready to let her go, but it was time. approach and anticipated its arrival, fails, do souls break apart? Do they shatter into thousands another. I lifted her ashes. I thought of her body that had held her life and of little pieces? The emptiness was emphatic: No. There was failed so much sooner than she was ready. I held her remains I was shocked at its presence. Grief nothing left to find. Her soul wasn’t broken like her body, it was I left the temple thinking what work God would have me do and then as best as I was able, feeling a power beyond my own, I gone. She had been adamant that she would no longer exist after with this endowment. As Muir attested, “nature,” this mortal reached beyond the veil to offer a blessing to her soul. filled me and began to flow through death. Was it wrong to hope otherwise? Was it wrong to hope existence, is forever moving everyone from one beautiful form Kate Meldau Cummings was raised in South Carolina and now lives in that rather than dissolving into oblivion, she had gone to another to another. I thought of friends, faithful women, that spoke of my soul. Maryland with her husband, three kids, and a whole lot of plants. place? sensing individuals that yearned to come into mortality and be born. I knew other friends who felt the desires of souls that NOTES: It seeped into all the places her soul had intertwined and upheld I poured through the scriptures. I pondered. I prayed. In an had passed and wished to be known and their temple work mine. Her absence was unbearable. I found myself searching attempt at faith, I decided to come before God in the temple completed. Here and now there were so many of us growing 1 Muir, John. “Yosemite National Park,” Atlantic Monthly, August desperately for her. I followed the flow of grief down into the and ask for the solace that had eluded me. It wasn’t without and maturing and longing for assistance to change, for eternal 1899, 152. depths of my being. I knew there were hollows, gaping holes, trepidation that I approached the temple. I often found the perspective to give our lives direction and meaning. and collapsed spaces to explore. I had hoped I would find temple challenging at the best of times. Given my recent bouts of 8 EXPONENT II FALL 2015 9 LIKE outside the nuclear family—being single, being divorced, being wedding stuff. Unbeknown to me she invited our ward Relief gay—set my teeth on edge. But I was also very sad to think Society sisters to my home to help iron, glue gun, and assemble. that perhaps some failing of mine might have led to her being When I learned they were coming I was anxious. I didn’t know uninterested in men. I fixated on what now seem very strange what the group’s collective reaction would be. The night arrived DRAGONS things: and about ten women came. Some were clearly uncomfortable with the idea of two women marrying, but others were joyful. I • I should have dressed her in jeans and not sweatpants was delighted they came and appreciated experiencing with them DID THEY when she was in elementary school the same community I thought many other mothers had enjoyed • I should have encouraged her to participate in team when planning a son’s or daughter’s wedding. sports • Maybe I had loved her too much or too little or not in the My husband was granted a one-day license to perform the FIGHT right way ceremony. He urged them to love and care for each other; he • I had worked outside the home reminded them that they came from parents who had strong ANNE WUNDERLI • Our family home evenings weren’t consistent and marriages and that was a tradition they could carry forward. weren’t always very good We held a reception for them in a seaside community. It was all “ • I hadn’t taken her to Women’s Conference lovely. • I hadn’t sent her to Youth Conference “ • I had complained about the Young Women’s program During the time when Hannah and Beth were forming a family, I But they fought for their lives, continued to struggle to process this new reality. While I’d come Hannah attended college in Utah. During one of my trips to visit a long way in my thinking, the cognitive dissonance with the and for their [husbands], her she formally came out to me as being somewhere on the church was continuing to build. With that came more anger. Kinsey scale, but not heterosexual (she decries labels). We were and for their children; therefore in the car and had pulled over to the side of the road to talk. I’m not sure what it was about cars and conversations, but that setting seemed to promote big declarations and discussions. I asked her they exerted themselves and to tell me what she loved about her girlfriend. I don’t know where that question originated. I think in part it was because I wanted like dragons did they fight. to love the people and the things she loved. But it was also in part an effort to