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EXPONENT, er U.S.Postage
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DITORIAL
First Hands and Backs, Now Feet and Voices
Sue Paxman
Lexington, Massachusetts
uring my years in the Church, I other's burdens by listening to and believing little children" in a humiliating—not a humble—
have often heard light, slightly each other's stories. way. How can we be expected to negate our
ironic, comical references to For some of us, Exponent IT has been the own experiences, giving up our self-esteem and
Mormon women playing such only place in our Mormon world in which we self-respect, by continually sitting and waiting to
roles as the backs and hands with felt safe enough to be honest and open. For be told what to do and when by those "in
which the work of the Church is accomplished others of us, our culture's efforts to maintain the authority" over us? There are times and places
or the neck that turns the head [of the house— her status quo as the only way to keep our Mormon for all of the children of Ged to be His obedient
husband]. And I know that, at times, I have even world safe and comfortable has meant every- servants, to be subservient to His authority; no
participated in the almost conspiratorial smiling thing through the spectrum from ignoring us one should expect that being woman means
and nodding of heads that sometimes accompa- when we speak to excommunicating us so that always being obedient and subservient to
nies such references to jokes based on our we cannot speak. everyone else. E
common experience. I believe that the time is But from what I am hearing and reading, Second, to make a place for women's
here for this joke to be over. particularly in a number of the essays in this voices, we need to rid our culture of what
We women of the Mormon Church have issue, those days will soon be over. We are appears to be the prevailing feeling about those
much more to contribute than just our behind- beginning to speak with strength and clarity who speak up, who ask questions, or who
the-scenes support. We want to use our voices wherever we find ourselves. We are exploring question a decision or policy: The Church is
to help make the organizational and cultural who we are, not just the roles that we are asked true; love it or leave it. Blind, arbitrary accep-
decisions that create and influence the to play, and we are insisting that we be heard tance does not enhance personal growth or
"dailiness" of our lives in the Church structure. and recognized for who we are. access to personal revelation; raising and
To participate fully in the building of the King- resolving personal questions does. Our assum-
dom of God, we need to strengthen our voices as ing that those who question are somehow less
we speak truth and bear witness, and then our than faithful is destructive to each of us as well
voices need to be accepted and our experience as to our community of Saints. I believe that by
incorporated into the fabric of our culture. Relegating us to being willing to allow each other to ask the
I have just re-read the editorials of one or two accept- questions and seek the answers together we can
Exponent's former editors from the last three able roles and re- make the Kingdom of God progress.
issues (Volume 19, Numbers 1: Claudia Bush- And last, we need to change our per-
fusing to allow us
man; 2, Nancy T. Dredge; and 3, Susan Howe). spective and to listen. We have much to learn
By reading them one right after the other, I came to participate in the from the voices of Mormon women, lessons
to understand the evolution and progression of decision-making about—among many others—relationship
the women of the Church in a new way. Our building, the true love of Christ, the pain and
bodies of the
voices are getting stronger; however, the accep- tewards of solitude, the joys of repentance and
tance of and respect for what we have to say is Church keeps us forgiveness, the struggle that is compromise, the
not increasing at the same rate. "as little children" strength of collaboration, the exaltation in
Exponent II began as a place where in a humiliating— steadfastness. Asking so many of us to remain
Mormon women could exchange everything silent about the most important aspects of our
not a humble—way.
from their latest insights and recipes to their lives is creating a sickness that can only be
testimonies and spiritual experiences. Over the healed by moving away from the source. We
years and under the nurturing guidance of the cannot afford to lose these voices, the lessons
editors and staff, the publication has developed a that they teach, and the witnesses that they bear.
stronger voice in its Mormon world as the voices Exponent II will continue to make a
of those who write have gotten stronger. Unfortunately for our community, when place for us to share what we know and believe,
Together, we have supported each other we are not heard or recognized, some of us seem to speak honestly from our own experience;
through such difficult discussions as depression, to have only one last option. In increasing however, I believe that we need to ask, even
emotional and physical/sexual abuse, drug and numbers, we—particularly those ofu s in our late insist, that we be able to do the same in our
alcohol abuse, the effects of unrighteous domin- teens and twenties—are voting with our feet. Relief Society meetings, in our sacrament
ion, abortion, being single in a married church, We are leaving, choosing not to participate in a meeting talks, in our bishop's interviews, in our
infertility. We have talked honestly and from system that does not encourage us to participate ward and stake councils. I believe that as
our own experience about many topics that our fully, that does not validate us by respecting Mormon women we understand that we are
culture has previously considered off limits, what we have to offer, or that does not extend to responsible for ourselves and our salvations, but
sometimes even a threat to testimonies. us the respect that we are finding elsewhere. we also understand that taking that responsibility
What we have learned in the speaking is I believe that this movement away is a requires that our voices be heard as we speak
that we have ideas to contribute, experiences terrible loss, a loss that can be avoided. First, about how our lives are lived here on earth. ®
from which others can learn, opinions worth we need to recognize and respect the diversity
being heard, and spiritual gifts that bless others and breadth of Mormon women's experience.
as well as ourselves. And, through it all, we Relegating us to one or two acceptable roles and
continue to bear witness to the principles that refusing to allow us to participate in the deci-
sustain us and do all we can to shoulder each sion-making bodies of the Church keeps us "as
2 EXPONENT II 1996
The Well-tempered Feminist
Dana Haight Cattani
Palo Alto, California
stopped by my parents’ house skill, not to be scoffed at or delegated thought- chores, fifty-fifty on breadwinning, fifty-fifty on
today after work. I live close by lessly. child rearing, and so on. I announced my rules
again, after several years away, I have been a scoffer and a delegator. A loudly and often, and Kyle married me anyway.
so, I can drop by almost any thoughtless one. I have supposed that there was I figured he knew what he was getting into.
time. I wanted to return some something inferior about serving other people He didn’t. Neither did I, although I
empty Tupperware that Mom had filled with and something powerful about being served. In didn’t complain that he was making more money
Christmas leftovers. She deliberately cooks far the not-too-distant past, I have spoken loudly as a computer manufacturer than I was as a high
too much and then insists that we would do her a and often about the lines I draw for myself, the school teacher.
