The Real LDS Feminists... and the lessons I learned from them.

Lately, there has been a lot of talks on "women" thanks to the current election, several new articles about LDS feminists, and even a recent blog post on modesty.  I've noticed a trend of negativity in those articles.  Negative thoughts about women.  Negative thoughts about men.  Negative thoughts about the LDS Church.  Negative thoughts about ...... just NEGATIVE, NEGATIVE, NEGATIVE.

I don't like feeling negatively about women... or about men.  Or anyone/anything for that matter. Negativity never leads to something positive. So I decided to turn my scowl into a smile.  In order to do that, I needed to be inspired.  I needed to look to my she-roes of old-- you know, those women that inspire you with their faith in God, their courage and their sheer awesomeness.  That is where the title for this blog comes into play:  The Real  LDS Feminists and the Lessons I Learned from Them. I call them "true feminists" because I believe that they inhibit all that is wonderful about a woman... and all that is wonderful about being a disciple of Jesus Christ... and I called them "real" because they have stood the test of time unlike you and I.

Let me introduce you to them.

ESTHER, queen of Persia

RUTH, the converted Moabite

EMMA SMITH,  first RS president

I've decided to not really tell you my thoughts actually.  I would rather let these women speak for themselves.  So, I'm going to tell you their stories... in my own words.  See them through my eyes.... and from that, you can see the lessons I learned from them. 

Esther.  Oh, how I want to name one of daughters after this brave woman. I always picture Esther as the quiet type; beautiful but shy.  Not really a trouble maker. She was not out to prove anything to the world and even with all she was asked to do, that never changed.  You see, Esther was asked to approach the King to save her people. No one, let alone a woman, was allowed to simply go speak with the King.  Esther was sure to tell her uncle this.  But he responded with words of wisdom: "For if thou altogether holdest thy peace at this time, then call there enlargement and deliverance arise to the Jews from another place;... and who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?" (Esther 4:14) Mordecai reminded Esther that this duty was not one of "sticking it to the man" but rather, one of saving a people.  Esther decided to do it.  She approached the King with humility, a prayer in her heart, and with fasting.  She did not use this opportunity to prove something to society; to "stick it to the man".  She used it instead to be an instrument in God's hands. 

Ruth.  Gentle, sweet Ruth.  She was a convert to the Gospel.  Once her husband died, society told her that she should return to her people, her family.  That's not such a terrible thing you know?  Ruth did not let society tell her what to do. Instead, she turned to the God she had grown to love.  I have no doubt she prayed to ask what he would have her do with this situation.  She got her answer-- to go with Naomi, live with the covenant people.  Naomi would not have it.  She told Ruth to go back to Moab but Ruth insisted: "Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for wither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God" (Ruth 1:16).  Ruth did not use her own personal revelation to tell others what to do-- not even her own sister by marriage who returned to Moab.  Instead, she walked side by side with Naomi, confident that she was doing the right thing for herself.

Emma.  I don't think anyone will ever fully understand the weight that was on Emma Smith's shoulders. I also want to name one of my daughters Emma.  What a heritage.  Emma was a witness to the Restoration of the fulness of Christ's church. Emma watched as men, and even a woman, were witnesses to the golden plates.  God reassured her: "Murmur not because of the things which thou hast not see, for they are withheld from thee and from the world, which is wisdom in me in a time to come" (Doctrine and Covenants 25:4).  Emma learned to trust that things beyond her understanding were not beyond God's wisdom.  She was put to the test again and again as she watched imperfect men receive the priesthood; as she watched her husband took more wives.  Despite this, she did not let the world's view that "she wasn't getting all she deserved" stop her from reaching her potential as an "elect lady".  She worked hard to care for the sick in Nauvoo that first summer; she organized the first Hymnal; she served faithfully as the Relief Society's first president. 

Amazing women aren't they? They were strong.  They were courageous.  They defied their society's expectations of what a woman's role was.  They were faithful.  They were real. They performed miracles.  Think of what they received! Esther was even more loved by the King.  Ruth remarried to a wonderful man.  Emma was promised the highest degree of glory.  But let us look beyond them, Esther saved an entire people from persecution;  Ruth's posterity included King David and stretched down to Jesus Christ; and Emma is the reason the Relief Society was even formed, an organization that is blessing millions of women around the world. 