understand how women loving each other was similar MOSIAH 20:11 to or different from the relationship I had with my husband. Her answer reminded me of every other girl or young woman in love—or of me when I fell in love. She said her girlfriend was loyal, unfailingly generous and kind. They had important things Back in the early 2000s, I served in a public affairs calling. One Hannah was 15 when she called me one day from school. I in common and laughed a lot. I said that if she loved this young day the regional public affairs person sent an email around to remember the setting vividly. It was a sunny day and I was in woman then I was sure I would love her, too. I think that was a the regional PA reps, bishops, and stake presidents with a link my car about to leave one meeting and head to another. I turned healing moment in our relationship and one that I was grateful to a pro-LGBTQ website. She said, “We need to organize in the car off when I saw Hannah’s name pop up on my phone. for, even if I was still in turmoil about her future as a member of opposition to this group. If we don’t move quickly The Gays When she began to talk, I picked up immediately on the panic in the church. Although Hannah’s relationship with this woman will have the advantage.” I responded to the entire group that her voice, but it took her a few minutes to come clean: she had eventually ended, I have continued to be grateful for that moment I thought her communication was offensive, that I didn’t know gotten in a fight with a friend (a fellow Mia Maid), and this was when I understood my daughter’s feelings. how many LGBTQ families the general authorities knew but that especially distressing because they were, well, dating. She said, I had worked with several LGBTQ colleagues who had wonderful “Beth and I think we’re in love.” I wasn’t prepared to hear this After graduating from college, Hannah moved home. She families of their own. I said we need to be very careful in our declaration, but I stayed calm. I comforted her, while at the same reconnected with Beth, and they soon announced their desire to choices about how to communicate about issues and people with time telling her I didn’t think she was a lesbian and that they marry. We were very happy for them and I became determined whom we may disagree. Although I hadn’t heard the word “ally” were both too young to know for sure. She had been interested in to do all I could to ensure they had a great wedding day. In the in the context of marginalized populations, I believed myself to be boys—she’d even had a boyfriend. It must be a phase, I thought. days leading up to the marriage and reception there was much a compassionate supporter of the movement. They were just confused. Although they dated surreptitiously in to be done and I worried I wouldn’t be able to pull it off. We live high school, I lived in denial. Thus began a very rocky several thousands of miles from family and I didn’t want to ask any of That experience came back to me years later as I struggled years in terms of honest communication between us. them to come and help. I knew some were, at best, conflicted to accept the reality that our daughter, Hannah, was not and, at worst, antagonistic to LGBT issues. Although I knew heterosexual. I recognized in that moment that my advocacy The ensuing years were interspersed with mourning. I cried about several women in our Relief Society who could work magic on for the LGBTQ community, when I had no skin in the game, the loss of my dreams and hopes for Hannah that aligned with a reception like the one we were planning, I didn’t want to take was a very different thing than having our daughter come out what I’d been taught. My association with the church magnified the chance of awkward silences or drama. I was reluctant to have to us. I felt at the time that she was making a choice to be non- my anxiety and guilt over Hannah. Lessons and talks about anyone else involved other than Beth’s family. Beth’s mother, heterosexual and I believed that choice would result in her eternal families, children serving missions, etc. were impossible Mary Ann, and I had planned to meet one night to work on unhappiness. More than that, I feared she would leave the church. to sit through. Occasional negative comments about anything Painting of Anne and her daughter Hannah in 1987 by Kevin Hawkes 10 EXPONENT II FALL 2015 11 I felt increasingly that the church a rather benign concept—something intellectual to be understood, accepted and deployed. Now it weighs more heavily within created a false dichotomy of loyalty me. I’d like to see the church carve out a place for all to worship together. The church should be a place where the love of Christ is to family & loyalty to a faith tradition. exhibited to our LGBTQ children and to their parents. The church should be a place where