favor by taking some ham with us, and just a boundaries beyond which I would not go. I Six years later, we’re still married,
few potatoes, too. partly because we’ ve evolved into a comfortable
I had called at noon to let Mom know pattern. I cook; he cleans. I buy the groceries;
that I was coming. She wasn’t home when I he pays the bills. I tend the flowers; he prunes
called, but my father said he would leave her a the shrubs. We take turns doing the laundry,
message. When I got there, she happened to with my turn coming more often than his, at
have a warm batch of my favorite Rice Krispie | believe that listen- least as I reckon Saturdays.
cookies on the counter. As I pulled off my ing and affirming We have fallen into very traditional
raincoat, she offered to make a cup of tea, and I patterns, and I am not displeased by them. They
quickly accepted because, after all, I didn’t want toward the end of a seem to work for us. They foster peace and
to drive home in the downpour. We sat together discouraging day is stability, commodities I come to value more than
in the warmth of the kitchen, and I told her the divine. | believe any nitpicking fairness we could have legislated
latest anecdotes from school. When I am the for ourselves. It occurs to me that the sum really
that cooking for
hapless protagonist, she laughs as people laugh is greater than the parts, that a holistic partner-
at characters who flail momentarily on the road people ...is an ship may transcend piecemeal equality. Over
to glory. Even when I am the antagonist or often unparalleled time, we build equity together, as one might in a
victim, she assures me that she is proud of me act of love. home, through seasons that blur together in an
and that all my character flaws, my inadequate indistinguishable but satisfying memory.
misguided words or deeds, are the inevitable I begin to see the feminism that the
consequence of genes inherited from her. student me embraced as limiting and restrictive.
I don’t believe her, but I am touched that If Im ake the foundation for my life a series of
she wants to absolve me of wrong and challenge boundaries, I limit my choices for giving and
any detractor. If she could, she would absorb receiving. Worse, I define myself as unchang-
my mistakes and their attendant pain like a paper thought that career-minded women, intelligent ing, expecting that others must modify their
towel, wiping away any trace of stickiness. women, spoke and acted this way. They drew lives to accommodate my self-image.
When it was nearly dinner time, I put lines (“I will not be the only cook in this house- This approach is petty and inflexible in
my mug in the dishwasher and pulled on my hold,” “I will not take your shirts to the clean- ways I would not appreciate in a spouse or
raincoat. Driving home, I thought about her ers,” “I will not shop for your mother’s birth- colleague. Under my feminist credo, the small
greeting me at the end of the day with warm tea day’’), and the people they loved learned to joys—the hot teas and warm cookies on rainy
and fresh cookies and an affirmation that my accommodate these guidelines. Smart women January afternoons—disappear. There is no
every action is one she stands behind. I want to measured and calculated and kept track so as not room, no interest. Tea and cookies are time-
be this kind of woman. to be caught in the gummy and tenacious web of consuming and demeaning, things women do
These thoughts always jar me, I think, husbands, colleagues, employers, friends, and only if they aren’t successful professionals with
because they accent the truth that never fails to children. I envisioned fulfillment in carefully busy personal agendas.
startle me: I am a recanting feminist. I believe distributing my time and commitment in nickels I think it is not uncommon for personal
in equal opportunity and pay and shared domes- and dimes to people who were demonstrably philosophies to evolve over time. Change may
tic responsibilities and all that, but I believe in giving back in at least equal quantities. be a sign of thoughtfulness or expedience or
some other things, too. It did not occur to me that there is a uncertainty or maturity. Whatever it is, it swells
I believe that caring for people, their smallness and privation in this kind of thinking. in me. As I recant the rigid rules of my past,
feelings, their minds, and their bodies is impor- I did not think that it could make me its victim, broadening the definition of the woman that I
tant. I believe that there is dignity in serving that I could be other than the savvy player of a want to be, I imagine that I finally fill out,
others. I believe that busy-ness is not inherently flawed game. Id id not think that my willing- softening into a less strident self.
fulfilling. I believe that listening and affirming ness to give would determine my ability to I described this metamorphosis to my
toward the end of a discouraging day is divine. I receive. mother over tea, and she smiled and said noth-
believe that cooking for people, serving them Before I was married, I had specific ing. She always says the right thing. ®
nourishing food in a warm kitchen, is an often ideas about my willingness to give: any future
unparalleled act of love, a feat of finesse and husband and I would split fifty-fifty on domestic
VOLUME 19 NUMBER 4 3
Take It Like a Man
Emma Lou Thayne
Salt Lake City, Utah
hy not? After all, hadn’t I been Christmas or Easter, a cook-out in the canyon or ing our balls into the benign rough. Not bad.
W in on the fixing of Thanksgiving a dinner on the patio, who is where for what? The crowning glory: one son-in-law was a pro,
dinner for over sixty years? This Thanksgiving I got to find out— in on running the place, and got us on free—the
Had there ever been one that I firsthand—because I was invited, instead of green fee (ordinarily $175!), car, my rented
didn’t have a hand in? A big staying home to work on the dinner, to go with clubs, and all. A kick on any day—a riot on a
hand? And yet, I liked it, always had, the my two tall sons-in-law to play golf the entire holiday that I had nothing to do with except hit a
preparation, first the shining of silver, setting of afternoon. ball, laugh, and visit with the boys that were
the table with linen and goblets and cormucopia, “Go, Mother,” my daughters urged, as mine to relish from the bounty of my five
stuffing the turkey—remember when we had to well as my husband, who thinks golf is a waste daughters, two of them home making Thanks-
singe and pull pin feathers and extricate the of everything. “You deserve it. We’ll have the giving happen without me.
giblets? whole dinner ready when you get back.” Heck, We played till dark—fourteen holes,
And the dressing, dry not soggy but with an offer like that, who but the most duty- more than I'd played consecutively in three
light thanks to beaten eggs and crumbs ground bound could resist? Besides, weren’t we on years. And we arrived back in the kitchen to the
from homemade bread. And sweet aromas of
potatoes candied with oodles of butter holiday cooking, five children, four
and brown sugar—oh, and first the salt under four, racing from backyard
and pepper to cut the too-sweet possi- trampoline to upstairs bunks to jump
bility. And rolls and pumpkin pies and from, a baby being fed a bottle by
cranberry salad and stuffed celery and grandpa watching TV, and one seven-
green olives wrapped in bacon—after, year-old girl setting the play table from
of course, the bottling of fresh cran- the patio for the under-fours.
berry sauce the night before. And the The dinner was a triumph.
potatoes and gravy, each smooth as Mel’s turkey was never more moist or
driven snow or water over a spillway. flavorful from his peanut oil basting.