I want to be a real LDS feminist.  I want to be humble, courageous, defy expectations, faithful.... I want to perform miracles.  After all, a lot is expected of us-- the women of this last dispensation.  Let us rise to the occasion like those she-roes of old- with humility, with faith in Jesus Christ, with wisdom and understanding, with compassion, with all those traits that make us, as women, beautiful powerful. 

Fire hurts...

As long as I can remember, I have loved the analogy of being clay in a potter's hands. I love the feeling of the Master's hands gently pulling me or pushing me.  Sure, sometimes I cannot see what I am supposed to be-- I look more like a blob than anything right now but hey, I have trust that the Potter knows. He knows what he wants me to be and all that pushing and prodding is worthwhile.  Occasionally, he has to wet me down to keep me soft but for the most part, I've done pretty well at moving when he pushes.


Contrast that with the image of the "refiner's fire".  Ugh. This analogy makes me uncomfortable.  Hot temperatures beyond comprehension; a sweaty, dirty man adding more coals to the pit; steam, flames of yellow and red.... seriously, not a pretty picture. I don't care if it can turn a coal into a diamond or whatever the analogy was, I'll stick to my clay.  Molding clay does not hurt, walking through fire does. 

This might take a little patience on your part but I would love to tell you how I got here,n writing a blog post about the "refiner's fire" or being clay... and it's kind of a long story, but worth the read (I promise).


I have a confession..... I wear hearing aids.  So I was trying to find a picture where you can see them good; this is the best I could find. (And please, who doesn't want to see a picture of me at 13 years old?) In fact, I have had hearing aids since the 3rd grade.  The only thing I remember when I got them was having my teacher talk about it in class; my mother bought my sister and I books about sign language and one about a girl who had hearing aids... I think it was supposed to make us feel okay with being different.  Needless to say, I don't really remember not having hearing aids and yet... I never identified myself as being hearing impaired.  I rarely  thought about the fact that I wore hearing aids.  Maybe this was because I couldn't remember life without them. It was a fact like the sun rises each day.  Something that is and always will be.

In fact, I was so far removed from this identity that it would literally irk me when people called me that.... "hearing impaired".  I saw it as an insult, somehow undermining my strength or my humanity (to be somewhat dramatic).  I hate how on some DVDs, when you go to put on English subtitles it says "English for the Hearing Impaired". I almost wouldn't put on subtitles in rebellion to that "derogatory" term.

Denial was my greatest coping mechanism.  When denial wasn't an option because someone pointed out that there was something in my ear; I simply replied, nonchalantly, "oh my ears are broken and these help me hear".  They would drop the matter after that.  I even tried making a joke about it-- I have been known to say "Well, you see, I'm just SO perfect God had to make something wrong with me to keep me humble... ya know?"  Yeah, even if that was God's plan, it didn't work-- I am far from humble.

It has now been almost two months since that fateful day after rafting the Nile River when I went to put my "ears", as I humorously nicknamed them, back in and one of them would not turn on. To make matters worse, the other aid only worked at around 30%. I remember when we finally got home, I went into my bedroom and just cried.  I couldn't help it.  For the second time this summer I was thrown face to face with a reality I had not only escaping for 16 years but a reality I thought was still five, ten years down the road.  That reality was.... My ears ARE broken, I AM hearing impaired, and it is NOT going to get better.

I cannot even begin to tell you all the thoughts that ran through my mind that night and every night since then.  But, I do want to share with you a few because like it or not, we will all have to pass through the refiner's fire at some point in our lives.  It might hit you unexpected, like it did me but when you are in it, there is nowhere to go but forward.  You cannot turn back, you've already been burned.