parents can talk about all of our children, I was angry at the church’s lack of not just those who are “church approved.” I’m reminded of what a monk in the book The Beautiful Mystery, by Louise Penny, responsiveness to the Mormon LGBTQ says when he talks to a police officer about having immediately destroyed a manuscript of Gregorian chants that took the monk community & their families and allies. years to copy: For some support, and to learn more about other LGBTQ “The point is not to grow attached to things.” “But it must be painful.” individuals in the church, I joined several Facebook groups. It was “It is. But faith is often painful and joyous—two halves of a through online communities that I learned about Mama Dragons. whole.” When I found them, I loved them immediately. They got me, they got each other. They got my daughter and I got their kids. I feel that I have come to understand my own faith better as I’ve been able to examine it as two distinct parts. The point at The Mama Dragons group has come to feel like home to me. I which those two parts connect can be poignant. The pain and started engaging with them online and later I met them in person disappointment I feel toward the institution of the church presses at a summer retreat in Utah. Although many of us hadn’t met face up against the joy I feel about certain church teachings and P to face, we greeted each other with enthusiastic hugs. Our time e concepts that I still hold dear. But I’ve reframed separation and r u was spent in many one-on-one and small-group conversations in v now lean into the dissonance. I can be a proud Mama Dragon and ia n which we each shared our stories. F support equality on all fronts, and I can also teach, give talks and o serve in a church that I hope will embrace all of its members and lk M Meeting all of these (mostly) Mormon mothers, who were in the ag make a place where we can all worship together. ic same boat I was, helped make me feel whole. My life and sanity B o a have been saved as I have learned from these women how to find I have created a visualization exercise to help me relax when I am rd, p my own joy and peace through this difficult process of evolution. h feeling particularly anxious about the church. This is the way I o Their mission statement is the perfect summation of my own describe it: I have built a beach house on an incline near the shore. to co experience with them: u Way out on the horizon is an island and on that island is the rte s Mama Dragons exist to inspire and empower mothers. cchhuurrcchh. oIr n geoe dto t oth ter atvemel ptole t, hbeu its Il aanmd aolns oo coccacsaisoinon, walhlye nca Iu agthtetn d y of A We actively promote healthy, loving, and supportive environments im for mothers of LGBTQIA children. unawares in a riptide of emotion about church policy and practice ee E We celebrate, educate, protect, and provide the love and or with the dissonance between that and those I love. In those v a n support families need to survive and thrive. moments I relax and let the waves pull me gently back to shore. s H Our goal is to embrace one another, so none need ever feel alone. I climb up the beach, through the sea grass and then up the steps ick We are a supportive group of mothers. m to my front porch. I sit in a rocking chair and look out to sea. I an We are shelter for our children. can see the church shimmering far off into the distance and I feel We are champions of faith, family, and LGBTQIA communities. LA LIMPIA We are sisters. We are Mama Dragons. peace. I was excited about the Mama Dragon retreat, in part because I When I returned home in June from the Mama Dragons retreat, TERRA BOWLES knew some of these women must have found a way to resolve I couldn’t wait to talk to Hannah. Brimming with excitement CON CUY the cognitive dissonance I felt so acutely. Some of them must and feeling elated, I told her I wanted to go to Boston Pride have found a way to bridge the gap between what the church with her. She was surprised and delighted. At one point in teaches as truth about LGBTQ+ people and what we as mothers our conversation, she said, “I’m so glad you found the Mama have come to know as truth for our own children and families. Dragons. I’ve never seen you as comfortable as you are now in Of course, once I was there I realized no one has it all figured out. your own skin.” There’s really no substitute for women in this I sat alone on the backless wooden bench, facing the closed door of the shaman’s office. The guinea pig, called cuy here in Ecuador, Everyone had a story both similar to mine and uniquely their group: not spouses, not other children, not parents, not well- shifted and turned in the woven plastic fiber sack precariously balanced on my lap. Its rapid heart rate pulsated against my thigh. It own. We talked about what was and was not