Sometimes carrot pudding with lemon Every dish steaming or plate delectable
sauce instead of or, more likely, in with hors d’ oeuvres made us golfers
addition to the pie. glad that we'd saved up for the feast by
And then doing the dishes, not eating breakfast. All we had to do
every supply of china and glassware, to now was sit down and enjoy the relaxed
say nothing of pans and roaster, pulled talk as well as the wondrous meal.
out of cupboards, brought up from the Except. . Except. . .While I did
fruit room, sometimes only for this think how nifty, just to waltz in with
setting of a meal for maybe twenty or nothing more than a “When will it be
more depending on what relatives or ready?” And Id id love eating someone
acquaintances might enjoy Thanksgiv- This Thanks- else’s cooking. And there could be no
ing at that dining room table with all its doubt that it was fun not to have been
leaves in. Plus usually another set up in giving... | was the cook. But. . .As I stood for an hour
the living room, sometimes even one on invited, instead of at the sink clearing up, dishwasher
the ping pong table downstairs and at staying home to notwithstanding, as the piles and more
the bar for littlest ones who might spill piles of dishes and pans accrued with the
work on the dinner,
a glass or two of milk. clearing. I confess that for a minute, I
All day and into the night it to go with my two sort of missed having been in on the
took. With me always at the hub, even tall sons-in-law to preparation—better far than the clearing
in these past few years of often cel- play golf the entire up.
ebrating at the home of a daughter and, But then I thought: Who am I
afternoon. kidding? I had a great time out there on
lately, with Mel loving to do the turkey
the golf course. With those darlings who
on the grill outside between watching a
invite, even kid, and push me to play.
game and the news and reading on the
And the clearing up takes only about
couch. Nice. Good cooks, my five
one-tenth the time of getting it all on.
daughters and my one-specialty hus-
Maybe the old women’s movement
band, and the girls great putters-on of
Thanksgiving dinners. But I have never not vacation? In California, having flown away saying still applies: What every woman needs is
been in on all of it. Even when visiting in from record snows in Utah? Why not? a wife.
California. So we did, the three of us. We played— And then I smiled, not just to myself.
Until this year [1992]. on a gorgeous course in view, sea scent, of the Yes, it is not bad to be a man on a holiday. Let’s
We'd talked, as probably most women high surf and seagulls and the sound of seals see, what’s the next one—Christmas? Skiing,
do, about the difference between what men do barking off shore. And then into deep woods anyone? *
on a holiday—any holiday—and what women with fairways cutting swaths of green, sand traps
do. It’s mostly food and getting to it that makes and water hazards configured like a gardener’s
the biggest difference. From the 4th of July to dream, squirrels and deer and birds accompany-
A EXPONENT II 1996
Keeping My Head Above Water
Jennifer Gremp
St. Louis, Missourt
t’s a smooth take-off, and the footage. The exit ended abruptly, at the edge of As I thought about how little time I'd
plane climbs rapidly into the a flooded field; so, I abandoned the car and spent helping others through this crisis and how
blue. How could the sky be hiked the other direction along a dirt (or rather, much my current position drained me, I reas-
sessed my job choice. I soon quit to take a
nearly cloudless, when the mud) road.
flooded ground below shows I passed a machine shop with its bays medical publishing job that would keep me
evidence of many rains? It’s the summer of under water; then, I noticed a sandbagged house closer to home, one that would preserve some of
ab1nu9ds9i 3n,Me issassn idsa slIim’povpseit beRweienve ekrlfsyl ,y isnwwgea ltloc utht ihnoeigfr Sttb.ha en LkoMsui issas noduo rn i dsmouaornrre,o uuvbnerdrienidgn ignb gy t hiaen i mrso uamptop.tl ioerAsb; o maaittn w uapas n dtao hptiehsre f sefocrnto ntwp ehroet o fmoyu nedn emrygBsyu etl ffow ri itonhtvihonel rv ae gdfo ealwis n. m ao nprtohjse,c t I tohnact e moangaoipno -
lized my nights and weekends. At the start of
eI’vveen tbueaelnl y flfyuisneg isnot o mau cghi,a nti nl afkacet ,a tt htahte irI ’vjeu nbcatrieolny. opportuniIt yr.a ised my camera, then quickly April, I was looking forward to a relaxing spring
ebxeteenn shiovem e netwo sc actcohv erbaitgse antdha tp iteeclless eovfe rtyhoe ne tlhoewier retdr ouibtl easga itnh.a t Iw acyo.u ldnI’nts tebalda,t anIt wlay veidn traudned on aAnudg usstu,m meanrd, Ib wuta s nesxtti ll thlionogk inI gk nfeowr waitr dw ast o the
exactly when and where “sandbaggers are called out a few condolences (as if anything I summer. Good grief, I thought, I don’t even have
could say would improve the situation).
needed.”
Feeling discouraged and overwhelmed kids, and my days are already filled to the brim.