They say that once Satan pulls you down, he will never join you for the fall. He is more than willing to build up your pride, to keep your stubborn, to even entice you with a rewarding future but the second God places you in the refiner's fire, Satan bolts for the emergency exit.  I think that is why the refiner's fire was so hard for me at first.  All the things I relied on most to get me through my hearing impairment-- pride, stubbornness and a"dream big" attitude evaporated in the first burst of flames.  My pride couldn't do much when suddenly I was completely and utterly dependent on others to translate conversations, answer my phone, etc; my stubbornness only isolated me more because I was unwilling to admit I was anything less than strong, independent; and my "dream big" attitude was crushed in the reality that I could never change the world when I couldn't hear it.

So there I was, barely in this fire when I fell. I landed on my knees, with my head hung low in my hands. Luckily, unlike my life-long imagery of this ruthless refiner's fire, God doesn't leave you kneeling for long.  He offers you a sip of cool water and points you in the right direction.  He might offer some loving words by reminding you who you are and that despite what you think, you can get through this. He puts people in your path who are willing to walk through the fire with you-- even if for a brief moment.  These are friends and family who are willing to be patient with the big things and who rejoice in the small things.  They are the ancient and modern Prophets who speak inspiring words. But like I mentioned, they can only walk part of the way with you because this is not their fire to walk through.


There is one person, however, who will walk with you the whole way.  He will walk in silence when you just need to cry.  He will hold your hand when you need the strength.  He will kindly listen to you tell some pointless story while you sit on a bench, resting till you have the determination to walk through the next set of flames.  His name is Jesus Christ.  Now, I know that not everyone who reads this blog believes in Christ.  I'm not here to tell you to, I'm simply here to tell you that right now, He is the only one I know that is beside me every step of the way.  The refiner's fire is when you must put to the test everything you say you believe.  I have known Jesus Christ was the Son of God for about as long as I can remember... and I have said it to people too but now, when it really counts, can I trust it? Do I have faith enough?  Some days I do, some days I don't.  I like to think on the days I don't, that is when He is holding my hand.

So that is my story.  As of yet I'm still here, walking through this refiner's fire.  I'm trying to get my hearing back to where it was with the help of new hearing aids (though I'm growing more comfortable with the likelihood that my hearing will never get back to where it was before without a cochlear implant).  I attempt to talk with people on the phone-- sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail.  My future still seems unclear but luckily, my God is a painter who has shown me a few pictures of what life will be like after this fire clears.  And those who have walked with me for a mile or two? I'm not sure they will ever know just how grateful I am for I never would've made it this far without them.

She's going where?!

"I think I want to go back to Utah".  This thought came to me near the beginning of this summer.  I know what you are thinking.... "But Corrine, don't you hate Utah?", or "Corrine, you just spent the last 5 years trying to get out of Utah!", or maybe even "But what about DC or NC like you were talking about earlier?" Trust me, I have asked myself all of those questions and probably more questions you haven't even thought of.

Since I've already gotten asked all of these questions, and I know that with each person who finds out, I will only get asked them again, I decided to tell the world (okay, let's face it, like, three people read this blog but.... let's aim for the world) WHY I decided to pack my bags into my run-down car and head back to Utah.

*(Side note: These reasons are in order of "deep"-ness). 

Reason 1:  I still have friends there! This is probably the least "important" in terms of being a grown-up, by golly, I would miss all my darling peeps. I have been blessed to have friends scattered across the country so friends in Utah, don't go getting a big head or anything.  I think this is more of a huge BONUS for going back then an actual reason but we'll count it.  


Reason 2: Now we are getting a little bit more serious, but not uber "sappy/deep".  I decided to take a year off before graduate school because I wanted to build up my resume.  I wanted to give schools something that says "wow. she's done a lot already!"  Ergo, I wanted a job doing development, or anthropology, or nonprofit.  But, I also needed a job that would pay me money; I have loans to pay off, rent, savings, etc.