working for us and meaning visiting teachers or friends. This is a unique sisterhood. was larger than most cuy, almost the size of a cat, so I struggled and fumbled to keep control of its squirming heft. Two young women, for our families. We’re all still wrestling in one way or another. I’m a Mama Dragon because I want to help other Mamas walk dressed in the colorful skirts and shawls typical of the indigenous population of the region, sat on the other side of the corridor. I felt this path with as light a step as they are able. their gaze and heard their muffled giggles. A white woman was an unusual sight in this area, let alone one carrying a cuy in a sack. As All of this wrestling has had an impact on my feelings toward I coolly tried to ignore them, I felt an intensifying and expanding sensation of heat in my lap. It took a few seconds to register what was Anne Wunderli lives in Belmont, MA with her husband. She works at a the institution of the church. I’ve despaired at the thoughtless, human services organization that serves homeless and formerly homeless happening. ill-informed comments made by leaders. I once felt that faith was individuals. She loves mystery novels and autumn. 12 EXPONENT II FALL 2015 13 “Shit!” I yelled and jumped up, extending the urine soaked sack I had read self-help books, gone to counseling, taken still a part of me that wanted to believe in the spiritual, that The guinea pig, as I feared, was too big, and he refused to use it. I as far away from me as possible. “Goddammit, that little f***er antidepressants, shaved my head, climbed 20,000 foot peaks in there was something beyond just the physical realm, something had been uncomfortable with the idea of a poor, innocent animal just peed on me!” I blurted before I could censor myself. the Andes and Himalayas, run marathons, and drank copious deeper. I began to study Eastern religions and was particularly sacrificing its life in the name of my cultural experimentation, amounts of wine. Nothing worked. So, I was willing to forgo drawn to Buddhism and its focus on philosophic tenets rather so I didn’t argue when he rejected my blue-ribbon guinea pig. The two women erupted in laughter. I danced around the puddle scientific skepticism, to yield to the power of belief, in hopes that I than religiosity. I tried meditating and went to a few Buddhist He agreed to proceed with a non-cuy limpia. I let him keep that accumulated on the floor, trying to dry the wet patch on could finally rid myself of the grief that still afflicted me. Perhaps retreats. I also heard the Dalai Lama speak. As he walked into the guinea pig as a token of appreciation for performing the my pants with crumbling scraps of tissue, as I wrestled with the I needed a dose of ancient magic. the room I was overcome with a palpable and undeniable sense ceremony. I knew the cuy would still be killed, but at least it writhing pink and blue striped bag dangling from my other hand. that I was in the presence of a holy man, someone who was a would feed his family for dinner. In addition to having sacred It had been a long time since I was willing to surrender to conduit to something beyond what I could see or intellectually healing powers, cuy was a culinary delicacy. I was in Riobamba, a sedate, non touristy town in the something to which I could not apply a rational explanation. As define. I couldn’t explain it, but that feeling left an indelible mountainous highlands of Ecuador. I was there for several a child raised in the Mormon church, I was brought up to believe mark. Years later, I thought about that moment while I worked The shaman instructed me to undress. He lit several candles weeks to study Spanish and learn more about traditional medical that prayer, fasting, and the laying on of hands could heal the sick, with the shaman in Riombaba. I watched his patients and their while I stood naked on a napkin-sized red mat in the center of practices by observing a local shaman. He evaluated each patient alleviate suffering and even bring about miracles. Magic. But even fervent faith in his powers to heal. I too wanted to believe in the the room, shifting my weight from foot to foot. He lit a crooked, by taking a short history, then completed the same physical exam at a young age, I started asking questions. Then I began to doubt. possibility. cigar-shaped cigarette and exhaled clouds of tobacco smoke, then on each of them—touching the forehead, feeling pulses and I remember when I was only 9 years old, sitting in a Primary class swirled the billows of smoke around me using large dried leaves. looking at the tongue. Based on his findings, he made a diagnosis about the Word of Wisdom. The teacher read the passage about Elena, my Ecuadorian hostess, exuded excitement when I told her He rubbed an array of pungent smelling oils and lotions all over and