Earlier today, I crowded in with my
fellow travelers around a TV in the airport by a sense of profound loss, I returned to the How could I ever take on the responsibilities of
lounge, witnessing an entire farm, from out- grey Crown Victoria that was one of my com- children and other commitments? I could barely
buildings to stately farmhouse, crumble under pany perks, wrestled it around in the small patch keep my own head above water. Were extra
the force of the floodwaters rushing through a of dry pavement, and drove the wrong way up projects and expectations being piled on me
broken levee. the exit towards the Interstate. Wondering how because I was a single employee? Or, was I still
Dozens of similar dramas have been this disaster could have happened with my being struggling with the challenge of putting myself
unfolding around me for months; yet, I feel only peripherally aware of it, I vowed to be and my plans first, of not letting others unfairly
curiously detached from these events. Here I more involved with the world around me, to not encroach upon my time or sway me from my
am, heading to Indianapolis for a week-long let my job take up so much time, and to priori- goal?
conference, while the Mississippi is cresting and tize the things that were truly important. As I tried to sort out the reasons that my
creating havoc in St. Louis. As a pharmacist Two days later, I tracked down the life was in such a shambles, I remembered
with multi-task responsibilities in a drug com- relocated Salvation Army warehouse, now in an another experience that I’d had while working
pany, I’m either on the road or busy catching up abandoned grocery store because the original for the drug company. To attend a one-day
at home and preparing for the next trip. Conse- building was under water. Their greatest need business meeting, I had flown from St. Louis to
quently, I haven’t found enough time to do my for help that day was packaging together as- Detroit, rented a car, driven to upstate Michigan,
part in the flood relief efforts. Besides, after sorted cleaning supplies for the cleanup efforts. and boarded a ferry to reach Mackinaw Island—
dragging computer equipment and suitcases People were beginning to return to their homes all this effort just to spend one night on a
through airports and medical centers, I’m and were now facing the daunting prospect of secluded island at the discounted group rate of
dubious of hefting sandbags and further aggra- scrubbing and sanitizing whatever the floods had $250 per person. As it turned out, two of the
vating my lower back problem. left behind. most crucial people for my discussion group
Staring out the plane window at the The hours passed quickly as I sorted and weren’t even there; so, no issues could be
devastation below, I chastise myself for such sealed boxes of donated goods, side-by-side with resolved.
selfishness. Surely the minor pain and inconve- the retired men, the new mothers, and the What a waste! A few days later, back in
nience would be rewarded in the eternities. I playful teenagers who were cheerfully using St. Louis, I was waiting in line at a Walgreen’s
must do something! Guilt begins gnawing at me some of their pent-up energy in a good cause. pharmacy, and an elderly woman ahead of me
again, as does some other frustration I can’t My conscience was momentarily seemed to be slowing down the line consider-
quite identify. appeased, but something deeper was still bother- ably. She was asking the clerk to add up the cost
ing me. What was wrong in my life if major of various combinations of her prescriptions, to
world and local events could barely penetrate see which ones she could afford to get that day
my consciousness? Why had it particularly and which would have to wait until next week.
Those were my thoughts as I left St. Louis that disturbed me to watch the sandbaggers on the The one drug that she wanted to be sure she got,
August day. When I returned home at the end of news racing the rising river to save a home, to treat her ulcer, was also the most expensive of
the week, I had Saturday off; so, I hopped into knowing the home would probably flood again all her prescriptions.
my car and headed towards a town in southern during the next rainstorm? Guess what? That ulcer drug was the
Missouri, where the crest was expected to hit Memories of the disaster continued to one made by the company that had just sent me
later than it had in St. Louis. But I was too late cloud my mind: A favorite restaurant of mine, on that lavish, useless trip to Michigan. | felt
for sandbagging—any structure that could coincidentally shaped like a boat and named like the world’s biggest hypocrite. It went
possibly be saved had already been reinforced, “Noah’s Ark,” becoming a centralized point for against my principles to spend money without
and the river had crested the previous night. volunteers to gather....A young man trying to accomplishing something, and it wasn’t any less
This moment, though, was my most stay and save what he could from his business, painful when it didn’t come out of my own
extensive first-hand look at the floods, and the despite the warnings to “get out immediately,” pocket. Besides, my goal in becoming a phar-
impact was far greater up close than when and eventually being rescued by helicopter from macist was to help people gain better health, and
observing it from above. My mouth dropped the top of the building....His mother, in another I wasn’t anywhere near reaching that goal.
open as I passed highway signs partially sub- city, watching the news and recognizing her son Although I felt partially responsible for
merged, farm machinery stranded on patches of as the man being airlifted....Countless people this woman’s hardship, I also had a feeling that
dry land, rooftops the only visible portion of risking their lives to save pets and material she wouldn’t be in any better financial shape the
buildings, and sandbags holding back the water goods....Sand becoming scarce and out-of-state following week, or month, or year. She was
from the edge of the Interstate. companies charging elevated prices for the essentially using sandbags to momentarily patch
I'd brought my video camera, and I commodity. These images and more were now up her situation and keep the bill collectors at
veered off at an exit to stop and shoot some permanently engraved on my heart and mind. (Continued on next page)
VOLUME 19 NUMBER 4 5
Se
Of Myself and Autumn
Apryl Martin
Keeping My Head
keeping my distance from those influences that Salt Lake City, Utah
Above Water encourage me to achieve temporal milestones. I
need to leave more quickly when I hear the
(Continued from preceeding page)
warning “get out immediately,” departing more
bay; matters for her would probably get worse
rapidly from business or personal situations that
before they got better.
are dragging me under, instead of investing four
I suddenly realized I was doing the exact
years in a bad marriage or spending time with
same thing in my own life, only in non-financial
acquaintances who consistently undermine my
matters! I was responding to seemingly urgent
self-confidence.
problems by finding temporary fixes for them,
Anticipating possible future crises, I
not concentrating on the root of the problem.
should fill up a few sandbags every day, rather
Then, like so many flooded-out homeowners, I
than hurriedly constructing an entire wall when
was going back and rebuilding in that very same
an emergency strikes. I want to seek confi-
place.
dence-building activities and truly rejuvenating
I reflected on this further while taking a
leisure time and build myself up on a regular
few days off from work. I read a couple of the
basis so that I’ll be strong enough to weather any
books I'd been wanting to read, visited friends
storm.
and relatives in case they'd forgotten me by back is stiff, leaning as far as
now, sorted as many of my “misc. junk” boxes To prioritize my time and monetary possible over the stroller, trying
investments, I’m asking myself, “If Ih ad to to keep my head under the
as I could, put pictures into photo albums, and
began a new exercise program, all the while leave my home due to a flood, what would I umbrella while making sure it
choose to carry with me?” Material goods per covers the length of Thom’s
reminding myself that I’d better get moving on
se aren’t a big temptation for me, but I tend to small sleeping body. My back is heavy with rain
these personal goals and projects because I'd
accumulate newspaper clippings, old school and books, both of which hold me to the leaf-
soon be back at work and wouldn’t have time for
papers, clothes that no longer fit, telephone and covered earth and to my fear. It is the first day
anything like this.