I began my job search...  DC grew frustrating because the things I qualified for didn't pay anything (because they were all internships) and I could NOT afford to live in that expensive city making little to now money.  One of the lessons of adulthood is that everything has a time and a place in our lives.  I will have my day in DC, it's just not today.  North Carolina is a GREAT place for finding entry level jobs in the business field but even just looking at the job postings made me want to fall asleep.  No offense my business friends. So then Utah comes along and BAM! The more I looked, the more I found jobs that interested me, that would benefit the community, AND would pay me.  What? Utah seemed to be the place to find the job I was looking for. My dad said to me yesterday, "You gotta go to where the jobs are." So that is what I'm doing.


Reason 3: Are you ready for some depth? I have spent almost seven years of growing, learning, struggling, laughing in Provo. I have spent Thanksgiving, Easter, Christmas, New Year's, birthdays, etc in this place.  I have experienced birth and death.  I have loved, and lost that love. So..... as much as I didn't want to admit it (and sometimes still don't ) Utah has become more of a home than anywhere else.  That should count for something right?



Reason 4: God gave me one task this last year when I returned to Utah.  He said "learn to love Provo... really love it". I won't get all personal  but let's just say I spent all of last year looking at when I got to leave this "blasted" place instead of learning to love.  I ran out of Utah as fast as I could, relieved to see it in my rear-view mirror.  I thought I could leave my regrets there, leave everything behind because finally I was gone.

 Then, as time went on, I realized I failed. I had failed at the one task God gave me and instead of leaving Provo a better person, being grateful for the time I had spent there, I left Provo with a lot of regret.  I soon found myself thinking "man, I wish I could do last year over again".  Seldom in life do we get second chances.  This is my second chance. This is a chance for me to go and learn to love Utah.  Let Utah into my heart and let it change me in a way I have never let it before.


To end this post, let's continue with this theme of change shall we?  I read a quote today (no matter where I read it or who it was by) that said: "Prepare, don't plan".  For a person who has Plan A-Z for the next five years of her life, and for a person who makes a hourly schedule of her day... .this is hard advice to take. So I could just ignore it right? WRONG.  This struck a chord with me. I guess it is time to change my mentality about life once again. Le sigh. 

Preparing for life implies changing, growing, getting ready for.  I looked up "prepare" in the dictionary and it gave a wonderful definition.  In music, to prepare means to "lead up to (a discord, an embellishment, etc) by some preliminary tone or tones".  So whether my life has a discord or an embellishment waiting for me, that is a mystery.  All I know is that I going to practice, and sweat, and laugh, and cry, and challenge myself so that when the times comes, I will be ready for those discords and embellishments.

My dad told me yesterday (what? he was on a roll of wisdom okay?) "You don't always have to have the right answer, or any answer.  You just have to have an opinion".  So whether I'm wrong or I'm right, I'm thinking that Utah is the best place I can be to make those preparations and I'm thinking God is okay with that too.  

Goodbye, Hello

Dear Africa,

You have brought me closer to my God once again, this time in the fertile soils of Uganda.  I don't know if it is the people, if it is being in a foreign country, or if it the very nature of being without the comforts I am used to that brings me closer to him.  I sometimes think it all of the above.  This summer I have learned humility-- or at least the seeds planted last summer have been fertilized in rich Uganda soil.  

I have been blessed by the example of diligent, humble, steadfast members here in the Ntinda Branch.  Mary, Josephine, Sam Christine, the first counselor whose name I can never remember, Sister Oakley, Lililan, Susan, Grace, Anita, Annet, the list could go on and on-- A part of you will forever be with me.  When I teach my children of Christ-like people who have made their mother who she is, your names will be mentioned, your stories told.  

Uganda, I came to you broken and I knew in my heart that only you could make me whole.  I am still broken but instead of a soul broken with regret and bitterness, I have a broken heart and a contrite spirit.  For that, Uganda, I am forever in your debt.  I know God knew I needed Uganda so I guess I'm indebted to Him for inspiring me to come.  Oh Uganda, I miss you and I have not even left yet.  

BUT, instead of letting that sadness turn into despair, I will channel it for good.  I will strive to keep that spirit of Africa-- the spirit that mends my heart, humbles my pride, and turns my actions outwards to others. No one can do that but me.  This time, your lessons will not be forgotten or cast aside because I am no longer in the place that taught them to me.  This time, I will take the lessons home. I will share with others the Spirit of Africa, for that truly is Africa's gift to the world. 