formulated a personalized treatment plan which might “hot drinks” being forbidden, which she then explained is why about my plans for a limpia. She eagerly offered to find just the my bare-skinned body. include: a dark, foul smelling antibiotic tea, a mixture of six papas we don’t drink coffee or black tea. I raised my hand. right cuy for me. On the morning of my limpia, a man arrived at and five zanohorias for inflammation, or a cup of horse’s blood the house with a wriggling sack and abruptly handed it to me. “Medicinas muy buenas, muy fuertes,” he whispered in my ear. to treat anemia. The most potent remedy was that of la limpia “But I drink hot chocolate all the time and I like it really hot. Why Elena stood by, grinning with pride at the prized guinea pig she Very good medicines, very strong. or “the cleansing.” La limpia con cuy was the most powerful is that OK? And my mom drinks herbal tea and it is really hot too. had procured. version of this healing ritual in which a shaman would vigorously Why just coffee?” I asked. He lit another large candle, motioned to me to cover my exposed rub a patient from head to toe with a guinea pig before killing, “It is a very nice one. You have to have a fat one. Not a sickly, pubic hair, and told me to close my eyes. He filled his mouth with dissecting and examining the animal. Abnormalities found within My teacher turned to me with a blank stare. She had no answer skinny one,” she said with her hands resting on her robust hips. alcohol and spewed fireballs at me, front and back. I couldn’t the guinea pig not only corresponded to the patient’s diagnoses, and my childlike curiosity was disgruntled. Thus was the help but reel backwards as I felt the fire singe my eyelashes. He but the patient was also cured because the guinea pig had literally beginning of my erosion of belief. A succession of unanswerable I looked into the bag and was startled by the immense size of this proceeded to wave various items over my body: condor feathers, extracted the maladies. questions followed as I grew older and I tried to understand the fluffy, red and white creature. “Wow,” I said. “Are you sure it isn’t magnets, a bell, and sticks. Before choosing which sticks to use religion in which I was raised, the religion that had shaped my too big?” I asked with a hesitant smile. he asked me if I was single or married. He chose different sticks I had asked the shaman if he would vision of the world. I continued to seek answers. I wanted logical when I told him I was single. He chanted throughout the whole explanations. I wanted reason and clarity. So many things didn’t “No, no, no. The fatter it is, the more power. Bigger is better,” she process in his native Quichua language. When he wanted me to be willing to perform the ritual on me make sense to my developing intellectual mind. My analytical nodded and patted my shoulder. understand, he switched to Spanish. The shaman blessed me with nature was not satisfied with the dismissive, pat response I good luck, happiness, peace, tranquility and good health. Other and he agreed. As far as he knew, I was repeatedly got to most of my inexplicable inquiries. “You just I grasped the unwieldy bag with both hands and set off for my times he engaged in idle banter—how did I like Ecuador? How have to have faith. Only God knows all the answers.” But God, appointment with the shaman. long was I planning to stay? The type of casual conversation two simply a curious physician wanting to I thought, also gave me a brain with the ability and desire to people might have over a cup of tea. After about 30 minutes, he have a firsthand experience in medical think for myself. Blind faith was not an acceptable alternative. As I continued to wait in the hallway with my urine soaked pants, gave me a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and told me to get dressed. Eventually my discontent evolved into frustration and cynicism. I worried about the symbolic significance of my cuy peeing on anthropology. In truth, I was seeking me. It seemed a bad omen. The shaman’s door finally opened and As I walked back home, blissfully unencumbered by my guinea When I entered college, academics and scholarly inquiry replaced he summoned me. He was a short, wizened old man, toothless, pig burden, I considered whether I felt unburdened in any other a cure. a need for religion. Science, philosophy, literature—these with a face weathered by years exposed to harsh high-altitude sun way. Had the sadness that weighed me down been purged, as provided the inspiration and concrete answers I was searching and wind. He peered at me over a narrow pair of reading glasses. I had hoped, left on the floor of that office, alongside the bag of It had been two years since my husband of twelve years slipped for. During this period, I remember kneeling in prayer as