electric bills I paid years ago, and other stuff that of class, and I am scared to be taking him with
Each day, I felt very unsettled, and
weighs me down. I’m trying to limit myselft o a me; scared the teacher will guffaw and show us
certainly not very relaxed, as I’d prioritize my
few memorable items. the door or say even worse; scared that I will
to-do list, cry “On your mark, get set, go!”, and
It’s not easy to re-channel the path I’ve find out that I really can’t have it both ways: be
race off. It seemed I had never broken out of the
cut over the last several years—when I felt with my child and continue my education. I
habits I had in college when the things that I
constantly on the edge of a crisis, perpetually in want both so desperately that we’v e left our
really wanted to do always waited “until this
danger of being dragged under by the fast- comfortable Draper home and moved to the
round of tests is over” and when I had promised
flowing pace of today’s world. But when the small cinder block apartment on the third floor,
myself to push my physical limits “just this one
pressures of perfection and performance con- where our books and our son and our passion for
last time, then I'll never stay up all night study-
tinue to wash over me, I plan to stay standing. learning are about all that will fit.
ing again.”
But the apartment is not without grace.
I was still constantly using sandbags to
There are trees at every window, sending their
plug up the holes in my life, without ever asking
shadows in to play. Since I was very young, I
myself what it was I was trying to preserve. have prayed at an open window, and when there
Deep down, it hadn’t really mattered to me if I are trees at that window, I feel closer to God.
stayed at the top of my class or if I got a 3.3% Just last week, I went airborne again, flying for The trees are in autumn now, and the smell of
raise instead of a 3.2% raise at my job; yet, I felt pleasure rather than business this time, and their leaves perfumes our living and the autumn
compelled to do my best at everything. Some- pressed my face against the scratched-up win- wind moves our dreams about, and they dance in
thing worthwhile is worth trying to save. dow of a DC-10. The trees and the crops below the small space. And we are happy.
But I needed to choose more wisely, were beginning to take root again, and houses
taking time to judge what was truly worthwhile.
were being rebuilt along the riverbanks, wisely
The “urgent” problems others handed me at raised up on stilts. It was reassuring that some
work, my own tendency to prioritize whatever degree of normalcy was already returning to a This time I don’t want him to touch my
was in closest proximity at home (the pile of place declared a disaster area not long ago. I breasts. He does it to comfort me from the
papers on the coffee table commanded more of closed my eyes, lowered the seat back, and dream, but there is no comfort from the dream or
my attention than the family history books I’d allowed that comforting thought to completely from the reality of my breasts. The dreams are
neatly shelved until I had time to read them). I soak in. # never the same and always the same: I am
needed to change these patterns. supposed to nurse my newborn baby, but I keep
I thought of the obvious analogy, that of forgetting to nurse, or I can’t because my breasts
building my life on rock rather than on sand. won't work. My baby dies; there is my baby
My sporadic Church attendance and half-hearted blue and dead and always people with angry
attempts at tithing and fasting haven’t provided a faces asking why I let my baby die. I hold my
very strong foundation, and I’m now trying to baby and cry and apologize for my imperfect
re-establish those basic principles. But even a breasts.
house built on solid rock can be flooded, I’ve When I wake, I have one hand on my
got to move my home to safer, higher ground, fetus-swollen belly and one hand on my sili-
| cone-swollen breasts, and my first thought is of
my mother. She worships large breasts and
“positive affirmations,” and mentions Jesus
Christ during Relief Society lessons and family
prayer. Mother always lamented the smallness
is EXPONENT II 19906
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idea what that is.
“Will you marry me?” And we laugh. the salad if Id on’t want to), and whatever milk
What a silly question. We both know it is silly, is left over from the morning milking....Grilled
that our hearts have been married to one cheese sandwiches on wheat bread,
hour in NTehwey Yoparikd Cmiet y.o veNre maa hu(nmdyr edfi rsdto lalgaernst )a n tahniost hterra diftoiro ns ommaek etsi mues ngoiwd,d yb uatl l tthhee rsoammaen.c e of CBaombpbbye?l l’Is’ vec hliocskt enh imn ooadmloen. g . t”h e Wohtehreer cihsi l-
told me I was beautiful. Mildred (my second Here in this tiny BYU office, looking out over dren.
agent) told me I was beautiful. My paychecks the filthy lake that has the capacity to create
told me I was beautiful. But, I did it anyway: A beautiful sunsets in spite of its filth, we enter
couple of thousand dollars, a couple of scars, each other through our eyes and are awed at the
and I own a couple of silicone implants. Mother beauty there. Knowing him is my most sacred I have secret places in the room that I
liked to have my modeling portfolio on the experience. He is my dearest friend, my share with my brother under the edge of the
living room table, beside her scriptures. All that teacher, my pupil, my playmate, my choice olive green carpet, between the mirror and the
was years ago, before my mission, before him, with whom to labor and to love. He is my back of the dresser, under the pink crocheted
before college. I’ve looked into having the solace, my home, my joy. I want us to return dress of the doll that mother won't let us play
implants taken out, but it is very expensive. Home in honor and exaltation, to know joy with. I tuck into these secret places all the
Now I want my breasts to nurture a child, and I here, and life eternal but there is that part of me autumn leaves that they will safely hide.
am afraid of my unrighteousness, afraid that my that is still afraid that we will live, like my Mother will throw them out or vacuum them
breasts won’t work—my imperfect hallowed, parents, in silent hate and open misery. It was up, if she finds them, because she thinks they
hollow breasts. his mother’s ring. I feel overwhelmed by the belong outside. And they do. But then I must
task of keeping track of such a small, expen- belong outside also, in the eastern wind and
sive object for the rest of my life. the Virginia forest. | am too young to care
I want to always be joined to him, as I about good housekeeping. My world is full of
The shower is only warm at a quarter of am now. I cannot remember now what living the pretending that is in children's poetry:
five in the morning; so, I get up then. I don’t was before he was part of my living. This Tony and I spend long afternoons in our own
mind. The Provo Temple across the street to the proposal, this means he is willing to wait for enchanted world where we pretend we have
east is framed by autumn trees, and the trees are me while I serve my mission. If we can make been left alone by some tragedy and must live
grace to the harsh seventies architecture. I have it for three years of engagement, perhaps we in the forest. The trees are our home; we live
wanted to be here for a very long time, to wear can make it the rest of the way. We are late for off the berries and the leaves. 1 am certain
this black tag, to teach the gospel in this way, all class. He walks away from me, backward, and that trees have souls, very old souls, wise and
day long every day. runs into a tree. Burnished leaves dance and nurturing and long suffering, and that in
“Hello, I am Sister Martin, I ama drift to the ground around this beautiful, autumn they offer their wisdom in golds and
missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of clumsy man I love. scarlets given to the wind to give to us. We
Latter-day Saints. This is my companion, Sister give them names, Tony and I; we speak to
them, and they hear us. And we are happy. *
Iverson. We would like to share a book with
you...”