Sincerely,

an American girl

.........the lands that I love...... 

Dear America,

Africa has done it again.  Everyone tells me, "Corrine, America is awesome.  Be excited to come home".  My response is always "But Africa steals my heart, Africa makes me forget America!"  

My home country, I am pleased to tell you that this summer is different.  Yes, it was Uganda this time that stole my heart.  Yes, I have forgotten what American ice cream, cheese and fries taste like.  Yes, I wish I could stay here forever but I made a realization.  Loving you does not mean that I love Africa any less.  Being excited about going home does not make this summer any less amazing than it truly was.  

So, America, here is what I'm excited about.  I'm excited to take a stroll through Central Park with my sister, to sit on the bed while my mother scratches my back.  I'm excited to wind through the mountains of Appalachia to see my bearded brother or to teach my father all that African food has to offer. I'm excited to catch up with old friends on the phone because Facebook messages just don't quite cut it for me.  I'm excited to eat lunch with one of my mentors, Ms. Partridge, and listen to her wise counsel.  I'm excited to see my mzungu friends in their American clothes, living their American lives.  

But I think the thing I am most excited about is being back in a place where I know that I matter.  You see, elections are coming up which I'm sure you know.  I'm sure you also know that Uganda has had the same president for over 20 years because he does not believe in giving up his seat.  The Ugandan people do not feel like they have a voice in their government.  Government is supposed to be of the people, by the people, and most importantly, for the people.  It was you who taught me that. Thank you America for protecting my voice.  

I know you are not perfect America but I still love you, and I am happy to be stepping onto your soil soon.  

Sincerely, 

an African in spirit

Half Serious, Half Not.

HALF NOT-SERIOUS PART


We went on a SAFARI!! OH YEAH!!!!! Talk about touristy.  Hahahaha.  I was asking everyone on the drive up to the park what animal they were most excited to see.  Some said lions, some said elephants.  What was mine? Drumroll please........ THE GIRAFFE (aka the camelopardalis)!  To ensure that I saw at least one, I wore my giraffe looking dress Kristi bought me in Ghana (seriously, just look at the resemblance?!).  Well, I guess the Animal God liked my dress, and my heart felt plea to see the giraffe because we saw at least 30!

....... oh, they are beautiful creatures.  They move so slowly, elegantly.  And their spots... oh! So beautiful.  Did you know their spots act as thermal windows to keep them cool? Oh, did you also know that their tongues are blackish purple to act as sunscreen so they do not get sunburned? I mean, who thinks of this stuff?! 


Anyways, it was an AMAZING experience.  I am in LOVE with nature and all of its wonders.  Seeing the animals in their natural habitat, seeing the gorgeous waterfall we went to the next day, it makes me SO GRATEFUL to be living on this planet. Earth is beautiful and I thank God for creating it.   



Now for a photo montage of animals/scenes of nature from the trip.  Enjoy. 

    .

Half Serious Part

Genocide (noun): the deliberate and systematic extermination of a national, racial, political, or cultural group.

After a weekend of natural beauty, we spent four days in Rwanda.  It is a country endowed with beautiful rolling hills, trees that look like they belong in the Redwood Forest, and gorgeous sunsets.  Eighteen years ago, those beautiful hills and sunsets were covered with the blood of one million Rwandans-- killed because of a hatred bred out of colonialism.  It started on 6 April 1994 and lasted about 100 days. (To learn more, visit this Frontline special.  It has a timeline, pictures, and other really good information).  "It was genocide from the first day... the genocidaires were more successful in their evil plans than anyone would have dared to believe. Rwanda was dead".  One million persons  were killed in 100 days.  How does that happen? Why does that happen? The fact of the matter is, Rwanda has not been the only genocide.  Part of the memorial was paying tribute to other genocides that have occurred since 1900-- Armenia 1915-1918, Herero in Namibia 1904-1095, the Balkans 1990s, The Holocaust 1939- 1945, Cambodia 1975- 1979. How does this happen? Why does this happen? I want to spend my life figuring that out.  