I had He wore a leather jacket and a felt fedora hat, a European import cuy? Time would tell. The only thing I seemed to feel at that point out the back door, without leaving a note, and never came back. so many times before, still clinging to the beliefs and habits of that had become adopted and integrated into the traditional was the damp stain of urine the guinea pig had left on my pants. I my childhood. Suddenly, all those years of waning conviction clothing. His small, dark office was austere with a simple wooden would stop by the market to pick up some detergent. Then, with a Prior to this night, I was happy and under the illusion that we had culminated in an overwhelming sense of futility in what I was desk and chair and one bookshelf, which held neatly organized clean pair of pants, continue my search for magic. a good marriage. So, when he left I was shocked, devastated, and doing, that there was no God listening to me or, at least, not the bottles of teas, lotions, and other unidentified liquids. We Terra Bowles is a physician living in Seattle, WA. Her work has taken her left trying to come to terms with something I didn’t understand. singular divine entity that had been ingrained in my psyche. I exchanged cursory pleasantries and I handed him the bag with from rural emergency rooms to the jungles of the Congo and everything in Two years had passed and I was still consumed by the loss, still stood bolt upright and, in that instant, decided not to go back to the cuy in it. He took it, looked inside and furrowed his brow. He between. She is happily married to a tall, Austrian midwife. trying to make sense of something that defied all reason in my church. frowned at me, shaking his head vigorously. mind. Though I didn’t believe in the dogma of religion, there was “No. No. No. Mas grande. Mas grande. Mas grande,” he grumbled. 14 EXPONENT II FALL 2015 15 CULTURAL If you grew up in the church, myself to breathe life into. I still hold onto this ritual. I also still is important to spend time together as a family. There are some K sing the Mormon hymns all the time. I find myself preferring things that the church gets right. I love having everyone together A what memories of cultural the ones that don’t talk about Mormon stuff, or talk about God laughing and engaged in enjoying one another’s company. I TRADITIONS E less, but some of them that are God-heavy are still so meaningful have some children that struggle to adapt to change and having P events have left a strong S to me for some reason. I still love “Lead Kindly Light,” “Be Still a name for times when everyone in the family is expected to RS IN THE imprint on you? Which My Soul,” “Where Can I Turn for Peace?” and “Rock of Ages.” I participate has been beneficial and brings us closer together. E find myself reaching for them, maybe just for their familiarity of T ones do you continue to my fervently faithful childhood, but it feels to me like they still Laura Lopez • Provo, Utah S CHURCH I facilitate my spiritual journey and help me translate from my S celebrate as an adult? If you native language of Mormonism to my new personal language FHE was a reminder of what we did every Sunday before we that I’m still exploring every day. are a convert, which of these converted to the LDS church, since it was the only day off my Mormonism is a religion, but it’s also a sub-culture. Chloe • Salt Lake City, Utah parents had and we didn’t have to go to school. We would spend rituals feel warm and home time together, have a little family reunion, go out and eat, or see We eat recipes that are peculiar to our people, have a movie. When the missionaries made us move it to Monday, we special holidays we celebrate together, and participate to you and which are just My family left the church but we somewhat still practice FHE. tried for a little bit but we couldn’t so we would still go to church in rituals and activities that are meaningful only to us. downright strange? If you’ve Except we do it on Sundays and get to spend the whole day and go out to eat after. My dad always told us never to feel bad I have wonderful and strange memories of potlucks together. We still pray as an act of gratitude before dinner. This about it. with casseroles and Jell-O; dressing up in a skirt, tennis left the church, are there any will be our first year without father’s blessings, which honestly shoes, and a bonnet to walk five miles through suburban were so uncomfortable for everyone. We all felt women should Debbie Perez • Lynndyl, Utah cultural traditions that you have the priesthood and I know my dad was just speaking from Michigan on Pioneer Day; and sitting awed in a darkened his heart, trying to comfort us. basketball court/cultural hall as I watched our stake continue to practice? I grew up in Lynndyl, Utah, a town of about 100 people, most of