I whisper to myself as I dress and tell I wake every morning and don’t want it to
my imaginary contact about Lehi and ships and be morning. Hit my head on the cold steel of
new land and disobedience and redemption. I the sixth step before I get around to actually
testify of Christ to the imaginary contact and climbing the spiral staircase, unfinished steel
feel the realness and goodness of Him wash over spiral staircase, welded poorly, never carpeted,
me. too narrow. Climbing it makes me dizzy not
The long days and the commitment because it is spiral but because it leads to her
pattern and the large group meetings and the room. Her room with the blue carpet that has
commitment pattern and the scriptures and the forgotten to be blue is trying to be yellow-blue,
commitment pattern and the disgusting smell of or yellow-brown-blue, or maybe just trying to
hominy and the commitment pattern. He is Jack die, but not gracefully as the autumn leaves
Nielsen, my mission president. He is righteous outside are dying. I don’t want to go to her; I
and prominent and white and male, and he asks don’t want to look into her eyes that used to be
me in my first interview why I have come and chocolate brown and are now mud brown. I
VOLUME 19 NUMBER 4
By a Woman Still in Her get it out through the proper channels at the Instead of pressuring me to speed up and finish,
Fourth Month Only proper time. Well, anytime would be fine. I sat they insisted I slow down and wait. Instead of
for stretches on the toilet to encourage my large scheduling their intrusions or civilly asking for a
Alyson VonFeldt intestines to give up what was not theirs to keep. return call, they descended like thoughtless
Lawrence, Kansas When the edge of the seat pressed uncomfort- visitors who would never go home
ably on the backs of my legs, Doug helped me I was unadaptable and, therefore,
T find a footrest ofju st the right height. A laundry unreliable. I was giving excuses on the phone
he more a woman aims for basket? Too high. A hat box? No. Finally, a I heard of other pregnant women who
personal identity and quadruple combination from the study was sat at their desks in cold sweats, garbage cans
autonomy, the more she perfect. Our questions about the use of this underfoot. But I could not get up and sit at my
develops her imagination, book were overshadowed, like everything else, desk. Another woman I know drove daily to
the fiercer will be her by my immediate carnal requirements. work with a bag under her chin—she could
struggle with nature—that is, The days moved so slowly. I could only vomit and steer at the same time. But even ifI
with the intractable physical focus on the most basic functions of physical thought I might be sick, I asked Doug to go to
laws of her own body. And being. I could not even think of eating the the store. The mail box was even too far away.
the more nature will punish vegetables I knew my baby needed—the folic I could not get up, and I could not go out. But
her: do not dare to be free! acid, the other vitamins. Canned green beans perhaps I should have gotten up, and I should
for your body does not were the best I could do. Surely this was not have gone out. Perhaps I should have been less
belong to you. natural—I should feel better than ever so that I afraid of throwing up. I was a wimp. “Did you
— Camille Paglia could compose the perfect diet for that being do any work today?” said Doug. No. “Did you
inside me in its most critical stages of formation. feel well enough to work last week?” said my
Femininity forced itself on me, and I I was furious. I was enraged. No other animal boss. No. I'm sorry.
came face to face with what I am. I had loved on earth experiences morning sickness. My I sit down and cry, and even as I cry the
the femininity of soft skin, lush mascaraed creator had laid something on me that was not tightness in my throat brings gag after gag. I'm
eyelashes, shining hair, and perfumes that rational. It was a spiteful act, and I could not crying, and I'm gagging, and I'm a pathetic
lingered on my silk blouses between wearings. understand why. human. I'ma pathetic woman.
But my femaleness tured on me and threw me The work piled up on my desk. I was My nature, naked, backed me into a
on the couch, into the kitchen haltingly to tum out of control of myself. comer and thumped me on the chest. I bit back
potato flakes and cream like a vicious animal; flight
of wheat into hourly was not my choice. But my
sustenance, onto the fight is only with myself.
bathroom floor in a Yet, I lie on my
heaving heap. couch, and I read poems by
A shower was mothers who hold their
the greatest adventure of babies and feel joy. This is
my day. I had once what I want. I did not know
climbed under the water pregnancy would be like
every moming as a this, but I do not regret it. I
thoughtless prerequisite. am not the first to be torn
Now, I could not endure between earth and sky.
this event until late Just as my abdo-
afternoon. Only after men begins to expand, I
eating pea soup, and begin to understand what I
waiting for just a little am. I am not fooled
digestion—but not too anymore. I am Western
much—did I adjust creation, swerving from
pelting drops to a pres- nature, but failing to
sure and temperature of obliterate it. I am pregnant
mildest effect. Even solipsist. I am Paglia's
then, the white dark chthonian machine, trapped
corridor of my bath in my increasingly wavy,
would reel, and I would watery body, forced to
hurry to finish and crawl listen and learn from
into my bed—not even something beyond and yet
thoroughly dry—close within me.
And | anticipate
my eyes and try to relax,
to be found there asleep that the days ahead will
by my husband at 5:30, teach me more. My friend
Betsy tells me that her nine-
matted, unparted damp
month morning sickness
hair, and soft naked skin.
At least my skin was still prepared her for the impos-
sibility of scheduling
soft. But my over-
perspiring underarms, as likely to make me gag Pregnancy slapped me in the face. I motherhood. After birth, she was ready for
as a whiff of frying tortilla, would soon undo my thought that it would be like taking on a new endless crying nights and the other inconve-
afternoon's work and remind me that I was project, just so many Gantt charts oftr imesters, niences ofch ildren that, although I have heard of
loosing the battle to remain what I thought I fetal development, and stages of labor. I would them, I do not yet know of them. *
was. arrange things to accommodate its requirements.