To say the least, visiting this memorial was one of the most sobering experiences of my life.  I wish to share with you some of my thoughts, my emotions while I learned, as I felt, as I experienced the Genocide.  So, some of these comments will be my own thoughts, some of them will be quotes that were displayed at the Memorial.  

About 250,000 people are buried in these graves. There is a wall next to the mass graves. It is a wall of names.  It was standing in front of that wall that it really hit me, "these were real people".  When the numbers start to get large, the more impersonal it becomes.  The easier it is to group them all together en masse but the truth is, they were individuals; they were killed individually. 


"If you must remember, remember this,... the Nazis did not kill six million Jews... nor the Interhamwe kill a million Tutsis, they killed one and then another and then another... Genocide is not a singe act of murder.  It is a millions of acts of murder"  Stephen D. Smith

After learning the history of the Genocide and learning about what actually happened, you came to this room.  It is a room where survivors put pictures of the victims.  Pictures of family members, friends or neighbors who were killed.

As I took the time, trying to pay each photo the time it deserves, I came across a letter. It was a letter from Hellen.  She was writing to her uncle and his family who were killed.  She expresses how much she misses them.  I did not write down the whole letter but I can give you the part that struck me the most:

 "I wonder why I do not have any cousins and then I remember.  But today, I work really hard so I can accomplish very many things.  I did not know your dreams and passion but in those very many things I do, am sure there is one that was your dream". 

The next room you enter was a room of skulls.  (This picture was taken at a different memorial in Rwanda).  I tried to count all the skulls... I cannot remember how many.  I tried picturing what Hellen said-- she did not know her uncle's dreams but she hopes that in her dreams, his will come true. 

Each of these skulls represents a person, represents someone whose dreams were cut short... for what? For hatred? For nothing, that is what. 

Before entering the room, there is a sign that reads, "Please respect the sanctity of their final resting place".  That room was truly sacred.  We tried to give them peace and sanctity because in their death, they did not have it.  I struggled to find a way to respect their final resting place.  Finally, I simply tried to imagine who that person was-- I imagine a girl, hair in pigtails with a worn pink and blue dress on.  She is smiling because her mother let her go out to play with her classmates, instead of having to help cook dinner.  Then a man.  He is single, my age.  He spends his nights sitting next to his food stand bugging the mzungus who walk by.  He hopes that the girl he fancies will finally say yes to a date.  

Later that day, we visited a church.  Churches were a common refuge spot during the Genocide.  Unfortunately, it did not prove to be a safe place, for many different reasons.  The church we went to had been hit with a grenade, killing most of the people inside.  Those who were not killed were dragged out and killed with machetes and other instruments of murder.  I do not remember how many survived, but it was not a large number. 

We walk into the church and all I could think of was God.  At first, it was the question "why did this happen?!" but then it turned into "how did You let this happen? Over and over again, people flocked to their churches, seeking safety in their God and You did nothing. Why?" I was angry. For the first time this whole entire trip, I was angry.  Angry at God.  

I do not like being angry at God-- he does not deserve it.  And I know he did not do nothing.  I know it is not his fault.  So, I decided I would not leave the bench I was sitting on until I understood, until I could find the answer to my question.  This is what I came up with: 

These people died for no reason, waiting for their God to deliver them and he did, but he delivered them not by saving them but by letting them die.  He delivered them from a world of hatred and cruelty to the great courts of heaven above.  These people died believing, trusting in their God and because of that, they shall be in paradise.  Perhaps they came here because in the midst of confusion, the church brought them peace.  The church brought that eternal perspective.  They were delivered from the chaos of the world they were living in. 

At the beginning of the museum part of the Memorial, there was a quote: "This is about our past and our future; our nightmares and dreams; our fear and our hope, which is why we begin where we end... with the country we love.  OUR RWANDA".  So, in honor of that, I end where I began, with the beauty of Rwanda-   this video is of a dance we came across the following day in the hills of this beautiful country. (in case it doesn't work: here is the link: http://vimeo.com/45623511).  It is worth watching, I promise.