production of My Turn on Earth. whom were my relatives. This was back in the day when each Christina Loken • Little Rock Arkansas ward had to raise its own budget. Every year there would be a ward bazaar and pot luck. People would make things to be The idea of girls and women coming together in the (sort of) auctioned off at the bazaar and we would have an auction and wilderness, with no boys to make us feel like we needed to look potluck dinner. The kind of things auctioned off were usually pretty or put on airs. I found my peers the most authentic and cakes, pies, quilts, aprons, pot holders, and doo-dads like glass or Q.C. • Orem, Utah I also still play hymns on the piano because those were some of most comfortable with themselves, aware of their own divinity, plastic grape centerpieces. My mother always made tamale pie. I while at Girls Camp. don’t miss the ward bazaar but I miss my mom’s tamale pie. the first things I learned to play and I find comfort in a lot of the music. Maybe it’s the familiarity, but even playing something like Girls Camp is where I built the foundation of my testimony. It Cynthia Mikesell • Mona, Utah Latisha Healey • Santaquin, Utah “Popcorn Popping” an octave higher, or “I’ll Walk with You” has was always so wonderful to get away from the world and get stress-relieving qualities that I can’t quite explain. into nature, where it’s easier to feel God around you. I went to camp at Mia Shalom in the Utah mountains––a beautiful I haven’t attended church for several years. We’ve chosen to I’ve left the church but have always planned to definitely hold setting, with just the right amount of infrastructure. It was also a Hannah Wheelwright • Washington D.C. continue a semblance of Family Home Evening although it has FHE with my family when I have one of my own. I also continue great place to develop sisterhood. Not everyone has the kind of been renamed Forced Family Fun. It usually includes a game to practice refraining from alcohol consumption, although I can’t amazing ward I had growing up, but when we were all together, Pioneer trek, for sure. Even though I’m pretty sure I ate at least or outing and it isn’t restricted to just Monday nights. I think it really explain why I have stuck with that one. the social barriers that existed at home loosened and we became a gallon of dirt and dust while shoving that handcart around more united and loving. for three days, and even though I have major qualms about the event itself now that I’ve had time to reflect, I can’t deny that Eliza M. the experience of connecting with what my ancestors lived. I’ve NEXT SISTERS SPEAK QUESTION: never felt much of a connection to my pioneer ancestry except for that event, where I felt the spirit so strongly as I struggled and I grew up in Gainesville, Florida, and between sessions of tried to do my own best with the circumstances. FOCUSING ON SCRIPTURAL WOMEN General Conference my home ward would have these great potlucks. I think I enjoyed the potlucks more than the sessions, Even though my beliefs in deity have evolved and are continuing to be honest. This was significant to me coming from a family of immigrants and parents who were converts—church was our to evolve over time, I still find a lot of comfort in prayer. I pray While there are stories of incredible women in the Bible, few are mentioned by name in the Book of Mormon or the Doctrine main community, so my family would make tons of Filipino food to goodness, to justice, to the spirits of women who have passed, and Covenants. In addition, those few women in scripture are often side-lined or completely ignored in church Sunday School to bring to these potlucks as a way of getting to know people. to desperation, to the refining fire of oppression and disunity, classes. to hope, to love. I try to make it conscious, because my mind These days, the remaining active members of my family watch Who is your favorite woman in scripture and why? Have you ever added women from still, after all these years, flits the words “Dear Heavenly Father” General Conference from home, but we still make tons of food across my mind many times a day when I go to center myself the scriptures to your church lessons? Which overlooked woman in scripture do you in between sessions. We’re spread out all over the country but we all have the same habit of making and eating a lot of food in and express gratitude or make requests of the universe. But I wish we discussed more in church settings? What other strategies do you have to add love the act of taking a moment to seriously consider my place between sessions, even if we’re not together or really a part of women into religious conversations in Family Home Evening, Relief Society activities, in that great expanse, to recognize my blessings, to focus on our church community any more. or other settings? what I