I turned inward, focusing my efforts on But the corporal demands thrown up for me
getting something in my stomach in order to were qualitatively different from the corporate Alyson Skabelund VonFeldt
keep what was already there, there, and then to demands I knew how to absorb and influence. was born December 30, 1993.
8 EXPONENT II 1996
the wall directly opposite my chair: “If you discussed the issue, the more emotionally
The Unexpected Choice tthhei nkr ectehpatt ioynoius t.m”i ght be pregnant, please inform utunrcmoomiflo rhtaadb ljeu stI abbeocuatm em.o veWdh enm e mtyo minyn erfe et and
Linda Paxton Greer I had been in many x-ray rooms with flight, the instructor quoted, “A mother should
Provo, Utah lots of these signs, but this time, the sign seemed do everything in her power to preserve her life.”
to speak to me. I began to think I was going I felt as if my heart would collapse as I
crazy. Eventually, I got up and moved to the contemplated a need to really consider ending
rs. Greer, you must abort your other side of the room, hoping to avoid the my pregnancy. I consulted with my bishop. I
baby.” The words wrapped me power of the sign. I felt rather stupid. The fasted and prayed fervently. I had my name
in horror. They offered a solution presence of the sign became so annoying that I placed on the prayer roll.
worse than the problem could was motivated to get up, cross the room, and The following week, during my regu-
ever be. I had cancer; now, I was inform the receptionist that they should place a larly scheduled oncology appointment, the
pregnant, and Dr. Krueger wanted me to abort. lead shield over my pelvic region. The recep- doctor said, “Linda, you have seven children.
How could I bear it? tionist informed me that such a thing was not They need a mother.”
possible because the area that they needed to I went home, driving slowly to stretch
my time alone to think and ponder the gravity of
It was May 1986—a time when life was shoot was located in that region.
ybleeofartrn .,b renIaonst t J atanaubkaoernu yt, a wtIhaey f .is ristIz te d hioasfdc ao nvosetmr aelbdle eanp elaa.u mgpoM oydi n my that. We I“n Tse’aemid d ,s to“or Wryef,li nld,M rosgu.ot Gairhfee eyarod.u,.’ rtWeh ee pn.rc”ea gnn’atn td.o” ctohfoa mto ptashtsearstsi eomwneh ntoa. n dh aTvuhene dyec rhdsoitsdea nnn deiaenbdgo ratf iomoron t.t hheorIs. en owwIh konh aovwe
husband’s employer was changing insurance I thought, “Pregnant? That’s absurd. I have wrestled with this agonizing resolution. It
companies and had not decided on a new one. am only six weeks post-op." is not easy to make such a decision. Like the
Our family finances were in such deplorable I was sent to the hospital lab to have my individual right to choose or reject chemo-
shape that I didn’t dare see a doctor unless a blood drawn for a serum pregnancy test. I was therapy treatment, deciding whether to have an
good insurance policy was in place. In February, asked to wait for the results and informed that it abortion must be a very personal choice, one that
I managed to severely damage our only car would take about twenty minutes. I read another cannot fairly be judged by another. Because of
when I swerved to miss an oncoming vehicle. It magazine. Finally, a fresh-pressed nurse came the weight of the issue, the choice must be made
was still driveable, but the windows on the into the room and crossed to the nurses’ station. through deep thought, fasting, prayer, and
driver's side were all broken out, and we did not “Hello, Dr. Krueger. Mrs. Greer’s listening to the Spirit.
have the necessary funds to replace them. It is pregnancy test is positive.” At that point, I remembered a television
very cold in northern Virginia in February. Then, Positive!? There was simply no way I interview with Sammy Davis, Jr., that I saw
about mid-March, the new insurance company could be pregnant. when I was fifteen. The commentator asked,
was chosen, and the lump had not become “Nurse, maybe my blood sample was “What was the most difficult thing for you to
larger—a good sign. I made an appointment confused with someone else’s.” overcome in Harlem?” He replied, “Not having
with Dr. Fanale, my obstetrician. He examined “Mrs. Greer, you’re the only patient who a mother. But I believe anyone can overcome
me and diagnosed fibrocystic tumors. But, he has been in the laboratory this morning. There any obstacle, even not having a mother.”
wanted me to see a general surgeon, “just to be is no mistake. Dr. Krueger wants you to come to I believed that my children could
sure.” Two weeks later I had a biopsy. his office right away.” survive without me. I pictured their faces; I
Prior to the surgery, my surgeon Dr. As I was walking through the hospital wanted to hold them close and cry until I was
Seamons said, “Linda, I don’t believe it is corridors toward the parking lot, the wave of exhausted. I knew if I aborted my baby, I would
cancer. You are simply not a candidate. I’d tell surprise and shock melted into sheer elation that always wonder what he or she would have
you if I thought it was a possibility.” Twenty- a new life had begun and would add to our looked like and that when I looked at my
four hours later in the recovery room it was a quiver of seven children. By the time I reached children, I would be reminded of the one I didn’t
different story. With tears running in rivulets the exit doors, I was skipping and shedding tears have and would be rendered a mental cripple of
down his cheeks, he said, “Linda, it is cancer. of joy at the prospect of having a new little baby. a mother. My thoughts felt like revelation.
The breast will have to be removed.” Dr. Krueger was not nearly so excited. The cloud was lifted from my mind, and
I said, “Oh, but how will I feed my In fact, he was angry that I would do such an I decided that beautiful sunny day that I would
babies?” He gently but firmly replied, “Linda, irresponsible thing. The truth of the matter was have my baby. IfI d ied, my family would be
there will be no more babies,” But the unmistak- that never in our whole married lives had we taken care of by the Lord. If I lived, my joy
able voice of a kind Heavenly Father assured me tried to prevent pregnancy, except this time. would be full. A peace came to my soul that I
that the “no more babies” part was untrue. His Then, Dr. Krueger delivered the blow: “Mrs. had not known for weeks. I knew this decision
Spirit surrounded me, despite the grim diagno- Greer, you must abort this baby. Your cancer is was right for me.
sis. estrogen sensitive. If you continue with the So, I opted for neither an abortion or
Four days later, I underwent surgery for pregnancy, expect large tumor growth and chemotherapy. My post-pregnancy scans
a modified radical mastectomy. The following possible death. You have a 40% chance of showed no evidence of cancer. I enjoyed
week, Dr. Krueger, my oncologist, recom- living, at best.” remission for nearly four years. Although I have
mended six months of chemo and radiation Now, I was the one who was angry. In since had a recurrence, undergone surgery, and
therapy because of the lymph node involvement. his stiffly starched manner, he presumed to be chemo and radiation therapy, I have been in
I resolutely resisted the idea. I had several God, capable of deciding my fate with his remission again for two years. The love, unity,
friends who had undergone chemotherapy with statistics and theories. How does anyone and joy that our little boy has brought to all the
less than desirable results. One died after a measure a mother’s heart? members of our family is worth the price. He is
seven-year struggle with what I believed was I drove home in a somber mood. My deeply loved. If I am suddenly taken from my
chemotherapy—not cancer. I struggled for husband and I made an appointment with Dr. family, Justin will be a constant reminder to
several weeks about my decision. I had not Krueger for the next afternoon. At the conclu- them of how much we love each other.
decided firmly to follow the advice of the sion of the appointment, I had a lump in my It’s true 1986 was not a good year, but
doctors, but I was weakening. I knew that it was throat, but anger was still my dominant emo- 1992 is the best. Nothing in the world is more
important to obtain baseline x-rays for the tion—angry that I could have been placed in exciting than my five-year-old putting his arms
medical staff to have in evaluating my progress. such a dilemma. How could I have the wisdom around my neck and whispering in my ear, “I
On the scheduled day, I entered the all to choose between our baby’s life and my own? loves you, Mommy.” And nothing in the world
too familiar x-ray suite, signed the register and Several days later, I attended a Church is more comforting than knowing the Spirit
seated myself in a comfortable chair with a Institute class entitled “Contemporary Issues.” speaks in a thousand small ways about our
favorite magazine to pass the time. As I began The topic was abortion. The sources of author- deepest needs and that His answers bring us
to peruse the magazine, I found myself becom- ity were messages and letters from our Church light. #
ing increasingly uncomfortable with a sign on leaders and the scriptures. The longer we
VOLUME 19 NUMBER 4 9
Human Beings, Human Doings,
or Human Gettings?
Barbara Mackelprang
Salt Lake City, Utah
hen we entangle our “being” with our modem medicine, I survived. The grew, their beings were unconditionally
“doing” and “getting,” we are lost doctors restored my heart beat. loved. The doing and the getting added
when changes occur. What happens to Surviving the operation, however, fun and, yes, very interesting and
us when we get sick? We can also was not the biggest hurdle. I came challenging experiences, but it’s still
become critical of what we are “doing home no longer able to do many of their core essences that I cherish today.
to get” in order to “be,” leading to an the activities I enjoyed. I could not We each can have this love of
entanglement of negative talk to get out of the house and go as I once self and even the cherishing of self.
ourselves. This self-talk is most often did. My life had been full of “doing We can be appreciative of whom we
self-degrading. to get”; so, immobility was very are first and then our doings and
I once overheard a very young difficult for me. gettings can be enjoyed and appreci-
nephew as he was talking aloud to I went into a deep depres- ated more fully, even when they fall
himself, making some very critical sion, and because of this experience, short of our expectations. It is when
remarks about what he should have I began a different journey, one in we find our core being that we can
done. I asked him if he had a voice in which I learned to value myselfa s a discover gratitude for self and thrive in
his head that said mean things to him. person—my desires, my essence—in the world, realizing that we are not
His eyes grew big, and he dropped his a totally new way. I overcame the doctors, or mothers, or fathers but that
head. I asked him who he thought this depression; however, it was in we are beings practicing the art of
voice was and he exclaimed, “Satan.” “dying” that I eventually learned of a “doctoring,” “mothering,” or “father-
“Ts it really Satan or is it you talking to far deeper meaning of living, to value ing,” thereby fully and completely
yourself?” I asked. A little embar- the promise given from God that we being who we are. It is in loving
rassed, he acknowledged that it was will be judged according to the ourselves that we can truly live and
really his own voice talking. This little desires of our hearts. I have learned love another. It is in the “being” that
child had already learned to berate more about loving God and myself. I we transcend the “doing to get,”
himself when his performance was less have learned of God’s love. In this transforming our lives and gaining the
than “perfect.” loving cycle, I have also gained a power to discover our missions, our
This kind of self-talk creates greater understanding of loving my destinies.
pictures of ourselves doing, saying, and neighbor as myself. This journey to discovery
thinking the negative. These pictures Within each ofu s is a core can affect us and others in a subtle
then produce negative emotions, personality that is deeper than yet profound way. As we physically,
resulting in a lack of self-worth. When learned behavior, deeper than the mentally, emotionally, and spiritually
we engage in self-deprecating talk, our critical voice within. It is this core heal, we are more able to live lives of
motivation to reach for mature goals is being who knows how to be accept- confidence in ourselves and others,
minimized, and then we cannot fully ing, gentle, and nurturing. When we seeking not to impress but
realize or understand our potential. In love ourselves that “being” is real- to be impressed with the
this state of blame and shame, we ized and appreciated. It is then we goodness of
mistakenly assume that we have to can understand that we are “human others. We
“do” in order to “get” in order to “be” beings” not human doings” or can live
who we are. In this state of negativism, “human gettings.” without
we believe that we have to obtain As each of my babies was fear and
approval or recognition from ourselves placed in my arms, I knew no words in faith. #
as well as others, and we ruefully roll to describe my love. A newborn
along this road toward self-defeating baby is totally dependent, unable to
behaviors, becoming our own worst do anything to get love except “to
enemy. be” and yet the infinite worth of a
During surgery a few years newborn baby is beyond description.
ago, I suffered heart failure. Due to I was so deeply appreciative and
prayers, my own determination, my grateful for every little spirit that
sense of mission, God willing, and entered my life. As my children
EXPONENT II 1996