can change, and sometimes to simply dig inside myself to excavate the thoughts and frustrations that I haven’t allowed 16 EXPONENT II FALL 2015 17 When you are a romantic and dramatic 14-year-old Mormon girl, you know the makings of a good pioneering story must include death, suffering, miracles, poverty, and injustices. In fact, in my pubesc-ing heart, tissues and tears were what really spoke sincerity during testimony sharing. How would people know that you were serious about the gospel and sufficiently thankful for your leaders if you didn’t cry at least a little? So I was committed to tell the best, weepiest pioneer tragedy of all time. PIONEER CHILDREN ANDREA MAHONEY I don’t recall if it was New Beginnings, Young Women in and dramatic sensibilities, I had accidentally killed off every Excellence, or some other event, but with every cycle of the single person in my narrative. At this junction, I realized that seasons there seemed to be a call for a formal program held perhaps I should have prepared or kept it simple. I had made in the gym celebrating or rededicating our efforts in faith, my error well before anyone had reached Zion. There was no knowledge, good works, and integrity. Followed by light one left to be my ancestor. In a panic, I cut the story short and refreshments. bore a tearful and grateful testimony for these pious, brave souls and sat down awkwardly. In my experience, Mormons This time it was a pioneering, ancestry theme. Each girl took are extraordinarily polite and don’t question a person’s faith- turns showing her family history quilt or pedigree chart to building stories, despite how outlandish they seem. This a room full of young women and their parents. Most of the group was no different. No one called me out or questioned projects were the culmination of many weeks of toil and were my history, aside from my embarrassed father, who had never proudly shared. I was on the program to speak about my been a romantic teenage girl and is as dramatic as a dictionary. pioneer heritage. My grandmother had already done all the Even he only whispered, “Are you about done?” and shook his work and assembled a shelf of binders of information about head, then never spoke of it again. our genealogy. I, however, thought all of those things were boring and decided to spice up the program. I began planning I wish my 14-year-old self had been more appreciative of the my talk after the opening hymn was sung, taking the best parts richness of my real pioneer history. My people were not the of other girls’ heritage and adapting them to my own saga. poorest or the deadest, but they were committed and faithful all the same. In fact, my great-great-grandmother lived to When you are a romantic and dramatic 14-year-old Mormon be dubbed the oldest living pioneer. The Deseret News wrote girl, you know the makings of a good pioneering story must a piece on the flight she took in an airplane across the trail include death, suffering, miracles, poverty, and injustices. she had walked as a child. A few of the others had been the In fact, in my pubesc-ing heart, tissues and tears were what performers in and supporters of classic Mormon theater really spoke sincerity during testimony sharing. How would productions (aka road shows). I come by theatrics and drama people know that you were serious about the gospel and sufficiently honestly, but a testimony is not built from others’ faith and thankful for your leaders if you didn’t cry at least a little? So I was hardships, nor does it need to move a crowd to a revival-type committed to tell the best, weepiest pioneer tragedy of all time. excitement. My own testimony is small and weak at times, but it is more mine than any incredible experience had by my As my tale started, my antecedents girded up their loins with forefathers. fresh courage and faced dysentery, frostbite, amputation, er ambush, heretics, regime change, broken handcarts, Martin’s However, those stories were not the ones I thought to tell the m ar Cove, Haun’s Mill, childbirth, marriages, and death. My crowd on program night, especially when following Porter F hel story wended its way rife with plot twists and tragedy: the Rockwell’s great-grandchild and a really impressive scrap c a R essentials, in my view, for forging a testimony. I would pause quilt. y b xe” dramatically as if overcome with emotion while I tried to keep Andrea currently lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. She raises A h the plot free of holes. I would animate my voice and use my free-range children and chickens, homeschools, is delinquent in most wit hands when I came to a particularly exciting part. Except all homemaking duties, but is fully caught up on all her favorite television r nee was not well with my tale. As a result of my religious fervor shows. o Pi 1“8 EXPONENT II FALL 2015 19